Tyrion Lannister glanced down at the raven that had just come in, to the piece of parchment that was in his hands. His nose wrinkled, irritating his scar, and glanced back up at Bronn and Podrick. Joffrey's wedding to the Lady Margaery was due to take place tomorrow and here was this piece of news.

"What?" Bronn questioned, taking another bite of food from the table. Lannister guards stood at the door as the three men talked, silent and watchful.

"There was a massacre at the Twins," Tyrion remarked, reaching down to his mug of ale and taking a sip. It was still early in the afternoon but he would need liquid courage to deliver this news to his father and Cersei. The King wouldn't be happy about this either. "Lord Walder Frey and Lord Roose Bolton are dead. The Freys apparently tried to assassinate the King in the North. They broke guest right to do it and failed."

Bronn raised an eyebrow. "Your nephew won't like that."

"No one will like it, Bronn. Why do I always have to be the messenger?"

"Because you're the responsible one in the family?" Bronn asked.

Tyrion snorted. "Joffrey will not like this. Cersei will not like this. My father will not like this."

"At least your brother's back."

Tyrion dipped his head in agreement. "Aye, he is. I'm glad of it. Qyburn is looking at his hand right now."

"Does it say something about the man we saw rescuing the Lady Sansa?" Podrick finally asked, looking between the two men.

"The letter just says that the King in the North is heading back north," Tyrion replied, shrugging. "And so are his men. The Frey-Tully wedding happened still so Lord Edmure now has a wife. It says that the Tully men are staying to pick a new lord of the Twins."

"You could go ask Varys. He probably has more information," Bronn said, his eyes narrowing in thought. "If you're interested in more information."

"My father probably would have made me wed Lady Sansa. I am glad her family is safe now," Tyrion admitted, sighing at the thought. "I wonder who they'll pick to be the Lord of the Twins."

"There's so many of those fucking Freys," Bronn said, shaking his head and grimacing. "I wouldn't sweat it."

As Tyrion headed to Varys' quarters, he ran into his father, the Lord of Casterly Rock. Tywin did not look happy, his eyes tight with anger and his shoulders curled inward under the lion cloak. He stopped when he saw Tyrion heading in the same direction, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Father. I suppose you have heard about what happened at the Twins," Tyrion started, dropping his hands into his pockets and seeing Pod out of the corner of his eyes.

"Not once have my plans gone awry," Tywin remarked easily, the steel under his voice unnerving even now. "I should not have relied on the Freys and the Westerlings to do the job."

Tyrion's eyes widened, thinking on the letter that they had received months before. The letter that said that Robb Stark had broken his agreement with the Freys by wedding Jeyne Westerling. And the Freys… "You arranged this. All of this."

"The Starks are all as honorable as the dearly loved Ned," Tywin said, looking to the courtyard beyond them. "The Young Wolf behaved just as I wanted him to."

Tyrion stared at his father. "You wanted to wipe out another family."

"They kidnapped you, Tyrion. I won't have that as an insult to our family."

"I'm not part of your family!" Tyrion yelled, his fingers clenching into fists. "You call me dwarf, Imp and never son!"

"Which Lannister had you in mind to wed the Westerling heir?" Tyrion questioned as soon as his heart slowed from pounding. "They had to have an agreement with you to that degree."

"The daughter of Gerion," Tywin answered, lifting his shoulders in a minute shrug.

"Joy? She's a bastard."

"Exactly."

Harry looked to where Robb was, the King in the North standing before the dais of the great hall at the Twins. Grey Wind was at the king's side, curled up and chewing on a bone. Robb and Edmure were both looking down at the young girl who had been found a day ago, the granddaughter of Ser Stevron Frey, the first son of Walder Frey. Lady Walda Frey was ten years old and the new Lady of the Twins, her medium length brown hair pulled up in a bun and her blue eyes wide with fear.

"My lady, will you be loyal to your liege lord?" Lord Edmure questioned, his eyes narrowed as he spoke. There was a thin veneer of anger behind his words, the knowledge of the almost betrayal of Houses Tully and Stark fresh in his mind.

Harry had been in the room when Robb had explained to his uncle less than a week ago. Edmure had not been happy but he hadn't been angry at Robb for not telling him.

Lady Walda Frey bowed her head, kneeling before the King in the North and the Lord Paramount of the Trident. "I will, my lord. House Frey is yours."

Her voice quivered with fear and the older men and women surrounding her all kneeled too, worried what would happen should they not submit. The execution of Lord Walder Frey had been a week ago and then the cleanup had begun, the Stark and Tully men working together to catch any remaining Karstark, Frey and Bolton guardsmen.

Harry had worked in tandem with Dacey Mormont and the Smalljon to see to any remaining injured. The dead had been piled together, Freys in one pile and northerners in another. There had been one young man, a Stark guard, who had been gutted and thrown in the river. Another had been younger than Harry and he had had to catch his breath and stomach before sicking up.

"Edmure, I shall like to take my forces back home," Robb said, drawing Harry's attention back to the present. "Winterfell is calling me."

"Aye. Should you need anything, just send a raven. My lady is already on her way to Riverrun and I shall send your mother, sisters, and wife north when you say it's safe."

Harry watched as Robb grasped Edmure's arm, the northern way of shaking hands he supposed. A gesture of alliance and friendship.

"Harry?"

He took a few steps to stand in front of Robb and Edmure, seeing the Smalljon and his father, the Greatjon walk into the Great Hall. Ser Patrek Mallister was standing next to Edmure, having decided to stay until he wasn't need anymore. Seagard was just a few miles south of the Twins but Harry had seen that Patrek and Edmure were good friends, with Patrek having brought Edmure to the bedding the night of the wedding.

"Yes?"

"What are your plans?" Robb questioned.

"I had thought I would go with you and help retake the North," Harry offered, crossing his arms. "The ironborn still have most of it, don't they?"

"Aye, they do. They have Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, and the Stony Shore. We will have to take the Dreadfort too. I have also sent word to Lord Howland about retaking Moat Cailin. They will guide us through the swamp to the castle from the north."

"I went through Lord Bolton's belongings," Harry commented, his eyes narrowing at the reminder. "If you retake the Dreadfort, assuming that's the castle of the Boltons, you'll need to kill Ramsey Snow."

Robb blinked. "What did you find?"

"Ramsey was the one who burned Winterfell and killed the two smith's boys," Harry explained. "And Roose didn't say a word otherwise, in fact, I think he encouraged his bastard son in taking Winterfell. Or it was all Ramsey's doing. Altogether, Ramsey needs to die."

"I had been planning on making you Lord of Moat Cailin," Robb finally spoke a minute later. "Mayhaps you would be better as the Lord of the Dreadfort."

Harry blinked and stared at Robb, his mouth opening and then closing. "I'm not a Bolton."

"It would be a new house," Robb offered, grinning a little. "Roose did not have any other children and had not yet remarried."

"Lord Bolton was due to marry my cousin," Lady Walda interrupted quietly. "Fat Walda."

Robb and Harry turned to look at her before turning to each other again.

"I know you have fallen in love with my sister too," Robb continued, smiling widely now. "You have my blessing."

Harry grinned, his heart skipping a beat at the words. "I can go tell Sansa now."

"Let me and Winterfell's maester know when you have decided on a House name and banner," Robb remarked. "We can have your wedding when we retake Winterfell, in the godswood."

"That sounds wonderful," Harry murmured, already withdrawing his wand and whispering the words to apparate. "I'll be back to join you for the retaking of the North."

A crack sounded in the quiet godswood of Riverrun and Sansa turned around immediately, her lips moving up into a grin as Harry appeared. He looked good, safe and alive and excited. His hair was wild, not so much framing his face, as not and his green eyes were glowing. He wore a black tunic and grey leggings, a cloak fitting around his shoulders.

Lady let out an eager bark at the sight and loped towards the wizard.

"Harry!"

She closed the distance between them within three steps and he swept her up into his arms, holding her tight as their lips met. Sansa trembled, opening her mouth up to his tongue. Warmth spread throughout her body and she could feel Harry's cock rising, as there was no more than a few inches separating them.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lowered her to the ground, a big smile on his face. "I am glad you are safe."

"It was your suggestion," Harry whispered, curling his arms around her waist. "To go early anway. I became a Frey for a short while."

Sansa blinked at his words. "You were a spy."

"Hmm. Yes, I was. Moody would have been proud of me."

Sansa's lips twitched up into a grin. "Lord Varys is nothing compared to you. What of Robb?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I haven't met the man but I do not plan on becoming a spy full time, thank you. It was exhausting. Robb's fine and is planning on retaking the north, starting tomorrow. Your uncle is fine as well and the new Lady of Riverrun is on the way here now. As for me… Robb made me Lord of the Dreadfort."

She stared at him. "Lord of the Dreadfort?"

"Roose Bolton is dead and Ramsey Snow is not long for this world," Harry explained. "Ramsey is the one who actually burned Winterfell and killed the two smallfolk boys."

Sansa wrinkled her nose at the thought, memories of King's Landing floating through her mind. "Cersei would be proud of the Freys and the Boltons. Ramsey probably was encouraged to take Winterfell by his father."

"You are not Cersei," Harry whispered, staring at her before sighing. He reached out his hand, placing it lightly on her chest. "You are a Stark. Lady Sansa Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. You have a gentle heart, Sansa. I am quite sure that your father is very proud of you."

Sansa placed her own hand over Harry's, entwining their fingers. "Thanks."

"Anytime. And… one other thing."

Sansa watched as Harry grinned even wider.

"Robb gave us his blessing," Harry murmured, his eyes going soft and heated.

She grinned and leaned closer towards him, dropping her head on his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you too," Harry whispered, even as Lady curled around the two of them and howled, excited and eager. "My father had a thing for redheads too. It seems I inherited it."

Sansa rolled her eyes and elbowed him. Harry laughed and kissed her again, pressing his lips to hers briefly before pulling away.

"I'm proud of you, Sansa," Harry said, catching her eyes with his.

Tears pooled in her eyes and she smiled, enjoying being held in his arms once again.