A Song of Frost & Flame

by Chimaera1201

When Robert's Rebellion broke out, the ancient friend and ally of the Starks, House Tormont offered their oldest daughter to the Lords of the Corridor for their alliance. Powerful and respected, the Taugere family kept the way north safe and at peace for thousands of years. But a less known prophecy may declare if the world will freeze over again, or burn in the fires.

20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20 – THE STORM

It was an easy morning on the Riverlands, with a lighter atmosphere over the northern army. The greatest of the clashes had ended, but they continued to acquire other small victories by relinquishing the western forces of livestock and other resources as they slowly pressed on to the south while waiting for word from their remaining proposed ally as the other was lost. With the death of Renly Baratheon, there was less hope of bolstering their forces. But, the soldiers greeted their king warmly as he passed, inspecting the conditions and well-being of their camp, mostly seeming to be in good order.

"There have been several raids, and counter-raids over the southern fields, but likely nothing more than to test our resolve. We'll be able to move on soon enough, and with our luck thus far, with little difficulty as our foes display less fervency in their attacks. And our wounded are mending well." Gerald reported from his left side.

"That is fine news. It is good to hear that our men are not losing heart in this." Robb agreed, and Gerald smiled.

"Most would sooner lose their limbs, than their heart. We all share this plight, this reason, this goal. And we will meet it, whether it be in victory or hell." Gerald said, and Robb chuckled for the irony. In Victory, or to Hell... In the field far to his right, he noticed a unit of soldiers led by lord Rames, whom had just rejoined their forces, returning from one of their nightly operations while his men drove a relinquished herd of sheep into a temporary corral. There was indeed no scarcity of heart among those following him.

"Well, this is where I leave you for now, your grace." Gerald greeted before moving off, in search of something or someone, and then his attention settled on the girl sitting on a fallen log with a parchment in her hand, and Robb smiled approaching her.

"Lady Talisa." he called for her attention, and she looked up with a soft smile.

"Your grace. I'm not sure I'm a lady. Westerosi customs are still a bit foreign to me." she returned his greeting modestly, and he thought for a moment.

"It's hard to keep all the rules straight. But if I remember my lessons, a woman of noble birth is always called a lady. Unless she's a queen, or a princess... I could find someone who knows." he lightly teased as she stood to face him.

"Why are you so sure I'm of noble birth?" she asked, trying to conceal a smile.

"Because it's obvious." he told, taking in her posture and fine language, and of course the written message held in her hand. Clearly traits of a formal education.

"What if I told you my father sold lace on the long bridge, and my mother, my brother and I lived with him above our shop?" she hinted at a more mediocre existence, one he instantly cast off.

"I'd call you a liar." he replied immediately, not even pausing to question the notion, and she stared at him for a moment hiding a blush.

"Not very noble, to accuse a lady of dishonesty." she directed, and then he smiled as he nodded, indicating that she had just revealed her trueness. Then the hidden smile became a blushing laugh.

"I always thought I was a brilliant liar." she confessed, and he lightly shrugged.

"You're better at amputations, I'm afraid." he corrected her, and they shared a small easy laugh as he glanced around at the green field surrounding them.

"Quite a pretty spot." he mentioned, and she agreed taking in the enamouring scenery that was so out of place for the situation they found themselves in.

"Will we be here long?" she asked, in all honesty not relishing the thought of abandoning the lovely field, but his eyes came back to hers.

"I couldn't really discuss troop movements with you." he declined, as politely as he possibly could without offending his lady.

"I'm not a spy." she quickly denied, and he remained smiling.

"Of course, a spy would deny being a spy." he again lightly teased, bringing the lovely smile he enjoyed to see.

"You're right, you've found me out. I'm writing a letter to the Lannisters 'the young wolf is on the move." she teased back, unrolling the parchment in her hands and playing the role, then they both shared a small easy laugh again, before he took a step closer. He felt comfortable with her, and could name her a friend despite only knowing her a number of weeks.

"Perhaps you'd join me. If you've got time, of course." he suggested, again taking in the gentleness of her lovely face, the soft curves of her beautiful smile and the deep brown eyes.

"Robb?" a familiar voice drew his attention, and he looked back to see his mother, lady Catelyn Stark standing behind him along with Rhegard Tormont and a stranger he did not know. A tall woman with short blonde hair, stern unfeminine features but elegant blue eyes, garbed in sturdy hard armour.

"Mother." he greeted warmly as he raised his arm to her.

"Thank you, lord Rhegard. You may take your leave." he thanked as he smiled.

"You are very welcome, your grace." Rhegard bowed to him, and then left to seek out his own family to reunite with them, and Robb looked back at his mother.

"Mother, this is lady Talisa. She's been helping with the wounded. She's been very... helpful." he introduced, choosing the most suitable word.

"Lady Talisa." Catelyn acknowledged the girl, whom graced her with a sure nod.

"Lady Stark." she returned, while the lady of Winterfell stared at her.

"Lady Talisa?" she waited for more, and the girl finally looked up.

"Maegyr." she replied, while in her mind Catelyn brought up every noble name of this continent, having to admit it was not familiar at all.

"Maegyr... Forgive me, I do not know this name." she confessed, watching the pretty foreign girl in front of them.

"An uncommon name here. An old name in Volantis." she told, and then her attention drifted, seeming to would rather set her hands to something different.

"Excuse me, my lady. Your grace." she pardoned, and they watched as she moved off and disappeared between the tents, before Robb finally returned his attention to his mother with a smile just hiding the nervous pull at his lips.

"I've missed you." he said, guiding her back through the tents and she returned his smile, amused at his unnatural dismay.

"Yes. You look positively forlorn." she teased, scanning the camp site of the many different faces, countrymen and neighbours.

"You surprised me, that's all. I didn't think I'd see you today." he excused as he turned, his eyes again going to where the lovely girl disappeared between the shelters, and he heard his mother sigh softly.

"I wish that you are free to follow your heart." and it was true, to have the freedom to marry for love was a rare thing, especially for the high-born. Only a few were able to make that choice for themselves, The Grey Tom and his oldest son being two of the handful she knew.

"I know..." he muttered, his thoughts going to the day they were granted passage over the bridge.

"You have inherited your father's responsibilities. I'm afraid they come at a cost." she reminded him, and his eyes came back to hers.

"I know..." he repeated as she stared at him.

"You are promised to another. A debt that must be paid." she further added.

"I haven't forgotten." he assured, his voice soft and controlled despite the subtle ache in his chest, and then a figure appeared next to them seemingly with an urgent anxiety.

"Your grace. My lady. News from Winterfell." he called for their attention, and the darkness of his demeanour settled over them as well as he herded them to a tent where already, the lords of the Corridor were in a heated discussion which could not bode well.

"If my family, my country, and my people have been compromised in any way, I cannot simply wait here for news of the worst." he heard the Lord of Flame as he entered into the shadow of the pavilion.

"The word from Mount Ardor is that they were passed, and the gates have been ordered closed. It may be safe to assume that they are unharmed. The reports stated-" it was Lord Umber that tried to persuade him otherwise.

"If there has been word, you believe that all is well?" Berin challenged, equally vexed as the bright eyes watched them, burning as always.

"I'm saying, that there is no proof that they are in any immediate danger." he tried again.

"Immediate danger?" then Raeghun looked at Robb, staring at him.

"What's happened?" he softly asked, and Raeghun turned towards him.

"You haven't been told?" he asked, glancing at lord Bolton just behind him. He turned to him and took the letter, unrolling it and reading the message several times as he took a seat, the others waiting for him to accept the words.

"This cannot be true." Robb breathed as Roose took a place beside him.

"We've had ravens from Earndale, Longdale, White Harbour, Barrow Town and the Dreadfort. I'm afraid that it is true." he confirmed, glancing at Raeghun for a moment.

"I have to go back." he again insisted, starting for the entranceway to the pavilion with Berin trailing, but Roose sat back.

"There is no need. The Corridor has been left largely untouched, save for the fleet." he further reported, once more bringing the bright eyes to his as Robb looked up.

"Why? Why would Theon-" he questioned it as lord Bolton returned his attention to him.

"Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores." he told, and Raeghun scoffed. I was right, not to trust him... His eyes were on the outside world, every instinct screaming to return and defend his own people.

"But it seems, they specifically targeted the North, knowing that the Corridor would remain well defended." Roose added.

"You would have me abandon my people?" Raeghun asked, and lord Bolton's eyes met his solidly.

"Your people are safe, it seems that the patrols you have set out is doing its job. The Ironborn were more set on the north than the Corridor." he told, and Robb looked up.

"My brothers?" he asked, and the lord paused for an instant.

"We've heard nothing of them. But Rodrik Cassell is dead." he reported softly, and lady Catelyn turned around sharply.

"I told you, never trust a Greyjoy!" she called out, and Robb stood preparing to leave, following the same notion as his ally.

"I must go north at once." he decided, drawing Roose to his feet to follow.

"There is still a war to win, your grace." he reminded, and Robb turned back.

"How can I call myself king if I cannot hold my own castle? How can I ask men to follow me if I can't-" he started, but the stony stare silenced him.

"You are a king! And that means you don't have to do everything yourself!" he told, and then looked at Raeghun as well.

"And you have several fine lords under your command, send one of them back if you must, but we need you and your men here." he directed as Catelyn moved forward.

"Let me go and talk to Theon." she suggested, and then Robb looked at her, the glint of fury in his eyes almost as daunting as those of the lord of the burning mountain.

"There will be no talk, he will die for this!" he vowed, and Roose approached.

"Theon holds the castle with a skeleton crew. Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon. We have the Lannisters on the run. If you march all the way back north now you'll lose what you've gained." he advised, his eyes brighter than before.

"My boy would be honoured to bring you Prince Theon's head." he said, and Robb took a deep uneasy breath.

"Tell your son that Bran and Rickon's safety is paramount. And Theon, I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why, and then I'll take his head myself." he told, and then Roose looked at Raeghun again.

"You said your strongest is watching over your family. We need you, and your men." he insisted again, making the ardent eyes look away from him in silence. Stay, or go... Then he turned, heading outside with Berin at his side.

"The plan?" he asked, and Raeghun scanned the faces.

"Find Garrett. He and his men ride for Earndale immediately." he decided, praying that this was the right choice.

Claira stood watching the bay from the window of her common room, the waters left barren for a number of days. It was late afternoon and quiet, perhaps too quiet. The moment the ships were discovered, Wymon delivered her back to the lord's wing before seeking out maester Adlyn, and ravens were sent to their stewards at once to post parties of experienced archers along their northern coast, and the morning after a message arrived from Earndale that the fleet was near to completely destroyed and a great deal of those who manned the vessels lost, targeted as the ships from the Iron Islands passed them. Two or three small groups attempted to land on their shores, but by cause of the patrols did not make in further inland than a couple of miles. The gates were ordered shut except for deliveries, and otherwise for her son's training which have lessened somewhat for the perceived threat, but when they could they still kept to practice in the bailey with the others. She glanced down, wondering if her husband knew what happened, and then sighed. Of course he knew, how could he not? Nothing that happened on their lands were beyond his hearing, and she thought whether he would return himself to deal with the threat, or send someone else. But then confessed, even only to herself that he had a greater role to fill, than hammer down on these insignificant harassments that the remaining men were quite capable of handling, and it seemed obvious that the Goldfields were not their primary objective, and the incursions they've had thus far were only the raiders testing their luck, which to their fortune appeared to remain degraded. This was not reason enough for her husband to return home...

"Aunt Claira?" she turned, finding Bella behind her and she smiled.

"Bella, my dear. Do you need something?" she asked as she faced her.

"No, I just came to ask the same of you. Can I have some tea brought to you?" she asked, and Claira softly laughed. She'd been drowned in her thoughts so often lately, she barely noticed the world around her.

"That is very kind of you. I'm sorry for being so distracted, it's just that..." she started, and Bella took her hands.

"It's al right, I know." she comforted, and Claira returned the gentle pressure of her hands. She was grateful for her family, whom were so supportive. Bella examined her, the darkness under her eyes so blatant against the pale of her ivory skin.

"You still haven't slept much." she noted, but Claira smiled.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Once the men are back, everything will return to normal." she hoped, and Bella nodded.

"I hope it won't be long." she said softly, and the lady knew that she missed them just as much as she did. The world felt empty and silent, and dark without their presence. What they had were only the memories until they came home, and Bella moved back.

"I'll call for the tea. My mother is having the southern hall prepared for this evening." she told.

"Thank you." Claira breathed and Bella left the common room while Claira took a seat in her chair. Many have proposed that she restrict her activities, to bring ease to her withered senses, and she hoped that a cup of warm tea would help. The chair was soft and warm with its many furs, and again she felt herself floating on the river of memories as the fireplace chattered and splintered in the heat. A gentle tingling spread over her body as she drifted in the ambience until a shadow darkened the world around her, and she looked up to see a man standing against the wall, clad entirely in black, a hood cast over his features. He was smiling, and she realized she did not know him. He wasn't one of their guards, or in any order of their castle, and the gentle tingling became a stinging mass over her. She stood and stepped back as he came forward, not a sound from his steps. An assassin? She tried to call to someone, anyone near by but found that her voice had left her, possibly from the fright, and he remained smiling as he walked calmly forward, still with no sound or even a spoken word. Run! You have to run! She made for the door, and in an instant he stepped in front of her wrapping his arms around her in a secure hold, and her chest ached as she breathed, attempting to force a scream from herself as the gloved hand came over her face, a hand too large to be anywhere near natural as it closed over her mouth, nose and eyes; veiling the world in a darkness blacker than their deepest night. But she screamed, desperate for release. Raeghun! Help me! Powerful hands took her shoulders, and the vice around her body vanished. Her eyes opened to register the dark stare taking her in.

"It's al right, I'm here." he soothed as he knelt in front of her, and her arms went around Falgon's shoulders.

"There's someone in the castle! Someone else was here!" she told, the ragged breaths filling her chest.

"There was no one here, your grace. You were asleep." he tried to correct her, but her arms grew tighter.

"There is someone in the castle! I saw him! I saw him!" she insisted, and his hands rested on her shuddering back.

"Al right. We'll have the castle searched." he agreed, and looked back at another standing in the doorway staring at them as she still shivered in his arms; frightened to the point of tears.

"Wymon, take twenty guards and search the hold. Every corner from the crown to the tombs." he instructed, and the sentinel nodded as he left down to the barracks to find his group. Falgon pulled slightly back from her.

"Your grace-" suddenly her arms tightened again.

"Please, please don't leave me. Please..." he held her again, perplexed that she could be this terrified from a dream, and then heard softer footsteps approaching before suddenly stopping.

"Did something happen?" Bella anxiously asked coming inside to set the tea on the table, and he paused.

"Her grace was asleep, it seems that she had a particularly frightening dream." he explained as Bella watched them.

"I saw him..." Claira whispered again, and Falgon looked up at Bella while still holding her.

"Lady Bella, have you seen anyone in the castle that you did not recognise? Anyone who does not belong here?" he asked, and she thought bringing every face into her thoughts.

"Not that I know of. Besides, the gates have been mostly shut for a number of months, since the lords left south." she said, but it nagged at her that someone might have been able to slip in with a shipment meant for the stables, the kitchen or their maester.

"Where is Rychon?" Claira asked, looking up.

"He's in the bailey, with Gavin and my brothers." Bella reported, still staring at their lady who remained distraught and clearly shaken. What kind of dream could do this? It was as if she truly suffered a shocking occurrence.

"Would you be so kind as to ask him to come up?" Falgon asked, and Bella nodded before leaving to find him, and Falgon drew back as he examined her again. When he came up, she was asleep in front of the hearth, and he had decided to leave just a moment before he heard her scream and rushed back. There was no one there, yet she had a firm belief that she was attacked by someone, and it still showed in her eyes.

"Your grace, I promise that there was no one else here. It was just a dream." he softly told her, and she stared without seeing, her arms still quivering as her hands held his shoulders.

"But... But, I saw him..." then she looked up at him, a questioning in the blue that almost made him feel guilt.

"Am I going mad?" she whispered, and he gently smiled as his hands stroked her back compassionately.

"No. But you are exhausted, and it is taking a toll on you. A heavy one." he said, wondering if there was anything he could do to make her feel more at ease. Anything in the world.

"I don't know what to do, Falgon... I want to sleep, I want to go about my days as normal; I want to just pass each day as the last until he comes home... But I can't. Nothing is helping me, nothing is calming me enough, not the quilt, not the aids, not your songs, nothing... I don't know what to do..." and he held her again, rocking slowly as she softly cried into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I wish I could help you. But..." then she breathed out, wiping the moisture from her cheeks.

"I know. I know you're trying, all of you. I'm sorry for being so difficult." and she pulled back from him.

"It was a dream... But it seemed so real..." She had called to her husband, knowing he was not here... Exhaustion had that effect, it could cloud your mind when awake, and create vivid dreams in the vulnerability of sleep. And with her husband away from her side, she felt severely vulnerable. Exposed, and unprotected. And in spite of knowing the loyalty of those sworn to protect her, every knowledge in the world could not change the way one felt, and there were some things that could not be controlled regardless of every wish or want to. All he had to offer, was his promise.

"Do you remember my first promise to you?" she stared at him, the tears coming again as she took another shivering breath, recalling his words that night, as clear as his unique eyes looking back at her.I will never allow any harm to come to you.

"I do. I do remember." she assured, and one last time he held her close to him.

"Never let go of that promise. Never forget it." her fingers strained against the leather over his chest, and for a moment she felt better.

"Thank you, my Falgon." she breathed against him, covered in his ease and then he drew back.

"Have some tea, your grace. Before it gets cold." he suggested and she sat back, looking at the tray next to her on the table. With shaking hands she poured the tea into a cup, and used a small straw to stir honey with the liquid, and brought it to her mouth. Soon after, Rychon entered the room.

"Mother?" he watched her, and she looked up willing the previous fright away.

"Rychon, my sweet..." she replaced the cup on the table as he moved forward, kneeling in front of her with Wink hung on his shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Oh, nothing. I just... I needed to see you." she whispered as his hands took hers.

"I'm al right." he assured, and she laughed feeling silly.

"I know. I know you're al right, you are your father's son..." she saw so much of him in her son. In a certain way, he looked exactly like him save for his eyes that were hers. He stayed with her for the remainder of the afternoon until they were called to the southern hall to sup on poultry roast with greens and apple pie, and the children left the hall to return to their chambers for the night while the ladies lingered a little while longer as Claira shared that Rychon had chosen to spend more of his nights alone, giving Panora freedom to enjoy her days with peaceful evenings. A guard then came from the doors, lowering himself next to their lady to deliver a message; and with new fright in her chest she stood and followed him, asking Milla to have the hall cleared. They entered into the Hall of Fire, finding Falgon and Wymon with his party at the base of the grand staircase with a stranger, clad entirely in black. She stopped, staring at the man on his knees surrounded by her guards, and then Wymon looked back at her before stepping aside.

"My lady, is this the man you saw?" he asked, and she carefully came closer. She did not recognise him at all, the hazel eyes staring back at her with absolute horror.

"I... I don't know..." she said softly, and then looked at her sentinel.

"Where did you find him?" she asked, and Wymon glanced back with a contented grin.

"In the stables, under the hay." she examined the man on his knees, lean and pale and withered. Possibly a commoner. Wymon turned towards him again.

"So, why were you hiding?" he asked, but was met with silence as the eyes darted to him and Wymon approached him.

"Why were you hiding?" he asked again, and the trespasser looked down.

"Give him to the jailer as an intruder. He'll have more questions answered than you would." Falgon told, and Wymon glanced back with a shrug.

"Very well." the soldiers closed in, preparing to haul him away when his hands came up in defence.

"No, wait! Wait! Please, wait!" he suddenly pleaded, and glanced at the lady.

"I was hiding, because... I... I stole from the kitchens... and..." he started to tell, and suddenly Falgon walked forward towards him. The mass towering over him, and a shadow filling the hall.

"You're lying." he indicted, and the man stared at him as he came closer, utter fear showering him like the water from a fall. The tall sentinel's hand wrapped around his throat, and hauled him up into the air effortlessly, the stranger's hands wrapping around his wrist to relieve the pressure as his feet dangled and kicked well above the floor.

"Now again, where are you from, and why?" he asked, and the man gasped. The dark eyes cut into him like heated daggers, and he could only think of one thing to compare it to, splintering every sense into little more than dust.

"South of here... I was paid... Only to watch... Only to watch... I swear..." the fingers tightened painfully.

"To watch whom?" he asked as the spy strained.

"The lady... and her son..." he revealed, his fingers still straining and clawing in vain at the armoured wrist.

"A threat on the lady of Mount Ardor's life, or that of her children, is an instant death sentence." the intruder dangled in the air, his skin darkening.

"I wasn't... told... to do anything... Just watch... Just watch... I swear..." and Falgon sighed.

"Well then, I will leave the choice to you which to send back to your master. Your eyes, or your tongue." he released the man who fell on the floor hard, gasping and gagging for air.

"Take him to the vaults." Falgon ordered, and three guards dragged him away to the door leading down into the earth.

"No, wait! Please, wait! Please! M'lord, please!" he begged and pleaded, his voice dying away into the depths under the hold.

"I am no lord. I am not at liberty to grant mercy." Falgon confessed, but softly like he spoke to someone next to him and the darkness vanished from the hall.

"That might have been harsh..." Claira whispered as she approached him, and the dark eyes met hers.

"What do you suppose would happen, if he informed any enemy of your habits, your routines, and that of your guards?" he asked, and she looked away from his stare. It was true. They would wait for the opportunity, and either she or her son will be taken. Or both... He approached her, still looking down at her.

"My purpose is to protect you, and I will. At any and all costs." he reminded her, but against her great gratitude for her people and their fierce commitment to her and her heir's safety, could not help but feel pity for the stranger. Falgon looked at Wymon, on his way back to the barracks with the rest of his company to claim their belated supper, having completed his mission.

"Wymon!" he turned back, the light grey eyes waiting expectantly.

"Have master Austinus post guards at the noble chambers constantly." he told, and Wymon bowed as if to a high-born before making his way into the barracks to find the master-at-arms. Falgon returned his attention to Claira.

"May I escort you to your wing, your grace?" he asked, and she couldn't push away the smile. How instantly he changed from one role to another...

"You may, my knight." she breathed, and he raised his hand allowing her to pass. Later, having ensured that she was safely inside and the guard finally at his post he returned to the guard's hall, taking his place in front of the hearth while staring at the flames, retaliating each act that may come to them before a figure drew his attention.

"You're good at commanding." his former challenger complimented.

"Only until lord Berin and our liege returns. Then I will resume my normal ways." he said, and Wymon sat down next to him.

"You're not as... blunt as Berin. But, you're good at what you do, when you do it." Wymon said, and then sat back.

"We were rather fortunate to find the intruder." he mentioned, watching the stern face rise.

"We know we have enemies, but not how close they are." he mentioned as Wymon stared at him.

"He said 'south of here'." he reminded, the dark eyes still not leaving the flames.

"Yes, 'south of here'. That could be anywhere from Garde's Post to Dorne, he wasn't specific." Falgon clarified, revealing that he had a greater view of threats than the named enemies so many others thought of first.

"You're suspecting someone from our own lands?" he asked surprised.

"I might have a notion..." Falgon muttered, and then looked at the grey eyes.

"Who is our best runner?" he asked, and Wymon's mind went through the members of their order.

"Avery." he identified, a young man of four and twenty with light sandy hair and tanned skin. Thin as a reed, skilful, inconspicuous and fast.

"I want him sent to Bristlemane. Watch their activities for a while." he said, leaving Wymon utterly confused.

"Bristlemane Stronghold is a seat of the Corridor, and lord Berin's ancestral home. Why would his father-" he started.

"The current lord of Bristlemane is not Berin's father, and has not hidden his objection of the rights that lord Berin still holds over that keep. Also, he once threatened this house. This may be just the chance he was waiting for." he explained, recalling the words. I will watch as the lives of these people crumble before me! And then remembered his own promise.

"I see. Al right, I will have the runner sent first thing in the morning." he assured, and then Falgon looked away from him again.

"Good. And have Medus meet with me as well." he added as the sentinel stood.

"The kennel master?" for an instant he was lost.

"I want the hounds included in the patrols of the grounds with the guards. They will have a better chance of identifying strangers than we." he explained, and Wymon smiled. Of course, the hounds will not at all be trusting of those with the intent of intruding on their home.

"Will do. Good night, ser." Wymon greeted as he turned to leave.

"Sleep well." Falgon returned, and then took in the silence that fell over the hall.

It was mid morning when King Robb stood at the head of the table in the counsel pavilion of their camp, their messenger brought to him with the royal reply.

"And what did she say?" he asked as ser Alton Lannister stood in front of him, his eyes scanning the contents strewn on the table nervously.

"She... admires your spirit, your grace." he replied, choosing his words carefully.

"What then?" Robb asked, waiting for the answer and the young man thought of the action that happened in front of his eyes.

"She... uh..." he started, wondering how he could reply honestly without prompting the worst outcome.

"If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, ser Alton. We'd all hang." Robb told, attempting to bring a sense of ease to the messenger, and he did ever so slightly.

"She tore the paper in half, your grace." he revealed, and Robb sighed. The answer to his terms a rejection as blatant as one could imagine.

"You've acted with honour, I thank you for it." he said, and Alton nodded while Robb looked up at a lord waiting behind him.

"Lord Karstark, see that ser Alton's pen is clean. And give him a hot supper." he ordered, and the elder man straightened at the command.

"Ser Alton's pen is occupied, yer grace. The prisoners from the Yellow Fork." he informed, and Roose Bolton interjected.

"Too many prisoners." he said, their stockades bursting with captives.

"Is there room for ser Alton?" Robb asked, and lord Karstark breathed heavily.

"Does he need to lie down?" he asked, and Robb leaned forward with his hands on the table.

"Have the men build him a new pen, put him in with the Kingslayer for now and have your boy watch over them." Robb suggested, and lord Karstark glanced back.

"Torrhen." he called, and a younger man stepped forward to escort the messenger to the pen.

"That will be all." Robb dismissed those in his presence, and they started to move off with lords Bolton and Taugere lingering a moment longer. Raeghun stood to one side, his arms folded over his chest as he pondered over their situations.

"We need to find a better solution to your prisoners. Perhaps have them jailed in a hold, instead of herding them around like cattle." Raeghun proposed.

"That might be a better option, but we don't have that at this point." Robb agreed.

"We can't release them, you won't execute them, and it's a strain to keep them." Roose identified, and Robb sighed.

"As soon as we have the means, we'll have better conditions. For everyone." Robb said, and glanced at Raeghun.

"Will the men you sent back return?" he asked.

"As soon as the threats have been dealt with, they might." he supposed, and then started to turn while the girl who travelled with them to see to the wounded stopped just outside the pavilion.

"Your grace, a moment of your time?" she pardoned, watching as the tall lord left the tent to rejoin his own. He whom was known as both the Lord of Flame and 'The Lion Hunter', for good reason. The discernible heat coming off him and the marked burn of his blue eyes left her almost... faint-hearted; and she could fathom why men were frightened of him. Lord Bolton looked at Robb, wondering about the same situations for a moment and then also took his leave from the king's presence and she stepped closer, for a moment glancing back at the departing men.

"I've been treating your wounded men." she advised, and he smirked rolling a parchment in his hands.

"And my enemies, as some of my bannermen are fond of mentioning." he added, and she stared at him indifferently.

"They are not my enemies." she told, and watched him smile confidently.

"That's what I tell my bannermen." he eased, and she breathed in deeply.

"I've already run through the supplies I've brought with me. Some are easily replaced, egg yolks, turpentine, oil of roses..." she started, and he could predict the direction of her request.

"But some are not?" she looked up, more comfortable with her request.

"I need silk, for stitching. I need fennel root for those with fever, willow bark. Mostly, I need milk of the poppy. You saw what it was like to amputate a foot without any." she told, watching him come forward around the table and then glanced back at the little book in her hands.

"I assume there will be more loss of limb before this war is over." she assumed, and he nodded.

"If you need help finding it-" he started and she looked up sharply.

"I know where to find them." and then she paused, feeling a sting of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't interrupt you." she apologised quickly, but he smiled at her.

"Continue, my lady." he allowed, seeming to calm her again.

"You're riding to the Crag to negotiate a surrender?" she had heard from others, and he nodded.

"Yes." he confirmed, and her hands folded in front of her.

"The Crag will have a maester, and he will have what I need." she told, as the King in the North nodded again in agreement.

"I expect he will." she stared at him, her deep brown eyes taking in the blue staring back at her.

"If I could write a list-" she started, and then he stepped forward finding a more suitable notion.

"Come with me to the Crag." he suggested, and she turned following his figure as it passed her, taken aback by his words.

"I don't think that would be-" she tried to decline, but he still smiled as he turned to face her.

"Let the maester show you his stores. I want the wounded men to be treated well." he said, taking a step backwards.

"All the wounded men." he added, leaving her with a grateful smile as he bowed his head and departed to finalize the arrangements to ride for the Crag; and by noon he was seen leaving with a party of guards and the lady at his side. It brought several opposing persuasions from the members of the force which some indulged and others spurned. Night finally assumed its place in the world, and the site was lit by torches situated around the area, and Raeghun retired to the shelter of their tents. Berin sat with him discussing the past weeks, and then stared at him, examining him.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and Raeghun looked up.

"Yes. It's been a long day, that's all." he replied, feeling surpassingly warm. He did not deny wishing for the cool of his wife's skin, the heat that constantly emitted from his phoenix core left him tense and rather spiritless. But then smiled, grateful for the company of his close friend and Berin nodded.

"I heard, that a trespasser was in our home." he mentioned softly, seeing Raeghun's hand clench.

"There was. But, thanks to my lady's sentinels, he was swiftly dealt with." he returned, but his friend could sense the unease.

"I'm sorry." Berin muttered, but noticed the contrasting glow of the grand eyes.

"It's al right. I'm not worried. Falgon will keep them safe, I know he will." he assured, and Berin laughed.

"There's no need to try and convince me, Raeghun. He faced over forty men on his own to protect your family; and he'd stand in the way of an entire army to keep his promise to you." he agreed fully, and then looked out through the opening of the entrance at the stars.

"They know who he was? Where he was from?" he further asked, hearing his friend sigh.

"No. He could have been from anywhere, could have been there for any number of reasons. I am simply thankful that he was found before harm could be brought to my family." Berin nodded. Raeghun often spoke of his family and it made him feel happy, because sometimes by his family he meant more than just his wife and son. His family was every life connected to his, from the head of his sentinels to the sentries holding the borders. But it was a sadness that he felt the weight of responsibility for all of them, and silently he swore he would help him bear that burden.

"My son will have seen his tenth name day..." Raeghun mentioned, bringing Berin's attention back to him, and he shared the thoughts.

"Well on his way to being a splendid lord, he will make you very proud. All my children have seen another year of their lives, and my little girl will be ten and one." he added, as his friend looked up.

"She's not so little any more. She's become a refined young lady, and you've taught her well. You've taught all of them well." he praised, and they laughed.

"We should bring gifts back for them." Berin hinted, lightening the air.

"A token of war? I'm sure they'd love that." Raeghun laughed, looking up at the shelter cast over him.

"I remember my own tenth name day. My father let me taste wine for the first time." then he laughed again.

"I hated it. Too bitter." he recalled, and Berin laughed with him.

"Didn't stop you from passing over to dark ales." he teased, bringing the burning eyes to his.

"I got used to it. Besides, it made me feel lighter." he justified it, and Berin recalled a different experience they had.

"And for your sixteenth, we both got so drunk we woke in the mint bath just before dawn. The gods graced that we were able to return to our chambers before the castle did." he laughed, and the lord's voice joined his in the small space.

"My father would have had us whipped like dogs." then he sighed, bringing up happy times of their youths. The feasts, the hunts, the rides, here and there a more discreet occurrence. But to his humility, simply the goofy whims of youngsters and nothing that ever placed their name in jeopardy. But then a darker memory surfaced. The reason for his now irritatingly celebrated brand.

"And two moons later, I tore that poor creature's jaws apart..." he remembered it, every moment of it. The terrifying roar, the hard impact with the ground as the creature took him down, the fierce eyes, the desperate claws, each protruding bone through the ragged pelt, and the stink of death and blood. His own racing heart, the pain of tearing flesh, the despairing screams that echoed only in his mind as he expected to die that day; and finally the fire that burnt through his limbs as he chose to live. Everything after that, was merely a collection of blurred images. He had no idea how they got back to the keep, or even how long it had been before he woke to throbbing pain, but with maester Adlyn, his mother and sisters next to him, wrapped almost entirely in balmed linen bands smelling of every healing herb one could imagine.

"That lion nearly killed you." Berin breathed.

"I know." a finger ran over the scar of his brow, where one of the sharp teeth cut through skin.

"I was lucky, that's all." he returned modestly as Berin stared at him.

"Lucky? It was more than simply luck. People swore that the Warrior's spirit entered you, but were it not for your strength that day, it would have." Berin told, and Raeghun scoffed.

"It was already weak and dying." he again said, a random thought of a knight's assessment coming back to him. Leaner muscles make for sharper claws...

"Say what you like, Raeghun. Almost every man knows the truth of it, or a little bit more. And if you killed a great and powerful beast so easily, every crimson clad soldier that knows will turn and run the other way." Berin said lightly, standing from his seat.

"You have that much faith in me?" Raeghun teased him as he brought the stone cup to the table and set it down.

"Even more, my lord. Your line is well famed, and I'm sure by now Vernon has spread his story fervently." he said, and Raeghun sighed.

"I'm just a man, Berin." he muttered.

"I know. But believing more doesn't hurt." he said smiling.

"Good night. I'll see you-" he suddenly turned, angry intense voices coming from outside, and somewhere the harrowing scream of a man that cut the night like a flaming blade.

"Oh, what the-fuck now?" dread filled him, and a warm mass passed him quickly into the darkness as he followed. They tracked the screams, and found a mass of soldiers clustered around a holding pen, two men lay dead on the ground, one's skull crushed with a stone, and a devastated lord Karstark on his knees next to another strangled with a chain.

"Torrhen... Torrhen, my son!" he cried, holding the lifeless head in his hands.

"What happened?" Raeghun asked a nearby soldier, met with silence as he stared at the event in front of them, and then in frustration Raeghun's hand found the neckline of his armour and yanked him closer.

"What happened?" for an instant, the man seemed dazed and afraid.

"The Kingslayer. He escaped." he quickly reported, and Raeghun's hand came away from him.

"Has anyone been sent after him?" he asked, and the soldier was left shaking his head.

"I don't know..." he said, and Raeghun turned.

"Send twenty men after him, he couldn't have gotten far." he instructed, and Berin rushed off to find their fastest riders, moments later scattering over the fields surrounding the encampment before returning to his side.

"They'll find him." Berin tried to ease as Raeghun's eyes wandered over the camp, and the abrupt chaos of it.

"They'd better." he breathed, the warmth in his fingers already reaching up to his elbows as he still heard the despairing wails in his head. Two sons that have been stolen from him in a single campaign, he couldn't imagine how hard it must have been...

"Come. There's nothing more to do, than wait. They'll find him." Berin urged, and with a reluctant nod Raeghun followed back to the shelters where they endured the night in each other's company without finding sleep until the sun lighted a clouded sky. Berin stared out the entryway from his seat, rather comfortable as one foot rested against the edge of a chest.

"You know what will happen." Berin softly suggested, and Raeghun looked up.

"Yes, I know. We'll simply have to face it." he returned, and Berin looked back at him with a smile.

"Undaunted as ever." he admired him, and his friend smirked.

"Well, what good would I be to anyone if I was otherwise?" he joked, and then looked back at the sky outside.

"And simply for that, I'll follow you anywhere. Into the face of madness or the shadow of death." he promised.

"You're a brave man, Berin." then he looked up with a teasing smile.

"Or a foolish one." he altered, and Berin laughed.

"There's a fine line between the two, I suppose we'll find out which it is later." he replied, and noticed the oncoming storm of enraged voices as Raeghun stood.

"Into the face of madness, or the shadow of death, was it?" he breathed, and Berin stood with a shrug.

"Whichever." they left the tent, moving down to the oncoming horde where men unsympathetically dragged Jaime down to the encampment, the chain binding his hands held by a mounted soldier as those around continued battering him with clubs and belts, kicking and bludgeoning as they went, calling for him to be gutted, hanged or beheaded; demanding justice for the murdered Karstarks. They pushed and pulled, with the intention of inflicting harm until he finally fell down on his knees with a furious lord Karstark approaching, in his hand a drawn sword.

"I want his head!" he called out, focused on the man on his knees before several figures blocked his way.

"Enough of this!" Berin's voice sounded over all of them, the mad shouts dying out.

"Any man, who stands between a father and his vengeance, asks for death!" lord Karstark marked as Raeghun stepped forward, the hilt of Quill clearly visible above his right shoulder as the ardent eyes flamed in defence.

"Stand I will. But his head will be yours today as much as death will be mine." he countered, unafraid of any opposition and another figure took a place beside him. His father by bond.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, and the enraged eyes darted to him, defiant of their presence.

"Lord Karstark! This man is our prisoner!" lady Catelyn had come from her shelter, her words directed at the northern lord.

"This monster killed my son!" he justified himself as he stared at her.

"And crippled mine! He will answer for his crimes, I promise you. But not here!" she retaliated, and Willmon attempted to reason with the infuriated man.

"Having him alive as our captive is our best chance to bring an end to this war." he told, and the face came back at him, eyes hard and raging.

"Do not mean to sermonise me, lord Tormont. You still have both your sons!" he sneered, but the Grey Tom took a reassured step forward, his silver-blue eyes as ferocious as those staring back.

"Four sons. For all, whom I would do the same as you if I was given the opportunity." he replied, and the dark eyes took in anew the four black haired men standing behind the lord facing him, creating a bitter sting in his throat.

"Yet you stand before me!" he accused.

"You weren't given the opportunity." Willmon pointed out, and the lady stepped forward.

"This is not the time for this!" she interjected, bringing the dark eyes to her again.

"I will have his head! And if you try and stop me-" he started, but she silenced him.

"You will strike me down? Have you forgotten me, ser? I am the widow of your liege lord, Eddard Stark! I am the mother of your king!" she reminded him as he breathed in.

"And where is our king now?" he challenged,

"You know very well. He has gone to the Crag to accept the surrender!" he nodded, but the eyes still glinted with fury.

"Aye, gone to the Crag. But not to negotiate! He brought that foreign bitch with him!" he told, and she stared at him. Shocked that such words would come from one of their closest vassals, another family that shared ancestry with them.

"How dare you?" suddenly the tall armoured woman with short cut blonde hair behind the lady drew the sword from her side.

"Threatening my lady is an act of treason!" she told, leaving the elderly lord baffled.

"Treason?! How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?" he asked, and lady Catelyn sighed bringing calmness to her blood.

"I understand your grief, my lord. Better than most, I understand it. But in the name of my son, The King in the North. Stand down!" she ordered, and lord Karstark took a defeated step back.

"When your son returns, I will demand this murderer's head!" he promised.

"Wise men do not make demands of kings." she cautioned him, watching the eyes change from hate to sorrow.

"Fathers who love their sons, do. I will have his head!" he promised her again, and then left with his men following him as an easier air settled over them. Jaime looked up, at the men who stood for him and the lady that defended him.

"Thank you for fighting on my behalf, lady Stark. I would have come to your defence but..." he motioned to his hands, bound together in front of him as she acknowledged him.

"Take him to the stockades, bind him with every chain you can find!" she ordered, and two men pulled him to his feet.

"You've become a real she-wolf in your lady years. There's not much fish left in you!" Jaime called back as he was dragged away.

"And gag him!" she added, wishing to drown out his irritating words. The day passed slowly under the voices of soldiers, arguments and threats. Whatever possible was done to see to the safety of their prisoner, however it could not be guaranteed to any degree; and as the sun disappeared darkness fell over the encampment, the temperaments of the men increased to a point bordering physical violence. Lady Catelyn and her companion stood in the darkness, taking in the rising voices and angry calls as just a couple of feet away yet another confrontation developed, like so many others over the drag of the day.

"They say your son returns at dawn, my lady?" the lady's companion, identified as Brienne of Tarth asked, and heard Catelyn sigh.

"So they say." she hoped it would be soon enough.

"The Kingslayer won't last the night. The more they drink, the angrier they'll get." Brienne cautioned, watching the men just down the pathway struggle with one another.

"And when the Karstarks draw their swords... Who wants to die, defending a Lannister?" the confrontation came to an uneasy end as others came to intervene. Then Catelyn looked up at the armoured woman with her.

"Come." she urged, and quickly they made their way through the darkness towards the place he was being held, hoping. And then, rounding a curve to the east she met the silver-blue eyes of the Grey Tom in front of her, staring down at her.

"Lady Stark." he greeted, calm and controlled while she stared back through the stinging in her stomach.

"Lord Tormont..." she breathed, and he smiled softly.

"I realize your intentions." he revealed, and the stinging became a burn through her as her nerves splintered and flamed.

"My daughters are hostages. If there is any chance-" she started to explain, perhaps she could reason with him. He who had suffered plights in his past.

"I won't stop you. But I need you to understand, that I cannot defend you either." he suddenly said, his voice soft and low, compassionate but a warning behind the words. She glanced down, accepting what may come.

"I understand." she agreed, and he paused for a moment before bowing his head to her.

"I hope that your gods agree with your judgement, my lady." he breathed, and then walked away towards the centre of the encampment while they stared after him, the silver vanishing in the shadows between the torch lights.

"He could have stopped you." Brienne recognised, and Catelyn watched until his figure disappeared between others.

"He could have. He should have..." she said softly, again realizing how she admired the lord of Pale Haven.

"Why didn't he?" she heard Brienne behind her, and then turned to face her with an appreciation she found rarely understood, but by those with families, and children of their own.

"Because lord Willmon Tormont of Pale Haven is a brave and loyal man, but not a single minded one. He understands people, and he understands the world. And he understands sacrifice." she told softly, and then hardened herself for what she had decided must be done.

"Robb needs him to help coordinate attacks and group the men. If he helps me, he'll be branded a traitor. There is one punishment for treason. I will not expect him to stand for me when he has already allowed me this..." she sighed. He gave her the freedom to do what she felt she must, and she will expect no more. She could not risk any chance that he might be connected to her actions, his skills were far too valuable; and if she could rather have it so they never met tonight, that might have been preferable. Then she turned away again, looking towards the holding pen.

"Quickly." she urged again, intent on what her heart cried out for while Willmon rejoined his sons in their shelter, hoping he allowed the right thing. Loyalty and honour would have decreed that he stopped her, that he returned her to the tents with a warning. That he notified others to intensify their guards, and to keep watch knowing her intentions... But he couldn't. Somehow he couldn't deny her this single opportunity however small it could be, to regain her daughters safely and without further bloodshed. He remembered the Stark girls, the youngest always running about with others chasing after her, sneers and laughs for her wild spirit. And the brilliant auburn hair and pretty blue eyes of a girl that once sat on his knee many years ago with a feast in the hall of Winterfell while he conversed with her father...

"Father?" he looked up at Rhegard next to him.

"It's late, you should try to get some sleep. There are hard days waiting for us." he mentioned, and Rhegard nodded.

"Al right. Good night, father." he turned to Gerald, who stood and came over to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Good night, father." he greeted, and the regal face glanced up to smile at them.

"Sleep well, my sons." they left into the night, and the inside of the shelter fell into silence as lord Willmon Tormont stared at the flame of the candle on the small table in front of him. Please... Please be the right choice... Please let them be delivered to their mother safely... Morning came, to the dismay of the camp. Their prisoner, ser Jaime Lannister was gone with no sign of a struggle. The guard who had been charged with watch over him, had little choice but to reveal that the last person to have been left in his presence, was lady Catelyn Stark; whom was now held in a pavilion awaiting her son's return while one of the soldiers were sent off to find him. She stared at the table, mulling over her actions. He should have stopped her... He should have... But she didn't see any other way. There were no other choices... Voices caught her attention, and moments later her son entered, disappointment and anger altering in his stare as he came to a stop in front of her.

"Tell me this isn't true." he begged, and she sighed. I need you to understand, that I cannot defend you either... He allowed it, but this was her choice. Her actions... Then she looked up at him, no regret, only guilt.

"Why?" he demanded, and she gently shrugged.

"For the girls..." she confessed, and his eyes hardened.

"You've betrayed me." he accused, and a bitterness wrapped through her chest.

"Robb-" she wanted to explain, wanted to make him see why. Was there no way for him to understand?

"No! You knew I would not allow it, and you did it anyway!" he continued as she stared at him. How can I make you see? She sighed,

"Bran and Rickon are captives in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King's Landing. I have five children, and only one of them is free!" she told him, and lord Karstark stared at her from Robb's side.

"I lost one son, fighting by your son's side! I lost another to the Kingslayer, strangled with a chain! And you commit treason because your children are prisoners? I would carve out my heart, and offer it to the father if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell." he accused as she looked at him, but there was no way to change what had been done.

"I grieve for your sons, my lord-" she started, but the discontent remained in his hard, dark eyes.

"I don't want your grief, I want my vengeance! And you stole it from me..." he directed at her, and another deep breath filled her chest, only subtly aiding the stinging to her nerves.

"Killing Jaime Lannister won't buy life for your children, but returning him to King's Landing may buy life for mine." she decided, her eyes coming back to the stare of her son.

"Jaime Lannister, has played you for a fool. You've weakened our position. You've brought discord into our camp. And you did it all behind my back!" he further accused, and she had to look away from him. He would not understand. He couldn't... Then he turned.

"Make sure she's guarded, day and night." he gave his order to nearby soldiers, who accepted and she stood to follow him.

"Robb!" she called to him, but he did not turn to face her again, and she realized that she had lost.

"How many men did we send in pursuit of the Kingslayer?" he asked, and the soldier straightened.

"Forty, your grace." he reported.

"Send another forty, with our fastest horses." he commanded, as he left the tent.

"Robb!" lady Catelyn called again, but he vanished into the masses of the site with no thought of her desperate voice behind him.

It was another dark night, the halls of the burning mountain as dark as the sky outside. The torches resembling the distant glint of the stars strewn across the endless heavens which she continued to watch every night... endless as their wait for their loved ones to come home, and each time The Lord's Moon passed in the sky she prayed anew for their safe return. Following the return of lord Foch, preparations were set out to start repairing the damaged regions of their port town, and further provisions to rebuild the ships lost in the sudden attack. Yet, once in a while they were brought disturbing reports of increasing discontent and a number of attempted raids and pillages as the patrolling soldiers passed, where after there was less and less word from the North; save that the great stronghold of the north Winterfell was taken by the Ironborn, and the terrible rumours that leaked from the borders. Something they hoped, were nothing more than rumours... But she found herself eased that there were no more alarming encounters since Falgon had the dogs keeping watch over their grounds along with the guards, and the animals reactions to those visiting the hold was closely heeded. Some of the hounds were even allowed inside the keep, to see to the halls and the families living within. Now, past midnight, Claira again sat on her chair, her sentinel against the wall with the lute in his hands. He'd played for her near to constantly for some weeks, and she was infinitely grateful that he did not tire, or find her to be an annoyance. The terrible irritation that she found herself to be. She looked up at him, he was still the same as he always was, having to acknowledge that the safest and calmest she ever feels with her husband away at war, was in his presence.

"Falgon..." he brought his eyes to hers, the striking darkness that she found captivating.

"Yes, my queen?" he gave her his full attention, and she had to scoff.

"I'm not a queen." she reminded him once again, but saw him smile.

"You are mine." he insisted, as he always did. Was there any point in arguing with him about it any longer? Then she breathed out slowly, wondering how she would ask him.

"Do you... remember the song, that was played when Raeghun danced with me on his twenty first name day?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I will never forget it. You were so happy... So beautiful..." he brought it back, the lovely red dress she was wearing, the delicate strands of hair hanging down her back, and the peace he felt watching them circle their feast hall.

"Do you think, you could play it for me?" she softly asked, trying to hide the tender blush and he brought his hands to the strings of the lute.

"I will certainly try, your grace." he promised, remembering the melody. The highs, the lows, the flows, the tenderness of the tune. There was a short silence as he recreated that night in his mind; and then the lute sang as sweetly as she'd ever imagined. Her eyes closed, and the room changed; the darkness fading away as she smiled, a sure warmth settling over her... And he was dancing with her again, their hall filled with the light of the fires, the shine of the heavens; and their family and people happy and smiling around them while his beautiful burning blue eyes stared at her, his strong hand holding hers while his other surrounded her waist, covering her entirely in loving warmth. She wished for infinity, to remain here for the rest of her days until they finally came home. It was peaceful, it was reassuring, it was everything she hoped for; but like everything it had to come to an end. Drowsily, she looked up at Falgon, wiping at the right side of her face, and a hidden tear.

"That was beautiful. It was perfect..." she whispered, and he sat back against the wall.

"I was born with one extraordinary gift, and that is my memory. To recall important events as easily as taking a book from a shelf." he mentioned. This was a wonderful ability, for the happy memories. But, it was also a dire curse for the darker moments of his past, those he would rather have cast to the farthest depths of his conciousness... and he saw her staring at him. Stricken by his words.

"Our dance was important to you?" she asked, and saw his shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath as he stared back at her.

"It was." he confessed, and then he smiled. True and honest and soft.

"Because I could see you smile." her hands covered her face as she held her breath, desperately trying to strangle the cries. You are being so selfish! These people all care about you! This man has given everything for you! Your family is depending on you, and here you sit like some fucking husk! She cursed herself, and then felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You can go, you must be completely wasted on my whims. You should sleep." she told him, struggling through the tears and heard him kneel next to her.

"I don't mind. I will stay with you, until you are calmer." he assured, and she exchanged the sobs for laughter.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm being so ridiculous. I shouldn't be like this, I am the lady of Mount Ardor. I must be strong. I must be-" she started, and then she felt gentle pressure to her shoulder.

"I really couldn't care what you must be. My concern is what you need, and you may be anything you need in my presence without fear of judgement. I belong to you, my purpose is to protect you, in every way." he comforted, and she eased despite the tears that came freely; and finally after drowning his shoulder in tears once again she felt better. Lighter. A bearable degree of peace.

"Thank you, my Falgon. I'll try harder, I promise." she breathed, and then sat back seeing him smile at her, the same way he always did.

"It's al right. I know it's difficult, so don't be so hard on yourself. I know you are trying." he soothed her again, and she laughed instead of yielding to the new onslaught of tears. He was always so calm, so reassuring, so understanding...

"Why won't you ever scold me? Tell me how foolish, and laughable I am. Tell me how ridiculous I'm being." and he stared at her, seeming almost shocked for the idea.

"For what? For being a mother, and a wife who misses her husband? Or for being a woman, a human who feels?" he asked, and she surrendered pressing her hands over her face. You are not the right person, to be doing this... She wanted some harshness, someone's scorn to harden her fragile heart. But knew she would not have it from him.

"We should... go to bed. It's late..." she decided, and then stood to return to the lord's wing with him following. Seeing her safely into their sanctuary, he bowed and then headed back down to the barracks while she lay herself down on their bed. She watched the canopy of the bed, tracing the edges and forms of the phoenix above her to pass the time that seemed so endless. But eventually, she felt the world dissolve and slipped into something like sleep when the sky started to change colour from black to deep purple, to soft pink before a gentle knock to the door was met with silence. The heavy wood creaked as the door edged open, and Milla cautiously peered inside; noting the still form on the bed then decided to leave and return later. Perhaps just a little time before their morning meal will be served, and grant her the sleep that was so reluctant to visit her dear friend. Heading down the steps, Rychon emerged from his own room with Wink held in his hands, and smiled as he looked up at her.

"Morning, aunt Milla." he greeted, and she joined his walk down to the lord's hall.

"Good morning, dear Rychon." she returned, and glanced up the stairway one final time.

"I hope you had a good night?" she asked, and saw him nod.

"It was fine. And yours?" he fumbled for an instant as Wink slipped from his grasp, and clambered onto his shoulder.

"Oh, same as most nights. But I am relieved to see that your mother seems to be well asleep, for once." she sighed, passing the vacant bed chambers on their way down to the lord's hall.

"You don't think she's sick, do you?" Rychon asked, looking up at her.

"No, just exhausted. We'll leave her for a little while longer." she told.

"I wish there was more we could do for her." Rychon said softly, and Milla nodded. Unfortunate as it were, they could assume every assignment on her behalf and have her locked in their chamber; but if she couldn't find the peace to rest, there was nothing that could be done. And not even force would bend some things to your will.

"All we can do, is to help her where we are able. Everything else is hers. But perhaps it will get better, soon." she hoped, but if there was not much improvement after a year, there was little promise for it in any instance. True, she did not complain and simply endured their days mostly in silence; but it was unnerving to see her slowly dissolve over time... like a winter rose bereft of the gentle sunlight that was meant to nourish it. She hadn't truly smiled in a long time. They departed the lord's wing, and Rychon hurried down to meet his friends to spend their morning together, while on her way down the incline, Milla met three handmaidens on their way up to the lord's wing who greeted her warmly and she instructed them to resume their chores on the chambers, but not to disturb the lady and leave her to wake on her own. After which she met with Jeody on their morning serving of savoury pastries with sausages, tea and fruit press before having the feast hall cleaned, choosing flowers for their tables and having them laid with feast ware. The nights were lonely, and her bed felt barren, but keeping herself busy with tasks and the company of her darling children made the days seem shorter, yet it did not lessen the emptiness of their halls despite the guard count slowly increasing to the current eighty six. She looked up at the doors leading to the great gardens of the burning mountain, aware of the many sweet scents filtering through the hall, smiling as she saw the boys run across the grounds in some kind of game while Rychon hid himself behind a tree trying to stifle his breaths, forcing himself to be silent despite the pounding in his ears. Having left Wink to explore the shrubs he held his breath, listening to the footsteps nearby slowly trudging up the pathway before they stopped. He thought of running again, trying to find a better hiding place but then heard the footsteps sound over the path again, seeming to head away. He listened for a moment more, trying to indicate the direction of the footsteps but as he moved just an inch forward he met the face of Berterin smiling at him.

"Found you." he said, delighted at his victory and Rychon scoffed moving away from the tree.

"You always find me first." he complained, and Berterin shrugged.

"You're the easiest to find." he mentioned, and then looked towards the other side of the garden where a mass moved through the shrubs, still trying to conceal himself as Rychon's eyes followed his.

"I hide better than Vaellion." he told, and Berterin looked back at him with a shy smile.

"You can hide yourself behind a mountain, and I'll still find you." he sighed.

"That's unfair." Rychon said, clearly disappointed.

"It's just... I see you better." he tried to explain, but it was hard to describe how he saw people. And having to put into words the bright flames that raged around the lord and his son was particularly difficult, these brilliant dancing fires that could not be hidden by anything... and he was the only one that could see them. He tried once, but it was dismissed as simply his vivid imagination, and he realized that others would not believe him. The awareness never diminished, if anything it increased but he rather kept the sensations to himself, and could confess that he admired the swirling brightness, and the lovely glittering sparkle. Only, the dark wings still left him feeling... strange. Uneasy, and almost sad.

"Come on. I have an idea." He suddenly grabbed Rychon's wrist and dragged him along further into the garden with Wink following along in his usual hop-like bounds. They hid behind the hydrangea bushes, and waited as they listened to Vaellion cautiously moving among the flowers, and then settling somewhere. But still they waited, and then heard him move again slowly emerging from the leaves and looking around. He scanned the garden, searching for them as he slowly stepped out, standing on the pathway. Rychon crept forward, silent and careful before hesitating a moment, calculating and planning before jumping forward and taking Vaellion down, and they tumbled on the grass before Berterin joined them in a laughing cluster over the ground.

"Get off me!" Vaellion cried, trying to squirm away. They struggled a moment longer, and the boy finally found his footing to stand; but his brother's hand found his shirt and pulled him down again.

"Stop it! Let go!" he complained, proceeding to writhe his way free.

"If we were lions, you'd be breakfast." Berterin joked as Vaellion stammered to his feet.

"Oh, shut up. You're not lions." he replied, brushing the dust and grass from his clothing.

"No, but still. You should be more careful." Rychon laughed standing up and doing the same before helping Berterin up.

"You're mean. You're both bigger than me." Vaellion grumbled.

"Just trying to toughen you up a bit, little brother." Berterin teased him, seeing his hands clench.

"I don't need you to toughen me up! Father said it won't happen overnight. He said-" he started.

"Father said, to train hard." Berterin reminded him. Vaellion wasn't distinctly timid or passive, if yet a bit slow moving; but at almost nine years of age they could dare to challenge him a little bit more. He moved forward, noting his brother's shoulders drop slightly.

"Father's not here..." Vaellion breathed, and a hand lay on his shoulder.

"They'll be back soon." he tried to assure him, and the deep green eyes came up to him.

"When?" he asked, and Berterin had to acknowledge that he had no idea how long it would last.

"Soon." he said again, and then a frightened scream drew their attention. They ran for the hall, quickly down the path to find little Maynlid crying on the grass, staring wide eyed at Wink rolling in the ferns, struggling with something big and black. Not pausing for thought, Rychon grabbed Berterin's shoulder.

"Get to her!" he ordered, and Berterin ducked forward while Rychon then looked at Vaellion.

"Find one of the guards!" and the youngest ran for the hall while the heir then proceeded forward, placing himself between his friends and whatever threat this was. He watched his pet leap away, thankfully unharmed but his nerves froze and his heart stopped as he saw the creature Wink was previously struggling with twist and coil as the little ferret hopped and bound in front of it, intent on keeping its attention fixed on him. It was a snake, the scales black as obsidian and the unblinking eyes a fearful deadly yellow. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? His mind would not respond beyond the question, as frigid as the churning in his gut. What do I do? The snake struck forward, aiming poisonous needle fangs for the dancing fur; the little animal nimbly leaping away and planting a bite to the body of the slithering being, but the scales so hard that even the fierce little ferret could not break through. And then Rychon finally smiled, realizing the small animal skipping around in front of a terrible foe. Battling to protect his family. You're barely bigger than my arm, and already a greater warrior than me... Then he moved forward, quickly but carefully trying to target the snake's head. If he could only take hold of the body behind the jaw, it may be left immobile, and he could throw it over the edge into the sea. But how to get to it? If the snake struck again, he could try. He watched the creatures, hoping for an opportunity; and then it came. The snake struck forward, and Wink sprang away, and Rychon threw his weight forward onto the snake, his hands wrapping around the cold body; and he felt the mass slithering and wiggling beneath him. Holding on tightly, he took a deep breath and looked up to see the creature curled back, lurching and snapping only barely out of reach of his arm, as Wink continued to assault it with small nips to the scales.

"Wink, stop it!" he was trying to help, of course. But whatever he thought he was doing, was not having much effect. If I move, it could get to me... He struggled for what to do, and then Milla appeared on the garden path gasping in horror with her hands over her mouth and flushing white.

"Rychon... Rychon, just... Just don't move... Wymon is coming..." she managed to force from her chest before stepping closer, and he could see the fear in her light green eyes.

"Al right." he focused on breathing, the head still jerking next to the skin of his wrist. Please hurry...

"Aunt Milla, would you mind taking Wink up, please? He's being a bother." Rychon asked, unable to hide the quiver of his voice; but she came closer and knelt grabbing the little ferret around its waist as it hopped back and hauled him up against her chest, clutching him as he squirmed to free himself. His muscles started to ache from the firm hold, but he would not loosen his grip. Please hurry... Mercifully, the grey haired sentinel appeared around the curve of the garden path, his sword already drawn and followed by Vaellion urging him on. He stopped, watching what was in front of him before coming closer and kneeling, his stare on the young lord.

"Hold on tightly, and do not move." he instructed, and Rychon lowered his head. What do you think I'm doing?

"Very well." he breathed into his arm, and then felt the cold steel slide along his wrist, carefully at first and then quicker before a sudden weight struck the ground. He felt the body beneath him twist and coil and writhe and shudder, but then a hand lay on his shoulder.

"It's al right, you can let go now." Rychon looked up, the head that was biting at him a few moments ago was gone, and he suddenly released the body shoving himself back and falling on the ground, watching as the mass slowly quivered, stuttered and died as he breathed; the heat leaving his muscles and life coming back to him. For a moment, he felt like crying before gentle and caring arms wrapped around him, and he pressed his face into the fabric while his pet nestled himself into his lap and the sentinel continued to examine the thing on the ground.

"Thank goodness you're al right..." Milla breathed into his hair as she held him, and then drew back.

"What happened? What were you thinking?" she suddenly asked, and he looked up at her.

"I don't know. We heard Maynlid scream... I didn't know what else to do..." he whispered, the warmth dying away into a cold shiver; but then she held him again. Wymon stood, the body held in one hand and the crushed head in the other.

"This is a Bloodletter. Severely poisonous. If its fangs as much as grazed you, you would perish within a day." he informed, and Rychon looked down.

"I'm sorry." but the sentinel smiled.

"Most people would see your actions as foolish, my lord. But I would tell you, you were brave. You did it, to protect another." he eased him, and then glanced at Milla.

"With your leave, my lady. I should dispose of this. And we will have the garden searched this afternoon for more." he motioned to the items in his hands, and she nodded before he passed them, towards the back reach of the harden to offer the body to the sea. Rychon just sat for a while, with the calming arms around him and then looked up.

"Thank you, aunt Milla. We'll be more careful next time." he promised, and felt her arms tighten slightly.

"Good. I wouldn't know what to tell your mother." she tried to joke, but then pulled back.

"She has to know." she decided, but his hand suddenly took hold of her arm desperately.

"Please don't tell her. Please?" he begged as Milla stared at him.

"Rychon-" but his eyes stared at her with a pleading she could not reject.

"Please? Not now, at least. I don't want her to be worried." he added, and she sighed having to relent to his request.

"Al right. Not now, at least." she agreed, and then stood helping him up.

"Your first heroic deed. Saving a young damsel in distress." she lightly teased him, and he could share her soft laugh.

"Won't be my last, though." they started down the garden path back to the hold, wishing to ensure that everyone was unharmed, and further awaiting the morning's serving in the feast hall where the lady of the hold joined them. But it left her wondering, where a creature like that would come from. The gardens of Mount Ardor were normally very safe, and they would have no objections to leaving the children to play freely during the days. The edges of the garden were shielded with high stone balustrades under stone arches, separated from the Sunset Sea by a sheer cliff. And the only access to it was through the great doors of the southern hall, and a smaller door from the kitchens. A creature like that should not have been there...

It was a dark night with clouds drifting past as Berin stood staring down at the flames of a fire, lit in a stone circle to bring light to the shadows. For some days, Robb had grown increasingly vexed with the silence from the North and they were given the order to stand their ground until they received word. It was a slow day, and Raeghun had already retired to the shelters for the evening, hoping to relieve himself from the strains this brought, and he had to confess that the air was growing colder. For now, things were quiet with small encounters scattered over the fields. Their wounded were healing, and their spirit had not been left diminished, constantly fuelled by the desire to support their liege and lords. They had eager fighters, and despite their numbers dropping they remained at their side. Lord Rames stood with him, covered with a fur cloak for warmth and comfort, and Berin for a moment envied the lord of Hurlton Fortress for his thick, long brown hair reaching below his shoulders and a full beard that hung to his chest, keeping him warm where clothing could essentially be a bother, while his own was considerably less even now. Then the lord looked up with a sullen sigh.

"Most of our men can sense it. And I confess it is cause for concern. He's been riled, and enervated for some time now. You don't suppose he's ailing?" he asked, his rough voice enveloping them in the darkness, truly concerned. But Berin held back a laugh. Have you forgotten, that the lords of the burning mountain never get sick...

"No. This has become a drawn-out affair; but as soon as we're back at Mount Ardor, he'll be fine." he tried to reassure him, but the clear blue eyes stared at him, unconvinced of his calmness.

"There's nothing we can do?" he asked again, but what could be done for the isolation of one's heart? Some men would relinquish themselves to the comforts of the women of the taverns, even if it was only for a single night. But the honour of the Taugere name meant more than a forlorn impulse, and his friend loved his wife far too much to barely notice any other woman. He looked up to the eyes staring at him, forcing a small smile that managed to ease the man at his side, and himself.

"Not right now, I'm afraid." he breathed, and then saw the blue eyes go away from him, the lord's attention wandering over his shoulder to something behind him in the dark.

"I... I could tend to him? Give him something for any afflictions?" a soft voice suggested, and he turned to see a fair young lady with a soft face, dark hair and deep brown eyes behind him. He identified her as the girl that accompanied the king to the Crag; since their return and with fully replenished supplies she was happy to help everyone with whichever qualms they had, and their men found fine improvement for their injuries and conditions. Berin glanced at the shelter several feet to his left, the inside still lighted by the flames of candles. He might still be awake, and by the odd chance, the gentler presence and a few soft words of a lady may be a better comfort than the austere company of his men. Just a little bit...

"That's not necessary, lady Talisa." he declined, but she remained staring at him.

"I want to help." she insisted, and he sighed. Please don't hate me, my friend...

"Very well. He's been rather irritated for the past few weeks. But, you can go in. I don't believe he will be offended." he allowed, and watched as she stared at the entrance of the tent, hesitating as perhaps she thought of retrieving her box before entering. But then she moved forward, carefully stepping through the opening to find the liege of the Corridor on the small seat next to the table with a quill in his hand, bringing ink to parchment in front of him. It was strangely warm inside the shelter, and he was dressed unnaturally lightly, in simple boots and breeches, and a loose fitting ivory tunic. He didn't seem to notice her standing at the entrance, and the thought occurred that it might be better to leave him be. She started to turn, but then paused to take a deep breath. What could he possibly do to me..? Then she faced him, bringing some strength to her heart and stepped forward.

"I am sorry for interrupting you, my lord." she pardoned, softer than what she wanted and betraying the fear that still tugged at her nerves. But saw the corners of his mouth just slightly draw up.

"It's al right. What may I do for you, my lady?" he asked, still not bringing his attention to her as he continued to write, near to thoughtless of her presence. He sounded tired not irritated, and she took another few tentative steps forward.

"I couldn't help but hear, some of the men are worried about you. They say that you're not feeling well?" she hinted, and then saw that the draw to his mouth was a soft smile.

"It's just a headache, it will pass." he assured serenely, and she cautiously brought her hand to his face, only briskly letting her fingers touch his brow, feeling the skin burn against hers before stepping back, and an instant of shock struck her. He's burning up! With a fever like this, he should barely be able to sit up, let alone ride into battle.

"You're feverish, I can get you something-" she started to turn, intent on retrieving her medicine box and instantly thinking of the fresh fennel root in her stock.

"It's not a fever." he silenced her, and she turned back in surprise, staring at him like she could not understand; then he shrugged she heard him chuckle.

"I'm just warm. Always have been... Something long attributed to my family." he explained, and she turned to face him again. Then he did look at her in silence as they finally met in more than just a passing glance, and she realized something different about him. Something that the stories did not tell.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked softly, and she sat down on the chair opposite from him, newly registering the black hair, the scars over his brow and jaw, a black beard that he continued to maintain as well as he could under the circumstances, and his eyes brilliant and burning in the candle light, taking in his soft smile, feeling the warmth that came off him. A gentle warmth, something almost soothing. That was the reason for the slightly higher temperature of this space.

"I was. Until now..." she confessed, returning the kind gesture. He wasn't at all like the stories of the unmerciful Lion Hunter made him sound. He wasn't vicious or ruthless... or even mad. But, he was withdrawn.

"You're known as The Lord of Flame?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Yes. Another of my family's aliases." he confirmed, and she thought back to her home.

"Even in Volantis, there were stories of the men of fire." she mentioned, recalling one or two of the magical tales.

"Must be very old stories." he assumed, bringing his attention back to the parchment in front of him. Their name was wide spread, but he didn't think it reached over the waters of the seas.

"Some are. I never thought I would actually meet one." she told, and watched him for another moment.

"Still, you seem wan." she noticed, and he glanced up at her again.

"If there's anything wrong with me, it's only my longing for home." he told, and then continued to write as she nodded and quickly scanned the letter.

"You're writing to your family?" she asked, having a new interest.

"My wife, and my son." he revealed, and she breathed in looking up at his striking eyes.

"You only have one child?" as a norm, noble families would have several children. But she saw him nod, a distant sorrow behind the ardent blue.

"He was named Rychon, for our fathers. We would have had more, but an illness that befell my wife years ago stole them away from us." he told, and she felt the weight of despair for him. He was a great man indeed, as all the stories told. But more than that, he was a husband and a father who missed his family.

"You love them very much." she realized, and he gave her his attention again.

"More than anything." he breathed, with a truly calm smile as he thought of them.

"When I saw my wife for the first time, fourteen years ago on our wedding day; everything else dissolved, and nothing was left but her." he recalled it, and saw her staring at him, taken by his words and perhaps trying to envision her.

"She must be very beautiful." she said, looking at her hands in her lap and imagining the lord's lady somewhere far away.

"She has an extraordinary appearance. Tall and small; pale ivory skin, eyes blue as the rime, and hair of midnight and starlight. But, people have different opinions. Some have branded her a witch, while others call her the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms. With the latter, I agree. True, she's an exceptional woman, but she's just her... Moreover known to others as the Lady of Frost." he described, bringing each feature into his mind as if he could see it right in front of him as he smiled.

"Frost and Flame..." the lady in front of him brought it together, and then her eyes came back to his.

"Quite fitting, don't you think?" they shared a laugh, easy and comfortable; and then he sighed looking back at the letter.

"You... remind me of her. You don't look alike, but you care about people. So does she. She has always made the time to visit our sick and injured, and some of my men have sworn, that when she touched them, their fever faded away." he confessed, being able to appreciate the lovely girl's presence among their people. It brought comfort to their men, and hope of returning home.

"What is her name?" she asked, leaning slightly forward to rest her elbows on her knees as he looked up and smiled at her.

"Claira. Her name is Claira. She is lord Willmon Tormont of Pale Haven's eldest daughter." he told, and she could identify the elderly lord with silver-blue eyes and long silver hair; having seen him a couple of times. Someone she'd come to look up to as he was always kind and reserved, despite having great respect from the north.

"Such a beautiful name, too. I'd like to meet her, one day." she found herself with a desire for it, to meet the Lord of Flame's Lady of Frost, and again heard the lord softly chuckle.

"Perhaps when the war is done, you may find yourself welcome at the burning mountain." he offered, and she couldn't hide a delighted face.

"Your home?" It sounded enormous, and of course this man's house would be absolutely grand.

"Mount Ardor, seat of the Phoenix." he identified, and she looked back at her hands clasped together excitedly in her lap where he could not notice them.

"I look forward to it." and she truly did, trying to imagine a castle with high towers and strong walls; and then she stood, deciding to leave the rest of the evening to him to try and find some rest, and relief for the headache that plagued him.

"Well, I'm sure you'll see them again soon." she assured, and he nodded.

"Thank you, my lady. Good night." he greeted, and she lowered her head, having found that she rather liked him. Everything the stories told, and even more.

"Good night, lord Raeghun." she returned, and then stepped away to leave the tent. Before departing, she stopped and turned back.

"And for your headache, drink plenty of water." she advised, and saw him look up from the letter.

"I will." he promised, and then she left into the night; only one of the lords who had previously stood around the fire now remaining, possibly retired to their own shelters for the night. She looked up at the sky, now a starless darkness over them and the smell of rain on the wind and then stepped forward as the deep green eyes of the man still absorbing the warmth from the fire came up to face her.

"How is he?" he gently asked, and for just a while she shared the warmth of the fire with him.

"He'll be fine." she assured, watching as he nodded taking in the words. She usually saw them together, and he was close to his lord.

"You're quite fond of him." she mentioned, and heard the man next to her laugh softly.

"He's my best friend. My brother. We grew up together, faced every struggle together." he told, bringing back happier memories.

"Shall I escort you to your shelter, my lady?" he asked politely, extending his arm, and she agreed easily, strangely happy for the comfort she found with the people from the Goldfields.

"Thank you, lord Berin. You are very kind." her fingers rested on his elbow as they entered into the night, sharing light stories of their homes, their families and how they came to be where they are; of how his own assumed name 'The Crimson Knight', was really a reminder for his father's sigil which was all but discarded after Vega assumed his ancestral home. Bristlemane Stronghold was the seat of the Trentins who'd been a smaller but close vassal of the Taugere's for hundreds of years, a known name honoured for their gallantry in battle but not nearly as renowned as Foch, Rames or Violet. But as he was an only son, barely three years old when his father passed, others had persuaded his mother to marry again and her husband seized his rights. Vega was not a name of the Corridor; having come from somewhere on the Shield Islands only just a couple of decades ago. And he would retake his ancestral home, when the war was done and when the time was right so his sons may hold its lands in their lord's name as was their place. Then he bowed his head to her as he left her at her tent, bidding her a fair evening before retreating back to his own for the night and enduring yet another day, awaiting word on how to proceed. Encounters between their people and the enemy had lessened, and they could mostly move without consequence; but holding their units together seemed the best approach for the time being. Groups were sent out to win resources, and expand their foothold while the greatest part held ground here; but soon enough they would make for the southern reaches, pushing their way forward. It was a slow day, much like the one before and the wait seemed endless; but the sun passed like it always did and by evening both lord Willmon and Roose were called into counsel with Robb, trying to decide how to approach the current challenge that still needed to be dealt with in the heart of the north. But there had still not been any tidings, and Roose looked at Robb from his seat at the table next to him.

"We've sent a dozen ravens, none have returned. My bastard is only a few days from Winterfell. Once he captures the castle-" he started to explain, but the decision to lay siege to the walls left the young king anxious.

"Theon has my brothers. If we storm the castle-" he started, worry outweighing the desire for a quick end to this.

"He wouldn't dare hurt the boys. There is only hope of escaping the north with his head." Roose continued, followed by a short thoughtful silence before Robb glanced at Willmon, standing next to another table.

"Any advice, lord Tormont?" he asked, hopeful for an outcome.

"Pale Haven is one day's hard ride from Winterfell, but both my sons are here. Most of my men, with any amount of battle experience, are here." then he looked up, coming forward.

"I could send Rhegard back with a unit of men. But that would take time, and we don't know how much we have before an onslaught comes at us from either side." he glanced at Roose.

"And unfortunately we cannot, with any amount of certainty, guarantee the safety of your little brothers." then he sighed.

"As such, and with our current circumstances, I must agree with lord Bolton's suggestion." he relented, and Robb slowly looked at the ground in front of him; the anger burning away at his composure.

"Send word to your son. Any Ironborn who surrender will be allowed to return safely to their homes." he ordered, and the stone grey eyes stared at him.

"A touch of mercy is a virtue, your grace. Too much-" he started with a warning, but then the blue eyes came back to Roose across from him

"Any Ironborn, with the exception of Theon Greyjoy. He betrayed our cause. He betrayed me... We will hunt him down, no matter where he runs." he finished, the rage, disappointment and hurt swirling together in his gut in a frustrating burn, but bringing a satisfied grin from the man sitting with him.

"I expect his countrymen will turn on him the moment they hear the offer." he said, and then noticed Robb looking up at a figure in the doorway. The lovely girl that saw to their wounded, and she folded her hands in front of her respectfully as she glanced down.

"Your pardon, my lords. Your grace." she brought their attention to her, and Roose stood as both he and Willmon returned her greeting. Willmon glanced at Roose before moving forward, making his way out of the pavilion as Roose followed him into the night, leaving the king and the lady to their conversation.

"Lord Tormont." Willmon turned back to the voice calling him, and watched as Roose approached him.

"You mentioned that Pale Haven is a day's ride from Winterfell?" he asked, and Willmon nodded.

"It is." he confirmed, and then remembered. Their father had been there, and his brother... But lord Roose Bolton never came with them.

"Your brother used to visit us a lot, but you've never seen the white hold." and Roose nodded.

"I wanted to join him one time, for Gerald's wedding. But, I had other matters that required my attention. Perhaps if I had, he may still be alive." he sighed.

"I grieve for what happened, it is difficult to lose your family that way." they walked together up the narrow pathway through the tents.

"They never found the cut-throats that jumped him?" Willmon asked, but it appeared that lord Bolton remained indifferent to it.

"My brother was an audacious fool that acted without much thought, and often placed himself in dangerous situations." he told, and Willmon stared at him. Did he believe, that Charle deserved what happened to him? It was a four day travel between Pale Haven and the Dreadfort; but incidents were rare. Even so, the death of Charle Bolton did not incite a great deal of unrest as one would expect.

"With you and both your sons here, who is managing your hold?" Roose asked, rather curious.

"My wife is quite capable of keeping order in my absence." he told, and Roose smirked.

"For a wise man, you place a lot of trust, and value in the women of your house." he mentioned, and Willmon stopped turning to him.

"Without our wives and daughters, we may have as many names as we'd like. But no future. And in all respects, our home is protected by the gods, I have every faith that they will remain safe until our return." he said, growing wary of the sudden interest. But the stone grey eyes stared at him, giving no indication of any emotions or intentions.

"I'm sure they will be. One day, I might have the honour of visiting your halls." he said, and then issued a small smile.

"Good night, as per your advice I should see that my message is sent." he pardoned, and Willmon nodded.

"Good night, lord Bolton." Willmon greeted, and watched him move away into the night. Why was he wary of the questions? They were a noble house of the north, just as they were. Their families shared times of peace and growth. Why did it feel so out of place? He sighed, dismissing it as an unwanted paranoia that he had no use for and returned to his tent for the night.

Rychon stood in the woodland, easing deep breaths into his chest, just enduring the world that was now a deep dark blackness. They've been concentrated more on his senses for a couple of weeks now, which required him to be calm and focused. Falgon urged him to identify more things each time, and his advice to see the landscape around him, recreating it in his mind using the sounds helped a lot.

"What do you hear?" his teacher's deep voice met him, as tranquil as the existence around him as he listened.

"A bird singing in a tree to my left." he could see it, a high green pine with a black and red Cardinal calling for his mate.

"The ropes straining behind me from the swinging logs." they screeched and groaned as the logs swayed over the maze, first left and then right.

"Crickets in the grass to the south." the small black insects that gathered on the lush green, to drink up the sun while they chattered and chirped in the light.

"The stream behind you." where water flowed and trickled slowly down to the sea, churning over the stones, big and small.

"The horses grazing between the trees." just a little bit up to the north, where Galeo and Nix trudged around, ripping reeds from the ground.

"Good. What do you smell?" Falgon asked softly, and another deep breath filled him.

"Wild flowers." he identified the sweet smell, somewhere around his training grounds there was still a patch of daisies, a cluster of pansies or a vine of foxglove.

"Pines." the round clusters with their unique and pungent scent, hanging from the trees and others hidden in the foliage.

"Dust." the small particles rising from the earth as the wind swept it up in its passing, and then he smiled.

"Rain. I can smell rain." he enjoyed this smell, the essence that brought life and growth to their land.

"Excellent. Now, what do you feel?" the voice came again, and his attention went to his skin.

"The breeze, from the west." it was just a gentle sensation, caressing his right cheek, and the heat from above him, passing through the leaves sheltering them.

"And the sun." he identified, followed by a short silence.

"Good. And?" he stood wondering. And? And what? There's nothing else...

"And..." he started, trying to make sense of it.

"Go deeper. Focus, Rychon." Falgon urged softly, and he tried. But he couldn't find anything.

"There's nothing else." he said, but heard the soft chuckle.

"There is. Find it." he insisted, and again Rychon breathed taking in the ambience around him. Everything he'd mentioned before; then he lowered to himself to place his hand flat on the ground, supposing he might be able to 'feel' better against his skin. And he did. Tiny tremors through the earth. An earthquake? No. Too inconsistent. Then he smiled.

"Hooves. Hooves over the ground." he stood, taking the cloth from his eyes as he smiled at the sentinel, seated on a rock and smiling back.

"Very good." he praised and stood up from the stone, and then they heard it as well. Their attention went to the shadows of the woods behind the training grounds, where a herd of elk rushed swiftly past.

"How did you know?" Rychon asked, holding back a laugh.

"Because I've had years more than you. But you are doing well." Falgon told as he took a place next to the boy.

"You will find that you use every sense, for every situation. All of them, or singularly depending on the circumstances. From hunting, to scouting to actual battle. The more of these senses you are familiar with, the easier it is to apply them. And the easier you apply your senses to the world around you, the greater you will be in your actions." he told as they watched the deer pass, some big, some small; some with antlers, tall or stunted, and others without.

"How old were you when you started?" Rychon asked looking up at him.

"Younger than you. Much younger." Falgon replied with a laugh.

"Really?" Rychon continued as Falgon turned towards the grounds.

"Three. Maybe two, I don't know. My entire life was spent preparing me for an important role, much like yours. I was meant to be a great warrior, a champion to lead our men into battle in times of war. My training continued well into my tenth years, but the honour of my family's sword came to me when I reached twenty. Even after my father no longer took us out, I continued my training on my own when I could." Falgon told as he retook his seat on the stone.

"Why?" Rychon asked, curious of his persistence.

"Because I wanted to be better. Austerity is the greatest trait you will ever possess, and it takes a great deal of effort, but it goes a long way." the tall sentinel concluded, and then glanced up at the sky as Rychon remained staring at him.

"Go do your runs, then it's time to go home." he instructed, and watched as the young lord moved away rather happily to take his place at the start of the maze. He took a moment to compose himself, preparing for the movements as he filled his chest with a deep breath; and then he sprinted forward through the intricate series with significant ease. Once, then twice, and then three times before falling down on the grass exhausted but happy for his improvement, it was a good feeling. The sensation rushing through his limbs, the tingling coursing through his veins... and then his eyes opened to a darkening sky, with the shadow of his teacher above him.

"Come on, let's go." he urged, holding his hand for Rychon who laughed as he took hold, and Falgon pulled him to his feet.

"Am I going to face you, one day?" he asked, making the sentinel shrug.

"You might." he told, and it left an excited surge in Rychon's chest.

"When?" he asked eagerly, to the gentle smile looking back.

"When you're ready. It's still several years away, though." he told, and they secured the ropes to the trees before they headed back to find the horses to start their way home, passing under the great gate with the darkness of dusk settling over the land and the heavy hit of the iron as the double gate met the earth behind them, and the entryway to the great castle was sealed. Boys came to stable the horses, and they entered the hold to meet with the other members, servants passing on their routes and the high-born gathering in the southern hall where Falgon left Rychon at the door to the hall to go to his mother's side where she, Milla and his friends were already seated, and Wink was conducting his own investigation of the waiting table for something to eat. Shortly after, with the little ferret happily lounged on his young lord's shoulders, the family shared their stories and activities of the day, they supped on honey glazed parsley goose with steamed vegetables and maize while the fires from the hearths burnt brightly, and Claira glanced at her son.

"How was your day? Did you learn something new?" she asked, and Rychon smiled.

"I did. Falgon is having me focus on my environment, experiencing it without seeing it. I felt a herd of elk passing us before we heard, or saw them." he reported happily, watching her nod as she took in his words. He thought she seemed better than what she was a few moons ago, but still worn.

"That sounds like something special." she mentioned looking back at the plate in front of her.

"It is. But it's hard to put into words..." he tried, again feeling the tiny vibrations edging up his arm from his fingers, and recalling what Falgon told him several months ago. 'Seeing it, is wonderful. But feeling it, the quake of thousands of hooves over the earth seeping into you, the sense that brings the return of your people... Nothing ever comes close to that.' And he hoped for that when his father came home. To feel his return before seeing their brilliant banners emerging over the horizon, the beautiful blazing phoenix rising from the edge of the world, and he couldn't resist the fluttering through his gut that remained until well into the night even when he lay sleeping, dreaming of the future while Falgon again held his vigil in the guard's hall. Renko passed, on his way up to his chamber when Falgon looked up towards him.

"Renko, do you know if Avery has returned yet?" he asked, and Renko paused for a moment thinking.

"I don't. Haven't seen him since Austinus him sent off." he reported, and Falgon nodded as he looked back at the flames of the hearth. He thought that he might be somewhat impatient, but it's been weeks; and although the silence was serene for now he didn't trust this illusion of safety.

"Are you worried?" Renko asked, coming closer to the light of the hearth.

"I'm not sure. The hold he's been sent to, is only a couple of days' travel from here. It probably shouldn't take this long." he breathed, hoping that the boy was safe. His nagging tenacity for caution may have cost them more than was needed, and against the tightness of his gut he wanted for this to be simply his wish for closure. But despite his desire, somewhere in the desolate reaches the young scout sat in the cold, dark silence of a remote cave; his back against the moist wall and his fingers numb. He'd been on his way back from Bristlemane, confident that its activities were not particularly incredulous... and to the contradictory, quite lifeless with a great deal of the population away to the south. And he'd been well away from the castles, rather isolated when they found him. That might have been his mistake, to remove himself from the eyes of others. Had he gone by the road he took, he would have been safely home long ago. Back with his family, but now he was left thinking of the plate nearby that had been barren since dawn, or at least since what he supposed may have been dawn, and the discomfort in his stomach. He'd surrender his left hand for a bowl of his wife's veal stew, which she prepared whenever the farmer she worked for gave her some meat for their home... Then he looked up, a light driving away the shadows but it was not a welcome vision. A torch floated down to him, carried by a skinny, haggard man with dark dishevelled hair, a long face that made him think of a crow and deep grey eyes. He was always smiling, but it was an empty smile bereft of warmth and kindness. There were five of them, or at least he could identify no less than five different voices through the darkness when they spoke with each other, but he didn't understand the words, distinguishing them as foreigners. Avery watched as the stranger hauled a small crate closer, sitting down on it before shoving the torch into the ground next to him.

"It took us a while to find you." he said, showing his yellowing teeth as his smile widened. Even his voice was hoarse and raspy, like the call of a crow... This was the one they called Rook. Avery glanced at the ground beneath him, cursing himself for the misfortune. A misfortune he had created by taking a road that could save him half a day. I was careless...

"What do you want?" he asked, and Rook leaned forward staring at him.

"Just information, for now. We know a few things, but I'm betting that you know more." he stated.

"There's nothing I can tell you." Avery breathed, and Rook cocked his head.

"You have a wife. What's her name..." he started, and the scout's heart skipped a beat.

"No..." they couldn't have been watching him, they couldn't.

"Oh, yes. A milk maid on a farm just a little ways off Garde's Post." Rook continued, bringing the painful pounding of his heart to his ribs as he looked back at the smiling face.

"No!" they couldn't have known. Why would his family be targets?

"That's it. Lilly. Lovely, little Lilly." Avery watched him, the empty smile still plastered over the rugged features as the stranger scooted slightly closer.

"Mount Ardor is not the only hold with adept runners." They did come from a hold. But which one?

"If you touch her, I will kill you." Avery threatened, but to his dismay Rook laughed at the words.

"Oh, come now. You're a scout. Not a warrior." Rook pointed out to him, and it was true. He could use a dagger if he had dire need of it, but as far as standing in a thorough clash between armies, he would be close to useless. Again the foreigner leaned forward, resting his weight on his legs.

"Unfortunately, we've had some difficulties getting into the grounds of the burning mountain. Now, how many guards hold the castle?" he started with the questions, his leering eyes expecting honest answers.

"If you think I'll tell you anything-" the runner started, but another soft laugh made him stop.

"You will. Unless you're eager for your wife to join you. Pretty young thing; brown hair, green eyes, lovely smile. Her veal stew's even better than my mothers." his nerves splintered, and his heart shattered. They did know. They knew his Lilly, they were in their home and she offered them a meal because she was good and kind and trusting. The grey eyes cut into him confidently, knowing that he had absolute control over him.

"How many guards?" he asked again, and Avery tried to remember the count when he left, but it would not be of any use.

"I... I don't know. The guard count grows, if it was sixty yesterday it could be seventy today. I don't know." he told, which the man opposite from him seemed to accept easily.

"How many Sentinels?" he asked, more specific and Avery thought he might be able to unnerve him a bit.

"Six." he said quickly, but still saw the empty smile as Rook brought up a long, thin blade held in his hand, casting it a quick conceited glance.

"I used this knife to gut a deer a few days ago. I found a fawn, still in her belly. Perfect, a wondrous creation of the gods... Shall we see what's growing in your Lilly's rounding belly?" It wasn't working. He couldn't deceive him, he couldn't intimidate him and he couldn't dissuade him. What choice did he have left?

"Four! Four sentinels..." he corrected, cursing himself again and Rook lowered the blade, resting his arm on his knee.

"Which four?" he asked, his focus going closer to their ultimate goal.

"Gavin. Wymon. Renko..." Avery named them, and then paused.

"And?" the stranger urged, and he looked up at the curious stare with a smile.

"The strongest of them all..." this wasn't a lie, he could say it with hope.

"Falgon of the Fire Hall. You'll never get past him." he assured, but the smile did not leave the dark face in front of him despite a ponderous sigh.

"Well then, we'll have to find some way to get rid of him instead." Rook decided, and then lifted the thin blade pointing the sharp tip at the throat of the young man, stressing the shine of the honed edge.

"Now. You will do exactly as I tell you... lest I discover yet another little fawn." he directed, and the small degree of confidence he had left him as if being bled out of him...

In the days that followed, word reached the northern army that King's Landing had been attacked by lord Stannis, who suffered a defeat when lord Tywin Lannister ploughed into the invading army. They suddenly left south not long ago, surrendering Harrenhal to a smaller party under command of Ser Gregor Clegane, the man known as The Mountain to hold it. With a limited unit of men in charge of the ruin, this may be the opportunity they needed to get a foothold closer to the Crownlands. And also, there was an apparent lure to the notion that the King in the North shared a closer bond with the foreign lady for a while now. The soft words and gentle presence did indeed give his demeanour a much appreciated improvement, perhaps more than others understood. So, when darkness came over them, Robb made the decision to reveal his intentions to his mother, and now sat in her company inside the tent she was confined to for the remainder of their journey while she struggled with his words.

"Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross." she warned him, but his mind would not be changed. Not on this.

"I know that." he assured, with a sullen sigh.

"And you mean to do it anyway?" she asked, and his blue eyes came up to meet hers.

"I love her." he confessed honestly, again thinking of the pretty girl who captured his heart so securely.

"I know that seems important to you-" his mother started.

"It is important to me." he insisted, watching her take another deep breath.

"Your father didn't love me, when we married. He hardly knew me, or I him. Love didn't just happen to us. We built it slowly over the years, stone by stone. For you, for your brothers, your sisters, for all of us. It's not as exciting as secret passion in the woods, but it is stronger. It lasts longer." she told, hoping he would listen and think better of his stubborn decision.

"And that is what would be in store for me with one of Walder Frey's daughters? What you and father had? What lord Taugere and his wife has?" They didn't marry for love, but they did love more than anyone else.

"Why not? Because she's not beautiful? Because she's not exotic, and exciting?" His mother was known as a beautiful woman, since her youth. Lord Willmon Tormont's daughters, especially the eldest, had always been described as lovely. Lord Walder Frey's daughters however... Well, that was left to be debated.

"I know, you're arguing just to argue. Because you arranged it." Robb breathed, trying to indicate that this agreement was her doing, and not his to begin with.

"And you agreed to it! You gave him your word. Treat your oaths recklessly, and your people will do the same. If your father lived his life for one thing-" she started, reminding him that he had as much part in this engagement than she did.

"My father is dead. And the only parent I have left has no right to call anyone reckless." he directed, everyone made decisions whether it be for a good cause or not. Choices that had effects on not only themselves, but those around them. Sometimes, long lasting effects. Then he stood and left into the night, two guards posted outside the tent to keep their vigil. He wandered around the camp for a while, silently debating with himself on the path that lay before him. He found himself at a crossroad, go this way and follow every instinct that told him to heed his heart and live a lasting life that would be happy; or the other way and heed his word that would seal an alliance and risk going through his days in a union that was loveless at worst, and only a show of courtesy. He watched the flames of a torch as he passed, wondering what to do and eventually sat down on a stone somewhere in the camp listening to the soft, low voices in the distance. What would his people think of him if he did this? Would they continue to follow him? Or would they abandon him for a choice that had an effect on his life only, not theirs? How did they have any right to expect him to build his own existence, on the wishes of others?

"You seem troubled, your grace." he suddenly heard a voice next to him, and looked up into the face of the Grey Tom next to him.

"I'll be al right. I'm just thinking..." he replied softly.

"Might I sit with you?" the older lord asked, and Robb nodded watching as he took a seat next to him. They shared the silence, but his presence was calming. Comforting...

"Lord Willmon?" then the silver-blue eyes came to his. Could he talk to him? Could he understand? What would he think of him? But the eyes remained clear, and patient.

"How do you know, when you're making a right choice?" Robb asked softly, and then saw the corners of his mouth rise up slightly in a gentle smile.

"By accepting, that you don't know." he said as the King in the North stared at him, utterly confused. He hoped for wisdom, not chagrin. For some direction where he found himself now, not... Wait. Why was he smiling?

"I don't understand." was there more? There had to be more.

"Choosing to murder your brother because you envy him, is a wrong choice. But to murder an enemy soldier, so you could return to your family is a right choice. Wouldn't you agree?" he asked, and Robb nodded slowly.

"I suppose so..." it seemed logical, but then again it was a matter on which side you stood.

"But then we are forced to face the reality, that there is no true right or wrong in this world. What is right to one, is wrong to another, so who is to determine these right or wrong decisions? In the end, there is only the best option, and the worst; further we sometimes need to make these choices, knowing we may hurt someone. But we make these choices to protect the ones we love, to the best of our intentions." he explained, and Robb smiled. There was the guidance he needed.

"You married for love, didn't you?" he asked, and Willmon nodded.

"I did. Against my father's wishes. I was to marry a lady Manderly from White Harbour, but I chose to follow my heart, for the woman I loved. He hated me for it, but it was a choice that I lived with, and will continue to live with until the end of my days." he told, his voice soft and near to nostalgic.

"Have you ever rued it?" Robb asked, and saw the lord's eyes go up to the stars above them.

"Never." but then his mind seemed to change.

"But only one of my children had the freedom to choose for themselves. The others, my Claira, Rhegard and Carissa married to suitors I chose for them. To houses that would provide for them, and have us rooted in the North; houses that would bind our people and strengthen our families. And they are all happy." he told.

"Except for Claira, who married the lord of Mount Ardor." Robb corrected him.

"Yes, except for her. But circumstances were different, we needed a powerful ally and had little to offer. But by giving her... my most precious, we secured that. And I was relieved to find that her husband was good to her, and still is. Despite the arrangement, they truly love one another. There is nothing in this world I am more grateful for." he added, and then looked at Robb.

"Whatever you decide to do, it is a choice you will live with. Others may only accept, or reject it. But, I want to advise you to think carefully before you make your final ruling, as someone you care for may be hurt. You will have to live with that, as well." he told, and Robb nodded.

"Did you and your father ever make peace?" he asked, curious about that outcome.

"Unfortunately, no. It is the one regret I am left with." he said, and Robb felt the stab of heartache for him. He had to live with that, even now...

"I am sorry for that, my lord." he said before they shared another moment of silence, just staring up at the stars. His mother might hate him, lord Frey will definitely hate him. Was that something he could live with?

"I assume we will reach Harrenhal soon, it might be best to get some rest." Willmon said, and then moved to stand up.

"Good night, lord Willmon. And thank you, for your words." Robb greeted, as the elderly man turned to face him.

"You are most welcome, your grace. Sleep well." he returned, and as silently as he came disappeared back to the shelters, leaving the king to his thoughts and his decision was concluded one night beneath an ancient tree where he pledged himself to the woman he loved. Many were not happy with it, while others remained indifferent, and a handful were delighted for him. But the force pressed on, heading south-east towards the enormous ruin built by lord Harren the Black, famous for its misfortune and perilous history. The days were spent moving, and warding off raiding attacks, and the evenings in torch-lit camp sites, trying to redeem their strength and spirit. But it was an uneasy night when the men of the Corridor were assembled on the far west. Robb walked with his wife back to their pavilion, stopping at the entryway and bringing her hands to his mouth.

"Go on, I'll be with you in a moment." he assured, and allowed her to enter alone, giving her a few moments to herself before they would share the night. He listened, the voices coming through the dark raised and heated; one voice in particular seemed loud and enraged. He had wondered how many would leave his side for his choice, and earlier this afternoon he heard one of the soldiers mention that the lords of the Corridor appeared to have lost their regard for this campaign. Perhaps they were planning on leaving, their numbers have diminished by at least half since they set out despite the return of the largest part of the men sent to deal with the threats in the Goldfields, having brought the remainder of those who were supposed to man the destroyed ships along as well. Robb moved through the camp towards the noise, hoping he might find a way to convince them otherwise. Then he emerged from the tents, witnessing the mass of warriors, their attention fixed on a single point. Their liege lord, whose voice shook them all following someone's excuse.

"Just winning the battles, is not enough!" there was an instant of silence, and even the King in the North could feel the energy, like a wave of heat.

"With each clash, we lose men. Men we cannot simply replenish!" They'd lost people, too many. Their insistent skirmishes and increased negligence around the fields to keep the greatest party of the northern army intact chipping away at their strength.

"The parties will remain within a mile of the force, I will not permit anyone to go off 'hunting'. I intent to make it back to my home, with as many lives as possible. Is that understood?" he instructed purposefully, to the averse compliance of the others while Robb stared at him. Were the rumours he heard true? Or did the soldier simply overstate? Intend to make it back to my home... He walked forward towards Raeghun as the others departed.

"Are you going to abandon our cause?" he asked, and Raeghun turned to face him, the hard blaze still visible in his eyes.

"Why?" he asked, not obviously surprised of the question.

"One of my men heard you talking to yours, he heard you say-" Robb started, and Raeghun moved towards him.

"What I said, was that I do not have a particularly high regard for those who treat an oath as a flight of fancy. But it does not mean that I will treat mine as such." he stated, and a silence followed as the world around them was left empty. He could only think of one reason, that he would say that.

"You are offended by my actions?" Robb asked, not entirely sure if he should feel proud or ashamed. But Raeghun smirked, passing an almost amused grin.

"I admire your will, for abandoning your words for your heart. But a man's worth, is as good as his word, Robb. Always remember that, for everyone else will." he told, and Robb looked away from him.

"You sound like my father." he breathed, but the burning eyes did not leave him.

"Because of my age? Or because that is something he would tell you?" the lord asked, and the king looked back at him.

"Maybe a bit of both..." But no, it was more the words. It did sound like something his father would have told him, had he been here.

"You should get back, your lady wife is waiting for you." Raeghun reminded, but the lingering question in the young king's stare made him breathe out slowly.

"We won't leave until your sisters are safely recovered. However, at this moment I cannot make any promises for more." he tried to reassure the youngster, but the alleviation was minimal.

"And for now, I will not expect more." Robb replied, and a moment was held in silence as they watched each other. The wolf and the phoenix, not scornful, not biased, not at odds, not at peace... only even until the next hill might tip that scale.

"Harrenhal is not far. Go get some rest, whatever you might." Raeghun urged again, and Robb sighed as he turned. His choice riled many, but he didn't expect that his ally would be one of those who were nettled.

"And you." he replied, moving back the way he came into the encampment and Raeghun returned to his own to try and rid himself of the warmth that chewed at him, stripping the clothing from his body and emptied a waterskin over himself, soaking his skin and the ground beneath him. He looked up, and forced several deep breaths into his chest. The sooner this is over, the better... They could go home, gather up their men and items and ride for the Corridor at daybreak. But that wasn't their way. Never has been. To victory or to hell, regardless of everything else. Then he looked down at his hands noting that they were shaking, the course of the heat through his veins. My Claira... I miss you so much...

"Raeghun." he looked back to see Berin pass through the entrance of his shelter.

"I expect that our men have their instructions clearly." he sighed, taking up fresh breeches from the chest.

"They do. No one will go out tonight." Berin confirmed, watching his friend redress before falling down on the small chair.

"Good..." Berin moved forward, stepping over the plash left on the ground where Raeghun stood to take the seat opposite from him.

"Have you slept at all, the past few weeks?" he asked as he sat down.

"Not much. But I'll manage." he replied softly, seeming to settle down from the day's difficulties.

"And you?" Raeghun asked, looking up at Berin.

"I'll sleep better in my own bed, next to my wife." he confessed, and Raeghun nodded.

"I want to go home, Berin. I want to return to my wife and my son. I want us all to wake up in our own land with our loved ones around us and continue to live our lives in peace." he confessed to his friend, in the safety of his shelter.

"We could, you know." Berin replied, not seeming to oppose the notion.

"Don't tempt me. You're supposed to help me uphold the honour of my house." Raeghun told, and he had to strangle a small laugh.

"Honour seems to have various meanings the past while." Berin teased.

"I don't care what it means to everyone else. Only what it means to us. What it means to me." Raeghun added, and Berin stared at him. He didn't want to be here any more than anyone else did, had he the freedom to turn around and march home he would do it without any hesitation. But he made a promise to his ally, and the lord of Mount Ardor was known for his promises. It was one of the great things that their house was built on, that a man's worth is as good as his word; and these were great men throughout the centuries.

"We'll go home, Raeghun. Once our endeavour is done, when the Stark girls are safe and king Joffrey has answered for his crimes, we will go home. We will see our families, and sleep in our own beds, and watch our children grow and succeed us. And we'll make love to our wives each night until the sun comes up." he promised sincerely, and to his relief it did bring a hopeful smile to his friend.

"What a way to encourage me, lord Trentin." he managed to tease, and Berin smiled back.

"It is the closest truth I can give you." then he stood.

"Then I will hold on to that truth..." Raeghun promised, easier than before.

"Good. Sleep well, my lord." Berin greeted, and left the shelter to return to his own for the night. Dawn came slowly, but they forged on with the sunrise over the landscape with the horses trudging across the earth, banners caught in the breeze of their movement; and the high walls and broken, melted towers came into sight. Robb Stark halted his horse on the road approaching the gate to the ruined keep, with Roose Bolton and Gerald at his sides.

"It looks deserted." Gerald mentioned, and Roose spared him a fleeting glance.

"We should set the siege lines a thousand yards from Harrenhal." he proposed.

"There won't be a siege, the Mountain can't defend a ruin." Robb told as he watched the empty walls.

"I imagine that the Mountain will defend whatever Tywin Lannister tells him to defend." Roose cautioned, but the castle was as lifeless as the grave.

"The Lannisters have been running from us since Oxcross. I'd love a fight. The men would love a fight. I don't think we're going to get one." Robb said, recalling that was their last great battle apart from smaller raids, clashes and scattered skirmishes. Then watched riders pass, led by lord Taugere towards the shadow of the keep, heedless of what may still be there. It was the only castle in the realms that was known, or at least said, to be greater than Mount Ardor. When Harren the Black took to building the giant that was now a ruin for all its fame, he certainly did not do so sparingly. Then they decided to follow, soon abandoning the horses and entering into the darkness of its haunted halls. In silence, they took in the sight that they found in Flowstone Yard, some of the lords moved through the devastation while others held back in the shadows. Lord Rickard Karstark's hard dark eyes went over the yard, the horror that lay there.

"Two hundred northmen... slaughtered like sheep." he breathed, the desolation too hard to pass as sorrow. Two hundred northmen, some of them from the Corridor under lord Seigre's son... Lord Bolton watched the yard, taking in those moving and those not.

"The debt will be repaid, my friend. For them, and for your sons." he promised, not noticing the dark eyes go to a slender figure among those before them.

"Will it? They rot in the ground while their killer runs free." he doubted him, it has been weeks that there was no word, or even a sighting of Jaime Lannister.

"The Kingslayer won't remain free for long. My best hunter's after him." Roose eased, still watching the slow activity throughout the yard while Raeghun, Berin and Ernaldus stared at the body of one of theirs, the throat opened deep enough to reveal a severed trachea.

"Hunald." Raeghun recognised him as lord Seigre's youngest son; several years their junior but a spirited warrior and eager leader with ginger curls, blue eyes and strong hands like his father, but the soft round face and gentle voice of his mother.

"This is horrible..." Berin whispered, over the past years they'd shared a hunt or two when they came to court or attended the Horn Festival. He was a pleasant man.

"Was this done to try and strike fear into us?" Ernaldus asked, counting the men they lost.

"This was done out of careless fear. Kill everyone and flee. How foolish..." Raeghun gathered. Why murder everyone and then abandon the castle? Because they were afraid. Because they would rather risk the scorn of their masters than face the force of the north. Foolish and cruel indeed, as The Mountain was known to be.

"Gather up our fallen, we'll have preparations made as soon as we can." Raeghun instructed, moving further into the yard and noticing Robb with his mother and wife not far off where they too, found a familiar face.

"Mallister." Robb identified the sigil, where a dagger was plunged into his chest breaking the silver eagle of their house.

"Ser Jaremy... My father's bannerman..." Catelyn recognised the fallen man, grieving the demise of someone she'd known most of her life. Robb looked at her, wishing things may have been different.

"Find her a chamber that will serve as a cell." he ordered two soldiers nearby, watching as they escorted her further into the castle to find some suitable room, and Talisa stepped closer to him.

"She's your mother." she reminded him softly, and he sighed.

"She freed Jaime Lannister. The Lannisters robbed them of their sons, and she robbed them of their justice." he defended his reasons. Something he could not change, no matter how he wished to. Suddenly a rasping cough drew their attention to a lean, grey haired man garbed in black that miraculously stuttered to life. Robb and his wife rushed to his side, where she inspected the wound opening the side of his neck.

"This needs to be cleaned and closed." she determined, rushing back to retrieve her medicine box while Robb offered him water from a skin, which he swallowed eagerly.

"What's your name, friend?" he asked, watching the gasping man.

"Qyburn..." he replied as Talisa returned, covering the wound with a clean cloth.

"You're lucky to be alive." she told him with a compassionate smile, and he seemed dazed as he too, registered the death around them.

"Lucky..." he repeated. Yes, he was. He must have been... The northern army settled into the great stronghold, preparing for the days to come. Hard days, that they will endure.

Wymon sat with Falgon in the guard's hall, well into the night. The days were long and quiet, with less and less to fill them with. The guards had their training, the children had their games, the ladies had their embroidery, the cook has his kitchen, the maester has his medicines and their current overseer had his books as Wymon stared at him.

"What are you reading?" he asked, and the stern face rose slightly.

"The Shadow of Serenity." Falgon named the book, and Wymon sat back.

"What's it about?" he further asked, hearing the tall sentinel sigh.

"About people. About how they try to be happy, but just couldn't be despite their wealth and fortune and stature. But in the end, they found it in simple things." he told, and Wymon stared at the book open in his hand. He wasn't past the first half of it.

"You've read it before?" he asked, and Falgon smiled.

"Twice." he confirmed as Wymon laughed.

"It's that good?" then Falgon looked up at him.

"It is. You might want to take it up yourself, sometime." he suggested, and Wymon brought a horn of ale to his mouth.

"Maybe later. When you're finished with your third time." he teased, and then swallowed from the horn before lowering it again.

"You too, find joy in the small things." he assumed, and Falgon nodded.

"I do now. It makes every breath I take worth it. To appreciate each sunrise I meet here, to watch this great house grow, to see its future with them for as long as my eyes will see. To teach the heir all I can, and to keep their lives safe..." he revealed.

"Or being in lady Claira's company." Wymon pointed out specifically, followed by a short silence.

"Or being in her grace's company, yes." and for him, that was the best place to be. Where he could see her smile, where he could be her shield. Better than any place in the known world he'd been since walking into a red sunrise... away from that place...

"You've never called her by her name." Wymon again noted.

"Why would I?" Falgon asked, the light grey eyes staring at him in amusement.

"Because she has one." he mentioned, a slight teasing tone in his smile. He knew her name, of course he knew her name. He'd been her shadow for years, how could he not? She had one of the most beautiful names that could be spoken, it was just...

"The stone does not cry out for the moon. I have no right to use her name." he told softly. There was no way to make others see, how could he be deserving of using her name, even when it sounded so sweet? He was nothing, just a stone; when she was his queen. His moon...

"You are very strange." Wymon laughed softly.

"Don't try to understand me. You'll only injure yourself." Falgon finally teased back, and the younger sentinel's thoughts went to other nights. Peaceful nights.

"I sometimes hear you sharing happier memories with the others, but you never talk about what happened to you, to your family, to your home. You are not the only one with a tainted history, Falgon. I lost my sister, years ago..." Wymon started to tell, but the face next to him displayed little interest.

"I am sorry for your loss. But, mine is a darker past than yours. And I will not speak of it." he refused, and Wymon stared at him. Why was he so secretive about his history? Everyone had their stories, everyone had their stains, their pains. Something happened, something terrible. But, it was a hole in his past. A black stretch of emptiness in his history.

"But still..." Wymon tried to urge.

"It is no longer important. My future here, is. As it is, that time and what happened doesn't exist." Falgon told, stubbornly. It was that bad, eh?

"Al right. Good night, Falgon." he stood to leave, and Falgon's eyes went to the flames of the hearth.

"Sleep well, Wymon." he greeted.