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I own Lenora Baratheon ... nothing more.

My name is Chloe Jane ... I give and I take (sometimes in the same chapter).

Chapter Twenty-two: What do you get?

Robb

She giggled as he pulled out of her. He smiled, her laughter was infectious and there had been many days where he had not heard it. He liked her laughter and he would do what he could to keep her happy and laughing for as long as he could. "Where are you going?" she asked him, her voice quiet and almost sleepy as she rolled over in the bed, laying on her stomach and watching him over her shoulder.

Robb started getting dressed, as he pulled his pants up and laced them he looked over his shoulder at the woman laying in his bed. She was a tempting sight. Her skin was warm and golden from the sun. Her dark hair fell down her back in wild, untamed curls. From where he stood he could see the dimples on her lower back, he smiled at the memory of dipping his tongue into those indentations not that long ago. There was a small constellation of freckles across her right shoulder that he had never noticed before.

"I was going to see my grandfather," he told her, moving closer to the bed. "Then I thought I'd check in the maester to see if there have been any ravens today." His mother had left a week ago for Highgarden to meet with Renly on his behalf. He knew she wouldn't reach Renly for another few days, but maybe she had picked up some news on the road.

"You were going to?" Lenora asked, her tone light and teasing as her silver eyes flitted over his chest. "Changed your mind, did you?" She was smirking at him.

Robb chuckled before he grabbed his shirt off the end of the bed. "No," he teased her, waving the shirt at her. "I just needed this."

Lenora groaned and rolled over onto her back, stretching her arms over her head, her back arching slightly. "Stay a bit longer?" she asked him, almost begging, though not quite. "It's so nice in here. You can almost forget that there's a war out there."

Robb chuckled and shook his head, "I'm a King," he told her, his voice gentle. "I'm not allowed to forget that there's a war out there. It's my job to win it. It's hard and it's messy. But it will be worth it."

Lenora sat up in the bed, covering herself up with the bedsheets. "Would you ever let me go to battle?" she asked him. Her voice was quiet, timid even. She knew what his answer would be, but she asked regardless.

Robb sighed, "We've discussed this, Nora," he told her, sitting down in the chair in front of his war table. "It's not that I don't trust you. I truly believe that you would not kill me or any of my men. I trust that you would not run away. But trusting you and trusting the world with you are two different things. I don't trust that a Lannister bannerman wouldn't capture you and take you from me. I don't trust that some lowborn foot solider on either side of the battle wouldn't rape you just because he's curious of what a highborn lady is like. I don't trust that you would be returned to me after the battle in one piece." He shook his head. "The battlefield is no place for a woman, Lenora, even one as well trained as you."

Lenora stood up from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her body completely and walked toward him. "You say that war is dangerous," she told him, her silver eyes begging him to reconsider his answer. "You say that it is hard work. That it's bloody business and a job. And you are correct, war is not a game. But, from where I stand, in my tiny corner of the world, it looks a hell of a lot like adventure."

Robb looked up at her sharply, his eyes scanning her face. She was standing beside his table, her arms wrapped around herself, holding on tight as if she was holding herself together. Her eyes were not as light as they had been earlier. Brushed steel instead of silver. She was looking out, over the balcony, past the castle walls, toward the camp that was currently set up just outside the walls of Riverrun. He could see it in her eyes, a restlessness. She didn't want to kill, but she wanted to fight. She wanted to be useful. This was as much her war as it was his, marrying him hadn't changed that.

"Something could happen to you," he told her, his voice soft, begging her to see it from his perspective.

"And then you would lose your most valuable prisoner?" Lenora taunted without looking away from the camp.

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head. "I would lose my wife." He watched her, realizing that he had to give her something. He could not ask her to stay at Riverrun when he marched on her grandfather. And he could not drag her from camp to camp and order her to sit in their tent and wait for him to come back. He sighed, "You've been spending time with the maester?" he asked her. "Since coming to Riverrun, you've been spending your days with him."

Lenora nodded, "There's very little else for me to do," she told him with a shrug. "Your grandfather's steward has given me free reign of Riverrun's library, but a girl can only read so much. And the maester has more wounded men than he can handle." She shrugged her shoulders again, finally looking away from the camp so that she could stare down at her feet instead. "He's just taught me a few things: how to dress wounds, stitching, when to administer milk of the poppy and how much. That sort of thing."

Robb nodded, "I won't give you a sword," he told her, his voice gentle. "I won't put you on a battlefield and ask you to kill men." She looked disappointed, she bit her lip to keep from arguing with him. "But," he continued, "you want to help, you want to be part of the effort. I understand that. Would helping the Silent Sisters after the battle suffice?"

Lenora looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. She hadn't expected him to give her anything. And this was more than she had expected. "Truly?" she asked him, taking a step closer to him. "You mean it?"

Robb nodded, "You have my word, Nora."

She smiled at him, grateful. Robb started to stand up from his seat, ready to go to his grandfather, but she stopped him with a gentle, restraining hand on his shoulder. "Wait," she whispered, moving around him toward his table. "Before you go I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" Robb asked. She looked so nervous, as if she was afraid he would be angry with her. He sighed, "Oh, Nora, what did you do?" he asked her, assuming that she had done something that he would think was wrong.

She didn't answer him right away. Instead she moved around him, not necessarily away from him, just to his other side. She absentmindedly picked up two of the carved wooden pieces, marking where various troops were on his war table. She held them up for him to see, the Stark direwolf in her right and the Tully trout in her left. "What do you get when you mix a wolf with a trout?" she asked him, looking at the two wooden pieces in her hands.

Robb chuckled, "A dead fish and a still hungry wolf."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Be serious, Robb," she commanded. "What do you get?"

Robb stared at her, unsure of where she was going with this. But if he looked at the trout as a representative of his mother and the wolf as his father then there was only one answer. "A wolf, I suppose."

Lenora nodded, "Five wolf pups to be exact," she told him. She put the trout back where she had found it, but she placed the wolf down on the table between them. She reached out and grabbed one of the stags that represented one of her uncles and a lion for some of the Lannister troops. "And what do you get when you cross a lion and a stag?" she asked.

"A dead stag and a less hungry lion?" Robb asked. Lenora glared at him, silently telling him that she wanted a real answer. He sighed, reaching around her to grab some wooden pieces. He placed four pieces in front of her in a line. A stag and three lions. He glanced up at her to see how she would react to that.

She smiled ruefully down at the four pieces, he wondered if this was when she was going to tell him that she believed the letter her uncle Stannis had sent out. They hadn't talked about it, but he was sure that she did. Otherwise she would go to see the Kingslayer, but she didn't. Not in the last two months, not since the night they were first together.

She reached out for the stag piece, her hand knocking over the three lions that symbolized her younger siblings. She held the stag for a moment, her thumb rubbing the carved antlers. Then silently she reached out to pick up the wolf piece that was sitting between them. "And," she whispered, drawing out the word as she handed him the two pieces. "What do you get when you mix a wolf with a stag?" she asked.

Robb stared down at the pieces in his hands, sure that the answer to her questions was obvious, but he couldn't think of it. A dead stag and wolf, he thought. All he could think about was that day before the King arrived at Winterfell when his father and his brothers had found the dead stag, and not far off, the direwolf with the antler run through her throat. But Lenora could not mean that, she hadn't seen it.

His next thought was of his father and hers. Both dead now. A dead stag and a wolf, he thought again. Did she mean that they would be the death of each other? He didn't want to think so.

When he didn't answer right away Lenora sighed, "Or, rather, a doe."

Robb shrugged his shoulders, "A lovesick wolf and a less than impressed doe?"

That one actually gained a laugh from Lenora. A quiet one. A short one. She held up a finger, silently telling him to stay where he was before she walked away from him. She walked to her cloak and pulled something out of one of the inside pockets. She walked over to him, she took the direwolf and the stag from his hands and traded them for the small object in her hand before she asked again. "What do you get when you mix a wolf with a stag?"

Robb looked down at the object in his hand. A small, tiny even, beautifully carved wolf. A pup. He felt his jaw drop as he turned to look up at Lenora. She had wrapped her arms tightly around herself again, she held so tightly that her shoulders shook with the effort. She looked as though she would break into a thousand pieces if he so much as touched her. His fist closed around the small wolf as he turned to look at her, his eyebrows knit together. "Nora?" he whispered, quietly, hesitantly asking her for confirmation. He may have been slow to guess what she was hinting, but he was not stupid. The little figurine in his hand could only mean one thing.

Her hands dropped from where they held on to her upper arms, instead they lowered to cradle her still flat stomach. Robb thought back to the last month or so; Lenora did not ride as often, she drank less wine, instead of practicing sword play with the knights of Riverrun she practiced with Theon's bow. It had not hit him until now that she had been resting, taking things easy. He stood up from his chair, knocked it to the ground in his haste to get to her. She flinched as his hands fell to her upper arms. "How long?" he asked her, his voice cracking a bit in his desperation. "How long have you known?"

"I missed my moon blood last month," Lenora told him, a blush rising on her cheeks. "I went to the Maester the day you sent Theon to go treat with his father. He did a test and," she paused, looking away from Robb, her blush darkening. "And he says that I am with child. Your child." She turned back to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes dark grey and cautious. "Are you angry?" she asked him, her voice barely a whisper.

Robb stared at her, all wide eyes and an open mouth. He could not believe that she worried that he was angry at her. He lowered his hands from her upper arms to her waist. A smile spread across his lips as he picked her up and spun her in a tight circle. She gasped at first, but her hands fell to his shoulders to keep her steady and she threw her head back, giggling. He set her down carefully on her feet, "Why would I be angry with you?" he asked her, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead.

"What cause would I have?" he asked, dropping his lips down to her right cheek.

"What have you done to harm me?" he kissed her left cheek.

"What sin have you committed?" his lips landed on the tip of her nose.

"What reason do I have to be anything besides the happiest man in the Seven Kingdoms?" he lowered his lips to hover above hers, not quite touching, but close. "Can you answer me that, my sweet, fertile little wife?"

She smiled up at him before she rocked up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. She kissed him fiercely, her lips parting and her tongue slipping into his mouth. She lifted her hands to his cheeks, as her arms lifted her sheet fell, exposing her naked body to him again.

She was breathless when he pushed her away, only an arm's length so that he still had his hands on her while he looked at her. She did not look any different. Her stomach was still flat, her breasts the same size. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.

He looked up at her, and gestured toward her stomach, "Can I?" he asked.

Lenora smiled at him and reached out. She gently grabbed his hand and placed it on her abdomen. Robb left it there for a moment before he gasped, "I think I felt it move!"

She laughed at him, shaking her head, "It's too early for all that," she told him. "Don't be daft."

"Daft," Robb agreed, shaking his head, still looking down at his hand splayed over her flat stomach. He looked up at her sharply, his eyes narrowed, "And you wanted me to let you on a battlefield!" he scolded her. "Even if I had considered it, I would expressly forbid it now. You honestly meant to go to battle while you are carrying our child?"

Lenora smiled softly at him and shrugged her shoulders, "I wouldn't have," she assured him. "I just wanted to know if you would let me."

Robb grinned down at her and shook his head before he pressed a hard kiss against her lips. "You are a tricky one aren't you?" he asked her, laughing happily as he pulled her back toward the bed. "Have you told anyone?" he asked her.

She laughed, "And who would I tell? Ser Willum? The Greatjon? Lord Bolton, maybe?" she shook her head at that. "Maybe I should send a raven to King's Landing and tell my brother. He would love that, wouldn't he?"

Robb was quiet for a moment, chewing his bottom lip as he thought. "I could allow you to send a raven," he told her, his voice gentle. "To your mother. I would have to read it first, of course, but if you wanted to tell her ..." he let his offer fade, waiting to see what she would say.

She shook her head, "My mother would tell me to drink Tansy tea and get rid of it," she told him. "I don't want to tell her. It's my father I want to tell. And since I cannot tell him, then I'd rather keep it between the two of us, if we could.

Robb chuckled, "Your wish is my command, My Lady, if you want to keep it quiet then that's what we will do."

-.-.-.-.-

Jaime

The way the guards quieted at the end of the hallway told him that someone important was coming to see him. The Your Graces told him that it was either Robb or Lenora. The you won't like the look of him told him that it was Len. They wouldn't warn Robb that Jaime didn't look good. They would, however, feel the need to warn Lenora off, to protect her lady-like sensitivities.

She moved slowly. He heard her stop at several other cells on her way down to his. She must have recognized other men. The more valuable prisoners were kept here. The Lords' sons and Lannister Bannermen. She would have grown up with some of them, spent most of her life with almost all of them, trained with many of them.

He couldn't hear the exact words she was saying, but he could hear her soft, gentle tone. She was soothing them. Probably bringing them water, maybe some food, possibly seeing to some of their smaller wounds. It was smart what she was doing; letting them see her, reminding them that she was there. If any of them were ransomed back to their families they would go back to Tywin and tell them that she was being well cared for. It was something Cersei would have done when she was younger. Though something told him that Lenora was doing it for less selfish reasons.

Finally she came to stand in front of his cell. She stared at him for a moment, through the bars, before she nodded silently to the guard who stood beside her. The man moved forward and unlocked the cell door, letting it swing open. Lenora's eyes never left Jaime, but she spoke to the guard, "I'll need a bucket of clean, warm water," she told the guard. "And some mulled wine."

"As you wish, Your Grace," the guard told her. He handed her the torch he was carrying and walked away. Lenora walked into his cell, her nose wrinkling slightly at the smell. She had the grace and the control to let no other sign of disgust show on her face. She stuck her head back out the door, "And a razor and soap," she called out to the guard.

She moved around the outer edge of the cell, her right hand grazing the wall until she found a wall mount for the torch. Once the torch was in place she walked closer to Jaime, kneeling down on the ground beside him. She was quiet as she looked at him, tilting her head first one way and then the other, squinting her eyes as she studied him. She bit her lip and reached out her hand for his head.

He flinched away from her. Not because he was afraid she would do something that hurt him, but because he was covered in his own shit and his own lice. She was his niece, she was a princess, and as far as the Northmen were concerned she was their Queen. She should not be subjected to his filth.

She clucked her tongue at him and shook her head. Then, stubborn as ever, she reached her hand out again and this time she ran her fingers through his hair, pursing her lips as she saw the lice jump away from her fingers in the torch light. She didn't want to feel bad for him, but he could see it in her grey eyes, his current conditions hurt her.

"Oh, Uncle Jaime," she sighed as the guard brought her the items she had requested. "What have they done to you?" She reached down and ripped a strip of fabric off the bottom of her dress. Jaime made a noise of disapproval. The dress she was wearing was too fine to waste on the likes of him. But Lenora simply shot him a look, silently telling him to keep quiet.

She bunched the fabric up in her hand and dipped it in the bucket of water the guard had brought to her silently. Her left hand held his chin in place while she used the right to wash the dirt, mud, and shit off of his face and neck. The strip of fabric did not stay clean for long and within a few minutes Lenora was ripping another scrap from the bottom of her dress. Jaime tried to stop her but she just shook her head, "I'm a Queen now, Uncle Jaime, hadn't you heard? I'm sure that I outrank you."

Jaime wanted to speak to her, but he was afraid he would chase her away. The last thing he wanted to do was to cut his time with her short. So instead of arguing with her he just nodded and shifted forward so that he was closer to her. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face, memorizing every freckle, as she quietly finished cleaning his face.

Once she was done she sat back on her heels, squinting as she looked at him. "The beard does not look that bad on you," she mused, but she pursed her lips. "It'd be easier for you to get rid of the lice if we shaved your head and face though."

Jaime shook his head, "You don't know me if you think that I will allow my niece to shave my beard, Len, I can do that on my own."

She smiled at him, "And you've lost your mind if you think that these guards will allow me to put a blade in your hand."

"Do they think that I'd use it to slit your throat?" Jaime asked her.

"They wouldn't put it past you," Lenora told him as she dipped the soap in the bucket of water and brought it up to his face, soaping up his beard. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Jaime was hurt at that, he wanted to think that Lenora knew him well enough to know that he would never hurt her. But she was watching him with cautious eyes as she started to shave at his beard. His hands were shackled together so they moved as one when he reached up to grab her wrist, stilling her movement and forcing her to look up from his cheeks to his eyes. "Your family name might have changed, where you live might have changed, you might hate me right now, but nothing will change how I feel about you, Lenora," he told her.

"Nothing?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Nothing."

She was still for a moment before she nodded, "That's good to know," she whispered as she shook her wrist free from his grip and began to work on his face again. She was silent until she had finished his right cheek. As she started on his left cheek she spoke again, "We're marching soon. Robb does not know the exact day yet, but probably by the turn of the moon."

"And will I be coming with you?" Jaime asked.

Lenora shook her head, "No, he trusts his uncle not to trade you to Grandfather. He plans to leave you here at Riverrun."

"But he'll bring you?" Jaime asked, "To march on your grandfather? You're willing to do that? To march on your own family?"

Lenora's eyes darkened, he had hit a nerve. "It's not like that," she whispered.

"What is it like then?" Jaime asked her. "Tell me Len. I don't blame you, necessarily, he forced you to marry him and it puts you in an odd situation where you have to choose between your family and feeling safe with your husband. But, you do not have to go so willingly."

Lenora shook her head, "He's kind to me," she told him, by way of defense. "Much kinder than I probably deserve considering what Mother and Joff did to his father. And what Joff is probably doing to Sansa. He would never hurt me to get to my family, he's more honorable than that."

"He's kind to you," Jaime sneered, "and that's all it takes to be an honorable man is it?"

Lenora glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows, "At least he doesn't fuck his sister," she bit out.

"Ouch," Jaime drawled out. "That one hurt, Len." Lenora watched him for a moment before she silently shook her head and raised herself up on her knees so that she could start shaving the hair on the top of Jaime's head. "Is that what it is then?" Jaime asked her after a moment. "This is all to get back at me and your mother?"

"Do you think I'm five years old?" Lenora snapped. She shook her head. "This isn't to get back at you and Mother. I don't hate you. I don't wish for your deaths or your ruin. This is about what is right. And what isn't. It wasn't right when you attacked Ned Stark and his men. It wasn't right when Mother imprisoned him for discovering the truth about the two of you. It wasn't right when Joffrey beheaded him." She shook her head, "All they want is their freedom. Robb doesn't want to see Mother's head on a spike, all he wants is to go home to Winterfell with his sisters and without the Lannister army following him."

"And what do you want?" Jaime asked her.

Lenora's jaw clenched, "I want to live in a world where I don't know what I know now," she told him after thinking about it for a moment. "I want to live in a world where my mother did not make a cuckold of her husband with her twin brother. A world where my three younger siblings weren't born of incest, but were trueborn. I want to be able to look at you without wanting to slap you across the face. I want to be able to respect you again." She paused and looked away from him, it was only when she reached up to brush some tears off of her cheek that Jaime realized that she was crying. "I want to live in a world where my family is not at war with my other family."

"The Starks are not your family," Jaime warned her. "They might have been, or at least had the potential to be, but not anymore."

Lenora put the razor down on the floor, well out of his reach. One of her hands fell down to rest on her stomach, she didn't seem to notice, it was an absentminded gesture, but Jaime noticed it. "They are my family, Uncle Jaime," she told him. "There's no going back from that now."

Jaime leaned back, studying the young woman in front of him. "Oh," he breathed quietly. "I see it now."

"See what?" Lenora asked.

"You're carrying his child." Her hand quickly dropped from her stomach and she shook her head, quickly trying to deny it, but it was too late. He shook his head, "Of course you are," he whispered. "Your mother had that same look about her when she realized she was carrying you. She softened, those rough edges of hers rounded out. She glowed. Her smile was less calculating and more content. And she did that," he nodded toward her hand. "Even before she started showing her hand was always resting on her belly, protecting you." He paused and reached out both of his hands toward her, attempting to cup her cheek. Lenora jerked her head away from him at the last moment. "I see so much of her in you."

Lenora shook her head. "I don't want it," she whispered quietly.

Jaime chuckled at that, she was as stubborn as ever, a trait he liked to think that she had inherited from him. "I see so much of myself in you," he whispered.

Lenora shook her head, though her lips turned up a bit at the edges, "I imagine that Joff, Myrcella, and Tommen have a bit more of you in them than I do, Uncle Jaime."

Jaime shook his head, she was trying to bait him. "Lenora," he whispered, he tilted his head to the side, watching her face. "You must know. That despite everything. You are more ... like a daughter to me, than any of the others."

"Well Joff and Tommen are boys, so it would be hard for them to be like daughters to you. Though ... Joff is pretty enough." She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. She was still angry at him, but he could tell that his words meant a lot to her. She leaned in, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I don't know when I will see you again."

"Or if?" Jaime asked her, raising his eyebrows.

"When." Lenora stressed. "I don't know when I will see you again, but I hope the next time we meet we will not be enemies."

Jaime shook his head, "I told you once, I will tell you again. We could never be enemies, Len."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Ser Willum asked as he and Lenora walked through the Godswood the next afternoon. Lenora turned her head and looked at the knight with her eyebrows raised, wondering what he meant. "When you went down to the dungeons," he specified. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Lenora smiled softly, she had thought she had managed to slip down to the dungeons without too much notice, but it seemed that even Ser Willum who had been off guard duty had learned of her visit to the prisoners. "Is this war so boring that you men have nothing to do, but discuss where a little girl wanders during her free time?" she asked.

Ser Willum chuckled at that. "No, Your Grace, the war's not too boring. But when the niece of the Kingslayer has not been to see him in months and finally decides to go talk to him, well, men find that interesting. Did he tell you any pretty stories? Make excuses for his unnatural acts with your mother? Turn your head against us?"

Lenora shook her head, "I find that it is hard for men to tell pretty stories when they are covered in their own shit," she told the knight, staring at him with narrowed eyes. She was sure that the knight had no control over how her uncle was kept, but all the same she found herself disappointed. Her uncle Jaime's conditions were horrible and inexcusable. She had railed at Robb about them the night before, but Robb had not been moved. He told her that his men would sooner have his head on a spike than see Jaime Lannister in any sort of comfort. Especially Lord Karstark.

"As for excuses, I would not accept them months ago, he knew better than to try to sell me on them now." She paused, a smile resting on her lips, "As for turning my head against you, who says that it was ever for you to begin with."

Ser Willum nodded, a wide smile making its way onto his mouth - wider than Lenora's. "I don't think it's your head that our King is worried will turn against us. I think it's your heart that he worries about. Stupid really."

"Stupid?" Lenora asked him, turning to look at the man walking beside her. "Stupid to think that I might choose to support the family I grew up with over the man I only just recently married?"

"You've been married to him for close to four moons now," Ser Willum told her, "seems to me that you haven't just recently done anything, Your Grace."

Lenora threw her head back and laughed. If she had been in King's Landing no one would have dared talk to her like that. But here, in the North, these hard Northern men took liberties that Southern men would have only dreamed of. It was refreshing. "All the same, Ser Willum, what motivation could I have to support Robb Stark over the family that raised me if given the chance?"

Ser Willum shrugged his shoulders, he bent down and picked a flower from the ground, turning slightly to so that he could present the flower to Lenora. "Because you love him," he told her, his tone almost bored. "And the King loves you."

Lenora lifted the flower up to her nose and smelled it, glancing at the knight beside her over the petals, "And what?" she asked him. "What has given you that idea?"

"The way you look at him, Your Grace," he told her, placing his hand gently on her back, just between her shoulder blades and gently guiding her further down the path they were walking. "The way he looks at you. I have been on this earth a while - I know what a girl looks like when she's in love. I know what a man looks like when he's in love. I don't believe being a King or a Queen changes the look much."

Lenora studied him, "You see more than you let on, Ser Willum."

The man nodded, "Aye, Your Grace," he told her. "I do." His hand was still on her upper back, he was still pushing her to move faster than the leisurely pace they had started their walk with. He was in a hurry to head back to the castle, though Lenora could not think of why. She squinted her eyes at him and watched. He had pushed her slightly in front of him now, blocking some of her with his body, his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword though the weapon was still sheathed. His brown eyes were tight as they darted from left to right, his head tilted slightly so that he could catch a glimpse of the woods behind them. It wasn't just her and Robb that he watched. He did see more than he let on, and whatever he saw in the woods made him nervous.

"What do you see?" she asked him, her voice a whisper.

Ser Willum shook his head, he wasn't going to answer her, but Lenora leveled him with a glare, one fierce enough that the knight sighed. "There's someone following us, Your Grace," he told her, his voice less than a whisper, she could barely hear it over the leaves rustling above their heads and she was standing right next to him. If she could barely hear him whoever was following them was even less likely to be able to. She started to turn her head to look over her shoulder, but she felt Ser Willum tense beside her. "Don't look, My Queen."

She nodded, "Who is it?" she asked, her voice low. "Friend or foe?"

"I do not know," the knight whispered back. "I have never seen the man before."

"How long has he been following?"

The knight shrugged, "I only noticed him a short while ago," he told her. "Though, that means nothing, he could have been following the entire walk and I am only just now noticing."

"Then how do you know that he is following?"

"He ducks behind trees," Ser Willum told her. "He takes every turn that we do. He follows."

"What should we do?" Lenora asked him.

"You, Your Grace, will continue walking to the castle," he ordered her, his hand turning into a fist around the handle of his sword. "You will walk fast, do not tarry, do not wait for me. I will come for you when it's over."

Lenora shook her head, "I will help you fight," she told him, "if that's what it comes to."

Ser Willum smiled at her and shook his own head, "My apologies, Your Grace, but I only have one sword. And I have too much honor to let a woman use it to defend me. Especially the woman I am sworn to protect."

"Honor is the death of most men," Lenora told him, thinking about Ned Stark in particular.

"Aye," Ser Willum told her, unsheathing his sword. "But not this one, not today." He patted her gently on the back, "Now go," he ordered.

Lenora sighed, but did as she was bid. She did not get far before she heard the clash of steel. Any thoughts that Ser Willum had been overly cautious flew from her mind. The man the knight saw had indeed been following them, and it seemed that the stranger had less than friendly intentions.

She paused for a moment, just a moment and then she turned and quickly walked back toward Ser Willum. He may have only had one sword, but Lenora was not going to let him fight alone.

It was stupid, she realized - grabbing the small tree limb from the ground. What good would a glorified stick do against a sword, but she had to try.

The stranger was dressed well, he had the silver trout, but he was no man of Riverrun. Lenora had spent enough time walking through the castle, she knew the men, if only by their faces. She had not seen this face before. He lunged forward, striking at Ser Willum's face, the knight tried to block the sword, but he did not move fast enough, the sword blade sliced him from his right temple to his left jaw. He had been far enough away that the cut was shallow, but it still bled something fierce.

He moved forward quickly, swinging his sword at the man, using his free arm to wipe the blood that was dripping off his face. Out of the corner of his eye he must have seen her because as he continued to fight the stranger he spoke out, "I told you to go back to the castle, My Lady," he told her, his voice stern. He didn't call her Grace, he was hoping that the stranger did not know that she was the Queen. She was much less valuable as a Lady then a Queen.

The man looked up and chuckled, "She's a Queen, I hear," he told Ser Willum, easily sidestepping on of the knight's advances. "You know it. I know it. Calling her Lady isn't going to keep her alive any more than that stick in her hand."

Lenora felt as if her feet were glued to the ground and her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. She should have run to the castle, she should have screamed for help. But she couldn't move, she couldn't scream. This was the fourth time in her life that someone was trying to kill her and she felt just as helpless as she had been when she was a babe, poisoned in her crib.

The men fought for several minutes; thrashing and lunging, hacking and grunting. Steel clashed against steel and slashed through skin. They were evenly matched until the man stepped forward, swinging his sword and disarming Ser Willum.

Lenora would have grabbed the sword, but it flew behind the stranger, landing too far away from her. Now Ser Willum was standing between her and her would-be killer with nothing to defend them. "Lenora," the knight told her without looking at her. His voice was calm, but Lenora knew the man had to be extremely worried to address her without the proper formalities. This is why she listened to him when he told her to run.

She turned, still clutching her stick as she gathered her skirt in her hands and ran as quickly as she could back toward the castle. She could hear the man's footsteps behind her. He was running faster than her, not having skirts to deal with. She turned to look over her shoulder, he was gaining on her, soon enough she would be within reach of his sword.

She turned to face forward again, looking down to make sure that she wouldn't trip over any tree branches and started screaming. She knew that no one in the castle would be able to hear her, but maybe, if she was lucky, Grey Wind might. And if the giant direwolf wasn't with her, he was with Robb.

"Shut up," she heard the man growl before something collided with the small of her back. The pain was so intense, that it was blinding. Her scream died on her lips as she inhaled, trying to process the pain and keep moving. But her legs were not cooperating. She started to fall, letting go of her stick to throw her arms out in front of her to catch her and keep her face from slamming to the ground.

She groaned, turning her head to look over her shoulder, he had thrown a rock at her, she could see it, laying on the ground not that far away from where she had fallen. The man was still running toward her. If her legs did not want to work she would pull herself toward the castle. She groaned again as she reached her arms forward, digging her fingernails in the dirt and bending her elbows, slowly and painfully dragging her body forward. Gaining no more than a foot for all the effort she put into it.

She was going to die, she knew it. And from the look on the man's face it was going to be a slow and painful death. He would not be gentle with her.

She reached her arms forward again, bending the elbows and pulling herself forward another foot. She reached forward a third time, tears filling her eyes at the pain. She couldn't stand up to face him, but she would not just lay there on the ground, waiting for him to run her through with his sword.

He was laughing as he gained on her. Laughing as he raised his sword. Laughing as the direwolf appeared, almost out of nowhere and leapt over her, his teeth barred as he snapped at the man's throat.

Lenora would have laughed at that. Would have rejoiced as the wolf separated the man's head from his body. But she didn't have it in her to laugh. She didn't even have it in her to turn and look behind her. She could barely breathe, barley move. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open.

She reached her arms forward a fourth time, but before she could pull herself any further away from the bloody attack that was still going on behind her, her eyes closed.

The darkness was almost comforting.

Author's Note:
Because nothing in the Seven Kingdoms can be happy for long, you know?
That's all I've really got to say about that.
I hope that you guys liked this chapter, even if it wasn't the happiest.
You should stop by that review box down there and let me know what you thought!
To the review heroes from yesterday, I thank you!

HPuni101: You're more than welcome for another "great" chapter. I hope that you enjoyed this one as much as you enjoyed yesterdays!

Arianna Le Fay: The prophesy ... one of my favorite parts about that chapter. As for your question: if you noticed as Queen in the North Lenora's current crown is made out of two different types of metal. Two ... not three. But the prophesy mentions three. You are a smart one, no one else picked up on that! Or at least, no one else asked about it. So yes, I would say that it is safe to assume that Lenora will be crowned at least once more, though I won't say with who.

That's all I've got for now. Perhaps we will meet back here tomorrow.
Until then,
Chloe Jane.