#ladycassiia

                    ❛            molly behave. ❜ her giggle rose through the air, her eyes glinting mischievously on her young face as she wiggled from ( within ) ryan’s grasp, her fingers closing around & pinching his nose repeatedly. if there was ever something that could test his control, it was his daughter. still, he struggled to keep a calm face as he readjusted her weight on his arm, turning and smiling at cassia. ❛         she was excited to meet you, but now she’s just being ornery. ❜ ryan had to admit ; he was nervous. oft had he showed pictures of her mother to molly, and he didn’t know how she was going to react meeting cassia.

Thanks to the wonderful lady-cassiia, I now have a brand new layout!  ♥ ♥ ♥ 

                                                    ⊱♕ 𝓠𝓾𝒆𝒆𝓷  𝑦𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 ♕⊰

            “ It’s said to be UNSINKABLE.                Do you BELIEVE it, truly? ”

*whispers* david tennant

     Though perhaps daunting enough a sight to ward off most other raiding parties and common robbers and cutthroats, it was exactly the sort of opportunity Robb had been waiting for. If still heavily guarded, the weelhouse would prove considerably easier to take than Last Hearth itself, while his intended target remained the same.

     Lady Cassia, the Greatjon's niece. Cherished by the man as if she'd been born one of his very own daughters. A beauty, or so she was rumoured to be, and though he had but caught fleeting glimpses of her in the past — and all of them from a great distance away, at that — they'd been enough to know said rumours to be true. It would make stealing her all the more pleasant, though he would have done so still had she looked like a fat, old sow. Her name mattered far more to him than her face.

     ❝The Umber girl is mine,❞ he told his fellow clansmen, hidden from sight between the trees as they were, ❝put a hand on her, and it'll be the last time you put it anywhere.❞ Only a twice damned fool would doubt the truth in his words, combined as they were with a clenching of his jaw and the great fire in his eyes. His father had been chosen to lead their clan, and Robb being his eldest son had been wanting to prove himself a worthy succesor for the better part of a year now. The Free Folk were different from the Kneelers in that they neither recognized nor acknowledged a class of hereditary nobility. If Robb wanted to follow in his father's footsteps — and he wanted to do just that, so very desperately — he would have to start proving himself now, while he had youth still on his side, so that one day he might be chosen to lead as well. Stealing one of Lord Umber's own blood would make for a nice start.

     There was nothing graceful about the way they charged the wheelhouse as one. But then, no one had ever used the word graceful to describe an ANVIL, either. The riders were pulled from their horses, the beasts themselves either put to the sword too or quickly mounted by men of the free folk. Throats were cut and arrows struck, all to a chorus of hoarse screams and the sound of ringing steel. Robb himself killed four men and mortally wounded another, so that by the time he yanked open the door to the wheelhouse the furs he wore were matted with blood, his neck and jaw as slick with red as the sword he carried. Inferior by far compared to the weaponry of the Umber men, but it had proven sufficient enough.