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I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.

-.-.-.-.-

And I'm back! I've missed posting! Here is the new chapter. It's a bit short, but the chapter that's on deck is really good. I'm thinking it will be posted on Wednesday ... BUT if I get a lot of reviews on this chapter I MIGHT (probably will) be persuaded to post it TOMORROW.
Just something to keep in mind...

Chapter Eleven: A Lady in a Whorehouse

Lenora

She was sitting in Bran's bedchamber with the injured boy and Old Nan. Nan was trying to lift the boy's spirit with stories, like she used to tell him, while Lenora sat in a chair beside his bed, sewing a dress. For all her mother's careful planning she had packed her daughter with very few dresses that were warm enough for the Northern summer, let alone the coming winter. So she had started making warmer dresses, dresses fit for the North. They weren't as bright as her old dresses, nor were they as ornate. They were dark colored, simple dresses, but they would keep her warm. And she wouldn't feel like such a spectacle when she walked around Winterfell.

She was wearing the first one she had made now. It was a long sleeved, her shoulders were covered, the neckline was higher than her usual, straight across, just below her collarbone instead of plunging like her southern dresses. The dress was made up of two pieces, the dark purple gown worn over her corset. The gown fell to the floor, its sleeves were tight and long, ending just above her wrists. Then there was the black surcoat on top, it had gold touches - gold thread embroidered into beautiful designs around her arm, just above her elbow, and on the edges in the front next to where the surcoat laced across her chest, bits of purple gown peaking through the laces. The surcoat's sleeves were also long, but they flared past the elbow so that when she moved her hands one could catch glimpses of the gown's purple sleeves. The surcoat flared as it got closer to the ground, revealing more and more of the purple gown underneath.

When Robb had seen her in the dress at breakfast he had let out a low whistle. "I must say," he whispered once she sat down beside him. "I miss the old necklines, but this dress suits you."

She had gotten quite good at this, she realized with a smile. She was working on her third dress now. Her septa had taught her how to make dresses in King's Landing, not that she had ever gotten much practice. There were people to make her dresses down there. These dresses were a trial by fire, but it turned out that she had more skill than she would have guessed. Though, she was happy for the dark colors, they were more forgiving of the blood from her countless pricked fingers.

She looked up from her embroidery and smiled when Bran complained about the story that Old Nan was telling him. The young boy glanced at her, no doubt his attention caught by her snort. "Can you tell me a story?" he asked her.

Lenora looked at him, studying him with her lips pursed for a moment before she put the dress she was working on down. She leaned closer to him. "What kind of story would you like to hear?" she asked him, smiling at him encouragingly.

The boy smiled back, happy to have gotten his way. "Any story you want to tell me," he told her, turning slightly to glare at Nan. "I just want something new. I'm sick of all of Nan's old stories."

"Have you ever heard of the Night's Queen?" she asked him, her voice dropping to a whisper. She remembered Bran saying that he liked the scary stories. And her favorite story had always been the Night's Queen.

Bran shook his head. "There was no queen," he told her. "Just the Night's King, Brandon the Breaker killed him."

Lenora smiled at the young boy in front of her. "And how did he become the Night's King?" she asked him, her tone teasing. Bran's eyebrows came together and his eyes narrowed, he couldn't think of an answer for that question. Lenora smiled and nodded to him, "Exactly," she told him. "Now are you going to listen to the story or are you going to keep interrupting me?"

"I'm going to listen," Bran told her, staring at her with wide, excited eyes.

Lenora nodded and the smile slipped from her lips as she leaned even closer to Bran, "Eight thousand years ago, Westeros experienced a winter that lasted an entire generation," she whispered, setting the scene for the story. "The winter was so dark, so cold that it's called the Long Night, because for many, many years no one in the Seven Kingdoms saw the sun. Babies were born in the dark and, if they were lucky, they died old men in the dark. Kings froze to death in their castles, no different than the shepherds in their huts. Crops were buried under feet and feet of snow. Women would smother their babies just so that they wouldn't have to watch them starve.

"It was then, in that dark and cold, that the White Walkers came for the first time. They swept through cities and kingdoms as the waves sweep up on southern beaches, devouring everything in their path. They rode dead horses and hunted with packs of pale spiders as big as your wolf. There was no hope.

"But up North, the Night's Watch was busy building their Wall. And, as always is that case, after winter comes spring and finally summer. As the days got longer and the sun made the world warmer we were able to drive back the White Walkers, back beyond the Wall. And the Night's Watch was tasked with manning the Wall forever more, to keep the evils beyond the Wall at bay.

"Shortly after the Long Night the Night's Watch got a new Lord Commander, no one knows his name now, it was forbidden to use it. Many believe that he was Bolton, or an Umber, maybe a Flint, a Norrey, or a Woodfoot. But I have often heard tell that he was a Stark, the brother of the King in the North, your Brandon the Breaker -"

"No!" Bran interrupted her. "It couldn't have been a Stark. There's no way."

Lenora leaned back in her chair and shrugged her shoulders, "I didn't say he was a Stark, I just said that I've heard the tale told that way."

"Well it's wrong," Bran told her. "Tell it right."

Nan snorted from her side of the bed and Lenora glanced at the old lady and smiled, shaking her head silently, but indulging the boy all the same.

"Very well," she told him, "maybe he wasn't a Stark. But no matter what he was he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. And one day, he was searching for something in the woods beyond the Wall. If he found what he was looking for no one knows, but he did find something. He found something cold, and pale, and beautiful. A snow white woman with bright blue eyes.

"He should have left her. He should have killed her. He should have killed himself. But she was as beautiful as she was terrifying and he fell in love with her. There, in the wood, he made love to the woman with skin as pale as the moon and eyes as blue as stars. She had a magic about her, one that men will never understand, and when he gave her his seed she took his soul. He no longer belonged to the Night's Watch. He belonged to her.

"He brought her home, he led her through the Wall and told his Black Brothers that he was no longer the Lord Commander. He had made himself a new name, the Night's King. And this white, cold woman would be his blue eyed Night's Queen. He bound the brothers of the Night's Watch to him through sorcery and for thirteen years he and his Queen ruled over the Night's Watch from their seat at the Nightfort. During those thirteen years the Night's King and Queen made sacrifices of the Black Brothers to the Others, the White Walkers. And it seemed as if no one would ever be able to stop them."

"Except for Brandon the Breaker," Bran supplied from the bed.

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, "Well if you know the rest of the story so well, why don't you tell it to me?"

Bran shook his head, "You tell it better." He was quiet for a moment, "I never knew there was a Queen."

Lenora smiled, "Brandon the Breaker killed her as well," she told him, noting the look of pride that flashed in the young boy's eyes at the mention of his ancestor. "My uncle Jaime used to tell me this story was the reason that he would never marry, that women were all evil and that a man gives them his heart they will take his soul."

"He's also, no doubt, who told you the the Night's King was a Stark."

Lenora turned toward the door to Bran's chamber and smiled when she caught sight of Robb, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching her, a smile resting on his lips though his eyes were tense with some unknown worry. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

"Long enough to know that Bran will have nightmares for weeks," he told her, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. He clapped Bran on the shoulder and ducked down so that he could make eye contact with his younger brother, "Hodor's on his way up, your presence is required in the Great Hall. We have guests." He glanced up at Lenora, his blue eyes intense, "You should probably come too."

Lenora raised her eyebrows, she was surprised. She hadn't needed to be present during other visits during the last week. She wondered what was so different, but she got her answer soon enough. "Who is it?" Bran asked.

Robb's eyes never left her face, "Tyrion Lannister."

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

Their guests were not admitted to the hall until he was seated in his father's high chair. Lenora sat in his mother's place to his left and Maester Luwin to his right. Theon and Hallis Mollen stood behind him. He watched Lenora, her hands gripped the arms of her chair and her grey eyes darted around the hall, lighting on the dozen or so guards the lined the walls. She was nervous and tense, he hadn't meant for that. He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers, gently moving each of her fingers so that she was no longer gripping the chair.

She turned to look at him and flashed him a tight smile, but quickly looked away as the doors to the hall opened and their guests were admitted. Tyrion entered first with several of his servants, they were followed by four men dressed in black, brothers of the Night's Watch. Lenora's smile relaxed a bit at the sight of her uncle and Robb felt, more than he saw, her shift in her chair as if to stand to greet her uncle. His hand became a restraint more than a comfort as he tightened his grip and kept her in her chair.

Hodor carried Bran into the hall and Robb nodded, finally ready to greet their guests. "Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as he wishes to stay," Robb told them, his eyes glossing over Tyrion and his servants to land on the black brothers. He felt Lenora stiffen beside him. She had noticed what he had left unsaid - he men of the Night's Watch were welcome at Winterfell, her uncle was not.

He watched her grey eyes fall to the sword in his lap. It was unsheathed, an intentionally hostile message to the Imp. Not only was Tyrion not to be welcomed at Winterfell, but Robb would use force, if necessary, to remove him.

"Any man of the Night's Watch," Tyrion repeated the words, "but not me, do I take your meaning, boy?"

Robb stood from his seat, letting go of Lenora's hand so that he could point his sword at Tyrion, "I am the lord here while my mother and father are away, Lannister. I am not your boy."

Lenora made a soft noise of restraint from beside him and he watched from the corner of his eye as she stood up from her seat as well. She didn't move any closer to Tyrion, but he could tell that she wanted to. Tyrion's eyes landed on her and the hard look on his face softened. Robb realized that no matter what could be said about the Lannisters they cared for their own. A lion would always protect his pride, even the little ones.

"Lady Len," Tyrion greeted her, sweeping into a low bow that would have looked mocking if he hadn't worn such a sincere look on his face when he rose. Not only did he care for Lenora, but he respected her. "You look well." His eyes swept over her, narrowing with concern when they landed on the fading bruise on her temple, they darted to Robb for a moment as if he believed that Robb had caused the injury to his niece, before lowering further and taking in his niece's new style of dress. "The North agrees with you, it would seem. I shall be happy to pass on a favorable report to your mother and father when I arrive in King's Landing."

Lenora nodded her thanks and smiled at her little uncle, "Thank you, Uncle," she told him. Robb could tell that she wanted to say more, but her eyes darted around the hall and she must have decided that now was neither the time, nor the place, to continue their discussion.

Tyrion nodded at her and Robb was sure that he winked as well before he turned back to face Robb. "As for you," he began, not at all bothered by the sword that was still pointed at him. "If you are a lord, you might learn a lord's courtesy. Your bastard brother has all your father's graces, it would seem."

"Jon!" Bran gasped out from the back of the hall.

Tyrion turned to see the boy, noticing his presence for the first time since entering the hall. "So the boy does live?" he asked, turning back toward Robb and Lenora. "I didn't believe it when I read the raven's message. You Starks are hard to kill."

"And you Lannisters had best remember that," Robb threatened as he gestured to Hodor for the man to bring Bran toward the front of the hall. There was an empty seat for him beside Lenora.

Tyrion watched as Lenora moved out of the way for Hodor and once Bran was seated in the chair she moved closer to the boy, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Robb watched Tyrion.

"We were told you had business with Bran," he told the dwarf. "Well here he is, Lannister. What is your business?"

Tyrion took a step closer to Bran, his eyes studying the boy intensely. Robb readjusted his grip on the sword. A silent warning. The Imp's eyes flickered to the sword for a moment and he stopped moving, he had gotten Robb's message. His gaze returned to Bran, "I am told that you are quite the avid climber, Bran," he started, his voice surprisingly gentle given the sword in his face. "Tell me, how did you fall that day?"

Robb held out a restraining hand, silencing his younger brother and speaking for him. "Bran does not remember anything from the fall, or the climb before it." Tyrion's eyebrows raised slightly, he hadn't expected that. Robb continued, "My brother is not here to be stared at or questioned. Do your business and be on your way."

"Very well," Tyrion said with a nod, barely even looking at Robb. "I have a gift for you," he told Bran. "Do you like to ride, boy?"

"My Lord," Maester Luwin interjected, Robb watched as Lenora shot Luwin a grateful look, at least one of the Stark men was treating her uncle with the respect she thought he deserved. "The boy has no use of his legs, how do you expect him to sit a horse?"

Tyrion chuckled and waved his hand as if the fact that Bran was paralyzed was a nonissue. "With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"I am not a cripple!" Bran cried, tears filling his eyes.

Lenora was by his side in a moment, she knelt beside the chair so that she was closer to Bran's level and she reached out, running her fingers through his hair, whispering something in his ear. Robb couldn't hear what she said, but he watched as his brother relaxed under her words and her hand. He was grateful that she was there, no matter how hard this situation must be for her; pinned between her uncle and her betrothed.

"Then I am not a dwarf," Tyrion announced with a rueful twist of his lips. "My father will rejoice at the news."

"What sort of horse and saddle are you suggesting, Lord Uncle?" Lenora asked, still kneeling on the floor, but turning to look at the small man before her.

Tyrion took a roll of parchment from his belt and held it out to Maester Luwin, "A smart horse," he started as Luwin took the parchment from him and carefully unrolled it. "As Bran cannot use his legs to guide the horse you must mold the horse to the rider. Train an unbroken yearling to respond to the reins, to his voice. The unbroken horse is the key, there will be no old training that must be unlearned." He nodded toward the parchment in Luwin's hand, Robb glanced at it, it was a sketch of a saddle, though different from any saddle he had ever seen before. "Give that to your saddler, he will be able to do the job."

"Will I truly be able to ride?" Bran asked, leaning forward in his seat so that he could get a better look at Tyrion.

Tyrion nodded, "You will," he promised. "And I swear to you, boy, on horseback, you will be as tall as any of them."

"This is a trap," Robb accused. "Why should we trust you Lannister? Why would you help Bran?"

"Because your brother Jon asked it of me," Tyrion told him with a surprising amount of honesty. "And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things." His Lannister eyes landed on Lenora when he said the words broken things. Robb moved instinctively to stand in front of Lenora, to shield her from view.

The doors to the hall flew open and sunlight streamed into the room as Rickon burst in, giggling as the three direwolves chased him playfully. Robb smiled at the scene for a moment, but the playfulness quickly departed as wolves caught on to Tyrion's scent. All three of them started growling.

"The wolves don't like your smell, Lannister," Theon chuckled.

Lenora stood from where she knelt and moved toward Robb. He hand slid down his arm, to grasp his hand. "Robb," she whispered quietly, "stop them."

But Robb didn't listen to her. He stood and watched as Summer and Grey Wind lunged at Tyrion, tearing at his clothes and knocking him to the floor. Bran reacted quicker, calling off Summer. And when Robb didn't call off Grey Wind Lenora did, calling the wolf with a calm, but strong voice. Robb was surprised when the wolf listened to her, growling one last time at her uncle before walking toward the front of the room and positioning himself between Lenora and Robb.

It was just Shaggydog now. Bran commanded Rickon to call off his dog and after one tense moment when it looked as though the direwolf was not going to listen to boy finally all the wolves were called off.

As soon as Shaggydog had walked away Lenora moved, almost flying across the hall to help her uncle stand. "Are you alright?" she asked her uncle, refusing to let go of his hand once they were standing.

Tyrion smiled at her and reached his short arm up toward her face. Robb watched as the woman ducked her head down so that Tyrion could hold her cheek, cupped in his hand, "Of course I am, Sweetling. My sleeve is torn, but nothing that can't be fixed." He turned toward Robb and bowed stiffly, "And now, I will be leaving, truly."

He turned to take his leave and Lenora shot Robb a reproachful look, she was disappointed in him. He watched her for a moment before he sighed and sheathed his sword. "I may have been too hasty with you, Lannister. You have done my brother a kindness and the hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

Tyrion scoffed, his eyes landing on Lenora for a moment, "Spare me your false courtesies, boy. You have no love for me. I know a place or two in Winter town, where I will be more than comfortable for one night. I leave for Kings Landing in the morning."

-.-.-.-.-

Tyrion

The place he knew in Winter Town was a brothel, but that didn't matter to Tyrion. He had always been more comfortable in brothels than in castles. What did bother him was than an hour after he had arrived at the brothel, his niece appeared in his room.

He didn't mind seeing her, but she shouldn't have been there. Tyrion had never been good at hiding the fact that Lenora was his favorite of Cersei's children. She was smart, and quick, gentle and beautiful, and so pure. Her purity seemed to be more obvious than ever as she was led into his room by one of the many women who called the brothel home. If Lenora thought it was improper or insulting to be surrounded by prostitutes, she did not let on. The difference between the two women was unsettling.

Ros, he remembered the girl's name from his first visit to Winterfell, was wearing a dress that was practically see-through, the laces that held the dress together at the front were loose and her large breast strained against them, hinting at what was to come, the rose buds of her nipples pressed through the spaces between the laces. The sight of her would have been lurid enough if she weren't standing beside Lenora.

Lenora on the other hand, stood tall and proud. Her dress hinted at the curves of her body underneath it, but there were no hints of skin, no improper displays. The dress she was wearing now hid more of her body than he was used to. Away from her mother, Lenora had blossomed into a true lady, one with proper decency. She was regal, not just in dress, but in action. She was kind to Ros, smiling at the redheaded woman and even bowing her head in gratitude for bringing her to her uncle. She was kinder than any Lady was expected to be to a prostitute.

"You have more grace than Cersei," Tyrion told her as he stood from the chair he had been sitting in, reading, and walked toward her. "And bigger balls than Jaime."

Lenora blushed at her uncle's words and she looked down at the floor, embarrassed. Tyrion chuckled, "Now where was that shame when you walked into this brothel. No lady should be here, let alone the daughter of a king." He paused for a moment, studying her, "This is no place for you, Lady Len."

"This is no place for you, Uncle Tyrion," she argued.

Tyrion chuckled, "On the contrary, a brothel is the perfect place for a dwarf. This is the only place where when people look at me the first thing they see isn't my short stature." He winked at his niece, "Or, at least I pay them enough that they pretend not to see it."

"That's not what I see when I look at you," Lenora told him, taking a seat at the small table in the corner of the room.

Tyrion's smirk softened into a smile and he walked closer to her, pausing for a moment to pat her hand before he down across the table from her, "I know it's not, Sweet, that's why you were always my favorite."

"And I thought I was your favorite because I was the only one in the family who could keep up with you, intellectually that is."

"That too," Tyrion agreed with a nod. He leaned across the table to hold her hand. He had missed his niece during his weeks on the wall and he was well aware that his time with her now was short. He truly would leave for King's Landing in the morning. "Tell me Len, does your betrothed know that you are here?"

Lenora's face darkened at the mention of Robb Stark and she shook her head. "That stupid boy," she whispered. "That pigheaded, stubborn Northerner. He thinks he's a wolf, but he's nothing but a pup. One of these days he will have to learn what being Lord of Winterfell really means." She glance at her uncle and sighed, "I'm so sorry for how he treated you, Uncle Tyrion."

Tyrion waved off her apology. "I could not care less how he treated me. What I care about is how he treats you." His eyes scanned her face, his gaze once again landing on the faded bruise on her temple. "Tell me, Child, and tell me true," he commanded, lifting his hand so that he could rub his thumb across the bruise, grimacing when she flinched at the touch. "Did Stark do this to you?"

Lenora quickly shook her head, "No, Uncle," she promised. "It was the man who attacked Bran. Not Robb. He may be a stubborn Northerner, but he would never."

Tyrion nodded, "But you'll tell me if he ever does treat you poorly?" he pressed.

"And you'll do what?" Lenora teased, "kill him?"

"Gods no," Tyrion chuckled, "I'll send Jaime to kill him."

Lenora smiled at him, "I wish you would come back to Winterfell with me, Uncle. You would be welcome there now."

Tyrion waved her off, "I'm much more comfortable here and much more likely to find entertainment."

Lenora nodded and stood from the table, she bent to press a kiss against Tyrion's cheek. "Safe travels, tomorrow, Uncle," she wished him and she started to walk toward the door. She turned, just before the doorway, "Uncle Tyrion?" she asked.

"Yes Child?" Tyrion replied.

"Why were you reading in a whorehouse?"

Tyrion chuckled, "I require the attention of several ladies, a habit Jaime got me accustomed to the last time I was here. I was waiting on my favorites."

"Your favorites?" Lenora asked, eyebrows raised, no doubt surprised that her uncle had favorites in Winterfell. He had not spent long there. She shook her head, "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"No you do not," Tyrion agreed with another chuckle.

She had just opened the door, preparing to leave when Tyrion called her back. "Lady Len," he called out. Lenora turned to look at him, a small smile resting on her lips. "You have never deserved the title lady more than you do now, this day. Your mother would be proud of you."

Lenora glanced around the room in front of her, "It's not hard to be a lady in a whorehouse, Uncle Tyrion. I don't need my mother to be proud of me for this."

Tyrion smiled at her, "On the contrary, it is not hard to be a lady in a castle surrounded by lords and knights. It is truly difficult to be a lady here. And if you won't take your mother's pride, take mine. I am proud of you."

Author's Note:
And that's all I've got for today!
As I said above, I will probably post again on Wednesday, though if I get a lot of reviews on this chapter I might post again tomorrow. Up to you guys really.
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!
Thank you for reading!
DannyBlack70: Thank you for your review on the last chapter! I'm glad you enjoyed Robb's worry. He is kind of falling for Lenora. She's falling for him too, though I don't think she wants to admit it. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too!
That's all I've got for now!
Until next time!
Hugs and kisses,
Chloe Jane.