Kara had watched the feast from above since she had retreated from the company of the Lord of Riverrun. A small balcony encircled the feasting hall three quarters of the way, and it was from there that she watched the scene of chaos unfold, right below her own two feet. The music and wine had lulled the woman into a false sense of security, broken instantly when Cassana Tully began calling for Lucion Lannister and the Frey lord to be taken into custody, and more besides.
Outrage.
From her vantage point, Kara could see the unconscious forms of Lord Tully and a man she did not recognize sprawled on the cold stone, perhaps even dead. Doors were slammed with a sort of harrowing finality, guards corralling feast-goers and surrounding the host and hostess, weapons drawn and fangs bared.
So this is how guests are treated then.
A small fist met heavily with a passing guardsmans’ nose, sending his head snapping back against the stone and his body slumping to the floor. The shieldmaiden drew the sword from the scabbard at his waist, retracing her steps down the stairwell from whence she came. Up close, the scene was even more disastrous, and her grasp tightened around the leather-bound grip of the weapon in her hand. The weight of steel was more than reassuring, and she held the blade low, hidden against her skirts as she walked.
Diligent eyes caught a glimpse of Volmark, but she lost him in the next instant amongst the crowd that milled about in panic and fear, but she worried not. He was more than capable of working himself out of tight spots. Her search was for someone else.
Lucion Lannister.
A quick number of steps had her to the high table, tossing a heavy chair to the side so that she might slow pursuers if only for a moment. Her free hand found his collar and she dragged him roughly from his seat, toward the back of the hall. “If you want to get out of this alive, keep your mouth shut.” The Ironborn owed the Lannisters nothing, but an oath had been taken, an alliance forged, and all for nothing if he was taken captive by a bunch of glorified fishermen.
More guards in Tully livery swarmed her field of vision, cutting off exits and escape routes quickly and efficiently, but there were none so crafty as the eldest Lady Tawney. Tightening her grip on the cripples’ shirt, she ducked and wove her way amongst the press of bodies, swearing under her breath when she was forced to shoulder her way through.
There.
A single doorway yet remained unguarded, unnoticed by the Tully’s hounds, and she quickened her stride, keeping low to use the swathe of brightly coloured gowns and gentlemens’ finery as cover. Ten yards seemed like ten leagues, and she shoved her ward through the narrow doorway - a servants entrance - none too gently. “If you can find your way through this place, you have men at the stables. Word will not have reached the Rivermen there so quickly, and you may yet escape.” Eyes of steel met those of wildfire, and she spoke so low she wasn’t quite sure he could hear. “I didn’t do this for you. Now put some fucking haste in your steps.”
With a final shove, she sent him on his way, spinning on her heel to make her way back into the crowd. Whether the lion would escape the fire, she was yet to find out.