A Court of Glass
Daynara
Daynara shivered and pulled her cloak further around her thin frame. In spite of the heavy wool and fur lining of the garment she couldn’t help but feel the biting cold all the way to her bones. In spite of warnings from her grandmother, Ella Clement, about the weather of the North she felt altogether unprepared. Daynara knew it would never be as warm as Dorne, but she couldn’t help but wonder if the temperature would be easier to handle if this possible betrothed lived closer to the neck like her cousins did.
Her cousins.
Daynara exhaled audibly, her warm breath fogging as soon as it touched the cold air. She wished that they could have stopped at the Iron Halls of House Clement on their way to the Dreadfort. Seeing her grandmother's family, and one of the only Houses willing to call themselves friends of her own, would have been a welcome break from the trip. Instead of setting up camps and sleeping in the carriage they could have stayed in the relative warmth of the reinforced stronghold, drinking something hot and learning about the Boltons from her cousin Alssa. Something her older sister had advised her to do before anyone in House Brimsblood knew most of House Clement had left the North for a feast in the Westerlands.
“Stick it out just a bit longer m’lady, we’re almost there.”
She let out a small gasp as she was drawn out of her thoughts by the reassurance of her attendant, Markas. He chuckled at her sharp inhale, but held out his wineskin as he rode beside her on his horse.
Daynara smiled and took the offered drink, gulping down as much as she could without coming off as rude or gluttonous. She exhaled contentedly as the spiced Dornish wine began to warm her from the inside out.
“You know, you could just ride in the carriage. It is probably warmer in there.”
She shook her head and held the wineskin out for him to take it again. “I want to see everything when we get there, especially their faces! And what if they’re waiting outside when we get there? We did send a raven!”
Markas chuckled softly and shook his head. “Fine, fine. At least we will be arriving at the Dreadfort in a few moments.”
Daynara nodded and placed her hand on her chest, pressing firmly to feel her pulse through the layers of her dress and her gloved hand. If other members of House Bolton were anything like Alssa this betrothal would have to work out. After all, her oldest sister saw their cousin as her closest friend—and any House that could produce someone Elisheva thought so highly of had to be full of good people.
The envoy escorting her continued to ride on in silence, only a few conversations amongst the small number of guards broke up the monotony of the horses’ hoof beats on the snowy ground. None of the conversations were terrifically interesting to Daynara. Mostly they consisted of things ‘what do you think these Boltons are like?’ or ‘Seven Hells it’s cold!’ After traveling for so long she could almost predict what each of the men would say to each other.
Daynara was in the middle of watching two of her guards, her mind assigning responses mere seconds before they replied how she predicted when an unfamiliar voice called out for the envoy to stop. Her attention immediately snapped to the heavily armored men standing at the gate. She leaned forward, craning to look at the men as they stepped forward to question Markas.
“Greetings my Northern brothers.” A bright smile lit up Markas’s dark, and normally very stern, features. “I believe you are expecting us.” He motioned to the yellow and green banner fluttering from the carriage occupied by Daynara’s two handmaidens.
One of the men furrowed his brows, examining the war axe and double-headed snake of House Brimsblood’s sigil. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of silence, the man spoke. “Oh, that Dornish girl.”
Before Markas could say anything Daynara urged her horse forwards, making her presence with the Brimsblood men known. “Daynara. My name is Daynara.”
Both of the Bolton guards turned their attention to her as she spoke, the one who had remained silent during the initial conversation speaking up now. “Right. Well, Lady Daynara, Lord Bolton’s inside.
“What about his son?” Markas questioned, raising a brow as he spoke.
Both guards let out bitter, nasty sounding laughs. The first stopped his laughing fast enough to answer the question while the other still tried to regain his composure.
“Ramsay’s with his bitches. Just let us take you to Lord Roose first, Dornishman.”
Daynara’s face fell. Her enthusiasm from earlier in the day all but melted away. This wasn’t what she had expected. But perhaps it was just the guards. Surely Lord Roose and Ramsay would be less...distasteful than these gate guards.
As if on cue the guards flanked around Daynara, Markas leading the procession, as the gates to the Dreadfort were opened. They were lead through the courtyard in silence, an eerie feeling of anxiety seemed to fill the entire courtyard and seep into Daynara’s very core.
The building they were led to was tall, dark, and foreboding. Each tower looked sharp enough to rival the fangs of any of House Brimsblood’s many black vipers. The Dreadfort made Scarwood Keep seem friendly in comparison, and her own House’s stronghold was an angular fortress made of war rooms and viper pits.
She hesitated slightly in dismounting her horse, wondering if allowing her feet to touch the ground would make the anxiety that hung in the air like smoke overwhelm her. Daynara only dismounted when the guards from the gate began to walk back to their post and a slight, almost emaciated looking, manservant exited the heavy wooden doors of the Dreadfort’s main hall. Once again her hand pressed against her chest, her brow furrowed as she looked at the man. She wanted to comfort the skeletal man, to reach out and pull him towards her in a compassionate hug and offer him the leftovers from her breakfast. But at the same time she felt as if merely touching his shoulder would snap him in half.
“I will take you to Lord Roose.” He bowed low as he spoke and turned to lead the envoy through the stronghold before anyone could respond.
Daynara swallowed hard and felt herself begin to shake. She was unable to will herself forward until she felt Markas’s reassuring grip on her shoulder.
“We will only stay the night, Lady. Your parents will find someone else when we get back to Dorne.”
She nodded and walked forward, following her men and the servant as Markas supported her.
As they group was led through the empty, echoing, stone halls Daynara had to force herself to look forward and watch the emaciated manservant. Even the back of his balding head and skeletal frame was a better sight than the actual skeletons that lined the halls and held the torches.
They finally stopped after entering a large, smoky, room. All of the wood furniture was black with soot. A large desk dominated the middle of the room, a series of three red candles mounted atop human skulls acted as the light on the black stained desk, and a jar of leeches sat perched next to one of the skulls.
“My Lord Bolton, the girl from House Brimsblood is here.”
Roose Bolton acknowledged the servant only long enough to wave him off, speaking softly to the Maester standing next to his desk as the manservant scurried off. The Maester nodded at the words and pulled something from Lord Bolton’s arm before picking up the jar of leaches and following the servant out. As he passed Daynara saw he held an engorged leach that he dropped into the jar with the others.
Jars full of crawling creatures weren’t off-putting in and of themselves; her brother had enough of them that Daynara had become desensitized to the notion of people keeping whatever they pleased in jars. The fact the leaches were still alive, and being used to suck the blood from Lord Roose, however, was another matter altogether.
As Daynara pulled her attention from the Maester who had just left and looked back at the desk she saw his eyes. The eerily pale, unnaturally blue eyes had zeroed in on her. He motioned for her to step forward, and without even thinking Daynara obliged. “Ye-yes?”
He didn’t respond right away, carefully watching her instead. Finally, after what had to have been long enough for Lord Bolton to take in every detail of her face, he spoke. His voice was so soft she had to lean forward a bit to listen well enough to him.
“Well, you’re pretty enough. More than Ramsay could ever expect on his own anyway.”
“Thank you?” Daynara’s eyes widened and she blinked more than was necessary. She had no idea how to take a comment like that. Was it a compliment?
Before either Daynara or Roose could say anything else the door burst open. She gasped and spun around to see what had caused the door to practically crash open. All of House Brimsblood’s men who had accompanied her stood at attention, hands on their weapons as they watched eight young men enter, none of them particularly handsome.
“And there he is now...” Daynara could have sworn she heard an exasperated sigh leave Roose as he spoke of his son.
The man from the center of the group came forward, parting her men down the middle as he made his way to Daynara. He had to be Ramsay, it couldn’t be possible anyone else would have eyes so similar to Lord Bolton’s.
“This her?”
“Yes, Ramsay. This is Lady Daynara.”
A strained smile pulled up the corners of her lips as she curtsied. “Pleasure, um, pleasure to meet you.”
A flash of something Daynara couldn’t identify lit up Ramsay’s pale eyes as he smiled. The expression widened until all of his sharp teeth were exposed. “Oh, it’s the same to meet you too.”
Her cousins.
Daynara exhaled audibly, her warm breath fogging as soon as it touched the cold air. She wished that they could have stopped at the Iron Halls of House Clement on their way to the Dreadfort. Seeing her grandmother's family, and one of the only Houses willing to call themselves friends of her own, would have been a welcome break from the trip. Instead of setting up camps and sleeping in the carriage they could have stayed in the relative warmth of the reinforced stronghold, drinking something hot and learning about the Boltons from her cousin Alssa. Something her older sister had advised her to do before anyone in House Brimsblood knew most of House Clement had left the North for a feast in the Westerlands.
“Stick it out just a bit longer m’lady, we’re almost there.”
She let out a small gasp as she was drawn out of her thoughts by the reassurance of her attendant, Markas. He chuckled at her sharp inhale, but held out his wineskin as he rode beside her on his horse.
Daynara smiled and took the offered drink, gulping down as much as she could without coming off as rude or gluttonous. She exhaled contentedly as the spiced Dornish wine began to warm her from the inside out.
“You know, you could just ride in the carriage. It is probably warmer in there.”
She shook her head and held the wineskin out for him to take it again. “I want to see everything when we get there, especially their faces! And what if they’re waiting outside when we get there? We did send a raven!”
Markas chuckled softly and shook his head. “Fine, fine. At least we will be arriving at the Dreadfort in a few moments.”
Daynara nodded and placed her hand on her chest, pressing firmly to feel her pulse through the layers of her dress and her gloved hand. If other members of House Bolton were anything like Alssa this betrothal would have to work out. After all, her oldest sister saw their cousin as her closest friend—and any House that could produce someone Elisheva thought so highly of had to be full of good people.
The envoy escorting her continued to ride on in silence, only a few conversations amongst the small number of guards broke up the monotony of the horses’ hoof beats on the snowy ground. None of the conversations were terrifically interesting to Daynara. Mostly they consisted of things ‘what do you think these Boltons are like?’ or ‘Seven Hells it’s cold!’ After traveling for so long she could almost predict what each of the men would say to each other.
Daynara was in the middle of watching two of her guards, her mind assigning responses mere seconds before they replied how she predicted when an unfamiliar voice called out for the envoy to stop. Her attention immediately snapped to the heavily armored men standing at the gate. She leaned forward, craning to look at the men as they stepped forward to question Markas.
“Greetings my Northern brothers.” A bright smile lit up Markas’s dark, and normally very stern, features. “I believe you are expecting us.” He motioned to the yellow and green banner fluttering from the carriage occupied by Daynara’s two handmaidens.
One of the men furrowed his brows, examining the war axe and double-headed snake of House Brimsblood’s sigil. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of silence, the man spoke. “Oh, that Dornish girl.”
Before Markas could say anything Daynara urged her horse forwards, making her presence with the Brimsblood men known. “Daynara. My name is Daynara.”
Both of the Bolton guards turned their attention to her as she spoke, the one who had remained silent during the initial conversation speaking up now. “Right. Well, Lady Daynara, Lord Bolton’s inside.
“What about his son?” Markas questioned, raising a brow as he spoke.
Both guards let out bitter, nasty sounding laughs. The first stopped his laughing fast enough to answer the question while the other still tried to regain his composure.
“Ramsay’s with his bitches. Just let us take you to Lord Roose first, Dornishman.”
Daynara’s face fell. Her enthusiasm from earlier in the day all but melted away. This wasn’t what she had expected. But perhaps it was just the guards. Surely Lord Roose and Ramsay would be less...distasteful than these gate guards.
As if on cue the guards flanked around Daynara, Markas leading the procession, as the gates to the Dreadfort were opened. They were lead through the courtyard in silence, an eerie feeling of anxiety seemed to fill the entire courtyard and seep into Daynara’s very core.
The building they were led to was tall, dark, and foreboding. Each tower looked sharp enough to rival the fangs of any of House Brimsblood’s many black vipers. The Dreadfort made Scarwood Keep seem friendly in comparison, and her own House’s stronghold was an angular fortress made of war rooms and viper pits.
She hesitated slightly in dismounting her horse, wondering if allowing her feet to touch the ground would make the anxiety that hung in the air like smoke overwhelm her. Daynara only dismounted when the guards from the gate began to walk back to their post and a slight, almost emaciated looking, manservant exited the heavy wooden doors of the Dreadfort’s main hall. Once again her hand pressed against her chest, her brow furrowed as she looked at the man. She wanted to comfort the skeletal man, to reach out and pull him towards her in a compassionate hug and offer him the leftovers from her breakfast. But at the same time she felt as if merely touching his shoulder would snap him in half.
“I will take you to Lord Roose.” He bowed low as he spoke and turned to lead the envoy through the stronghold before anyone could respond.
Daynara swallowed hard and felt herself begin to shake. She was unable to will herself forward until she felt Markas’s reassuring grip on her shoulder.
“We will only stay the night, Lady. Your parents will find someone else when we get back to Dorne.”
She nodded and walked forward, following her men and the servant as Markas supported her.
As they group was led through the empty, echoing, stone halls Daynara had to force herself to look forward and watch the emaciated manservant. Even the back of his balding head and skeletal frame was a better sight than the actual skeletons that lined the halls and held the torches.
They finally stopped after entering a large, smoky, room. All of the wood furniture was black with soot. A large desk dominated the middle of the room, a series of three red candles mounted atop human skulls acted as the light on the black stained desk, and a jar of leeches sat perched next to one of the skulls.
“My Lord Bolton, the girl from House Brimsblood is here.”
Roose Bolton acknowledged the servant only long enough to wave him off, speaking softly to the Maester standing next to his desk as the manservant scurried off. The Maester nodded at the words and pulled something from Lord Bolton’s arm before picking up the jar of leaches and following the servant out. As he passed Daynara saw he held an engorged leach that he dropped into the jar with the others.
Jars full of crawling creatures weren’t off-putting in and of themselves; her brother had enough of them that Daynara had become desensitized to the notion of people keeping whatever they pleased in jars. The fact the leaches were still alive, and being used to suck the blood from Lord Roose, however, was another matter altogether.
As Daynara pulled her attention from the Maester who had just left and looked back at the desk she saw his eyes. The eerily pale, unnaturally blue eyes had zeroed in on her. He motioned for her to step forward, and without even thinking Daynara obliged. “Ye-yes?”
He didn’t respond right away, carefully watching her instead. Finally, after what had to have been long enough for Lord Bolton to take in every detail of her face, he spoke. His voice was so soft she had to lean forward a bit to listen well enough to him.
“Well, you’re pretty enough. More than Ramsay could ever expect on his own anyway.”
“Thank you?” Daynara’s eyes widened and she blinked more than was necessary. She had no idea how to take a comment like that. Was it a compliment?
Before either Daynara or Roose could say anything else the door burst open. She gasped and spun around to see what had caused the door to practically crash open. All of House Brimsblood’s men who had accompanied her stood at attention, hands on their weapons as they watched eight young men enter, none of them particularly handsome.
“And there he is now...” Daynara could have sworn she heard an exasperated sigh leave Roose as he spoke of his son.
The man from the center of the group came forward, parting her men down the middle as he made his way to Daynara. He had to be Ramsay, it couldn’t be possible anyone else would have eyes so similar to Lord Bolton’s.
“This her?”
“Yes, Ramsay. This is Lady Daynara.”
A strained smile pulled up the corners of her lips as she curtsied. “Pleasure, um, pleasure to meet you.”
A flash of something Daynara couldn’t identify lit up Ramsay’s pale eyes as he smiled. The expression widened until all of his sharp teeth were exposed. “Oh, it’s the same to meet you too.”