Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)
I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.

My name is Chloe Jane and mean reviews hurt.
Look, I am cool with cussing, hell I cuss like a sailor. But there is a difference between "Fuck yeah, that's awesome!" and "Fuck you!" The anonymous review I got yesterday was definitely of the "Fuck you" variety.
The person was mad at me because this story wasn't labeled as "OC" (my mistake, I thought I had, it has since been fixed). They were angry because they couldn't filter it out by asking not to see OC stories. So instead of taking the split second it would have taken to skip over this story (which is obviously an OC story by its description) they took the time to go into the story, select the last posted chapter, and post an angry, cuss-filled review about it.
They called me "chicken-shit" even though they were the one hiding behind "Guest" and "Anonymous Review." Well ... you're chicken shit, asshole.
I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to whine. I'm just going ask ... please be polite guys.
That's all.

Chapter Twenty-four: Something Changed

Renly

Lady Catelyn Stark was more spirited than Renly remembered her being the last time he had met her. Though many years had passed since then and he had been nothing more than a boy, he supposed that she could have always had this much avidity and just not revealed it to him. It was more likely though, he thought, that this new sense of purpose was born of the loss of her Lord husband.

Ned Stark was a good man, Renly would give him that - stubborn, stoic, and proper, but a good man. Renly harbored no ill will toward the man, even though he had refused to back Renly's claim to the throne based on something as stupid as birth right. The small folk of the Seven Kingdoms did not care for Stannis, they did not love him and they would not have him for a King. Even Ned's own son would not declare for Stannis, calling himself King in the North instead.

For a moment Renly thought to inform Lady Stark that her beloved husband would not have lost his head if he had only backed Renly's claim to the throne. But one look at the older woman's haggard face and he decided against it. She had seen too much sorrow of late to learn that her husband's death could have been prevented. It would be cruel to tell her that now.

Instead he gave her a tent and welcomed her at his table for supper for several nights in a row before he made his play. He wanted her to see the sheer wealth aligning himself with Highgarden had provided him. He wanted her to know the sheer force of his host. He wanted her to admit that her husband had been wrong not to back his claim. He waited until she had finished eating her meal on the fourth night of her stay before he called down the table to her and asked her to accompany him on a walk.

His rainbow guard began to stir in their seats, but he waved them off. Lady Stark had already put him in his place more than once at their first meeting at the melee, he did not need his guard to watch her do it again.

They walked quietly around the camp for a bit before he turned to her. "Well, Lady Catelyn," he started, letting his hands fall behind him to clasp at the small of his back, "you have come to treat with me on your son's behalf. We might as well get it over with. I have a war to fight, after all."

The older woman's jaw clenched at that, "Of that, I am well aware," she told him, biting out each word, her voice stern. "My son has been fighting a war these past few months, as I am sure you know."

"And yet he has not marched on Harrenhal yet," Renly pointed out. "And the Kingslayer still lives."

"And you have marched nowhere," Catelyn argued.

She had come to the right Baratheon, Renly realized with a chuckle. If she had spoken to Stannis in such a way she would have found herself thrown in a dungeon, her husband's friendship with Robert be damned. "You do have the way of it," he told her with another chuckle. "But as I am sure your son has found out war takes time. I've just now assembled the might of my force and now we must make plans."

"Make plans?" Catelyn asked, her tone incredulous. "What plans are there to make? Surely you must know that you need to march on the Lannisters. They are your biggest threat."

"No, My Lady," Renly told her, shaking his head. "Stannis is my biggest threat. No one will truly back my claim while there is another Baratheon also laying claim to the Iron Throne. First I must march against and beat my brother. Then I will march against the Lannisters."

"That is assuming that my son does not defeat them first," Catelyn interjected.

Renly shook his head, he may have been younger than Catelyn, just a boy when Robert and Ned marched against the Mad King, but she had no right to treat him like a child. "Your son could never do that," he told her. "He simply does not have the numbers." She looked like she wanted to argue with him so Renly continued before she could. "I am told that your son crossed the Neck with twenty thousand men," he told her. "Now that the Lords of the Trident are with him, perhaps he commands forty thousand."

He was being generous with that assumption, and if the look on her face was anything to go by he was being more generous than he had intended to be. But, despite the sheepish look on her face she nodded, silently allowing him to believe whatever he chose.

He gestured to the camp around them, to all the cookfires that were burning on both sides of the river. "I have twice that number here," he told her. "And this is only part of my strength. Mace Tyrell remains at Highgarden with another ten thousand, plus a strong garrison at Storm's End. Soon enough the Dornishmen will join me with all their power and once I have beaten Stannis I will claim the might of Dragonstone and the Lords of the Narrow Sea." He shook his head, almost mocking. "Your son sent you to treat with me because he cannot defeat the Lannister armies on his own. There is no need to pretend otherwise."

"I came to treat with you in hopes that you would see reason," Catelyn insisted. "My son has been named King in the North, everything north of the Trident will back him. He wants to return to Winterfell and rule the North as the old Kings of Winter once did. He has no desire to win the Iron Throne. But, he recognizes that the throne does not belong to Joffrey Baratheon -"

Renly bristled at that, "Joffrey is no true Baratheon," he bit out.

Catelyn inclined her head, "The throne does not belong to him, whatever you choose to name him. It belongs to Stannis by right. Put down your swords, take off your crown, and join forces with your brother. Then we can all march against the Lannisters and see a true Baratheon on the throne."

Renly laughed at her and shook his head, "Let us be blunt, My Lady," he told her, still laughing. "Stannis would make for a horrible king. Appalling, truly. Men respect Stannis, they fear him, they listen to him. But only a few have ever, or will ever, love him."

"He is still your elder brother. If either of you can be said to have a right to the Iron Throne it must be your brother."

Renly shrugged, a practiced nonchalance that he had taught himself during his time in King's Landing. "Tell me," he invited, "what right did Robert ever have to the Iron Throne?" He shook his head, his older brother had never had any true claim either, and yet, the smallfolk had welcomed Robert, just as they would welcome Renly, he was sure of it, "Robert won the Seven Kingdoms with his warhammer. And your husband by his side."

Once more he gestured toward the camp around them. "This is my warhammer," he told her. "This is my claim, as good as Robert's ever was. If your son supports me as his father supported Robert he will find me as good a King and as good a friend as Robert was to Ned. I will not be ungenerous. I will gladly confirm him in all his lands, titles, and honors. He can rule winterfell as he pleases. I may even allow his disgraceful marriage to my niece to stand," Catelyn bristled at that comment, but Renly continued as if he had not noticed. "He can even go on calling himself King in the North if he likes, so long as he bends the knee and does me homage as his overlord. King is only a word, but fealty, loyalty, service - those I must have."

"And if he will not give them to you, My Lord?" Catelyn asked, her voice implacable.

"I mean to be king, My Lady," he told her. "And not of a broken kingdom. I cannot say it more plain than that. Three hundred years ago a Stark King knelt to Aegon the Dragon, when he saw he could not hope to prevail. That was wisdom. Your son must be wise as well."

Catelyn shook her head. "My son and his men do not mean to bend the knee to another southern king. The Targaryen's were able to hold the North because they had dragons. And then once the dragons died the North had forgotten what it felt like to be free. And then Ned pledged the North to your brother, because he loved him." She shook her head again. "But my son does not love you. And the North remembers. They will not be put down easily." She looked around the cookfires that surrounded them, "So unless you have a dragon at your camp, I would not count on my son swearing you anything."

"The Iron Throne will be mine," Renly told her again, struggling for just a moment to keep his voice courteous. He respected the woman walking beside him, loved her for his brother's sake, but she was trying his patience.

"And my son wants it not," Catelyn told him, once again. "He has no intentions to take the Iron Throne."

"No?" Renly asked her, raising his eyebrows. "So it is just a happy coincidence then, that he took for his wife the one woman in all the Seven Kingdoms who can birth him sons who would have a stronger claim to the Iron Throne than even I or Stannis? You say he wants nothing to do with the Iron Throne, but he wedded and bedded the key to it."

"That marriage was arranged by your brother, the King," Catelyn pointed out, squaring her shoulders and preparing for battle. "Robb did nothing more than what both his and Lenora's fathers wanted for them."

"That was before my brother died," Renly told her, his tone harsher than he meant. "That was before it was revealed that Lenora was the only trueborn child out of that union. When it was believed that Joffrey was the true heir Lenora was of little to no importance. Now we know better. Her marriage would have been a matter for the King to decide on. It was, and still is, my right to arrange her marriage as I see fit. He stole that from me and is lucky that I am even considering allowing the marriage to stand. That will not be the case if he does not swear fealty to me and my cause."

Catelyn shook her head, "I have told you that my son will not bend the knee to you, My Lord," she told him. "And he will not give up his wife either."

Renly could feel his shoulders tense, he had hoped that the older woman would see reason, that she would realize that her son's claim to being King of anything was a foolish one. But it seemed that she was just as stubborn, stupidly so, as her husband. He was about to tell her as much, when one of his squires came running up to them, yelling for the King at the top of his lungs. "I am here," he told the squire, turning to glare at the young man. "What is it?"

"Your Grace," his squire exclaimed, his breath ragged. "A rider, from Storm's End. They are besieged, Your Grace. Ser Cortnay defied them, but ..."

"Impossible," Renly argued, glancing at Catelyn for confirmation even though he had been disagreeing with the Lady. "I would have been told if Lord Tywin left Harrenhal."

"These are no Lannisters, my liege. It's Lord Stannis at your gates."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

It felt good to have a sword in her hand again. Even if it was just a wooden practice sword. And even if the man she was practicing with was worse at sword play than her brother, Joffrey. He was too obvious with his movements, too slow with his attacks. It wouldn't take him long in the next battle to find his death. But the squire, only a bit older than herself, had been the only one willing to practice with her and as she had learned in King's Landing at a young age beggars could not be choosey.

She sighed, stepping away from the young man, "Don't groan before you lunge," she told the man. "It's easier to counter when I know the attack is coming."

"Aye," the man nodded, "but you don't know from where."

Lenora sighed again, she wondered if this is what her uncle had felt when he had started teaching her how to fight. "What's your name?" she asked him, if she was going to keep practicing with him she should probably call him something besides squire.

"Donovar, Your Grace," he told her, ducking his head into a slight bow. "Donovar Norridge."

Lenora nodded, "Donovar," she told him, "you groan before you lunge, and I know an attack is coming. Your eyes dart left and you think that you're tricking me when you lunge right. But all you are really doing is telling me which way to step so that I am out of your way." She shook her head, "I'm doing more stepping out your way than I am sword fighting."

Donovar chuckled and shook his head, "You know, Your Grace, they say it is stupid to think that you are the smartest person in the room."

"Aye," Lenora told him with a nod. "My uncles have told me that on several occasions. Though, there is one exception to that. You should never think you are the smartest person in the room unless you are the smartest one." She lifted her sword and pointed at him, "Now, let's do this again. Though, perhaps, without the groaning."

Donovar smiled and shook his head, but he lifted his sword as well. And this time when he lunged he did so without the groan, though he still looked right before he lunged left. Lenora shook her head and threw up her wooden sword, sending him veering off to the side.

The next attack came from the right. Instead of countering this one Lenora stepped out of the way and on quick, light, dancer's feet she moved around him, twirling around to press the point of her play sword into the small of the man's back. "You're such a Westerosi," she murmured over the laughter of their audience.

"So are you, Your Grace," Donovar argued as he turned around to face her.

But Lenora was gone. As he had turned toward her she had moved right, once again at his back, she flicked her wrist and the flat side of her practice sword slapped the back of the squire's thighs. "But faster than you," she whispered as she danced away from him again.

She was grateful that she had packed a pair of breeches and shirt, her movements would not have been so light, so easy with a skirt billowing around her ankles. The men had laughed as they watched her move through the camp that morning in her pants, but no one was laughing now, at least not at her.

They laughed at Donovar and his complete inability to keep up with their Little Queen. That was what the common foot soldiers had taken to calling her now. Lenora had been surprised to admit how little she minded the nickname.

Donovar moved to face her again, too quickly, he wasn't paying attention. "Watch it," Lenora warned him even as her leg shot out to trip the man. The men around them laughed, she was humiliating him, she knew it. But this was how he would learn. When her uncle had trained her as a young girl he had been gentle on her, not easy. And so, she in turn, would not be easy on this man. He fell to the ground and she shook her head, "Watch your feet," she told him, as she reached her hand down to help him stand again. "Don't fall. My uncle always told me that a man who falls is a man who dies."

"You tripped me," Donovar pointed out. "How am I not supposed to fall when you trip me?"

"Be lighter on your feet," Lenora told him with a shrug as she dropped his hand and stepped away from him. His leg shot out, trying to trip her, she skipped over his foot and out of reach. "Smartest person in the room," she teased him as she turned back to look at him. She was gloating, Jaime had always told her not to gloat and now she realized why. As she walked away from Donovar one of the men watching them extended his leg, tripping her. He chuckled, though he was the only one laughing.

The rest of the men that had circled around her and the squire fell silent. It was one thing for Donovar to accidentally hurt her, they were sparring. But for someone who did not have her permission - Lenora could feel them tense, their collective worry. She smiled and shook her head as she stood up from the ground, "I stand corrected," she told the men with a smile. "I may not be the smartest person in the room after all." She smiled and felt the men around her relax. They were lucky, she knew, if this had been her brother, Joff would have had their heads.

"Of course not, Your Grace," one of the men called out. "We're not in a room. Otherwise, I am sure you would be."

She smiled at the man and nodded, "Just so," she told him before she turned back to Donovar. "One more time, shall we?" she asked the squire.

He nodded and extended his sword arm out to her, silently inviting her to be the first to attack. She smiled at him as she moved closer, circling him - almost cat like. She feinted right, lunged left, and then at the last moment ducked underneath the man's outstretched sword arm, dragging the point of her wooden sword across his stomach. The men around them cheered, aware that if they had been fighting with live steel that would have gutted her opponent.

He spun quickly and this time when Lenora extended her leg to trip him he jumped over it. She nodded, "You're learning," she praised him.

He started moving forward, swiping his sword at her. She countered each of his steps forward with one of her own backwards steps. It would seem that she was on the run, though as she changed directions, still walking backwards it became obvious that she was leading the squire, rather than running from him. Wood thunked against wood and splinters flew as their practice swords met each other time and again.

He had sped up his attacks, using up more of his energy, Lenora smiled. Jaime had once told her that as long as you were in control, being on the defense could be a way to rest during a sword fight. Donovar was breathing heavily as he swung his sword, right and left, hacking and jabbing. And Lenora simply had to bring her sword up to meet his. Slower movements, more control and less energy.

Once he was tired, his breathing ragged, she smirked at him. She moved forward, lifting her left arm and stepping left at the last moment. At first the man seemed to think that she had sidestepped him again, but then she lowered her left arm, trapping his hand and the hilt of his sword between her arm and her body. She turned slightly, twisting his wrist and moving away, bringing the sword with her. If this had been live steel that move would have been messier than it was, she would have been injured, though not horribly so. She reached her left hand up, grabbing the hilt of the sword, pulling it out from under her arm. She threw the sword up in the air and caught it again, adjusting her grip on it before she extended her arm, taking a step forward, the tip of the wooden sword resting just under the squire's chin.

She smiled at him, "I might not be the smartest person in the room," she told him as she dropped the sword and handed it back to the squire. "But I am the smartest woman here."

"You're the only woman here, Nora," she heard Robb chuckle from behind her. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, wondering when he had arrived. She thought back to Winterfell, when she had first arrived. She had been so aware of his presence that he could not lift a hand without her knowing it. But now he could sneak up on her and she didn't even notice.

Between their fights and when she had lost their child, she lost that too.

"Not the only one," she told him, nodding toward the camp. There were two types of women who followed an army during war times: the Silent Sisters and whores. There were plenty of both at the camp now.

"Aye," she heard someone else agree. She turned to look past Robb and saw Lord Bolton standing behind his shoulder. She tensed slightly, her grip tightening on the handle of her wooden sword. The man's pale blue eyes landed on her hand and she forced her fingers to relax. The man made her uncomfortable, but she didn't need him to know that. "But I imagine that you are the only one who can wield a sword like that."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, "Well, they can't all have Jaime Lannister for an uncle." She turned away from the two men and handed her practice sword to Donovar. "Though, this would have been a much more entertaining fight if I had been allowed live steel."

"This war would be much more interesting if you were allowed on the field," Robb joked.

Lenora did not look at him, he had been trying to bait her since they left Riverrun. She barely talked to him now, and when she did she never quite met his eye. "And who would make that decision, Your Grace?" she asked him, her tone sharper than she had intended.

Robb chuckled though, he had always loved her ferocity. Nothing would change that now. "Me, I suppose," he told her.

"You suppose?" she asked him, still not turning to look at him. "You are the King in the North are you not? Who else would make the decision?"

"My Lords Bannermen," Robb started, but Lenora interrupted him.

"Are here to advise you," Lenora told him, her voice hard. She was doing this in public, something a proper wife would never do. But Robb had known who he was marrying when he had taken her as his wife. He should have seen this coming. It was her hope that he would give her what she wanted just to keep her from further berating him in front of his men.

But it was Roose Bolton who spoke next, "You give her too much freedom, Your Grace," he told Robb, his voice quiet and silky. Dangerous.

"She is my wife," Robb pointed out, turning his head toward his bannerman. "She is allowed her freedom."

"She is a Lannister," Bolton told him.

"She was a Baratheon. She is a Stark. She never was a Lannister."

Lenora's hair flew as she turned her head to watch the two men. It had been a long time since she had heard Robb speak with a voice that harsh and cold. It was steel. It was intended to leave no room for argument. She wondered how many times Robb and Lord Bolton had had this conversation already.

"If she were my wife," Lord Bolton started, shaking his head.

"Then you could deal with her as you saw fit," Robb interrupted. "As it is, she is my wife."

Bolton's jaw clenched and Lenora turned away slightly, watching the man out of the corner of her eye. She had always sensed that Roose Bolton was dangerous, but she had never felt personally threatened by him before. She reminded herself to thank the Gods later that night that she was, in fact, Robb's wife.

He, at least, did not frighten her.

She heard his footsteps approach her and she turned to see him standing in front of her. A grin spread across his lips as he allowed his gaze to drop from her face, down her body and back up. His gaze traveled down her body again, slower, more intense - fire burning in his blue eyes. Lenora shivered; she was dressed, perhaps more covered than she ever was in a dress, but something about the way Robb looked at her made her feel as if she was standing in front of him completely bare. He could see everything, all her secrets, all her desires - everything that made her who she was.

Her chest felt tight, but she took a deep breath anyway, acutely aware of the way his gaze fell to her breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath she took. The wind stirred, moving through his auburn curls. His eyes were so intense, so blue that the normal name for the color did not do them justice. His lips, she knew they were soft, oh how she knew that, spread into a gentle smile as he watched her, watching him.

This man was a King. This man led an army of men who respected him and believed in him. This man had fought three battles against the greatest strategic soldier the Seven Kingdoms had seen in years and he had won all three. This man was strong and he was brave. He was smart and kind. This man loved her.

And, she realized, she loved him.

His eyebrows knit together as he watched her. He reached out, meaning to cup her cheek in his hand, Lenora flinched away from him, only for a moment. He sighed, about to drop his hand when she allowed her cheek to rest in his palm, leaning into him. "I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours," he whispered, somehow completely ignoring all the men that were still standing around them.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "It's not nearly as interesting when it's no longer a mystery," she told him.

"I doubt that," Robb told her, his lips tugging into an even wider smile than before. "I doubt that very much."

Lenora smiled at him, "What brought you here, Your Grace?" she asked him, her eyes darting to the men around them. Most of the soldiers seemed to be pretending not to watch them, trying to make themselves look busy. Roose Bolton, however, stood behind Robb, watching the two of them outright with narrowed eyes.

He smiled, "I heard cheering," he told her with a shrug. "Had I known that the niece of Jaime Lannister was giving fighting lessons I might have arrived sooner."

Lenora pursed her lips, trying not to smile. It had not gone unnoticed that he had called her uncle by his name and not Kingslayer. Her eyes darted over his shoulder at Roose Bolton, the older man's jaw clenched, he had noticed as well. "You probably should have," she told him, her voice soft and teasing, "you could do with a lesson or two."

Robb smiled at her, "Come," he told her, holding out his hand to her. "We will be supping soon." Lenora nodded, slipping her hand into Robb's and allowing him to lead her away. A very ladylike action for a woman dressed as a man.

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

Something had changed in Lenora in that single moment. Robb could feel it though he could not name the change. But that single moment, in front of his men when she had let him touch her, however innocent the touch had been, for the first time since her attack something changed. He wanted to ask her about it, to question her. But he was afraid that putting words to the change would cause the girl to close up, to shut him out again.

So he kept quiet during supper. He allowed Lenora to remain dressed in her shirt and her breeches, he chuckled when the Greatjon told her that she looked more at home in pants than a skirt. He laughed when Lenora told the Greatjon that she might be willing to trade with him: her skirts for his armor.

She smiled at him while they ate.

She reached out for his hand as the servants began to clear the table in front of them.

She squeezed his hand when he told her to go to their tent, that he would find her after he spoke to his bannermen.

And when he arrived at their tent after dark he saw that she had left him a trail of her clothes. Leading him toward the back of the tent where she sat in a bath, blushing up at him.

"Waiting for me?" he asked her, unable to hide the smile on his lips or in his tone.

She smiled at him, "My lady's maid has already had to refill the bath twice to make sure it would still be warm when you arrived," she told him. It sounded like she was scolding him, but the smile remained on her lips as she moved forward in the bath, making room for him to settle in behind her.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, even as he began to undress. She had barely been able to touch him since she was attacked at Riverrun. As much as he wanted to join her, as much as he wanted to touch her, he didn't want to rush her.

Lenora smiled at him, her blush darkening as he began to undo the laces on his pants. "Even if I weren't, you certainly seem sure of what you want."

His hands instantly stilled and he shook his head, moving a step away from the bathtub. "The last thing I want to do is rush you. To make you feel uncomfortable." He shook his head. "I will not hurt you."

She smiled at him, soft and gentle and gestured for him to walk closer to her. Once he was within reach she began to finish untying the laces on his pants. "You have been so patient with me these last few weeks," she told him, her voice as soft as velvet. Her fingertips slid under the waistband of his pants and her hands slid around his back. She flexed her fingers, her nails digging into the skin of his backside and causing Robb's hips to buck toward her before she pushed the pants down, allowing the thick fabric to puddle at his feet. "More patient than any husband would be. Please," she started. "Please let me show you how grateful I am for that."

Robb shook his head, he was so desperate for her that he had hardened just at her words. But he wasn't going to make her do this. "You don't owe me anything," he told her.

Lenora rolled her eyes at him, surprisingly irritated. "I didn't say anything about owing you," she told him, ducking her head in an attempt to hide her blush. "I spoke of wanting you."

That was what he needed to hear. That was what he had needed from her. He practically tripped over himself in his effort to get into the tub as quickly as possible.

She smiled, looking away from him. Still so shy, even after everything that they had been through. Robb chuckled as he settled himself around her, she sat between his legs, her back pressed against his chest, her damp, dark hair thrown over one of her shoulders.

He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, just across her collarbone, holding her to him as he leaned forward, reaching out to the table to the left of the tub where her bath oils sat. He uncorked the closest one to her and smiled as the smell of lavender hit him. He always loved when she used this one and her hair smelled of lavender. He poured some of the oil into his hand and began to work it through her hair. He started at the top of her head, taking his time and making sure that each strand of hair was oiled as he worked his way down through her waist length hair. Lenora moaned and leaned even closer to him, pressing herself against him as closely as she could. "You're better at this than Lord Cerwyn's daughter," she told him after a few minutes as he reached the bottom of her hair.

"Am I?" he asked, allowing the strands to slip through his fingers and land in the water. He moved his hands from her hair to her neck, just behind her ears. And then slowly his hands drifted down to her shoulders, down the outside of her arms, his fingers brushed against the swell of her breasts, she shuddered under his hands.

She nodded, her eyes closing and the corners of her lips tugging into a smile as his hands left her arms to slowly, cautiously slide across the wet, slippery skin of her breasts. He drew large, lazy circles on her skin, each one getting smaller. Each one closing in tighter on her nipples. She arched into his touch and he smiled, shaking his head at her impatience. This was the first time he had really touched her in weeks. He was not going to rush it, he was not going to waste it. He was going to savor her. Every inch of her.

She moaned as his fingers finally touched her nipples, gently pinching them between his thumbs and his index fingers. "She definitely doesn't do that," she whispered, once more arching her back, pressing her breasts closer to his fingers, her whole body taut, silently begging him for more.

He chuckled at her, low and dark. His left hand remained at her breast while his right hand began to slide down her stomach. His jaw clenched when he realized that if she had not lost their child her stomach would no longer be flat, there would have been a bump by now. Before she could read his mind he dropped his lips down to her neck kissing her soft skin as his right hand continued sliding down, beneath the water.

"I should hope not," he told her, his lips moving against her skin. He allowed his lips to slide down her neck - kissing, licking, nipping along the way. Until they landed on her shoulder. "No one should do that, except for me." As he said that he allowed his finger to press against her, that little bunch of nerves that made her body sing for him the last time he had made love to her. She moaned, not at all playing the part of lady, but too far gone to care. Her hips bucked against his hand and her eyes snapped open, silver and bright in the candlelight.

She bit her lip, trying to keep another moan down, but Robb shook his head, he bit down gently on her shoulder. "Don't hide from me," he told her once he lifted his mouth from her skin. "I want to hear you. Sing for me, Nora."

She craned her head to look at him and very deliberately released her lower lip from her teeth. He smiled at her and allowed his finger to circle her, dipping inside of her for the briefest moment before pulling out and returning to the bundle of nerves above. Her eyes closed and her teeth scraped agains her lower lip, she wanted to bite her lip for a fraction of a second before she remembered his command. She released her lip and when she moaned it was his name on her lips, low and soft and full of desire.

For him.

She may not have loved him, but she wanted him. And that was enough for him for now.

He dropped his finger again, dipping it inside of her and slowly began to work his finger in and out. He smiled at her. Her eyes were closed, but every time his finger began to withdraw from inside of her, her hips bucked, chasing him, trying to keep him there for just a moment longer. He began to pick up his pace, added another finger, smiled to himself when that drew another moan from her lips. He felt her tense and tighten around his fingers and he knew, that she was close to her release. He brought his thumb up to circle her mound, and leaned closer to her, nibbling on her ear. "Let go for me, Love," he told her, his voice deep and ragged. "Let go."

And she did.

Once she was finished she turned her head, hiding in his shoulder. Her breath was fast, uneven, her breasts rose and fell beneath the water at an irregular pace. Robb bit his lip, the sight of her was making it hard for him to breathe His hips lifted involuntarily, without meaning to he pressed himself against her, hinting at more.

She turned her head back to look at him and lazily opened her eyes, "Don't worry," she promised him, her voice a whisper. "I haven't forgotten you."

He tried to tell her no, that he didn't care. This was for her. But she was already turning in his arms. Her legs found their way around his hips, her arms settled around his shoulders. She smiled at him, almost peacefully, as she lifted herself up. One of her hands reached between them, wrapping around him and holding him steady as she slowly, lowered herself down on him. It didn't take her long to adjust to him, within moments she was rocking her hips against him, water sloshing out of the tub.

"I won't," he began to tell her, moaning himself as she rocked her hips again. "I won't last," he told her. It had been too long since he had touched her, the build up too slow, her pleasure too much. She smiled at him and slowly, deliberately rolled her hips. "Nora," he moaned out.

She threw her head back and rolled her hips again, "Say it again," she told him, her voice a soft, quiet contradiction to the feelings she was building inside of him. "Say my name again," she commanded.

He smiled up at her, "Nora."

She smiled at him, her hips moving at a faster pace now. She leaned closer to him, pressing a deep, slow kiss against his lips. She pulled away after a moment, not far, just enough to speak. And when she spoke her lips brushed against his with every word. "I love you," she whispered, just a breath really.

"What?" Robb asked her, sure that he hadn't heard her correctly.

She shook her head and laughed.

Robb shook his head too, his hands shooting out to grab onto her hips, his fingernails digging into her skin. "What did you say?" he gasped out, each word was like its own sentence. Punctuated by his breath. "Because, if you said what I hope you said ... I need to hear it again."

Lenora pressed her lips against his, another kiss. A hard one this time. "I," she said, pressing her lips against his again, rolling her hips. "Love," another kiss, another roll of her hips. "You," a third kiss, a third hip roll, a tightening around him.

It was all he needed, his hands tightened on her hips on the third roll and he slammed her down on top of him, groaning as he drove himself as deeply inside of her as he could, spilling himself inside of her. "I love you too, Nora."

Author's Note:

Well, as far as reviews go ... I think I said my peace up top. I want to thank a moment to extend my complete gratitude to all you wonderful souls who have kept your reviews polite. You've all been super supportive and that makes me happy.
So thank you.
I hope that you enjoyed this latest chapter. Lenora came to a pretty big realization today. It was nice. What did you think? Drop a little review in the box down there to let me know!

HPuni101: Thank you! Still feeling a bit miserable, but I don't have a fever today (knock on some wood) so that's already a HUGE step in the right direction. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Arianna Le Fay: I promise you, if I kill Robb there will be a child. If only because I love the picture in my head of a smaller version of Robb with Lenora's silver eyes and stubborn attitude. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

RHatch89: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

That's all I've got for now, friends.
Chloe Jane.