A/N: Thanks for the support you show me and this story. It really means a lot to me.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

56: Unflinching

Sansa:

Father is out there.

She stood atop Riverrun's battlements looking out to where the Lannisters were supposedly camped a few leagues away. She could not see them. It was frustrating to know that he was so near but still beyond their reach. However, it was also welcoming to have him be so close for the first time in months.

Domeric stood beside her quietly. From the corner of her eye, she could see he was looking in a different direction than she had been. She could not read his expression. His dark eyes would not reveal his thoughts to her in a glance.

It's his new orders, She suspected.

Domeric was leaving at dawn tomorrow leading a contingent of men to deal with a vile mercenary group known as the Brave Companions. Her betrothed would be bringing men from Bolton, Ryswell, and Dustin as well as a few riverlands scouts in order to track them down and then put them down. She heard whispers of this sellsword company around the castle from soldiers and the smallfolk at how they were called the Bloody Mummers for their acts throughout the Riverlands.

He will beat them, she was certain. And then he'll return and we shall be wed.

Their pending wedding was the only bright spot amidst a series of matters that were springing up around them. The most notable one being the news that Davos Seaworth had delivered to them.

The King's children, bastards. It was hard to believe. Not just bastards, bastards born of incest. Her stomach cringed at the revulsion of it. They were the children of Queen Cersei and her brother, the Kingslayer.

They were her Father's words. She eventually had been able to read the letter. It was all laid out by her father's hand and confirmed with his seal. How Lord Arryn died discovering this truth. How the Lannisters had possibly poisoned him to keep him quiet. How her father had followed Lord Arryn's inadvertent clues to stumble upon the revelation that none of the King's children were his.

When the initial disbelief passed, she thought of how to best use this information. If the Vale found out the Lannisters poisoned their Lord. Mayhaps, that would give their Aunt the courage she did not seem to possess to let the knights of the Vale join them.

It was not just the Vale who'd see these accusations in a new light. Her father was known and respected, and not seen as a man of ambition or duplicity. This message from his hand would damn those who portrayed Stannis trying to illegally seize the throne. She thought such evidence could only help his cause. Between the Lannisters and her father who was the realm more likely to believe? He also spoke of evidence of how all of Robert's bastards took after the king in appearance, but none of his trueborn children did.

Her thoughts drifted towards Princess Myrcella, the woman her brother was supposed to marry. Someone Sansa knew that Robb had grown to care for, and for that to be taken from him. It was cruel.

Myrcella has been nothing but kind to me, a friend, she reflected. One day she's a princess set to marry the Heir to Winterfell, and now, Sansa paused, she's a bastard. She did not know how to soften the blow of such a painful truth. She pitied the girl. She did not deserve such a fate. Myrcella deserved to be the Lady of Winterfell, she cared for Robb, and had a tender heart, and a willingness to learn, but now.

"Have you spoken to Robb?"

Domeric did not turn to her. "He will not speak on the matter."

The same was true for her attempts. Robb denied her at every turn when she tried to bring up the matter of the Princess. He is distraught, she guessed, and she could not fault her brother that. He cared for her, maybe even felt something stronger. Sansa did not know, but her suspicion carried more weight given how her brother was handling it in the aftermath of their father's letter.

"He's going to speak to the Kingslayer."

Sansa did not think that a wise idea. "For what reason?"

Domeric shrugged. "Hope."

"Hope?"

He nodded, "Hope that they're wrong."

"May we?" She did not want to linger here anymore.

He smiled, "Of course, my love." He offered her his arm which she gladly took.

They moved down the nearest stairs to leave the ramparts. Lady was behind them. As were a pair of Bolton guards. Her brother was so distracted by the letter, he had forgotten to assign them chaperones from the Stark forces. Domeric had instructed some of his own guards to serve the role. Her betrothed knew it would be too improper to be seen within the walls of Riverrun without some even with their wedding so close. He would not allow any whispers or rumors to spread to question her, or them.

"Greyjoy had the right of it," Domeric said suddenly. "Stannis needs us more than we need him."

"Best speak quietly, Dom," She mocked warned him. "If Theon heard you agreed with him. We'd all end up suffering for your mistake."

Domeric chuckled. "My lady is wise. I will be cautious."

When the mirth subsided, she reminded him of the fleet that Stannis commands.

"Ships alone won't win him his throne." He turned to her, "He needs the blood of the north and riverlands-our forces if he wishes to fight the Lannisters or his own brother."

She had never wanted to go to King's Landing. Now to think that her father's forces would be needed to march south to secure that ugly chair. It wasn't just her father's forces. It could very well be her father, her brothers, Robb and Jon, Domeric too, all going south to put Stannis on the throne.

She detested it. She wanted to go north. Let the south squabble and leave the north out of it. For the south to drag her family into this mess, into this war...

"Do you have something in mind?" She could see that he was silently considering certain things.

"We have more to risk so our rewards should be greater."

She could not fault his logic. "What sort of rewards?"

"That," he paused, "Has not come to me yet." He flashed her a small smile.

She returned it, squeezing his arm as they continued on their way. To her maybe a betrothal, however, Stannis only had one daughter. Perhaps a match between her and Rickon? Undecided on that idea, she moved on.

"What do you think of Stannis' messenger?"

Ser Davos Seaworth was now a guest of her uncle. The truth of his message had yet to slip down to any one else who was not in that room when it was first delivered.

She wondered if it was her brother's attempt to protect the princess even now. He is confused, she reasoned, but he will get over this hard truth, over her. The last part did not carry the same confidence.

Robb had said they would tell the others lords once they had Father back.

She saw some of the wisdom in his decision. They did not want the Lannisters to know they made contact with Stannis. He was afraid of how they'd react and how they'd view it. However, she feared that they could not keep it hidden for too long. Davos was not a prisoner confined to his chambers. He was allowed to move about the castle. They hoped not many would recognize him.

It is imperative we strike a deal with the Lannisters soon, She had told Robb as much. With Davos' arrival they needed to settle with them. They needed Father back before the Lannisters learned of Davos and considered it a breach of talks and punished their Father for it.

I will ride to their camp if I must. The messengers were going nowhere just as she predicted. The time for others had passed. They needed to meet Ser Kevan and only then did she have confidence that a deal could be struck.

"I had heard tales of the man," Domeric answered. "The famous Onion knight. The smuggler who saved Stannis at the siege of Storm's End. Even still, he faced the law and was punished for those past misdeeds."

You save a man only for him to punish you, she did not know what to make of that. Should it be admired or admonished?

"I have not spoken to him much, but he did confirm one rumour."

"What rumor is this?"

"That Stannis has some red priestess in his inner circle," Domeric revealed. "He would not divulge much of her, but it was what he did not say."

Before Sansa could press her betrothed what he meant on that, they rounded a corner and were greeted by the roar of a small crowd. It was coming from the sparring yard. A growing group had gathered around and formed a large circle. They were laughing, and cheering, jeering and hollering.

The two moved forward to investigate. When they neared, others began to notice them and were quick to accommodate. These were mostly guards and soldiers. Mayhaps a few knights or a noble or two, but she doubted there was more. They parted to let them get to the front where Sansa was surprised to see her brother, Jon was at the center of it, but he was not alone, Dacey Mormont was with him.

What is this?

Jon was in his armor. He was out of breath and sweating. He was holding a blunted sword in one hand, and shield in the other. His attention was purely on what looked to be his opponent, Dacey Mormont.

The heir to Bear Island was in her leathers. Her brow was sweaty, and her hair was up in a battle braid. She had her own blunted sword and shield. She was smiling, looking to be enjoying herself, but like Jon, her focus was entirely on him, and not their audience.

"Had enough, Snow?" She called over the growing noise. Her taunt earned some laughs, and her smile only grew from it.

Jon took it with his own smile. He did not shy away from the attention or her. "One can never have enough victories, my lady." A ripple of laughter and cheers went up at her brother's bold words.

It was not his confidence that surprised Sansa, but how he did not hide it. He had always deferred when others were around, but to her pleasant surprise, he seemed to be growing out of that. Here, he wasn't the Bastard of Winterfell, but the Protector of the Red Fork. These men didn't jeer him, but cheered him.

She was pleased at the sight. She was even more pleased upon seeing how he interacted with Dacey. "I told you the two of them could be a successful betrothal." She heard Domeric chuckle at her side.

"I did not doubt you, my love."

"You are a cocky one, Ser Snow." Dacey's eyes were dancing with mirth. "I'll tell ya what," Dacey said over the din of their audience. "Let us make this one more interesting," she flashed him a grin. "If you can beat me than mayhaps, I'll let ya marry me."

This earned a rather raucous reaction from the rowdy guards and soldiers.

She saw the barest of flushes come from her brother at that, but most of the crowd missed it. There attention was on the lovely, and loud warrior from Bear Island. She suspected her brother was hiding how much he liked that particular offer.

Jon returned her smile. "And if you win?"

"Well, I'll want something sweeter," she feigned to be in deep thought. "I'll take a kiss." She winked at him.

Something flashed across her brother's face, but his smile remained. "That's a generous gift indeed."

Some of this may be for show, she observed, but she saw how the Heir to Bear Island looked at her brother, and him her. It's their reactions they care for and not that of this crowd.

That thought only made Sansa's smile grow.

Dacey took it in stride. "Shall we?"

Jon nodded, "Lets."

Without wait or warning, the two swords met.

Sansa was not one for fighting or understanding what was happening. She had seen her brothers practice growing up in Winterfell, but the skills and training were lost on her. So she watched the two trade blows, not truly understanding who had the advantage. She looked to see Domeric was watching the match closely. She thought of asking him to explain it, but a roar went up and she turned her attention to see Jon had lost his shield and stepped away from Dacey's sword that would have hit him.

Blunted or not, that would hurt.

Even without a shield, Jon did not falter. He met Dacey's strikes with his sword. And when he could not, he moved his feet or twisted his body to avoid her hits either from her sword or her shield.

There was an elegance to it, she realized. It was as if the two of them were dancing. Their steps mimicking one another. Keeping the person in front of them. However, instead of the sound of stringed instruments it was the cling and clang and clunk of swords and shields, metal on wood was the rhythm that spurred them.

Further proving her observation was when she saw Jon spin away from Dacey. It would've looked just as fitting if it was a dance. Her brother's move had gotten him closer to Dacey, but before he could use the advantage, the heir to Bear Island pounced.

"Interesting," Domeric's words were nearly drowned out by the noise of the crowd as Dacey's hit landed, sending Jon into the dirt. The audience cheered and laughed in support. Some even began clapping to celebrate the warriors and the match itself.

"What?" Sansa turned to her betrothed.

"He hesitated," He turned towards her, apparently seeing she was still confused, Domeric clarified. "Jon had the match, but he paused to allow her to recover."

That didn't make sense. Wondering why her brother would lose on purpose. Did he not want to humiliate her? She dismissed it as soon as it was proposed. Sansa guessed Dacey was not one who'd need such protection. She'd probably be more insulted than appreciative of it.

Dacey was smiling as she moved to help pull Jon back up on his feet.

"Well fought," He grumbled, not sounding the least bit disappointed in his defeat.

No, it's almost as if, Sansa paused in her realization just in time to watch Dacey claim her reward.

She was in her chambers sitting at her desk staring at the looking glass to inspect her reflection while brushing her hair. She was expecting Domeric soon. They were to go on a walk before supper.

Her reflection was smiling back at her. She could not help it. For her, it was very difficult not to smile. Knowing how close she was to marrying the man she loved.

Everyday brings me closer to it, she thought happily, to being able to call him husband.

She had chosen one of her northern dresses for the occasion. It was a dark blue wool dress with heavy embroidery around the neck, but she made sure to have pale red cleverly woven with it, mainly around the sleeves and collar. She wanted to infuse House Bolton's colors into her clothes to display her future ties to her husband's house.

I am ready for that future.

That was when the door knocked.

What timing, she got up from her seat to face the door, "Come in."

The door opened, smiling, she was ready to move and greet her betrothed, but it wasn't Domeric who was standing in the doorway. It was his father. "Lord Bolton," she recovered quickly, dipping into a curtsey. "I was not expecting you."

"Did I startle you?" The Lord of the Dreadfort was dressed in black ringmail even within the walls of her uncle's castle. He wore leather breeches and boots. Over his ringmail was his dark pink cloak. The fur collar was reversed to display the animal's skin. The cloak was clasped by a finely made brooch that was pale as bone in the shape of a flayed man.

"Of course not, my lord."

He appraised her. "Good, the Lady of the Dreadfort cannot have a soft temperament."

"You'll be surprised what I can stomach, my lord," Her smile returned. "I did spend several months in the capital."

Lord Bolton's lips twitched. "Clever girl." He then gestured to her table, "May I?"

"Of course, my lord," She wondered why he was in her room. She made sure to keep her composure while not allowing herself to become distracted by his unexpected presence. He was after all about to be her good father.

"I know you have plans with my son." He sat down. "So I will not try to keep you."

"You are kind, my lord."

His eyes flickered in amusement, but he did not speak. He only sat and watched her.

Sansa would not falter beneath his stare. "How is your wife?" She knew Lady Jonelle was in mourning for her father who perished in the Battle on the Green Fork.

In the battle that Domeric fought in, her heart clenched at the insidious image of him having fallen in that battle. No! Not Domeric! She could not bear to lose him. Not now.

And yet he's off again, she thought sadly. He rides out to bring an end to the Brave Companions and their brief, but bloody run of the Riverlands.

"She mourns," Lord Bolton said softly. "Black becomes her," He remarked, "But she'd be more fetching if she had a baby in her belly."

He'd think the same of me. She showed her future good father none of her discomfort. "Hopefully, you two will be blessed soon."

"Indeed," His tone conveyed nothing. "She asked that if it is a boy could she have the honor of naming him after her father. I agreed."

"I'm sure she's thankful."

He didn't look to have cared if she was or not. "I was there for Lord Cerwyn's end. I heard his dying breaths. The lions were closing in, but his last words were of his home, his son, and his daughter." His pale eyes seemed to glitter.

"I'm sure that would give your wife some comfort."

"A heavy burden now falls on her brother's shoulders, a boy who needs to be a man, a lord," Lord Bolton observed quietly. "I may have my wife return to her family's castle to help run it but only for a time. It is her brother's burden not hers, but she is her brother's heir until he has his own children."

"That is kind of you. Would you like anything to drink?" She offered to the pitcher that was on the table. She then sat down across from him while wondering where her betrothed was.

"Your courtesies are sharp, Lady Sansa," Lord Bolton complimented in his soft voice. "They should serve you well when you become the Lady of the Dreadfort. After all, power tastes best when sweetened by courtesy. Has Domeric told you my saying in how I choose to rule my people?"

"A peaceful land, a quiet people," she recited.

"Good," His lips curved ever so slightly in praise. "It is one of my lessons that Domeric has accepted, but there are others he still has not. Tell me Lady Sansa, are you squeamish?"

Sansa showed nothing at the Lord of the Dreadfort's startling and sudden question. In her mind, she could not help but remember her histories with Maester Luwin about House Bolton and the infamy that surrounded them with their practice of flaying.

I am a wolf, she reminded herself. I cower to no one, flayed or not.

"I am not." She was no fool. Sansa understood what family she was marrying into. The castle she'd be moving into. She would be no timid maiden. I will be a Bolton when I marry Domeric. I pray for the day when he will cover me in the cloak of his ancestors, and into the comfort of the flayed man's embrace.

Lord Bolton took her answer with a nod. "Do you know the practice of leeches?"

"I do not," She answered, but she knew of the stories that swirled about the man before her when it came to him and his leeches. How Theon would snicker and call him-the leech lord. When Domeric had first arrived, Theon had called him-the little leech lord to the amusement of many. The Iron Born had also made bets with several members of her family's household about if Lord Bolton's son followed his father in the practice.

Domeric was a stranger to her then, but even still she had thought it a cruel jape for Greyjoy to play. He was a guest to their family, and deserved respect, and not ridicule. She suspected Theon's motives for it were deeper than something so trivial as his boredom or amusement.

"I have tried to instill its value into my son, but the arrogance of youth," he chuckled softly. "It is the secret to my long life. You must purge the bad blood." He revealed, "You do want to live a long life?"

She smiled, "Does not everyone?"

"They do." He did not return her smile. "But few will do what is necessary to insure it."

Sansa's smile slipped away. She would not let herself look like some insipid girl who could only smile and nod. She did not mind the silence that fell upon her and her future good father. Letting her wonder what had brought him to her room now.

Is this some sort of game to him? Does he think me a piece? To study and move about at his leisure?

His voice was as quiet as a whisper, but it was always heard. "Were you aware that Domeric had a bastard brother?"

"I was," She remembered how often he used to speak of him when they were in Winterfell. She saw how he treated Jon and knew he was thinking of his own bastard brother he was not allowed to meet.

He poured himself a glass from the pitcher. It was wine, and Sansa had enjoyed the sweet taste. She knew however her future good father preferred other drinks than the one she had. "Shall I call a servant to bring you hippocras?"

"That will not be necessary," He declined politely. He looked down at his glass, sniffed it and then sipped from it. "Did Domeric tell you what happened to him?"

"He did," It had been when they were on the march to the Twins. He had been distraught, and she had been worried. It had taken some gentle prodding, but she had gotten him to reveal it, to reveal all of it. "He is dead."

Something flickered over Lord Bolton's pale face at her declaration. "Did he tell you why?"

"He did." She knew her answer surprised him, by the quirk of one of his eyebrows.

"And what say you?"

A test, a game, she did not know, but she would not be frightened of it or him.

"He deserved it." She knew it sounded cold, but she did not wince at the truth. He had sounded like a cruel and terrible beast, more akin to a monster than a man.

"A man who commits such acts deserves nothing less."

Domeric had told me it all, how his brother would've killed him. It terrified Sansa. Her betrothed wanted a brother, and would've become a corpse. She would not forget his guilt. It had brought him low in his confession. How he feared that his foolishness could've led to malice and pain being inflicted upon her.

He wanted my name, my future. He wanted you, Domeric's dark eyes were hard, but she saw the pain of his guilt lurking beneath. I would've given it to him just because I had wanted to meet him.

The bastard is dead. Domeric is with me. Always.

She pushed the thoughts away. They were unwelcomed.

"And Lady Dustin says you have a soft heart of a foolish maiden," Lord Bolton seemed amused. "Her bitterness blinds her, and that is a veil she foolishly chooses to wear."

"Sansa," Domeric appeared in the doorway.

She would not show her relief at the sight of him in front of his father. She still welcomed him with a smile, grateful for his presence.

"Forgive my absence," He apologized. "I was delayed." His eyes on his father at the last line.

The two stared silently at one another, letting Sansa see some of the striking resemblance between the father and son.

It was her betrothed who broke it first. He turned back to her, and his smile was so sincere and affectionate showing just how different he could be to his father.

He is the better man. He is better than his father.

"Did you know Lady Sansa, that my son has always spoken well of you," He said quietly. "In his letters when he fostered at Winterfell, you were prominent in all of them.

Sansa willed herself not to blush at Domeric's kind, endearing nature and affection towards her. And how it stemmed even from before they were betrothed, to even before they were friends. She showed her appreciation by squeezing his hand where he sat beside her. "I am flattered."

He regarded her behind pale eyes. His face betraying neither thought nor mood in his quiet demeanor. "I, however, was disappointed at the thought my son had fallen for a pretty face and abandoned his wits in the pursuit of you."

"Father-" The rest of Domeric's interruption was silenced when his father turned to him.

"And now, Lord Bolton?" She challenged her future good father. I will not wilt.

"I see a young lady who can handle the mantle to become the next Lady of the Dreadfort."

"Thank you, Lord Bolton." It was as close to a show of support from Lord Bolton than she was ever likely to get.

"We are on the eve of a historic day. The joining of the two most powerful houses in the north." He stood up. One of his pale fingers was adjusting his collar.

"A wedding that the north has never seen. The union of Stark and Bolton." The faintest of smiles coming to his lips.

"It will be a great day," Domeric agreed.

Lord Bolton inclined his head towards his son, and then turned to Sansa. "It has been a pleasure, my lady." He left without another word.

She did not let the silence settle for long or allow her thoughts to remain on Lord Bolton. She turned to her betrothed with a teasing smile.

"So," Sansa said lightly, "What did you say about me in these letters?"

Robb:

Incest, There it was in his Father's writing. Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella, his stomach clenched.

Bastards born of incest between the Queen and her brother.

Myrcella's face flickered before him. She was smiling and her eyes were shining. Her golden hair curling and falling around her face.

This wasn't the face of a bastard, of a monster. It was of a princess. She was to be my wife.

He pushed the image aside. Targaryens have married brother to sister for centuries.

They are not Targaryens. And they were not married.

He still felt something stir when he thought of her. He could not help it. How could he forget her kindness? Her wit? Her loveliness? It would be easier if he could. If those feelings just dissipated in an instant, but they clung stubbornly.

Leave me, he prayed, wanting it all to be purged in an instant-his feelings and memories. My future was changed in the blink. It is unfair. Take them from me too so I can recover. Everything else has already been taken, why not this?

His prayers and questions were met with stony silence.

I cannot marry a bastard. I am the heir to Winterfell. Her parents were brother and sister. The Queen and the Kingslayer.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

She was a princess, my betrothed, and now she's, he paused not wanting to think on that word anymore.

"M'lord?"

Robb had reached his destination-the dungeons of Riverrun. "I'm here to speak to the Kingslayer."

Myrcella's father.

The guard looked bewildered, but he obeyed all the same. "Of course, m'lord." He moved forward, "Right this way."

Robb followed quietly. He was not sure this was the best idea, but here he was.

Let the others be bastards, but not her. A small voice inside him said. Let him claim Joffrey, and Tommen.

He stopped himself. What am I doing? What am I thinking?

Abomination, another voice whispered. It sounded like Septa Mordane. An affront to the gods. Bastards are condemned to the Seven Hells.

When he thought of Myrcella, he didn't think abomination. He did not follow the Seven, but she did not seem like someone who would be given such a fate in the afterlife. She is gentle, considerate, kind…

She's a bastard, The voice was even louder. Abomination. It hissed.

Robb's stomach churned. She deserved better than this. He ran a hand over his face. I still care for her. These conflicting emotions were making him nauseous.

Its the truth that makes you sick. The voice of Septa Mordane was chiding. Don't let a pretty face and a false heart lead you down the path of wickedness and damnation.

Our paths have already diverged, he thought softly. I cannot marry her. I am the heir to Winterfell. She is the daughter of the Queen and her brother, the Kingslayer.

"M'lord," The guard's voice pushed away his thoughts.

"Thank you," Robb watched the guard unlock the door before stepping aside. He moved to greet his most prized prisoner-the Kingslayer. Myrcella's father.

Jaime Lannister's blond hair was unruly and tangled. His beard dirty and growing. Even under such grime, his green eyes held a predatory hue and were alert. The smile he flashed to Robb was as sharp as the sword Robb carried.

"The boy returns."

"The boy who bested you, Kingslayer," Robb replied curtly.

"Bested me?" Jaime frowned, feigning in his recollection. "I do not remember our swords crossing, boy."

"They didn't need to cross for me to beat you," Robb was not in the mood to feed his prisoner's pride. "The Whispering Wood is evidence of that." He then gestured, "As are your chains."

Jaime looked him up and down. His face was stone. His chains clinking together. "I've almost got the melody down," The chains rattled once more. "It's very close. Perhaps you've heard the song? The Rains of Castamere."

"I have."

"Good," Jaime nodded. "So you wolves know what happens to those who cross the lion."

Robb ignored him and turned back to the guard. "Bring him some bread and wine."

The guard was surprised by the order, but he knew better than to protest. So he left to fulfill Robb's request.

"Wine?" The Kingslayer raised a golden eyebrow. "I'm flattered, but not interested."

He's infuriating. "I've not come to bandy words, Kingslayer."

The Kingslayer yawned. "Pity, I'd rather bandy words about." He leaned back from where he was chained. Looking like a man without a care in the world.

He knows he'll be free soon, Robb could not fault his confidence. He'll be released and we'll be seeing him across the battlefield once more. The Kingslayer was the only reason they had a chance of securing Father.

He is Myrcella's father, the voice was persistent.

Robb was thankful when the guard returned with the food and drink. He poured the wine and carefully gave it to the prisoner. The Kingslayer drank the wine greedily. He smacked his lips together and let out a content sigh. "My compliments, Stark."

The bread was next. His dirty hands clinging tightly to it. He used his teeth to tear a big chunk off.

Like a lion with his prey, Robb thought, watching the Kingslayer eat. "I must say it came as a surprise to me when I received a message from Dragonstone." He tried to pick his words carefully. "I always knew you were a man without honor, Kingslayer. However, I thought it was only one king you betrayed."

The prisoner's shoulders tensed. He swallowed the food he had in his mouth. His green eyes were hooded, but he did not speak. He was watching Robb carefully, as if he was the hunter and Robb, the hunted.

Undeterred, Robb continued, "So imagine my surprise when I learn its actually been two kings that you've betrayed."

"Really?" The Kingslayer's tone was cold and mocking. "This is news to me," He motioned for more wine which the guard did with a frown. Clearly not liking being bossed around by the prisoner. "And from Dragonstone, you say? So Stannis has finally broken his silence and stopped brooding." He sounded more amused than worried.

"Aye, he did," Robb confirmed. "He comes with the truth." He steadied himself, knowing he needed to watch the reaction closely. "The truth that you and not Robert are the Father of the Queen's children."

The prisoner didn't even blink. "Convenient," He drawled, "Since that would make Stannis the rightful heir to the Throne."

"He is." And it means you've doomed them. You've destroyed Myrcella's life. She deserved more than to have you as her father.

"Do you know what that makes you, Kingslayer?" Robb didn't wait for an answer. "A selfish fool, who ruined the lives of innocent children because of your lust and arrogance." Robb didn't bother to hide his disgust at the man before him. Fucking his own sister. It was too much.

They're behind everything, he thought. Lord Arryn's death, his father's arrest, the catspaw, and that's when it came to him. Bran, his chest tightened.

The Lannisters had sent someone to kill Bran and now he knew why.

"He saw you," Robb clenched his fist, "My brother saw you with the Queen, your sister that day in the Tower." It all seemed to click. Robb had gone on the hunt with Father, as did the King and a retinue of knights, guards, and soldiers, but the Kingslayer wasn't among them.

"You tried to kill him." Robb growled. "He was a boy! My brother was innocent and you, you-"

His fingers moved to his sword's pommel. His chest was burning, calling for vengeance.

I should run him through. It's because of him, Bran will never walk again.

Robb could see it in his mind's eye. It was so easy. It was so simple. Just a few steps and then he could plunge the sword right where the Kingslayer's heart was supposed to be.

Father, the voice puncturing through his hateful haze. We need him for Father.

That stayed his hand. It was the only thing that did.

Nothing, he felt the frustration bubbling up. The Kingslayer will give me nothing. I come for answers and all he gives is japes. He'll admit nothing, because he knows he will not linger here much longer.

I wanted to save her, while he has no problem condemning her.

"You may be free soon, Lannister, but it's over."

"Oh? I wasn't aware the war had ended while I was here."

"The war's over for your family, Lannister. Renly will march with the strength of the Stormlands and the Reach onto the capital where the Queen is," He noticed Jaime's jaw clench at the mention of his sister. "While the North, Riverlands, and Vale will march with Stannis and the Royal Fleet." He saw Jaime's brief flicker of surprise at the mention of the Vale joining the fold.

An empty threat as of now, but a convincing one. Let him scurry back in fear of what is to come-Wolves and vengeance.

"So it looks like your family is stuck between two armies," Robb did not try to hide his smile at what awaited the Kingslayer. "Outnumbered and soon to be crushed. No one will mourn you lions, or your son, the little shit who thinks he's a king."

Before the prisoner could respond, a new voice called to them. "Robb?"

He turned to the sound to see Domeric Bolton approaching. He handed him a letter.

Robb recognized the Lannister seal. He broke it and read the brief message.

They want to speak in person. He folded the letter back up. Some good news at last.

"What are you looking at?" The Kingslayer snapped, still upset and riled by Robb's previous remarks.

Domeric was unbothered by it or him. "I was just thinking I needed a new cloak." His dark eyes never leaving the Kingslayer, "A lion's skin, perhaps?" Domeric's smile sharpened, "To add to my collection."

Robb chuckled at the reaction his friend's words had gotten out of their prisoner.

He motioned for the guard to follow them out, which he did, locking the cell behind him. Robb didn't look back.

"Did you get anything out of him?"

"No."

I'm sorry, Myrcella. I wanted to save you, but I don't know how.