Fandom Game of Thrones: Taken (Closed)

[Lucyfer]

Yara wasn’t terribly surprised to hear the practice wasn’t common where Willow was from. She couldn’t imagine it was all that wide-spread, even where it was practiced. After all, it required a necessity to guarantee honor, and so was likely only used when notable marriages were on the horizon, when the girl in question was desirable to a fault. Still, “No? I could have been misinformed. Your ways are still strange to me.”

Despite both of them being from Westeros, the Iron Isles had never quite conformed to how things were on the mainland. And it was, after all, called the Seven kingdoms. Someone was left out. Yara considered it the Iron Isles more often than not. She didn’t know her history well enough to be certain of it, though.

Her hand fell flat onto the bed, and this time, Yara did not reach for warmth, but allowed it, arching a brow as the woman seemed to come to a conclusion at that point about where things should head. “It isn’t comfortable to go to bed unwashed,” Yara said, as if that could be reason, and sentiment, enough for the change of Willow’s mind.

Still, she was reluctant to push herself up from the bed now that she was on it. The furs were a temptress in their own right, and Yara could have easily curled into them alone and slept – even if, she knew, she wasn’t all that tired.

Hardly.

Though she would need to get some sleep to be able to be at the wheel later. A shift in schedule would be needed, Yara suspected. She might prefer a nightshift.

Still, she did pull herself back up to her feet, grinning as ever, “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to strip until there was warmth promised, love. That’s too easy a way to see gooseflesh,” and too cheap a way, as well, when it could be won in more desirable ways, “Do stay here. I’d hate to have to have you restrained going forward,” not truly, not entirely, but for the purposes of her intent, she’d rather not go through that.

Not that Willow could go very far, unless she intended to jump off the ship – which she might. She’d nearly slit her throat, after all. It was that thought which caused Yara to shout, “Bretz! Come in here and stand guard!” before she would depart the room.

She couldn’t have another mishap while she was away. Willow may seem complacent now, but Yara was not going to treat that as if it were the rule.

~***~

The North was strong. The North had to be stronger, and stronger yet, if they were truly foolish enough to leave the Seven Kingdoms behind. Trade deals for food would be more difficult to strike up at a fair rate. Not that Amaranth was entirely opposed to leaving behind the South, but she didn’t truly see much benefit to it, beyond the potential for less taxes.

Which was unlikely.

The so-called King of the North would likely hike them up to pay for the war, among other things. Not to mention the likelihood of currency changes, and other problems…but Amaranth didn’t want to dwell on the logistics of it. Not now.

She was open to the distraction of her weapons, no more wishing to dwell on that than Margaery wished to dwell on life without her beloved.

A wry smile twisted her lips, “Your Grace, do you think that I would have ever been allowed a weirwood bow if I were a novice shooter?” Certainly, Margaery at least knew how costly weirwood was, and how good a material it was. Amaranth could think of only one material for bows that may be better, and she may very well dispute that. “It is my preference, but I am more than capable with the swords as well as a few other weapons I did not bring along,” she had skill with throwing knives, staffs, and a whip, but they had no place for her in a war.

Not when these were matters of life and death, and her skill with those weapons were questionable. Perhaps one day she would be improved with them, but as it stood, these were the ones she’d trust herself with. “Did such things never interest you, Your Grace, or were you simply never offered the opportunity to learn?”

It was, perhaps, a roundabout way of offering something of a demonstration, and something of a lesson, if the Queen had any interest. She wouldn’t quite enjoy stepping back out into the sun, but she had tolerated it thus far, and seeing the looks on other people’s faces while their Queen strung a bow might be worth it.

Another question arose, “Were you taught at least how to ride a horse?” She had spoken of the impossibility of riding into war herself, and it made Amaranth wonder if she only knew how to sit prettily in a litter.

 

[Blushing]

‘Gooseflesh?’ It took Willow a moment to actually understand what she meant. It almost seemed as if she were implicitly bragging, or maybe even fishing for an invitation of a demonstration. But Willow said nothing as Yara departed. The looming threat of restraint more than enough to discourage her from acting on any impulsive thoughts.

But of course, Yara didn’t trust her. She could concede that would’ve been foolish to leave her alone. There were weapons and other little trinkets scattered about that could prove too useful to someone in her position.

To ensure neither she nor anyone else ended up hurt, Yara pulled one of her dogs from the deck. ‘Bretz’ happily obliged, of course. Entering her his master’s quarters with quite the twisted grin etched on his thin, oily features.

He was tall and spindly, with tangled, salted hair and a complexion littered with scars. Willow glanced him over unenthusiastically. He stood between her and the door, arms crossed and stance firm as if he’d been given the most important task in Westeros.

“Well aren’t you a charmer?” Willow said as she folded her hands onto her lap.

“Quiet.” He’d snapped, clearly not in the mood for idle chatter.

Willow recoiled ever so slightly, batting her tired eyes as if to feign being hurt by his sour tone. He wasn’t amused. Bretz obviously took his tasks very seriously, and couldn’t possibly allow the honeyed words of a noble-born temptress to jeopardize such an important endeavor.

Willow abandoned the hope of a pleasantly one sided conversation and obliged him. Falling silent as she made herself comfortable on Yara’s bed. Perhaps too comfortable. As the second she’d closed her eyes she’d fallen asleep.

It couldn’t have been more than a few measly minutes however, as soon enough she was awoken by the sound of boots shuffling along the deck. More Ironborn, using their collective strength to hoist a tub int the captain’s quarters. It was quite sizable, a surprising fact considering many of them looked and smelled as if they hadn’t bathed in weeks.

It was gently lowered to the floor and abandoned. All but Bretz departing as quickly as they’d arrived. Willow sat up and rubbed her eyes, the taste of sleep she’d gotten leaving her somehow worse off than she was before.

It took her a moment to notice that Yara hadn’t returned with them. Was she was warming the water, as she’d promised? Perhaps. She had little else to do now but wait, and so she waited. Eager to wash away the worries of the day and finally get a decent night’s rest.

=======​

“No, I suppose not.” Margaery relented with a gentle shrug of her shoulders. Weirwood is a true luxury, but quite the odd material to waste in forging weapons from. It made for a handsome bow though. It seemed almost out of place among the drab silver of her other weaponry, it’s white wood catching the light in a way even the most polished steel simply couldn’t.

Amaranth seemed far more keen on this subject than any other they’d tossed around. To see her light up like this was interesting, almost alluring. If she were this incited in just speaking of it, Margaery could only imagine how passionate she’d be in practice. The thought of it was seductive indeed.

“Oh?” Margaery queried in a playfully challenging tone. “Really now?”

The queen’s interest was piqued, and now she fully intended on finding out just how capable she really was.

“I can’t say they have.” Margaery admitted. “But…I don’t think I’ve ever really been offered either.” It just didn’t happen. Who would expect a lady of house Tyrell to practice such things? Roses were meant to wield thorns, not swords.

“Until now, I suppose.” The queen reached out, placing a delicate hand over that of Amaranth’s. “Given that was an invitation.”

Margaery gave her hand a little squeeze and giggled. How funny she would look. Her, the future queen of the seven kingdoms, awkwardly docking a bow or meekly brandishing a sword. She wondered what Renly would think – what would Loras think?

“I can ride. Not very well mind you, but I can! Perhaps you help me with that, too.”

Leave it to Margaery to take an insinuated notion and just…run with it. But she was so genuinely giddy, it would’ve been rude to refuse her now.

“Maybe after supper then? When the sun sets and it won’t be so unbearable for you.”

 

[Lucyfer]

All around them was water, and yet there was always so little of it to spare on a boat. The Ironborn had learned how to boil salt water to purify it, and move it through strainers to remove the salt, but Yara made a point to stock up on barrels on it before she ever left a port. Salt water was no good to drink or to bathe in.

So it was from the barrels that Yara drew the water for the bath from and saw it heated, with plans to refill those barrels with the slowly purified water from the sea, though that would take a while. Not that her crew had much better to do, and they all knew the needs of water out on the sea.

Just as they knew to be careful kindling any fire on the boat.

It would take a while, of course, before enough water was heated through to be of use for a warm bath. Yara wouldn’t have wasted the time unless she was feeling particularly indulgent. A tepid bath cleaned her up just as well, but she was being generous. Obliging.

The reactions stirred from Willow were entertaining her enough to go along with this generosity.

Once there was enough, there would be another line of Ironborn to take the buckets into the room to fill the tub, with Yara at the end of it, with one bucket, and a bar of lye soap, as well as one of the dresses they’d snatched from the ship for Willow. Having her clean up only to redress in the attire she was in now, would hardly suffice. It’d defeat the purpose!

There’d be no fancy oils to scent the air, or scent the body with. Each Ironborn filed out after they’d added their bit to the tub, and Yara gave a nod to the man who had stood guard.

Everything looked in order, though Willow seemed a bit wearier at a glance, “You can go on now, Bretz,” Yara indicated to him, moving to set the soap on her desk, and drape the dress over it as well, before she made a show of turning her back to Willow. “I promise to keep my eyes off until you’re in the tub.”

Not that it would do much good.

Water was translucent. It’d take a bit of time, or a bit of soap, before much would be obscured.

~***~

Margaery hadn’t been interested in such things, and Amaranth was prepared to drop the topic all together, except that, it seemed now she was. Amaranth canted her head, before her gaze dropped to where Margaery overlaid her hand. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the gesture still caused a frown, all the same – confusion, more than anything.

She broke her gaze away without moving her hand, and listened as Margaery seemed interested in learning more with the weapons, and even with riding a horse. She offered it after dark, just as well. Supposedly, in the interest of preserving Amaranth’s comfort, though she wondered at that. Should she not be with her lord husband at such hours?

Or even, at least, tucked away safely?

Still, Amaranth would not question it. “If you have no other duties you need to attend to, and are not so worried over missing sleep, Your Grace, I would certainly oblige you and teach what I can,” before Margaery fell asleep or into an exhaustion that was useless for learning anything at all.

Still, was she not worried of battle on the horizon? Did she truly think it wouldn’t come to it after the parley? Or perhaps that was why she wanted to learn a bit.

Amaranth hardly considered it could be much else. “I do intend to sup with Lady Catelyn,” she would say as much, “but I expect that will not be long. I do not know if His Grace intends to host her for a dinner or if we are to be left to our own devices,” she’d prefer the latter so she could get a read on the situation, but nonetheless, her intent was to be with Catelyn at that time. “I do not suppose you have any idea how that matter is to be handled?”

Perhaps it was left to her – it was more of a womanly duty, after all, to play hostess and see to arrangements for guests.

 

[Blushing]

One by one, the last few men filed inside, with none other than Yara at their heel. Willow groggily glanced upwards, her gaze falling past them and onto their proud captain. It wasn’t a barrel she carried, but an armful of pillaged goods taken from her own stores.

Two dresses, her dresses, were draped over Yara’s arm. Both were muted shades, their soft fabric cascading down uncomfortably close to the floor. In the same hand she clutched what looked like a crudely cut bar of soap. It was a raw milk-like color, with little bits of waxy residue lingering on its surface. The thought of it lathering against her bare flesh made her stomach turn, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Refusal meant Yara may just take things into her own hands – literally.

At least the water was warm. Willow could see the faint wisps rising from its still-shifting surface now that it was nearing the rim. It was an inviting sight indeed. So much so it’d softened her soured features into something similar to content.

A pour quickly became a trickle, and then the stream stopped entirely. Now full, the water in the tub swayed back and forth with the gentle rocking of the ship. Its contents threatening to spill, but never quite making it over the edge. There were no scented oils or fancy salts or soaps, but the familiar aroma of fresh water was unmistakable. Permeating the air and easing her mind in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

With the tub full, Yara sent them out. They, and Bretz, who only followed suit after being addressed personally, stepped outside without a word. While Yara herself took to facing the wall, uttering something about promise to keep her eyes to herself for the time being.

“Oh, joy.” Willow said in that halfheartedly pessimistic tone. “You’ll wait until I’m in the tub to get your eyeful?” She gave a dry laugh, her shoulders rising and falling with just how deep in her chest it was. “How considerate.”

Willow took a breath to steady her nerves and carefully removed her boots, which toppled over noisily regardless of her intent. Stockings came next, and like the dress after it, they were laid neatly onto the furs behind her. She was exposed. Clad in nothing but her undergarments and an uncertain scowl – but the tub beckoned.

After a moment of eyeing Yara, those too were removed and tucked beneath the dress on the bed. Willow slipped into the tub, an audible sigh escaping her as she did so. She did her best to conceal herself, a hand here and an arm there – and Yara’s eyeful was reduced to much, much less.

“Alright.” Willow relented, a bit of dread present in her tone. “The soap, if you’d please.”

========​

Noticing her sudden apprehension, Margaery pulled her hand away and folded it back onto her lap. She gave a slightly apologetic smile, but whatever awkwardness between them didn’t linger for her.

One little gesture doesn’t necessarily mean she’d been rejected, after all, quite the opposite in fact. It seemed that she was, while concerned about Margaery’s own queenly duties, completely willing to oblige her request.

“Love, I’m the queen.” She stated in a playful, yet matter-of-fact way. “I can do as I wish!”

Surely, Renly wouldn’t mind such an arrangement. He would have time to tend to his pleasures, and she would get a bit of time away for herself. It may seem odd for someone on the outside looking in, but tradition be damned. Margaery wanted to enjoy herself while she could. After all, with the war ever looming, it may just be the last night she has to do so.

“Oh, we’d be happy to take care of everything, of course.” Margaery piped up again, as cheery and reassuring as ever. “You said so yourself that the food you managed on the road was…less than pleasant; and you’ll certainly need your strength if you intend on honoring our agreement!”

Margaery paused, thinking a moment before carrying on. “But, we certainly wouldn’t take it as an insult if you’d rather figure things out yourselves. I’d imagine you’d want to catch up with Catelyn, anyway. See what the future holds.”

She’d likely do the same with Renly, given their absence. Curiosity was already nagging at her. Had they already come to a resolution? Were they going to be allies? Were they, perhaps, going to seek out Stannis if things fell through? But of course, none of her worries managed to find their way to the surface. Her smile and air as warm as the moment they’d met.

“Either way, just know you aren’t getting out of this now.” Margaery said with a wink and a touch of mischief. “I’ll seek you out if you choose not to attend with us.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Although it would have been easy for Yara Greyjoy to turn around and catch a look, the captain kept her back to Willow as she underwent the process of undressing, and going for the tub. She remained alert, stiff, as she heard the sounds of garments rustling, but she never grew too paranoid. Willow’s place remained obvious to tell by her sounds, and Yara was in no danger from a sudden burst of boldness by the young lady.

Though the woman did remain modest.

When the soap was called for, Yara did turn back around then, and approached the tub. Naturally, she stole a look down, and saw hands for her effort at most interesting things. Well, besides legs. The legs were nice to look at, but Yara would drop to a sitting position besides the tub and offer the soap to Willow. Sitting wouldn’t entirely remove her sight, but it hindered it a little, given she chose to sit so her shoulders were in line with Willow’s, and her legs extended beyond Willow’s back – beyond the tub – rather than sit facing the same way as Willow.

“I’m sure it’s not the luxury you’re used to, but it’s practical all the same,” not scented, not tantalizing, but being clean was better than not being clean.

In spite of her curiosity, Yara would let her gaze stay forward, for the most part. She’d teased enough, with some return, but not entire return – she would allow some respect of that.

And so, she wouldn’t talk about the lovely pair of legs Willow had, but speak instead to the situation they found themselves in, “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem that eager for this marriage. Or for a return home.” Not eager for marriage was something Yara expected in most ladies, given how they were viewed, so that didn’t surprise her. Yet there’d been some ways that she’d seemed not entirely concerned with getting home, either.

The ways in which she didn’t seem to care about how she’d return, for one. “I could make a decent profit off of you, I’m sure,” little doubt there, “but maybe we could come to some other arrangement that doesn’t get you shipped back off to your loverboy. Unless I’m mistaken, of course,” there was no cheeky grin.

Yara didn’t have much of a heart for the plights of other women; they could have fought for other fates as she did, but she was feeling merciful. Or perhaps it was simply that she found the reluctant play of Willow to be strangely endearing, and she didn’t want that crushed entirely in marriage to some oaf. Willow had nearly cut her own throat on being taken away from her ship, and her future – though perhaps that was more out of fears of what Yara’s crew may have done to her, than anything else.

Thankfully, Yara had some handle on her men.

~***~

Amaranth bit back that urge to correct Margaery. ‘You are a queen.’ The way Cersei was a Queen, Selyse was a Queen, and so many others were rising up to be Queens alongside Kings. The Queen had yet to be determined, and it was a trap Amaranth was not eager to find herself falling into. It came with power. It came with riches. Yet, it also came with more eyes, more responsibilities, and so many more expectations.

It was a cage. A pretty cage, but a cage all the same, and Margaery would have to live within that cage. Stepping too far out of it would cause her problems, though she seemed well adapt to play-acting and smiling. To appearing the perfect lady, just enough play and tease to be enchanting, to appeal to many.

To even appeal to herself, in spite of how she’d confessed disdain for the cold. Or perhaps it was that honesty with no attempt to flatter the North – Amaranth found she wasn’t certain of why, precisely, she liked Margaery, only that she did. It would be worth analyzing later.

She didn’t like most people who frequently dropped terms of endearment.

“I would not dream of dishonoring our agreement, your grace,” Amaranth said, “but I do appreciate your understanding of my desire to see Lady Catelyn,” if they ate with Renly and the others, all the better. If not, then Amaranth would make sure that she was available, “I will go to my horse when I have finished, in either case,” and she’d dress a bit more appropriately for the training.

She did think to add, “You may want to make sure that your attire is not restrictive.” Dresses could be restrictive for these sorts of things, although Amaranth couldn’t help the passing thought that there may not be enough cloth to be restrictive. She knew that wasn’t true – at least not at first glance, the skirt didn’t seem to have any slits that would allow for easy movement.

 

[Blushing]

Willow closed her eyes and leaned her salted ebon hair back into the tub's warm, enveloping waters. She could feel the grime loosening, and with that came an audible sigh of relief.

"I wouldn't imagine that many women in my position would be swooning at the thought of such a marriage." Willow mused as she lathered the soap in her hands. "But to be fair, I've really never fancied the idea of giving your all to some pig of a man, regardless."

Her arms came first, gradually stretched away from her body as she tenderly washed each one. "Everything that you are - everything you would've been is just snuffed out; stolen." Willow gave a thoughtful hum, catching herself mid-ramble. "But I digress. I'm sure you could make quite a profit off of me indeed, and as much as I'd want to believe there would be an arrangement that benefits us both, it'd all come down to wishful thinking."

There was no place for Willow on this ship other than cargo. Both she and Yara knew it; but Willow supposed it was far easier to keep her in once piece if she believed something better awaited her. Something to keep her sated while they found a suitable buyer.

Willow raised her head out of the tub and rested against its rim. Her hair draped down her back and chest, clinging to her pale skin as it did so. "I'll humor you, though." Her left leg, lifted carefully just above the water, was lathered just as her arms were. "What exactly did you have in mind then?"

If anything, she was curious as to what Yara would come up with. If she wasn't to be sold or held for ransom, then what? She and her dogs likely had their fill of women when they went ashore, and whatever surge of 'morale' they'd gotten from stealing her away had surely been snuffed when they'd realized she was 'off limits'.

Would she invite her to join them? No, she wouldn't. But it was a humoring thought nonetheless. Her, gallivanting across the kingdoms at the side of a Greyjoy. Unlike them, Willow wasn't made for saltwater. It didn't run in her veins like it did theirs - she'd drown the moment she hit the water.

========

Margaery gave a pleased hum and nodded. "That's that then! Though, I admit, finding proper dress for such an activity is going to be difficult."

She hadn't really given it much thought, but the wardrobe in her possession now simply wouldn't do. Down to the thread, every dress had been painstakingly woven to accentuate her beauty; to present her as the flowering rose she was.

"But I'll manage!" Margaery piped up, her cheeks alight with a renewed smile. "I'm sure there's something that won't fall to pieces should I take up a bow." Nevermind a few tears here or there, she was determined to see this through now. Should a dress or two be sacrificed in the process, then so be it! It was a price she was more than willing to pay.

"If I don't see you after we've finished up I'll come seek you -"

The tent opened, cutting her off and revealing two familiar figures. It was Renly, with Catelyn firm at his heel.

"Lady Bolton." He greeted with a grin. "And my queen!" His tone implied that he was surprised to see her, as if he hadn't expected her to stay by Amaranth's side this long. "I see you've got on! I hope we're not intruding on anything."

Margaery's attention naturally shifted onto Catelyn, who acknowledged her with a slight inclination of her head. All seemed well, but that only served to swell her curiosity.

"Don't be silly, love." Margaery reassured. "Just a bit of banter is all. Must've lost track of time."

Had they come to any terms? If it did, would it involve marriage? She was sure Amaranth's mind was fluttering just as hers was, but only in time would they come to realize their fate.

"Well, I intended to fetch you anyway. My lady -" Renly gestured inside the tent, and Catelyn obliged him by moving deeper inside. "I'm afraid I'll have to borrow our queen for a while, but if you so choose you both are welcome to join us for our evening meal."

Margaery's eyes glimmered with curiosity. Was there a reason he couldn't speak freely before them? Did he just wish to discuss it with her in confidence? "If you'll excuse me, Lady Bolton." She stood and brushed out her flowing dress, happily making her way to the king's side. "Until tonight, then. I'm sure you two have a bit of catching up to do in the meantime."

She took Renly's arm, who'd given her a playfully curious glance at the mention of a second meeting. Margaery only smiled and batted her eyes, guiding him out of the tent to leave them to themselves.

 

[Lucyfer]

Yara caught a laugh in her throat at the description that Willow had for the men. Did she think that of all of them, or just this one in particular? Yara was morbidly curious at how her childhood must have been, to know this fate certainly awaited her from the start.

It must have been a wonder that she made it so long.

Yara never had to worry about such a thing – of having her all stolen from her. It could have been that way, were Theon still on the Isles, though Yara never would have let it. She would have fought tooth and nail against it, and she liked to imagine she still would have held a place of honor and respect in her father Balon’s eyes. Enough so he’d never think of marrying her off without her permission.

She would have her say in these things.

Rather than dismiss the thoughts of anything else as just that, however, she invited Yara to continue. “Obviously if we’re forgoing a ransom, you’d have to make yourself worth that – so you would have to find a place on the crew,” Yara knew that much would be obvious, in some respects. Her gaze drifted lazily from Willow’s eyes, to her hair. The desire to run her fingers through those soaked strands was present, but she held it back.

“No one on the ship can mend a sail very well,” Yara noted, “I hear that kind of craft is common to Southern women, though. Sewing. It’d be useful with our clothes, too,” she let her gaze return to the woman’s face, studying her for a reaction.
It was easier to make out that she had freckles on her face, and not just dirt.

She bent one elbow on the rim of the tub and leaned into it, “If you dreamt of being something other than a mother and wife, you must have picked up some other skills you hoped to use in other ventures, right? Or did you truly just plan to be a spinster lady with no husband?” Yara wouldn’t believe that.

Willow had something stolen from her – a future she wanted. Perhaps it wasn’t on the ship, but it was something all the same that had little to do with childrearing and pleasing a man.

~***~

Despite the consideration of clothes – of which, it appeared, Queen Margaery had nothing suitable – the Queen remained intent to follow through with this. Amaranth stilled a comment behind her teeth of wondering if the Queen would even notice if her fine dresses fell to pieces, given how light, and how little, they were.

It would lead only too easily to a comment of not minding, in either case. The Rose’s nature was playful, but she’d be a fool to think it wise to let the Queen know she had any power over her. She was playful, but not daft. Honest, but cleverly so.

It was in some respects a relief, and an annoyance, to be interrupted. Her silver gaze easily found Renly and Catelyn. She rose and gave a respectful nod to the King, before letting her eyes catch Catelyn’s.

The woman was unhappy.

Amaranth would know why soon. Her mind was not a-flutter with thoughts of marriage as Margaery suspected, even if Catelyn’s expression could have hinted at such a thing – and the fear that Amaranth would decline.

Catelyn was terse in responding, “You may enjoy dinner without us, Lord Renly,” she didn’t forget what he called himself, and again, Renly did not seem inclined to correct her as he took his queen outside. Perhaps distracted by her, or by what he had to discuss. Catelyn’s eyes moved to Amaranth, and she tilted her head slightly. “Another meeting with Lady Margaery?”

“Her Grace amuses me,” Amaranth offered, a response that did little put Catelyn at ease. Amusing Boltons rarely seemed like a good idea, be it Roose or Amaranth. She couldn’t say much for Ramsay. “What occurred between you and His Grace?”

Catelyn shook her head and gestured Amaranth to sit once more, and so she did, as Catelyn came to occupy the chair that Margaery had been in. “We had a parley with Stannis,” she said, “Neither of them were willing to talk like adults, let alone like brothers. They’re going to tear each other to pieces come the morning.”

“Shall we be leaving, then?” Amaranth thought that seemed prudent.

Catelyn sighed but shook her head, “Not yet. I am going to try and talk His Grace,” she spoke it with disdain, “out of it. Like it or not, Stannis has the better claim, and I know they still love each other.”

Amaranth wouldn’t speak up against that. It was a parent’s duty to believe their children loved each other, and so to believe it of others. “Stannis promised Renly until midnight to think about it.”

Amaranth suspected a night attack for that, but didn’t say it. It wasn’t her place, and she imagined that she and Lady Catelyn wouldn’t be killed. Captured, perhaps, but not killed. That or they could escape in the chaos. “I wish you luck in convincing His Grace to come to terms with his brother. I will see that I am prepared by then,” at least she wouldn’t be sleeping, and she hadn’t unpacked. Her horse would be ready.

In either case, she and Catelyn would sup together, before Catelyn would leave for her own tent, and to prepare herself for bothering Renly again. Amaranth would change from dress to armor, and step out of her own tent to begin to prepare her dappled mare. She had told Margaery is what she would do, in either case – and if nothing Renly had to say changed Margaery’s mind, then she expected the Queen to seek her there.

She had her bow and arrow on her, her quiver, along with her two blades.

 

[Blushing]

'Forgoing ransom?' Willow's freckled expression cracked with a wry grin. 'A place on the crew?'

She gave a dry laugh; a bit of tension seeming to ease from her shoulders as she did so. What a pretty story their captain tried to sell. Willow wondered just how many other pretty birds she'd groomed with those same sweet, hollow words. Any weak-hearted maiden would've swooned. If not for the life she was promised, then the captian who had promised it to her.

Willow's moss-flecked eyes wandered towards the woman looming behind her, remnants of a grin still lingering upon her painted lips. What was the harm in humoring her fantasy? She'd already seen her at her most intimate, and they did intend on sharing a bed later in the evening. "So love, how can I earn my keep?"

Willow turned, placing her own arms onto the rim next to Yara's. She lay her head upon them, making herself as comfortable as one could be in such a vulnerable position.

Her features sharpened at the mention of sewing, but Willow merely nodded when Yara admitted their ineptitude for such talents.

'Mend our sails and fouled breeches well enough, and maybe you'll be spared.

Thankfully, she didn't seem keen on lingering on that particular craft. Instead, she decided to pry deeper into her ambitions -

And then, she said it.

'Or did you truly just plan to be a spinster lady with no husband?'

A rather unladylike sound slipped from her, something between a cough and a laugh. "Perhaps, Greyjoy."

'Spinster.' The mere utterance could cause her poor mother to faint at the best of times. Then again, anything that wasn't 'married with six healthy, playful children with yet another on the way', was an utter disgrace in her greying eyes.

Willow shook that bitter thought away. "But there are, indeed, other ventures I dabbled in besides the fine arts of cloth-mending and embroidery."

She'd absentmindedly reached for her throat, but most of the salve applied had been washed away. "My mother's handmaiden was an apothecary. We never had a permanent Maester so we made do. I learned a great deal from her and suppose I could put it to use here." Willow stifled a few idle chuckles. "If you'd believe it would make me worthwhile."


========

"My, so that's what you two were up to." Renly said between his halfhearted chuckles. "And weaponry - with a Bolton? My dear, you are far more gracious with your trust than I."

Margaery tilted her head slightly, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. She knew it sounded mad but that was part of the allure. Besides, Renly wasn't really invested in their conversation.

Men were easy. They more often than not wore their hearts on their sleeve, and she could see how Stannis preyed on him even now. He was lost in his thoughts. Barely paying his doting wife any mind as he picked at the bones of his supper.

"My love." Margaery teased. "Are you suggesting that I am not a good judge of character?"

"Perhaps." His concern was beginning to etch deeper into his features. She could sense his growing restlessness, and thus she opted to take the hand he'd left idle on the table. "You really needn't entertain me, my king." She gave his hand a soft, encouraging squeeze. "You have far more important matters to tend to, I understand. After all, our men - our people, they need their king."

"I plan to parley once more with the mother wolf before the morn." Renly said as if he hadn't heeded any of her heartfelt assurance. "I believe she means to talk me into surrendering my claim."

Margaery blinked, her gentle smile wavering ever so slightly. "You are right, though. I suppose I shouldn't keep her waiting on false pretenses. I will not recede my hand."

Renly stood, and so did Brienne and the few men who sat with them. "I would imagine that she and Amaranth would want to depart after this; which is why I cannot afford to be as gracious and trusting as you." Renly gave her a partly apologetic smile. "You'll not go alone to meet her. I'll not risk our queen."

Margaery nodded. "Of course."

He, Brienne, and the select few left the tent without another word. Renly, and thereby they, were really on the warpath now. The remaining two men stood by Margaery's side as she pushed her chair beneath the table. This would indeed complicate things.

Together, the entourage made their way through the encampment to Margaery's own tent. She made no playful banter with them this night. Instead, she entered her tent, changed into a less restrictive dress, and made her way back to Amaranth's tent with her guardsmen in tow.

And there she was, though it was difficult to believe it. She stood, clad in armor carrying all manner of weapons on her person.

"Hello!" Margaery greeted with her usual warmth. "I do hope this will do."

Her gaze flit down to her dress, which was far less restrictive but perhaps somehow even more revealing than the one she wore prior. It was the same pale blue shade as Amaranth's own eyes, with a deeply cut V shape running between her breast. The fabric, mostly patterned in silvery flowers, cascaded down neatly at her feet. It bore no sleeves nor particularly hugging fabric, making it perhaps tolerable for docking a bow at best.

Margaery approached, glancing backwards towards her men. "My love thought I would be safer this way." There was notes of apology hidden within her tone. "It seems he's not as enchanted with you as I am." She chuckled, eyeing the dappled mare with an expectant grin.

"They have no qualms in walking, I'm sure. But, I do. Should I fetch a horse or shall I have the pleasure of of riding with you?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Willow found enough humor in the conversation as it progressed for Yara to at least allow her company wouldn’t be terrible. While a spinster was hardly what Willow planned for herself, it seemed she had found entertainment outside of playing with dolls and preparing for marital bliss. She’d dabbled in the arts of a maester – or at least a wood’s witch.

Yara did idly wonder if she’d found magic, what too many maesters claimed was gone from the world, yet added Valyrian chains to their ever-growing collar of worthless endeavors.

Not that all were worthless but many just had the book knowledge, not the practical.

“That could be,” Yara obliged the question, “We aren’t unfamiliar with such ourselves, but it’s the basics. Antidotes, concoctions, balms, these things we don’t know quite as well as knowing a wound should be cleaned and wrapped, or an infected limb removed. We don’t have much in the way of medicine, either, and illness does happen, from spoiled food or from port.” It wasn’t always clear where it came from. “And we have to trust those who sell us balms and the like know what they’re doing, which, usually it is or they wouldn’t be in business, but,” a shrug.

Expertise was better. Or at least someone on the way to expertise.

Yara dipped a finger in the water, and she dragged it through, rippling it, “The men won’t learn such things – medicine and poison are a women’s art, never mind that all maesters are men, these rockheads won’t bother with it.” A wry grin touched her lips, “And I’m just not interested in it.” Even if she knew the need. “You’d have to understand that obviously, we haven’t a constant need for these arts. You’d have to learn to help out around the ship, tedious things like scrubbing the deck, or even, yes, sewing, when there’s downtime.”

She lifted her gaze back up from the ripples her finger made, “I’d even offer you a trial. No commitment necessary – I’m not so cruel as that. This way if I think you’re rubbish, off you go back to family, and if you’d rather be birthing little lords and pleasant cows, then it’ll be done.”

A trial might appeal to Willow’s sense of the absurd, which Yara was fairly certain resided in her. It resided in many who’d take their own lives, for they’d seen something about this life that left them wanting. The absurd promised interesting things, a chance to relook at the world, and relearn it.

But it also was likely to give Willow time to truly consider in what she might deem a safe headspace.

Not all of Yara’s crew had started out serving her willingly enough. Plenty had just seen her tits, or her small frame, and thought they’d see the end of her career soon enough. Now they served, as they were always meant to serve.

“What do you say, love? A little jaunt off to new lands, a little time with these rough men, and maybe you’ll even like it. You might even get to boss them around a little when they get sick or injured. That’s always fun.” And men had no sense of care, although they were such babies when they were sick.

~***~

Amaranth was not left waiting long outside with her mare. Long enough to see that she was properly tacked up, and given a treat for the late outing, if only because apples were in abundance and her mare was greedy enough. It was calming enough to wait out Margaery, and she heard the steps long before the woman appeared.

Not Margaery’s steps at first, but the guards who knew little about how to step lightly. Margaery was significantly quieter, and significantly changed in attire.

Amaranth did offer a once-over of the attire, both to consider how well it would work for her, but also because she could look under such a pretense. “Well, it won’t do for much beyond the bow,” Amaranth said, “Your movements would be a bit restricted with swordplay due to the skirt,” she didn’t see any slits, and doubted Margaery had any plans to add them.

Which returned them to the mare.

“She’s patient,” Amaranth said, looking back to the horse to consider, “I know not how your own horses may be, but I know Peony’s temperament,” she was almost annoyed with her deceased brother for naming the horse after a flower right then, “and she can adjust to all manner of floundering and bad footing without getting huffy.” Amaranth looked back to the Queen, “Though, Your Grace, if you intend to sit properly, you’re going to have to be willing to hike your skirt up a rather immodest amount. There will be no side-saddle sitting.”

Somehow, Amaranth didn’t think that was going to phase the Queen much at all, given her present attire’s showcase, but it was worth mentioning. Perhaps Margaery hadn’t considered that in all of this, or thought she would indeed get away with side-saddle riding.

“Do you know how to mount up, or do you need to see, first?” It wasn’t a question spoken in mockery. It was likely Margaery had seen it done by brothers and others, but they were wearing pants. Skirts did make a slight difference, where there wasn’t room to simply throw a leg over without damaging or struggling against fabric, or a leg that simply got caught at an awkward angle in the skirting.