The dungeons did not smell any better than the last time Lyvia set foot in them. The stench of stale urine and horrid body odor slammed into her face as she rounded the corner to the prisoner cells. Thankfully, the other compartments were empty and only Maureen remained.

"Maureen," Lyvia said in a low voice.

The girl with the blond hair lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. She had been given a woolen blanket to keep warm, but she still shivered from the chill in the air. "This is some realistic theme park," she said. "Well done."

Lyvia shook her head. "Why does everyone think this is a game? Maureen, we're really in Winterfell."

Maureen laughed and rose to her feet. "And I suppose that's the real Jory Cassel?" She pointed to Jory, who stood silently behind Lyvia with his arms crossed.

Lyvia glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded. "Yes, he is."

Maureen cackled loudly. "That's funny. I never imagined him to be so tall and so scowly." Her eyes studied Jory's expression. "Not bad…" She grasped the iron bars of her cell and pressed her head against an opening and tried to peer down the hall. "Where is everyone? Where's Peter? I want to commend him on a grand entrance last night."

Lyvia lowered her eyes and took a step back from the iron bars. "He's been hurt," she said in a low voice.

"Well, we need to get him to a doctor, then," Maureen said. "It's not serious, right?"

"Maester Luwin says he may not survive the night," Jory interrupted.

"What do you mean? He needs to go to hospital then, if it's that serious!" Maureen said with a frown. "Let me out…"

Lyvia turned her eyes to Jory, who stood with a thoughtful expression on his face. "She can't walk around like that," she said to him.

He nodded and pulled her close to him.

"What…?"

His hands gently unfastened her cloak and slipped it off her shoulders. "You may feel cold for a few minutes while I go find something for her to wear. She can wear the cloak over her clothes and have her wear the hood to hide the hair."

Lyvia nodded and stepped back away from him. She didn't feel cold, however. Her hands held her cloak as Jory unlocked Maureen's cell door and pulled it open with a heavy creak.

Maureen gave Jory an impatient stare as she tapped her foot and crossed her arms, waiting for him to be finished. "Are you done?" she asked. "I want to see the rest of this place."

Lyvia thrust her cloak into Maureen's arms as Jory took his leave. Her fingers grazed his hand as he passed her and she gave him a smile. "Thank you, Jory."

He nodded and left the dungeon.

"What is this made of?" Maureen examined the cloak carefully and stuck it to her nose with a wince. "It stinks! Is this synthetic?"

"It's wool!" Lyvia grew impatient herself. "Are you even thinking clearly?"

"Are you? You think this place is really Winterfell? I'm not convinced. It looks like a cheap replica." She ran her fingers along the dirt on the iron bars and grimaced. "This place needs to be cleaned."

"It's a dungeon!" Lyvia felt her face turn pink. She wanted to tear her own hair out from the frustration.

Maureen grunted lightly and draped the cloak over her shoulders with a frown. She pulled the hood over her head with a sigh. "And that Jory is a really awful actor, if you ask me."

"He's not an actor," Lyvia said. "He is Jory."

She shrugged. "Whatever…" She walked passed Lyvia and down the corridor towards the stairs. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"We'll go see Peter." Lyvia said, passing her to lead the way to the infirmary.

When Lyvia and Maureen arrived in the infirmary, Mandy was still sitting beside Peter with her hand on his, but her face looked extremely bored. She yawned as she turned towards Lyvia and Maureen. "Oh! It's Khaleesi!" she shouted as she jumped up. Her face looked relieved when she saw them.

Maureen approached slowly and lowered her hood to look down at Peter, who was lying in the bed with his eyes closed. "What's his problem?"

"The Kingsguard slashed him with a sword," Mandy said.

"Where's Maester Luwin?" Lyvia asked.

"He ran out a few minutes before you came… Jory came and got him…"

Lyvia widened her eyes when she realized what must've happened. "You two stay here with Peter," she said as she lifted her skirts to run out of the infirmary and down the stairs to the courtyard. She saw nothing but chaos as servants rushed frantically passed her.

Running into the Great Keep, she rushed up the steps and followed the sounds of voices as they filtered in from Bran's room. She heard Sansa and Arya crying in the hall as Septa Mordane attempted to comfort them with Jeyne Poole. Jory stood in the doorway with his back to her, but she recognized him immediately. Her hand fell to the small of his back as she stood beside him. Looking up into his worried expression, she knew what had happened.

She peered into the room by craning her neck. Her eyes found Lady Stark kneeling beside her son as he lay in the bed, covered in furs up to his neck. Maester Luwin inspected him carefully as Lady Stark cried. "I told him not to go climbing…" she said bitterly to herself.

Jory pulled Lyvia away and down the hallway. When they were out of earshot of the others, he braced his hands on her shoulders. "You told him not to go misbehaving today," he said to her. "Did you know something like this would happen?"

She couldn't look into his face because she would have to lie to him.

"Tell me, Lyvia. Did you know?" He grasped her by the arms. "Did you?"

Her eyes finally found his face and she shook her head. She knew she didn't fool him. His eyes narrowed at her and a thin line replaced his mouth. She bit her lip and swallowed hard as she watched him sigh and release her. "Jory…"

He turned away from her and returned to the crowd at the other end of the hall without a word.

Lyvia's heart sank as she watched him walk away from her. For the first time since she'd arrived, she felt alone and truly afraid. She ran down the steps of the keep and out into the courtyard just as Lord Stark, the King, and the others rode through the Hunters' Gate. Her feet slipped and she nearly slid beneath Lord Stark's horse if he hadn't moved in time to avoid her. She gazed up at him as he looked down at her with his cold grey eyes.

"Where's Bran?" he asked.

"In his room, my lord," she replied as she stood up. She rushed passed Robb and Benjen Stark on her way into the godswood, her only place for peace.

She knelt by the great weirwood and pressed her forehead against the wood with her eyes closed. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she sobbed quietly. She wiped her face with the back of her hands when she felt a heavy woven cloak fell upon her shoulders. Turning around, she glanced up at the man who gave her his cloak and her face turned white.

"Your Grace," her voice quivered as she knelt before the King.

He said nothing but studied her with his hands on his hips and his big belly held still by soft leathers. His beard twitched as his lips turned into a frown. "You looked cold," he finally stated in a gruff voice.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said without moving.

"Though, I don't know why I should worry. Starks are hearty against the cold," he muttered.

"Your Grace, I am not a Stark."

"You don't have to keep up this game of yours… Lyanna. I know I've been away and I know… I was supposed to marry you. Instead, I married the Lannister girl. I thought you were dead. Ned said you died in the Tower of Joy."

"Your Grace, have you been drinking?"

He growled and started to pace like a caged animal. "If he told me you were still alive and living here in Winterfell, I would have sent for you right away… I would have married you. We could have been happy."

Lyvia sat and watched him silently.

"But he hid you away for all these years… and you haven't changed. And I'm married to that woman…"

"Your Grace…" She rose to her feet and he grasped her arm with thick hand of fat fingers. "Please, Your Grace. I am not Lyanna… she's gone."

His fingers tightened around her arm. "You're right here… you're not dead."

"You still love me, don't you? That's why you're still here."

"Your Grace…" she said in a low voice as she tried to pull her arm away from him.

"My name is Robert… you remember, Lyanna? Robert. I loved you more than anything… until he stole you away from me. You were supposed to be mine."

"A woman is not a horse, Your Grace. She doesn't belong to anyone…" She finally managed to escape his vice-like grip and back away from him.

He laughed. "The same spirited girl I remember… stubborn and strikingly beautiful… I'm still madly in love with you…"

She shook her head. "My name is Lyvia Turner, Your Grace. I am not Lyanna Stark."

"Your Grace," Lord Stark appeared in the godswood.

"Go away, Ned," the King growled. "Can't you see I want to be alone with Lyanna?"

"She's not Lyanna, Robert. I didn't hide her. She died. She's dead. You weren't there, I know, but it's true. She's gone and no one will ever take her place." He glanced at Lyvia for a moment with sad eyes. "No matter how much we miss her. She's gone. And life goes on, my friend. You have a beautiful wife… and three beautiful children."

The King shook his head. "All I ever wanted was her…" He pointed at Lyvia.

"The Queen was looking for you," Lord Stark said. "She would like you to sup with her this evening."

"Bah!" the King stormed away.

Lord Stark stared at Lyvia for a moment and shook his head as she removed the King's cloak from her shoulders.

She handed it to him. "Please return this to the King. I'm afraid if I do, the Queen… she may think something awful of me. And it would be best if I didn't return this to him myself." Her voice was low and almost a whisper. "Thank you, my lord."

He nodded and left her alone in the godswood.

She sat back down against the weirwood and closed her eyes. With a deep breath, she tried to concentrate on her prayers for everyone around her, including Bran and Peter. She wasn't sure how long her eyes were shut before she felt a cloak fall over her again. With a frown, she opened her eyes.

"I thought you would be cold," Jory said, adjusting the cape over her shoulders.

"Thank you," she replied.

He stood up and turned to leave when she called after him.

"Jory," she said, forcing him to stop. He didn't turn, however. Instead, he just stood still and silent as he listened to her. "I'm sorry… I should have said something to you earlier."

"What other things are you hiding from me?" he asked. "You're supposed to trust me as I trust you."

She nodded. "I know…but it's something that… I couldn't tell anyone. You probably wouldn't believe me anyway… you'd think I'm crazy."

He finally turned to face her. "You never gave me the chance."

She nodded. "I know… I'm sorry." Tears welled up in her eyes and she had to turn her head away to hide them.

Jory sat beside her and pulled her against him. "He'll be fine."

She nodded. "I know he will," she said quickly. She pushed herself up from him and rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

"What else are you not telling me, then?" he asked as he ran a hand down her back.

She shook her head and shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"You seem to know an awful lot about everyone here… I don't know anything about you, except that you have a husband."

"I don't have a husband anymore. We're divorced."

"Divorced?"

"We're legally separated from each other and we no longer consider ourselves married to each other."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because it's the way it works where I come from," she said with a crinkled nose. "I don't understand the question."

"You married for love… here, sometimes it's a political decision to marry houses together and create a permanent pact. If a husband is unfaithful, it doesn't dissolve the marriage in any way and the wife certainly does not seek to end it. They just carry on through it." His face twisted into a confused expression. "If you marry for love, then there should be nothing that could be so great that you can't work through it."

"That's a wonderful thought," she said. "But, that's not how it works where I come from… some people carry on and shoulder through… but a lot of us just get divorced and start over again." She shrugged.

"You loved him, though. Your husband."

She nodded and didn't look at him. "I did. I don't anymore."

"He'll always have a part of your heart, Lyvia. You can't deny that. You can bury your emotions but it's still there."

"Have you ever married, Jory?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I never found a woman, who could capture my attention," he paused. Leaning over towards her ear, he whispered, "Until now."

She felt him breathe in her scent as his nose nuzzled into her hair. "Jory…"

"I know… you don't want me to get too close," he chuckled. "You have to know by now that I'm not going to listen to you for much longer."

She scooted away from him.

"Lyvia…what's this Throne Con that Peter was groaning about?" he asked.

Lyvia's face drained of color and she felt ill. "It's just a gather of people who like a series of books," she said casually.

"And these books… what are they about?"

"Jory, I'd rather not discuss this, please." She glanced up into his face with a hopeful smile.

He nodded. "Very well… Describe your home to me."

"You're being nosey," she smirked.

"All I know about you is that you're divorced from your husband… and Mandy stated that you like flowers. I want to know what your home looks like."

"It's a small house," she replied. "Blue on the outside with two bedrooms." She shrugged. Her eyes caught his awkward expression as he tried to ask her more questions but couldn't seem to find the right ones. With a smirk, she stood up and said, "Come, walk with me."

He nodded and rose to his feet. "I'll fetch another cloak," he said, rushing out of the godswood.