When The Throne Bleeds

2. The Outcast

The next couple of days, no one asked Irida any questions, all of them assumed that she had left because she couldn't bear living as an outcast. That reason was plausible and easy to believe, and just enough for her to spin stories around.

Irida had told all of them that she had been living in Cartos, a tiny village in the East. And all of them believed it except Ned, who knew that there existed no such village. But he had refrained from prodding her further, probably because he had his own secrets from her, secrets she had every right to know.

The first few days were special in a way. The news of her arrival had spread throughout the North and people were still in the initial stages of surprise, not yet settling the fact in their minds and despising her more than they had done before. The inhabitants of the castle gazed curiously at her all the time. Irida cared for none of that. Her first few days were too precious for her to concentrate on anything else, for in the first few days she was being treated like a living breathing entity in the castle. She was being treated like a human.

Robb, Irida, Theon and Jon had started practicing swordfighting after she had revealed that she'd learnt it from travellers in the East, much to the castle staff's disgust. A woman was wielding a sword in Winterfell for the first time in decades. The last one to have such a rebellious nature was Lyanna Stark, Ned Stark's younger sister, and as he himself watched Irida move her sword in her hands, he was very much reminded of her.

Currently, Jon and Irida were prowling around each other in a circle. Jon gripped his long sword, focusing completely on Irida as he walked. Neither of them attacked. Irida was twirling her sword, walking casually. Or so it looked.

"The battle of the bastards." Robb smirked to himself as he stood at a distance with Theon Greyjoy, watching them. Robb had mastered the art of swordfighting at a young age, and to his sharp eye, he had already predicted to himself that a woman could not win against Jon. He didn't prefer to underestimate Irida -- he quite vividly remembered the time he had done so when they were children and she had shrieked in fury and chased him through the castle hallways. He had been terrified for his life then.

And after that she had run off, left him, left Winterfell.

Robb knew she had despised her life as the illegitimate daughter of a high lord, but he had never thought that she would take that big of a step. He had missed his sister, she had been an angry little girl, yes, but she had been his best friend as well. Irida had turned into a woman now. The same fire was still within her, as if forging her person's sword. He just wasn't sure how sharp her blade was.

Suddenly Irida lunged at Jon from the right, swinging her sword high. He blocked her blow, but in the same breath she dropped to the ground, sweeping her leg with tremendous force at Jon's feet to make him fall. Jon jumped back at the last moment.

"I see you've been trained well, Jon." Irida twisted around from the ground in a lithe movement, once again facing Jon, who merely smiled at her remark, answering, "I could say the same for you."

Jon sprung at her, raising his sword high and bringing it down at her shoulder. She twisted her body, evading the attack, while simultaneously clanking her sword with his as he directly swung his sword at her face. The blade was inches away from her. She smiled at him, resuming her defensive stance.

"Your armor wears you down, Jon." Irida said, bending back as he swiped his sword again at her head, barely escaping the blade. Jon was good.

"It protects me." He grunted.

As Jon raised his his weapon once again, aiming for her torso, Irida twisted his sword with her own, using the blunt side to her advantage. For a moment he lost his hold. Seizing her chance, she swung her sword at his shoulder. But Jon proved to be quicker.
Using his brute strength, he blocked her attack, pushing her back as their swords connected. Irida fell down with a thud and Jon walked over, pointing the end of his blade at her neck.