#doing those things AS A CHILD is why the warden called him 'a bane to all things holy' -- that's how he got his name

[righteousruin]

I know Penguin's an unreliable narrator but I gotta say,,, the audacity of including Bane in a room full of batvictim villains who joker got together to figure out who Batman was,,,lol,,,lmao even

[shardclan]

Fog gathered in the river valley like steam gyres huddling together to hide from the impending dawn. The first rays were flickering over the towering peak of House Betelgeuse off the eastern sea-side cliff, and it wouldn't be long until the light crested those hills and cascaded down into the Summerlands.

It was probably almost comfortable for Renat under his thick fur. Telos found it cold, and nostalgic. Her coronation had taken place in the peaking time of western Sornieth's spring, when the still air seemed desperate to stay cool, but the sun and the warm southern wind and the waking of the flowers couldn't be held back. In the Isles, it was always cold. Spring didn't mean anything. The season of starfall blossoms and cautiously busy bees began in that shimmering place between summer and autumn.

Perhaps she only thought that way because she was tired. As promised, Renat had gone to see Tungsten. Little was gained though Telos watched him try until the entire room had been coated in hoarfrost. She didn't know what, if anything, Renat had been feeling when he agreed to join her in the valley before the sun rose. Though he probably wouldn't have cared, she was grateful for the thickness of the fog that left them both indiscriminate shapes in the gray.

Katiyana moved through the fog like an ancient relic given life, clear as day to them both. His antlers formed the perch for no less than a dozen birds, and though he walked on the paths reserved for the centaurs, they didn't disturb him. He didn't count, they said.

"That's him then," Renat said certainly. "Hibernas' son."

"I didn't bring you here to bother him, Renat."

"Then what is this morning meeting for?" His amorphous shape shifted, and she heard him sniffing at the air. "Especially as you have come to it without your knight."

Telos shrugged casually. "Sometimes a dog is better than a knight."

Bestealcian's snicker was flat and short, and could have been no more than a snapped twig. Renat scowled. "You were not born into royalty and it shows."

"Thank you."

"That was not a compliment," he said coldly. "It is exactly this way of thinking that should not propagate in royalty yet here you are. All because of some tiny lineage that thought taking in any old vagabond as a mate was acceptable. You are more a mother hen than a queen, pecking anything that appears to threaten your brood, even when it may be good for them."

Telos crossed her arms, and drummed at the bend of one elbow. She didn't necessarily disagree with Renat. It was no secret she had taken some of her cues on successful rule from Caress and the good Margravine was known to be extremely protective of her workers. Having someone quietly killed in a back alley wasn't the way Telos did things, but she did believe in intimidation tactics, and some cheerful strong-arming where necessary. And she was always ready to fight for her people. It could definitely be interpreted as ignoble. 

Yet she got the feeling that Renats words weren't really about any of that. "Are you still on about Kati?" she asked with weary exasperation. "He doesn't want whatever you're envisioning for him."

"As if that matters. He will have to return to the warden eventually, and this escapism will not help him."

"Escapism from what exactly?” she hissed harshly but quietly. “He isn't his fathers; he's barely more than a child! Hibernas' burdens don't fall to him."

A snort answered her. "You Arcanites have always been too quick to assume choice is a factor in the lives of other dragons. Hibernas had no choice, neither do I, and neither does the boy. Ice is the path we walk, no other."

"Yet Hibernas clearly made a choice that was unexpected, or Katiyana wouldn't exist. In order to leave something behind of himself and Floe, he denied the Ice, even if it was only in the smallest way." She rubbed the damp from her shoulders, and added in a softer tone: "The way that meant the most to Floe."

"A creature born from the Warden's coat experienced sympathy--or perhaps remorse for Floe's kidnapping--and attempted to make amends..." His voice came in the slow, confused drawl of someone repeating something that only sounded less believable the second time around. "Is that what you're implying?"

"What I'm saying," she grated with thinning patience. "Is that Hibernas loved Floe in whatever strange way he had. And if you can look at Kati and still not acknowledge that, you are clearly not as logical and impartial as you think you are."

The tone of the morning changed as the sun blearily crested the western mountains. The sky was full of high, feathery clouds, and the fog filled with a warm but diffused light.  

Telos didn't intend to lose the slight extension of their privacy. "I called you out to ask about Hitth. How did the creature lose its facets?"

The question clearly took him aback. "I-it--That's--" he sputtered, and with surprising grace gathered himself and admitted, "I don't know. Chosen in the Isles are Imprisoners. Nothing more."

"Does that include the one who would have first sealed Hitth back when the Isles were young? No ancient ice magics lost to time at play?"

"If such magic existed, it was preserved, not lost. That is the way things are done. We don't destroy Outsiders, nor alter the state we find them in beyond what Imprisonment is capable of. If the creature emerged weakened, that is as it was found."

"Yet you know of how it gains facets and that it's stronger when it has them... Do you keep records? Would that Chosen have had a partner who may have done something?"

"No," Renat said tartly. "What are you really asking me?"

Telos ignored him. "Why don't Chosen kill the Outsiders?"

An irate silence answered her, and then a sigh. "In the Isles, all but the weakest Outsiders are very likely to abandon their stolen bodies and simply return to the Outside. Killing leads to a dead dragon and an Outsider who may come back latter with more cunning ideas."

The fog was beginning to thin. Telos could see Renat's featured rather than a blurry bulk of fur and cloaks. He was still facing the valley, but while squinting suspiciously at her sidelong.

"I think a dragon must haven weakened it somehow," she explained. "Beaten it at it's own game, maybe."

She had expected more derision and scoffing from him, but his head dipped thoughtfully. "It's conceivable, but unlikely."

"Because of the tricks it can play?"

"Yes. I can't deny the possibility, but if such a thing happened it's much more likely to have been dumb luck rather than intent."

Telos rubbed again at her arms. She wasn't sure she agreed, luck was so fickle, and in the face of such temptation? Her people had been lucky with Hitth, but not lucky enough to stumble on a way to take away its power. Ultimately, the creature had rules, and it had to abide by them. Which meant it could be played at its own game.

Hitth needed the request of an outside party to open a door. It was a form of permission that allowed it into other worlds. If threatened, it could force a new door open without a request--as it had with Arcanus--but it could never force the choice. That had to take some kind of toll, but nothing Telos was willing to build any plans on.

While Hitth could not force the choice, it could whittle at a target's will. By trapping them within their heart's desire, waving that perfect image before them in the hope they would break down. He could keep them in the dark place in between worlds, without sound or light or sensation, until their minds couldn't handle the impenetrable nothingness and they begged to be released.

Hitth could taunt and tempt and present very convincing paths back home that were not quite the right one, which was perhaps its most dangerous trick. 'Home' was all at once a nebulous concept and a very personal and consistent place. Telos could recognize her room, but how many other version of her had the exact same room for the exact same reasons her looked the way it did?

But Hitth could never force you, and that was the fighting chance. A strong will, precise mind, and clear purpose would never fall prey to its games. But Telos needed more than that. Someone it couldn't tempt and couldn't eat was sure to exist in Aphaster, of that she was certain--and quietly proud her people had proved to be such elusive meals. What they really needed was someone with a deep understanding of the rules. And something more, some bane or poisonous thought or a nature that was simply antithetical to Hitth's.  

Even more, they needed a goal in mind, and there was so much that didn't add up.

"Why does Hitth grow stronger from opening doors to other realities?” she interrogated. “Why bother eating dragons at all if the same ones can come back and give it even more power that way? Is it really so simple as it needing fuel for the process?” She halted her onslaught and shook her head. “No, I can't believe that. Too many of my people visited the monster without being devoured, it should have died of starvation."

Renat shifted on his haunches, inching slightly away from her. "Chosen do not know the answer to this question. It sounds like you plan to fight the creature, but that is foolish. I will imprison it."

"I don't plan to be unprepared if you fail," she said, too distracted to note the way he bristled at the seeming jab at his competence. Her eyes were on the horizon, dour with grim exhaustion that had nothing to do with the long night. "Even if it means I need to bargain with my kin."

"So you would turn to the House?” His bristled fur rose into a standing mane, and he loomed over her, Beastealcian forgotten.  By the memory of the northern ice, woman, your kin do nothing but make abominations in secret where you think the gods can't see! What makes you think one will be able to bring another to heel?"

Telos' jaw tightened. She met Renat's eyes, and for just a moment, she let the weight of five generations of memories show on her face. Every laugh and cry and broken heart and elated discovery, all the contextual understanding of each of the dragons who had lived the experiences and the thoughts and reflections on those experiences of dragons who came after and got to examine those past experiences both as the insider and the outsider.  She let show the struggle of each ego in its own time, and how the weight of each new ego built into a pressure that either made dust or diamonds of each new generation of inheritors.  Until she was sure he understood that she lived with that pressure and more constantly. 

Until she was sure they had come to an understanding that she was a diamond among diamonds.

"We have heard that and everything like it all before, Chosen Renat. Save your breath." With a graceful smile, she let it all go, and left him alone with that last of the rising mists.

[savinscripts]

Frost Flowering (GOT AU)

❝ Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms ... or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. ❞ 

  - George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Faye Lacroy shivered beneath her cloak as a gust of wind blew beneath it and up the back of her riding leathers. The journey had been pleasant enough, until it had started to get cold. The warm sun and cool breezes of the Southern Plains had long ago been left behind, replaced by forest and rivers and flurries of snow. The drifts were small, and the tree still green. The rivers still ran strong and the creeks and ponds still shimmered brightly in what sun peeked through the clouds. It was beautiful in it’s own way. But Faye knew it wouldn’t last. Not when they ventured into the true North. She’d been once with her father. As a young girl. There was no real green where they were headed. Only snow and ice and rock. And if the men of the North were anything like the land itself, Faye didn’t expect a very warm or pleasant welcome. Though perhaps the more pleasant - and she used the term loosely - weather of the river region would thaw some of the harshness out of the Northmen.

Faye sighed, shifting in her saddle. She didn’t want to be making this trip. It was nearing harvest season back home, and with her brothers gone there was no one to oversee it but her and her father and a few trusted men. She hated not being there to help.

But the Tyrells had called for them. After being insulted and scorned by the Lannisters, the great house at Highgarden has pulled back from the golden lion, and sought out better allies. As her father’s only living child, and the only heir of House Lacroy of Burning Rock after her one remaining brother’s death from fever, Faye had the duty of representing her house and leading their bannermen North, heeding the Tyrell’s call to arms.

Resistant to her father marrying her off for interhouse relation building, Faye had earned a reputation as being afflicted with everything from warts to greyscale to looking like a hedgemaid. She was only in her early thirties, but most women had married and birthed several children already at Faye’s age. Stories said she was harsh-looking and leather-skinned; that she looked like a man and had hair shorn short as the fuzz on a peach; that her chest was flat and her womb barren, and that was why no man would have her. But that was far from true.

Faye was tall and shapely, with long hair the color of ripe wheat, and skin that was burnished bronze by the southern suns. She sat a horse as well as any soldier, and could use both sword and bow from the saddle, though she preferred the bow. Her father had raised her right alongside her brothers, learning to hunt and fish and learn the ways and strategy of war. Probably because her mother had died when Faye was small, and her father hadn’t had the heart to turn her away when she asked to come with him and the boys.

So now she was riding towards RiverRun, to meet with the newly appointed King in the North, Rob Stark himself. The only Lady among the Lords Hightower, Tarley, Fossway, and Rowan. All of which barely acknowledged her beyond the required formalities and out of respect for her father.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Faye said to her handmaiden, who rode alongside her on a big bay gelding.

“We’re not even in the real cold yet, m’lady,” the younger woman said. “This is just a dusting. Wait ‘til the drifts are high as your head.”

“Gods save us,” Faye shuddered, but smirked. It didn’t last long, as from up ahead the call to halt rang out. “Wait here,” she said, and spurred her horse to the head of the line, waiting to see what the commotion was about.

Stefan Savin had been sat outside his tent honing the edge of his blade when the scout came pounding through the war-camp set up around the outskirts of Riverrun after their most recent successful series of battles against the Lion. Jaime Lannister their prisoner, the Kingslayer, pride-hungry fool that he was, baited successfully into a trap within the boundaries of the Whispering Woods followed by a swift demolishment of the remaining Lion’s forces- taken unawares at the Battle of the Camps.

The mood in camp was mixed, jubilant but sombre considering the harrowing news of Lord Eddard Stark’s death at the hands of the most recently crowned King Joffrey first of his name though, the event in turn had spurred the crowning of Robb Stark, King in the North and declaration of independence from the rest of the seven Kingdoms. Fane liked the boy well enough, was reminded of his father by his steadfast nature in a way but there was no denying the fact that Robb was still only fifteen and whilst having proven himself a capable warrior and leader there was no denying that the mantle handed to him was a heavy one. Though he’d been handling matters diplomatically, as such with arranging a marriage to one of the Frey daughters to secure their passing at the Twins. Where the Weasel had gotten the notion he was worthy of a royal marriage was beyond him and most other Lords but there was little outward grumbling about such things. This mantle was one he’d been reluctant to take up, further proof that perhaps he would indeed make a capable King for these people so often misunderstood by their Southern counterparts, who were so taken with the flights of fancy, silken dresses, endless bards and sweet summer wines. The North was a mysterious and unforgiving place to those summer children, and its inhabitants born and raised with a grit not well comprehended. Their religion even less further understood.

But the North was his home, born the eldest heir to Alistair and Katherine Savin (formerly of House Manderly) with a younger brother who stewarded with House Umber, widower to Eddara Tallheart along with their stillborn son and ancestral links to House Stark it was easy to say the North was very much in his blood. His people. His home. His life. Like the other Northern Lords he would fight until his last breath until he saw it secured and freed from the Capitol so far South and full of shit that it was almost incomprehensible why they even allowed the person sitting on that throne of swords to rule the North anyways. The Starks had bowed to dragons but where were those dragons now?

Dead. Dead and gone an age ago now.

Either way, something had a scout hurrying through the gates like someone had set his breeches on fire and Fane was quick to pursue the young lad on his flight through the castle, stepping into the back of the makeshift throne-room where Robb Stark sat with a bronze crown nestled on his auburn curls. Automatically, Fane sought out the corner of the room out of the way to observe the goings on.

“Your Grace! Your Grace! I beg a word!” the young mud-brown haired scout wheezed as he pushed through the congregation of Lords drawing attention and turning heads by the sudden intrusion on discussions about their continued pursuit deeper into the Westerlands. To poke the lion and try to get Sansa and Arya Stark freed along with the remains of Ned Stark returned.

“Yes Darrin?” the young wolf’s voice cut across the mutterings.

“Tyrell banners, spotted riding along the Red Ford -- Mace Tyrell riding at the head of their columns with a wheel-house followed by Lord Fossoway, Lord Hightower, Lord Tarly, Lord Rowan and Lady Lacroy.”

Murmurings a mixture of outrage and disbelief stirred from the assembled crowd with the given information remarks of “traitors” “turn-cloaks” “green-boys” “summer knights” all amongst the various insults thrown about.

“I say we tell them to turn around ‘n’ go right on back to where those boy-fuckers come from” Lord Bolton declared getting a murmuring of ayes going up, “we don’t need green-boys to fight our wars.” Several other such remarks were made, and Robb listened to each Lord in turn.

Eventually, Fane stirred from his corner eyeing the other gathered Lords “Your Grace, if I might have a word-- I know our pride runs deep, but consider this: the numbers of the Reach by far outweigh the Lannister forces, their gold supply is almost comparable too and their harvest the largest yield seen in the Seven Kingdoms…” he was drawing more heads and attention as he stepped forwards through the crowd which parted until he stood at the front not minding the collective sets of eyes upon him whilst he spoke. “To insult the Warden of the South by turning him away would be a mistake I believe…” a chorus of agreement and some mutterings rose behind his back but Fane persevered “they have journeyed a long way to come here, you once sought an alliance with King Renly-- let them come and make their requests… Entertain them, listen to them, charm them if needs be but allow their party entry… We outnumber them, it’s not as though they’ll be foolish enough to try anything in our walls and if they do… We’ll teach them a lesson for it.” That earned a bout of laughter and rap of cups against long-tables in support. “But, your grace turning them away would be a grave mistake I believe.”

Robb’s bright Tully-blue eyes studied him from where he sat, taking every piece of advice and Catlyn also stepped forward to speak something in Robb’s ear. He seemed to make his mind up, “very well… Lord Savin, considering this was your proposal collect your men and ride to intercept their bannermen… Escort them here safely and we shall hear what it is they have to say.”

With the orders issued, Fane bowed low quickly “aye you’re Grace” and with that he turned and headed to gather his men.

Soon enough, Fane was astride his large 15-handed destrier leading the band of his men along the cobbled trails South along the banks of the Red Ford towards the last-known location of the knights from the Reach. The weather here was by far warmer to what he was used to back in Blackspire located on the shores of Long Lake and he was dressed in black leathers with some of his steel armour strapped on a black cloak draped about his shoulders his familial clasp hanging heavy on his chest. His band of men numbering twenty in total dressed similarly, plain and boring by Southern standards with their fancy colours and patterned clothing but these were no men of light entertainment, nor was this his full force just a band to safely see the Lords to their destination. Eventually, in the distance Fane spotted the familiar green banners and golden roses decorating them and spurred his horse on the thunder of hooves at his back as they approached slowing as they approached the rotund Mace Tyrell sat astride his horse infront of a decadent green and golden leaf wheelhouse containing his daughter and her handmaids. “Lord Tyrell,” Fane greeted giving a small dip of his head “I’ve been sent by the King in the North to escort you on your journey to Riverrun… I hope the journey has treated you well so far.”

Mace took one look at the young man who looked nothing more than a ranger to him, with no banners to to indicate his House sniffed a little down his nose and seemed to bluster a little about being Warden of the South and how he deserved a proper escort. That is before remembering himself and nodding “ah-- well, yes… Yes it’s been long but soon enough I’m sure it’ll be worth it to see the infamous Young Wolf! My Margy, she’s heard all the stories and is quite taken with him…”

“Aye, I’m sure” like most other maidens, but he left that unsaid as the other Lords rode up to see what was going on though he did pick out two women amongst them and his dark eyes lingered on them momentarily. It seemed like an age since he’d seen a woman after marching to war but such thoughts were soon replaced by courteousness or what were considered courtesies in the North “well-- no point freezin’ your balls or tits off here chin-wagging.”

That earned a scandalised look from a few of the Lords present who mumbled a few things about “uncouth savages”, “no manners” and “how dare they speak in such ways in the presence of women.” Either way from his own men it earned a rumble of laughter as he turned a tight circle his men who recognised what he wanted without him needing to give a direct order and riding to form two columns either side of the Lords. Soon enough they were on the move once more with Lord Tyrell droning on and on and on to anyone who would listen.

Though Fane eventually fell in beside the blonde and the other dark-skinned women beside her he’d noticed amongst the assembled Lords, “Lady Lacroy aye?” he glanced back over at Mace Tyrell who was still talking “I’m surprised none of you have fallen asleep yet listening to that drone.” Which earned a snicker from her handmaid though she stifled it with one hand and tried to keep a straight face.

Faye had seen the bannerman coming, rows of horses and armor and proudly thrust out chests covered in leather and mail. She’d waited, watching as Lord Tyrell and his daughter were greeted first, as they should be, by a man in black leathers. She could hear the Lord’s booming voice from where she sat on her dapple grey stallion, who pranced beneath her as the ranks of men started to file alongside them. The ranger’s - for that’s what she took him for - words merely caused Faye’s eyebrow to raise. Raised the only girl among three brothers, not much shocked her. Even less offended her. And if there was one thing she hated, it was men thinking she was some delicate flower like Margaery Tyrell. Someone who needed protecting. She loved Lady Tyrell, thought her an intelligent and resourceful woman, but she was no fighter. She was a rose. And Faye was the thorn.

Faye gave a roll of her eyes as Lord Tyrell kept talking. She turned her horse back to where her own men rode, taking her place at the front of the line as they headed towards Riverrun. She’d noticed the black clad ranger as he’d taken up a spot next to her, her horse trying to nip at his. A sharp, firm tug on the reins pulled him back into line, though not without an excess amount of tail flicking and head tossing. “Show off…” Faye muttered to the animal as she looked to her handmaiden as she tried to cover her laugh. “Yes,” she said in answer to the man’s question, though she only gave him a small amused look at his comment. “And you are…?”

Lord Mace Tyrell’s reaction was almost comical, how he could barely seat his horse and almost fell off in his bluster and commotion not that Fane made any real effort to correct him that he was speaking to an anointed knight. There was no real point, nor was it worth the effort to correct him even if he was tempted to see Mace grow even more red in the face. Soon enough the party was on the move again, making their way along the track which wound through open plains, forested trails but the rush of clear water at their sides a constant companion. The nature in itself was beautiful and Fane found himself breathing in the air as the wind brushed through his raven locks.

The departure of the woman was well-noted by Fane who keenly eyed the gathering of nobles in front of him and he was curious to learn more of her. After all, he’d heard of Brienne of Tarth even Arya Stark was a little spit-fire more interested in shooting bows than stitching threads. Falling into place alongside the two women his own steed merely nickered and gave a slight jerk of his head nostrils flaring as hers tried to nip him. Though both seemed to eventually settle with some direction from their respective riders although no such remark or comment was made by Fane as Faye did. The look was some sort of success he supposed, just a small quirk at the edge of her lips but he was interested in her. The only remaining heir to her house or so he knew from his studies.

“Stefan, of House Savin” again not that he bothered to clarify that he was Ser Stefan, Lord of House Savin after all who was he to correct these generally pompous Lords who looked down their noses at him. Whether she would figure it out was the puzzle after all or would it take a revelation back at Riverrun. Though something gave him the feeling this one was different, hence his curiosity. “Long journey I hear, King’s Landing to Riverrun… No hassle from the Lannister’s along the way?”

“It’s a pleasure, Stefan of House Savin. You’re already more agreeable company than most.” She didn’t presume that he was a Lord, but merely took him at face value. He seemed a ranger, and a ranger he would be. Besides, he didn’t seem to have a stick up his ass, and he had what seemed like a fairly decent sense of humor. And he was talking to her instead of leering at her or staring at her tits. He couldn’t be a Lord. At least none that Faye had ever met.

“No more than usual,” Faye said to his questions about the Lannisters. “They couldn’t very well hold us captive. Though I hear the Queen Regent wasn’t entirely happy with Lady Margaery. But what does make Cersei happy these days? Besides her brother’s cock?”

“M’lady,” Catarina, Faye’s handmaiden, said in a quiet hiss of shock.

“What? I doubt our companion has never heard the word ‘cock’ before, seeing as how he possesses one.” Catarina gave her another look, and Faye turned back to Stefan and sighed. “I apologize for my choice of words. And if I offended you.”

“Aye, I’d hope so, I know when to stop talking to stop company falling asleep” he lowered his voice so as not to let the other Lords riding nearby overhead “but call me Fane most do after all” Fane said as he righted himself in his saddle raising a hand to push back his hood letting it fall about his neck as he grasped the reins of his mount. His  features that were formerly cast in partial shadow revealed. His attention for the most part was on the woods and forest surrounding them, always vigilant for bandits or others out to try and cause hassle. You never could be too careful after all and he’d been charged with seeing them safely escorted after all.

Fane barked a hearty laugh at her joke turning a few heads in their direction with the sound, Fane ignored them instead opting to look at Faye with a mirthful grin that settled over his features. The grin only grew as her handmaid tried to get her to tone it down and the conversation that came after. “It’s a valid question” Fane turned his head aside and spat at the ground “still that brotherfucker’ll get what’s coming to her in time.”

He waved his hand at her apology, “no need, you’re right and what’s there to be offended about” though it did leave him eyeing her thoughtfully for a few moments. “I’m getting the feeling you don’t fit in all that well where you come from, aye? Are you sure you ain’t a Northerner?”

Faye gave a tip of her head. “Well, Fane, you have a pleasant voice at least,” Faye noted, “unlike some. Braying jackasses are more tolerable to listen to than half these windbags.” The way men droned on and on over the most ridiculous things ate away at Faye’s nerves. Who gives a shit if so and so’s castle in three quarters of a mile away instead of a half mile? Who really cares if the horse you’re looking at is 15 hands or 15 hands and an extra inch? Does it really matter? No. Not in the grand scheme. But men always had to fight over everything. Castles, lands, horses, honor, women.

Anything and everything was worthy of going to war over.

Case in point, and the reason for Faye being here now. Though at least this cause was a good one, and at least what she’d heard of King Robb had been positive so far. Other than he was young. Though youth hardly meant anything these days. She turned her head at his bark of laughter, shooting Catarina a look as well that said ‘see? He thinks I’m funny.’

“That she will,” Faye agreed, hands tightening marginally on her reins. “I’m glad the Tyrells finally saw sense. Though it took someone hurting their precious pride to get them to jump ship and find a better ruler to serve. Even if he is just a boy.” Faye’s words weren’t said with disrespect. It was merely a statement of fact. “Cersei Lannister has had a long time to grow into the evil cunt that she is. Let’s hope the King in the North knows that. Because she’ll cut off his head and put it on a pike to decorate her garden. Just because she can.”

They rode on down the trail, the sounds of the river and the sounds of horses’ hooves and jingling tack drifting back towards them. A gust of cold wind kicked up Faye’s cloak and made her shiver slightly. “No. I don’t,” she answered after a moment. “And no. I’m not a Northerner. It’s bloody cold here. I’m a Southern girl, born and raised. I’m not made for the ice and the snow. But I’ll bear it gladly,” she said, looking at him again. “If it means an end to tyranny.”

“A pleasant voice?” he echoed a little surprised but pleasantly so, “it’s been awhile since I’ve heard someone tell me anything like that… Been a while since I’ve heard anything half so nice, so thank you m’lady” he dipped his head in a small bow. If there was one thing he knew it was that more often than not men were stupid, after all when Robert had been wearing the crown who had been pulling the strings? Not that such measly things bothered him so far North but still, the point stood what were Kings and crowns good for besides getting people killed.

He made a slight sound of agreement, “from what we hear in the North you Southerners don’t mind being pricked all that much either so I’m sure it’s nothing they can’t nurse” though there was the matter of how easy the Tyrells and their bannermen turned their cloaks. “Seems to me they also do a lot of jumping ships,” there was a pointed look that came to his onyx eyes “answer me this m’lady and answer me frank why should we even consider whatever Mace Tyrell has to offer? How do we know he isn’t about to turn coat the moment things start going awry?” Much as her own words were spoken plainly his were too, a genuine sense of curiosity behind them and no doubt it was a question this band of Southerners would grow used to hearing posed to them.

Fane merely gave a slight lift of one shoulder, “aye, I think we’ve got a decent measure of her considering what she did to Ned Stark, held two of our own hostage and refused to return Lord Stark’s remains to us.”

Fane hardly seemed bothered by the weather, it was so warm down here in comparison to where he was from that the multitude of leathers seemed hardly worth it if not only for the sake of defence. His hair ruffled as he looked aside at her “aye, thought as much. Mind you we don’t get so many lady-knights like you, last I heard of was Brienne of Tarth or the women of Bear Island.” He mulled over her words before he spoke again taking a moment to pull a leather flask from his belt using his teeth to uncork it “still, I can respect that,” he took a sip before he offered it across. “won’t fill your belly but, it’ll warm you ‘n’ make you forget you’re hungry.”

“No need to thank me for the truth, but you're welcome.” she said, adjusting her cloak where it had blown over her shoulder. It was held together at her neck by two Phoenix, the sigil of Faye’s house, clasping beaks. Faye had thought Robert Baratheon a fool. At least the Mad King had had madness as an excuse. Robert had just been a slothful, disgusting womanizer. It was only his lifelong friendship to Eddard Stark that gave him any credit at all in her eyes.

Faye hummed at Fane's words, neither confirming or denying his opinion. But then came the matter of Mace Tyrell and his see-sawing loyalties. It was a valid question, the one he posed, and Faye took her time before answering. “Because Highgarden has more money than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. Because Mace Tyrell lacks a lot of things, but pride isn't one of them. He won't go back to Cersei. Not now that she's scorned him. The North need only make him feel important. Useful. Make him think good ideas are his ideas. And of course offer him full protection, the bloody coward, and you'll have him.”

Faye's face darkened at the mention of what had happened to Lord Stark. “That's bad blood she's calling up. He was a good man. He didn't deserve to die. He was a scapegoat. An example. Cersei waving her cock.” Fane knew all this, but Faye couldn't keep it to herself.

She gave a small laugh as he compared her to Brienne of Tarth. “I'm no true lady knight,” she said. “I'm barely a lady. My father raised me just  like he did my brothers. And I could only hope to compare to Lady Brienne or the women of Bear Island. But… for what it's worth… thank you.”

Faye took the offered flask with a nod of thanks, taking a long sip. She coughed a little as she handed it back. “No wonder you Northmen are so hairy… drinking that dragon piss.” She grinned though, letting him know she was kidding as her cheeks warmed from the drink.

“Money’s all well ‘n’ good,” wars were won with money after all “but a man of such means hardly inspires the sort of loyalty and confidence we look for in allies.” If there was one thing that could be said of Northerners is was that they were people of simple means, not all that interested in the politics South of the Neck. They were people who respected strength, strength of mind, strength of physicality and strength of character. Part of the reason they all looked to the Starks, they seemed to have decent measure of all three with justice and loyalty to boot. What more did anyone really want when looking for a new leader than a person who put the people first. Still, Faye echoed the sentiment he’d sold to the Lords earlier and it was a small comfort having measured this Southern Lord well enough to predict that this would likely be a decent course of action. “Still, I suppose we can only hope King Robb will see reason in this.”

Fane’s own features were drawn, neither giving nor taking any of his particular thoughts on the matter though his words spoke volumes about his thoughts of those with political agendas within King’s Landing. He merely huffed a little but made no further comment, the Lannisters, all of them would pay for the insult they brought to the North.

“You carry a sword and bow, you wear armour” Fane countered evenly “Brienne would bluster at anyone daring to call her a lady yet it doesn’t change that you are technically both such.” He meant nothing by the term, if anything it was an acknowledgement to their dedication and skill. “No need to thank me, if you ask me everyone should be able to defend themselves and their homes… But it’s not a commonly shared belief.”

A small smirk curled his lips as she coughed tucking it back into his belt under his cloak, “aye, we need all the warmth we can get. Better than that watered down piss you call ale down South though.”

Faye nodded, agreeing with Fane. “I hate politics,” Faye scoffed, frowning out at the river. “Especially the interhouse politics that say that just because I’m a woman I should want nothing more than to marry a wealthy Lord and have his children. That should be my lot in life. Do you know,” she looked at Fane, “how utterly mind-numbingly boring taking tea is? Needlepoint? I’d sooner stab my eyes out.”

Putting the people first should be a priority of every man or woman that held such a responsibility. But sadly, many simply spoke the words and didn’t back them up. Words and wind. That’s all it was. Until someone showed their true self through actions, Faye would keep her opinions closely guarded. “We can only hope,” Faye agreed once more.

“I do. And I suppose I am. But I’d rather sit here, on my horse, with my bow and sword to protect me than in that carriage.” She tipped her chin towards the one in which Lady Margaery rode. “Not that I fault her for it. We all have roles to play. Places we belong.” Faye’s face tightened, and her eyes grew unfocused. “Or no place at all.” She seemed to realize what she’d said as soon as she’d said it, because her cheeks flamed red. As he took back his flask, she plastered a smile on her face, though it turned more genuine as he teased her back. “I don’t drink ale. I drink wine. There’s nothing sweeter. Or more potent. Except maybe Dornish drink.”

“I don’t understand people who enjoy politics, I mean… I respect those who can turn the system to their advantage but all this backstabbing and treason?” Fane merely pulled a face, like most of his other Lords up here none of them sought any more power than what they each wielded in turn. There was less scheming and cunning because the lives they led relied on their mutual trust and loyalty. Life in the North was unforgiving for the unprepared, and as he’d often heard Ned Stark say himself the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. It was the mentality of the North. They stuck together, it was why he was dubious how these Southerners would fit in. But Faye it seemed understood this mentality better than the other assembled Lords he heard speaking nearby. “I don’t know, but I’ll take your word for it… Though stabbing them out seems a tad excessive and like a waste of a pair of pretty eyes.”

His eyes drifted to the wheelhouse, aware the young Tyrell daughter; the same age as Robb coincidentally and apparently quite the beauty herself rode. Rumour had it she was quite a girl and Fane found himself curious about her but less curious than he was about his current companion. It wasn’t hard to miss the colour flaring in her features at her slip of the tongue, but he let it go not pressing further considering they didn’t really know one another. “You don’t drink ale, we don’t get much Dornish anything where I come from-- I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Dornishman as it is, probably afraid their cocks will freeze ‘n’ fall off considering it’s their prized possession… Wine’s good, but expensive so we tend to save it for particularly special occasions.”

“Yes! I mean… there needs to be a system in place, leaders and people in power who care about the people. Lords and Ladies, Kings and Queens… just be good to each other and the Gods will smile on us. But why must that be all their life is about? For fucks sake… go riding, go hunting, go explore the mountains or the seaside. Do you know how many books are in my father’s library that I’ve never read? How many works of art I’ve never seen? How many lands I've never been to? Gods… people just want war and power and bloodshed. What about… what about life? Love? Adventure?” Faye had dropped her reins now, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. Her mount paid no attention, keeping his steady pace forwards, used to his Mistress’ antics over the years. Faye seemed to catch herself again soon enough though, unused to having anyone but Catarina that would listen to her ramblings. The woman herself was riding along, a small smile on her face.

Though as he said she had pretty eyes, Faye looked over, and it seemed to make her remember herself. She dropped her hands and took up her reins again. “Apologies. I forgot where we were.”

“What man’s cock isn’t his prize possession?” she asked, continuing to look ahead. “And they look the same as any man. Full of pride and deceit and lust. No offense meant to present company. I’m sure you’re an honorable gentleman.” Faye knew better than to judge a man, or anyone, by their outward appearance. Though Fane seemed to speak true. He seemed genuine, and that was a rare thing indeed.

“As it turns out, I just happen to have a few bottles of Dornish red in my supply wagon. Perhaps I’ll share. It’ll keep you warmer than ale, I can promise you that.”

His brow lifted a bit, it seemed as though he’d struck a topic of passionate belief in the woman beside him not that it really surprised him. Though the outburst in itself was a touch unexpected that he would admit. “Part of the reason we named Robb our king, he cares about the North and doesn’t really give much of a fuck about the rest of the seven Kingdoms… He’s our King because we chose him not because he picked up a crown and declared himself a regent.” Whilst he fully supported her belief things in this world simply didn’t work like that. “Love hardly has anything to do with it for nobles.” Her wild gesticulations drew some attention of the nearby Lords who gave a few jeers and turned their heads away but Fane continued to listen with interest.

There was a wry smile on his lips as she apologised and he chuckled, “oh you’re quite alright. Hardly like you don’t speak the truth.”

He gave a small snort of a laugh at her continued barb, ah he did admire that sort of fire and life in a person. “Oh you never know,” Fane shrugged but gave her a bit of a sly grin “I could be an absolute scoundrel for all you know. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours about us Northerners being... wild and I’m not just talking generally.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes but he made no particular advance, just light-hearted teasing “Savin roughly translates to savage so… maybe it says something about the people associated with it ‘n’ the Lord of the house himself.”

His interest did perk up however at the mention of wine, “oh see that there, that is the way to a man’s heart. If you are willing to share I’d be fully appreciative of it I assure you.”

“If only everyone could just worry about themselves and their people, help their neighbors, and not have the desire to crush the entirety of Westeros under their heel.” It was a dream, Faye knew, for war to end. She’d only ever been a part of a few small skirmishes, after the death of her brothers, but she didn’t think herself a leader. She certainly was no commander. She merely had the fortune - or misfortune - to be the last of her father’s line. And while her father was still head of house, Faye was in line for his seat. She didn’t want it, she just wanted to live her life in peace, but sometimes, as Fane had said earlier, your family and your house came first.

“A chosen King doesn’t necessarily make him a good one,” Faye said, and left it at that. She would see King Rob for herself, and set her own judgement on the man. “And I’m well aware that love has nothing to do with much of anything in this life. My father’s tried to marry me off three times. To say I strongly protested is putting it lightly.” Her face clouded. She couldn’t run from that duty - because yes, as much as she hated it, it was her duty to carry on her family name - forever. Time was against her now, at her age. She wasn’t old by any means, but most women she knew had married and had children at ten years her junior. Faye just… she couldn’t. Not yet.

“You could be.” She turned to look at him again. “Or maybe not. You don’t particularly look like a savage.” Her gaze took in his dark leathers and his slightly wild hair. “Though I’ve met enough Lords and their men to know that the two aren’t necessarily the same type of person. Though like calls to like, doesn’t it? Perhaps your Lord is a savage. Perhaps he carries a war hammer instead of a sword. Rides a great bear instead of a horse. Wears the skin of his enemies instead of armor. Perhaps he’s a tyrant in his own right. Just less a tyrant than Cersei.”

Faye turned back to the road. “Perhaps,” she said of the wine, but a small smirk lifted one corner of her mouth.

They rode on, chatting back and forth, until the walls of Riverrun came into view. “Bit less impressive that King’s Landing, isn’t it?” she commented, though it was merely in jest. If Faye never saw the walls of that place again, she would die happy. “I suppose this is where we part, Fane.” The company was starting to break apart slightly. “Thank you for your company. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

A little piece of Faye hoped so, he had been pleasant to talk to, though she let the feeling flutter away in the cold wind, knowing that the world didn’t work that way. It didn’t work that way at all.

“Well, he’s a damn better one than any I’ve seen in the past generation so I’ll take what we have” he countered with an idle shrug. Robb was fair and just, young yes but with the council of those around him there wasn’t far he could really go wrong. At least not in Fane’s eyes, he was a Stark and that had to count for something. These Southerners would see with time. As she spoke of refusing to marry he looked at her for a long while, but decided to save those questions for another time.

There was a slightly private smile which came at her words about the Lord of his house being a savage but it could simply be passed off as enjoying the weather and scenery of the forest around them. Oh little did she know. “A bear? Oh yes, he rides a cave bear with a great scar down its left eye-- he carrouled that beast and uses it as his mouth just as King Robb rides his Direwolf into battle” he’d heard the rumours the Southerners told of Robb and it was rather laughable even if Grey Wind was indeed almost the size of a smaller mount himself. “I suppose you’ll have to make your mind up when you meet him. Though we have less tyrants between us than you in the South do I’d say.”

As they approached the castle and encampments around it, Fane merely gave a slight shrug of his shoulders “smells less of shit than I hear King’s Landing does.” Still her parting remark earned a smile, “aye, and you’re welcome m’lady perhaps we will…” Oh they certainly would, Fane was sure of that.

With that, Fane spurred his horse on to the head of the party and when they finally entered the courtyard of the castle he dismounted. “My lords, my lady… If you’d be so kind as to follow me, I’m sure you’re weary and we shall see you housed in due time.” His own men dismounted and came to take the horses of the party to be stabled and housed whilst Mace Tyrell went to help Margaery out of her wheelhouse. Fane couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the beauty, which she was for certain with her hair loosely braided in a Northern style he noted. A deliberate act no doubt. Still, no point delaying and soon enough he was walking through to the room where Robb sat with the open bronze circlet nestled atop his auburn curls, handsome no doubt but he wore a stern expression that told little of his thoughts and Grey Wind lurked at his feet. The sight of the wolf startled several of the Southern Lords and a few snickers went up from the Northern lords gathered. After all, there had been plenty of rumour about Robb being a warg, and particularly about the monstrous beast he called a companion.

The Greatjon a great beast of a man, with thick hair and a beard to match stepped forwards his voice booming across the hall “you stand before Robb of House Stark, rightfully declared King in the North and King of the Trident.”

Fane smiled a little at the tall man, bowing gracefully before righting himself and gesturing to each Lord when he introduced them “your Grace, may I present Lord Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South, Lord Fossoway, Lord Hightower, Lord Tarly, Lord Rowan, Lady Lacroy and Lady Margaery Tyrell.”

Robb looked at each Lord in turn but as Lady Margaery was introduced his eyes lingered on her, seeming interested but doing his best to keep his features schooled. He spoke then, his voice smooth and eloquent but with a familiar rough Northern accent “welcome Lord Tyrell, sers, and my ladies” he greeted each in turn before pausing to look aside at where Fane had gone to stand. “Thank you Lord Savin, I appreciate your swiftness with escorting our guests here. I hope the journey wasn’t too unkind?”

“Not at all your Grace, an easy ride if ever I’ve had one” Fane replied with a genuine smile that earned a nod of acknowledgement from the King.

“Good,” he looked aside “Lord Karstark see to it our guests are shown to their rooms and food made ready for them whilst I speak with Lord and Lady Tyrell. Give us the hall sers,” he spoke to his own Lords then before then finally looking to Fane “and Lord Savin, please retire and get yourself some food for your efforts” the Northern Lords filed out, Lord Karstark nodded and gestured for the other Southern Lords and Lady to follow him. Fane also bowed backing up but not before catching Faye’s eye and giving her a slightly cheeky smile as they both departed the hall.

“I can’t argue with that,” Faye agreed. Robb Stark was certainly a better man than most recent holders of such power had been. The Starks had always been a good family. Fair and just. Respected. But not feared. Not like the Lannisters. Who were anything but fair and just. So Faye silently hoped the boy King was all she had heard he was.

Faye only gave a half smile at his story. But again, she had to agree with him about the tyrants. And nodded as such. “It does. There’s air here, air you can breathe and not choke on. Cold air, but good air.” She pushed a strand of hair back from her face, giving him a nod as he spurred his horse on ahead. Faye watched him go, a strange wondering left floundering in her chest.

“Careful m’lady,” Catarina said, moving her horse closer once more. She too watched the receding back of the man in the black leathers. “There’s trouble there.”

Faye looked at her handmaiden, frowning. She and Catarina looked at each other for a long moment before Faye spurred her own horse ahead to meet the others that would be taken to see King Robb. “No… there’s not,” she said over shoulder, the finality of her words ringing through the cold air.

Catarina sighed and shook her head. There’s was always trouble.

A bit later, Faye slid off her horse and he was led away to the stables to be fed and watered and rested, and she fell in line with the other Lords and Lady Tyrell. None of them spoke to her, though Faye inclined to head to Lady Margaery as they saw each other. Inside River Run, Faye’s first impression of Robb Stark was that he looked like a boy. A boy sat in a man’s seat, with a man’s power, and a King’s crown upon his head. That being said, he held himself well, and when he spoke, welcoming them, Faye gave a bow of acknowledgement, just as she had when they’d been introduced a few moments prior by her riding companion.

Who apparently wasn’t a ranger after all.

She met his eyes as they were all asked to leave, and raised an eyebrow at him. It wasn’t until she approached him in the hall, lingering behind the other as they followed Lord Karstark, that she spoke. “Lord Savin, is it? Of Blackspire? And here I thought you were a ranger,” she said so that only he could hear her, though her voice was edged with humor.

The look of dawning realisation upon not only Faye’s features, but the other Lords upon being thanked was rather comical. They all, much like Faye had presumed him to be nothing more than mud under their respective boots just a lowly ranger sent out to get them from point A to B as efficiently as possible and their rather general disregard beyond a passing few words could have been seen as quite the sleight. But Fane was hardly one to kick up a fuss, so long as they minded out of his own business he didn’t really mind all that much what these Southern Lords did so long as it didn’t put his own men and people at risk.

He’d departed upon request of Robb, and had been caught up in a few passing words with Lord Glover about the general state of things before the other Lord grew quiet and said something about speaking later. Sensing another presence he turned a slight grin passing his features as she addressed him correctly. “Aye,” his eyes crinkled a little in mirth “that’s me and well, you’re not entirely wrong. I am a ranger, but I’m a Lord more prominently.”

His humour seemed to mimic her own, “I hope you’re not disappointed that I don’t wear the skin of my enemies as armour or ride a great bear into battle… Bears don’t like me much, unless they’re a Mormont, in which case they’re not half so grizzly.”

Faye didn’t miss the way Lord Glover stopped speaking as she came up behind him and Lord Savin. Her eyes followed the man as he headed off, but she soon turned her attentions back to the man still standing next to her. “It’s not nice to lie to a Lady, m’Lord.”

She looked him over as they walked, the soft swish of her cloak muffling her bootfalls. “Maybe a little. Though I will say that black suits you better than skin. Other skin, that is. Not your own.” Faye huffed. “Nevermind.” A few of the passing Lords gave her a look, even going so far as to look back over their shoulders at her before scoffing and turning away. Faye glared daggers at their backs.

“Why’re you talking to me?” she asked, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. “No one else does.”

“I never lied, you merely assumed I just didn’t choose to correct you” Fane pointed out giving a small shrug of his shoulders. “Plus, it was quite amusing watching you all realise after the fact” he grinned much like he had earlier, by no means offended by the lack of recognitions “and please, it’s Fane. M’lord is so stuffy and pretentious” he shook his head never particularly having been all that fond of the title itself.

His own cloak hung heavy, the material weather-worn but her words caused his brows to raise towards his hairline thoroughly amused by where this conversation had suddenly taken a turn towards. “Oh, I don’t know… I think my own skin looks pretty good, granted I prefer having a drink before we get to that part, though that reminds me you did offer wine if that offer is still going?” He was teasing, and his eyes glittered merrily as they walked not even bothering to pay the other Lords around them heed.

The question was a good one, and he mulled over it. “I like you and find you interesting? I think those are two valid reasons aye? Plus, you failed to recognise me and I feel oh so slighted by that” he was joking having adopted a slightly dramatic tone when he spoke “so, drinks would go a long way to making amends don’t you think, hm?”

“Well, for that I apologize.” Another raised eyebrow was shot his way. “Like to see people squirm do you? Fane?”

As he countered her words, Faye blushed, though she looked away as she felt her cheeks flame, hoping the dim light of the corridor would shield it from him. Though her skin was tanned from the southern sun, she flushed easily. “Perhaps,” she said to try and cover the blush as well. “Though I could say that’s highly inappropriate of you, considering your standing. And considering I’m not wed. Very scandalous.” A few heads turned towards them, but Faye ignored them.

Instead she focused on what Fane was saying. That he found her interesting. “Is that because I’m a novelty for you? Or is that a genuine like? As in… perhaps we could call each other friend some day?” She laughed out loud as he mentioned the wine again. “I see .your game now. You’re only interested in my wine.” They walked a bit longer, a few of the Lords being shown off to their quarters. “If you’d like, I might spare you a bottle. But only if you let me share it.”

“Aye,” the affirmation was drawled and deliberately drawled out that similar glimmer seeming to remain sparkling in the darkness of his eyes “I love seeing people squirm” though the tone of his voice when he spoke that sentiment suggested he really wasn’t just talking about a few misdirections and misconceptions of identity.

His grin became almost wolfish as she blushed, feeling rather satisfied that he could cause such a reaction from her even if it was all light-hearted fun and needling. “I did warn you, my name means uncouth and savage-- if you’re looking for appropriate behaviour I am certainly not the man you want to befriend.” Not to say he was a very scandalous person, though there were more than enough rumours about him in kind that really he didn’t mind all that much anymore. “Have a virtue to protect hm? Though, I could argue that it was you who brought up my skin in the first place” he countered knowing very well he in a way had her on this matter.

“Novelty?” he echoed seeming a little confounded by such a notion, “not at all. No,” he assured growing more sincere then “as I said earlier-- you remind me of several very capable women some of whom I know others only through tales but... I find you interesting because not many really deserve the sort of respect that comes from earning your position considering it’s handed to most like us… not earned…” The last bit was said more quietly, just for her to hear not particularly wishing to offend any of their guests. “I mock you not m’lady. You’ve carved a different path for yourself and that in itself makes me… curious about you. I do, genuinely hope we can be friends if not today then one day… That is if you forgive my highly inappropriate humour.” He had the decency to look wounded for all of a second before his smile soon returned, “who said it was just the wine I was interested in?” he paused but eventually added on “no but seriously, I’m joking, though whether I share or not depends on how good the wine is.”

As Lord Karstark showed the last of the Lords to their rooms he figured he might as well take Faye and Cat to theirs “I’ll show them the way m’lord” Fane said to Lord Rickard who looked between the trio before decidedly washing his hands of them and letting them on their way down the corridor towards a door that he opened and held for the two women.

Faye hummed as they walked, smirking at his humor and how easily it seemed to flow from him. It was unusual to find someone, especially in his position, that took a lighter approach to life. Times were serious, as was his position as a Lord, but life was about more than politics and brooding and barking orders and war. What was all the fighting and death for if not so people could live and prosper and be happy? Faye would argue that point until her last breath. And she didn't care who didn't agree.

She returned his look as her blush faded. “Who said I wanted to befriend you, m’Lord?” she asked. She was teasing him, and using his title merely because he had asked her not to. It was nice to meet someone that spoke to her like she wasn't an imbecile. Like she was more than a pretty face in leathers. “And my virtue is my own, thank you.” In this she spoke true; it was literally her own. She was no trembling waif, but she'd never known the true touch of a man, other than a few fumbling antics in her youth and the occasional - mostly - innocent tryst in her adult years. But for all intents and purposes she was still untouched. Her sheets would still stain red on her wedding night. But that truly was none of Lord Savin’s business, so Faye was glad when the conversation moved on.

She dipped her head. “You're very kind. I never wanted this,” she gestured vaguely at herself. “The responsibility. But… it's fallen to me. And I'll do my best to be the person my house deserves.” Smiling over at him, genuinely this time. “I’d like that. Truly. You intrigue me as well, Fane. A Lord who doesn't think himself the center of the the world. As for your humor, well, it's refreshing. In its way.” The rest of his comments were met with low laughter. “I suppose we'll see then, won't we?”

Faye ignored the disparaging look of Lord Karstark, and they were escorted to their rooms, Fane holding the door for her and Catarina. Faye paused a moment as her hand maiden entered first. “I suppose I'll see you this evening then?” she asked, pulling her cloak around her. “If I don't freeze to death before then.”

There was plenty of seriousness in him, but it was hard not to want to talk lighter topics with someone he hoped to consider a new acquaintance. War had taken its fair toll on everyone and if he was honest, Fane was tired of it. Yet, it seemed there was no end on the horizon and so he trudged on to wherever this road might potentially lead in the end. “You did bring up whether you could call me a friend earlier, so I’d say you did” he pointed out with a hint of a smile playing at his features well aware she was teasing but playing along anyway.

His brow quirked slightly at her words, not sure whether he believed that or not but letting it go anyway. She had no particular reason to lie after all. “None of us wanted this, well, we didn’t want this but what can you do but do as is expected of you.” There were hardly very many successful tales of people breaking the molds and living to tell the tale after all. With Lord Karstark left in their wake he lingered in the doorframe as Faye and Cat entered.

“Aye, m’lady” he dipped his head before casting a look over to the firepit “a fire will help stave off the chill of travel and some food in your belly will help too.” He needed to go and clean up anyway but the prospect of seeing her later did earn a smile, “but aye, I’ll be around for dinner. It’d be nice to speak more with you” figuring this was as good a time as any he took her hand lowered himself into a bow and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Have a good evening ‘til then.” With that said, Fane backed up and turned to head for his own chambers within the castle to get a bath and remove the mud from riding.

“What can you do,” Faye agreed quietly. Her own thought were morosely drawn to the future that would one day be hers. She would have to marry, lest her house die with her and her father. There was no getting around it. Faye had been able to skirt that responsibility for years, but she was growing older, as was her father. Soon there would be only two choices, and even Faye, who hated the idea of marrying for anything other than love, wouldn’t let her house down.

“I’m sure it will.” She let him take her hand and felt herself blushing as he pressed a kiss over her riding glove. “I’d like that. And you as well, m’Lord.” Faye watched him go until he disappeared, and then closed and locked the door behind her. Catarina, who was already taking off her cold and wet things, simply gave her another strange look. “Hush,” Faye said, and that was the end of it.