GOT Simulation: Stark Campaign

by CreativeLiterature

Five friends enter a simulation to become northern self-inserts with aims of furthering the Stark cause.

PROLOGUE

Adam, Clara, Max, Grace and Zoe were keen for a northern victory, given their struggles in past simulations where they could not quite seem to act as a united front. This troubled them somewhat, however; for while Adam knew the most about the plot, Clara was indifferent, Max was lustful, Grace still a child, and Zoe determined not to give into the hype.

"I'll be Robb," said Adam, plain as day, to select his player on the glowing blue panel, at which each of them stood, their virtual bodies spanning pixels and mega lengths, where a floating Aemon Targaryen saw all of them as entrants and neutrally nodded like a wise man.

"Robb?" Clara frowned. "But you're not good at strategy, or tactics. You're not handsome or charismatic or loyal. You're a dog."

This sullied Adam for the larger part of a second which burned and made him burn. Clara flicked through the options, and knew she would rather die than select Sansa or Arya who were both too young to pose any credible threat, or any chance to her victories.

"I'll be Dacey," said Clara, who envisioned the long flowing hair, trim build, and swordsmanship of the Bear Island heiress someone worthy to boot.

"I know why," grinned Max, he whose first choice was Theon; though Greatjon Umber or Ramsay Snow could just have been his taste all the same, "I'm goin' the kraken boy."

"Why?" pouted Clara, "He's useless. He can't convince his father. All he is is a sad little boy with a dagger. Why not Roose?"

This Max considered, though his appetite for destruction and winning notwithstanding, Roose was a particularly callous and calculating lord who spoke quietly and took few pleasures; at odd with Max whose love of life met Robert Baratheon's own.

"I'd be Ramsay if he was Roose's accepted heir," sniggered Max, "With a little less torturing, and fucking the wenches."

Clara rolled her eyes, and saw over to where Zoe stood, intent on choosing last as an act of making a point, to be sure, that all this was beyond her, and by her indifference, any loss on their part was not to be weighed against her efforts for it.

"So?" asked Clara, to Zoe which their conversation always drew covetous, envious stares from Adam and Grace, who longed to be part of the in crowd.

"Catelyn," Zoe decided at last, smiling a little that Grace had chosen, and that she had made her point, however grudging her look to Clara was, "I should be a warrior like you, maybe Lyanna Mormont, but it's Catelyn who makes some mistakes. And she's a mother, and warm, and Ned won't rub me up the wrong way. But I can do it."

"Of course," nodded Adam eagerly, for Catelyn's intentions were pure, but Zoe was all malice, "Grace?"

"I've locked it in," Grace clapped happily, "I'm Sansa - "

"What?" Clara rounded on her, and in her furore Adam joined in that battle, and Max chuckled and Zoe attempted a look which suggested she knew what the implications were, "You fucking idiot."

"But Sansa's pretty and she can have a husband she chooses and - and - " this coming from Grace, who only watched the show with her friends to be included, could not make sense of all the game of thrones parroted about between the characters, "I thought we were playing the Starks?"

"To win, you little idiot," spat Clara, suddenly enraged that she had overplayed her hand, showed how much victory meant to her, and when Aemon clapped his hands, they all dropped like pixels, the blue of Macumber, and the cold wintry land that made them all regret for a second as used to indoor heating as they all were…

AGOT

Adam/ROBB

Adam stood as they all did, those northmen to witness his father Lord Stark standing out in the cold, all in their furs, watching Lord Stark mutter those words, so solemn and grave, that man lying on the stump, shivering surely with the ecstatsies that such a release would bring him.

Surely that is bliss, thought Adam, To be free of pain and suffering, to know at once everything and nothing. I walk every day with a pain in my stomach, and if maturity should bring me contentment, it is a small price only to die of old age after.

Lord Stark swung the sword down, and Adam faced the rolling head manly, or as manly as scant he knew from having no true father figure, and turned to Max/Theon, who grinned as much as his counterpart and needed no reminding, for the two were so alike.

Adam, trying to be grave like Lord Eddard, met his father's approbation in a nod, and Max/Theon, who saw amusement in all things, did not require conversation with Adam, having his own independence, which Adam sorely lacked.

I must be my father's son, vowed Adam, Yet I must win. I must declare victory. In every way I must push forward a view of a northern future untarnished.

It was Max/Theon who called him over, and Adam grit his teeth that he had quite forgotten, in the column march of horsemen back to Winterfell, that it was Max/Theon and not he who had found the wolf pups in the snow.

"Oh, they're so cute," Adam coddled, for once letting that effeminacy in his voice show, and when the northmen rode up, especially so by Lord Stark that father figure he hoped to emulate, unconsciously arranging his stature and voice more masculine, decreed, "F - "

"I want one," Max/Theon spoke up, almost out of turn by the glare given by the outriders, and to Lord Stark's silence, read all in that face that could not be discerned; Max/Theon too, had no father since he was young, but in having no role model, went the other way in shoplifting and pranks.

"They are better to die," said Lord Stark, and in the gravity of his voice, Adam could compel himself to obey; but Max would suffer no such thing.

"One for each of your children, my lord," began Jon Snow, who Max/Theon figured a bastard was alike a hostage in rank, and Adam softened his gaze to see that interloper who balanced the scales once more.

"Yes," Adam cleared his throat, keen that all his endeavors should mark him as a worthy son, a son worth having, and anything to keep a father close, "Shall we bring them back to Winterfell, Father?"

Some brief discussion, curt warnings, and a decree of his father's ended the matter with, "It shall be on your own heads, so be it."

Zoe/CATELYN

Zoe washed her face in a basin of cold water, and to a servant whom presumably Catelyn had known long since, she nodded and dressed in sober greys, in blacks and silver, and found those colours suited her mood well. She needed no Myrish glass to thread through her fingers that Tully red hair, that she could quite abide now in the richness of it that it favourably compared with her real life own.

Out in the yard, Zoe wondered why the chill was ever present, and wondered why those hot springs sluicing through Winterfell like secret pipes never quite warmed her much the way she had imagined like a hot spa.

She took the stairs down, meeting courtesy and nods everywhere, for someone of Catelyn's rank, the Lady of Winterfell, and of her general aura and character, she was well respected, and while with grit and determination Zoe wished she could solely rule Winterfell as a widow, Ned was at least a tractable husband, and she did not want to let slip this chance for victory.

Victory, considered Zoe, as her cloak and dress dragged in the mud, for Winterfell was no Highgarden, Victory is what Adam calls it. Survival is how I define it.

She could not rely on Adam/Robb who was folly to sycophancy, suggestibility and was essentially a sheep, no matter how much he knew about the plot. Clara was her only true friend, and to each they were independent and had their own desires, and did not seek to make those necessarily compatible for the sake of their friendship.

From afar, Maester Luwin wore a grave look on his face, and Zoe crossed the yard to meet with him and follow him up the steps to the rookery.

Max is unpredictable, however much he can be relied upon to be a turncloak. I suppose that's who that boy Theon is, considered Zoe, smelling the shit and batting away the feathers of ravens who flapped as she came near, Grace, of course, needs a husband straight away, if what the future holds cannot be changed.

The maester from within his robes produced the scroll, and here among the flap of ravens, could that drown out her thoughts, and adopt a sober mien befitting the news, and she nodded.

"God, shut up," Zoe snapped, and startled Maester Luwin, and the ravens paused and settled, "Thank you. God."

Zoe swept down the stairs, followed by the maester, but knew her composure was in lack, and hopefully that could be attributed to grief.

What are the Tully words? Something about doing your duty.

Zoe saw the direwolves, she saw Grace/Sansa at play, stymying Arya who thought her the opposition; she saw Jon Snow whom she had taken pains to include, and Max/Theon who had the same thought as her when Adam/Robb petted his direwolf, wishing he could cuddle him, knowing that was not as befit a lord's son.

The glance Zoe shared with Max/Theon was, Why is there no direwolf for me?

Grace/SANSA

Grace could live quite happily in even Winterfell where it was chilly, when her good mood radiated so to be surrounded by her friends. Of course, it was weird to call Zoe/Catelyn her mother, but at least it was still accurate to call Adam/Robb her brother. Max/Theon was in truth her cousin, and her other cousin was across the sea, or so she was told; Clara/Dacey was learning swordplay, and Grace had no desire in life but to please her friends and family.

In that only was she like Sansa, and perhaps more due to a naivete and an upbringing that compelled her to do as she was told, as Adam/Robb in his current role was suited.

But it soon became clear, as Grace/Sansa knew with the same apprehension of clouds blocking the sun that gave all approbation, that Grace could not retain the ladylike graces of Sansa without knowing them first; that her fingers were clumsy at needlework, that her singing made Arya laugh, and her ease to tears left her up in her room, shocking Septa Mordane, and Zoe/Catelyn was the only one to comfort her, however standoffish as she always was in real life.

I must help my friends, Grace told herself, I can do no swordplay or strategy, but surely they need me. If they don't need me, why do I feel like I have to try so hard to win their affection?

At least she had Lady, whom she would have preferred to name Princess or Cutie-Pie, but as Adam had named his direwolf Grey Wind, Grace figured it was wiser to stick near canon as much as she knew, and Lady was not so bad a name.

I would prefer a horse, thought Grace, who had once had one on the farm she grew up on as a child, Or a unicorn, but this will do.

It was a knock on the door during one such trial of her meanderings, demanding peace and solitude, that Zoe/Catelyn swung in, and Grace was positive Catelyn was grim and dutiful but had at least some smiles which she wanted to take harbor in; Zoe was all grim and reality check and hard.

"We're going to see Ned," said Zoe, clearing her throat, "Your father, if anyone's listening."

"No one's listening," clambered Grace out of bed, Lady at her heels, the two departing down stairs, across balconies, spying all that was the activity in the yard, "We're quite safe here. We're going to make a happy family."

Zoe/Catelyn restrained her impatience, but always gave a look, and Grace knew what that look meant and remained silent. They reached Ned's solar, and Zoe/Catelyn did not bother with a knock; Grace knew Zoe/Catelyn considered herself important enough not to have to bother even with courtesies.

Surprised, Ned glanced up, and after some ruminations, dispensed with Vayon Poole so that he might receive his wife and daughter.

"I need to talk with you," began Zoe/Catelyn, who had known in her short time as Ned's wife, a complicity in making him more aware of the divide that had opened up that was her difference in mannerism to Catelyn herself.

"Of course," said Ned, and bade Grace sit, which she was happy to do, guided by others, led by others, she knew no greater thrill, "Cat, what is wrong?"

Zoe/Catelyn chewed her lip; the few times they had made love, at least she knew what to expect, but it had been no great thrill, even if the warmth and steadiness with which she clung to him brought no trauma.

"Sansa must have a husband," said Zoe, determined that this should be so with the levelness of her gaze, as if by mind control she might never falter and so spin her tale to a complete victory, as though that was how diplomacy worked.

"She - Septa Mordane says that Sansa is as of now, not yet a woman flowered," Ned fidgeted, the pain on his face clear to see, "Who would you see to it that she wed, so soon? What of this need for urgency?"

Zoe could not pretend that she knew as well the candidates as Adam/Robb, and so the only viable option they had discussed, which he had proffered, surely was in Grace's best interest, given they were siblings twice over.

"Benfred Tallhart," began Zoe/Catelyn, toying with the notion, while Grace could only trust in those older than her, "He is heir to one of your vassals, not an unreasonable match, and we cannot have her marrying a southron."

This for Zoe/Catelyn, seemed to seal the deal by the reaction on Ned's part, and while Grace was anxious about marrying someone she did not know, she trusted her friends, and knew the alternative would be a lot worse, or so her friends had said.

"The king rides for Winterfell," said Ned, "Is it your fear that Robert will want to unite our Houses?"

"How can it be a point of discussion?" snapped Zoe/Catelyn, as quick as the queen she was soon to host, "I would sooner see our daughter wed to a northern heir. I would have her within reach so my grandchildren can be in my arms."

"I would like to marry, um, Benfred," Grace spoke up, hoping to help her cause, as she always thought her input was, for someone raised only to speak when spoked to, bubbled out all sorts of imagination and ideas.

Ned rubbed his face, "And what of Arya? If Robert means to make a match, surely he will consider that we have two daughters."

"Jojen Reed," spoke up Zoe, glad that she could have these names on hand, these names which sounded so stupid, but which served a valid purpose, "He is of an age, and they can at least be betrothed, and he is of a like of her character."

"You would see grandchildren," smiled Ned, and this warmed Zoe/Catelyn, and Grace could not pretend to know what passed between them both, this constant steady affection that was what held mother and father together, "I will write to them, and the answer may not be what you desire - "

"You are Lord Stark of Winterfell, and Warden of the North," Zoe/Catelyn's spine stiffened, "They should be lucky to intermarry with a Great House, and our children are not trolls. Let them pick a peasant if they would deny us this match."

A knock came to the door, and Ned bade Hullen, the master of horse, come in, "We must also consider Robb's wife, too."

This stilled Zoe/Catelyn, who by Ned's leave could only lead Grace to the door, and peer out over the yard, where Adam/Robb tried his hardest under Ser Rodrik's tuition to learn the swordplay that Robb knew but he did not.

"I didn't ask him about that," whispered Zoe/Catelyn, confiding in Grace which made her feel part of a secret club, "And now those ravens will fly."

"What's the matter?" asked Grace, who needed everything spelled out for her.

"I care only that we survive, not that we're happy," Zoe/Catelyn and Grace stood at one end of the yard, watching Adam/Robb falter and sweat, "But there is some strategy involved. And I cannot pretend to know all that might happen - I only hope I have not said anything that harms us, that requires Adam/Robb to remain either wed or unwed."

"It'll be fine," said Grace breezily, "Don't you know? The good guys always win."

The look Zoe gave her could not chill her; Grace was too convinced by optimism, to let the dark clouds bring her down.

Max/THEON

Max could play his part well, when Theon was almost precisely the man he was; or at least, boy, given how their immaturity was shared through bloodlines. Max was every calibre dishonest, a rascal, lustful, bloodthirsty and limber, and when several pillowing sessions with Kyra had her wondering if he had partaken of a particular herb, Max sat in a steamy bathouse and still felt his loins throbbing, and thought his only disappointment was that his position at Winterfell was more hostage than ward, and wished he could make friends other than those he knew from real life.

Jocular and indifferent, Max was not unlike his real life sister Clara/Dacey in that regard, and had he been Robb, he would have been met with favour for the quality of his jokes, pranks and some bullying to level the curve.

Yet as Max trained with sword, desired to learn the ways of the Faceless Men 'ninja' as he called them, stuffily balked at the discipline Ser Rodrik enforced on him, and quickly grew tired of Adam/Robb's rhetoric about being careful, he experienced a vast disappointment.

If only I could scarper over to the Iron Islands and be lord, or king, Max ruminated. I'd bring an army of krakens, or at least ships, and barter for some land when Adam/Robb wins the war.

Men paid Max no notice, or with mild disdain or distrust, and Max lingered in the shadows and on the periphery of conversations to pick up what he could; a veritable spy, and if he was Robb, more incognito could he have been for none to suspect him of the turncloak he was, Theon or not.

Even a direwolf was denied him, and this added to his furore, and he could hardly have a baby kraken slopping across the yard, and so he ruminated.

There must be a way for advantage, Max thought, Adam/Robb thinks of us all winning, Grace/Sansa of playing happy families, and Zoe/Catelyn of survival alone, but I would see to it that I am at least strong enough without them.

Blood thundered through his veins, for a steady home life was not what he knew, and he always liked to tip the board when things weren't going his way.

The pack may survive, but not if the lone wolf kills them all.

Clara/DACEY

"We weren't invited," spoke up Maege Mormont, she with the furs and the smell and the sweat, in that dusty dog-filled hall Clara had learned to call home, after a day of aching muscles trying out on each other or the training dummy her sword, "You must wait for an invitation, before riding out the gate."

Clara could not decry her situation. Her 'mother' was more a tutor in arms, and a replacement from her real one could know only improvement. She was lean, considered attractive, steadily gaining ground in swordsmanship, but really wanted to learn how to ride with the wind whipping through her hair.

Spending all my days here wouldn't be so bad, I almost don't want to go to war.

But sitting idle like a good girl was not her preference; she was not so outspoken of the conventions as Arya, but used it for her own purposes, and had no compunction about a sharp word to anyone, and scoffed at anyone who put her on a pedestal.

Men are idiots, and Adam/Robb and Max/Theon have no clue. It should be me and Zoe/Catelyn to lead, if either of us had bothered to read the books.

By the show alone, Clara had only watched to hold a fancy for a person in particular, and had not thought by advent of this simulation that for some purpose, strategy was needed to win the battle before home and hearth could be carved out. She had home and hearth, she knew whose heart she was determined to win, but a war was coming, and if she did not play her part, the men in charge would fuck it up, and she would have nothing.

We can't have them diddle their thumbs and play shouting matches, Clara knew, Nothing will convince them to put women in charge, but as long as they think they've done the winning, then I will achieve the result all the same.

Clara smiled grimly, spearing the meat in her trencher, not caring that her family thought odd of her. The only lack in Dacey's comparison that she knew she could not do was dancing - and here on Bear Island, thankfully, there was little of that.

"Mother," spoke up Clara, "If I were to marry, might I make my own choice?"

"I would hear your chosen, if you have not already trussed him on the back of your horse," grunted Maege Mormont.

"Well, you have always desired a link with the Starks," said Clara, and her mother began listening, "And technically… this one is."

Adam/ROBB

Adam followed the king and queen into the feast, and as Myrcella glanced up at him smiling, he knew his stomach was leaden, his smile was frozen like winter, and he took his appointed place at the high table.

There are things Robb forgets to mention, and then there are things I forget to do, which is stupid, stupid!

He had been quite proud of his accomplishments; Zoe/Catelyn had relayed to him, however grudging that she act as his uninformed personal secretary, of the goings-on between herself and Eddard which concerned the future of House Stark, which they were in a unity of spirit to conceal from Ned that he was no longer in that stead.

Grace/Sansa is safe, Arya is safe, but I am not!

At first, any wife would be a thorn in his side, by result of limiting his options in terms of an alliance. Forging Grace/Sansa and Arya's betrothals was a way of keeping them out of harm's way. Hearing that Ned was planning for him a northern bride - or any bride - was not part of the plan.

I must be free to marry, Adam had despaired, when Zoe/Catelyn told him of the news, Surely I can stall it. Surely Zoe/Catelyn and I can attack Ned from two fronts.

Yet even outflanked as he was by Ned's intention to wed him to a northern wife, came the news from his father and king that he could not have anticipated. And so Adam glanced down the high table, past the king and Ned who talked, past the queen and Zoe/Catelyn who barely looked at each other, and glanced down at his future bride.

So silly! How could I be so stupid?

Adam ate his meal, and his brain worked overtime, and knew he had been screwed. There was something he was missing, but what was it?

There is an advantage in this, Adam considered, But I cannot win tactical battles only to lose the war. I must be a grand master strategist. I must win all the wars.

Adam met Max/Theon's face down by the dais, and was reminded as he always did when meeting his friends' gaze, that he could never be raised in their eyes, and dropped his gaze to his food.

I could bleed and win or die for them, but what is the point if they do not love me back?

Zoe/CATELYN

Zoe could not deny this time was better than the last, though the receding warmth which took Ned out of sorts, only left her with an instant, grasping clutch to regain her standing, her composure, never wanting to be vulnerable more for thirty seconds at best.

That rutting and motion may make all warmth rock around in me, but it is not to be trusted, it was once not to be trusted; who could say it won't happen again?

Zoe inspected again the letter, the contents of the box, wrapped well with a fur against the cold from the snap of the door which Maester Luwin had closed but persisted long still.

Her arguments were as to prod Ned as to the usual order of things, and while he reluctantly agreed, it was his next suggestion that gave her pause,

"Sansa and Arya ought to attend the queen."

"Excuse me?" Zoe turned, and fancied that in the suddenness of her wrath, as alike to it as she was Lysa, that that was the same as instilling intimidation, and yet Ned remained a rock, "They are to be married. In the north."

"The king did not know our daughters were promised elsewhere," shrugged Ned, and Zoe shook.

Of course he didn't, because he's an idiot!

"My lady," spoke up Maester Luwin, "Sansa is yet not a lady flowered, and Arya still some years. They would do well to learn the ways of a southron court, before they must needs return to their place as wife.

Oh, you lot love parroting out that women have places, Zoe sneered.

"I won't have it," Zoe opened, "Our girls will stay here, even if Arya must wait a couple years. The king got our son, didn't he? He's got a royal alliance. Why doesn't Myrcella stay here?"

"She is," Ned replied, and Zoe blinked, "The queen suggested that it would be only suitable that Sansa and Arya come with her back to King's Landing, that two daughters would replace a mother's loss."

Oh, that scheming bitch, Zoe fumed, who knew she would have used the same tactic. At least we have Myrcella, even if Adam/Robb is displeased to see in her all the strength of character that he himself lacks.

"And you will go," Zoe reminded herself to add, as an order than a question, "And I will rule in Winterfell?"

"You must help Robb learn how to be a lord," Ned insisted, sensing his wife's discomfort, for what reasons precisely he did not discern.

That wasn't my question, Zoe's shoulders shook, and Maester Luwin closed the door behind him as Ned got up from the bed. If he tries to comfort me, I'll kick him one, I swear, these idiot men who have nothing in their head, and nothing but balls.

Grace/SANSA

Grace, long since tired of Jeyne's surprise and Septa Mordane's disappointment, put down her sewing and absconded as soon as she could into the yard, where she could watch rather than participate, be on the periphery rather than in the thicket of emotion, and just learn to sit by, as a cloud does in the sky, trail by, and be never buffeted by anything but peace.

That is what Adam/Robb is aiming for, Grace told herself. Clara/Dacey is strong, and Zoe/Catelyn runs our family like a tight ship, and Max/Theon would do anything to keep us all alive.

These thoughts kept her warm when the chill outside became apparent, and she watched the bout between Bran and Tommen with disinterest, figuring if it wouldn't put her in danger to do so, she might have well been betrothed to Tommen.

At least he wouldn't hurt me, and I don't know this Benfred, and still I must go south.

For all her fancies about the southron court, Adam/Robb had been furious that the queen had requested an exchange of daughters, and Grace was instructed by her brother that the trip was not meant to be a holiday, but that she was likely a hostage.

But I'm sure Sansa survives, even in the end, I remember the posters.

And so Grace consoled herself that even in a pit of vipers, Sansa would come through because she was strong and pretty and charming, even if Grace considered herself not.

I'll have my father, who is more a father than my own, and even Arya for company. But I do wish I could stay, Myrcella is such a cool friend.

"Have you seen Arya?" asked a familiar voice, and Grace glanced up to see Jon Snow, clutching a bundled package. He had, since the beginning, slowly thawed to what was Grace's amiability in light of Sansa's prior indifference.

"Um, over there," Grace pointed, eager as always to entrap someone into a conversation, that they never wanted to prompt with her, "Whatcha doing?"

"I had this made for her," Jon hesitated to lift the wrapping, "My uncle said we were to go north, but Father - "

Jon looked stymied, stifled, and Grace thought that this up close, it was so surreal as she always had thought, to look at these actors on screen up close and know they were the flesh and blood embodiment, with autonomous ideas.

"Um, Father said what?" Grace prompted him, eager for company, for Clara/Dacey was far away on an island with bears, and the others too busy managing her life to remain stable.

"I asked him to go to the Wall," Jon cleared his throat, still unsure and uncertain, surprised that Sansa was engaging him so, "But he said that he had received an offer from Bear Island."

All this bored Grace, but she nodded along as though she knew what he was going on about.

"Uncle Benjen leaves soon, and I should be going with him, but I am to stay," Jon balled his fist, and the other clutched the package, "Father is going south, Uncle north, and I am to remain here, for - for your mother wants me gone."

"Oh, don't say that," Grace reached over, and hugged him, and this gave him such surprise as to startle him.

He looks so anxious. Zoe/Catelyn includes Jon in everything! She knows Jon is a sad boy who doesn't have a mother to love him, that's what she told me.

"Lady Mormont means to visit here," said Jon, at last, "And to decide what is to happen next."

"Dacey's coming?" Grace lit up. "Oh, that's the best news ever!"

"Is it?" Jon stared at her, seeing in her glow, the dullness of his own mood, "You will be rid of me, is that it? Is that why you smile so?"

"You won't be leaving," Grace was panic stricken that she had caused offence, "We all want you here!"

"There is nothing to say, and all is decided," Jon said gloomily, "For within the fortnight, I will be sent to Bear Island, and you Starks need never hear of me again."

Max/THEON

Desultory, Max watched as the column of riders rode out, for that hunt which involved the king leading, and all the good cheer which he would not have been a part of, not swept in, even if he had gone along.

Sullen and sulking, he could not help but resemble Jon Snow's mood, who was grey to learn that upon striking out on his own for the Wall, a timely offer of betrothal had stilled his hand.

He will learn his place, in this game of thrones, Max told himself, He will be the only husband cowed by his wife, to do as she says, and god forbid if he cheats.

Max kicked stones and wandered the yard, not wanting to face the archery butts for how off his aim had proved to laughs in the courtyard, and at the training dummy he practised a couple swings before musing he would be much better with a dagger, or a warhammer as mighty as the king's if he could wield such.

Perhaps I should have been the Greatjon, Max figured, But soldiers expect much of a lord, and I do better on my own.

Somewhere out there was Ramsay, Max knew, and if Ramsay were not so addled in the head to tear people about, it was duplicity they had in common, except House Bolton took the whole flaying thing far past his comfort zone.

I should kill him if I get the chance, resolved Max, There is naught to do but train, and when Jon goes, there is only Adam/Max who is the same swordsmanship skill level, that and green boys, but them I cannot stomach losing against.

If Kyra was not busy entertaining some of the king's retinue left behind, Max would have called his misery lust and buried his head in her shoulder as he came. Yet he found himself stirring out of curiosity, learning that which had entered his mind, a secret only he and a half dozen others were privy to, and which if he was extra careful, he could be within sight of.

This stirred him, this easy pace, the looks that others gave him across the yard always suspicious or disdainful, and Max took extra care when out of sight, to enter and climb the steps of the First Keep.

He could hear nothing at first, and was as careful as he considered every encounter which required his discretion, whether stealing lollies out of his sister's bedside drawer, or cash out of his mother's purse.

He heard then voices, and some altercation, and the voices resumed, and then it became suddenly passionate once more, and by the movement in his loins, he knew exactly what was going on.

He could not help it; he had to unlace his breeches for it was torment enough not to, and though through the bolted door there was not even a keyhole, it was not enough to hear those moans from one party which fought with groans from another, only to heighten his awareness, preferring one over the other.

It was almost at his climax, that he felt the air freeze, and in the building in his eardrums, did not hear at first that the voices had stopped, become lower, become sharper, and hear movement.

Max held his prick in his hand like an idiot, knowing what was happening inside, knowing what was to happen, and considering it very bad karma indeed to finish no matter how much he was about to spill over, reluctantly laced his breeches, and tiptoed down as fast as he could, hearing the loud discussion rise up over his shoulder, and somewhere, he knew, a thud only heard by a certain direwolf, or so he figured, for no one really liked bran-flakes anyway.

Clara/DACEY

At last, Clara could ride on a horse, and her first few stumbles back on Bear Island raised quizzical looks from her Mormont family, but after sailing across to Deepwood Motte and a rather standard stay in their quarters, she was keen to stretch her legs, to prove she could be a Mormont, and so rode alongside her mother, keeping pace, keeping face, keeping faith, as the column around them became not only Mormont bearers but those from Winterfell, greeting her as an honor guard, and those curtain walls raised up, and Clara could feel her heart pounding as they rode underneath the gate and into the yard.

Though she held no particular love to see her friends again, it was good to spy Zoe/Catelyn who in greys and blacks, clearly enjoyed her newfound independence, even if she must hide it beneath a veneer of grief for that cripple who lay in some tower.

"Lady Stark," said Maege, Clara's superior, who began the pleasantries, as gruff as the northerns knew between each other.

To their quarters they were led, and after bathing with the warmth of the hot streams providing added relief, did Clara make her way out into the yard, for it was to Ned Stark's solar where Zoe/Catelyn took Maege to discuss things officially.

Clara had hoped her appearance would be a gambit in her favor; she could see clearly across the yard the Jon Snow she had glimpsed on screens and in his moody visage, imagine all that might entail their days together. She was no ingenue; she was not Grace/Sansa, to impress upon what might the person be, but planned with all the efficiency of a general, what Jon should become.

The same is for all husbands, Clara knew, as she crossed the yard where Jon wiped his hands on his breeches, and headed forth, all eyes on them from afar, Husbands make their choice, and us wives shape them as we see fit, and they scarcely notice until they're well and truly our pets.

Clara figured some element of love and companionship came into it, but first and foremost, men did so little work towards the upkeep of a house and family that they needed to be shown how it was done, because for women that was impressed upon them that all the other stuff was their job alone.

"My lady," Jon bowed, and Clara could not pretend to be a blushing bride, she only had a crush on him, and in his uncertainty, knew she must lead him like a shepherdess, likely for a long while yet.

"You are Jon Snow?" Clara stood with her hands behind her back, her sword at her side, the bear sigil on her doublet, "I am Dacey."

They walked across the yard, and even sparred at arms, but throughout it all, Clara did not see the vigor that some men paid her, which was good, but she saw in him no resistance. He was a lamb led to slaughter, and while his face did not show repugnance, it did not show conception of what was to come.

This is how it is for women in this land, Clara wanted to shake him like a doll, I should tell you to smile more, and laugh more, but you men, all you do is sulk, and if I must tolerate it, I will go mad.

At least she had chosen him, and when Clara glanced up and saw Zoe/Catelyn exiting Ned's solar, with Maege behind her, she knew it was sorted.

"Jon," Clara turned to him, he who stopped so unexpectedly, he who had thoughts of the Wall and being a ranger, and now was to be at best castellan of Mormont Keep, "Look at me."

He was not so less a man not to notice Dacey's obvious looks, but he had enough depth to consider that there needed to be more depth between them for what was to follow.

Clara realised her misstep; in anticipating that Jon should be grateful that she favoured him with her attention which she was partial to give, she had not considered that Jon could be swayed more by an existential crisis overshadowing any urges other men might have.

This, she bothered herself to cram up her mind with thoughts lest the bats get in, made her realise just how fucked up it was they had no courtship before now, and were expected to do more than just get along.

Adam/ROBB

"Ravens have come," said Adam, entering the chamber where Bran lay broken.

Zoe/Catelyn, not personally acquainted with Bran, was still careful to look quite the grieving mother, and her mask dropped to see that it was only him.

"Who from?" quipped Zoe/Catelyn, who could not conduct business with efficiency if it was required of her to grieve; not wanting to rock the boat.

"Lord Tallhart writes, that he wishes to discuss Grace/Sansa's dower," Adam took a seat, and watched Bran, feeling no compunction, and turning back to Zoe/Catelyn, "I forgot we'd have to pay. And for Arya, too."

Zoe/Catelyn gave him a look that suggested exactly her feelings on the subject of dower, and Adam said no more. The fire cracked in the grate, and this added to the hot streams, gave the room all warmth which Winterfell's yard lacked.

"We have not heard word from Lord Reed," admitted Adam, "But Arya is in King's Landing all the same, so there we are."

"And of your bride?" Zoe/Catelyn cocked her head.

Adam shrugged.

"There is a little for her to do here. Grace/Sansa would have enjoyed a friend, but Myrcella only has her ladies in waiting, and she is nine. She will want to do more than watch the occasional rider come in from the yard. The wolfswood is wintry unlike the kingswood she knows back home."

"Does it worry you? This match?" Zoe/Catelyn asked, putting that ball in Adam's court. "You're the one who said you'll settle all this. You're the only one who knows most of what is to pass."

"And I will," nodded Adam tiredly, for he could not work out the links of what had changed so far, "Everything should work out for us. It should… "

Zoe/Catelyn stood suddenly, and as quick like a spider her movements were, Adam knew to anticipate a threat.

"It's starting," said Zoe/Catelyn, turning to Adam.

"Good," Adam nodded, and paused with a look to Zoe/Catelyn, and then was gone from the room.

He rushed to aid across the yard with the fire, Grey Wind loping at his heels, and when the fire was dispensed with, it was back to where Bran rested that he ran. His heart was thumping, for what if something had gone wrong?

He reached the top stair, and rounded the corner to see Bran still abed, Summer curled up on his lap - but the hireling had most of his throat, except that line which had been slit.

"I hid in the corner," said Zoe/Catelyn, wiping the knife that she had long since kept on her person since the king's retinue left, "I grabbed him from behind, I took no chance."

This gave Ser Rodrik some pause. Adam knew Zoe/Catelyn was capable of it. Her hands were shaking, bloodied but unharmed as she picked up the hireling's dagger.

"A much better blade, and one to sell to pay for the dower," Zoe/Catelyn spat, and stood up, "I suppose this is what begins my trip south."

Ser Rodrik, confused, looked between the two, "South?"

Grace/SANSA

"You must be thirsty, my lady," offered Joffrey, of his wine skin.

"Oh, OK," said Grace eagerly, keen to try it, spluttering it out, earning Joffrey's mocking laughter. "What is it?"

"It's wine!" cried Joffrey, looking at her, insensate, "You are a curious one. They say you are to wed soon."

"Am I? Oh," Grace fidgeted, "Yes, his name's Ben, or Benfred."

"A Tallhart," replied Joffrey, "Father says it was to me your hand was promised, until he learned you were already spoken for."

Grace could not read what emotion that conjured in Joffrey's face, if any at all.

"At first I thought I do not need a wife," admitted Joffrey, "I am not yet king… "

"You will be a good king," nodded Grace, always finding the element to please, and this warmed Joffrey somewhat.

The forest all around them kept a canopy of leaves and branches through which sunlight filtered, and it was when they heard a vague hitting of things, that something stirred in Grace's memory, and she saw clearly what was plain to her memory.

"Watch this," Joffrey loped over, drawing his sword.

"What are you doing here?" came Arya, after an interlude.

Joffrey ignored her. "Who are you, boy?"

"Uh - uh, no one, my lord."

Grace watched with bated breath, with worry for she was sure something happened here, but she could not think what. She was already keenly anxious in the back of her mind, that her and Arya going to King's Landing was a misstep on Adam/Robb's part, but surely nothing could go wrong?

"Get off of him," cried Arya, and with her stick, whacked Joffrey on the arm.

Arya's sparring partner fled, Grace covered her mouth, and Joffrey grabbed for his fallen sword, and Grace screamed as he held it over Arya, and Nymeria leapt at Joffrey and chewed on his arm.

Grace screamed again, and as Arya and Nymeria made tracks, she rushed over to Joffrey, and held his arm.

"Oh, are you OK?" Grace let tears flow, for her fear, and saw in Joffrey's eyes a reminder that life was sometimes cruel.

Zoe/CATELYN

Zoe thought that the ship's journey from White Harbor to the capital was enough of an ordeal, but at present, sitting in a chamber just beside where she could hear the moans of what sort of an establishment was being run, made her glad that she would soon be gone, and headed out of this place.

It was with misgivings that she handed over the blade to Varys, and tolerably she put up with Petyr's glances, and found it difficult to come across as a woman whose son was in danger and who worried for the health of her family.

She wished she could wear a mask to hide her scorn, of the liars around here, but there she was, and she kept her composure as best she could.

It was on this eve, hearing at last the sighs in the next chamber stop, that the door opened and Petyr entered, that small goatee beard something she wished to cut off, and after some communication, was left alone with Ned to talk.

"How are the girls?" Zoe knew to ask, for at least for Grace's sake, there was some concern there.

Ned told her of what had happened on the road, and on the loss of both their daughter's direwolves. Zoe nodded, only intent on that which threatened her position, for she was in unchartered waters, and could only pretend to know so much as was confided in her by Adam/Robb, about the role she was to play in securing the Starks' survival.

" - and Jon?" asked Ned, when their business had been concluded, when Zoe had her orders to fortify Moat Cailin, and other things she would take under advisement.

"He and the Mormonts left for Bear Island," Zoe drew herself up, "She will teach him well, she is older and more experienced. Jon will have a place there."

"He wanted to go with Benjen," said Ned, as an afterthought.

Grace/SANSA

Life in the capital was not for her, Grace soon realised, much as she wanted it to be.

I was supposed to stay in the north, to marry in the north, and I still have to do that when I get back, Grace sulked.

She spent her time with Arya, or with the queen, or with Septa Mordane, but there could be nothing to raise her spirits. The prince Joffrey did not look at her. Prince Tommen got on her nerves even if he once did not, her father was busy, Arya was practising swordplay, and the queen detested that she was without the Princess Myrcella.

Why does everyone have to fight? Grace asked herself. Why can't everyone just get along.

Even Zoe/Catelyn had visited, but she had left just as swiftly. Life in the capital goes on, and so Grace tried her hardest to learn Septa Mordane's teachings, but her heart wasn't in it.

It was when she in the corridors of the capital when she bumped into Varys, the master of whispers, and he asked if everything was alright.

"No, everything's not alright," Grace burst into tears, and led to an alcove, confessed, "I should have my friends around but me, but they're not here. I don't know what to do to or say, how to behave, or who to trust."

"You can tell me," said Varys, smiling so wide, that Grace looked him in the eye, and shook her head.

"I shouldn't," dabbled Grace, "You have no idea."

Zoe/CATELYN

Zoe fondled the Valyrian dagger at her hip as she and Ser Rodrik traveled north from King's Landing. She probably should have given it to Ned, but given its effectiveness, she was more apt to defend herself with it.

I cannot rely on Rodrik alone. Old men and young alike may throw down their weapons in fear, and I will be the one to end it.

She was stubborn that she would defend herself, for she could not wield arms like Adam/Robb, Clara/Dacey, or Max/Theon had begun learning to do. Their trip up the riverlands led them towards an inn which Ser Rodrik pointed out.

Relieved for a rest, Zoe and Ser Rodrik took rooms, and sat in the shelter and privacy of the hall, hearing only a singer to distract them from their cares, but glad all the same for the food.

It was after some conversation with the singer, that the door opened, and in stepped Tyrion Lannister.

Ah, step one, Zoe thought. The Imp waddled in, demanded things, procured gold, got what he wanted, and laid eyes on Zoe.

"Lady Stark," Tyrion paused, and so did Zoe rise, seeming it inefficient to continue the charade, but beginning another which she had practised by rote.

To each man with each sigil, almost stuttering lest she get it wrong, she asked if those Houses were loyal to her father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun.

What if I get it wrong? A fool I'll look, then.

When she was assured of the strength she might call upon, for it they balked she would be left a target, she turned to the Imp.

"This man," said Zoe, not disliking him particularly, but remembering the night of the hireling and his blade, "This man came into my home, and there conspired to murder my boy. In the name of King Robert who you serve, help me arrest this man, and bring him to the Eyrie. Against the Vale clansmen, I will need your help to bring this Lannister to justice!"

Swords were drawn, the Imp remained frozen, and Zoe felt all the swell that a commanding general feels, but knew she had cast the first stone, and her body seized up in adrenaline to prepare for the long road ahead.

She had collected those retainers which would aid her, and put a hood over Tyrion's face, and gathered horses which would allow her to reach her destination sooner, for the Imp had spouted that his father paid well, and Zoe did not want to be captured and find out what that meant.

They set a hard pace, and if Zoe's horse flagged, or if she herself needed sleep as badly as she did, she knew any sellswords would cut them alive or deliver them alive, and she had not come this far to chance anything; especially since with Ned in King's Landing, she was effectively ruling Winterfell instead of Adam/Robb.

It was when they needed to stop at last that they took the Imp off his horse to properly relieve himself, and Zoe's head swam, but she needed to keep riding, she needed to avoid pursuit, through Ser Rodrik told her surely the danger had passed for a short break.

"This is not - ," Tyrion, still garbed with his hood, "I hear rushing water."

"The Green Fork," spoke Marillion, the singer, "I once knew a tale - "

"You said you were taking me to your sister," Tyrion paused, still hooded, wiping himself.

"I lied," came Zoe's curt reply, "Get him on the horse. I want no distractions."

The sound of a rider from the south alerted them all, and Zoe spun, but saw in it some greeting by the colours she saw.

"Thank god," Zoe stepped forward, squinting against the light, "You're late."

Recognising him by his appearance, by his armor, and the gruffness of his manner detailed by Adam/Robb, Ser Brynden dismounted his horse, and embraced Zoe, who in her relief for a seasoned warrior to protect her, made do.

"I got your raven," admitted the Blackfish, lowering his voice, "Word was at the inn that you captured the Imp."

"My timing was off," Zoe fidgeted, "Yet we need you all the same."

"I will see to it you are protected," said the Blackfish, and led their charge further up the kingsroad, "You will need to stop and sleep before long."

"Protect me," said Zoe, repeating it, for she was long tired with the pretensions, and almost favoured the Blackfish for how reliable Adam/Robb had made him sound, and how apparent that was in his character standing before her.

"The Lannisters will come for us hard," said the Blackfish, "I hope your boy is ready."

Clara/DACEY

Jon Snow needed no introduction; Maege had of course met him, and Clara led him into the hall, and by the time of their wedding, all had come to know him, and his grimness fit in with the dour lot of Mormonts, who Clara was used to, and now they all sat at the high table, hearing thunder and lightning outside their walls.

"There is plenty for you to do," said Clara, determined than Jon should not lapse into idleness, "And if you are unsure, there is plenty to train you in. Of course, as my mother's heiress, we will be learning together."

Jon nodded to that, and bent to his trencher and ale.

A grim husband, thought Clara, I have married a man child.

She could say little for the wedding, not that she expected fanfare and ribbons, and as for the bedding, he was red-faced and unsure, just as unsure as she was, and it became awkward, even if they were both attracted to each other on looks alone, Jon knew little of her except that she liked to give orders, and Clara knew as much of him as the man he would turn out to be, but now…

He still thinks he belongs at the Wall, or at least as a ranger. He does not know what it is like to be cold, he still thinks of it as fantasy.

Clara was determined that life on Bear Island help sway Jon's mind to the reality, even though Winterfell was hardly Highgarden, and by bringing him here, Clara thought of her uncle Jorah bringing his wife Lynesse here.

I will not make the same mistake. Jon will not want gold and kittens. He is a man, surrounded by women, and with any sense he will do his duty.

Of course, there would be little time to waste when her mother received the raven. They broke their fast more quickly, and some life sparked into Jon when Clara turned to him, and said, "We're going back to Winterfell."

Adam/ROBB

Adam sat up on the high table, as much Lord of Winterfell as he was now that his father was in chains, and looked round as all his assembled lords and bannermen, those who comprised the strength of the north.

A northern victory, Adam told himself, But not just a victory. All the victories must be mine.

There was Lord Tallhart, whose son was speaking of his intent to free his betrothed from King's Landing; Roose Bolton, whose eyes never strayed from Adam's face, and who he could not help but break eye contact with first; Maege Mormont, whose daughter Clara/Dacey sat beside Jon, newly raised to the high table; Jojen and Meera Reed, who brought few crannogmen but those that formed their guard, and spoke little but with each other.

When the feast was dispensed with, and in war chambers all was discussed, Adam stood before his assembled bannermen a little shakily, for this was his first time on uncertain ground; that of winning allegiances other than by birthright alone.

"I mean to lead us to victory," said Adam, "All of you are instrumental in helping me achieve that. We must free my father, free my sisters, relieve the riverlands, and defeat the Lannisters."

"The command of battle, I propose, should be mine," spoke Roose Bolton, his eyes grey and deep.

Clara/Dacey stepped forward, she who was her mother's heir, and with Jon Snow beside her.

"I fight for Robb Stark, for the cause he serves," Clara/Dacey added, and though she didn't mean a jot of it, it was to add her voice to the clamour, to add Maege's backing in her corner, and the snarl of Grey Wind silenced them all.

"Is your betrothed not a Lannister?" asked the Greatjon, who spoke up.

"Yes. Myrcella," Adam added, after a pause, "Given the Lannister atrocities in the riverlands, and they who hold my father captive, she will ride with us. At this juncture, gentlemen, she is more hostage than bride-to-be."

Adam/Robb glanced to Clara/Dacey, who looked away. There was a murmur far off, and the doors opened, and in stepped Zoe/Catelyn, travel stained, with Ser Rodrik and some numbers of retainers.

"Good, I'm not late," spoke up Catelyn, and the men all gave her their courtesy, "I bring you our prisoner."

She shoved the hooded Imp forward, who clattered on the ground. Adam, who only some time past remembered the Imp providing for Bran sketches of a saddle, felt his stomach churn; and Clara/Dacey, who knew the look of guilt well enough when Adam wore it, shook her head and scoffed.

Max/THEON

Having arrived at Moat Cailin, Max saw the last of the Manderly levies arrive, the swell of the army that was northern and theirs, and joined Adam/Robb, Clara/Dacey, and Zoe/Catelyn in counsel in a tower that was leaky and ruined but perfect for archers to rain down on from above.

If only all we had to was garrison in here and fire on the Lannisters, Max grinned, But that would be Adam/Robb's way, to hide, but now he must fight openly, the proof is in the pudding.

"We are here," Adam/Robb pointed, and the others leaned in, whether they knew up to this point or not, "Lord Tywin sits here with slightly more men than me, and Ser Jaime is here, besieging Riverrun. This is Lord Frey's castle, who will want all the concessions if we are to pass, and to collect his army as toll."

"So?" Clara/Dacey asked, more free with her invective when she was not required to act the part of Dacey, "What do we do?"

"I had planned that after capturing Tyrion, Zoe/Catelyn would send Ser Rodrik with Tyrion to Winterfell, and Zoe/Catelyn would go to the Eyrie to solicit Lysa's help."

Here, Adam shared a glance with Zoe/Catelyn, and glanced away.

"Yet the hill tribes would make such a journey difficult, and it was more important to have Tyrion captive."

Zoe/Catelyn stepped forward, "I will make amends when the time is right. For now, I am to barter with Frey, is that correct?"

Max watched this all, his eyes gleaming, knowing at every point he could upset the board, but for what gain? He needed a clearer picture of what was to be his prize if the opportunity presented itself.

Zoe/CATELYN

In the grim, drab hall of the Twins, Zoe stepped forward to curtsey before Walder Frey. He reminded her of a male version of her real life mother.

"So, you would have my crossing, is it? Heh," Walder chuckled, and belched involuntarily, "What say you? Your men are about to be buggered by Lord Tywin, is the way I see it, yes."

"My son," began Zoe, as weird as it was to call Adam/Robb that, "My son must cross. He and his army, and I am willing to offer you some betrothals."

"Some? Not you, eh?" Walder chuckled, and sent his wife on her way, "She's young that one, mm-hmm."

"My son will consent to wedding one of your daughters," said Zoe.

"Last I heard, he was to wed the royal princess."

"The Lannisters broke the peace," Zoe stiffened her spine, "My son can not now wed Myrcella to keep faith with an alliance that he did not break."

Walder showed his teeth, "You know as well as I do, he must cross, and if he would break his betrothal, his honor means less than as a Stark, than as a Tully."

This did not phase Zoe, but she would never tell Adam/Robb what Walder said, or he would cripple; it was too much the truth to break his image ego.

"Perhaps as good faith, my son might bring your daughter to Riverrun, and there wed her. Unfortunately, due to the war, the wedding will have to be quite swift."

"You may cross," Walder consented, "Among some other, smaller conditions, and you will be granted four thousand of my men."

"I thank you, my lord," Zoe curtsied, and meant it. The thrill of victory, was what Adam/Robb liked doing this all for, but she was careful not to overplay her hand; so much was riding on this.

When she rode from the Twins to where the northern army awaited, she told her friends of the exchange.

"Very well," Adam/Robb sighed, "I am glad you were able to make this concession."

"What now?" asked Clara, who was still aching for battle.

"You come with us," Zoe/Catelyn said, "Adam/Robb will lead the horsemen through the Twins, and take Ser Jaime by surprise; but you and I and the majority of the foot, led by the Blackfish, will face Lord Tywin on the Green Fork."

"Oh, right," Clara/Dacey rolled her eyes, "But why are you coming with us, you can't fight."

"I'm going somewhere else after this," replied Zoe/Catelyn, mounting her horse.

Clara/DACEY

If Clara desired battle, she soon wished she had gone with her mother to break the siege of Riverrun; she had figured there would be more a battle than there was on the Green Fork, but later, she would remark that it needed a tactician to carry out enough of a win, a 'win', and retreat, so that it bought the time Adam/Robb needed to surprise Ser Jaime at Riverrun.

The Blackfish was a talented warrior and commander, and even though Clara remained on the sidelines, it was amazing to see it all play out, how the Blackfish had to command but the other lords with their other units be cohesive, and against the glittering gold might of Lord Tywin's army, that was no joke.

Ser Gregor, that black-armored behemoth who led the sweepings of Lannisport in an all-mounted assault, was less by the clansmen which Tyrion would ordinarily have provided, and by the march which had left the northerners tired, Ser Gregor surged through, and the Blackfish began the beginnings of a retreat.

Just as they had assembled for battle, before the first arrows had been flung, Clara had watched with some misgivings as a hundred men rode alongside Catelyn up towards the Bloody Gate.

She'll never make it in time, Clara had figured, The battle will be over before the Vale knights arrive.

But now, in the close train of the Blackfish, fearing Lord Tywin's reprisal until he found out about Ser Jaime's defeat, she was hot on her horses hooves to follow up the kingsroad and back towards the Twins.

Max/THEON

"Kingslayer," Max kicked Jaime to the grassy floor, where already he was on his knees.

Not that Max would decry such a moniker, or feel soiled by such. In the Whispering Wood, where Ser Jaime's forces were routed or killed, they had captured Lord Tywin's son, and now held them both, as well as Myrcella.

The battle was still thrumming in their eyes, and the plan a masterstroke; the men lauded Adam/Robb, though Max knew through thinly veiled eyes it had been Robb's plan, and Adam/Robb could never had conceived of such on his own.

"Whose your betrothed?" smirked Max, who had taken occupation of spying the Frey girl amidst the Frey soldiers.

"Roslin," said Adam, "She will do, and secures us our Frey alliance, and I would sooner wed her to cement the alliance, than dilly-dally."

"Least you won't marry someone else," Max sniggered, "At least, not any chick."

Adam/Robb reddened at that, and rode off; there was the provision of prisoners and of belongings, and of logistics of preparing for their next ride to Riverrun.

It was at Riverrun that the bloodshed continued, and by their surprise attack on the three Lannister camps separated by rivers to properly besiege it, came the northerner's victory.

Of course, Max reminded himself, all this was only because Adam/Robb knew what would happen.

When only one third of the Lannister army was able to escape under Ser Forley Prester, this left Riverrun saved, and so Edmure was freed, and up they all went across that drawbridge and into the high walls of safety which Riverrun promised.

In chambers, Max could not help but notice the relief on Adam/Robb's face, his hands shaking for the news that Ned had died, making him lord for certain. Max, he supposed, could have put an arm on Adam/Robb's shoulder to settle him; but the burden was his, and Max merely sniffed and glanced out the window at the rushing waters.

"Why didn't you want to be King in the North?" asked Max, "Ned's dead."

"Yes," assented Adam, stil lquietly taking in the furore of the decision which played out like theatre to his lords and bannermen, "But we must win in the long term, and we have only just won in the short term."

It was something to arrive in safe stead after such a victory, and Max was well assured of the Stark survival, yet still, as the tired and battle weary and happy northmen curled up to sleep, something stirred in Max.

He made his way down the corridor, and saw the chambers that had been set aside for Adam/Robb's betrothed, and she was attended by a ladies maid, and two Freys at her door.

"My lady," Max bowed, "Your lord husband would like to properly meet you."

"At this hour?" frowned one of the Frey guards, "It would not be proper before their wedding."

Max bowed all the same, feeling like a ridiculous courtier, a plot hatching in his mind before long.

Zoe/CATELYN

Zoe had travelled through the Bloody Gate, up those perilous steps leading to those tallest towers in the Eyrie, and could well understand why Lysa wanted to stay up here, for how safe and impregnable it must seem, except against dragons, but Zoe had a mission, and here she was to present it flat to Lysa.

Zoe waited in the High Hall, where the Moon Door sat ominously closed, and where a number of Arryn guards, paying homage by courtesy to their lady's sister, watched down at her with no suspicion, and in these cold high halls where a breeze blew, Zoe waited on Lysa, for the hour she had arrived was late.

By now, Adam/Robb will have lifted the siege of Riverrun, Clara and the Blackfish will be reforming at the Twins, and Lord Tywin will be racing to save his eldest son.

"Cat?" peered Lysa, down from her perch, and came down the steps to scrutinise her.

"I must speak with you in private," said Zoe, when Lysa had shared a kiss, perfumed and caked with powder.

"Of course," Lysa looked around, "Leave us."

And so the Arryn guards left them, and all that was left was their footsteps and voices.

"I would never have this," Zoe pointed to the Moon Door, "What if it opens? What if Robert fell in?"

"Ridiculous," Lysa chuckled, breathy.

"Don't open it," Zoe folded her arms, "The winds will pick us up and throw us in."

"Oh, you always were stubborn," Lysa reached over and pulled the Moon Door's lever, and so it was pulled open, and the harshest and cold of winds seeped through at once.

"Close it, close it," said Zoe, peeping round to hold onto the stone bench all the same.

"You see?" asked Lysa, "Nothing to fear - "

Zoe at once grabbed Lysa, and covered her mouth that the shriek might escape, and struggled, both women of similar age and strength that in imbalance and fear, both struggled with one another.

"We need your army," Zoe grit her teeth, scrambling for the Valyrian dagger on her, and pulling it free -

Lysa's arm flung out from where it was pinned, knocking the dagger down the Moon Door, she got a foothold of Zoe, they struggled, and though Lysa gained height, Zoe pulled her in, and they both tumbled, whirling, falling, blue…

ACOK

Grace/SANSA

If there was a part to play, Grace knew it not; and if Sansa's grief would have made her hollow, then in knowing not where her friends were, she was as suited to be on the sidelines as she was now, watching Joffrey's name day tourney be carried out, and he paid her never any attention, and sometimes mocked her choice of betrothed.

It was a surprise to them all, to see a hundred men in Lannister crimson ride up, and glimpse Ser Kevan riding in to lead them.

"Uncle, what are you doing here?" rose Joffrey, as did they all.

"I am acting Hand by my brother's invitation," Ser Kevan produced the scroll, however stiffly he felt about needing to have that validated, "I am to hold a small council meeting at once."

"Go," waved Joffrey, and Grace knew no tumult, knew nothing out of the ordinary, and figured maybe Joffrey's uncle might be able to restore a bit of order in the capital that was slowly lacking.

After the name day feast, Grace returned to her quarters, and particularly because she had no friends to hang out with, she had asked if some sewing might be permitted her, and so she sewed alone in her rooms, the furnishings fine and the windows always closed against the shit-smell, and felt very lonely indeed.

A knock came to the door, and by its rap she felt something was up, and Varys came in, all soft robes and silkiness.

"Lady Sansa. Forgive me to interrupt you - and to be the bearer of this news, I impart… "

Grace took the scroll, her hands shaking, and her eyes widened.

Max/THEON

Max, if not drinking or training at arms or joking with those soldiers who did not disdain him, could currently be counted on for his current assignment, breathing away, running his hands through the maid's hair, and as was every occasion, only thirty seconds until release.

Though he was not like to think of it until later, he was glad that soon he would be riding off to battle once more. Adam/Robb who had stood firmly declared for Stannis' camp before he himself could rouse any support for northern independence, then announced that he could scarcely sit idle while Lord Tywin threatened the riverlands.

"It is time," Adam/Robb had said, before Max had found his current liaison, and some days after his wedding to Roslin, "It is time to march on the west, and show that there may lay some revenge in what the Old Lion has done to our people."

Of those left currently burning and sacked in the riverlands, Adam/Robb had left to Edmure, acting lord in his ailing father's capacity, whose response was to let the riverlands lords return to their castles for little gain but pride.

His thirty seconds up, Max rolled off his charge, and made do with what doublet and breeches he wore, the state of them soiled, heading back to his chambers, as always soothed by the kraken colours which he alone wore for none of the mainlanders did, and made him feel special.

He tied a dirk to his boot as did he always when walking the corridors unarmed, and came upon a harried, sweating maester climbing down the rookery steps.

"Oh - oh," said he, unable to contain the bad news, in someone he must trust, for he alone wanted soothing, before he could tell the lord of Riverrun, "It's the sisters Tully. Oh, this news will see my Lord of Tully down the stream."

Clara/DACEY

Clara was grim to hear the news, and following orders as per those received from the Blackfish, they marched the army that had retreated from the Green Fork, up into the Twins, and here it was that they meant to link up at Riverrun.

She had not had opportunity to seek out Jon, for he had gone with Adam/Robb to break the siege of Riverrun, figuring some space would do them good, and also hoping he would be less likely to perish, not that she would tell him that.

In any case, tolerating the hospitality of the Freys, ruminating on the loss of Zoe/Catelyn which was grievous indeed, she had occasion to be confided in by the Blackfish.

"Yohn Royce writes that he is raising as large an army as he can, two thirds the size of Lord Tywin's," confided the Blackfish, knowing by Adam/Robb's raven, that she was to be trusted, "Of course, the knights of the Vale will help in the battles to come. I still cannot believe my nieces are dead… "

Clara saw to it that when they left the Twins, and embarked for Riverrun, that she attempted some grief on her face, for though she had lost Zoe, she could not quite register it.

If she kept Zoe in her mind, she wasn't she truly gone, if her memory was there, she could just deny the loss ever happened, even if it made her head hurt, it kept her feet walking one after the other, or when her horse rode for her.

At Riverrun, the host was Edmure's, and Hoster was fading fast, for he could not quite grasp the news. The mood was somber, of course, and the gulf that was the suspicion, what had happened that both Tully sisters had fallen?

Clara noticed the small Roslin Frey, nervous and quiet, left behind for safety, and she who tried her best to fit in.

"Hi," Clara joined her on the bench, where nobody attempted fanfare, where singers and lute players tried wistfully to restore the mood that would not budge.

Roslin, who up until now had been quiet, burst into tears.

"Um, come with me," Clara suggested, taking Roslin into a quiet corner, which was not so easily done given the stares of suspicion, and always the looks that accompanied a lord's new wife in a place like Riverrun.

"I've been so beset with guilt," begged Roslin, "He told me not to tell, but I must… "

"Who? What?" Clara asked, feeling some sense of urgency, and conspiracy, and knowing that with the Lannisters still on the field, no misstep could be taken.

"You must know, you ride with him so often," Roslin nodded, "My lord Robb does not love me, not truly. Even on our wedding night… "

Clara blanched, knowing all this, but figuring Adam/Robb could have at least done the deed. He was no better than Renly, who by now surely was finding excuses not to join Margaery in her tent.

"It is good to feel loved, truly," admitted Roslin, "But I fear his love is of a different kind."

"Robb has his mind on war," Clara forced herself to say, "He crushed Jaime's army and saved Riverrun. Victories, let alone battles, weigh a lot on a man's mind."

"Robb?" Roslin frowned, and sniffed. She looked across the room, where surrounded by a miasma of hostile looks at the kraken on his doublet, stood Max/Theon.

"You are fucking joking," spat Clara, and determined first to deal with this problem, turned back to Roslin, "Don't lie. Did he come onto you?"

Roslin paused, "But now it has turned to my affection for him."

"Don't say anything," said Clara, feeling soiled as she did so, "And don't tell anyone."

Adam/ROBB

"Oh, good," Adam brightened, to see Clara/Dacey arrive. "I don't have to act the lord around you."

"What are you doing?" Clara asked, figuring unless it was urgent, she could spill the beans right here and then; her fists were opening and closing of their own accord.

"This is where we must go," frowned Adam/Robb, over his map, "My army, that is which broke the siege of Riverrun; and the Blackfish's. We will all be combined to march up the Golden Tooth - "

"That's a difficult castle," Clara pointed out.

"Grey Wind knows a way," Adam/Robb tapped his nose, and Clara almost hated herself for the news she had to give, "Then we'll take several westerland castles. This will bring Lord Tywin out of Harrenhal, and determined to follow us. I have asked Edmure - and would request that you remain here to ensure he does it - to allow Lord Tywin to cross."

"Then Stannis can take King's Landing," said Clara, remembering the lore.

"Exactly. Lord Tywin will prove to be a difficult opponent, but getting rid of Cersei and her children will be the first part," Adam/Robb rubbed his face, "Of course Grace/Sansa may be at risk, but one battle at a time, please."

"There's something I have to tell you," Clara swallowed, "I'm not going to pussyfoot around - Max/Theon's been sleeping with Roslin."

Adam went gray, and looked to the map, as though he might outflank this particular problem, and put his face in his hands.

"You know what you must do," Clara pressed, "And this makes a northern victory almost impossible."

"I cannot set Roslin aside," spoke up Adam/Robb, "Walder Frey will never believe it of his daughter, and I will not have it public knowledge. She will just have to keep mum."

"Then it's Max?" Clara asked, and Adam nodded, "He will try to spill his beans. He will ruin it for all of us. You cannot have a trial - on Dacey's honor I must do it."

"What will you say?" Adam clenched the edge of the table where the map lay.

"He came onto me," Clara thought for a second, then shrugged, "Then he tried to knife me, but I knifed him."

"This will shake up the ironborn," Adam shook, "They will definitely try to invade, then."

"Then you will have to release me from Riverrun, and Edmure's follies," Clara rolled her eyes, "And I will need to ensure the north is held."

Grace/SANSA

Grace knew war was breaking out, was brimming all over the place, and Joffrey would have none of it. For news had broke out that Adam/Robb had skipped past the Golden Tooth, and had defeated Stafford Lannister's host at Oxcross.

For all the murmurings, Grace was sure it couldn't be true that he cut out someone's heart and fed it to his direwolf.

People are so tied up in their fantasies, Grace told herself.

Yet for what Sansa stood for, and in whose body Grace now resided, this meant she was a target for Joffrey's abuse and malice, and the hits from his Kingsguard had opened up her rage, and as was her upbringing, she had learnt to take them crying and scrambling and doing nothing but promising to live another day.

Oh, how she wept in her chambers, and felt for Sansa; and told herself,

If Sansa can make it out alive, then so can I.

Courtesy was Sansa's armor, but Grace knew little of this world to incorporate even that, and so each day was a struggle, as the queen disliked her, Grace had no friends, no instruction from her friends for now they were declared rebels, and she hated life a little bit more each day.

Only in Varys could she confide, and in her chambers which no matter the furnishings could not hide the stink of King's Landing, did she open up.

"We're all trying to win," said she, "Robb and Dacey and Theon and Catelyn."

"The Starks are a thorn in the king's side," giggled Varys, "I pray that you find some solace in the days to come."

Varys always seemed to want to know more, to dismiss her childish fantasies and imaginations, and at length decided she had nothing to tell him of use.

Clara/DACEY

It had been swiftly done, and swiftly met, Clara told herself.

She had almost hoped for a struggle, but it would be one that she would not have won, as she rode with a hundred men from Riverrun back towards the Twins.

So much traveling, and not as many battles as I thought, dwelled Clara.

In their view for a northern victory, they had lost Max/Theon and Zoe/Catelyn, and in each of their losses, there was something to be said.

In losing Zoe/Catelyn who had taken Lysa to her death, too, the Vale lords had rumbled and finally given their consent to an army. This army would be led by Yohn Royce, but which Clara meant to meet up with them at the Twins, now that Lord Tywin had begun marching from Harrenhal to cross at Riverrun.

The Greyjoys wanted a reason to attack, and now we've killed our hostage, they will take that very ill.

No matter that Max/Theon committed a sin, even if he was killed for another, Balon always wanted a crown, and so Clara met with the Vale knights outside the Twins, wishing she might claim one of their horses for her own, and yet she rode alongside Yohn Royce, who had command of the eastern army, yet Adam/Robb had given her strategic command, informing her of all the places the Greyjoys would strike.

And so they marched on Moat Cailin, where Howland Reed's crannogmen were to meet them.

How does it feel to kill my brother? No one's asked, Clara mused, the column of knights jangling with blue and white heraldry, What else does Adam/Robb have to prove, if any victory from this point on is now soured?

Adam/ROBB

Adam lay dazed in chambers at the Crag, for the wound had been deep, and nursed back to health, even in enemy territory surrounded by his men, he felt it was necessary to charge the gate with the ram all the same, just in case.

Zoe/Catelyn gone, but she served her purpose. Clara/Dacey to lead the Vale men towards the north where the ironborn will cause all sorts of havoc. Max/Theon, who could never be relied upon, causing by his death that chaos he always wanted.

And how was he to save Grace/Sansa? She was as frightened, as unsure of herself as a member of House Stokeworth. Likely she'd try to settle Lady Ermesande to sleep, and find no friends in the capital to confide in.

I must keep going, Adam told himself, I must find a way to achieve victory. I must prove myself to my friends, and to them all.

In invading the westerlands, Adam/Robb had taken both the forces he used to relieve the siege of Riverrun, and those forces which the Blackfish used to distract Lord Tywin on the Green Fork, which met a battering nonetheless as they retreated. And now, Lord Tywin was crossing the Red Fork…

If only Max/Theon had not forced my hand. The Vale knights would have been another army to link up at Riverrun, and truly outflank Lord Tywin in numbers.

Yet he must pull off a victory, he knew. And even despite this wound, and luckily for him no urges brought Jeyne closer than a look at his temperature, he felt a foreboding that all was not going as it was planned.

Grace/SANSA

Grace, in no better straits than before, who count once at least count Petyr that smirking weirdo for some attention, had become oddly vague, as though he too believed in her traitor's stench.

No one tells me anything, and here I sit, and I hate sewing!

Even Varys, who might tell her things, considered her intelligence moot, and so when ladies maids came to her room, or servants or guards who stood outside her room, she asked for news and was met with naught.

I should be wed by now, and my husband off to war, and maybe I would have been staying in Winterfell, or in Torrhen's Square.

Grace did not much fancy just being a wife, or a mother, but until she knew some real autonomy, she could not function without her friends, and they were her protection, she knew they meant her well, but here she still was in this viper's nest.

The whispers of Renly or Stannis or Robb or Joffrey, and I know not, I cannot plan, not that I can leave my rooms without consent.

She wondered if she could ever be a help to her friends, and felt like an extra toe, for they seemed to drag her along, make no use of her, and yet put forth effort to rescue her, or so she thought.

I thought Adam/Robb was supposed to help us all win, Grace sulked, as she tossed aside her sewing, so heartily sick of her surroundings, she began to clean which would later make a servant balk, Why do I feel no better?

Clara/DACEY

Clara breathed a sigh of relief to reach Winterfell, and with Jon by her side, newly vigored to help with the battles thus far, she had given him his space, and now reunited in their shared vision, hoped this would give him the knock to his senses that they were in fact, wife and man.

It had been north of Moat Cailin that with the help of the crannogmen in secret, and the Vale knights to provide the last charge, that Victarion's forces had been beset by surprise, and fought back though not without losses on the northern side.

There could only be orders issued to Deepwood Motte to prepare their keep for action, but orders were only as good as the forces able to combat them, and yet Asha Greyjoy had taken that keep.

Along the Stony Shore, where Clara feared some other bright ironborn might try to draw Rodrik out of Winterfell, they had heard of plunderings and worse, and having returned to the familiar curtain walls and yard, Clara was glad to bring the Vale men as their garrison, much as they itched to join Adam/Robb in the field.

We cannot lose the north or we'll have to march back anyway, thought Clara, seeing those in the blue-and-white heraldry who thought their one victory rather scant, and not much motivated by being a garrison for an ironborn force newly replled, At least there is Deepwood Motte to free, but I must hold Winterfell secure.

Jon, she could not quite work out. In rescuing the north he was glad, and to some degree she let him plan, though he could not know what she did, through Adam/Robb. This caused some frustration.

And in knowing his brother was battling in the west, he also wanted to be there. The loss of Catelyn had affected him, and he wanted to be there for his brother.

I cannot win on all fronts, Clara wanted to tell him, to shake him, I am trying to make this marriage work, cobbled together as it was, by some vague attraction on my direction, and better that at least one of us likes each other.

But she knew Jon did not find in her the depth he was looking for, loved in a partner, could respect and was still not a man grown, to know what a relationship needed to make it work.

In the north, it is always cold, even to lie in the same bed as your husband and know they are thinking different things. At least if he eyed someone else, I could be furious; but he only eyes not me, and that hurts most of all.

Clara set herself to the task of freeing Deepwood Motte from ironborn control, whatever her husband might think of her silencing him during the final command, and she wandered the yard to train at swordplay to a dummy.

"My lady?" aked maester Luwin, who had been surprised to receive the raven from Adam/Robb, that Clara was to guide and take command from Bran who was too young, "A raven… "

Clara unscrolled it, and a sigh and a smile ended that reverie.

"Thank you," Clara said stiffly, and strode across the yard, and drew her sword.

She traveled down to the dungeons, and amid scatterings, saw in one cell in particular, a face she did not quite recognise, and bade the guards open the door.

"Who are you?" demanded Clara, when the cell door clanged shut, and the guards posted nearby watched warily.

"Reek," bubbled with spit the prisoner, grinning maniacally, smelling as bad as a prisoner could.

Clara wanted something dramatic, to stare down at her sword and look up, to pronounce something witty, but there was only one thing to be done, and she would not pause for theatre lest he got the upper hand on her.

Adam/ROBB

Adam rubbed at the wound which still itched and plagued, riding on his horse down the River Road, which was towards the Golden Tooth, and where Lord Tywin was coming from.

It had been good news from the north where Clara/Dacey had been able to wrest control of the north back to northerners, but not so much for the reports that had come from the south.

Stannis had taken Storm's End as anticipated, and Renly had died as anticipated, but when he had marched to King's Landing, the Tyrells had not waited for Lord Tywin to return, before making their own choice.

At least Grace/Sansa is safe, of sorts...

Ahead, rose the road and hills and trees, and Adam contemplated that despite the Tyrells' backing, they were not here to save Lord Tywin, and finally he could put an end to the man who had raised the Lannister name so high.

The crimson and lion banners came into sight, and the northern army prepared itself, and Adam steeled himself, for though victory was certain, Lord Tywin was among the least likely people not to give ardent, tactical resistance.

In the midst of battle, which had to result by the northern and Lannister forces eventually coming to blows, with flanks and swords and horns and shouted commands, the numbers were on Lord Tywin's side, but that relief from the rear, which Adam was sure would have shaken the Lannister rear, seemed long in coming.

What's taking Edmure so long? Adam grit his teeth, for all that Grey Wolf could do to frenzy the Lannister cavalry, and all that the Blackfish could command, was naught when the plan hinged on a relief force from Riverrun. He can hardly have switched sides, lacks not for the thirst of battle, and the red comet did not fall on Riverrun, last I heard.

It was a miserable thing to retreat, for though the northerners could bloody Lord Tywin's nose, that venerable commander was in reserve, and would have won a prolonged battle, and so it was that Adam led the forces, the mounted charge less harried than those on foot which were the forces Lord Tywin had let slip on the Green Fork, and now had pleasure in pursuing.

Lord Tywin knows this land, Adam panicked, Even if Edmure was just that slow, we have suffered a defeat, and while we are retreating, if Edmure gives battle now, Lord Tywin will be prepared to bat them off from the rear.

Adam could not condition such a loss, his mind whirled, and wished he could give in to the pain from the wound at the Crag. The Blackfish was cursing Edmure for his folly, Adam wished he had Clara/Dacey's guidance in morale alone, and so they formed a camp at Oxcross, only a village, and scarcely one they could hold their own against even if Edmure were now to march up the river road.

"Likely Lord Tywin will rest at Sarsfield," pointed the Blackfish, on a rain spattered map, in the misery that swept the camp of their retreat, "He can bide his time, that the capital is safe. It may even be that Mace Tyrell will send one of his Reacher lords with a force to outflank us up the gold road."

"We can scarcely escape by the ocean road," pointed Adam, of the road which wound into the Reach, "We might take Old Oak, but Highgarden is no Oxcross, and our withdrawal from the westerlands can only support the Lannisters."

"Aye," nodded the Blackfish, "We are not like to pass Deep Den unless a goat track winds there, and besides, Lord Tywin will take us in the rear, even if the Tyrells remain garrisoned in King's Landing. Nor can we to any degree sail the western seas with the ironborn implacably against us."

"It is Edmure's fault," said Adam pitiably, as wantonly sulky as the teenager he was, stripped of his ability in lack of his foresight, "Why on earth did he not come? All he had to do was to let Lord Tywin pass, and follow him up the river road like a bad, wafting stench."

Grace/SANSA

Grace stood in the throne room, allowed to be present, glad to be dressed her best, in the show of king Joffrey granting titles and accolades to those Tyrells who stepped forth.

What with the city being saved, Lord Tyrell was named Savior of the City, and his gut and ego could not be bigger. The king, the Grand Maester told, was to wed the Lady Margaery, and the Queen Regent bit her tongue on that. By the throne, the assembled councillors of Varys, the High Septon and Petyr, busier than usual, made their nods as consent of the small council to the king's wishes.

I love the Tyrells, admitted Grace, They're beautiful and happy and smiling, but they're not on our side.

It was some days before Margaery called for her, and in a grove of gardens, did Grace sit and break her fast with the Queen of Thorns, who inquired after Joffrey, and Margaery leaned in.

"He doesn't like me," admitted Grace, fresh to tears, and Olenna and Margaery glanced at each other, "I miss my friends… "

"You will have to visit Highgarden," nodded Margaery, after a time where she might condition Grace out of her blubbering, "Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes," blurted Grace, so relieved was she to spend hopefully the rest of her days in a perfect place, "Can my friends visit?"

"Hmm?" Olenna frowned.

"My friends," this burst from Grace like stones skipping over water, "Robb and Dacey."

"You know they are in open rebellion to the crown, of our king Joffrey," said Margaery steadily, "But there is news on that front."

Grace listened, and listened with a growing dread, and a pitying glance from Olenna sealed the deal.

Clara/DACEY

I would make a good Lady of Winterfell, Clara ruminated, But then again, I will be Lady of Bear Island sooner than I thought.

The news had come to cast Winterfell in a shroud, and Clara who had taken command from Bran, and saw all that was pain in Jon's face for the news the raven had delivered, steeled herself that Zoe/Catelyn was right: it was only ever about survival.

Adam/Robb had been outfoxed, for Edmure had written from Riverrun that he had been unable to cross at the Golden Tooth when the goat pass had been taken care of.

That fucking idiot, Clara fumed.

Edmure had thrown himself and his army at the Golden Tooth, but Ser Forley's men held the castle well, which allowed Lord Tywin the peace of mind that his rear was secure, and so with superior numbers he battered Adam/Robb's force like the lion he was.

And now Edmure sulks in Riverrun, Clara knew, as she walked around the parapets of Winterfell, as though expecting some other awful view from afar to assault them, What use are the Vale knights, any more than Edmure's forces if we cannot breach the westerlands, and not in numbers enough?

To consolidate matters, Clara had given Adam/Robb as good as dead.

For all that he said we would be victorious, he could not foresee Zoe/Catelyn, or Max/Theon, or Lord Tywin, much as he venerates him.

And so, Clara in her stead as leading Winterfell, as much as she could not connect with her husband Jon, and as demotivated as the Winterfell garrison was, Clara was determined that it should not end here.

The Starks may die, the north may die, but I will not, I will remain, I will come through this strong.

Clara settled matters in the great hall for to sit in Ned's solar would be ill judged, and when the maester came to her with a raven, she opened it for it was addressed to her, and did not concern the acting lord Bran of Winterfell which would have permitted him to read it first.

She blanched, and looked up at maester Luwin, "Is this the truth?"

"I - I have not read it, my lady."

Clara tossed it to him, "Edmure writes that Robb meant to bend the knee, yet in learning this, Lord Karstark killed Jaime Lannister in his cell."

"Oh, dear," quavered Luwin, and before Clara could ascertain his somber tone, she took it for sarcasm, as he read on.

"This," Clara spat, "This, Lord Tywin took as provocation. Doubtless Robb would have with all ceremony, gladly presented himself on a platter that his honor might satisfy this breach. But the lion marched on the wolves at once."

"This is very ill, my lady," Luwin rolled up the scroll, "We must tell our young lord the news."

"And what of me?" Clara scoffed, feeling the noose tighten, "I would be scarce surprised to know of as many deaths in the northern camp as would make me Lady of Bear Island. And my husband? My husband will grieve. He has been grieving since our wedding day."

Luwin had no answer to that, but Clara stormed out to wander the battlements once more, and knew Luwin was imparting that knowledge which would so devastate Bran and Jon.

Somewhere, Grace, I hope you're happy, Clara told herself, twisting the edge of her sword, Lord Tywin will never march north, but I must bend the knee, and send the Vale knights home, and perhaps the ironborn will try again on Bear Island, and never will I hold a babe in my arms who is supported by a father who loves his wife as well.

Clara was determined that of her friends bar Grace who were looking down on her from the skies, she would rally them into that insistence that pronounce she would lead the campaign next time, and that to pay more attention to the show and books so as to denounce Adam as arbiter and omniscient of all things related.

THE END