Hey! I really hope you guys like this chapter! I didn't know where to end off, and how to end it, so please tell me how I did and review!

Also, this will be the last chapter for a while, as I'm going to camp on the 1st, until the 7th, so sadlly, I will not be able to update :(

(name of this chapter is after the Mumford & Sons song, Timshel)

and finally:: YES! reunion soon...and don't forget THE POLL, and I am still taking name suggestions!

Chapter 14

Maeve held Tally close to her as she cried, the ginger girl's tears wetting the fabric of her bodice. Maeve paid no mind, and just held the other girl, stroking her tangled hair. It was out of mutual comfort that they held to one another, silently assuring the other that they were not alone. They knelt on the ground, and Maeve's feet were losing feeling as she stayed there for an unmeasured amount of time.

One arm curled around Tally's shoulders, while the other held her belly, rubbing it unconsciously. Her baby nudged her palm, and Maeve gave a smile at that. Can you feel me, baby? I can feel you, she thought, gently rubbing where she felt the movement.

Tally held her own child close, Dorna half asleep against her mother's bosom. Dorna had woken up nearly half an hour after those monsters had been killed, but she was in pain and barely opened her eyes. Tally grew frantic at seeing the gash on her child's brow, screaming and begging her daughter to open her eyes properly. Maeve had calmed the girl, assuring her that child only needed rest and that there was no serious damage done. This only made Tally start sobbing.

So they stayed like that until the sun began to come up, illuminating the dead and bloody bodies around them. Maeve bit back a gag as she spied the dead body of the leader lying motionless at the ground, the useless purse of coins lying limp in his hand. Flies flew around his corpse, landing in the bloody mess of his neck. Scavengers would come soon, and Maeve worried what they'd do when they found fresh meat not a few feet from the rotting carcasses. Suddenly, at that moment, hatred—deep and black—grew towards these men, who had hurt two helpless women and a child with no remorse.

In the sept, no one ever told her how...horrific it was, to be caught in a predators clutches without a hope of escape, to be cornered and terrified of the horrors you were about to face. This was a terrifying and harsh eye-opener, making her realize how dangerous this world was. The septon's had preached that murderous, wicked men like these men were the result of their whore mothers' fornications and sin, punishment from the gods. She didn't know if that was true anymore; maybe some men were just born wicked, for surely the gods could not produce such hateful creatures? But then again, they could do anything.

Maeve sniffled as her baby kicked once more. She had failed her child...she swore to protect him, but hadn't...if Ghost hadn't...she would have...her baby...

Her eyes clenched shut. She wanted to do something; to vow to never be that vulnerable, to swear her child would never come under threat again, or to somehow atone for her weakness. In her heart, Maeve felt like she'd failed her child before it even left her womb...if Ghost had not saved her—saved them—gods knew where she would be now. She had been helpless to protect her baby and although she knew that she was not at fault, her heart still ached.

Eventually, Tally's body stopped wracking with sobs and just let Maeve hold her and her daughter, tears silently slipping down both girls' dirty and bloody cheeks. As the sun began to shine through the trees, Maeve knew they needed to leave...now.

"Come on." Maeve whispered, pulling away from Tally. "We've got to leave. Up you get." Tally said nothing, but pulled away as well, and slowly, both girls stood, their joints popping and aching from kneeling so long.

Maeve felt disgusting. Blood stained her dress, the blood of the man who'd tried to rape her. It itched on her skin, it stiffened her hair where it had dried, and smelled awful. Dirt dusted all over her front from when he'd pinned her to the ground, but this wasn't all that made her feel filthy. Her skin needed a good hard scrub, to wash away any smell the man had left behind, to get rid of whatever memory he had seared into her skin.

For the first time in what felt like a very long time, Maeve thanked the Seven above for having mercy on her and her child, for sending them Ghost.

But looking at Tally, it was clear she was not so fortunate. The blood on Tally's clothes made Maeve cringe, but the bruises on her cheek and neck made her happy these men were dead. She had been taught that death was a sad affair, the sept preaching you should never wish any person ill, no matter how cruel or vain...but Maeve rejected that teaching now. She was sure no one would miss these men.

Maeve reached out to touch Tally's hand, but the girl flinched back, her body recoiling without Tally meaning to.

"I'm sorry," Maeve whispered, wishing she could say something more to comfort the girl. "Let me take her, while we find somewhere to...wash." she held out her arms for the child, not really wanting to bear her weight, but willing to.

"No." Tally replied hastily, holding Dorna closer. "No, we're fine...we're fine." She whispered, but it was very clear that they were not. Maeve nodded.

They lingered there a while, steadying themselves on their unsteady feet, wary of any enemy that may present themselves. But in the morning light, the world was still, only a soft breeze moving the trees and fallen leaves through the air. Only they and the mule remained alive and suddenly the absence of the one who'd saved their lives was made terribly obvious.

Maeve looked around them, but found no sign of the white dire wolf. The dead bodies on the ground were the only evidence that he had ever been. Had she imagined it? There was no way that was Ghost...yet it was, it had to be. Wolves never grew that big, unless they were dire wolves, and none beyond the Wall were white. But where was he?

After she whispered the animal's name, shocked at its sudden and unexpected (but incredibly welcomed) presence, the creature seemed to flinch. It blinked its red eyes once, and for a second, she could swear something had changed within Ghost with just that one instant, but he had turned away so suddenly and ran away and was gone so quickly, she could not be sure. Still in a state of shock, she did not think to call for him.

Maeve's heart quickened. Ghost meant Jon. Jon never went anywhere without Ghost and Ghost never went anywhere without Jon. They were too close to leave the other very far behind. She drew in a trembling breath. So many different things swirled inside her, a tidal wave of pure emotion that pulled her under and knocked her from one feeling and hope to the next. She was crossed between heart aching excitement and longing, and disbelief and fear.

But Ghost was gone, as if he was never there, if he ever was. Maeve worried a little that she'd gone mad from tiredness, the stress from the night making her see things that were not there.

Still too shocked for words or action on this new development, Maeve and Tally mechanically walked to the side of the road, where the river flowed towards Golden Tooth. Neither thought of any danger.

Maeve stripped herself bare, wading into the frigid waters of the river. Tally sat down on the river bank, holding her daughter close, still refusing to let the little girl out from her arms. She would bathe later when Maeve was done and could watch over Dorna, and she would bathe longer and scrub herself raw.

Maeve's hands roughly rubbed water over her filthy arms, leaving the pale skin an irritated red. She stood in the freezing water up to her hips, not caring that she was starting to shiver violently from the cold of the air and the water. She scrubbed herself down; she cupped water over her body and watched the blood fade into the water. Her scalp stung when she washed her hair of the blood, the wounds that came from her hair being torn out, burning at the cold water's touch.

Her mind was whirling, adding to her aggressive washing. Thoughts of Jon, Ghost, and all that had happened in the night brought tears to her eyes. What were they going to do?

A gentle breeze lifted Maeve's damp hair, something sadly gentle compared to the harshness of the day.

Her arms throbbed with hidden bruises that the man had given her with his cruel hands, but she held Dorna tightly against her, the girl resting on her hip. Dorna had awoken not long ago, and her little head still hurt from being hit, and a bruise began to colour her round cheek. Despite the hurt in her head, she seemed to be alright, and Maeve was grateful she had not seen her mother violated or the death that saved them. Children should not see such things.

Maeve's dress was dried and the blood was an ugly, smelly brown against the pale blue. It would be useless to wash the dress, the blood had stained. Her hair was damp hair hung lifelessly down her back, dripping onto the ground in large, fat droplets. Dorna wearily watched her mother work, slumped against Maeve heavily, causing the elder girl's body to protest. The child had not spoken since she opened her eyes, but neither Maeve nor Tally pushed her just yet.

Tally sat by her father's body, tears dripping from her chin as she gently laid some ferns and small flowers over his chest. They'd pulled out the spear from his chest, and Maeve and Tally nearly wretched at seeing the mangled flesh and bone and quickly covered Dorna's eyes from the disgusting sight. They threw the murderous thing away into the bush, and it was then that more body-wracking sobs rolled though Tally's small form. Still, although tears half blinded her, Tally did not stop until her father looked ready and presentable to meet his gods.

"He," Tally sniffed. "he wasn't th-the best father, but he k-kept me n' Dorna s-s-safe." She said as she satby his body, looking as small and scared as a child.

Maeve said nothing, but felt an uncomfortable need to do something, give some kind of comfort. As a septa...they used to sing when someone dear died. In her sept, their voices, both strong and meek, carried through the stone halls, lifting into the air, as sweet and sad as the seven oils that burned for seven days and nights. She had not been a Silent Sister who looked in the face of death and did not flinch, one who prepared the bodies of the dead and laid them down in the earth to rest.

No, she had been a septa, her duties had been to helping women and children, helping them live better days. The faintest prickle of loss hit her at remembering her old life.

Saying nothing, Maeve knelt down next to Tally, handing Dorna over to her mother. After a moment of silence, Maeve pulled both Tally and Dorna up and carefully steered them toward the cart.

Maeve did not want to take care of the mother and child—she had her own baby to take care of—but could not bring herself to abandon the pair alone without anyone. She pitied the ginger haired girl; her heart ached for the way she had suffered the night before, in losing both her father and her dignity in the same night. Maeve also feared what were to happen if she continued on alone, what dangers she may face alone or the loneliness that may develop. And above all, her child would quicken soon, and enter the world, so it would be safer and better for her baby if she remained with a girl who'd birthed one before.

So, as gently as she could, Maeve pushed them into the cart bed.

"Sleep. Just sleep, you're safe." She whispered to Tally and Dorna, and Tally looked up at her with sad and wounded eyes. Like she had when she first met them, Maeve looked down at the pair in the cart bed, and reached her hand down and took Tally's hand in her own. The younger girl's hand locked in Maeve's tightly, her lower lip trembling as she fought the urge to cry again.

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day."

Maeve didn't know why she sang, but she hoped it calmed their tears. She had seen Tally sing to Dorna the night before, and lulled the girl into peaceful dreams, and hoped—perhaps vainly—that Maeve's song did the same.

"Gentle Mother, strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray.
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day."

Maeve finished sweetly, her voice softened by the wind blowing around them.

They stayed like that for a while, Maeve humming gently, and slowly, Tally and Dorna's eyes grew heavy and her grasp on Maeve's hand grew limp. She gave a relieved sigh as the girls fell asleep, hoping that their dreams gave them peace. Gently pulling her hand from Tally's, Maeve walked forwards, her steps slow, and stopped alongside the mule, who snorted softly at her approach.

She stroked the donkey's long snout.

Her brows pinched together in worry. What would become of them now, where were they to go? Ghost had run away and there was no hope to find him, he was too fast, too agile. Her heart sank, and tears swam in her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. They wouldn't be safe by themselves...and Ghost was gone and couldn't lead her to Jon.

She realized then that despite her fear of seeing Jon once more, she wanted to see him more than anything, to see his face, to feel his heartbeat and breath beneath her hand, to see he was as whole as he was when she last saw him. She wanted him to hold her, to let her cry and tell her everything would be alright.

Her fear that he would hate her for bearing his bastard child was still there, still raw and painful, but she would risk the pain to see him. And Jon wasn't a heartless prick either, so he wouldn't just abandon her as soon as he saw her swollen belly. At least if she found him again—if he hated her—he would at least send her away where she and her child could be safe.

The thought brought her little comfort, the idea of being hated by the one she still loved so much, wounding her worse than she ever thought possible.

But...what if...he wasn't there? The ever present fear was finally put into words. Her tears slipped from her eyes now, falling from her eyes and onto her arm. Ghost and Jon were close as close can be, and if she didn't find Jon nearby, what were the chances that...he wasn't dead somewhere?

Maeve sniffled, and frantically brushed her tears away. She rested a hand over her curved belly.

Suddenly, the mule jerked back, shaking itself free of Maeve. Confused and suddenly afraid, she looked around, her hair whipping back and forth against her shoulders as she searched out the foe that frightened the mule.

Movement caught her eye. She gasped, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. She said a silent thanks to the gods, the old gods or the Seven, whichever sent her the blessing before her.

On the side of the road, atop the half rotted log lining the trees, Ghost stood, big and fierce, his red eyes watching her steadily. He suddenly jumped down off the log, causing the mule to fidget more aggressively now. The dire wolf's fur stood out bright and proud in the forest, where the colour of dying leaves and dirt offered Ghost no chance of cover. The great dire wolf stopped in front of her.

Ghost was huge, his head coming up to her chest, his body longer than the donkey's; one of his paws could surely crush her. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, red as his eyes and only the tips of his sharp teeth were visible. Maeve's eyes softened at the faint, pinkish hue of blood around his muzzle. Jon's Ghost had saved her, this great and frightening beast she had never really cared for before, had protected her, and saved her, her baby and her companions from death.

Back in Robb Stark's camp, Ghost had been just a wild beast that Jon could command. She rarely saw him because he was usually out hunting with Grey Wind or prowling about the camp, and keeping order better than a dozen human guards can. She never loved the animal before now.

Maeve gasped softly at seeing a long gash on Ghost's front leg. It was open and red and painful looking. She reached for it, but before her fingers could touch the wound, Ghost suddenly turned and trotted down the road.

"No! Wait!" Maeve called after him. Don't leave me, she was about to yell, when the creature stopped and looked back at her. She watched him, afraid of moving, afraid of making him run away again. They watched one another for an unmeasured amount of time, and as Ghost inclined his large head and seemed to nod towards the road, Maeve understood.

Slowly, carefully, she backed up, and climbed onto the seat and took the reins in her trembling hands. She slowly urged the mule forward, exhilarated that she was driving a cart! Ghost waited until they were close, and trotted forward again and waited and moved forward again when they were close.

And so it continued, from that day onward, Ghost led them down the road towards a fate unknown, protecting them and watching over them at night, never coming closer than the trees, although Maeve could sometimes see him inch closer, only to turn and bolt away again.

Two weeks later

"...and the lords of Golden Tooth will surrender to us, here," Robb pointed to a location on the map. "And they will give us the men and supplies we need to march onward towards Sarsfield and then Casterly Rock." Robb finished. "Renly Baratheon is dead, and Stannis is defeated for now." He continued. "I've gotten word that Cersei Lannister has ordered all garrisons not at the front to remain at the Red Keep to protect it from siege."

"She'll keep the girls locked away in the deepest pits of that bloody castle, no doubt." Jon grumbled from across from Robb.

"Yes, but we will have Casterly Rock, and all hostages and gold therein." Robb said a little too harshly to his half-brother. Things between the bastard and the King were deteriorating quickly, and Jon counted the days when this war was done so he could go back to the Wall and never bother Robb again. "We also have the West, and dozens of Houses sworn to me and twelve thousand more men." Robb almost smiled at his victory. "I've also heard that Tyrion Lannister has been sent back to the Rock to lord it while his father and brother and sister remain at the Red Keep."

"We lose a full man Lannister and get a half-man Lannister in return." Theon mumbled amusedly.

As they continued to plan, Jon thought once again how quickly this had progressed. After meeting the long lost heir to Castamere, four men of noble Western houses had ridden in, singing praises for Robb and promising their lord father's loyalty. They had been sent as assurance, they said, that their father's meant their promise to Robb, and risked their heirs to gain his trust.

Both Jon and Robb were wary, but when an actual lord came riding alone to their camp, both brothers began to believe the claim that the West wanted Robb to throw the Lannister's from their seat.

Garrett the Steward—or should they call him Lord Garrett Reyne now?—stood beside Jon, the red lion of Castamere stitched on his tunic. Jon wasn't sure what to make of the man. He was quiet, his steely eyes glowering at the Western lords and lordlings who had come to camp, as if blaming them for his Houses' ruin. Other than that, the boy was reserved, with an air of anger that made a lot of men uncomfortable.

"I want Casterly Rock, when this war is done." Garrett said suddenly, his deep voice rumbling through the tent. The eyes of the lords (and Jon) turned to the usually silent man in surprise and question. It was not right for a man to make a demand as large as that.

"You'll have Castamere—" Robb started.

"A pile of burning rubble the last I saw it." Garrett mumbled out, grief evident in the far off look in his eyes. "I have no interest in going back there any time soon. I will rebuild it, but I don't want it for my family's seat." Garrett refused to return to that...place, where almost his entire family was slaughtered, and burned.

Garrett remembered some fond memories of Castamere. He remembered his mother singing him to sleep when he was ill with fever, her voice was soft and awkward, but he had not cared. He remembered his father giving him his first practice sword, and teaching him how to hold it properly, promising to have a real sword crafted with the Red-Lion of the Reyne's on the pommel. He remembered scaring his sisters with frogs and toads and spiders, racing with them from the gardens, through the orchard and to the stream where they fished and swam. He remembered talking to his youngest sister softly and gently when her pet cat died, hoping to stop her tears with sweet notions of the afterlife.

But all those good memories had been burned away by the fire that scorched Castamere into rubble. He could not go back there, not with the ghosts of his family still haunting him.

"What makes you think you can demand such a prize as the Rock?" Lord Ramsey asked.

"Because I am a lord of the west just as they are. They followed my father, and they will follow me." Garrett said, clearly getting fed up with their resistance to his demands. "My entire family was murdered in our rebellion. They see how much we sacrificed to be rid of Lannister's and know that I am the rightful lord of the Rock."

"How can you be a good and just lord, when you hate the lords you rule?" Robb asked sternly.

Garrett looked up at Robb. "I don't hate them; I just don't like them very much." Theon and the Gretjon snorted.

"Even so, the new lord of the Rock will go to someone we trust." Theon sneered. "And you haven't been a noble for what, fourteen years? Know your place, boy, and know you have no right to demand anything." Theon continued offhandedly, looking at Garrett as if he were an insect under his nail that he'd spared out of the goodness of his heart.

Garrett looked shocked for a second, and then rage fitted across his face and his started toward the Greyjoy, fists raised and ready to get them bloody. Jon and Lord Karstark held the man back, as Robb angrily ordered Theon from the tent and his sight. The Iron born man looked at Robb a moment, almost surprised and hurt, but turned and stormed from the tent.

A moment of tense silence followed the outburst and after a moment, Garrett roughly shook Jon and Lord Karstark off, grumbling under his breath about "arrogant, stupid fucking islanders."

"I will consider it." Robb concluded his voice hard and cold as ice. Garrett was content with that and was silent the rest of their meeting which did not last for very long after.

Jon was pleased to be out of the tent, pleased to be away from that bloody tent, where men always wound up at each other's throats for the mildest of slights. Jon clenched his fists. He was so tired!

He was tired of this war, of Robb and being so bloody withdrawn from his own brother, he was sick of Catelyn and her very obvious hatred of him, he was sick of missing Maeve and hoping against himself that every time they moved camp that he would find her again...he was just tired of everything and angry that he could not sleep.

If he slept, he usually dreamt of Maeve, but that wasn't what troubled him. He dreamt of her all the time, even when she was still there with him, but in his dreams, he not only saw her, he heard her, he smelt her...It was the vividness that frightened him, seeing her so real in front of him, yet unable to touch her or speak to her...it was maddening and gave him mornings that made his longing for her all the worse.

Jon never thought of anything below her breasts. He didn't want to think of her swollen belly and what the hell that meant, and it made him sad to see it really. It was such an achingly lovely sight because she still looked so beautiful and arousing, huge as she was, and he knew that if they could've, he would have married her and had a child with her...but he didn't want to think of what could have been.

THank you so much for reading!

Thank you Imperial Dragon, , Lobo de Fuego, My Name is Anon, 19seventythree, Miss Mac, Emmalime, and last but not least, Evelyn, for you wonderful reviews!

66 guys, 66! *squee!* this is awesome!

again THE POLL and baby names, and review...if it please my dear readers :)