@princeofxwhitelies
There were strange mixes of people in this vast travelling pack, she’d seen Lannister soldiers and Dothraki marching feet apart or Ironborn and Tyrells doing the same. It struck her as as much a place for chaos to erupt as it was a place for opportunity to grow, and Olenna planned on watching the garden carefully to see what should be cultivated and what pruned back.
For all she scoffed at the notion of ‘Growing Strong’ there was some political truth in the words. Stepping out of her wheelhouse as the day began to wane and camp needing setting up, Olenna spotted her grandchild a small ways away and began walking over to them, looking around her gaze landed upon the Stark-Ironborn, she’d heard enough about him to think him worth little more than a withering passing glance, until she noticed the direction of his stare: her youngest grandson.
She diverted her walk, two large guards, hands on blades, inches behind her as she stopped before Theon and bluntly spoken, “My Grandson’s buggery has already caused havoc in my house once, I’d advise averting your gaze before it gets poked out.”
