[ Theon toys with an ivory, flicking it between finger and thumb. He's lounging on a rough wooden bench, and he's propped the Forge up on the slightly raised bench behind it, giving him free hands and the feed a clear view of the circle of dirt and grass that makes up Wynn's arena. ]

I think this city is far more to my liking. Even if the women ( Read more... )

[ It's late at night, or very early morning, and Theon Greyjoy is standing in front of a wide-open window, examining his Forge suspiciously. Close, then distant, then jostled and skewed as he gets the hang of it. ]

Strange voices.

[ And familiar ones. It hadn't taken much toying for the scared dulcet tones of Brandon Stark to filter tinny to his ( Read more... )