Castle of Glass.

Chella Bayle | Commonfolk


War was a dreadful thing. Being on the wrong side of that war, was a far worse thing as Chella Bayle had recently learned. The woman, born to lowly common-folk had never thought herself the political kind. She had no aspirations of breaking her way into the stiff ranks of nobility. No, rather her focus had always been on survival. Survival had been the reason she had left home at a young age to work at one of King's Landing brothels. It was easy work... and it wasn't. At first the brothel simply had Chella cleaning sheets, menial tasks like that. But when the owners discovered that Chella had flowered for the first time, her work changed. They decided she was old enough to begin entertaining the menfolk that visited the brothel. Some customers had peculiar tastes, others violent tastes and her body bore marks of such. But Chella refused to be broken by such a life. For years she gritted her teeth and made the best life that she could for herself in King's Landing. But things changed when the Starks came up from the North. At least after Eddard Stark was executed for treason. The man had tried to overthrow Joffrey Baratheon, King Baratheon's child, and take power for himself.

Or at least that's what Chella's customers told her, the ones who had been to the execution. The honorable Ned Stark hadn't been so honorable in the end, by his own admission. Eddard Stark's death had thrown the realm into war, waged by his son back North who wanted revenge and to take his sister back North. Normally, Chella didn't care about the political mayhem of King's Landing. Not until soldiers had come into the brothel one day, offering the women there an opportunity. To find a Northern brothel to work for, and to spy for the Lannister army. Most of the women there had refused, it was dangerous. If they were caught well... death could only be certain. To Chella though, she saw her chance to make a decent bit of coin. You'd have to be a fool to not know how well the Lannister's paid their spies. The first few months up North were not easy. The women there weren't exactly warm and welcoming to new faces. The brothel she had been directed to work at was small, shoddy almost. However, this didn't intimidate Chella. She did what she knew; make the best of her situation. And for awhile, things were alright.

Until they weren't. A few bannermen for the Stark's had come in the middle of the night, nearly kicking in the brothel's door. Chella had been half-awake when they'd barged into her chambers, dragging the woman out by the hair. Shouting something about treason. It didn't take much for Chella to put together what must of happened. She tried not to show how frightened she was as she was taken from the brothel tied up and hauled off to a fate that Chella was almost certain meant death. The journey with the bannermen hadn't been pleasant. Her wrists were bruised and her body scraped from various stumbles and mistreatment, and the men who had captured her didn't have much sympathy for, "the southern whore". When they finally arrived to one of the camps that the Stark army had raised, the slender brunette had swallowed any last hope for fate to smile upon her. For some white knight to come to her rescue. The only thing Chella could do, was keep her head high as they marched her to where the other prisoners were kept, for interrogation and other purposes. Two days and a night had passed and Chella was starting to hope that perhaps they forgot about her. On the dawn of the third day however, men once again came for Chella.

They had said nothing, their faces grim and gaunt as they marched her through the center of camp; stopping in front of one of the tents. It was larger than the others, looked perhaps a little nicer with the Stark's banner decorating it. There hadn't been much time to gawk, as she was roughly pushed into the tent by the two bannermen behind her. Chella stumbles, though catches herself. Taking a moment to collect herself, the girl's dark gaze adjusts to the gloom in the tent and she notes two people waiting. One is a woman and who looks thin and anxious. It's her red hair that gives the woman's identity away though; Catelyn Stark. Next to her is a man who shares her cobalt gaze, and the emblem of a Stark is upon his armor. Given his resemblance to Lady Stark, and the direwolf, Chella would guess it was Robb Stark. Fear begins to knot in Chella's stomach though she keeps a brave face. "Here's the whore Manderly's men picked up from the brothel. The one who was caught spying." Catelyn waves her hand at the men and they shuffle out without another word. The Stark matriarch shoots her son an unreadable expression before excusing herself, muttering something about fresh air and brushes past Chella without another word. This leaves the lissome brunette and the Young Wolf alone. Fear quickens in her throat as she notes the sword at his hip; though she refuses to show it. Rather she tilts her chin up somewhat defiantly. "You're Robb Stark, the tratior's son. You gonna hang me in a tent?"

Robb Stark | King of the North


Robb had been raised by one hell of an honorable man. It was no secret, the Stark family held honor in a high regard and had been for as long as history had been recorded. His father had taught him well, taught him to respect women and taught him how to care for his subjects. In the next breathe, Robb had been taught about dealing with traitors, those that deserved a death sentence. Those that deserved death would be killed by the same hand that had passed the sentence, as long as Robb Stark had something to say about it. He had never been faced with a situation where a woman had been the traitor, not something as severe as what Chella stood accused of. Even when he sent soldiers to pick Chella up from the hostel that she worked at, he left her to sit in a tent for a few days. Robb was still at a loss as to what he should do with her but he knew that he couldn't ignore the situation forever. As much as he may want to, that just wasn't a possibility. Not when he had even more pressing matters to tend to.

With a rough sigh, he sent a soldier to fetch Chella from the tent that she had been imprisoned in. Robb turned, heading toward his tent where he was quick to drop into the chair behind the makeshift table that they had long since set up. He looked to his mother who gave a frown in her son's direction. Robb didn't bother to speak to her, knowing that Catelyn would expect him to put an end to Chella before any more information could be leaked to the connections that she had with the Lannisters. He knew that the coin that they were paying her was likely far beyond what they could afford to pay her, was there even a point in attempting to turn her to their side? Robb wasn't so sure.

Catelyn opened her mouth, only for it to snap shut as the tent flap was pulled back. It revealed an exhausted looking woman who was all but thrown into the tent. Robb's eyes narrowed, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Be worthy. Worthy of your title, your wealth, your influence. It wasn't very honorable to shove a woman around. He had to remind himself that Chella was a spy, had been sent to dig up some dirt on the Starks to bring about their end. The thought was enough to rekindle the anger in his stomach. Robb looked to his mother, his eyes narrowing a bit. He was silent as was she. It wasn't more than a moment later that Robb watched his mother disappear through the tent flap.

Robb regarded Chella with a hard gaze, pushing to his feet. He was silent as he cocked his head to the side, feeling the tension only growing. He would never admit it but he was certainly surprised when Chella was the one to break the silence. His eye twitched just slightly; the only reaction that Chella would get out of him. He was quiet, scrutinizing her with his gaze. "The only traitor that I see in this tent, is in cuffs," Robb spoke, lifting his arms just a bit and pointedly looking down at his cuffs. "I, nor my father, are traitors."

"My mother. My advisors. My closest men. They all believe that it is in our best interest just to chop your head off and be done with it," Robb spoke, pausing as he moved to step around the table. "I can't say that I really disagree with any of them. It would be far easier than trying to keep track of a Southern whore and all of her clients." Robb shrugged, entirely unconvinced on what he should do. He took a deep breathe, looking off to the side for a moment before refocusing his gaze on Chella.

"Tell me. Give me one good," Robb paused, holding up a single finger. "One good reason not to do as I have been advised. Because I truly do not want to but if it is not worth even an attempt to spare your life then so be it. I will pass the sentence and that will be the end of both this and you." Robb set a heavy hand on the table, Chella pinned beneath his heavy gaze.

Chella Bayle | Commonfolk


Chella knows she is not here to discuss politics with Robb Stark. She's not here to point out why to her, he was the traitor. How to everyone but the north, Ned Stark was just another greedy man trying to be king. The Southerner couldn't explain why she cared little for which man claimed the throne, they were all the same. So when he calls her the traitor, that he and his father were honorable men, she says nothing. She's not dead yet and against all common sense, Chella is hoping there is some reason she's in Robb's tent. Not strung up in the closest tree and left to be carrion for the buzzards. "My mother. My advisors. My closest men. They all believe that it is in our best interest just to chop your head off and be done with it," He speaks again and the woman wisely remains silent, listening with furrowed brows. She knows that would be the conventional way to treat spies. Chella had known that was one of the risks when she had agreed to help the Lannisters. Her breath hitches a little in her throat, though not enough to be heard as she watches the Stark boy as he moves around the table, and closer to the waifish brunette.

"I can't say that I really disagree with any of them. It would be far easier than trying to keep track of a Southern whore and all of her clients." He's not wrong in calling Chella a whore, it's what she was. Still the woman bristles at the name. How could Robb Stark know what it was like? To pick between starving or selling yourself in hopes of a better life? What would he know of hardship and struggle? As a noble, he'd been born into a life of ease and luxury. The only reason he was even in a battle was to avenge a father who had betrayed the true king. Biting her tongue Chella's eyes narrow ever so slightly as Robb continues on, holding up one of his fingers. "Tell me, one good reason not to do as I have been advised." The offer is admittedly unexpected and she's sure the surprise shows on her face. Was this a trick? She at first says nothing and studies his face as if looking for the lie. Finding nothing she sighs, lowering her gaze. "I'm not the only spy out here. You have others, in your armies. In your towns. I'm sure you know this."

Her voice is strong, and confident though she feels anything but beneath Robb's intense gaze. While the Starks may have honor, the Lannister's had their coin to pay for armies and spies. "I'll help you find them. And the things I know about their plans and strategies I'll tell you." The offers hangs in the air between the pair; Chella's heart pounding in her chest. The woman doesn't feel guilty at her offer to sell whatever information she knew in exchange for her life. Why would she? Chella was a whore, she didn't care what king sat on the iron throne. The slender brunette just wanted to be alive to see it. "Beyond that... I have limited medical knowledge. Know how to stitch someone up. I'd help stitch your men up." She still stands rooted the spot beneath Robb's gaze as he considers her words. It's not much but surely something was better than nothing? Chella sends a silent prayer to gods she doesn't believe in that is enough to spare her life.

"And if you need a reason to trust me, let me tell you this. Gold holds no value in comparison to my life. I'd rather sell the Lannisters out than die for a cause I do not believe in." Adding that last bit, Chella falls quiet once again. Would they inform her family if she was executed? Would they think she'd simply disappeared? Her lips quiver at the thought, the only indicator of how frightened she actually was. Would the Lord of Winterfell find a use for her? Consider her trustworthy enough to work for him instead of executing her? She certainly hopes so.