Ren awoke the next day with Lizzie in his arms and a pounding headache, made worse by the pounding at the door to his chambers.
Not just pounding... shouting, panic.
He sat up right away, ignoring the way his head spun - which was odd, he really didn't think he'd drunk that much the previous night - hurriedly pulling on his clothes and resisting the urge to fall back into bed. This better be worth it...
"What in hells name is that?" Behind him, Lizzie stirred irritably, eyes opening blearily. "What - Ren!" She quickly snatched the sheets up to cover her bare chest as he flung open the door.
A pale-faced, wild-eyed guardsman stood before him.
"What?"
"Sorry, ser," The man said, barely even glancing at Lizzie, which only proved how grave a matter this was. "I didn't know who else to come to. Gods, I don't know how else to say this... It's Lord Robb, ser - he's dead,"
Those words started what was perhaps the worst day of Ren's life.
His body acted on instinct, though his mind had yet to catch up at first. Ignoring Lizzie's exclamation of shock, he remembered marching down hallways in intent silence towards Robb's rooms, ignoring everyone he came across. Somewhere in the castle he heard wolves howling.
"They've been at it since before dawn, ser," One of the men said hesitantly. "Perhaps they knew,"
Likely they had. His dreams that night had been full of howls and snarls. Maybe it had been a sign, one he'd ignored.
One look at the bloody mess that had once been his cousin on the ruined bed was enough to want to lose his stomach, more so than any sight he'd seen on the battlefield. Ren stared for a few seconds, saying nothing as one of the men spoke about what had happened. Through the ringing in his ears, he vaguely noticed himself direct some sharp orders at the guards, to shut the door, to keep this quiet for now.
He then turned to the hysterical, sobbing woman - his cousin's own wife - who was covered in his blood and had confessed to cutting his throat in his sleep, and murder rose inside him.
"Why?" Was all he said, striding forward and slapping her sharply round the face when she just shook her head, still crying. "Why?"
"I - he - he betrayed me," Marianne Frey struggled to get her words out, looking both horrified and scared to death. "I saw him yesterday, with the maid, in my own bed,"
Ren took a breath. He couldn't panic, couldn't grieve, couldn't even think about the fact that Robb, his cousin, his friend, their leader, Lord Eddard's son, was lying on that bed with his throat slit in his sleep by this shivering girl.
He turned to the guards.
"One of you, find my mother," He said. "Bring her here, and don't tell a soul what has happened. If anyone asks, Lord Robb is spending the morning recovering after a night of revelry," A guard nodded, grim-faced, and left. Ren looked at one of the others. "You. Get Loreon Storm,"
Loreon arrived first. It was clear the guard had not told him a word of what to expect, as the moment he stepped into the room he stopped dead in his tracks, well and truly caught off guard by the scene before him. A hand raised to his mouth in horror, muttered curses on his lips.
"She did it," Ren practically snarled, waving a hand at the Frey girl, still sobbing in the corner. "She thought she saw him laying with a maid. Turns out it was only a redheaded knight,"
Loreon clearly saw the mask he wore, the wave of emotions he was barely holding back, trying not to think about. His friend had likely done the same when he watched his uncles die, his father too, and Ren was grateful when he refrained from any emotional outburst or display, simply took a breath to collect himself.
"Where is your mother?"
"I sent for her. Seeing as she's now the highest ranking adult Stark present,"
"She'll likely summon the Northern lords first," Loreon immediately started to plan. "There will be uproar. No doubt this will greatly disturb the treaty - there'll be whispers that the Lannisters paid her to do it..." He trailed off, looking at Marianne in dislike.
"Are we sure they didn't?"
"They didn't!" The girl burst out suddenly. "No one paid me, I made a mistake, a horrible horrible mistake, and now Robb's dead,"
Ren felt his own face darken, ready to strike her again, this time with the blade of his sword. It was only when Loreon grabbed his wrist that he realised he'd risen from his chair to actually do it.
They were distracted when the guard he'd sent to find his mother entered the room.
"I went to the stables, ser, milord," He said, nodding at Loreon. "Lady Bolton took a horse and several of her husband's men in the early hours of the morning to search for Lady Morganna. Think she went straight from the feast - I went to her rooms and her bed wasn't slept in,"
"What?" Ren got to his feet sharply. "Why? Where's Morganna?"
"Did you not hear, ser?" The man frowned. "Lady Morganna stole away last night during the feast and scared a stable boy into letting her go for a ride. Your mother was all of a panic last night when she was told,"
"For fucks sake! Damn that stupid fucking girl," Ren felt like punching the wall, pressure building on every side. "Find some of her guards, the ones that came with her from the Vale, and send them after her at once. Don't tell them why - just say the message is from me, and urgent. While they're at it, they can find my brat of a sister and drag her home kicking and screaming to throw in a tower cell," He glanced at Loreon then back again. "And call all the Northern lords into a meeting hall. I'll tell them all myself,"
First though, he would find his younger cousin.
Cold. She was very cold, stiff too, and hurting.
She was aware of voices around her, clashing swords and screaming, an endless nothingness that did somehow end, someone's lips on hers, being lifted and carried and slung across a horse, not necessarily in that order.
But most of all she felt the spark inside her, a tiny flicker of flame, which grew, and spread, warmed and burned her cold dead heart.
Because she was dead, she knew that much. Dead, yet somehow aware of lying on a forest floor with stones digging into her back and leaves in her hair.
Arya was with the wolves in the godswood. Crow stood still and watchful, but Ren knew he was furious. Nymeria was feral and snarling, whilst Grey Wind in particular was pacing up and down, making a lot of noise.
Having been sulking round Arya, the great beast raced up to Ren when he came within view, stopping just in time. The usually calm and dignified wolf was growling and restless, nudging him insistently with his nose.
"I'm sorry," Ren reached out to touch his cousin's direwolf. "So sorry. You already know, don't you?"
"Know what?" Arya was on her feet, a tiny thing at Nymeria's side but wearing a scowl on her face, eyes narrowed. "They've all been going mad this morning. I came to practice my needlework and they haven't stopped howling," He noticed the thin sword tucked into her belt.
Ren didn't know how to soften the blow to the girl that the last and eldest of her three brothers was dead. So he just said it, and watched as her face whitened, her eyes grew glassy, but her mouth set in a firm line that reminded him of his mother, and Lord Eddard.
"Who did it?" She asked almost viciously. "Who killed Robb? Tell me, I'll kill them myself, I will!" Grey Wind whined a little, nudging her shoulder with his nose.
"His wife," Ren said, not doubting her for a minute. The girl had grown hard during her time on the run, and (from the glimpses he had seen) could use that tiny sword of hers too. At this the biggest direwolf began to growl viciously again, and he had to raise his voice to be heard. "Unfortunately we need her alive to confess in front of the lords,"
"I don't care about some stupid lords," Tears began to fall from Arya's eyes, probably for the first time in a while, but her tone was no less violent. "I care about my brother being murdered! I bet it was the Lannisters, not his stupid weaselly wife. I saw them cut off father's head and now they've killed Robb too!" Once again, Grey Wind nudged her in what looked oddly like sympathy.
"Hey. Enough of that," Ren caught her hands in his as she made to rush past him, though privately thought she made a good point, and had been thinking much the same thing. Now he'd had some time away from his cousin's bloody corpse, the fact that Marianne Frey had suddenly turned killer did seem rather odd. Perhaps the Lannisters had indeed paid her, threatened her. It wouldn't have been the most evil thing they'd done. "Until my mother gets back, you are the highest ranking Stark here," He paused. "And heir to the North,"
Her eyes widened in realisation.
"Sansa's Lady of Winterfell,"
"Yes," Ren shook his head, chuckling humourlessly. "Gods help us, she is," Arya let out a choked, equally hollow laugh, rubbing her eye with a fist, clearly embarrassed by her tears.
"Where's Auntie Ross?" She asked.
"Chasing Morganna across the Riverlands," He grimaced. "Stupid girl went out riding on her own. Neither of them know, yet,"
At this, Grey Wind snarled more violently than before. Ren stared at the wolf a moment. No doubt it was behaving oddly as it shared a mind with Robb as Crow did with him, and was disturbed to have witnessed his last moments.
Arya nodded, and there was a pause.
"I'm going to practice more," She said abruptly. "I don't want to think,"
He himself felt the nudge of Crow at the edges of his mind, and whilst he wanted nothing more than to sink into the direwolf's skin and try to forget, he had to remain himself, for now at least.
The lords reacted to the news Ren brought as expected, with outrage, fury and dismay. Many called for the immediate execution of Marianne Frey, whilst others, as predicted, blamed the Lannisters.
"Look at the girl," Greatjon Umber was roaring, gesturing at the still shaking woman who had been Robb's wife. She still wore her bloodstained nightshift, arms folded self-consciously over her flat chest as she stood under the hateful glares and scorn of the lords of the North. "A brisk autumn breeze would blow her away, and you're telling me she killed our Lord Robb?"
"She was found in bed, covered in blood with the knife in hand," A Ryswell cried. "What more proof do you want? A confession? We have that too. Take her head, here and now!" There was a loud cry of agreement from many of the others.
"I believe what Lord Umber is trying to say," Roose Bolton's quiet voice silenced everyone. "Is not that the girl did not wield the blade herself, but that someone gave her incentive to do so,"
"Tywin Lannister!" Someone called out, to many curses and noises of agreement.
"Hang the Kingslayer!" Karstark added enthusiastically, still not having forgiven Jaime for slaying his son Eddard in battle.
"And the bastard lord's mother!" A Ryswell cried.
Gods, two more high profile deaths was all they needed. Ren locked eyes with Loreon across the hall and grimaced; his friend shook his head slightly, not rising to it. He was the only one permitted in the hall who wasn't of the North, as Lord Regent of the realm, and even then was only here to observe. It was good that at the Ryswell's words, many cast anxious looks his way.
"Tywin Lannister would benefit from the treaty as much as we would," Wendel Manderly spoke up. "He is not a foolish man, nor an impulsive one. Of course he is the first we would suspect of any foul play. Hiring an assassin to kill Lord Stark right before his arrival in Harrenhal would be madness, let alone paying or threatening Robb's own wife!"
Ren had shared his concerns about the Lannisters with his friend prior to this meeting, only for Loreon to share much the same views as Manderly.
"If Tywin didn't want this treaty, he would have refused," He had said flatly. "He needs it as much as we do, and understands it's his best chance of getting Joffrey anywhere near the throne,"
"But Robb has always said he would never accept Joffrey," Ren had pressed. "Obviously Tywin knows nothing of our plan to crown Tommen instead. Would it not just be paving the way to a smoother victory for him?"
"Not when he knows full well that if he tried to harm a hair on Robb's head, we would all suspect him straight away," Loreon had pointed out fairly. "My grandfather is not stupid. He knows how precarious his position is, a hairs breadth from losing everything no matter how he pretends otherwise. It would be a monumentally stupid move from anyone to kill your cousin. Tywin Lannister is not morally above doing such a thing, and wouldn't hesitate if it would benefit him in any way, but he's far smarter than that,"
Ren turned his attention back to the hall.
"So if it wasn't Tywin, who was it?" Lord Umber demanded.
"I must say, I struggle to believe that this girl simply slew Lord Robb in a jealous rage," Lord Bolton said. "She had everything a Frey could possibly want," She was Lady of Winterfell, with a good husband well above her station...
Ren didn't like to agree with his mother's husband, but the man had a point. Though he did not miss the way Marianne's terrified eyes darted over to Bolton, fear and grief giving way to anger and hatred for a split second, so quick he wasn't sure if he imagined it.
"Are you saying that someone else must have motivated her to do it?" Karstark frowned. "Who?"
"The result of Lord Robb's unfortunate death results in his sister becoming Lady of Winterfell," Bolton said carefully. "So, I suppose, anyone with a son they wish to marry to Lady Sansa,"
"That casts suspicion on everyone in this room," Donnel Hornwood narrowed his eyes. "Including yourself. The Boltons have been wanting Winterfell for millennia,"
"My own wife is a Stark," Bolton did not seemed even the slightest bit fazed. "Regardless of the fact that she would hardly be pleased with me plotting to kill her nephew, it seems rather optimistic to hope for a second Stark marriage in as many generations,"
"Enough of this," Ren spoke up, well aware that they were under no obligation to listen to him - a bastard - now Robb was dead. "It seems to me that Marianne Frey did not act alone. Despite this, there will be time to find Robb's true killer later. Lord Tywin marches on our gates as we speak, expecting to agree on a treaty. Do we accuse him of murder and turn him away? Do we fight him? Or do we keep the treaty in place and sign as planned?"
"It was a mistake to even entertain making peace with those Lannister bastards," The Greatjon growled. "We send a rider out to tell Lord Tywin to turn back, or face the wrath of the North," There were several murmurs of agreement.
"Or," Manderly suggested. "We believe what is obvious - the Frey girl murdered Robb - and make peace with the great powers in the land so we can return home to retake Winterfell and drive the Ironborn from our lands?" There was a larger noise of agreement at that.
"The Freys cannot go unpunished for this," Lord Bolton said coldly. "I say we return home, yes, but we do not go before taking revenge. Lord Robb was my nephew by marriage, and I'm sure Lady Rosennis would be pleased to see the house that killed him punished,"
"House Frey isn't to blame," Ren frowned. "The girl acted independently of her house however you look at it. Like you said, they had all they wanted. We don't need to make any more enemies,"
"We need a leader," Lord Karstark spoke up, slowly getting to his feet. "Or we won't get anywhere with all this deliberation and dithering. My house is distant kin of the Starks, and - "
"Oh sit down, Karstark," The Greatjon growled. "Bolton, where's that wife of yours? I don't care if she's grieving, get her down here. Lady Rosennis is the only legitimate Stark we have left over the age of fourteen, and has proven herself more than capable," Ren was gladdened to hear that most of the hall agreed.
"My wife is currently chasing down my foolish daughter who saw fit to steal a horse and ride out alone last night," Bolton said without a flicker of emotion. "I sent men after her when I found out, but she has yet to be informed of her nephew's unfortunate death. My own son Domeric went with them to find her,"
"Then for now, let us throw every miserable Frey here in the dungeons," Lord Karstark said.
"Give everyone some time to grieve, then rejoin later," The Greatjon added. "House Umber is sorry for your loss, ser," He gestured to Ren, who nodded in thanks.
"The wolves are still howling," Loreon noted as they all filed out of the hall. "Can they feel grief?"
"Yes, but it's rage you're hearing," Ren said. That was true for Crow at least, something he knew instinctively. "I've told the guards to not let anyone who isn't a Stark into the godswood,"
He didn't put it past any of the direwolves present to tear someone apart in that moment, and wouldn't trust Arya to stop them.
It was past noon when a group of Bolton men returned from their search for the lord's wife and daughter, led by three guards galloping into the courtyard. They loudly pushed their way through to the castle, one of them carrying a large bundle of pink rags.
"Lady Morganna is gravely injured," One was barking, shoving curious servants out of the way. "Move! She needs a maester,"
Ren's stomach dropped as he realised that the bloody rags were in fact his sister, so tightly wrapped up in the cloaks of Bolton men that he couldn't even see her face. He was just about to run upstairs after her, when he saw a similar but even larger bundle being carried on the back of the next horse as two men lifted it carefully off.
A crowd was starting to gather, and they all gasped as the fabric slipped and Domeric's face was revealed from within, pale and bloody. Ren wondered why they weren't getting his stepbrother to a maester as fast as they'd taken Morganna, but then it suddenly occurred to him that the young man was dead.
It was nothing compared to the stab wound that he had felt upon finding Robb dead, and if anything he had spent all his shock that morning. The pain of losing the man who had been one of his only friends as a young child simply registered as a dull blow, which would no doubt intensify as the truth sunk in.
"What happened?" Jaime, of all people suddenly appeared at his side, face completely serious for once. "I saw them rushing Mor - your sister in," He broke off. "Gods, is that the Bolton boy?"
"Aye," Ren was still rather numb. "He's dead. She's badly injured... went off riding alone, stupid girl, hence the search party. I - it must've been bandits, or something, that got them," He shook his head, disturbed. "I should go to her," Rather dazed though he was, he suddenly realised that his place was by his sister's side rather than gawping at his stepbrother's corpse. "Mother must have gone in with her already,"
He hoped she wasn't injured too, or worse, they hadn't found her.
Ren made to leave, only to be stopped by Jaime grabbing his wrist in an iron grip. He glanced at the knight, confused and slightly angry, to find him white as a sheet, eyes fixated on a point in the near distance, refusing to let go of his arm.
"What?" He asked, but then followed Jaime's stare and froze.
There was another horse coming through the gate, with another pink-wrapped bundle slung across its back.
Dread filled his entire body.
Though everything all felt rather distant and slow, like it was happening to someone else, he shook Jaime off and shoved his way through the crowd towards the horse, just as several men helped get the corpse off its back.
"Let me see," He must've demanded, as the men glanced at each other doubtfully. "Let me see!" His voice was half-feral, not to be argued with.
Rather reluctantly, they did. He realised then that he hadn't used up all his shock that morning, nor all his grief, only a fraction of it.
The woman was tall, slender, with long black hair streaming almost to the floor. She wore his mother's clothes, though they were ripped, bloody and covered in filth. Her flesh was marred and torn with what looked like animal bites. He made the mistake of reaching out to turn her head towards him, only to jerk back from the mutilated mess that must have once been a face.
"I'm sorry, ser," The rider dismounted, speaking apologetically. "Your mother clearly found your sister with Lord Domeric, but looks like they were set upon by outlaws on their return. All their valuables were gone, the guards dead, Lord Domeric and Lady Bolton too," He grimaced, clearly dreading informing Roose Bolton of the fact. "Your sister we found alive, but barely, she's been badly injured... so we hurried back before she could bleed out,"
"Her face - " Was all he could choke out.
"The wolves got to them before we did," The man looked regretful. "Sorry you had to see that, ser. Here," He recovered her face with the pink shroud.
"Ren!" Loreon was suddenly behind him, muttering into his ear. "Go on, just go inside, see if Morganna's alive. I'll sort everything, you don't have to be out here,"
Ren was in enough shock that he raised no word in argument, turning and shuffling back towards the doors. He heard Loreon barking orders to disperse the crowd, to respect the lady's corpse. Then he came face to face with Jaime, who had clearly tried to push forward too but struggled to get through the thickening crowd.
"Ren," The man grabbed him by the arm, rather wild-eyed. "I couldn't see, is she - "
"Don't," Was all he could say. Jaime's face darkened and he made to stride forward, but Ren grabbed his arm roughly, speaking in a harsh whisper. "You can't rush to her side, how will that look?"
"I don't care how it looks," He practically snarled, but thankfully kept his voice low. "Why aren't you with her now? She's your bloody mother,"
"She's dead," Ren said, his voice hollow. That silenced Jaime Lannister more effectively than anything he'd seen before. "Outlaws,"
Jaime opened his mouth then closed it. Without a word he made to push past Ren, but it was too late. The corpse was already being carried past them by several Bolton men, still wrapped in the pink shroud. Both of them watched, Ren stony and not quite there, Jaime in transfixed horror.
Without a word, the man turned on his heel and stormed away. Ren didn't bother asking after him. He himself was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Domeric. Robb. Mother, Mother, Mother.
His feet took him to Morganna's bedchamber, which wasn't the flurry of activity he'd expected from the display in the courtyard. She was alone aside from a maid, two Bolton guards and a fatherly-looking maester at her bedside. It took him a second or two to notice Arya curled up on a chair in the corner like a cat, watching her cousin over her knees.
Morganna herself was deathly pale, covered in filth and looked for all the world like a corpse. The covers were drawn up to her chest, and the sleeve of her dress had been removed, putting her heavily bandaged arm on display.
"Is she alive?" His own voice sounded far-off.
"Only just, ser, though it was a close call," The maester straightened up with a kind smile that woke him up from his daze a little due to the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "Lady Morganna hit her head, but more seriously suffered a deep stab wound to the arm that punctured a vein. She's very lucky to have not bled out. I've given her milk of the poppy, for the pain,"
Ren considered that for a moment.
"How come the wolves didn't get her too?" He turned to the guards. "I saw the others,"
"We found her some way from the others," The man said. "She must've run off during the chaos then collapsed. Smart girl,"
"Stupid girl," He said harshly. "If she hadn't run off from the castle she wouldn't be here," And Mother wouldn't be dead.
He felt much younger than his age in that moment, or perhaps had spent a long time feeling older and simply forgotten what it was to be a boy desperately wanting his mother again.
She was dead, yet somehow aware of lying on a forest floor with stones digging into her back and leaves in her hair.
What had happened? She thought back and came across a vivid, agonising grief and a vicious fury, a stabbing pain in the chest then once again that nothingness.
There had been a mad king, she knew that much. A mad king, flashes of green fire, long nails that clawed at her skin... but no, he was long dead. A golden sword had cut a red line across his throat and she'd never seen anything so sweet.
There was a dark castle too, with wolfskins on the floor, a man with cold hands and pale eyes - him! The flame raged and surged within her, hot, angry, screaming. She hated him with every bone in her body. He had killed her, he had buried his knife in her chest, but she had tried to kill him first... why? ... She couldn't remember if it was in a silent room at night with rain hammering on the windows, or in a haze of madness with blood all over the floor.
Unbidden, the image of four dark-haired children came to mind. An enormous black wolf prowled behind them all, rangy and menacing. Were they hers? They must be, she realised, from how her heart screamed in pain when one of the girls began to bleed and slowly sank to the ground, eyes imploring her to do something, to save her.
In the distance, a lord burned in a flaming column, one of his sons choking whilst another lost his head. His daughter danced before them all, carefree and wild, until a pale shade whisked her away, lost forever. She stared in horror, then realised another girl was there too, screaming silently all the while, standing alone until she too was brought down by a knife to the heart.
It was a collection of Lannisters - or near enough - that met in Loreon's solar that afternoon. Loreon, his mother and Uncle Tyrion.
Despite his conviction that Lord Tywin would not do something so moronically stupid as to assassinate Lord Stark days away from a treaty, Ren's doubts had stuck in Loreon's head. He had shared them with his family here, those that weren't currently indisposed (all but Jaime), and Tyrion had been unable to disagree.
"It is rather too convenient that both Starks who always vehemently opposed Joffrey are now dead," His uncle had said. Loreon was of no doubt that Ren would see the same, if he was in any state to discuss such things.
He didn't even want to let himself think about what Lady Rosennis' death meant aside from the cold hard facts, lest he spiral himself, so there being some intrigue to dwell on was a welcome distraction.
Given Morganna's unfortunate (or fortunate, depending how you looked at it) parentage, which was becoming increasingly more obvious, Loreon would have considered that Lord Bolton might've had a hand in killing his wife, had his own son and heir not turned up dead alongside the lady. And he had proven himself nothing more than a loyal vassal so far, surely he would not dare move against Robb in a castle full of people; and more importantly, would not jeopardise his ties to his wife's family, which brought his house further prestige and influence in the North.
This line of thought only made the prime suspects for the murder of Robb - his own family - look even more guilty.
It's just to make sure, Loreon told himself as he scribbled down on the parchment, before handing it to the waiting rider. The letter was a simple one, informing his grandfather of Lord Robb's death, and asking if he had a hand in it. There was no guarantee Tywin would tell the truth, particularly not in a reply to a letter that could be intercepted, but it was all he could do before the man arrived.
He glanced at his mother beside him as she finished her own letter, handing it to a different man though it contained much the same subject matter.
"Casterly Rock," She instructed him. "Please give it to my sister,"
Because as Tyrion had pointed out before he left to drag Jaime out of whatever pit he'd fallen into, whilst Lord Tywin wasn't so stupid as to risk everything to put someone marginally more pliable in Winterfell, Cersei Lannister most certainly was.
It was times like this when he needed to talk things through with Lady Rosennis more than ever. The lady always managed to help keep his head on straight and thoughts on track, was always brutally honest and had many sharp ideas of her own. He would miss that greatly. She was good company besides, witty and humorous when she let down that stony mask, with the kind of smile that didn't come often but somehow felt more deserved when it did.
Loreon shut his eyes briefly. No, he couldn't let himself grieve now, there was too much to do. Besides, it wasn't his place. Her children should grieve, her little niece, and Jaime who had known a different side of her to anyone else.
It was rather a good thing that Jaime wasn't present, in all honesty. He was rather too quick with a sword, and if he had any hint of what either his father or sister had done there would no doubt be a great deal of trouble for everyone involved.
He wasn't sure what he'd do if it was found out that Lord Tywin ordered the murder of Robb Stark. He hated to say it, but for the sake of peace he would likely keep that information to himself and let the North believe it truly was Marianne Frey acting alone. Of course, he would judge his grandfather greatly, not just for the truly despicable act but also the fact that the plan was nothing short of idiotic.
He doubted that he could even tell Ren given his closeness to the people involved, for surely his friend would react similarly to Jaime. They had similar levels of recklessness, even though Jaime's was a great deal more obvious. Where Jaime would run the man who killed Rosennis Stark through there and then, Ren would plot a nastier revenge.
"Jaime,"
He looked up at the sound of his name, preparing to scare whoever it was off, but then saw Tyrion, perhaps the only person whose company he would tolerate in that moment.
Not that he'd do more than tolerate it. Jaime looked away from his brother, back at the great weirwood tree he sat before.
The godswood of Harrenhal was huge, over twenty acres, with a stream running through it. The great white tree - the heart tree, Ross had called it - had a horrible, ugly face carved into it, full of hatred, with a twisted mouth and flaring eyes, and thirteen long scars from the sword of a Targaryen long dead. It was just the kind of face Jaime should be looking at in this moment, as it reflected his mood, or part of it, which wanted to ride out into those woods and gut every single stinking outlaw hiding there.
The other, marginally larger part of him just felt empty, lost and sad. That had been what brought him here.
The feeling was unfamiliar for Jaime. In days gone by, if anyone had dared to harm his sister he'd have seen to it that they died screaming, and if she was dead he would then have fallen on his own sword, so that they left the world together as they came into it. That was all very much purposeful, in a clear direction, but the idea of doing such a thing for Ross felt foolish, and he knew she'd scorn him for it.
Now, he simply did not know what to do, except sit here and aimlessly run a whetstone down the blade of his sword before the heart tree, alone with time to think, which was never a good thing.
Thankfully, Tyrion did not speak right away, simply pushed himself up to sit beside him on the rock, legs dangling above the ground. The two brothers sat in silence for a while, listening to the stream and the sound of the stone on the sword.
Of course, two Lannisters could never remain in silence for long, and given the current mood of course it was Tyrion who broke it.
"I didn't think you actually loved her," Of all the things to say... Jaime turned to look at him with mild incredulity, but he continued slightly apologetically. "I knew you liked her well enough. In a friendly sort of way. But she's so different from your usual type..." He managed to only let a hint of irony show through then. What, blonde and hateful? "I didn't know what it was, but I didn't ever believe it was love," He finished on a rather wry note.
There was a pause, as though his brother was waiting for him to confirm it.
"I never told her," Jaime said simply. "And she never told me,"
It had never felt necessary, like they were above things like that. And yet he had always known that both of them feared the other wouldn't say the same. Even now he wasn't sure if she would've replied in kind, or stared at him like he was foolish. They were good friends who had been more than intimate, that couldn't be denied, but had never crossed that final line.
He didn't think there was another person out there who knew him like Ross did, whom he could be completely himself around, them against most of the world. Stolen moments in secret, looks from across a room, coaxing those hard-won smiles out of her, and laughs too. Holding her when she cried, holding each other when they returned from Aerys' court with the smell of burnt flesh clinging to their hair and clothes. Never judging, always there.
She wasn't the most beautiful of women, but considering he could have any woman he wanted that hardly mattered. In Ross he had someone whose company he could enjoy without expectations, a welcome escape. It was always somewhat of a relief when she was near, like he could let out a breath, knowing everything would be alright. Between them, they could handle anything. She tempered him without restraining him, and he dragged her out of whatever stony state she'd sunk into.
"She did, though," Tyrion said. Jaime had almost forgotten they were speaking. "Love you, I mean. It wasn't obvious - nothing about that woman ever was, she was a Stark through and through - but if you looked close enough, those cold grey eyes lit up when she saw you, like a maid in a flight of fancy. She never seemed quite as tense when you were near. Her smiles came easier, and her laughs too,"
"We know each other very well," Was his only reply to that. "Knew," He looked directly at his brother then. "This isn't right. She can't have died by the hand of simple outlaws," He didn't mean that only in the sense that she was deserving of a better death, either. Something about this whole thing just didn't add up.
Tyrion paused, considering his next words.
"Ordinarily I'd tell you that it is what it is and you have to accept it, despite it not being the glamorous, meaningful death you wanted for her," He pushed forward, no doubt seeing the look on his face. "But in this case, I'm not so sure. I talked with Loreon and Giana, and they agree. It's very odd, that the two Starks most opposed to Joffrey died within a few hours of each other,"
Before he could reply to that, they were interrupted.
"Apologies, my lords," Dacey Mormont gave a graceful bow, though her eyes were red and puffy. "I was just looking for Lady Brienne. You haven't seen her, have you?"
"The big woman who dresses as a knight?" Tyrion shook his head. "Unfortunately we have not, my lady,"
"Oh," The woman seemed to deflate. "I've looked everywhere else she normally visits. This was the last likely place,"
"She was Lady Morganna's sworn shield, was she not?" Jaime asked with some interest. "Why wasn't she with the girl when she made her daring escape from the castle?"
"That's what I want to ask her," Dacey said rather fretfully. "She would never abandon her post willingly, nor is she foolish enough to let the girl go tearing off alone," Her face showed her worry. "It's very strange that she can't be found... Especially considering she's likely been gone since last night or Morganna would never have made it out of the castle,"
Jaime looked at Tyrion, whose face said everything.
"I'll help you look,"
Despite Dacey's insistence that Brienne would never just leave like that, Jaime went to the stables anyway, calling one of the grooms over.
"Have you seen Lady Brienne here in the last day or so? Big woman, wears armour, face like a dropped pie - you can't miss her,"
"Can't say I have, ser," The man considered. "I know the lady you speak of, her horse is over there. And we have none unaccounted for - all those missing are still out with the search parties yet to return,"
Jaime was going to leave it at that, but a thought suddenly came to him.
"What time did Lady Bolton leave this morning?"
"Not quite sure, ser," The man shrugged. "Aiden was the only one here to see her off," He nodded to a young boy nearby. Jaime thanked him and approached the lad, asking him the same question.
"Around the hour of the wolf, ser," The boy replied. "At least, I think it was her - no one spoke to me, I don't think they knew I were there. Was a tall lady in a black cloak, and she took Lady Bolton's horse, so must've been. Nasty beast, that one - not sure why the lady rides it, seeing how she struggled,"
"Struggled?" He frowned.
"Horse reared right up, ser - Lady Bolton shrieked and nearly fell," The boy said. "One of the guards had to reach over and take the bridle," What..?
Jaime looked at Dacey then, his own skepticism reflected in her eyes. He thanked the boy and grabbed the lady's arm, steering her up the stairs to the walls, away from prying eyes and ears.
"That wasn't her," He said. "Whoever went out this morning, it wasn't her. But someone's put in an awful lot of effort to make it look like it was,"
"Could she have just been caught by surprise?" Dacey asked, though sounded doubtful at her own words.
"Have you ever seen Ross be caught by surprise on a horse? She's the best rider I've ever met! It would be like me losing a spar to a farm boy with a rake,"
"Not to mention," The woman said slowly. "Even if she was caught out and thrown, she'd never make a sound, let alone shriek," She looked at him, eyes wide. "It wasn't her. But why would anyone want to pretend..?"
"They send a woman out disguised as Ross looking for Morganna," They were on top of the walls now, alone, and Jaime paced up and down, somehow less disturbed now he had something to do, even if it was examine the circumstances behind her death. "Ross' corpse returns, killed by outlaws then disfigured by wolves,"
"Her face!" Dacey realised. "It was unrecognisable on the body. Perhaps it wasn't Ross at all, but the woman from the stables,"
"I don't know," He wouldn't let himself get his hopes up. "Why would anyone wish to fake her death? It's more likely she was killed another way, and someone's used this as a cover,"
"Bolton men came back with her dead," She said, mouth setting in a grim line. "Bolton men knew about it. Her husband," Her hands flew to her mouth. "Gods, he must know about - " Her eyes darted to him and she broke off, looking rather abashed.
"Morganna was with them," Jaime ignored that. "We'll have to ask Ren to question her when - if - she awakes. And we'll still try to find Lady Brienne, but at this point I'm not sure we'll find her alive,"
"It's a big castle," Dacey said. An understatement. "It could take weeks for two people to search everywhere. And she might not even be here. If she's in a shallow grave somewhere outside the castle, we'll never even know,"
"Dogs could track such a thing," Jaime considered, then paused. "A wolf could track such a thing,"
He needed to find his former squire.
Ren was grieving, and rather resented his direwolf being used as a bloodhound to search through the castle, but agreed to Jaime's rather odd request nonetheless. Even if he was going on a wild goose chase, anything was better than sitting listlessly by Morganna's bedside, waiting for her to wake up.
It wasn't hard to convey to Crow what he wanted him to do, even though the wolf shared a similar disdain for the task that he did. They barely even needed the tunic Dacey had taken from Brienne's pack to pick up the scent. Ren was both the man that carried the lit torch down dark corridors and staircases, and the hulking beast leading the way with his nose.
It almost seemed natural to slip between forms now, as though he and Crow were one and the same, the changes in perspective no longer jarring and disorientating. The wolf walked in him as well as he ran in the wolf. He hadn't tried wearing Crow's skin that day, and found it dulled the pain of loss somewhat, though when he returned to his own body he found his own teeth gritted in a snarl, nails digging into his palms with thoughts of blood fading from his mind.
Crow's nose led them deep under the castle, to dungeons that smelled of death and had likely not seen light in decades, if not centuries. The darkness outside their torchlight was oppressive, and even he did not particularly want to look too hard into the abandoned cells to either side of them.
It was in this darkness that a pale shape loomed out of the shadows from one of the cells, Crow stopping directly in front and growling lowly.
The door wasn't even locked, but it didn't have to be. Even if Brienne had been conscious, she would not have been able to get off the raised wooden slab to which she was bound by tight straps. Her face was beaten and bloody, her eyes closed, but she was breathing at least.
Ren glanced around the room. Unlike the other remnants of tortures past they had seen down here, this cell actually looked to be in use. There was an array of gruesome looking instruments arranged on a nearby table, along with a multitude of notes on another. A shelf held row after row of bottled substances, all foul.
"Gods," Dacey swore, already moving forward to undo the bindings. Together the three of them carried Brienne over to the bench by the wall, and she seemed to stir awake.
"G-gedoff me," Her voice was slurred, likely due to concussion and her bruised lips, but attempted to be strong. "T-traitors,"
"Brienne, it's me, Dacey," The woman said softly, and Brienne looked up with bleary eyes, bloodshot and impossibly blue.
"Dacey," She struggled, clearly panicked but still not right in the head. "They... they took L-l-l... Took Morganna... I t-tried but... too many. Too many..."
"Who took Morganna?" Ren stepped forward, voice sharp as rage swelled in him. He heard Crow growl in the background.
"Guards," Brienne was clearly fighting to remain lucid. "Bolton... guards,"
"Did Morganna try to leave the castle?" He pressed. The woman looked confused. "Did she want to ride outside the walls?"
"In the morning," Brienne said. "She was... upset. Then she talked to... to Lady Rosennis. And then she didn't want to,"
All three of them looked at each other, disturbed and angry.
"We... have to save her," Brienne continued fretfully. "I'm... I'm her sworn shield,"
"She's safe," Dacey soothed her, words sounding true even though they were anything but. "Ren saw her less than an hour ago,"
"Oh..." The girl trailed off. "That's... good," Her head slumped, passed out. With some difficulty, they managed to lay her down on the bench so she didn't slide off.
"Morganna never left the castle," Ren said immediately after, furious. "Someone told my mother she did so she left herself, but I bet Bolton had her all along," He resolved to find out who had done so, and question them extensively.
"But I saw them carry her across the courtyard?" Dacey frowned.
"I saw a bundle of rags and heard men shouting about my sister," He said. "I did not see any part of her body,"
"That means Bolton injured her himself," Jaime said with raised eyebrows and a sharp, humourless smile, turning to Ren. "Your mother didn't leave the castle either, not alive at least. The woman who rode out this morning wasn't her - the stable boy said she couldn't control her horse and shrieked when it nearly threw her. Perhaps your mother died the same time as Morganna was injured and they simply carried out her body, mutilated it to be unrecognisable and blamed it on wolves and outlaws,"
The smile belied the rage and venom behind his words.
"There's no chance this isn't related to Robb's death," Ren said. "My mother might have come across Bolton in the act and he killed her for it,"
"But how do you explain Domeric's death?" Dacey pointed out. "Bolton would hardly kill his own son. And why is Morganna merely injured, not dead, if she saw it?"
"She's easier to keep quiet," Jaime said. "No one would listen to a young girl, let alone one who's proven herself to be foolish and reckless. And three highborn corpses are suspicious enough, let alone four,"
"Either way," Ren said. "Bolton did something. But we can't present it to the lords without having watertight evidence. They would never listen to a bastard, a woman or a Lannister, let alone the Kingslayer,"
"When Morganna and Brienne wake up we will have witnesses," Dacey said resolutely. "We'll find the boy who told Lady Ross that Morganna was missing, and if we can we'll get the woman who pretended to be her,"
"I'll try to get some time alone with Marianne Frey," Ren said darkly. "I'll get the truth out of her about Robb, at least,"
Loreon looked down at the parchment in his hands; the reply from Lord Tywin had been blessedly quick, given they were only a couple days march away. He wouldn't have put it past his grandfather to intentionally delay his reply to anything he sent; the fact he had not done so here was rather telling as to the importance the man gave this particular bit of news.
His reply only confirmed what Loreon already thought. Lord Tywin had dismissed any suspicion that he was behind Robb's murder, calling it a foolish idea and saying if he was plotting an assassination he wouldn't have bothered with agreeing to a treaty, let alone one he was days away from attending.
Of course, it could all be a lie, especially as this was in a letter that his grandfather would know would be shown to everyone in Harrenhal if it claimed the murder as Lannister work. But Loreon doubted it, strongly. He'd written further letters to various well-placed contacts in the Lannister camp, and they said much the same thing. There had been no plans to murder anyone in Harrenhal.
Honestly, Loreon believed that Tywin had no hand in it. His mother's letter, however, had still received no reply.
She realised then that she herself was screaming, inside, burning and sinking into death, or was it the reverse?
Her family faded away and a golden man stepped forward, not a hero but almost hers. If she could, she'd have cried in relief, sank into his arms and tried her best to forget... not that she knew what she wanted to forget, only that she'd lose her mind if she didn't. Or perhaps her mind was already lost and she wanted a mere respite.
As it was he just laughed at her, green eyes flashing, and that must have triggered something, for her own eyes abruptly snapped open.
She was indeed lying on her back on the forest floor. There were voices around her, and she sat up immediately, a hand clutching her pained heart, causing everyone else to jump half out their skins, some even making noises of alarm.
"Good gods, milady," One man chuckled. "You frightened the life out of me,"
"She woke from the dead faster than you wake from a kick to the head," A large man in a dirty yellow cloak grumbled.
"How are you feeling, Lady Bolton?" A man in faded red robes approached her more gently. He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn't place where from.
"Stark," She ground out, her voice very hoarse. "Lady Stark,"
Lots of people did not like the last chapter, which is understandable considering what happened. I got more reviews/comments on that than any chapter so far, however, so it's bittersweet haha.
I welcome any constructive criticism you feel like giving, though I will still be sticking to my plan for this story's plot. I hope this chapter clears things up a little - I should probably have waited to post the last until this was already done, and updated within a day of each other to prevent some of the upset, but there we are.
The whole Bolton plot will also become a lot more clear too in the next chapter - it is meant to be confusing here!
Thanks to everyone for reading and special thanks to those that comment/review!
...(on a completely unrelated note, have any of you heard of MBTI types? I was wondering what the characters in this story would be)...
