This chapter was edited by Gdiusx.

  Ashemark,

  Robb Stark.

  Robb stood by the window of the lord's sor, a rather opulent room with a dark oak bookshelf filled to the brim with leather-bound books and scrolls.

  The air was choked with the scent of parchment, wax, and a hint of roses and tulips carrying over from the gardens below. Behind him stood a rge, heavy oak desk, its surface scattered with scrolls, quills, and pots of ink, along with a sheathed axe. A rge, ornate firepce occupied one wall, its mantle decorated with House Marbrand’s burning tree and their words Burning Bright.

  Above the firepce hung a portrait of Lord Damon Marbrand, dressed in finery befitting his status, looking down upon the room with a gaze that spoke of power and intelligence.

  Robb scoffed, the elderly man looked nothing like the portrait in person. Lord Damon was too fond of his food, always looking red-faced and heaving for breath at the earliest exertions. The light dusting on the book covers showed that they were mostly for show, for their owner did not seem to be an avid reader.

  The flooring was made from mahogany, colored a rich reddish-brown, and upon it were Myrish carpets thicker than the width of his palm. Robb had walked barefoot on it and could affirm it was the most comfortable thing he had ever stepped foot on.

  Finally, there was a small square table made from varnished walnut with a pitcher of ale. Arbor Gold was offered, along with a vast diversity of drinks that Robb could not even pronounce, yet ale was what he preferred.

  The sheer opulence and wealth on dispy were a painful reminder of how those nds had gotten drunk on peace. The st time the Westernds had seen any conflict was decades ago, aside from a handful of smaller rebellions.

  As he gazed outside the windows, the King’s eyes roamed over the sprawling hills and lush fields. The nds of House Marbrand were not rge, yet they occupied a fertile valley surrounded by hills and mountains. From what he learned, the dormant volcanoes surrounding the region were responsible for keeping the nds fertile and the hills rich in ore.

  Just outside the castle, men were building another warehouse to store the massive amount of loot his army had obtained so far. Nearly ten thousand cattle heads were allowed to graze across the nd, much to the dismay of Lord Damon Marbrand. Maege Mormont had suggested taking them back to the Rivernds, but it was unfeasible for them to herd so many bulls and cows through the narrow goat path that Grey Wind discovered.

  For now, they would wait here… along with all the other loot the men brought in daily. The Westernds had never been so undefended, and Robb Stark had made it clear he pnned to take everything of value from the Lannisters. Gold, silver, furniture, good steel, and more had steadily trickled in daily.

  The King of the North would normally be in the front, leading the men as they sacked castles and won glory. Yet, for the past moon, he had been having strange dreams that caused him to wake up sweating. That would not have stopped him from fighting, however, yet those three ravens that arrived one after the other a fortnight ago…

  Dark wings, Dark words, indeed. Yet, at least one of them brought a smile to everyone’s lips.

  His sweet sister Sansa had somehow managed to escape the lion’s jaws and was now sailing North. Only his youngest sister, Arya, was missing, but he refused to believe she was dead. Robb prayed for her safety and hoped she would reappear, as she was wont to do after a long day of pying around in the Crypts.

  If only the two other letters brought simirly good news. It shamed Robb, but when he heard of the Kingsyer’s escape, followed by the Ironborn capturing Moat Cailin, he had fallen ill from rage. Theon's treachery, the stress of leading a war, and his uncle's incompetence had caused him to be bedridden for the better part of a fortnight.

  That did not mean he had remained idle, for even abed, he could lead and direct a war. Robb’s dreams had intensified, however, as he wore Grey Wind’s skin several times during his hunts and explorations. It took him some time, but the eldest son of Eddard Stark had accepted that he was a Warg.

  His men had spoken of him in whispered words of fear and awe as they witnessed his uncanny ability to control his direwolf.

  Thankfully, he recovered thanks to the Maester and that vixen who cared for him. The men took their commands to raid and pilge gleefully, allowing him to rest and recuperate in Ashemark. The castle’s central location to the rest of the Westernds was a boon, as Robb directed his men to raid in every direction from the castle. Every castle north and east of Casterly Rock was ripe for the taking.

  Another raven had just arrived from the Crag this morning. The Greatjon had taken the castle but compined about the ck of loot; only the Westerling’s eldest daughter was worth the trouble. Robb wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what that meant.

  “Your Grace.”

  Robb broke from his musings and gnced at his granduncle. He turned to his squire, Olyvar Frey, who looked abashed at allowing the Bckfish in without notifying him. The king let it pass; despite being simir in age, Olyvar had a lot more to learn compared to himself.

  “Granduncle,” Robb greeted, schooling his face. “Olyvar, bring a ptter of food for Ser Brynden.”

  His squire scrambled away to fulfill the order, making Brynden chuckle.

  “Just call me Uncle,” the Bckfish clicked his tongue. “Granduncle just reminds me of my age.”

  “As you wish,” Robb smiled and poured a mug of ale for his uncle, motioning for him to join him by the dining table. The Bckfish took a heavy gulp before gazing at him.

  “Scouts report that the footmen are halfway to the Golden Tooth,” the old knight sighed. “Edmure leads them as you commanded, but he requests more men.”

  “Uncle Edmure can be assured that his troops are more than enough for what I have pnned. And the men he leads?”

  “Aye, five hundred each of Bckwood’s finest archers and Flint men from Cape Kraken, with the rest all Tully men as you asked. However…”

  “What is it, Uncle? You can speak your mind with me.”

  Brynden still looked reluctant but forged on, “Are you punishing my nephew for allowing the Kingsyer to escape?”

  Robb’s smile melted as his face went still as ice, “You are not accusing me of sending my uncle to his death.” It was a statement said in such a cold voice that even Robb felt like it was someone else saying it. His face softened at his uncle’s wary gaze.

  “I don’t know what to think, Your Grace,” the knight muttered, suddenly finding the Lyseni vase in the corner very interesting.

  Robb took half a minute to formute his response carefully. The Bckfish was a capable knight, and it would not do to lose his loyalty over some petty misunderstandings.

  “I was not pleased with the Kingsyer’s escape,” Robb admitted. “Yet that is not the reason. Uncle Edmure had still managed to cull Tywin Lannister’s precious Red Cloaks - nearly three hundred of his finest men-at-arms, knights, and veteran captains. Their lives are ultimately worthless compared to the loss of my most important hostage, but their loss makes the Lion of Lannister weaker.”

  Truth be told, Robb was enraged. His blood boiled and burned at the sheer incompetence of the men in Riverrun to allow such an escape! He could almost hear Grey Wind howling in his mind as he vowed to capture Jaime Lannister once more.

  Yet a week abed had given him plenty of time to clear his mind and consider the implications.

  “With Sansa’s escape, he would have been executed if Tywin Lannister had not agreed to our demands,” Robb continued. “Recognition of our kingdom and indemnity for the war.”

  Yet the wariness on Brynden Tully’s face was not yet gone.

  “Then for what reason would you have Edmure lead them himself?”

  “Do not underestimate your nephew, Ser Brynden.” Robb’s patience was running thin from the constant defiance, “As heir to Riverrun, Uncle Edmure is expected to lead and command troops into battle. His prior record may be cause for concern, but I have full confidence in what I have in mind for him.”

  The Bckfish must have noticed his clipped tone, for he nodded in acceptance before his gaze fell on the desk, specifically the sheathed axe head. “What’s this?”

  Robb removed the sheathe and gave it to his awed uncle to examine.

  “Valyrian Steel!”

  “Aye. The axehead is rge enough to be pced on a short handle and used one-handed or on a pole to act as a poleaxe.” The axe was a thing of beauty; it had one bde in the shape of a crescent moon with its ends curving into spikes. On its opposite end was a smaller spike, and yet another spike protruded between them to form a spear’s tip. The metal was dark with the familiar smokey ripples that seemed to drink in all the light.

  It showed the Bckfish was a veteran because he quickly gathered himself and pced the axe down.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Damon Dustin won it from some Sarsfield knight,” Robb expined, his eyes still lingering on the rippled metal that reminded him of Ice. “The fool leading the garrison thought he could beat Dustin and his men on the field and sallied out. He was mistaken.”

  The cousin of the Late Wilm Dustin had joined his army after the Whispering Woods with five hundred Barrow Knights and their squires. Barbrey Dustin had only sent him greybeards and greenboys, not even worthy of being fodder, yet Damon Dustin had rallied many of the knights and rode south once word of his victory reached them. He had joined him in the campaign in the Westernds and had proven leal and reliable.

  “I never knew that the Sarsfields owned a Valyrian Steel weapon.” The Bckfish inspected the axe and gave it a few experimental swings. “I know Archmaester Thurgood’s Inventories cim two hundred and twenty-seven Valyrian Steel bdes could be found in Westeros. I have read the book several times, yet I do not recall any mentions of axes.”

  “I’ve read it once as well. I believe the archmaester only counted swords, which is why this axe missed his purview.”

  “And Dustin just gifted it to you?”

  “It’s a poisoned gift, for the man wishes my support to suppnt Barbrey Dustin as Lord of Barrowton.” Robb carefully returned the axe to its sheathe, “My father assured the widow of the te Lord Wilm Dustin that she could live in the castle, as per the Widow’s Law, and even act as regent. Yet Damon cims that the woman had used that generosity to usurp the castle and its town with help from her maiden house, the Ryswells. Even now, she dares to cim one of her brothers as her heir without a blood cim on the nd.”

  “I remember Wilm, a fine rider and ncer. Wicked with an axe, too.” The Bckfish smiled lightly before shaking his head, “I confess not to be knowledgeable about Northern politics, but if you had accepted the axe, does that mean…?”

  Robb shrugged noncommittally.

  “The man only asked that I hear his grievances, and I have done so. I did not promise him anything, but truthfully, through the simplest of inquiries, I could tell that Barbrey Dustin is disliked by her people and has not impressed me. What use do I have for greybeard levies and green stable boys? But such a thing can wait after the war is won.”

  Brynden nodded just as the door opened to allow Olyvar in, followed by a beautiful maiden with burning orange hair and amethyst eyes.

  They held a tray in hand and set it on the table; mb chops, beef steak, onion and mushroom stew, and other vegetables, along with a rge loaf of bread, were on the first tray. The other tray held finger foods, fritters, cake, and other delectable treats. There was enough food for four men, yet Robb was already feeling hungry again. He had eaten earlier but ever since he had recovered, his appetite had grown tremendously.

  “I thought you would also like to eat, so I brought more food, Your Grace.”

  The maiden’s melodic voice had him gulp, even as his eyes met the young woman’s smoldering amethysts. Damn that vixen; he wished he could confine her in her room, but this was her castle, and her Lord Father had surrendered peacefully.

  To imprison his daughter just because she was being helpful would be shameful. The woman was two years his senior, and it was a surprise that she remained unwed at twenty. She wore a modest dress that utterly failed to hide her lithe form, pert behind, and ripe teats.

  Even if she was seducing him, Robb could not afford to appear like a green boy. Just the thought of his lords gossiping about how their King banished a beautiful maiden because he could not hold himself from her presence was mortifying.

  Robb held Eena Marbrand’s gaze for a few heartbeats, during which he had to do his damnedest not to let his eyes stray to her bountiful bosom and instead focus on her lightly freckled face.

  “I apologize for the trouble, Lady Eena, for I am sure you resent fulfilling a servant’s duties.” Robb turned to his squire, who wilted under his gaze, “Or a squire’s.”

  “No trouble at all, Your Grace. I was in the kitchens when your squire requested help. It was my pleasure to be of assistance. Now, is there anything else I could be of assistance?” The young woman curtsied, her head lowered, but her eyes twinkled as she stole a gaze at him.

  “… You may leave.” The maiden bowed again and left the sor with an extra sway of her shapely hips. Robb’s eyes lingered, but not before flinching when he heard her giggle as she gnced at him over her shoulders.

  Her coy smile did things to him.

  The moment she left, Brynden snorted in amusement, “That is one hungry chit if I ever saw one.”

  “Uncle!”

  “Don’t you uncle me, Robb. You've been too worn out tely with the war taking its toll on you. Bed the maiden if you like.” The Bckfish tore a piece of bread and dipped it in the stew and hummed in appreciation as he chewed it. “Your squire won't tattle if you go after the girl, will you d?”

  “N-No, Ser,” Olyvar looked reluctant but meekly nodded his head at his uncle’s gaze. “Many a lord and a king had taken a paramour in war, but–”

  “Indeed, your father took plenty, didn’t he? Without ever going to war - Old Walder’s appetites are legendary.” Olyvar bristled yet looked away at Brynden’s unimpressed gaze. “Your father had one as well, Robb. Otherwise, how would he have begotten your bastard brother?”

  “That does not mean I would do the same. Has it occurred to you that perhaps the dy is scheming something malicious?” Robb grabbed a mb chop and tore a piece off the bones.

  His uncle froze as he stared at him strangely before chortling.

  “You’ve heard too many queer tales from the mummers, nephew. A maiden must safeguard her maidenhead, not the other way around. I'm not telling you to marry the ss; just don't promise her anything and do what you will, as long as she is willing.” Robb nodded in understanding, but that still did not mean– “Although, it would certainly be in poor taste to bed the daughter of the lord who surrendered his keep to you. Then again, unwed at her age, something must be amiss with her.”

  “What do we know of her?”

  “Eena Marbrand is Lord Damon’s only daughter from his second marriage.” Olyvar supplied stiffly, “Her mother, Ellyn Plumm, died in childbirth. I saw Lady Eena in a tourney in King's Landing two years ago, and she stuck close to her brother, Ser Addam Marbrand, and Ser Jaime Lannister. As for why she remains unwed… I could not say.”

  Robb frowned inwardly as he could tell his squire had grown mutinous from the conversation. Even if the Bckfish did not see an issue, Robb was betrothed to Olyvar’s sister.

  “… Enough of this discussion, you are dismissed, Olyvar.” His squire nodded and left the sor to wait with the guards in the hallway. “Let us eat.”

  Brynden nodded, and they descended on their meal like ravished wolves.

  Some time ter, their bellies were sated, and they were nursing a second mug of ale when Brynden hesitantly asked. “Is going after the Golden Tooth wise, Robb?”

  “Wise?” Robb chuckled. “Most likely not. But with Tywin Lannister abandoning his march westward in favor of courting the Tyrells, I have no choice.”

  That particur alliance had killed another of his pns before it could even begin. He stood and moved to the rge oak desk, removing the ctter and tching the axe to his belt. He then spread a map of the Westernds.

  “For too long, the central territories of the Westernds depended on the Golden Tooth to stop any attacks from the east,” Robb ran his finger over the hills surrounding the Lefford Seat. “They had grown zy and x and their castles had fallen into disrepair; why bother spending their gold on crenetions and moats when the Golden Tooth was impregnable? They had no fear from coastal raids, for the Ironborn never raided so deep, and any invaders from the south would have to pass through many strong castles such as Crakehall and Silverhill.”

  “And to the north are the Iron cliffs overlooking Ironman’s Bay,” Brynden nodded. “Hundreds of feet high cliffs combined with the bay’s turbulent waters assure protection from the Ironborn.”

  “Exactly. The lords from the Pendric Hills to the Western Hills need only provide the levies, men-at-arms, and knights as taxes to their liege and have them fight abroad during war, for they had never needed to fear retaliation. With their duties paid, they would not bother spending a Stag more on fortifications, for not even Tywin Lannister can command his vassals to open their coffers to fortify their castles.”

  “It expins how we managed to take so many of the castles so easily,” The Bckfish’s words were ced with disdain. “Even with the ck of numbers, any of the castles should have been capable of deying us by a bit, if not hold out against all odds. All the castles were fully stocked with supplies and foodstuffs from the long summer.”

  “I shall not compin, for all the castles were rich with loot.” Robb shook his head as he gnced at the opulent sor they were in; the sheer extravagance that these Southron nobles surrounded themselves with astounded his Northern sensibilities. “The Lords had so much gold they simply spent it on frivolities and other luxuries instead of improving their household guard or investing in their nds. With Tywin Lannister calling their troops for the war and Stafford Lannister emptying the castles from their garrison, the Westernds were virtually undefended. The only force remaining in the kingdom are the survivors of Oxcross, and they are camped outside Lannisport, too far to be a threat to anyone.”

  Robb grinned as he recalled how he took Ashemark; the moment Damon Marbrand saw his army approaching, the Lord surrendered without a fight.

  “Tywin Lannister would not have wanted his vassals to improve their castles regardless. Do recall how he came to power,” Brynden added as he grabbed a finger food, some fritter too heavy for Robb's taste. “Not to mention the taxes on machicotions and the moats. Who knows what else Tywin had pced during his tenure as Hand is still in effect. I am not certain about the North, for your kingdom has always enjoyed a certain degree of autonomy, but in the South, the lords need permission from their liege to repair their keeps… it’s easier for them to build luxurious manors than fortify their keeps.”

  “Which brings us to the only true fortress in this part of the Westernds.” Robb moved his finger towards the Golden Tooth. “The castle is small, with only a single strong keep, and three towers, yet it commands the hill overlooking the road to the Rivernds. The road is close enough that any archers on the wall can pepper whoever would use it. Uncle, what are the scout’s reports on the castle’s defenders?”

  “Not many, hardly three hundred men and a hundred more crossbows.” The Bckfish scratched his scraggly beard, “With its lord away in war with most of the men, only his heir and only daughter, Alysanne Lefford, remains in the castle. However, Ser Forley Prester was seen on the walls. That knight is stout and stubborn.”

  “It makes no difference,” Robb tilted his head. “We shall need to take that castle to return to the Rivernds.”

  “I do not understand how you pn to take the Golden Tooth with just three thousand infantry, Robb. You have not even recalled the cavalry from their raiding. With only a thousand horsemen here, it's unfeasible to crack the tooth with only four thousand men!”

  “Just as unfeasible as it was to capture the Kingsyer or bypass the Golden Tooth?” The king shot back before taking a calming breath, “I understand your concern, Uncle, and I assure you I have a pn. I need to verify a few things before I am confident in disclosing it, but we cannot afford to allow such an opportunity to pass us.”

  “What opportunity?” Brynden still looked confused, “Why do you desire that castle so much? I understand its strategic position, but–”

  “Lord Leo Lefford was also sin a few weeks ago by Martyn Rivers when the fool chased after his outriders only to be ambushed. I personally gave the order to shadow Tywin’s army as they left the Rivernds, but I needed that man dead.” Robb expined coldly, his eyes glinting as his admittedly insane pn was coming to fruition. He had to remember his father’s teachings to learn the y of the nd for both sides of the battle - one with swords and the other with quills.

  If only Ned Stark taught him for a couple of more years…

  “That leaves Alysanne Lefford as Lady of the castle and all of its–” Suddenly, Brynden’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows rose to his hairline before bursting out in ughter. “Oh, you sneaky wolf. Whoever said you Starks did not have any cunning was blind as a bat.”

  “What do you mean, Uncle? A wolf is always known for his cunning.” Robb grinned as his great uncle continued to ugh himself hoarse.

  “Do you think Edmure would agree? He had remained unwed for so long, and he’s nearly thirty.”

  “He will not have a choice, for his King commands it.” Robb replied stiffly, causing Brynden to look at him seriously. “We need that fnk secured, both legally and through conquest for years to come.”

  “Very well,” His great uncle scratched at his chainmail, and Robb realized the man must be urging for a bath. “Who would stay in Ashemark to command the men and coordinate the raiding parties?”

  “Lord Rickard Karstark shall do so. I have already sent a rider for him to return and gave him his orders. I have Damon Dustin nearby as well and can swiftly reinforce Lord Karstark, but I am confident that they shall be able to maintain the campaign.”

  “Good, when do we march out?”

  “In three days, Uncle Edmure should have the siege engines with him, so I shall give him a head start.”

  Brynden Tully nodded resolutely, “Understood, Your Grace. What are my orders?”

  “I shall have you lead the outriders to keep an eye on Daven Lannister’s army at Lannisport. I have no doubt that they shall stir once word of the siege reaches them. Hopefully, we could goad him into attacking Lord Karstark; I heard he had vowed never to shave until he killed Lord Rickard for killing his father.”

  “The young man is more likely to get lice if he isn’t careful,” Brynden shook his head before frowning. “Wasn’t his mother a Lefford?”

  Robb arched his brow before checking an open book on the desk and nodding. “Indeed, the only sister to the te Leo Lefford. He has two sisters but they are of no consequence. Still, this might complicate matters… unless he is removed from the matter entirely.”

  “My word, Robb. You seem to be gaining a talent for pying the game,” Robb grimaced as his great uncle’s tone was not fttering. “You remind me so much of my brother.”

  “Not so much a talent than a necessity,” the King rubbed his brow as he decided to take the comparison to Hoster Tully as a compliment. “Disregarding all that intrigue and politicking, we need that pass in our hands to return to the Rivernds safely and with all our loot.”

  “True. Well, Your Grace, if that would be all? I stink quite a bit from riding, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “You are dismissed, Ser Brynden.” Robb shook his head in amusement as his granduncle saluted and left the sor. He scribbled the order for his men to prepare to march and followed the Bckfish, handing the orders to his squire to spread the word.

  Once Olyvar disappeared down the hallway, Robb turned the other way, shadowed by his four guards. While he was hesitant to create a Northern kingsguard because it was a Southron knightly order, a king still needed protection.

  Robb’s footsteps echoed on the wooden flooring as he made his way down the steps and to the castle’s garden. The keep was small, yet it was beautiful in a way that a fort should have no right to. Instead of alcoves, rge gss windows lined the hallways every ten or so feet allowing the sun’s rays to shine through… while also providing a rge target for any intruder. The walls were adorned with portraits and tapestries of former lords and dies of the castle.

  Before long, Robb found himself deep in the castle’s godswood.

  “Wait for me outside.”

  The guards nodded and stood guard around the small walled grove while Robb continued until he found the heart tree of the castle. It was a sad sight, for he had learned the meaning of the Marbrand sigil; the burning tree symbolized the House forswearing their heathen ways when they adopted the Faith of the Seven and the burning of their castle’s ancient Weirwood. Surprisingly, the stump remained, and Robb sat on the slightly bckened yet impossibly wide stump. How rge had the heart tree been before?

  The King of the North had taken every chance he got to rest in the Godswood, especially after his dreams had begun. It usually helped in bonding with Grey Wind as well, and even as he thought about it, Robb closed his eyes and found himself welcoming blissful slumber.

  .

  .

  .

  He sat patiently as he watched the stone pile - castle his human had taught him. The direwolf blended with the gray cliff, and none of the humans on the walls could hope to see him. His eyes, however, focused on the hills over the castle. They were steep, even for his surefooted paws, let alone for the two legged humans. Grey Wind had watched over the castle for the past few weeks, his human joining him occasionally as they searched for a weak point in the castle.

  Suddenly, movement on the far side of the hill caught his attention, and Grey Wind rolled out his tongue in excitement. It was her! The direwolf loped down the cliff and away from the castle as he followed the she-wolf that had visited him several times in the past week.

  She gnced at him zily before heading deeper into the hills and the mountains. His human was grumbling in his mind, but Grey Wind was bored after days of doing nothing but watching a boring castle. His human tried to steer him away, but Grey Wind was stubborn, and finally, his human let him have his fun.

  As Grey Wind followed the she-wolf through a meandering path up and down the mountain, he suddenly found himself on a ledge overlooking the castle. He was high up, and he could feel his human’s excitement for something. Grey Wind, however, had eyes only for the she-wolf as she wiggled her tail at him, and he could feel his blood boil. Within a few heartbeats, he was pouncing on the bitch who nibbled at him pyfully, and then–

  .

  .

  .

  Robb woke up with a start, feeling heat rushing through his body and to his groin. He groaned loudly as he felt light-headed, yet his member was rock-hard under his breeches. The young man’s blood sang as the echoes of the direwolf mating with the she-wolf resonated in his mind, and Robb cwed out of his clothes to allow himself more air to breathe.

  Fuck, he should not have done that…warging was already a dangerous thing to do, but he wagered warging into his bondmate when he was in mating sounded foolish in hindsight. Yet how in the seven hells would he have known about it anyway?

  Robb tiredly stood up, hoping to quickly retire to his room, before the sound of a twig snapping had him whirling with a snarl… only to find the shocked face of Eena Marbrand holding a basket of flowers.

  “Y-Your Grace! I didn’t realize you were here. I’ve been here so long, how could I not notice–” Her gaze fell to his groin, and her eyes widened, and she licked her lips. “Mayhaps I have stumbled at the wrong time?”

  The King was breathing heavily; his tunic y abandoned on the ground, showing a muscled physique, while his breeches were half off. The Marbrand Maiden pced her basket on the ground as she approached him, her hand unbuttoning her dress, “Would you like to–”

  All thoughts and reason seemed to flee Robb’s mind as he grabbed the maiden’s supple body and sealed her lips with his own.

  Eena quickly reciprocated, and within moments, he had her on the weirwood stump, her dress ripped, his hands on her teats, and his cock shoved deeply inside her. The st thing Robb remembered before he entered a frenzy was the girl’s wicked grin, her ughing amethyst eyes, and the sweet nothings she whispered in his ear as they rutted with abandon. He finished inside her again and again, his seed mixing with her blood as it dripped into the stump below. Soon, the chit’s devilish smile melted as tired moans of ecstasy slipped from her red lips as her eyes were rolled.

  He did not know how long he took the girl, but it did not matter. She was his now, and his blood sang for this…even as he seeded her again, the moon shining brilliantly above them. Embracing her tightly, Robb continued to sate his lust inside the nubile form of Eena Marbrand, the exhausted girl weakly kissing him with passion.

  A*H*M

  27th Day of the 7th Moon.

  The Bite,

  Myrcel Baratheon.

  Life on the Silver Lady had been eventful over the past few weeks.

  As she had feared, Sansa Stark was not the most merciful when they met. Cel and Rosa had to learn the hard way how to do chores befitting servants. For good or bad, Myrcel could now knead the dough into a shape that sort of resembled bread.

  And while she would never admit it out loud, it was… fun.

  “Cel, the cake is burning!”

  Roused from her thoughts by Rosa’s cry, Myrcel grimaced as she quickly removed the thin pastry from the pan, only to flinch as it burned her fingers. Still, she managed to drop it on a side pte and scrubbed away the burned parts with a fork.

  “Thanks for the save, Rosa.”

  Rosamund nodded as she busily whisked away at the eggs in the bowl before pouring them into a pan of melted butter.

  It was interesting to learn all the ways one could cook eggs and how to use a stove. Perseus, or Percy as he insisted on being called, took his time to teach them how to cook, especially that thin, fluffy bread he called pancakes. Those were yummy, particurly when doused in honey. Speaking of, she added another mixture to the pan and stood next to Rosa, who was making what Percy called Ohmlet.

  She was sure it was pronounced that way.

  Myrcel frowned as she realized she had been speaking in that foreigner’s strange nguage, even in her mind. It certainly had a catchy rhythm. Thinking about Percy had her wondering about what happened yesterday.

  Sansa waking up suddenly scared them, yet they had yet to see that monster in the waves… For once, Myrcel was grateful for Percy’s presence, else that sea serpent would have eaten them whole, probably with the ship!

  Her thoughts went back to her dreams. They were always the same - waking up as a golden cat, pying around with a nice old man who just gave the best scratches and kept feeding her fish. Seven above, Myrcel didn’t even like fish…

  A silly smile appeared on her face before she remembered the stove in front of her. Flipping the pancakes, she couldn’t help but recall a voice in her head when the ships suddenly started moving again. Cel had been afraid.

  It took her a while to pinpoint where the fear stemmed from and why it did not go away. She was afraid of going North, never seeing her family again, and feared losing Rosa… but most of all, she was afraid of being alone.

  When those pirates snuck onboard, that kindly voice in her head warned her, and Myrcel was gd that Sansa took her seriously. Grabbing whatever weapons they had, Cel still blushed at how foolish she had been to take this very pan to defend herself instead of a knife, as Sansa did. At least it was better than Rosa’s rolling pin. Regardless, fighting off those pirates was both satisfying and terrifying.

  “Are you done, Cel? Let’s take the food to the deck.”

  Rosa’s nudge on her side had her empty the st of the pancakes, and they took the ptes to the deck, where Sansa and Percy had a table set. The morning sun was hidden behind a cloud.

  “There you are. I’m starving.”

  Myrcel had barely pced down the pte of pancakes before Percy poured honey on it and ravenously devoured them, his face twisted in pleasure as he moaned in delight. She might not have gotten used to the demigod, but the fact he appreciated her cooking made her feel very proud of herself… even if she thought he was going overboard with those obscene sounds.

  “Knock it off, Percy. You’re making the food taste weird.”

  Sansa had a pte of ohmylet, or whatever Percy called it, on the table as she gestured for her and Rosa to sit.

  “You girls just don’t understand the awesomeness of pancakes. If I had some blueberries, I could have made you blue pancakes! Now, if only there were maple syrup as well…not sure if it exists here.”

  They stared strangely at Percy as he gobbled up the rest of the meal, before he stared at the two men tied at the mast, who looked on hungrily. “Easy there, boys, we are a few hours away from the city. I’m sure they will have a nice warm cell and a Happy Meal for you.”

  Happy meal? It sounded good, but it was said with a lilt of amusement.

  Cel was unsure what he meant but focused on her food. She also had pancakes and added a generous amount of honey, causing Percy to nod in approval. “So, what did you mean by syrup?”

  “Oh, there’s this tree back home that grows in cold pces. Its sap can be collected and turned into syrup through some process I haven’t a clue about. Either way,” he raised his voice when she was about to interrupt on how he wouldn’t know. “It is sweet, sticky and just goes so well with pancakes.”

  Cel gnced at Sansa and Rosa, finding the former smiling fondly at the powerful warrior while the tter enjoyed her egg dish.

  Yet the Stark maiden had paused.

  “Percy, I think I know what you are talking about. Maple trees, right?”

  Percy’s green eyes seemed to glow as he beamed, “You have them here?”

  “They are common in the North, and the honey made from it is more accessible than bee’s honey due to the cold.”

  “Sweet! Once we get to that city, I’ll get a batch and maybe see if I can cook some donuts.”

  “What’s a donut?” Rosa whispered beside her, but Myrcel could only shrug helplessly as she stared at Sansa gazing at the man. How she looked at Percy reminded Cel of how her mother looked at Uncle Jaime.

  She sighed sadly, to think Sansa would only see Percy as a brother after all he had done for her.

  Suddenly, Sansa stood from her seat, her smiling face turning serious, causing everyone to follow suit. “Beauty sees ships coming. Manderly ships.”

  They followed Sansa’s gaze as she stared at the distant cliffs. They had sailed past Old Castle st night and had encountered many merchant vessels going in and out of White Harbor, yet Sansa had them avoid contact with any of them. Myrcel agreed; many of them were Essosi, and she would rather not deal with the foreigners.

  Now, however, they could see three ships sailing towards them from the direction of the city, with Sansa’s Moon Hawk flying overhead. White Harbor was still about twenty miles into that strait, so it was no surprise that a Manderly patrol would approach them. Sansa had the direwolf banner fluttering proudly on the mast above.

  Yet, it doubtlessly attracted a lot of attention.

  No ships ever flew the Stark banners now because House Stark had no fleet for many centuries. Funnily enough, that meant that Sansa was the first Stark to command her fleet, albeit small.

  The hawk screeched once before looping around and softly nding on Sansa’s shoulder.

  The bird was incredibly pretty. Moon Hawks were extremely difficult to catch, for they nested in the highest peaks of the Mountains of the Moon. It is said the Arryn falcon was inspired by them. Even those who were caught could not be tamed for some reason. Myrcel had only seen the stuffed body of one of them, which paled in comparison to the noble bird before her. To think Sansa received it as a gift from the Maiden herself!

  Myrcel would not deny being jealous, yet that kind voice in her head encouraged her to be patient.

  Once the three ships approached them enough to hear, a bell cnged several times.

  As, nobody on the ship was versed in naval matters.

  Percy, who was the one who should know stuff like this, looked rather confused, “Are they trying to signal us?”

  “Maybe,” Sansa squinted. “Stop the ship, Percy. These are my brother’s bannermen. I have no fear from them.”

  Percy did as told, and all three ships stopped, their sails furling and tying themselves. It always amazed Myrcel to see the demigod’s work; she still could not wrap it around her head that Perseus was a literal son of a god. It would be far harder to conceive such a notion if he had not shown he could do the impossible again and again.

  Even after having more than a sennight to get used to the notion, Myrcel’s mind was boggled. Yes, everyone believed in the gods, but they were something distant, far away. Not… going around and siring monsters like Percy!

  Still, Sansa had ingrained the importance of keeping that a secret. Neither her nor Rosa were allowed to even hint at Percy’s parentage to anyone. Myrcel had no reason to disobey that particur order; people would think her mad anyway. Better for them to assume Percy was some sorcerer from a far away nd.

  Soon, the leading ship approached them, and they could see a long line of marines holding axes and short swords, some even holding bows. They were led by a hard-faced man in chainmail with the Manderly sigil on his surcoat.

  “Who dares fly the Stark banner?” The man’s booming voice echoed through the gulf; definitely a soldier used to making his voice heard.

  Sansa walked to the rails, her back straight and her face like ice. “It is I, Sansa of House Stark. I recognize you, Ser Medrick Manderly, from when my father, Eddard Stark, visited White Harbor years ago.”

  For a moment, Myrcel worried that the man did not recognize Sansa as he scrutinized her. Then, the knight’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened as he finally found his voice. “Princess Sansa. You are alive!”

  “Indeed I am, good Ser, and I bring more with me than just myself.” Sansa gnced at her, and Myrcel was reminded that despite all they had been through, they were still hostages. “Nevertheless, I request you lead us back to the city. I am sure Lord Wyman would be gd to meet with me.”

  “Forsooth, Princess. Men, make way for the Princess’ ships!” It spoke of how much presence Sansa commanded that the knight did not even question how three ships could sail with no sailors onboard.

  Still, Myrcel wasn't concerned with that. She looked forward to finally returning to solid ground.

  “What in the Seven Hells is that?!”

  The sudden excmation came from the sailors as the ship carrying the monster’s corpse passed them by. Percy grinned as he stood beside Sansa, “That could be dinner or maybe breakfast. It depends on how fast you get us to the city.”

  Bub3loka