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I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.

My name is Chloe Jane and when I'm sick I'm such a baby that my husband's mother comes to take care of me.

Chapter Twenty-three: Blame

Catelyn

The ride to Renly's camp had been hard and fast. It had been many years since Catelyn had seen Stannis and Renly Baratheon, but she still remembered them. She knew them. Once Stannis made his move from Dragonstone he would wage war on Renly. A smarter man would have marched on King's Landing and taken the Iron Throne; then, once his throne was secure, he would have taken on the pretender of a younger brother.

But Stannis was too proud for that. And he been slighted one too many times when it came to Renly. Catelyn could still remember how Lord Stannis' face had darkened after Robert won the Iron Throne and place Renly at Storm's End. Stannis had held Storm's End for the entire war, he had kept it out of the Targaryen's hands even when it meant his people starving. And Robert had repaid his brother's strength and effort by giving their family's seat to Renly, who had not fought for it, not bled for it, and was still just a boy.

Stannis had left Storm's End because his brother, the King, had commanded him to. He had gone to Dragonstone because his brother, the King, had commanded him to.

And now that his brother, the King, was dead and Joffrey Baratheon was believed to be the bastard son of Cersei and Jaime Lannister, Stannis planned to take his spot on the Iron Throne as the right of birth allowed him.

But his stubbornness, his pride would not allow him to do this until he had beaten Renly and scattered his army.

This was the reason that Catelyn and her escort rode so quickly toward High Garden. She hoped to get to Renly before Stannis did. She hoped to persuade him to give up his claim to the throne. And if she couldn't do that she hoped to persuade him to march on Tyrion Lannister with her son instead of fighting a doomed battle against his brother.

She did not look forward to meeting with Renly. She had warned her son, it had been years since she had last seen Renly Baratheon. He had been a boy when she had married Ned and she had not seen him since. She wanted to stay with her father, the maester was convinced that his time was small and the last thing she wanted to do was ride south to treat with Renly when her father needed her at Riverrun.

But Robb would not change his mind. He, himself, could not go to Renly. Her father was too sick. The Blackfish too useful. It would bee too dangerous and foolish to send Lenora, Renly might just keep her at his camp. He could not send Edmure because he needed his uncle to hold Riverrun when they marched. He could not send a simple soldier, or even a knight. It would be an insult to Renly to not send someone of value. He had briefly brought up the idea of sending the Greatjon south to speak with Renly on his behalf, but his mother had quickly told him no to that idea.

And fallen straight into his trap, she had only realized when her son had smirked at her. He was his father's son. He knew the Greatjon would be the wrong man to send to Renly. He had never intended to send the Lord south. He had only needed his mother to think that he would if she refused him.

So here she was, traveling toward the Upper Mander. They were not entirely sure where they would find Renly's camp, but from the last report they had heard he had not traveled far from Highgarden where the majority of his host came from. She was traveling in a small group: twenty of Robb's best men, all from Winterfell, and five northern lordlings. Not his most important Bannermen, but men who's names and high birth would add weight to what she had to say when she met with Renly.

They were still a half a day's ride from Highgarden when they were taken. Catelyn's scout, Robin Flint had galloped back to them from where he had been ranging far ahead. He told them of a man, a pair of far eyes, watching from the roof of a windmill. By the time their party reached the windmill the man was gone, but waiting for them were twenty of Renly's outriders. They were mailed and mounted, each of them armed, and led by a grizzled greybeard of a knight with bluejays on his surcoat.

When he saw their banners he left his men behind and trotted up to her alone. "My Lady," he called, still a safe, respectful distance away from her. "I am Ser Colen of Greenpools, as it please you. These are dangerous lands you cross."

"Our business is urgent," she answered to him, her voice soft and gentle, but she hoped that it would leave little room for argument. "I come as envoy from my son, Robb Stark, the King in the North, to treat with Renly Baratheon, the King in the South."

"King Renly is the crowned and anointed lord of all the Seven Kingdoms, My Lady," Ser Colen told her, though his voice was courteous and he did not bristle near as much as his men did when she called her son King in the North. "His Grace is encamped with his host near Bitterbridge, where the roseroad crosses the Mander."

So he had traveled further from Highgarden that Catelyn had thought they would. Though Bitterbridge was probably the median point between Storm's End and Highgarden, the two kingdoms that had declared for Renly most readily.

"It shall be my great honor to escort you to him," Ser Colen continued The knight raised his hand and within a moment his men formed a double column, quickly flanking Catelyn and her escort on both sides.

Catelyn watched them silently. Escort or captor? She couldn't help but wonder. Then her mind wandered to Lenora. She imagined that this was much how Lenora had felt since she had ridden from Winterfell with Robb and his men. They were married now, she was his chosen Queen and his men seemed to respect her. But there were days when the young woman would get quiet, when her smile did not quite reach her grey eyes, when she watched the men around her and Catelyn was sure that she was running through the odds of a successful escape.

But much like Lenora, she had little choice in the matter. She could do nothing, but trust Ser Colen and Lord Renly and believe that no harm would come to her or her men while she was being escorted through the countryside.

They could see the smoke from the cookfires an hour before they saw the river.

They could hear the sounds of the camp: the yelling voices of men, the clash of steel, the winey of horses - a half hour before the saw the river.

They could smell the camp fifteen minutes before they saw the river.

But neither the smoke from the fires, the noise, or the smell could prepare them for the sight of the camp when they finally came in sight of the river. Thousands of cookfires were lit. The forest had to have been felled to make the tall staffs that held the banners. The horse lines seemed to stretch out for leagues. There were more tents than fires, it seemed, the pavilions of the knights and high lords sprouting from the grass like colorful, silken mushrooms. There were men with spears, men with swords, knights in their mailed shirts and armor, arches fletching arrows, teamsters driving wagons, pages running messages, squires honing swords. Robb's camp, at the height of his support, before Edmure sent the River Lords home - each to defend their own lands, paled in comparison to this.

Almost all the great houses and high lords of the south had come to Renly's call. Everywhere she looked Catelyn's eyes found the golden rose of Highgarden. But there was also the fox-and-flowers of House Florent, Fossoway apples of both red and green, Lord Tarly's striding huntsman, oak leaves for Oakheart, cranes for Crane, a cloud of black and orange butterflies for Mullendores.

That didn't even include across the Mander where the Storm Lords had raised their own banners. Renly's Bannerman from Storm's End. There was Bryce Caron's nightingales, Penrose quills, Lord Estermont's Sea turtle. Those were just the ones she recognized. There was, she estimated, close to one hundred standards that she did not know, borne by the small lords sworn to the bannermen, hedge knights, and freeriders. A large host of men who came to make Renly King of the Seven Kingdoms in fact, as well as in name.

On the highest staff, towering over all the others, flew Renly's standard. A shimmering gold banner, with the crowned black stag, prancing upon it.

As they rode into the camp Hallis Mollen trotted close to her, "My Lady," he asked her, his voice quiet. "What is that?"

She did not need to ask him what he meant, she could hear it too above the normal, expected noises of a war camp. Shouts, horses screaming, the clash of steel, and ... "Cheering," she answered, raising her eyebrows at the Winterfell man and wondering why they were hearing this sound. They were riding up a gentle slope toward a line of brightly colored pavilions at the top. Once they passed between the pavilions, she saw.

Below them, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, a melee was in progress.

Catelyn shook her head and pursed her lips. She had meant to ride south and treat with a man who called himself King. Instead she found a boy, still, playing at war.

Ser Colen had requested that Catelyn leave her men at the top of the ridge near the pavilion. It was a request in name only, Catelyn recognized an order when she heard one, but she obeyed all the same.

The knight dismounted from his own horse, handing the reigns to one of his men, before he reached out for the reigns of Catelyn's horse. He silently and gently led her through the crowd of lords and ladies and knights - all to focused on the end of the melee in front of them to be too curious about the new arrival. But Catelyn watched them, marking the ones she knew by name and the ones she only knew by sigil.

There in the middle of the large, happy crowd, watching and laughing with his young, beautiful queen by his side, sat a ghost in a golden crown.

Catelyn gasped, when her gaze landed on Renly. It was no small wonder, now, why so many lords flocked to support him. He looked like Robert, young and ready to take the Iron Throne all over again. He was handsome, as Robert had been handsome before too much wine and women had fattened him. He was tall and broad shouldered with that same dark brown, almost black hair. And those silver eyes that sparkled out of the face of Catelyn's own, new daughter by law.

His crown, a slender circlet made of gold and shaped into many stag antlers suited him well. He wore a crowned stage, worked in by golden thread on his dark green, velvet tunic - the Baratheon sigil in Highgarden's colors.

His young bride was from Highgarden too.

Their marriage the glue that held this large southern alliance together.

Out on the melee field, another man lost his seat to a knight in a rainbow-striped cloak, and the King shouted approval with the rest. "Loras!" he yelled. "Loras! Highgarden!" Margaery Tyrell, Renly's Queen and sister to the Knight of the Flowers, stood and clapped her hands together excitedly.

Catelyn turned to watch the end of the fight. There were two men left, Loras Tyrell and a knight who wore dark, cobalt blue armor and carried a morning star. The two knights danced around the open space, hacking and slashing at each other. And for a moment it looked as though the Knight of the Flowers would win the melee. He swung his battle axe hard and true, splitting the blue knight's wood shield in half. The force of his swing carried him past the blue knight, his back turned as the taller night in blue, fell to his knees. But he was not ready to give up yet, he swung the morning star in his right hand with so much force that he lost his grip on the weapon. It hit Loras Tyrell in the back of his knees and the young knight started to fall.

He turned toward the now weaponless blue knight, battle axe at the ready, but the unknown knight had one more trick up his sleeve. He lunged forward, arms wrapping around the Knight of the Flowers and dropping him to the ground. His left hand flicked open Loras Tyrell's visor as his right drew a long dirk out from his side, holding it to the young knight's face.

The crowd's angry cries were so loud that Catelyn could not hear Loras Tyrell, only his lips as she saw him say, Yield. I yield.

Margaery, who had been standing up for the last part of the melee, sat down, an almost self-conscious blush coloring her cheeks.

"Well fought," Renly commended. "Approach."

No one cheered, if they weren't crying Boo at the blue knight they were silent. Catelyn climbed off her horse and turned to the knight beside her, "Ser Colen?" she asked him, catching his attention. "Who is that man and why do they dislike him so?"

Ser Colen frowned, "Because he is no man, My Lady," he told her. "That is Brienne of Tarth. Daughter to Lord Selwyn the Evenstar."

"Daughter?" Catelyn parroted back, surprised.

She watched as the blue knight knelt in front of her king. Renly smiled and nodded, "Rise," he ordered. "Remove your helm."

The knight stood and when the blue helmet had been removed Catelyn saw that Ser Colen had told her the truth. There in front of Renly stood the most unfortunate woman she had ever seen. Her dirty blonde hair was tangled and knotted. Her blue eyes large and very blue, and innocent like a young girl's. Her features were course, her teeth prominent and crooked, her lips so plump they looked swollen, her mouth too wide. Freckles speckled her cheeks. Her nose had been broken, more than once.

Catelyn felt pity swell in her chest at the sight of the woman. She had never thought of her own Arya as ugly, but there was something in the proud, almost defiant way, Brienne of Tarth looked around her at the men who would not cheer her victory that reminded Catelyn of her own small, wild daughter.

Renly's smile widened, though Margaery looked upset. "You are all your father promised and more, My Lady," Renly congratulated her. "I have seen Ser Loras bested once or twice before, but never in that fashion." Much to the Knight of the Flower's shame he named her the champion of the melee at Bitterbridge, the last standing of sixteen knights. "You may ask of me any boon that you desire. If it lies in my power, it is yours."

"Your Grace," Brienne answered, almost too afraid to look at Renly's face, it seemed. "I ask the honor of a place among your Rainbow Guard. I would be on of your seven and pledge my life to yours. To go where you go, ride at your side, and keep you safe from all hurt and harm."

Renly studied her for a long minute, and for that time Catelyn tensed, for some unknown reason she was sure that he was about to dash the poor young woman's hopes and tell her no. Instead he nodded, "Done," he told her with a smile. "Brienne of the Rainbow Guard."

He started to clap his hands and slowly some of the onlookers joined in, though none of them seemed particularly enthusiastic about it.

Ser Colen pushed through the remainder of the crowd as they clapped, leading Catelyn until they stood before Renly and his young Queen. "Your Grace," Ser Colen started. "I have the honor to bring you the Lady Catelyn Stark, sent as envoy by her son, Robb, Lord of Winterfell."

"Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, Ser," Catelyn corrected him as she moved to stand beside him. She would not require Ser Colen to speak for her anymore.

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

He sat by her side, watching her. She was asleep, had been for three straight days. The maester had been pouring controlled amounts of milk of the poppy down her throat to keep her that way. He had told Robb that she would heal faster, easier even, if she could sleep through it.

Robb didn't like it though. He didn't like how small she looked in the bed. He didn't like how pale she looked against the furs. He didn't like how breakable she seemed, especially now that he knew that she could, in fact, be broken.

He hated the way his arms ached for her during the few hours of sleep that he allowed himself each night. He would wake up in the middle of the night, reaching out for her before he remembered that she was in their bed and he was on a cot alone. He hated the maester could not tell him if she would be whole when she woke up or if she would be like Bran. He hated that he was beginning to wonder if he would ever see her silver eyes again.

His bannermen had been sympathetic the first day. They had been patient with him the second day. But now on the third day they were beginning to whisper. It was time they started marching. If Robb intended to keep his army he would have to leave Riverrun soon. His men needed a fight. And the longer he stayed at his grandfather's castle the more people would whisper that he was afraid to face Tywin Lannister in the field again.

But he had yelled when the Greatjon had suggested leaving Lenora at Riverrun when they left. He would not leave his wife here to suffer alone. He would not allow her to wake up alone and confused. He would wait, as long as it took, until she opened her eyes again. And then he would stay at Riverrun until she was ready to leave.

He had left her side, only for a short while, to pray in the Godswood that she would wake up. That she would wake up whole. That he wouldn't break her heart when he told her the news. When he came back from the Godswood it seemed the Gods would answer his prayers, at least in part. The first prayer would be answered, the maester told him that he had stopped giving her milk of the poppy - she would wake up once it wore off. He would have to wait on the other prayers.

He sat by her now, still as a statue, his eyes scanning her face. Watching for any sign that she was waking up. But her face remained still. As he looked at her he couldn't help but think of it.

He had been planning with his bannermen, Grey Wind at his feet. Lenora had gone to the Godswood with Ser Willum, and Robb's mind had wandered to her on more than one occasion throughout the meeting. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling. She had been to see the Kingslayer the day before. He hadn't had much of a chance to ask her about what had happened. She had been tightlipped about it, except to yell at him for her uncle's conditions. He worried that whatever Jaime had said to her would turn her against him. They had been doing so well.

Because his mind was wandering so much, toward the Godswood and Lenora he did not miss when Grey Wind picked up his head, his ears perked. He had heard something, Robb wondered what it was. The wolf did not take long to stand up, his teeth barred, a soft growl escaping his from the back of his throat. Robb ignored his men, turning to watch as the wolf moved away from him and toward the door. He stopped for just a moment, turning to look at Robb and whining softly. He wanted Robb to follow him. That could only mean one thing.

Lenora.

By the time he found her he had missed the fight. Ser Willum was dead, his throat slit. The attacker was dead, his intestines torn out by the wolf. Lenora was laying on her stomach on the ground, a large rock laying near her, a bleeding gash on her forehead. For a moment he worried that she was dead too, but as he knelt beside her, rolling her over so that her head rested in his lap he noticed the slight rise and fall of her chest.

Not dead, just unconscious.

That had been one of the most frightening moments of his life. When he thought she was dead. One of the worst moments of his life had been when the maester told him their child was dead.

And she, who had been kept asleep since the attack, she didn't know.

He was watching her face so closely that there was no way he could have missed the flutter of her eyelids. It was the first movement he had seen in three days. But it was enough, she was waking up. He stood up from his seat, his hands landing on the mattress on either side of her head, framing her face as he leaned over her. "Lenora," he whispered, hoping that his voice would be an anchor to her, something to pull her back. "Nora," he tried again. "Come back to me. Please, Love, come back to me."

He was begging her. Though he felt no shame. He'd drop to his knees and spend a thousand days begging her to come back to him if that's what it took.

Her eyes fluttered again, she was listening to him, or trying to. "Yes," he told her, nodding. "That's it, sweet girl. That's it. Come back to me, Love." Her fists clenched the blankets beneath them. Her face started to change, slowly first and then faster, contorting into a look of fear. She groaned.

"Yes!" Robb almost yelled, lifting one of his hands so that he could cup her cheek. "Yes," he said again. Though he quickly dropped his hand when she flinched away from his touch. His jaw clenched, she was in pain and afraid. It was a matter of minutes, that felt like hours when before her eyes finally opened.

Dark and stormy as ever.

But wide, and fearful. Robb couldn't help the relieved smile that spread across his lips as her eyes finally opened. The smile did not stay for long, her shoulders tensed, her head moved from side to side. She was looking for something, though it seemed that she wasn't seeing anything. Too afraid.

He reached out and caught her chin between his thumb and his index finger, holding her still. She gasped, afraid, and one of her arms flew up, fist clenched, to hit him. He chuckled as he caught her wrist and leaned forward so that she could see him. "Hello, you," he whispered once her eyes finally landed on him and stayed there. "I'm so glad you're awake," he told her, leaning down to press a hard kiss against her lips. "You have no idea."

Lenora did not kiss him back, though she smiled at him softly when he pulled away from her. Just for a moment. Then she looked around. "What happened?" she asked him, her eyes still wide. "The forest? Ser Willum? What happened?"

"Shh," Robb told her softly. He let go of her cheek, his hand sliding down her neck to her shoulder. He lifted his other hand, to brush her dark brown, almost black hair out of her eyes. "Shh," he said again, leaving his hand there at her hairline, his thumb gently brushing the soft skin of her forehead. "Take some time," he told her. "How do you feel?"

Lenora closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and assessing her body. "Sore," she told him once she had opened her eyes again.

Robb nodded, "I'm sure you do," he told her, his voice gentle. "And your legs? Can you feel your legs?"

Lenora stared at him for a moment, a new fear darkening her eyes. "My legs?" she asked him, struggling to sit up so that she could look down at her legs. "What happened to me?"

Robb was there in a moment, his arms slipping around her back so that he could help her sit up straight. He watched at her, wondering how much he should tell her. What he should leave out. "You were hit," he told her, his voice gentle and soft. "As you ran. In your low back. The maester was worried that you would wake up paralyzed." He paused, ducking his head so that it was closer to his level. "Can you feel your legs?" he asked again.

Lenora stared down at her legs, Robb followed her gaze, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when she bent first one knee and then the other under the furs.

The Gods had answered his second prayer.

"Is Ser Willum badly hurt?" Lenora asked him, turning away from her legs to look at Robb. "I shouldn't have left him, but he told me to run."

Robb smiled ruefully, "You did the right thing, my love," he told her. "He would have wanted you to get away safely. That was his job."

Lenora's eyebrows furrowed, she had caught on to his word choice. Would have and was. She knew what it meant, but she asked anyway. "What happened to Ser Willum?" she asked.

Robb looked down, then he sat won on the bed beside her, gently nudging her to move over. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. "Dead," he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I am so sorry, Nora."

She nodded her head once, "It was his job," she told him, her voice cold and hard. She was slipping back into the role she had been trained for her entire life, Princess. Or now, Queen.

Her hands fell to her stomach and Robb's jaw clenched, he knew what was coming next. "I was hit with a rock?" she asked him, looking down at her hand.

"Yes," he told her.

"Where?"

"Your low back," he told her again.

She nodded. "The baby?" she asked him, finally. She turned her head to look at him, her jaw clenched. "And what happened to our child?" she asked.

Robb pulled her closer, as close as he could get her. He pressed a hard kiss to the side of her head, staying there for a moment so that he could smell her hair. Stalling, so that he could live there, for at least one more moment where at least one of them did not completely know the truth. "You will have others," he told her softly.

She breathed in, a sharp quick intake of breath. When she breathed out it was shaky, her shoulders shook, her head dipped, and a tear fell onto one of Robb's arms.

He didn't know what to tell her. He knew all the things he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't think of the words. He wasn't sure which ones she'd want to hear, if any. He pressed another kiss against her head. "I don't blame you," he told her, his voice gentle.

Lenora nodded, though she did not lift her gaze from her lap.

Robb tried again. "This is not the end," he whispered. "You and I will have other child -"

"Don't," she interrupted him, her eyes closing tightly, her jaw quivering with the effort not to cry. "Please don't," she tried again, her voice softer this time. "I can't hear it. Not now."

...

She allowed herself one day to cry. And another day to mourn. But after those two days she was back at his side. She moved like a shadow - silent and swift. She spoke very little and when she did it was quiet. She flinched at loud noises, skirted the walls as she walked through the halls of Riverrun, wouldn't meet any of his Bannermen's eyes. She didn't smile. But she was there. She was awake. She was whole. She was his.

The Gods had answered all of his prayers, save one.

She was heartbroken.

She would not talk to him, not about that. He did not know the depth of her heartache, no one at Riverrun could. Perhaps his mother, but he had sent her away to Renly. His only hope was that one day her heartbreak would fade.

He wished that she would open up to him, to tell him how she felt and what he could do to help her. He bounced back and forth between giving her space to be alone and paying too much attention to her. No matter what he did it was not right, though.

Her eyes would fill with tears and her lip would tremble, as if she was fighting tears, when he came to her aver leaving her alone for a substantial amount of time. She would snap at him and order him to stop gawking at her when he paid her too much attention. He didn't know what was worse, her tears or her anger.

No, he knew which one was worse.

Her tears.

She was riding beside him now, her hands clenched tight around Casterly's reins. They had been riding since early morning, Robb no longer able to ignore his Bannermen when they told him that they needed to march on Tywin Lannister. She was uncomfortable and in pain. He could see it in the grim look on her face, the clench of her jaw, the tight set of her shoulders. Usually she moved with Casterly, seemed just as comfortable on the horse as she would have been in a carriage. But not today. Today she sat stiff, she wiggled in her saddle, trying to get comfortable, she flinched every time Casterly's hooves hit the ground particularly hard.

She hadn't looked at him since they had left Riverrun. Not so much as a glance. Which is why it surprised him when she spoke to him. "You'd ride better if you kept your eyes in front of you instead of on me."

There was a smirk resting on her lips, a ghost of one if he was being honest, but it was more than he had seen since the attack. "I wasn't watching you," he told her.

"You're watching me now," she told him, her voice quiet. That ghost of a smirk widened a bit, looking more like a smile.

Robb's pursed his lips, trying to keep his own smile off of his face He deliberately turned his face forward, his eyes scanning the land in front of him. "Should we stop now?" he asked her without looking at her. "How do you feel? Are you sore? Should we rest?"

He could hear her rolling her eyes when she spoke. "You are worse than my mother," she told him. "I can only imagine what it will be like when -" She stopped talking, cutting herself off.

"When what?" he asked her, his voice quiet.

She looked away from him, her jaw clenching. "I was going to say when our child is born."

Robb reached out, grabbing at the reins of her horse, planning to make her stop, but Lenora shook her head and gently nudged Casterly a step away, just out of his reach. "Don't" she told him, her voice quiet. "I still can't."

Robb sighed, "Will you ever let me touch you again?" he asked her, hating himself with how sullen he sounded. He didn't want to blame her, this wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault that she flinched away every time he reached out to her. It wasn't her fault that she tensed whenever his fingers brushed against her skin. She barely looked at him and when she did her gaze was guarded.

But none of it was her fault. He could not blame her. But he also could not hide how much it hurt him.

Sansa had once followed him around Winterfell for an entire day, telling him stories of knights and their fair maidens. He was supposed to be gentle and soft with her. He was supposed to protect her. He had failed at that. She had every right to blame him, but he hoped that she would not blame him forever.

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

It hurt to look at him. It hurt when he touched her. It hurt when he was gentle and kind to her. It hurt when he left her alone. She didn't know what she wanted. She wanted him, but it hurt to want him. She hated him, and loved him for it. She wanted him to take her, to try to make another child with her, and she wanted him to never touch her again.

She had never felt a pain like this. She had never felt confusion like this.

Her mother had told her on multiple occasions to love no one but her children. Lenora had always believed that her mother was ridiculous in this belief. Jaime had told her that she shouldn't listen to a word her mother said. Two different pieces of advice. From two people that she had loved, and once respected.

But now, in this moment she could see why her mother had told her to guard her heart. The more people you loved, the more you stretched your heart and spread your love out the easier it was to hurt.

She hadn't known this child, had never felt it stir within her. Did not know if it would have grown to be a son with Robb's curly auburn hair or a little silver eyed princess. She didn't know what they would name it. But since finding out about her child she had allowed herself to dream. She had allowed herself to hope. She had allowed herself to live, for just a short amount of time, in an almost fairytale setting.

And now, she had lost it. It had been stolen from her. When she looked at Robb all she could see was an image of him holding their child. When he touched her she could only imagine what it would be like to run her fingers over the soft, sweet-smelling skin of their child. Every time he spoke to her she could hear their child giggling. When he left her alone she realized just how alone she was. When he refused to leave her side all she could think about was how it was just the two of them.

He said he didn't blame her.

But she blamed herself.

He was still watching her. His question still unanswered, Will you ever let me touch you again? Lenora turned to look at him and sighed, "Why would you want to, Your Grace?" she asked him.

He stared at her as if she had sprouted two heads. "Why wouldn't I want to?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows. "You are still," he paused, searching for the right word. "You," he settled for. "You are still you. And I am still me. Nothing will change the way I feel for you. Nothing."

Lenora watched him, uncomfortable with his outburst. She cleared his throat and turned away from him. "So where are we going?" she asked him. "Where are you carting me off to this time, Robb?" She turned back to him and smiled softly, hoping he understood that this was all she could offer to him at this time.

Nothing more.

She watched his jaw clench for a moment, but then it softened. "Oxcross," he told her. "Your cousin Ser Stafford Lannister is amassing a force of Lannister soldiers there. If we mean to march on your grandfather at Harrenhal we must first, decimate this host."

Lenora closed her eyes, flinching. "Could you not do that?" she snapped at him.

"Do what?" Robb asked her, studying her with his eyebrows furrowed. He honestly did not know what had bothered her.

"Rub it in that these are my family we're marching against," Lenora told him, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. "My cousin. My grandfather. My uncle. Your men blame me for their actions, I can't stand you doing too."

This time when Robb reached out for Casterly's reins she did not move away. He grabbed a hold of her reins and pulled her horse closer to him, causing both horses to stop moving. "I don't," he told her, his voice firm so that she would understand how much he meant what he was saying. "I don't blame you for what they do. I don't blame you for what happened in the Godswood. No one blames you. No one."

Lenora was quiet for a moment, "I blame myself," she whispered.

Author's Note:

So I have the flu. It probably started to hit me on Monday or Tuesday, but I ignored it until Wednesday night. It was really bad on Wednesday night. Yesterday I woke up and came downstairs, prepared to write and update.
Instead I fell asleep on the couch while watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy. I slept all day, so deeply that I completely missed my mother-in-law coming to check on me. She took care of our dog, brought me gingerale, and made homemade chicken noodle soup and I didn't even notice.
I woke up when my husband came home from work. He fed me this surprise soup and put me to bed.
I still feel like crap today, but hopefully I won't have any marathon nap sessions. And if I do? Well, at least I updated first, right?
Anyway, after that insight into my personal life I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter!
Thank you in advance to those wonderful people who will review! As for those of you that reviewed on the last chapter: keep it up. I love to hear from you!

ZabuzasGirl: Thank you!

Vulcran: Maybe they will ... but I won't tell. (At least not yet.)

RHatch89: The reasoning behind that decision is that Westeros has never been ruled by just a queen. Look at the Battle of the Bastards episode. Daenerys acknowledges that Westeros has never had a queen. She could take the throne because she has dragons. Lenora doesn't have dragons. Lenora is Robert's only trueborn child, but that does not make her his heir. The line of succession would skip right over her and go straight to Stannis. (Unless of course Robert had named her his heir before he died ... but he thought Joffrey was his so he had no reason to do that.)

HPuni101: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

Arianna Le Fay: So many questions! I'm going to try to answer some of them, but I don't want to give away too many spoilers.
1. She might be crowned when Jon is named King in the North.
2. I'm going to leave Aegon out of this one. There's so much in this universe to play with, but this story is already on point to be the longest story I've written for this site. I've got to pick and choose what to use.
3. Unfortunately, as evidenced in this chapter ... she did. (It's just not time for her to be pregnant yet. )
4. If Robb dies, I might save the wolf. I probably will. I'm a sucker for direwolves and George R.R. Martin has already killed too many of them in my opinion.

That's all I've got for now, my dears. Have a fantastic day! Hopefully I will kick this flu soon and be back 100% soon!
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.