A/N: Phew, here it is, sorry it's a little late! Hope you enjoy!
Guest: Sorry to keep you waiting, here is the new chapter, I hope you like it!
hltran: Haha, I'm glad you liked that bit! You're very welcome, hope you enjoy this new one!
unnamed visitor: Thank you very much, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Roslin handled Stannis well, but don't expect him to just give in easily, right now it suits him to have a temporary alliance as it means he gets more men to go to the Wall with. Once that's done with, he might not be quite as cooperative. I understand why you'd like to see a Roose showdown with Catelyn or Arya, but it's not in my plans at the moment. Catelyn definitely won't be confronting him after she promised Robb she would never go against him again, she knows he wants to kill him himself. Arya I also think would know the same thing, thought I'm sure Roose has made the list, I think she knows it's Robb's right to dispatch him.
Right-ho, on we go, and I'm introducing another POV at the end of this chapter, hope you enjoy!
:)
XXXVIII
Catelyn felt uneasy as she watched the men preparing to leave, horse being saddled and food rations being hauled onto carts to be transported down to the docks. They would sail from Lannisport in the morning, the Cerwyns and the Mormonts having being given command of the five thousand strong garrison. Catelyn wasn't sure how to feel about this arrangement with Stannis. She didn't trust the man one bit, not after what had happened with Renly. If he could betray his own brother then she had no doubt that he could betray Robb, and she wasn't sure that her son could survive such a thing happening again. His trust had already been severely shaken by Bolton, and if Stannis were to turn on him then she imagined that the plans for the kingdoms would sour. He would not have it in him to put his trust in six other Kings, she knew that well enough.
Roslin, she knew, had been doing her best to reassure him over the arrangement with Stannis. Though, since Olyvar had announced his desire to go with the men to the Wall she had been in a tremendous rage. Perversely Catelyn thought that her being so upset had helped Robb somewhat. He was so used to her looking after him and reassuring him. Now it was his turn to do the same, and she knew that although he hated his wife being in such a state, he was glad to be of use again. "Lady Stark?" Jeyne's inquiring voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to smile at the woman. "Jeyne," she greeted warmly, "what brings you out here?"
"Supplies for the men," she replied, "the King has asked that the Maester go with them, so I will soon be left in charge of the men still recovering here." She sounded nervous at the prospect, but Catelyn smiled widely at the news. "You will do brilliantly, I am certain of it," she told her honestly, seeing her beam in response. "Thank you, Lady Stark," Jeyne said happily, her eyes shining with gratitude. Catelyn merely placed her hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly for a moment. "If I was your mother, I would be proud of everything you have done, everything that you have overcome and achieved. You have done so well, and don't ever let anyone make you feel any differently," Catelyn told her firmly, seeing her lips press tightly together at her words. "Thank you," her voice was barely a whisper, coming out rather shakily. "It's nothing," Catelyn said warmly, as Ser Damon called over to Jeyne. "I will let you get on," she continued, releasing her hold on her shoulder. "Thank you," Jeyne said again, her eyes shining with sincerity.
Catelyn merely inclined her head, watching as the young woman turned and walked towards her husband. She had rarely had any dealings with Ser Damon, he had just become a presence she was used to seeing whenever she spent any time with Roslin. Whenever they had spoken he had been polite and courteous, though from the raucous laughter that she had heard from him and Roslin on occasion, she imagined that there was another side entirely to him. Still, her lips twitched up as she saw him embrace Jeyne, seeing him press an affectionate kiss to her forehead, he seemed to be doing well as a husband and she was beyond pleased that Jeyne had managed to move on. It had been a surprise to get the news, but a welcome one, even more welcome now that she had seen her happiness with her own eyes. She deserved a happy life with someone she loved just as much as Robb did, even more so since her family had abandoned her.
She watched the young couple link arms and slowly drift back towards the keep, her smile only faltering when she glanced towards the gatehouse and saw a rather familiar figure flanked by guards being brought towards her.
"Roslin, you are driving me to distraction, come and sit with me and we can talk about this," Robb's tone was almost pleading as he watched his wife pace the length of the room for what felt like the thousandth time. "There is nothing to talk about," she snapped, coming to a halt at the end of the bed and glaring down on him. "You gave him leave to go, without even speaking with me about it!" her voice was rising now and Robb ran his hand through his hair in a desperate manner, trying to think up some soothing words in his head. "Olyvar is a skilled fighter, and he asked me to go. I told you I would never deny him if he explicitly asked something of me. He wants to earn his knighthood Roslin, and I will not stand in the way of that, good-brother or not," he said patiently. She folded her arms in response, and huffed in a rather undignified manner.
"Please don't be angry with me," he said in his most persuasive tone, her stony expression not softening in the slightest. "Everything I have done has been so finely balanced," she said quietly, "I have managed to persuade my father to agree to the match between Olyvar and Arya, I have set everything in motion for your sister to be released from this deal which you agreed to -," she cut off, shaking her head, her fists clenching and unclenching for a moment. "I am doing everything I can to make sure that our entire family gets safely back to Winterfell and yet one word from you has put everything in jeopardy! Never mind Arya's future and how miserable she will be if she has to marry young Walder – I could lose my brother!"
"Roslin -," Robb tried to interject, but it appeared that she was not going to stop any time soon. "I cannot lose him Robb, do you understand that?! I. Can't. Lose. Him!" She punctuated each of her last words by slapping her hand against the bed frame, her voice shaking and her eyes shining. "I almost lost you," her voice was agonised now and he was hating himself, "please don't put me through that again. Put me through worse, not when you can prevent it. Robb…please…" Gods he just wanted to say yes, to agree to anything she wanted so that she would stop looking at him the way she was now. So he could erase the pain from her voice and have her nestled in his arms again, her sweet voice relaying her gratitude in her ear. "I can't," he said instead, and a murderous expression crossed her face. "But," he held up a hand before she could start again, "but, you can do whatever you wish to get him to stay if it pleases you."
He wondered if she would go so far as to order Olyvar to stay. In all her time as queen she had never pulled rank over her brother, but he imagined that if she were ever to do so that now would be the time. Gods. He did not envy his good-brother one bit in this situation. Part of him imagined that Olyvar would back down when faced with Roslin's wrath. She had screamed and shouted at him the night before but he had just stood there and taken it, calmly folding her into his arms when she succumbed to tears. Robb had thought he would relent then but his good-brother had held firm, telling her quietly but determinedly that he was going to the Wall, with or without her blessing. What Robb couldn't work out though, was why he was so determined. He had already made the decision that he would knight his good-brother when the war was over, and he had told him so. Olyvar was still adamant that he was going to the Wall though, and even Roslin's upset hadn't swayed him to change his mind.
"I would have thought he would relish the chance to stay here, it will give him more time to woo this secret love of his," Robb spoke up to break the tension and Roslin glared at him. He sighed heavily. "Come on Roslin, please, I hate us being like this," he almost whined at her and finally her features softened slightly. "Come here," he reached his arm out for her. For a moment he was almost certain that she wouldn't come, but then she moved slowly towards him, seating herself on the edge of the bed. "Properly?" he raised a brow and grinned at her and she huffed, though he could see her hiding a smile as she shifted herself so that he could wrap his arm around her and nestle her in the crook of her shoulder. "I am sorry," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple and feeling her body relax against him as he did so. "I know," she said in a defeated tone and he grinned, nuzzling against her cheek for a moment before lavishing it with kisses.
"So who is she then? This woman that you are so sure Olyvar will marry?" Robb questioned her as she snuggled further against him. "Does the word secret mean nothing to you Robb Stark?" she returned in an exasperated manner and he smiled even more widely. "Secret from whom? Not you, surely…" he raised his brows, pulling back and looking down on her, seeing her worrying at her bottom lip. "Olyvar asked me to keep it to myself, don't push me on it, please," she said firmly, and he sighed, knowing damn well that he wouldn't get it out of her. "Very well," he agreed, and her hand sought out his in response, squeezing slightly before she guided it to her stomach. He splayed it out across her growing roundness and waited, hoping that this time he might actually be able to feel the baby move beneath her skin.
"Is it moving?" he asked her after several minutes of quiet. "Only very slightly," she reported to him and he sighed in disappointment. Before he could respond to her though he jumped a little, blinking stupidly as he tried to decide whether or not he had just imagined the pressure felt against his palm. Roslin turned her head to the side so she could look up and meet his eyes, a wide smile stretched across her face. "Did you feel that?" she asked him, and he could only nod mutely, his words having seemed to have abandoned him. "That is the most lively it has ever been," she elaborated, and his own smile was so wide that it was almost painful. "So incredible," he managed to murmur, and she stretched herself closer to him in response, her lips finding his. He kept his hand on her stomach as they kissed softly, still feeling the light pressure against his palm every moment or so, still unable to quite believe that it was real.
A pounding at the door pulled them out of their little bubble of bliss, the pure joy of the moment interrupted as Roslin irritably pulled away from Robb. He had a rather disgruntled look on his own face as she sat herself straight at his side, calling moodily for their visitor to come in. As soon as Roslin caught sight of her good-mother's face her irritation was swiftly replaced by fear. "What has happened?" Robb demanded at once, his own voice betraying his own fear. "You remember Brienne of Tarth?" his mother stepped further into the room, beckoning a large, well-built woman to follow her. Robb nodded tersely, and Roslin could feel the tension surrounding them. She herself had never met Brienne of Tarth, but she knew well enough that she had been the one to help Catelyn free the Kingslayer.
"Why is she here?" Robb asked bluntly, and Roslin decided against chastising him for his rudeness. "She has news of Sansa," Catelyn replied, her voice shaking. At once Roslin wanted to cross to her and offer her some clearly needed comfort, but before she could Robb's hand sought out hers and squeezed tightly. "What of Sansa?" he asked fearfully, Roslin noting his eyes dancing nervously between his mother and Brienne. "It's true that she is gone from the Capitol," Catelyn said, "though where she is…I cannot understand why they would…"
Catelyn trailed off, her voice breaking. Robb released Roslin's hand, and she knew that her husband wanted her to comfort his mother more than he needed her to comfort him in that moment. Roslin moved forwards, gathering her good-mother into her arms and hushing her gently. "Tell me," Robb said coldly, and Roslin knew without seeing him that he had directed his words towards Brienne. "There was a plan set in place with Ser Jaime for me to remove Lady Sansa from the Capitol," Brienne spoke calmly, though Roslin could hear the underlying apprehension. "Only," Brienne seemed to hesitate, "after Joffrey was killed, our plans were in tatters. She was smuggled away from the wedding before the queen could have her arrested…but it was not by myself or Ser Jaime."
"Who then?" Robb demanded, his cold tones laced with a trace of panic now. "At first Ser Jaime suspected Littlefinger," Brienne told him, and Catelyn pulled away from Roslin at her words. "Petyr?" Catelyn looked confused, "You didn't mention him before." Her tone was almost accusing and Brienne met her eyes before she spoke again. "Forgive me, my lady, but when I arrive I just wanted to relay the true news to you," Brienne said, and Roslin could not doubt the sincerity in her eyes. It seemed Catelyn couldn't either, as she inclined her head to encourage her to continue. "In the end, Ser Jaime discovered it was Varys, but by then it was too late to stop it," Brienne went on.
"Stop what?" Robb asked, frowning deeply now. "She was smuggled aboard a ship with Lord Tyrion, we know not where, only that is was bound for Essos," Brienne said and Roslin could see the dismay in her good-mother's eyes mirrored in Robb's. "Essos?" he repeated stupidly, and Brienne nodded. "We do not know why, or whether she went willingly or not…I'm sorry, your Grace, I wish I had better news for you," Brienne bowed her head meekly, and Roslin fixed her eyes on her husband. His head was in his hands and she could see the tension in his body as he was clearly thinking hard. "Lord Tyrion is Sansa's husband," Roslin began tentatively, "could it be at all possible that she would want to go with him willingly? That she cares for him?"
"How could she?!" Robb snapped, his head rising up and his eyes blazing with fury. The look on his face was almost enough to make Roslin cringe away from him, but thankfully she was saved from his furious stare by Brienne. "Lord Tyrion always treated Lady Sansa well from what I witnessed in my time at the Capitol," she said, "he was humiliated at Joffrey's wedding, and she seemed most concerned for him. I cannot speak for what was between them in private, but I never saw him display any cruelty to her in public, and Ser Jaime was always adamant that his brother would treat her with nothing but kindness."
Robb began muttering darkly under his breath at that, but at least he was no longer glaring daggers towards Roslin. For that she was grateful, and she sent Brienne a tentative smile which the older woman returned rather uncertainly. "If Lord Tyrion has sailed across the Narrow Sea then likely he is entering exile," Catelyn said dully, "and if that is true, and if Sansa is with him, then I do not see how we will ever bring her home."
"We bring her home by destroying what is left of the Lannisters and offering Casterly Rock and the crown of the Westerlands to the Imp in exchange for her being released from her marriage to him and being allowed to return to the North," Robb said venomously, and Roslin nodded her head in agreement with him. "He's right Catelyn," she placed her hands on her good-mother's shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eye. "He's right," Roslin said again, "it will take time, and a good deal of luck but we can do this. You cannot give up hope."
Olyvar was breathless as Dacey slipped from his lap and collapsed down at his side, her chest heaving and glistening with sweat. Gods he loved her like this, a naked, trembling mess in his bed. Outside these walls she was fierce and strong and unyielding. In here she was bare, and unguarded, and all too willing to yield to him. He allowed his palm to settle between her breasts before he slid it slowly down the valley of them, trailing around to her hip so he could pull her against his own exhausted body. "I can't stay," she said, though she made no move to pull away from him. "Just tonight Dacey, please," if he sounded begging he didn't care. They would be gone away to Lannisport come morning, and boarding ships. Olyvar didn't hold much hope of being on the same vessel as her, likely he would be shoved aboard with Frey men, where she would be leading a crew of Northmen.
"Don't," she said quietly, but he decided to persist, shifting onto his side so he could meet her eyes. "You know how much I want you," he said, "and not just as my lover." Her eyes widened slightly at that, but other than that she hid her surprise well, a hint of a frown coming to crease across her brow. "You want to make an honest woman of me?" she raised one of her brows and he swallowed hard. "Damn right I do," he replied, and her lips twitched up into a small smile. "I will never leave the North," she told him, as though she imagined it might put him off. "I would never ask you to," he returned at once, and she looked at him strangely for a long moment. "You would come and live on Bear Island with me?" she asked, and he wondered whether he was imagining the hopeful look in her eye. "If you insist upon it," he answered, "though I confess, I had hoped we could compromise on Winterfell."
"Perhaps for a time," Dacey conceded, her hand coming to his chest to whisper her fingers along the muscles. "I am my mother's heir," she continued after a long moment, "I would not give up that claim Olyvar, I could never stay at Winterfell forever, I would be lying to you if I promised you otherwise." Olyvar shook his head, a smile threatening his lips. "You think I would ask you to give up your claim?" he asked, "I would never do such a thing, when the time comes I will be glad to come to Bear Island with you."
"It would mean leaving your sister, I don't think she would like that very much," Dacey said teasingly and he scowled. "Roslin has the King, and she will soon have a child, and no doubt countless other children. It is not as though I would never see her again. She knows how I feel about you, and it is in her own interests that I succeed in making you my wife." Dacey really did frown at that, and he bit his lip, realising that he had spoken without thinking. Gods. What would she think of him when he told her? Would she think that he only wished to marry her as a favour to his sister? "What do you mean by that?" she asked, slowly and suspiciously.
"Don't be angry," he said at once, and her frown deepened even more. "Tell me, Olyvar," he tone was quiet but menacing, and he swallowed hard. "When Roslin caught us, I…I told her of my feelings for you, told her that I planned on asking for your hand," he began, and she nodded, her eyes still suspicious. "She is never one to miss an opportunity…she…well, she thought that she could perhaps persuade our father to have me betrothed to the Lady Arya instead of young Walder..."
"What?!" Dacey's eyes were wide and disbelieving, and he tightened his hold on her hip so she couldn't move away from him. "She is just using my feelings for you to her advantage, don't you see?" he asked her desperately. "I would never marry Arya, she is a child. But the King was unhappy at having promised her in the first place, and this could be a way out of it. Don't you see? I am betrothed to her but I will break the betrothal when I wed you. The King will be furious for the sake of my father, and he would be within his rights to refuse any other match between Lady Arya and house Frey…" He trailed off as Dacey showed no sign of blinking, nor of saying anything. He was wary of her silence, knowing well enough that often a quiet woman was an angry woman.
"The queen never does miss a trick, does she?" she finally said, a brow raised and a hint of a smile on her face. Olyvar grinned in sheer relief, pressing himself closer to her and burying his head in the crook of her neck so he could inhale her sweet scent. "My feelings for you are real," he murmured against her, feeling her hands running up and down his back. "I know," she breathed back, "as mine are for you."
"Would you consider me Dacey?" he whispered, holding his breath for her answer as one of her hands came up to rest in his hair. "Of course," she returned, and his heart pounded wildly at the words. "But," she continued, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I think we ought to make sure the Wall will stand for the next thousand years before we do anything rash."
The sound of the rolling bottle roused her from her slumber, and she carefully opened one eye, not daring to shift a fraction beneath her furs. In the next moment she breathed a sigh of relief, recognising the all too familiar sight of her husband in the depths of his wine cup. She dreaded to think how many bottles he had got through since she had closed her eyes. It had seemed to her that he had not paused in drinking since they had boarded the ship. The only time he stopped was when he passed out or when he drank so much he made himself sick. He blamed it on the swaying of the ship, but she knew well enough that it was the copious amounts of wine he poured down his neck. She wished he would stop. She had no idea where they were going or why they were going there. Part of her wasn't even sure if Tyrion did, but surely he had to have more of a clue than she did?
All she remembered was being roused from her sleep in one of Lord Varys' hidden chambers and being smuggled through winding secret passageways. There had been apologies when she was bundled into the crate, promises that she would not be in there for long. The captain of the ship had opened it out when they were safely out of the harbour. She had asked him where they were going, but he had given no reply, unable to speak the common tongue. From that she feared that they were crossing the Narrow Sea, but for the life of her she could not think why. She had asked Tyrion why they were not being taken to Casterly Rock. To Robb. To her mother. She doubted whether he had even understood her, given the way his eyes were unfocused and bloodshot. Gods she wished she had some coin. If she had coin then she would easily be able to give Tyrion the slip when they reached their destination, then she could find a ship destined for the Rock. Or Lannisport. White Harbour even. Anywhere that was loyal to the North.
She sighed heavily as Tyrion dropped his wine cup and jerked awake, his eyes looking at her accusingly, as though she had been the one to wake him. Immediately she saw him look around, no doubt hoping to lay eyes on more wine. She had had just about enough of this. "No more," she said, with as much conviction as she could muster. "You do not command me, wife," he slurred, getting unsteadily to his feet and stumbling towards one of the crates he had broken into. "I said, no more!" she jumped to her own feet and hurriedly placed herself between him and the wine. Tyrion looked up at her then, an odd look in his eyes and she stared down on him, determined that she wouldn't falter and reveal herself as the weak little girl she was inside. "You cannot keep doing this," she said when he made no comment. "I don't know where we're going, or why we are going there. I can't help us, and neither can you if you are constantly drunk!"
"You know what I did Sansa?" he slurred at her, and she refused to look away from his eyes. "You killed your father," she replied in what she hoped was an unaffected manner. "I also killed my lover," he pointed at her with a shaking finger, "and I had far more affection for her than I do for you, now get out of my way!"
"No!" she shot back stubbornly, and he glared at her. "Very well," he spoke again, clinging to the side of another crate to steady himself. "You want to know where we are going, I will tell you, if you will reach into that crate and pull me out another bottle of Dorne's finest red," he went on smugly, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She really did not want him to drink anymore, but at the same time she was desperate to know where they were going. Perhaps if she knew that, then she would be able to come up with a plan to get herself back home again. "Fine," she said bitterly, turning and reaching into the crate to pull out yet another bottle of wine. "Tell me," she demanded, holding the bottle just out of his reach. "Pentos," he replied at once, and she frowned at him. "Why?" she asked.
"Two questions my dear, that will require another bottle," he wagged his finger at her in a disapproving manner and she shoved the first bottle into his hands. "You can drink the lot for all I care," she said scathingly, "just tell me why we're going there." He didn't answer at first, struggling to un-stopper the bottle that she had just handed him. "As to that, my dear Sansa," he finally spoke when he pulled the cork free, taking a long swig from the bottle before turning to her again. "I haven't the faintest idea."
A/N: So there we have it, word of Sansa. Hope you enjoyed it. I'll get more to you as soon as I can!
:)