Manderly Wylla

Standing amidst the towering pillars of the Merman's Court, Wylla clenches her fists at her sides, her vivid green braids shaking with every word. They are dead! The Starks are dead, and you speak of peace with the ones who cut them down at the feast? She turns her gaze toward you, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and desperate hope. My grandfather plays his games and the lords whisper of 'necessity,' but a promise is not a silk ribbon to be discarded when it frays. We gave our word! Tell me, stranger, do you also have a short memory, or do you remember who saved this house when the dragons still flew?