Allyria was terrified. Was she more or less terrified now that she forced onto her feet after her horse had been slaughtered, she could not say. Her arm had grown heavy, but her heart continued to beat faster, ignoring her exhaustion. The noise of it blocking out the sounds of the battle around her. A man dressed in red armor swung at her. His wide arch of a back swing missed her entirely and she took the opportunity to plunge her own sword into the unprotected space below his helm. The sword cut into the man's throat with ease and blood sprayed from the wound and onto Allyria's armor and helmet. Nine. She thought to herself, as she tried to wipe the blood from her line of vision. But the blood had made it through the eye slits and onto her face.

In an act of frustration and desperation, Allyria tore off the metal helmet and tossed it to ground. A bundle of auburn hair, braided tightly together, fell down her back as she wiped the blood from her face. As she looked around the field, she knew they had lost. Even now, she could see Bolton retreating back over the hill with what remained of his force, which was a small number. Damn that man. Their force of a mere two thousand wasn't intended to win the war, but she cursed the commander nonetheless for giving up so easily. And for leaving her behind. Dead bodies laid at her feet. Some Lannister men. Most Northerners. As she looked down, a bodily mess of a man took hold of her ankle. He was dressed in silver armor, with a red shield lashed to his left arm. The shield bared the sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant, brown-haired and wearing a skin, with broken silver chains around it's wrists. The man had be stabbed under the arm and was slowly bleeding out. His brown eyes, full of fear and sadness, looked at Allyria as he opened his mouth to saying something. Only blood spilled out. With an uneasy feeling in her stomach, she removed the small dirk from its place in her boot and knelt. She closed the man's haunting eyes, and with a shaky right hand, slit the man's throat. His grip on her ankle loosened after a second. Ten. Though she wondered if he counted.

When she stood up, sword and dike in hand, she was surrounded. She counted twelve weapons pointed at her, some closer than she liked. The battle seemed to be over just as fast as it had started. The sound of steel on steel was greatly overshadowed by the sound of the wounded. Allyria's heartbeat was louder still. There were not just swords aimed at her but a manner of axes and spears and dirks. Only three of the men looked to be actual bannermen of Tywin Lannister. The other appeared to be sellswords of some sort; big hairy men with steel half helms wearing thick animal skin and little armor. "Drop your weapons, girl." One of the red cloaks demanded, taking a brave step forward and sticking his sword in Allyria's face. The insult on the word 'girl' was not lost on Allyria, but she dropped her weapons nonetheless.

"What's your name, girl?" The same man said. Well, it's most certainly not 'girl'. She thought as she started to open her month to voice the lie that had already situated itself in her mind. It would not do well for these men to know who she truly was. But she never made is that far for another man joined the group. He was short, half the size of a normal man, and his face bloodied from a head wound. But the wound must not have effected his mind because he spoke with the same all-knowing tone he had when Allyria had met him a couple of months past. A lifetime ago it feels like.

"Watch your tone, ser." The dwarf said, coming to a stop between two of the strange sellswords, who made him look even smaller. "You are speaking to a lady. Lower your weapons." Each man did so at his own pace. Tyrion had yet to name her and a part of her still hoped that he had forgotten her. She was still in control of the situation. In a sense. But the control was short lived. "Escort Lady Stark to my father. Unharmed, please." Tyrion Lannister commanded, never looking away from Allyria.

Her escorts removed her armor first, perhaps believing that she was less likely to resist if she was unprotected. She was left in a long brown linen tunic, and baggy leather breeches. When one of the red cloaks started to remove her boots, she kicked him in the face. He responded with a punch to her face and proceeded to remove her tall leather boots, leaving her to walk in her stockings. The only thing they gave her was a pair of iron shackles locked around her wrists. There were made for a man and the iron rings hung loosely from her wrists. With her hair almost completely fallen out of the braid, shacked, shoeless and face covered in blood, some of it hers, most not, Allyria was escorted to a rather large tent built on a raised wooded platform. The tent was a deep red. Always red.

Despite her lack of resistance, she was still thrown rather roughly to her knees once they entered the tent. She was placed beside a long oak table. Seated around it were a number of men, some still in armor, some not. At the head of the table, and nearest to Allyria, sat who she assumed to be Lord Tywin Lannister. Older than her father, Tywin was a tall, slender man with broad shoulders and short blond hair, that was slowly giving way to grey. His green eyes were rumored to be freckled with gold but Allyria dared not met his glaze long enough to find out. Everyone was staring her, with her bloody face and tangled hair. She thought about her mother, and how she would not have approved of her appearance in the slightest.

"Who are you?" Tywin asked, never taking his eyes off her. Gathering up what little courage she had, Allyria clenched her teeth, intent on not answering and returned his stare. She decided that the rumors were true, for she could make out bits of gold in the green of his eyes. Her silence earned her a slap across the ear from one of her escorts. She bit her cheek, forcing back an insult. Movement in the tent caught her attention, and she saw Tyrion Lannister take a seat of the table and give her a knowing look.

She sighed softly, defended. "I am Allyria Stark of Winterfell. Daughter of Lady Catelyn Tully and Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of North and Hand of the King." She said in single long breath. Some men shifted in their seats to look at her anew while Allyria forced her face to remain apathetic.

"Why are you here, girl?" One of the men at the table said, rather harshly.

Allyria made a face at the lack of usage of her proper title of 'my lady'. I'm here because Roose Bolton is a hateful, slimy snake. Allyria knew Lord Bolton had left her behind on purpose, to teach her a lesson than women do not belong on the battlefield. "I go where my brother tells me to, my lord." The sweetness in her voice echoed that of Sansa's. She decided to play the role of the obedient sister, when in fact the attack had been her idea. To split the army and distract Tywin's forces while Robb made for Riverrun.

"So, Robb Stark sends his sister to fight his battles? He hides behind your skirts?" Another man said, his voice mocking. Mocking both her and her brother. Allyria was not sure which she took more offense to.

"As you can see, my lord. I'm not wearing any skirts." Her voice was still sweet, but there was an edge to it. But the threat was lost with Tyrion's laughter.

"Where is your brother, my lady?" Tyrion Lannister asked between sips of wine. At least had the courtesy to recognize her title.

"How could I possibly know the answer to that? I have not seen him for a number of days, my lord." Her voice was sincere but her rebuke still earned her a hit. The man's mailed fist almost knocked her head off. Blood filled her mouth as she fell over. In a fit of reckless rage, Allyria pulled herself up and spat the blood from mouth at her abusive escort. Drops of red dotted the man's unprotected face and before wiping them away her raised his hand again and Allyria clenched her teeth, awaiting more pain.

"If you raise another hand against her, I will see to it that your hands are fed to the pigs in the morning." Lord Tywin Lannister's voice was smooth and calm, but it cut like steel against the air. His green eyes were fixed on the man, who quickly lowered his hand and took a step back. He muttered his courtesies before falling silent. Blood still leaked into Allyria's mouth and her head ached so she dared not speak. "Find Lady Allyria a tent and see to it she's taken care of." Lord Twyin waved his hand and Allyria was pulled to her feet and escorted out of the tent. I wonder if he'll be so kind when he discovers where Robb is. She thought.