The Clash of Stags

Robert Durrandon's death in a hunting accident put the Kingdom of the Storm in the hands of his son, Prince Joffrey. Now a king, and more a lion than a stag, Joffrey set about ridding Storm's End of those who disdained the influence of the Lannisters.

Ser Barristan Selmy was one such man. Barristan the Bold served as King Steffon's champion first, then as Robert's. Yet when Joffrey ascended the throne he wanted a younger man for a champion and took that honor from the seasoned knight. The king went further still after Barristan protested Joffrey's rasher decisions and crueler actions. The noble knight was stripped of his holdings and banished from the kingdom, some say Queen Cersei even tried to have him killed.

Such actions inspired many Stormlords to turn from King Joffrey and call for Robert's brothers to take up the crown. Renly was the most popular choice, beloved by highborn and lowborn alike. The charming prince raised an army at Fawnton, gathering support from the Reach as well. Yet some believed this to be an error, for Stannis was the elder brother and had better claim. Away at Harrenhal, Stannis was detached from events at court and had few allies. A stern man, little loved by any, he marched south with a force far smaller than that of Renly's.

Together the two brothers outmatched their nephew's strength at Storm's End. Renly had three times the men and Stannis had Barristan the Bold acting his champion. With most of his supporters and the Lannister armies away battling the Starks, Joffrey's days as ruler of Storm's End appeared near to an end. Until the Durrandon brothers did the unthinkable.

Instead of uniting to retake their family's home from the Lannister queen and her cubs, Stannis and Renly made war upon each other. Within sight of Storm's End, where the three brothers had grown up together, Stannis and Renly went to battle over Robert's crown. Stannis saw the kingdom as his by rights, Renly argued since they were both taking it from Joffrey rights went out with the privy pot. Neither was willing to give up their claim so both vowed to fight.

Stannis had fewer men but Renly less experience. The younger prince attacked at dawn, his men charging with the sunlight in their eyes. Follies like that turned the battle from a rout into a viscous, brutal bloodbath. Thousands who disdained Joffrey's reign died fighting one another. The Durrandon brothers among them.

Mortally wounded but with Barristan the Bold at his side, Stannis cut his way to his brother. All knew Stannis a hard man but none ever believed him a kinslayer. Yet that's what he became, with the sunlight at his back many claimed Stannis more a shadow than a man when he slew Renly.

With the rebel cause already reeling a force loyal to Joffrey fell upon the survivors. Many rebel lords were captured and made to bend the knee. Others lost their heads and lands, sating Joffrey's cruelty. The fate of Barristan Selmy was a mystery afterwards, for he was not among the prisoners nor the dead. None having seen him since.

So it was, in trying to bring Joffrey low, Stannis and Renly secured their nephew's continued reign.

A more shameful folly is not easily named.

JON

The causeway could barely be called a road.

In the empire, most roads were paved stone and level, the ancient Valyrian ones so broad that entire caravans could pass one another with ease. What lay ahead of Jon was little more than a ruddy path in the mud. Running along a raised embankment, it was narrow and winding. The cold, barren shore of the Bite lay to the east, the vast, murky bogs of the Neck stretched out to the west.

Robb and Jon took all this in with grim silence outside the gates of Moat Cailin, their only company the two direwolves at their sides.

Jon was thankful his father had not tasked him with invading the North, for Moat Cailin was a formidable fortress. Various types of moss crept up the great basalt curtain walls of the Moat, which were nearly as tall as Winterfell's. A great timber keep lay within and a number of smaller buildings, less important structures compared to the three stone towers that loomed over the fortress and the road itself. Each was pockmarked with arrow slits, allowing archers to rain hell freely on any foolish enough to attempt an attack up the causeway.

"Not much to look at." Robb grunted then, glaring ahead. "Our road to glory."

"I've seen worse."

The king made a non-committal sound to that, his mind clearly elsewhere. Robb, like Jon, wanted to be elsewhere. Yet here they both stood, staring at the route they would soon take south. That's where Robb wanted to be, throwing back the invaders marching through his lands and avenging his father.

A noble goal for the son of a king, Jon reflected, my father sent me here for a good cause as well.

And all I want to do is return north… back to Winterfell.

To my wife.

It was a foolish thing to think on. Sansa and Jon had had only one night together before the northern army marched south. His wife was little more than a stranger to him. Yet it hurt to leave Sansa all the same. To bid her farewell with a stone face while his princess's eyes glistened with sadness and fear. He remembered how she woke that morning, with a look of shy contentment to be wrapped in his arms, their naked bodies pressed together. Holding Sansa had filled him with deep sense of calm. Leaving her had torn that all to shreds.

"You will be safe here." Jon had tried to comfort her when it came time to leave, the couple holding hands. "This is your family's home. Nothing will harm you here. They'll protect you."

"And who will protect you?" Sansa asked, her grip tightening. "You and Robb. None of you understand what the Lannisters are capable of. I know how Cersei and Joffrey think and if they find out that we've married… Jon, they'll hurt you because of it... you've no idea what they can do…"

"And they've no idea what I can do. They'll learn soon enough. I'll make it back, I promise."

That was how Jon left Sansa, frightened and upset. All he could offer her was a chaste kiss to her cheek and empty words on his eventual return. Not that he could predict when that would be. Nor truly guarantee it. Despite every part of his being wishing it to be so.

"We'll get through." He proclaimed to both Robb and himself. "I'm not simply speaking of this causeway or the Neck. Nor Riverrun or Storm's End. I mean all of this. The battles ahead, the war itself. We'll get through this Robb."

"I thought I was the cheery one." Robb adjusted his crown. "Well, the only way we're getting through this is if we get into the fight. We've spent two days here simply waiting for Lyanna. Those are days we could've been marching. Time we might not get back."

While part of Jon wanted to point out how long it had taken Robb to accept the alliance in the first place, he held his tongue. He agreed that his mother was in the wrong here. When the northern army left Winterfell the High Queen had stayed behind, in hopes of making final arrangements with Aegon and their other allies to the south. Gendry and a small party were to escort her south and rejoin the army before it reached Moat Cailin. That had been two days ago.

It was only this morning that some of the Blackfish's outriders reported spotting mother's party half a day off.

"There's no excuse." Jon admitted, petting Ghost's head. "They were only a few score riders. At the pace this army moves, they had more than enough time to catch up. I apologize, cousin."

Robb sighed. "We're brothers now Jon, no need for that. As annoyed I am, I take heart in knowing that Lyanna's almost here and no harm has befallen her. I'd rather your mother be late than anything else."

It would be a lie to say that Jon hadn't been worried sick this whole time. The idea of hundreds of Ramsay Snows ambushing his mother's party would not leave his head. All nonsense of course.

She had thirty of my best men. Gendry would die before he let anything happen to her.

He guards my mother… the Starks protect Sansa… duties that should fall to me.

"King Robb!" A voice hailed from back towards the gates. "Your grace, there you are!"

Lord Ellard Bowden appeared beneath the portculis, leaning upon a crutch as he limped towards them. An older man, Ellard had a wooden peg where his left leg should be, having lost the limb to a lizard lion ages ago. The beast's hide now adorned the wall of the lord's hall. His missing leg did not deter Lord Ellard as he hobbled onward. With his dark hair and long features Jon might have confused Ellard for a Stark, were it not for the man's eyes. They were an usually deep shade of green, of a color that Jon had never seen before in all his travels.

"A mark of the crannogs." Ellard had jested when they first met. "Stay near to the Neck long enough and the bogs work their way into your blood."

Moat Cailin was indeed a mixing of the North and the Neck. A good number of the Bowden household was made up of crannogmen and Lady Bowden herself was a cousin of Howland Reed. There was even a hut within the fortress where an old crannogwoman kept strange potions and poultices. Ellard claimed her healing skills helped cure the worst of their snakebites and thus she was treated with as much respect as the Bowden maester.

So far they'd avoided any losses due to snakes, the army camping north of the fortress while Robb and most of his bannerman bedded within the castle. The lord had given over the Gatehouse Tower in its entirety to Robb, the Stark direwolf banner flying high above it while just below was the banner of House Bowden. A longbow crossed by three white arrows upon a grey field, a nod of respect that the Bowdens had for archery.

A look to the battlements showed scores of archers patrolling the walls. Since their arrival, endless bouts of archery competitions had raged between the bowmen of the Moat and the Dark Order. Black Balaq, never one for easy praise, spoke of how impressed he was by the quality of the Bowden archers. Karl Bowden, Ellard's youngest son, a lad of fifteen, had taken Balaq to eight rounds of target practice before the Summer Islander took the win. Balaq had shaken Karl's hand, a rare mark of respect.

It was that same slim, young man that helped Lord Ellard as he bowed in respect to his king.

"Your grace, I was hoping to find you." Ellard spoke in a weathered voice. "We've spoken on this before but forgive an old man his stubbornness. I must insist you take a company of my bowmen with you."

Robb wouldn't hear of it. "My lord, I've already accepted your sons and nearly all your spearmen into my ranks. Should things go wrong in the south I need your archers here."

"I could hold this fortress with half the men I have now." Ellard pressed and Karl nodded, looking to Jon with his own set of eerie green eyes.

"Twice as many as Brandon the Bowman had when he held the Moat. Captain Balaq says the Dark Order is always outnumbered. Well, so are the Bowdens, yet we fight all the same."

"My boy's right." Ellard agreed.

The lord then began retelling them the tale of his house's founding. Three hundred years ago an army of the Vale had thought to invade the North while King Torrhen Stark had been busy defending his coasts. All that stood in the way of those twenty thousand Vale men was Moat Cailin and the king's bastard brother, Brandon Snow. It was Brandon who held back the invaders, with only a hundred bowmen at his command. Brandon himself who slew three members of House Arryn, the uncle and cousins of Queen Sharra Arryn. When the third Arryn had fallen, the Vale army had retreated. In reward for his bravery, Torrhen named Brandon the new Lord of Moat Cailin, giving his brother leave to found House Bowden.

"Never kneel." Ellard said at the end of the tale. "Those are my house's words and our vow. We'll never kneel to any threat that the Starks might face. Leave me with one bow and a quiver of arrows and I'll hold off the lions myself!"

"I've no doubt you would." Robb patted the lord's shoulder while shooting a tired look Jon's way. "Yet my decision stands. The army marches on the morrow and this fortress will be well defended when it does. The North and my family's safety at Winterfell must be assured. I'll have at least one part of my realm spared this war."

As they spoke the war was already well underway. When Robb's twenty-five thousand men had arrived at Moat Cailin they were greeted with foul tidings from the south.

The Lannisters had launched their attack on the riverlands and by all accounts it was a disaster to the Stark cause. An army under Jaime Lannister had broken through the riverlords at the Golden Tooth while King Tywin marched a larger force up from the south. Riverrun and most the of the riverlands were now threatened and the word was that King Joffrey had departed from Storm's End to join the Lannisters with an army of his own. The only good news to be had was that the Dornish raiding of the southern Stormlands had made the Stormlords cautious. Most of them remained behind while Joffrey made to grow his army further north, drawing soldiers from the riverlords that owed him allegiance.

Then Joffrey will have as many men as we have here. King Tywin moves with an unblooded army and Edmure Tully wrote of fifteen thousand with Prince Jaime.

Robb was still debating with Lord Ellard regarding the size of the Bowden contribution when Grenn and Ser Olyvar rode through the gates.

"A party nears!" Olyvar called as they jerked their horses about. "Galloping hard from the north!"

"Is it my mother?" He asked and Grenn nodded.

"The Blackfish says so! He rode out to meet them but, my lord, something troubled him! The High Queen's escort, it's a hundred strong! Mostly Stark men!"

"A hundred?" Jon repeated, sharing a concerned look with Robb. "My mother had Ethan and Tum watching over her plus Gendry and thirty mounted veterans, more than enough to see her here. Why would Bran send more?"

Robb frowned. "I've no idea. I gave Rodrik Cassel strict commands not to weaken the castle garrison. Seventy riders is nearly every horse left in Winterfell."

"Ser Rodrik's a good man." Lord Ellard added, stroking his beard. "A loyal man. He's not the type to disobey without cause."

"Then let us learn this cause." Robb declared and soon they were entering the fortress once more.

Within the walls the three towers of Moat Cailin stood tall and straight, overlooking all as they crossed to the northern entrance. Karl was helping his father limp along while Ghost and Grey Wind ran ahead. That was not a strange sight but Jon did take note of how excited they seemed. They were still marching across the damp, muddy ground when he heard the howls. He had grown so accustomed to hearing such sounds at Winterfell that he could tell right away that it was two different wolves making the sounds.

"What is this?" Robb demanded, quickening his pace as Grey Wind howled back. "What the bloody hell are they doing here?"

Jon had no way of knowing for sure but something made him suspect who 'they' were long before the gates began to rise ahead of them. He was not at all surprised when two new direwolves darted beneath them. The black one ran straight for Ghost, Shaggydog tackling his brother and playfully nipping at him. The grey one moved Jon's way and he prayed for it to be Summer. Or Nymeria.

Yet when he saw her pretty golden eyes his worst fears came true.

"Lady… no." He reached out to put his hands to the direwolf's head, petting her as she licked at him. "You're not supposed to be here… you should be with Sansa-"

"Hey Robb!" Rickon's shout echoed through the courtyard. The youngest Stark was bouncing in his saddle as he rode into the fortress, laughing to wave at his brother and then at Jon. "I told them I'd beat them inside! There was a race and I beat them all!"

Neither man could give voice to their thoughts as more followed Rickon through the gates. Mother was a close second, the High Queen smiling widely as she galloped up beside Rickon. Ethan was among the next few to come through, then Tumco and Gendry. When Gendry spotted him the sergeant's face twisted into an apologetic expression. One Jon understood all too well when a party of ladies rode in, guarded by Ser Rodrik and a number of Stark men. Jeyne and Talia were there, and between them came an auburn haired rider in a familiar black cloak.

"What a beauty." Karl spoke admiringly. "Who is she?"

"My wife." Jon said, running a hand down his face in disbelief at the sight of Sansa.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Robb roared, marching through the press of riders and making Rickon reconsider climbing down from his horse. The boy gave a cry when Robb yanked him to his side, taking a firm grip on the Rickon's collar. "Ser Rodrik! Why is my brother here? My sister and her ladies? Why are any of you here?"

The old knight's face reddened in embarrassment or shame but before he could speak, mother intercepted the king.

"Dear nephew, I fear there were many developments since we last saw each other." The High Queen held her hand out to Robb so he could help her dismount. "The King in the North shall have all the answers he seeks, after we are free from our saddles. It was a long and grueling ride for us. Wasn't it Sansa?"

"Yes." Sansa answered, her gaze darting between the king and queen. "We drove our horses to a lather Robb just to get here as quickly as we did. My ladies are exhausted, as is Rickon is I imagine."

"I'm no lady!" Rickon struggled fruitlessly against Robb's hold. "I can keep riding! All the way to Casterly Rock! Right Robb?"

"Shut it." Robb spoke with barely restrained anger, turning his gaze to mother's outstretched hand. The king certainly showed grace then as he, despite his fury, made to help the High Queen down. "I welcome you to Moat Cailin aunt, let us find someplace where you can explain your- where we can talk."

"As his grace commands." Mother smiled.

While Robb did Jon's mother a courtesy, Jon moved to show his wife the same. A flush of color appeared on Sansa's cheeks as he took hold of her hips to guide her descent to the ground. He couldn't deny feeling warmer to touch her once more. Nothing compared to his anger though, which he did his best to hide from Sansa when she finally stood before him.

"It is good to see you well my lord." Sansa spoke quietly, her eyes avoiding his gaze but looking about his mouth instead. "The travels were kind to you?"

"Better than to you I fear." He said, noting how exhausted Sansa appeared, her pale skin standing out against the bridal cloak she wore so well. "Why have you come all this way Sansa? Why?"

Before she could speak to it, Lord Ellard loudly announced that the hall of his timber keep would be opened to the new arrivals. While the lord led the Stark riders and Sansa's ladies to the keep, the royal party would gather elsewhere, in the smaller guesting hall of the Gatehouse Tower. Its long table could only seat ten or so but none made to sit as hot, mulled wine and stew was brought for the weary. The Highguard and Ser Rodrik stood silent and grim as Mother gathered Sansa and Rickon to her near the hearth so they could warm themselves. Jon joined with Robb at staring at the High Queen incredulously. She was pushing a bowl of steaming stew into Rickon's hands when Robb's patience came to an end.

"Alliance be damned, aunt or no." Robb crossed his arms. "You'll explain why you've dragged Sansa and Rickon halfway across the North. Right now Lyanna."

"I apologize Robb. Sending a raven would have been kind but your mother and I feared anyone learning that your siblings were traveling south. There are still Boltons bandits about-"

"Yet you risked them anyways." Jon stepped forward, leaning on the table and glaring at his mother. "How could you be so reckless with their lives?"

"Jon, please." Sansa spoke up, her hands wrapped around a cup of mulled wine. "Do not blame your mother, this was all because of me."

"You?" He blinked in confusion while the queen put a hand on Sansa's arm.

"After the army departed Sansa and I got to speaking. Of her times as a hostage to the Durrandons. Of all that she experienced in the south."

"All of which is precisely why she should be at Winterfell right now." Robb grumbled, until a sharp look from the High Queen silenced him.

"I do not speak of the cruelty that Sansa endured, but all that she learned of our enemies. Knowledge as valuable as three legions and- well tell them my dear."

"Joffrey is not well loved." Sansa said to a mocking response from Robb. "No brother, I don't just mean by his enemies. By his bannermen as well. Queen Cersei was always going on and on about which lords couldn't be trusted. A list that grew longer with each slight that Joffrey gave, every cruelty he wrought on his people. I saw the proof of that in the eyes of the lords who visited Storm's End. They couldn't hide it as well as I did. They hated Joffrey."

"Think on that." Mother challenged them. "Men of note who might be willing to abandon the Durrandon cause."

"Like who?" Robb inquired and Sansa was quick to answer.

"The Darklyns of Duskendale."

"Aunt Lysa!?" The king let out a deep breath of exasperation. "That bloody woman hasn't answered one of our ravens in years! She wouldn't even bestir her lord husband to rescue you Sansa!"

Jon pieced it together quickly then. He knew a fair amount about the Darklyns, for the empire traded often with Duskendale. Lord Royner Darklyn was Joffrey's vassal but was married to the daughter of one of his king's greatest rivals. Lysa Tully, Queen Catelyn's sister and Sansa's aunt. Jon didn't remember hearing Lysa's name spoken once during his time at Winterfell, likely because she was guilty of exactly what Robb accused. Abandoning her family, leaving Sansa to monsters.

Sansa looked anything but scared now. "You don't have to remind me of how little Aunt Lysa helped me Robb. I was there when she came to Storm's End. When she turned a blind eye to Joffrey having Meryn Trant strike me…"

She paused then for Jon's fists had curled upon the table. The name Meryn Trant was now etched into his memory as Sansa pushed on through hers.

"Aunt Lysa won't help us. She's content to avoid angering Joffrey. Her husband is a different sort though. That was our mistake, beseeching Lysa for aid rather than Lord Royner. He despises Joffrey for the taxes he levies on Duskendale's trade. He even spoke out when I was beaten. Joffrey would have surely killed him then and there... if not for Ser Dontos the Daunting. He championed his lord-"

"Alright, alright." Robb held up his hand, clearly deep in thought. "The Darklyns are the Durrandon's strongest bannermen north of the Blackwater… we could try and offer Lord Royner-"

"Not you Robb, us." Mother looked to Jon. "I wrote Dragonstone before we left Winterfell. The empire's trade is important to Duskendale and I've seen to it that arrangements were made… all thanks to Sansa."

Sansa seemed embarrassed by the praise but Jon couldn't understand why. His wife had seized an opportunity in the south that none of them had considered. He had thought Sansa clever before this, yet clearly he'd underestimated just how sharp her mind was.

Which made sense. He barely knew his wife.

"None of that explains why Sansa is here." Jon said. "A raven would have sufficed."

Sansa's face fell as Mother bristled. "This is not the only insight Sansa had to offer on the inner workings of the Durrandons and the Lannisters. It is clear she could be a great asset to us, hence why I asked her to join my party for this campaign."

"You're serious?" Robb faced Ser Rodrik then. "My mother agreed to this? Letting Sansa ride off to war!?"

"It wasn't mother's decision!" Sansa argued. "I'm a woman grown, bedded and wedded. Lyanna was willing to take me so I came. Mother and Bran disliked the idea but I do not need their leave."

"Nor mine it appears."

Jon spoke the words without thinking, his anger at his mother and wife's rash actions boiling over. Sansa drew back at that, wringing her hands while mother appeared disappointed. The last thing he wanted to do was speak harshly to Sansa, so he kept his mouth shut, fearful of what else might escape. An awkward silence fell across the room, the only sound being Rickon's loud slurps of his stew.

"Um… so." Robb scratched his head and gestured to his little brother. "Why's Rickon here then? Did he figure on some way to win the Vale over to us?"

"Rickon is to be Jon' squire." Mother said before raising a hand to cut off his words. "Yes, yes, only an order man could serve in such a role. So until you are free of your vows, Rickon will act as my cupbearer."

"Oh, right." Rickon put down his bowl and snatched up an empty cup, offering it to mother. "Do you want some wine?"

"By the gods." Robb grabbed his face. "Fine, Rickon I can understand. Sansa, truly, I'm not sure what to think of bringing you… that's a decision I'll leave to your husband."

All looked to Jon, who chewed on that thought. "I would like a word with Sansa. Alone."

Mother nodded. "Naturally. After she travelled all this way to see you, it would be discourteous of us to deny you two a moment. You do remember all our lessons on courtesy, don't you Jon?"

Jon's glare spoke volumes, letting his mother know just how welcome her interference was right now. She took it in stride, making mention to Robb of how rooms would need to be readied for herself and Sansa. When Robb told her space was scarce, that Jon and the others had been bedding down with the army after the last free tower had been given over to the Greatjon, mother laughed.

"Let me deal with Jon Umber. There'll be ample room for myself and Sansa's ladies when we're done. A proper chamber set aside for Jon and Sansa. We can't have a princess bedding down in a tent."

The High Queen sounded confident in all she said, not once considering that perhaps the Greatjon would not succumb to her charms. Nor that Sansa might be unwelcome to Jon bedding with her this night. He thought differently as Robb and mother led the others from the hall, leaving the couple alone.

Him standing to one end of the table. Her to the other. Neither meeting each other's eyes.

"You're angry." Sansa spoke softly, pulling at her braid.

"I'm furious."

"Don't be, not with your mother at least. She didn't speak the whole truth… of whose idea all this was. It was I who approached her, to collect on a debt and to show how I could help you."

"You help me by staying at Winterfell." He kept his tone firm even though her words softened his fury some. "When this is all at an end, I would find you there-"

"My father promised the same. When he went south I begged him to stay. Now he's gone and mother cries at night. She hides it but we all know. I don't want to weep for you Jon." Sansa touched her chest then, near to her heart. "I want to be a proper wife. Your people are very different than mine Jon. Their ways are a mystery to me. Lyanna was a Stark who learned to act as the wife of a Targaryen and she rides with my brother's army. She told me your aunt Daenerys travels wherever she wills. I believed it was my right to do the same. You never forbade me-"

"I was clear on wanting you to stay under your family's care. Must I order you about? By Vhagar Sansa, you know you don't belong here."

"I belong here more than you." She shot back, defiance flashing in her eyes. "These lands are strange to you, the people a mystery. Much like the empire would be to me. Yes, you have Robb and the others to guide you but haven't I proven my worth? That all the pain I went through was worth it?"

By the end, Sansa's voice had risen until he had trouble telling who was being lectured. What was he to say to that? He was her husband but these were her lands. They were married but she was right. He wanted to keep her safe yet she'd already been hurt.

"Please don't send me back." Sansa begged, rounding the table and coming to take his hands and lowering her head. "Lyanna has promised that the Highguard will protect me. That I shall be as well-guarded as her. I'll make no more trouble… I'll be as obedient as you wish, just please my lord, please don't send me away…"

Jon had heard pleas before. Hundreds, perhaps thousands. From defeated foes to dying friends, an endless stream of sorrow and pain. Long ago he had steeled himself against such things. Yet when Sansa raised her head, eyes full of uncertainty, her hands on his, it shook him. If felt like he was back before the sept again, swearing himself to her.

"I'm not your lord." He cupped her chin. "I am yours and you are mine."

No effort was needed to lift her mouth up to his, for Sansa complied with ease. The kiss hugged the line between propriety and hunger. It felt too good to last only a moment, for he had thought on their wedding night often. Jon felt an urge to take hold of her body and press it against his but he fought it. There was no ignoring the matter at hand. So, reluctantly, he pulled back to find Sansa's expression far more hopeful.

"I do not want an obedient wife." He said, running a thumb over her chin. "You've met my mother. She's willful, perhaps even wild at times. Do you think any son of hers could not respect strength when he sees it? No. What made my blood rise, what worries me now, is how wrong I was. This whole march I thought you were safe and secure… and it turns out I knew nothing."

"I was in no more danger than any of the others." Sansa insisted. "Less than Gendry or Ethan… both said they would die before any threat touched me. The High King let your mother go to war… let me act as strong as Lyanna does. She's been teaching me what's expected of a Targaryen princess. Like how to speak High Valyrian."

"Truly?" He held back the urge to smile as Sansa nodded and made to prove it.

"Kostilus ynot ren-renum...renignon." She beamed to speak in a strained yet earnest Valyrian accent. Yet the meaning of the words confused him and she saw that on his face. "What? I said 'please, let me come' did I not?"

"Ah, let me come." Jon grinned. "Close Sansa. It is kostilus ynot mazigon."

"What did I say?"

"Please let me touch."

"Oh." Sansa acted embarrassed but he refused to allow it.

"Do not feel badly, your accent was good. It is my mother who is a poor teacher, she has no patience. I was the one who taught Gendry High Valyrian. I will teach you too, if it please you."

"That sounds marvellous. Truly! Perhaps during our ride south we could practice? I do so wish to be able to speak to your father in his own tongue. I'd want to make you proud if we were to visit Summerhall… oh, sorry. I should not have presumed…"

"I would be happy to take you to Summerhall, it's quite lovely. All Targaryen brides have been presented there since Jaehaerys's reign. Hence that lyric from Jenai of the Sorrows-"

"No, not about Summerhall." Sansa looked at him intently. "About me going south. You've yet to give me your leave."

She was right. He hadn't. Yet already Jon was looking forward to hours of riding with Sansa. Teaching her his language. Speaking of his home. Perhaps of the home they might build together. A chance to get to know the woman his life was now bound to.

Send her back to Winterfell and you'll forever wonder if she'll run off again.

If this was any other woman, with all she knows, you would not think twice about bringing her.

Jon was still struggling with that when a knock came at the door. Young Karl Bowden came to announce that the Greatjon had volunteered to turn over his chambers to the newlyweds. A bit of news that caused both him and Sansa to flush.

"They are yours Sansa." Jon said once Karl left. "You've had a long ride and I can bed down in my pavilion like I always do. I've much to think on."

Sansa frowned some. "If you so wish it but, husband, the Greatjon was kind enough to gift his rooms to the both of us. He might take it as some slight if you bed elsewhere."

The clever young woman reached up to pull at Jon's tunic, making a show of straightening it.

"If a wife did have a tiring journey, all in hopes of finding her husband, would it not be a good thing for them to share a bed? She would surely sleep better with him by her side. Especially if they are to have only one night together before she is sent away."

Sansa smiled shyly towards the end, Jon marvelling at the way she was winning him over without once stating her true desires.

He cupped Sansa's cheek, his face drawing close to hers again before he gave voice to his own wants.

"Kostilus ynot renignon." He whispered, his lips hovering just over hers. "Please let me touch."

Sansa recognized the phrase swiftly, wetting her lips to arch upwards.

"You can touch."

And he did.

SANSA

The sounds of their grunting were loud in the tent.

Each time Jon thrust inside Sansa they both gave voice to their pleasure with abandon. Jon was pressing down on her, his hips driving between her legs which she had wrapped tight around his hips. His mouth left hers to kiss at her neck, leaving Sansa to stare up at the roof of the tent as she clawed at his back in lust. The whole pavilion was beginning to lighten as morning dawned anew and Sansa cursed the sun for rising.

Another hour… another ten… not yet… not yet…

It all felt too good to end but she knew it had to. The camp would awaken soon, their journeys to start once more.

Sansa knew Jon's release was nearing, she recognized all the signs. The way his hand kneaded her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, his kisses giving way to gritted teeth and muttered curses in her neck. His thrusts were growing more powerful, his cock plunging so deep inside her that a change in position might make it painful. The way it was angled now made her feel full of Jon and lost to desire, her cries becoming all the more guttural.

It was embarrassing. She wanted to be quieter, to sound more lady-like, but there was nothing she could do save bite Jon's shoulder. She dare not cover her mouth with her hand. It still stung from where she bit it earlier.

Jon hadn't returned to their tent from his patrol until late in the night, his body damp from the rain and exhausted otherwise. Usually the night was their time for love-making but her husband was in no state for it. When he'd climbed into their stiff bed, she simply rolled over to embrace him, pressing her body against his cold flesh to warm him. She'd fallen asleep, face resting in the crook of his neck.

Only to be awoken by Jon's mouth kissing away at her neck. She didn't have a chance to return his kisses before her gown was unlaced and his mouth traced a wet, warm trail down her body. Sansa hadn't understood why Jon's face was lowered between her thighs until his tongue flicked out to taste her.

It was wrong, the prince's kiss. Improper. An affront to the Seven most likely. Yet she'd gasped and covered her mouth, any protests lost as Jon kissed and licked her through to a sweet release. She'd bit her hand horribly during, out of embarrassment at the guards without possibly hearing her cries.

Jon was not so worried now.

"Sansa." Jon grunted as he thrust harder. "Sansa… my god…"

Jon muffled his groans by locking his lips onto hers again. Something about this part always felt wonderful. Her mouth captured each grunt, his passion flowing through his mouth into hers. His thrusts started slowing, becoming deep and determined, like he was trying to draw out what was fated. They both cried into each other's mouths when he drove in one last time, his hips jerking and body tensing as he spilled his seed within her.

Their skin was slick with sweat, Jon's weight forcing her deeper into the furs. It wasn't very comfortable but she wouldn't move for the world. Not while Jon's tongue licked at hers. Not while he stayed hard within her. When he finally broke the kiss and rolled away from her naked body, she could hear him muttering words in the native tongue of the empire.

"Kirimvose…" He exhaled, half of the words lost. "Kirimvose… darilaros… rijes abrazyrys…"

He gives me thanks,her mind settling on meanings, he calls me princess.

"Kirimvose valzyrys." She spoke breathlessly. "I give thanks to my husband."

While Sansa pulled the furs up to cover herself, she knew well enough to leave Jon uncovered. He worked up such a heat in their love-making that he couldn't tolerate any furs afterwards. She'd come to learn that about him during the many nights they bedded down in this tent while traveling south.

Just like she came to realize that he never fell asleep first, for she always drifted off to the feel of his hands running through her hair. Jon loved her hair. He hadn't said so, not yet at least, but she knew. The way he touched it, the looks she would catch when he was staring at it in bed or as they rode. It was clear that he loved it.

Just like he loves me,she thought, he's yet to say that either but I can hope.

Marriage and lust does not always lead to love… but it has for me.

Sansa pulled some at her hair as she watched Jon roll to the side of the bedding and pull his smallclothes and breeches on. She didn't want him to rise just yet and was thankful when he moved back to kiss her again.

"We should be getting up." He said, his arm to her other side so he could lean over her. His words punctuated by their kissing. "Robb will be in a hurry… might reach the Twins before the evening… you can sleep in a proper bed this night…"

"I sleep well… as it is…"

She sighed, feeling his hardness rising once more and press against her leg. A wicked thought of how swiftly she might get Jon's breeches off came to her mind then. She found that her husband was rarely ever sated by just one release. Nor was she. It would be a sweet thing for him to take her once more. To do those things with his hands and mouth that no girlish gossip with her friends could have ever prepared her for. They could stay just a little longer for that, she thought selfishly.

"Hey!" Jon broke their kiss, jerking up and looking to the side of the bed. "Hey! Get! Not again!"

For a moment she worried that someone had crept into their tent during their lovemaking, too lost to their passions to notice but Sansa quickly breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Ghost watching them from the edge of the tent. Jon did not like it when the wolf watched them at this and lunged to grab his boot, tossing it at the wolf. It sailed by harmlessly but Ghost took the message, running off and out into the distance. Jon stood up from the bed then, grumbling.

"Oh Jon." She chided. "Ghost's just curious… he means no harm."

"Harm or no, I'm the jealous sort." Jon replied, giving her a rare smile as he gazed down at Sansa while she clutched the furs about herself. "I'd not share such a sight with anyone else."

She wanted him to come back to bed so she could reward him for such sweet words when the tent flap burst inward, the poorly dressed and wild-haired form of her youngest brother flying through it.

"Jon!" Rickon exclaimed happily to see Jon standing. "I saw Ghost coming out and figured you were up! Can I ride with you and Robb today? All three of us? No girls-"

"Rickon Stark!" Sansa shouted, pulling the furs even more tightly about her body as she gaped in horror. "Get out! Get out this instant!"

Rickon took notice of Sansa's bare shoulders and legs then and began to giggle and point. Jon was beginning to usher the boy out when she grabbed up his remaining boot and threw it straight into Rickon's chest. The boy let out a cry when it struck.

"Hey! It's not my fault! Half the camp is up-"

"Then go and join them." Jon firmly guided Rickon out of tent. "We shall be out shortly. Fetch your sister's ladies. Then go and ask your brother about the riding arrangements."

"And to teach you some manners!" She added, already pulling the night gown over her head. With Rickon gone, Jon turned to watch this with a mischievous look in his eye.

"Rickon's just curious. He means no harm." He jested. "And from what I glimpsed without, he's also right. Most of the camp is awake. Robb's already striking his tents and readying for the march."

"He's trying to beat your men." Sansa said as she laced up the front of her gown. "The Dark Order musters far faster than the northern lords. Robb covets that discipline and speed. He wishes that the Stark army had more of it."

"I wish I could have more of a certain Stark." Jon spoke in an enticing tone while he wantonly stared at bare breasts. It was almost funny how sad he looked when she finished tying the gown shut, like how Ghost would act when denied a share of her plate. Sansa wanted to let Jon have more of her, and she of him, but there just wasn't any time.

When they were in bed together it was easy to forget the war. Now that they had risen, she had to face reality and the ugly truth was that the Starks were losing. They'd exited the Neck in an orderly fashion, only to learn from the Blackfish's outriders that the Tullys had suffered a great defeat. Jaime Lannister had smashed the riverlords outside the walls of Riverrun, capturing her uncle Edmure in the process. Lord Blackwood still defied the Lannister host from within Riverrun, though there was no telling how long that would last.

Meanwhile King Tywin was putting most of the riverlands to torch, sacking the castles of Pinkmaiden, Stone Hedge, and Raventree Hall. The Lannister king now moved to block Robb's crossing of the Trident at the rocky ford with thirty thousand men at his back. Sansa was happy to hear that the size of the Lannister host had not changed, as sad as that was to admit. It meant Joffrey and the Durrandons had not yet joined their might with King Tywin's. The foe was more numerous but not insurmountable. There was still hope.

Sadly much of that hope was now pinned on the Freys.

House Frey had always made her father weary. She'd heard him describe the family as undependable at best. Yet most of the king's criticisms of House Frey had arisen due to its lord at the time, Walder Frey. Robb described Lord Walder as an ancient, sour-faced weasel of a man who sought favor before doing his sworn duty.

"Thank the gods he's dead." Robb had declared during their march, earning a rebuke from Sansa for fear of Olyvar overhearing. "You're right of course, but Olyvar's nothing like his father. There are too many Freys to count yet I still name Lord Walder the worst. During the last war he refused to help the Tullys lest Edmure marry one of his daughters. Grasping bugger."

There were few who mourned Lord Walder's death in the passing spring and it was rumoured that much of House Frey had fallen into disunity afterwards. Stevron Frey, Walder's firstborn son, now ruled the Twins but had not used his family's strength to aid in the fight against the Lannisters. Robb's scouts reported thousands of men marshalled at The Crossing while enemies ravaged their neighbors. Robb needed both the strength of the Freys and their bridge across the Green Fork to join the fight.

Edmure had to marry Roslin Frey to win such boons, what will they ask of Robb?

He's unpromised... so a marriage is most likely. But that cannot happen, there are better matches out there for Robb… they'll look to Arya and Bran then…

She was thinking on this when Talia and Jeyne arrived to see to her dressing. Which meant Jon left their tent soon after, her friends grinning to watch her prince peck Sansa on her cheek in farewell. While Jon saw to the Dark Order, her ladies saw to keeping Sansa informed of the camp gossip.

"You should have seen your aunt and uncle." Talia giggled. "Queen Lyanna and Benjen shared a bottle of wine with the Greatjon and the Karstarks. They all got good and drunk toasting Prince Brandon and King Eddard. Oh, and Eddard Karstark made a vow to live up to his namesake... just before the Greatjon tried to sing-"

"I was almost kissed." Jeyne interrupted wistfully. "Ser Olyvar walked with me by the river last night. He gave me his arm all the way back to my tent. He wanted to kiss me, I could tell, but he simply bid me a good night…"

Sansa comforted her friend. "Olyvar's a good man, he likely didn't wish to presume on your virtue."

"It would have been nice if he tried." Jeyne continued to pout while Talia laughed.

They acted as if they were all still at Winterfell and not marching off to war. Beth's recent betrothal to Talia's brother Ethan had meant her staying back at Winterfell and mother refused to even hear Arya's requests at joining the army south. Her sister was furious of course, mother earning the blame, for Sansa would have liked having Arya among them. The young princess's bravery was missed as Sansa and the others drew closer to the families that had killed her father. The monsters who had tortured her.

Ruined her.

No, I'm not ruined,she reminded herself, I suffered hurts but I made it through.

I healed. I learned. Now it is time to spare others those same lessons.

The first sight to greet her eyes after they left the pavilion was a young man undergoing training his own trials. Karl Bowden, the youngest of Lord Ellard's sons, was also the Dark Order's newest recruit. After Sansa finished pleading with Jon to let her stay with the army, Karl had begged a boon himself of her husband.

"My lord, I wish to pledge myself to the Dark Order." Karl had dropped to a knee before Jon. "Your men fight with the Starks and I wish to fight for you. I'll do anything you ask."

"Then I ask you to reconsider." Jon's expression had grown as hard as ice, his eyes narrowing on Karl's youthful features. "If you look at the order and see glory or a chance at traveling the world, think again. That's what you see in the light of the day. In the darkness we are war and hardship. It's not your pledge we want, but your very life. Seven years of it or less, depending on what sacrifices you're called on to make. Reconsider boy."

"I'm no boy." Karl had argued. "The marsh seer told me that when I become a man my path will be with the shadow riders. That with them my arrows shall travel farther than any Bowden has ever loosed or ever will. My bow is yours. My life is the Order's."

So it was to be. After Lord Ellard gave his assent, Karl was inducted into the Dark Order. The northmen were denied witnessing the secretive ceremony, though Karl's training was plain for all to see. It was strange to see a northman like the Bowden youth clad in the dark eastern garbs of the Order. Stranger still to see him furiously working to inspect the shoes of a whole line of horses. He was partnered with a young Sisterman recruited from White Harbor, the pair repeating strange chants over and over again.

"Full fist, full stop… half fist, slow pace…" The two youths spoke in exhausted voices. "One left, archers ready… two left, archers loose… split left, hit the flanks…"

"Poor boys." Talia said as she watched them, for hers was a gentle heart. "They never seem to stop. Chanting. Fighting. Working. That's no life."

"That's because it isn't their life anymore." Sansa noted. "Their lives belong to the order now. My husband went through the same. Asher and Gendry as well."

Jeyne tittered at that. "And look how well those men turned out."

Due to the efforts of Karl and the other order men, their entire company was ready to ride out within the hour. Even with the head start Robb had commanded of his bannermen, the northmen still could not match such organization. She thought for sure that that would mean Jon's men would lead the van but that honor fell to Galbart Glover. Save for the parties of outriders screening their march, most of the Dark Order kept to the rear of the army. They were so far back in the line from where Sansa now rode that she could not even spot them.

Usually Jon would ride alongside her so they could speak of their different realms to each other, practicing Valyrian together, sometimes just talking. Simply passing the time.

She couldn't imagine anything more wonderful.

However today Jon rode at his place beside Robb. While her brother made sure to engage all of his bannermen in personal conversations whenever possible, as father taught him, it was Jon he wanted with him when they arrived at the Twins. Olyvar as well it seemed, which caused Rickon to sulk, for he was riding back with the women and their guardians. The Highguard flanked Lyanna as she tried to tease a smile from Rickon while Jeyne and Talia did much the same with Gendry. The sergeant was doing his best to be polite as he saw to his duties, though he could not hide his blush and the ladies preyed on it. Gendry, like the other order men guarding the women, held a tall ironwood spear and wore an ugly brown cloak over his dark armor.

"They don't want the Lannisters to know." Lyanna explained to her. "Robb and Jon, they wish to keep the Dark Order's presence here a secret. A surprise for our enemies, hopefully as unwelcome to them as the one you cooked up at Winterfell."

"It was an idea. Nothing more." She pointed out. "None ever thought of it because my family had little to offer the Darklyns. Without the Targaryens that plan would be for naught."

"We Targaryens." Lyanna corrected, the older woman gesturing to Ethan and Tumco. "The Highguard does not protect women of House Stark. They guard Targaryens, like you, and soon enough you'll have a Highguard warrior of your own. I'd have Ethan take that task on now, but Rhaegar commanded them to see to my safety before all things and they heed him before all others."

"Our duty is to the king." Ethan added gruffly, his scarred face wrinkling to grin at the queen. "A wise king at that, for he knows how his wife enjoys getting into trouble."

"Silence you." Lyanna ignored her protector. "Sansa, do yourself a favour, choose a quiet protector. Like Tumco, a much more pleasant sort."

"I get to choose? But I thought the High King would name one to me?"

"Well he could, but if I know my husband he'll offer you some choice in the matter. If Rhaegar had his way I would have twenty Highguard slowing me down everywhere I go. Aegon usually keeps four about him but two were lost in the fighting at Meereen. I believe Rhaegar is waiting for Jon to leave the order to name new members, so our son can choose his own protectors. If they can prove their worth that is."

"I hope I've proven mine." She spoke earnestly, surprising her goodmother. "To you more than most Aunt Lyanna. Bringing me to Moat Cailin, it earned you Jon's ire. All you did was for my sake and his… I did not think it would cause such a rift…"

"I knew it would." Lyanna smiled sadly as she looked to Jon. "My son is too much like me to expect different. We've quarrelled before, though never for such a good reason. You were worth it Sansa. I did not bring you for your wisdom, nor simply because I owed you. You impressed me by even asking, most women I know would not think to do so. I believe it to be your mother's influence. Yet when you used my debt to push my decision, I saw something else too. A glimpse of a queen."

She tried not to let Lyanna's words intimidate her. Her aunt had been instructing her in the manner of Targaryen court for weeks now. If they were in Volantis Sansa would be expected to host a three day celebration in honor of her marriage. The first day for the royal family, the second for the nobility, and the last and largest for the common folk. Then she would have to oversee the slaughter of a sheep before a clutch of dragon's eggs kept at Summerhall. Most importantly would be the tour of the many cities of the empire, each with different rites and wants of her.

At first Sansa had thought that Lyanna was simply grooming her to be a proper wife. Over time though it became clear what role Sansa's aunt wanted her to eventually fill.

It is hard enough trying to get to know my husband, let alone learn how to rule an empire.

"You speak too kindly your grace." She said after a moment, inclining her head to the High Queen. "For I only see one queen among us."

"One for now, and enough with this your grace business. I am Lyanna, aunt, or mother if you would prefer. I would welcome you calling me such Sansa. I never had a daughter. My son's birth was a difficult one, it robbed me of the chance for others. Not that I ever lacked for love or pride in Jon. Does my son still treat you well?"

"Very well." She blushed to think of how well he treated her at night when her eyes settled on Jon as he rode ahead, his dark hair moving in the breeze. He must have sensed her gaze for Jon turned about to look her way. His stern face began warming, his lips pulling into a smile. Lips she wished to kiss again. A mouth Sansa yearned to hear speak of love between them before she covered it with her own.

Instead Robb said something that stole Jon's attention, leaving her to speak with Lyanna on other matters. They were both hopeful that once they were at the Twins, they could glean some news of the events that Lyanna had set in motion at Winterfell. By now the alliance's fleet of northern and imperial vessels would have arrived at Dragonstone. The Jaehaeryswas to begin calling upon Duskendale and the Alysanne was ordered to sail about Crackclaw Point. The lords along those coasts were among those that Sansa believed willing to rise up against Joffrey, with proper motivation.

The Stormlords were a trickier lot, many having already lost one rebellion against the Lannister puppets at Storm's End. The Estermonts, the Conningtons, even the Selmys had reason to hate Joffrey and Cersei. Care had to be put into how to reach out to them, especially considering who Jon would have them paying fealty to when all was said and done. Robb and Jon had heard the women out on their ideas, and both were shocked when Lyanna proposed Gendry as possible way to inspire a Durrandon revolt.

The more pressing issue was securing the Frey support though, something Sansa pondered still when the twin castles of the Crossing appeared ahead. As intimidating as Moat Cailin was, the Twins were even more so. The two castles that stood to either side of the Green Fork had high curtain walls were ringed with arrow slits and murder holes. Inner keeps rose high within both and a tower sat at the middle of the stone bridge which connected them.

It was not long before a party rode out to welcome the army. Ryman, Lord Stevron's heir, and his half brother Walton was among them. They bid Robb and Lyanna to come in and feast with the Lord of the Crossing yet Benjen and Ethan refused to consider it.

While Benjen spoke courteously, Ethan was blunt. "Once you're in their power we might not be able to get you out."

"Well how else am I treat with them?" Robb asked. "Someone has to go in and I doubt Lord Stevron will be happy with me ordering him outside his own gates."

"I will go." Benjen offered and Jon did the same.

"As will I. The Starks and Targaryens should look united in this."

"Sansa as well." Lyanna added, earning a baleful look from both Robb and Jon. "I trust my brother and son of course, but I'm afraid you will both see this situation with more martial eyes than needed. I wish to have Sansa's estimation of the Freys. Also, in truth, her beauty may help us, what lord would not be charmed by her?"

There was an argument on this but Lyanna won Robb over on the idea. Especially after Sansa told him of her potential responses to what the Freys would most likely ask of him, things that would be awkward for him to speak on. Ser Ryman and Walton would stay behind as hostages to their kin's good conduct while the Blackfish joined with Olyvar to lead them within his family's home.

As they drew closer, Sansa saw that the eastern castle was an impressive fortress, its gates strong and guarded by numerous men-at-arms. Jon rode close to her the whole way, his eyes moving about cautiously. It was touching and a proper distraction from the fear that came with being in a strange castle again. Surrounded by armed men loyal to others.

An ugly sight awaited them in the courtyard. While grooms took their horses, Sansa spotted a group of men held in stocks along the edge of the yard. Filthy men, barely clothed and clearly having been beaten. The youngest was barely older than Arya, the eldest an old man, his long white hair and beard hiding his face. She thought she could feel him staring at her yet when she looked his way the old man's head lowered.

They found Lord Stevron in his hall, seated upon a massive chair of black oak, the back carved into the shape of the Twins themselves. A white-haired and wrinkled old man, well past sixty, the Stevron Frey's weasel-like face turned from the great number of Frey brothers and cousins around him to wave them forward.

"By the Mother! I did not believe it when your riders came!" Stevron wheezed. "Never, never in a hundred years did I think to see the day when we would welcome both our noble King in the North and a High Queen within the Twins! My father would turn in his grave to know it is I who earn such an honor! Yet I do not see the king and queen here. Do they follow behind?"

"Begging your pardons my lord." Benjen bowed. "My nephew and sister are not here for you are not where you're meant to be. How is it that the Freys stand down while Riverrun is besieged?"

A man laughed at that, one she would later learn was named Black Walder, Stevron's grandson.

"Is it our fault that Edmure Tully proved himself to be such a piss-poor commander?"

"Watch it." The Blackfish warned. "That's my nephew you speak of."

"And Roslin's husband!" Olyvar shouted back, challenging his nephew who stood a head taller than him. "He is the father of her children! A lady of House Frey is besieged yet you stand here sipping wine! You would leave Roslin facing the Lannisters alone!?"

"Olyvar, is that you?" Black Walder sneered. "I thought you Rosby gets were all too good for us left at the Twins."

More Freys shouted from amongst a crowd of weasel-like faces.

"Freys first!"

"The lions are hungry!"

"Why should we offer ourselves up as a meal?"

"Cravens!" Olyvar shot back.

The factions of House Frey almost came to blows then. It took Jon and the others putting themselves between Olyvar and Black Walder to stop them from killing one another. Through it all Sansa noticed that Stevron actually appeared pleased and soon she learned why. The uproar gave him reason to have Walder Rivers clear the hall of his kin, save for Stevron's bastard brother and his grandson Edwyn. She tried to remember all that Olyvar had told her of Edwyn as Stevron began coughing.

"Forgive that display." Stevron hacked from behind his hand. "And our lack of action. My family is not united in this. After my father died, I wished to restore goodwill to the name Frey… to show us an amiable family. A reasonable family. A loyal one."

Stevron began hacking again so it fell to Edwyn to continue.

"But, just like the use of our crossing, all of that comes with a toll. If certain members of our family see my grandfather's good nature as weakness... well, we could face problems here. Respect must be shown, whether by wolf or dragon, to win our swords and our leave to cross."

"I take it gold is not the toll you seek." Jon crossed his arms, causing Edwyn to grin while Stevron's coughing worsened.

"This is the dark prince I take it?" Edwyn said with a smile that looked out of place on such a harsh face. "We congratulate you and Princess Sansa on your marriage. It seems one of the royal Stark children is married off... while the others remain unprom-"

"My lord!" Sansa cried out, cutting Edwyn off so she could fill a goblet with water and carry it to the beleaguered Stevron. "Water my lord, a drink to parch your throat before we drink of celebration."

To her it was a clumsy way to interrupt Edwyn's attempt at match-making yet Lord Stevron accepted the water gladly. As he gulped deeply, his eyes took in her form.

"To be served by a princess, my many thanks your grace. I remember your mother well… you have her beauty I see… does she ever speak of the dance we shared once? She was only a young thing then…"

"Often." Sansa lied, putting a hand upon one the old man's own gnarled fist. "Often and with red cheeks. You were quite charming then. Were she not in mourning and caring for my siblings, I assure you she would have made the journey."

Stevron smiled at that, patting her hand and doing little to hide how his gaze fell to her bosom. It disgusted her, as it did whenever men stole such liberties of her body, yet it helped the cause all the same.

"My lord, you spoke of being loyal, do you mean it?" She asked and when Stevron nodded she gestured for him to lean closer, whispering. "There are things I would share with you. Royal secrets… invite me to a view out the window."

Stevron's eyes widened but did as she asked. The whole spectacle earned confused expressions from Edwyn and the others while Jon looked on bemused. The old lord was happy to offer his arm and lead her over to a window, where Sansa continued to spin the story she'd come up with on the ride.

"I should not be telling you this but my mother spoke so highly of you, do swear to keep this in confidence."

"I swear, on my honor as a Frey." Stevon promised, whatever that was worth.

"Then know that the Targaryens stand with us. The Martells as well." Sansa said and she watched as Stevron gasped at the knowledge of Dornish involvement.

He acts like Jeyne when she hears a promising piece of gossip.

"Edwyn is right, Robb remains unpromised, but that is because he considers a match to a princess."

"A princess? Which one?" Stevron asked, barely able to hide his excitement.

"I cannot say, but their involvement is key to our lands being free of the lions. Nor do I have leave to speak on Arya or Bran. My mother kept them at Winterfell to seek northern matches." Sansa spoke this part in a grave manner, Lord Stevron nodding his head in response. "My brother's bannerman feel cheated of late I fear to admit. Too many spouses from outside the North, you understand that, don't you? And she still grieves so much for my father."

"Of course, I sympathize with your poor mother and all her trials." Lord Stevron frowned then and Sansa knew she had to change course. "But still, I must insist-"

"I can also tell you that soon my brother will have to decide the fate of two castles." The lord perked up again at that. "The Dreadfort of course... and Harrenhal, for when it is retaken from Kevan Lannister, a new lord shall have to be raised up. And Robb has two brothers…"

Bargaining for Rickon's future felt horrible yet Sansa had no doubt that at least one Stark would have to be promised for the army to cross here. Olyvar had told her of Walda Frey, Edwyn's daughter and Lord Stevron's great-granddaughter. She was of an age with Rickon and third in line for the Twins. For a third born son like Rickon, a match with Walda was more than agreeable. Stevron did not take completely to the idea until she made note that a marriage to Rickon would make Walda a princess.

"A Frey princess..." Lord Stevron muttered in thought.

Robb had laughed to learn of this back at the camp, even louder when Rickon pitched a fit. He screamed bloody murder, saying he didn't want to marry a stoat and earning a cuff upside the head from Robb.

"You'll speak kindly of your future wife." Robb commanded. "And if you agree I'll get you a proper sword and a new horse."

"Really?" Rickon's rage faltered then. "Can I get some chainmail too? And spurs?"

Jon could not help but grin at how quickly Rickon's mood changed, something she did not care for. She knew nothing of the young Frey girl but resolved then and there to instruct Rickon on how to treat her with courtesy. When Jon took her brother as a squire, she would impress upon her husband the importance of teaching Rickon how to treat his bride well.

The royal party was certainly treated well by the Freys. By most of them anyway. Lord Stevron held a feast in the hall to celebrate the first visit to the Twins by a High Queen of the Targaryen Empire and little Walda's betrothal to Rickon. Those close to Edwyn were pleased, his father Ryman boasting of having a granddaughter who would be a princess. Walda was a slender little thing, close to Arya's age and fair-haired like her mother. She was all smiles to meet Rickon while other Freys, like Black Walder and Lame Lothar, did not raise their cups to join Robb's bannermen in toasting the match. Sansa made silent note of each one of them, and saw Lyanna doing the same.

Jon held her hand during the feast, letting Robb and Lyanna do most of the talking with Lord Stevron.

"You were something with our Lord of Frey." Jon said, running a finger gently over hers.

"Was I too bold? Stealing him away like that?"

Jon shrugged. "My wife is a bold woman, or so I'm learning. Especially when it comes to protecting what she loves. I was a touch jealous though, watching Stevron hold your hand like that."

He feigned a hurt expression but the squeeze he gave her belied any true anger. Her husband could be quite charming when he tried. It was a shame that others didn't see this side like she did.

"You have my hand now." She smiled to him. "Now and always Jon. I'm thankful to have this chance. To hold you. To be of use. To safeguard what I love…"

Sansa met his grey eyes then. Once she thought them the saddest eyes in the world. That wasn't so anymore. There was a light there now that hadn't been there before. One she saw in moments like these.

When they were together.

"To learn Valyrian as well." Jon added after a moment of content silence. "We did not have our lesson today. Forgive me if I wish to test you some. What does zokiamean?"

"Wolf." She answered quickly, for he called her this at times, most often during their lovemaking.

"Yes, and what of timpanan zaldrizes?"

That took her a moment. "Dragon… but something more than that? Is it white dragon?"

Jon smiled. "Excellent, you're amazing Sansa. Truly. I… well this is one is harder. I've not said it to you before. Avy jorraelan."

He was right. This was harder. So much Valyrian lettering sounded the same and its phrase structure was so different than the Common Tongue at times.

"Oh... I'm not sure! You're declaring something… that's the avy. We've not practiced this one before? That's not quite fair husband, I've had no chance to learn it."

"You're right, though I have tried to show it." Jon pulled her hand up to his mouth, kissing it as he looked to her. "It means I love you."

Sansa's mind was trying to remember the word and proper accent when it dawned on her that this was no true lesson. The feast around them was loud, men and women talking and laughing, ignorant to the words that Jon had spoken. Words she'd wished to hear for some time now.

"I needed to say that." He spoke against her fingers, his brow furrowing. "We've had all this time together because of you. I left you once without saying so... without realizing it. I say it now because it is true and I won't waste another chance before I leave again…"

"Again?" Her hand jerked in his grasp. "What do you mean? You're to leave? When?"

"On the morrow." Jon shattered their moment with his words. "With Benjen and almost all the foot, we continue south. I'm sorry… I should have told you sooner but Robb and I only settled on this strategy today-"

Her mind was reeling from this when a commotion arose from the doors to the hall.

While others were celebrating it appeared that Black Walder was intent on darkening the occasion as he had the prisoners from the yard brought into the hall. Many were displeased at the sight of the filthy prisoners, all of whom wore irons. The old man with the white beard she'd seen earlier was bleeding into his shackles and he kept his head low.

"Our king is here! A rare thing!" Black Walder proclaimed, gesturing to the beaten men who all wore irons. "Who better to pass judgement on these men in the king's name than the king himself?"

"Surely there is better timing?" Benjen asked, earning grunts of agreement from the northmen. "This is a celebration."

"In a time of war." Black Walder sneered, yanking the youngest prisoner forward. "And these men are all enemies. Captured on our lands, trying to spy for Tywin Lannister's advance. Spies against the King in the North!"

"Hang them!" Torrhen Karstark shouted, Robett Glover echoing the same.

"Put them to the sword and be done with it!"

"Hold!" Robb raised his hand, quieting the hall and turning a cold gaze upon the prisoners. "I will hear these men speak before deciding their fate. As is just."

In truth there was not much to say. Not a one of the men was of higher rank than a man-at-arms or freerider it seemed. Some were accused of attempted pillaging, others of merely being too slow to escape Frey pursuit. Robb was fair, impressing two into service with his army. Three others he deemed worthy of death but he offered them the chance to take the black, which all did. Yet when it came to the old man everything changed.

"I'm no Lannister." The old man's voice was muffled, most of his face hidden behind his filthy white hair. "Nor a spy. I am a knight."

"A knight of the hedges at best." Edwyn jested, several laughing disdainfully at the man. "He calls himself Ser Arstan Whitebeard. A village headman farther south turned this one in. Claimed he was singing the praises of King Tywin of the Rock."

"A liar I name him." Ser Arstan spoke hotly, causing Sansa to sit a bit straighter. Something rang familiar then. "On my honor, I have never taken service with House Lannister. A family at that village let me bed in their barn. The headman came to take advantage of their daughter and I did my duty as a knight. I drove him off. Your men took me on the road the next day."

On his honor… his duty as a knight… I have heard these words.

I have heard this voice.

"This tale smells like something that came out of a barn." Lord Stevron wheezed. "Your honor as a knight? Well then who knighted you ser? Which hedge boasts the honor of knighting Ser Arstan?"

"No hedge. Just a good man, a lord."

"His name?" Robb asked but Arstan remained silent. Stubbornly silent, until a Frey guardsmen jabbed his ribs roughly with the end of his spear.

"I cannot say." Arstan rasped. "I am not free to do so."

"Then I have no proof you are a knight." Robb shook his head. "And thus your swearing on that title means nothing. I must go on what my bannermen claim. This could mean your life."

"So be it." The old man spoke defiantly, his eyes finally raising. Blue eyes. Familiar eyes. His mouth speaking words she'd heard before. "I lived a knight. I'll die a knight. By your leave or not."

"As you wish. Arstan Whitebeard I hereby sentence you to-"

"He lies!" She nearly shouted, causing Jon to spin about and the entire hall to stare her way. "He lies I say!"

"We know Sansa." Robb raised an eyebrow as she rose. "He is a mummer's knight."

"No, not about that."

Sansa left her seat, Jon following after as she made to round the table, heading towards the knight who tried to hide his face from her. It made no matter anymore. She'd seen enough of this wrinkled face. Beneath all the filth it was much like it had been years past. When he had stood before a different king. Defiant. Proud.

"This man is a knight." She said. "But not one named Arstan Whitebeard."

"Your grace, don't." The old knight shook his head, trying to shuffle away from her. "Princess, you of all people… do not speak for me…"

"He squired for Lord Manfred Swann. He was knighted by King Ormund Durrandon in battle. He has never served a Lannister king, for he was a champion to the Storm Kings. Two of them before he was dismissed by a third!"

"By the gods!" The Greatjon roared, rising from his seat as the Blackfish gave a cry as well.

"Champion to the Storm Kings? You can't mean-"

"I do." She was an arms length from the knight before he dared to meet her gaze again. Through his ragged hair, his sad eyes gazed up at her. As they had the day he'd left Storm's End. His hair had grown but she knew him still.

"This is no hedge knight. Nor a Lannister spy. I've only seen one knight act so bold before a king."

"Here stands Ser Barristan of House Selmy!

"Barristan the Bold himself!"

JON

Stay quiet. Steady pace. Let the darkness be our friend.

Jon repeated that to himself as his horse moved slowly through the mist. Gendry and Asher were on each side of him, a long column of riders following behind. Ghost blended in well with the haze, barely visible as it led the way on.

If Jon squinted hard through the early morning mist he could make out the other columns as well. Thoros and his command was to the right, Balaq's between them and Greenbeard's off on the left. The entire Dark Order rode like this, separated into different parts but united in their goal. All eyes focused on the camp ahead which was not as well hidden by the mist as they were.

That would change, for the sun was soon to rise, the sky beginning to lighten. What worried him more was how the morning calm was punctuated by the sounds of thousands of horses and their hooves tromping upon the dewy grass. It was entirely possibly some Lannister watchman could hear their advance before seeing it.

The Blackfish and his men are seeing to that,he reminded himself, Brynden knows these lands and he's never failed you.

Failure was not an option here. Not with the odds stacked against them as they were. While the Dark Order could advance unnoticed, the camp ahead shined like a town at the edge of the Dothraki Sea. The torches and cook fires of thirty thousand Lannister men guided their way. An army come to drive the Starks from the south and kill all that stood in their way. They certainly had the numbers to do so here, for the Lannisters outnumbered the order ten to one. By all accounts Tywin Lannister commanded twice the horse that Jon did and few men in Westeros were feared as much as the shrewd and ruthless commander of the West.

Yet it was not this commander nor this battle that Jon worried on.

Robb would be fighting to break the Lannister siege of Riverrun. His cousin also faced greater odds against him but Jon tried to focus on what Robb did have rather than what he lacked. A keen mind for one. Robb's strategies were inventive and defied expectation, his ability to come up with strategies and changes at a moment's notice inspiring. A swift and mobile force for another. Almost the entire northern horse was with him. The element of surprise as well, for the Lannisters thought that Robb was marching here. Just as Robb wanted them to.

He also guards my wife. I told Sansa I loved her only to leave her again.

Vhagar, the seven, the old gods, whomever. Watch over them. Protect her.

The whole spectacle of discovering Barristan Selmy at the Twins had forestalled Sansa's anger with him for a few hours. It was actually Jon who grew wroth to learn that a former sworn shield of the Durrandons stood before them. Barristan the Bold's legend was known even in the empire, his disappearance during the Clash of Stags a mystery to all. Once he'd hoped to meet such a knight but that was before Sansa became his wife. Before he learned that Barristan witnessed the crimes done to Sansa and did nothing.

"That is my shame." The old knight had admitted before the hall. "Not that King Robert died under my care, or that the boy king stripped me of my title as a Durrandon champion. None of that mattered in the end… I saw what they did to you Princess Sansa… I knew what they could do, what Joffrey promised to do… and I did nothing…"

"Nonsense." Sansa argued, her voice gentle and sad. "I remember that day well ser. Even after Joffrey chose another as his champion, you stayed at court. You spoke out at my treatment… you acted a champion for me. Cersei stripped you of your lands and title and-"

"And I left." Barristan spoke with a deep shame. "My words were no shield your grace. They did not protect you when I left to join Lord Stannis's cause. When both Renly and Stannis lay dead at my feet, I was a knight without a king. I heard of Joffrey's vile treatment of you... how it was the Hound who rescued you… if a brute like Sandor Clegane-"

Sansa had bristled at that. "Sandor Clegane was a good man. Worthy of being a knight."

"Worthier than I it seems." Barristan had looked to his manacled wrists. "The Hound's deeds showed me how far I'd fallen. I stood by and let the stags be overrun by lions. I abandoned a princess to treatment not fit for the vilest of men. I aided in the great sin of kinslaying… I was no true knight."

"So you became a sellsword?" Robb had asked, as enraptured by the sight of the old man as the rest of the hall.

"No... I became Ser Arstan the Whitebeard. A hedge knight. The open road and good deeds became my cause. By upholding the vows of chivalry and defending the helpless with whomever I so chose, I hoped for some redemption. To be worthy of being a knight again..."

As badly as the old man had been treated, Jon saw strength in his stance and a tenseness in his shoulders that only came with the most skilled of warriors. He was defiant to his captors and Robb both, willing to die to avoid this moment. Yet when Sansa cupped his cheek in her hand, Jon watched the man's strength falter, his defiance turn to shame.

"You were always a knight Ser Barristan. To me at least. Your word carries great weight and I'm sure my brother knows now that you are innocent of the charges laid against you."

"Of those crimes I am." Barristan shook his head. "But not the charges levied on me by the Father for failing to uphold my vows… you poor child…"

"I'm no child anymore ser." Sansa looked to Jon. "I am a woman wed. To a good man. Safe in his care and that of my family's. So now let me see to yours. You shall be bathed, fed, and given a warm bed. We shall discuss anything more come morning."

Barristan had protested, as had some of the Freys, but Robb backed Sansa in all that she demanded. Jon was not able to do the same when they retired to their chambers. His wife had been furious at him for leaving. At Robb for keeping the plans from her. At herself for being so angry in the first place.

"This is war." She'd said, laying on the bed, still gowned and facing away from him. "I knew you'd have to fight, I just thought I'd be near. That I could be there after you, to tend to your hurts like I tried to do after the ambush…"

"Let's pray I have no hurts then." Jon had curled up behind her and kissed her shoulder.

"Your path is the most dangerous though. To face Tywin Lannister's army. Perhaps even Joffrey's."

"I hope it is so." He spoke truthfully. "It means less danger facing Robb and Benjen. I'll be with my men and they've kept me alive nigh on seven years. They'll bring me back to you."

"Like my father's men brought him back." Sansa had snapped, refusing to look at him. "At least allow me to journey with Benjen's foot…"

"No. Not this time Sansa, it's too risky. Robb's path is the more secure one. My mother goes that way and so shall you. I'm sorry."

He apologized in Valyrian as well but Sansa would not face him. She might have wept, he could not tell. Jon had simply lain there, staring at his wife's back as he ran his fingers through her hair for what felt like hours. It was such beautiful hair, even when the fire died down it shone like copper. He was admiring it still when he thought Sansa had fallen asleep and drifted off himself.

Only to be awoken by her kiss. Perhaps she'd been awake the whole time or had risen at some point. It did not matter. He could see little through the darkness but could feel all the same. Sansa had stripped herself bare, pressing her soft and naked body against his as she tugged at his clothes. Repeating the same words in Valyrian, over and over.

"I love. Forgive."Sansa begged between kisses. "Forgive. I love. I love."

He begged the same of her. Their lovemaking was different this time. Less lust and more gentleness. Perhaps because that was the first time that Sansa had mounted him. She was shy about it and surprised Jon by climbing atop him in the first place. Whatever spurred her on, the world fell away when she took his cock in her hand and slowly lowered herself. He cursed the darkness then, for it robbed him of the sight of her body, though nothing could stop the feeling of Sansa drawing him deep inside of her.

There was doubt about so many things when he left the next morning. Of how well their plans might work. If the rumors that the Freys had heard of Duskendale were true. The fate of the disgraced Barristan Selmy. Yet as Jon rode away, watching Sansa grow more and more distant beside his mother, he had no doubt that she still cared for him.

That he was becoming a better man. One worthy of her.

A thought which made Jon grimace now as the Lannister camp spread out before them. They were so close now he could see the staked edges. The river running to the west. He could hear the sounds of men and horses as the army came alive.

My men need me to be who I was,he reminded himself, I've gotten them through worse but not with my mind so muddled.

I cannot fight Tywin Lannister as Sansa's husband alone. The lion must face the monster I am.

"Sun's almost up." Asher rasped from his right, spear at the ready. "The Blackfish better be ready…"

"He will be." Jon answered, pulling at Dark Sister to make sure the blade did not stick in the sheath. He looked to Gendry, his friend already wearing his dark helm and wielding a spear while a warhammer was strapped to his back. "I worry that the hammer weighs you down brother."

"My horse is as strong as me, it can bear it." Gendry's voice echoed in the helm. "Do not worry on me Jon. I'll be right there with you. The whole way. Khal Drogo wasn't the end of us. Some lions won't be."

"Then I'll see you on the other side."

He turned back in his saddle to gaze down the line. He held up his hand and made two quick fists. An action repeated by every sergeant who saw it. Soon every man was donning his helm and checking their armor. It was good to see that Karl Bowden had not hesitated at the command. The young man was undergoing the worst part of joining the order. The training. The endless chanting, burning the meaning of these signals so far into a recruit's head that Jon remembered dreaming of them. That was necessary, for in the heat of battle a man's wits could melt away. Knowing the signals like the back of your hand could be the difference between defeat and victory.

That and having the right man beside you.

Jon had just put on his helm when a horn cut through the quiet. A long, ugly sound that sounded more like a beast dying than anything else. It came from direction of the Lannister camp. From near its staked edges.

"The Blackfish." He gritted his teeth. "This is it!"

Four more horns then joined in. All blowing as long as they could, giving Jon and the commanders of the other columns a chance to follow the sounds.

"On me!" He raised his hand and signaled the charge, kicking at his horse. "For the empire!"

"For the empire!"

Jon spurred his mount on, careful to give it time to work up to a full charge. He would be asking a lot of it in the next little while and needed it ready. Gendry and Asher were with him, the rest of his column following behind. The horns continued to blow as the Lannister camp began to writhe with activity. Many likely saw the four columns of the Dark Order charging out of the mist. The narrow formations hid their numbers but that was only part of the reason for them. It had more to do with why the horns continued to blow, guiding Jon and his men straight towards a part of the stakes that had been uprooted.

Where the Blackfish and a few men now knelt over some dead Lannisters and waved their comrades onward.

"I hope you remembered my horse!" The old knight shouted as Jon rode by.

Surely they had. Men towards the end of the line would be leading the mounts of the Blackfish's men. Two score brave souls had crawled up to the Lannister camp to kill their watches and dig up what stakes they could. Clearing the way for a charge that Jon now led. His other captains were doing much the same, guided by the horns and moving swiftly through the camp defenses.

Ahead some brave and dutiful Lannister soldiers had begun to form ranks. Yet many began to shout and flee the moment they realized that the riders weren't being held back by the stakes. A ditch slowed them some but it only gave Jon time to scan the defenders and the makings of the camp. A few hundred men lined the edges, thousands more darting about among the tents, likely trying to armor and organize themselves. Trumpets were blowing and banners were being raised. Jon lifted his own hand then, signaling the raising of their banners and for the charge to split.

It's time to show them what the order can do. It's time to sow some chaos.

Once they were through the ditch, Jon's column split in three directions. Asher and Gendry stayed by his side and a few hundred more followed as they drove straight into the fraying ranks of defenders.

A man-at-arms screamed when Ghost lunged forward and drove him off his feet. His grisly end only added to the dead that Jon's men were making. Spears thrust out, swift and disciplined blows, stabbing down and through the defenders. Dark Sister was in his hand then, cutting a man's arm free and carving through a helm as he rode by.

Then they were in the camp itself, galloping between the tents, screaming and killing as they went. Men ran to and fro, some standing to fight, others trying to flee, most ending up on the ground and trampled by the horses. If he turned either way he caught glimpses of the other columns, all doing much the same. They were all driving south but one outpaced them all. The only company that hadn't broken apart, Balaq and his five hundred archers. Their bows were slung on their backs, spears at the ready, riding hard for the other end of camp. Doing as Jon had instructed.

He lost sight of them when he came to a mess of tents blocking their advance. When he slowed to consider their route, an arrow clanged off his helm. The archer who'd loosed it was among a number of men gathered around a lord with a badger on his surcoat. He was shouting at his squire to armor him faster when he met Jon's gaze.

Whatever bravery the man had fell to fear, for he stood in the way of the route that Jon had chosen. It was Asher who rode the lord down, a war cry escaping his helm as the spear pierced the foe's chest. Jon was cutting at a swordsman's neck when the badger lord's squire was knocked into his path. A boy no older than Rickon.

The boy was scared.

He could only watch as the squire fell beneath his mount's hooves. Listen as a terrified shriek turned to sickening cracks and thuds as the child was trampled.

A monster… child-killer… you forgot what you were…

This is you.

"This is it!" Gendry shouted, pointing his bloody spear to the west. "Jon! Jon they're forming up!"

The sun had appeared and with it rose the power of House Lannister. While a good part of the camp was falling to disorder, a sizeable force was banding together

In a clearing surrounded by grand and golden pavilions were warriors garbed in the Lannister crimson, banners flying their golden lions, many already gaining their horses. A quick guess put their number at more than a thousand already and droves more were joining the rallying cry of their trumpets.

The reason why became apparent when a few score armored riders appeared, escorting a man who made the gleaming knights appear to be beggars. His armor was deep crimson, highlighted by gold. His cape was golden too, as was the crown forged into his helm. Jon was the son of a High King of the Targaryen Empire, and even he thought this man a grand sight.

"That be Tywin Lannister!" Asher growled, whipping his horse around and staring at the foe. "If I'm wrong may I shit gold."

"That's what they say about Tywin." Gendry added, rallying the men about them and looking back at the stalled advance with worry. "Lord Commander, we cannot stay put."

"No we cannot." Jon agreed as the Order threw back the frenzy attacks from the Lannister men. They were throwing back the assault with ease and Jon wondered if they could form into a wedge before Tywin's force was ready to strike at them. There was a chance he could cut through the Lannister line and meet the King of the Rock himself.

The man who arranged your uncle's death… whose support allowed Sansa to be kept a prisoner for years…

She was tortured… he made that possible…

Asher cried out then, his man pulling at an arrow embedded in his mail. It had not gone deep but there was blood on the tip when he cast it aside. More arrows were being loosed from behind them, a rank of archers following a press of spearmen advancing on their position. Men that would cut off their escape if he tried to attack King Tywin's growing force.

"We cannot stay here." He gritted his teeth. "Our place is elsewhere. South. Push south! Through the camp!"

As his men shouted their agreement, Jon swore that King Tywin's helmed head turned his way. He felt the King of the Rock was staring at him. Taking his measure. That bid him to pull on his reins and bring his horse up into a rear. With his horse screaming and the camps doing much the same, Jon pointed Dark Sister towards the king.

"Sansa Stark!" He shouted, not caring if the man heard. "I am here for Sansa Stark!"

It wasn't true. Jon was here to conquer new land for the empire. To give his father a place to settle those people it had hurt the most. Yet he wanted this king to know his family's crimes against Sansa would be held to account. That her brand was their damnation. That it would be for her that Jon made them suffer.

And to do all that he had to abandon a fight with Tywin Lannister here and now. His party beat their horses and rode at a gallop through the tents. They had to fight harder now to escape the wrath of its defenders. Their surprise had worked but that was gone. The camp was too large and foes too many to overcome by themselves. That had never been the plan. The Dark Order's strength was meant for a different kind of battle.

They would've faced a terrible battle at the southern edge of the Lannister camp if it wasn't for the brutal bombardment the westermen now suffered. Balaq had broken through to the south ahead of the rest. His archers had dismounted and were raining hell down upon the camp, thinning the enemy's number so that the rest of the order could blow through like a strong wind.

Jon's was the last party to join the mass of dark riders, all awaiting his coming and cheering as Balaq's archers took a grim toll on their enemy. The Lannisters were drawing back and forming up, likely anticipating the order to hit them again.

"Made it through did you?" The Blackfish hailed, riding up and pointing to the western part of the Lannister encampment. "They've got about two thousand heavy horse mounted already. If they figure out what we're up to, with our horses in the state they're in, we might not outride them Jon. We best go now."

"We could end this here." Asher put in. "Look at them. They're barely fit for a fight! When Benjen gets here-"

"He is here." Gendry interrupted, staring north and bidding all to follow his gaze.

There he saw a dark blur in the distance. Still too far to make out for sure but Jon knew what it was. They'd left Benjen and the Stark infantry only a day ago. More than twenty thousand men flying the banners of the Umbers, Cerwyns, Glovers, and Freys, to name a few. The direwolf of House Stark would be more numerous than the rest and Jon could almost picture Benjen riding beneath it, one of the few men in that army with a horse.

The rest were with Robb. The king needed them to do his part. Just as Robb needed Benjen and Jon to do theirs.

"This is Benjen's fight." Jon said, removing his helm and letting his hair fly about his face. "We soften up the Lannisters. Weaken them. Make them wary of their rear. But the battle is for the North to wage. Our place is the rocky ford. We take it. We cross it and keep Joffrey and Tywin apart."

Brynden nodded. "Going now is the only way to be sure of that."

If Benjen wins then the Lannisters will retreat. We'll hold the ford and box them in.

If my uncle loses, he can retreat back to the Twins… but I need to be across the Trident… everything hinges on that.

He hated to think of leaving his uncle to the fight here but this was the strategy they had formed. They had to keep Tywin's eyes anywhere save on Riverrun. Joffrey's army had to be kept south. That's where the empire's conquest was meant to happen. Where Aegon expected Jon to be.

Far from where he wanted to be.

He could not help but think of Sansa as he commanded the Order to ready for the ride on. The best way to help her and the Starks was to ensure victory over their foes. His leaving this fight made that possible. The Lannisters did not give pursuit, having taken notice of the approaching Stark army. Benjen was still outnumbered by ten thousand or more but his foe was disorganized, panicked, and bloodied.

Now Jon had to do the same to Joffrey's army. That and worse.

His mind clouded with dark thoughts as they rode south, the sounds of trumpets and horns blowing behind them. Of two armies readying to clash. He thought of Sansa's brand, her fear, and what Dark Sister would do to the man who had caused it.

What Jon would do. He'd just killed a half score of men and none of their faces stood out. Save the boy's.

A monster killed him,he told himself,the same beast that's coming for Joffrey.

I'll do my worst to see this done. The empire be damned. I'll do it for her.

I'll become that thing I was before I had her… to do right by Sansa…

To be a better man.