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My name is Chloe Jane and ... SURPRISE! Sometimes I post when I am supposed to be on hiatus!

Chapter Twenty-Six: Strength

Sansa

She made a point to dress as well as she could when she went to see the King. He liked when she looked pretty, but it was getting harder to do that. None of her dresses fit well anymore, she was long past needing new dresses, but she didn't know who to ask. If she were still at Winterfell her mother would have ordered new dresses for her months ago, but the only family she had left at Winterfell were her younger brothers. If she were a true ward of the Queen then Cersei would have done it and sent a bill to Winterfell, but she wasn't a ward. She was finally beginning to realize exactly what she was.

A prisoner.

She took a deep breath, her breasts straining against her dress. She was embarrassed, she would have to ask her handmaidens to let the dresses out again, though they had already warned her that they would only be able to let out her dresses out a few more times before they would need to be thrown away.

She left her bedchamber, a slight blush on her cheeks, she didn't know what the Hound saw when he looked at her, but she could imagine. She wondered if he could see the way the dress clung to her newly grown breasts, and her widened hips. She was almost a woman now, she was sure that men around the castle were beginning to notice and the man who spent the most time with her was without a doubt, the Hound.

She moved to the left of the guard, away from the burned side of his face. His mouth twitched angrily every time she dared to look at his scars. He scared her when he was in a good mood, the last thing she wanted to do was make him angry.

"Tell me what I've done," she commanded, it was best to be prepared when she went to the King. He would be angry at her for something, but if she knew now then she would have time to come up with an excuse. She would have time to put her walls up so that Joffrey wouldn't be able to see that every word that came out of her mouth was a lie.

"Not you," the Hound growled, "Your kingly brother."

"Robb's a traitor," Sansa told him, quickly and firmly. "I had no part in whatever he did." She hoped and prayed silently to the Seven that Robb had not killed the Kingslayer. However much she wanted every Lannister to die she was smart enough to realize that Jaime Lannister's death would mean her own. Joffrey was keeping her alive, playing with her, but keeping her alive under his mother's command. But if Jaime died then Cersei would not care if Sansa died.

The Queen would probably be the one to kill her herself.

The Hound snorted at her, "They trained you well, Little Bird," he told her without looking at her. "Better than they ever trained your queenly sister, that's for certain."

"Arya's not a queen," Sansa argued with him, rolling her eyes despite herself. "Though, you are right. She does not behave," she paused, wondering if her sister was even still alive. "Did not behave," she amended.

"Not the wild one," the Hound told her. "Your other sister. The Queen in the North."

He sneered the last part, but Sansa could sense an underlying emotion in the man's words. There was almost a sense of pride in him when he spoke. That surprised her almost as much as the words he spoke. "The Queen in the North?" she asked, her voice quiet and soft, her mind working quickly as she tried to make sense of what the man was saying. "Robb married Lenora? Princess Lenora, I mean?" She shook her head, that wasn't right anymore either. Lenora was a Queen, but to call her that would be treason. She could not be a Queen if Robb was not a King. And Robb could not be a King if he was a traitor.

"Aye, Little Bird, they're married."

Sansa shook her head, casting her eyes down to the floor, watching her feet as they walked, "The poor princess," she murmured, forcing her voice to be soft. "She must be so afraid."

The Hound chuckled, dark and humorless and shook his head, "The Princess Lenora has been many things in her life, afraid has never been one of them."

"But she's all alone with my traitor brother and his men."

"And I am sure she is a good deal safer than you are."

They were standing in front of the doors to the throne room now, the doors were open and she could see a crowd of people standing in front of the throne. Her want-to-be savior, Ser Dontos was standing by the doors, riding his broomstick horse, "Be brave," the fool whispered to her as she passed him.

The crowd parted for them as the Hound led her toward the throne. When they reached the empty space on the floor before the steps she had to step around a yellow cat that was dying on the ground. She felt sick, swallowing tightly, as she watched the poor creature. It cried pitifully, a crossbow quarrel sticking through its ribs.

Joffrey was sitting on the Iron Throne, winding his ornate crossbow. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were standing on either side of the throne. The hound moved around her and climbed the steps to stand with the king as well.

"Your Grace," she greeted him, quickly falling down to her knees.

"Kneeling won't save you now," Joffrey told her, swinging his crossbow up to train on her. "Stand up. I have brought you here to answer for your brother's latest treasons."

She stayed on her knees, he liked when she begged, and begging was more easily done on her knees. "Your Grace," she began, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and fear. "Whatever Robb has done - he's a traitor. I had no part. I've been here, in King's Landing with you. You know that. I beg you please -"

Joffrey rolled his eyes at her and looked over her shoulder to someone in the crowd. "Ser Lancel," he commanded to his cousin, Lancel Lannister. "Tell Lady Sansa and the Court of this latest offense."

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at the blond knight. He had been a squire not long ago, but the Queen had told Joffrey to knight him shortly after King Robert's death. The young man had always been gentle and soft, the perfect man to become a knight. But when he looked at her now all she saw was hatred and disgust in his green eyes. "Using some vile sorcery your brother fell upon Ser Stafford Lannister with an army of wargs. They were within a three day ride from Lannisport. Thousands of good, brave men - men who fought for King Joffrey were butchered as they slept. Many of them did not even have the chance to lift a sword to defend themselves. After the slaughter, the Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain."

Part of her wanted to laugh, Old Nan had told her stories of wargs, but they only lived beyond the wall. Her brother was not a warg, all he had was a wolf. Part of her wanted to cry that these southern lords and ladies seemed to believe. They wanted to believe that Robb and his men ate Lannister men. And part of her was afraid. Joffrey would use this as some excuse to hurt her and humiliate her. She knew it. Though the knowing wouldn't make it any better. She did not know what punishment to prepare for.

"You've got nothing to say?" Joffrey asked her. "Nothing to defend yourself with? You Starks are as unnatural as your wolves. I will never forget how your monster savaged me."

"That was Arya's wolf," Sansa bit out angrily. "Lady never touched you. She never hurt you. But you killed her anyway."

"Your father killed her!" Joffrey thundered at her. "But I killed your father. I wish I had done it myself." He glared down at her, his crossbow still leveled on her. "I should kill you for what your brother has probably done to my sister. But my mother tells me that I am to keep you alive. She says that if I kill you they will kill my Uncle Jaime. Lenora is a lost cause, I fear, I hear she is actually helping your traitor brother, but Jaime - Mother says we can still save Jaime."

"I am sure that your sister has not turned her back on you - " Sansa started to say, but Joffrey interrupted her.

"I want you punished," he yelled over her. "You will be punished and we will send word of it to your brother. That way he will know what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Dog," he shouted, turning to look at the Hound. "Hit her."

The Hound's lip twitched angrily, but he stepped forward as his King commanded. Always the loyal dog.

"Let me beat her!" she heard someone call out from behind her. She spun to see Ser Dontos rushing at her on his broomstick. He held a morning star in his hand, one made out of a melon. He ran around her in a tight circle hitting her repeatedly with the melon, her head, her stomach, her back. The crowd watching laughed as the melon burst over her head, juice running down her face and the front of her silk gown, staining the pale blue fabric. She prayed to the Seven that Joffrey would laugh along with his court. She prayed that he would be satisfied with her humiliation; that he wouldn't call for her pain.

The king rolled his eyes, "Boros, Meryn," he called out.

Ser Meryn grabbed Dontos by the arm and threw him away from her. Ser Boros grabbed Sansa by the arm. "Leave her face," Joffrey ordered, "I like her pretty."

The knight's fist slammed into Sansa's stomach with so much force that he drove her breath right out of her lungs. She would have screamed, but she didn't have the air for it. Instead she doubled over in pain, her chest heaving as she tried to regain some sort of breath. The knight grabbed her by her hair and pulled her upright, drawing his sword as he did so. For one, brief, terrifying moment she thought he was going to cut her throat. Instead he hit the front of her thighs with the flat side of his sword with so much force that she thought her legs would break.

"Enough," the Hound rasped out from Joffrey's side.

No one was laughing now.

"No," Joffrey told the Hound, smiling at her pain. "Again."

Ser Boros let go of her hair and moved around her in a circle, much like Dontos had, though much more deadly. This time he hit her on the back of her thighs. Hard and strong. Without his grip on her hair Sansa fell to her knees, tears were falling down her cheeks, she screamed out in pain. "My brother," she sobbed out without thinking. "My brother would never treat your sister like this. She is his Lady and he would never humiliate her in this way."

"Your brother is a traitor," Joffrey told her, holding his hand up in the air to tell Ser Boros to stop beating Sansa. "He humiliated Princess Lenora by forcing her to marry him. He humiliated her by forcing her to lie with him. He humiliates her every day he breathes." He looked away from her for just a moment before he turned back to her, a dangerous smirk resting on her lips. "Boros, I believe my Lady is overdressed. Fix that, will you?"

Before Sansa could even grasp what he meant by that Boros was standing behind her, grabbing at her dress that was already too tight, already fraying at the seams. He slipped his hands inside the neck of her dress, grabbing at her corset and chemise as well. With one strong yank her dress, corset, and chemise tore open, baring her to her waist. The cool air of the throne room hit her breasts and she heard people snickering behind her. Joffrey's eyes were wide and wild as he looked at her. Her hands scrambled, trying to pull the fabric up to cover herself, it didn't work, so she settled for wrapping her arms around her chest, covering herself with her hands.

"Beat her bloody," the King commanded, grinning at her. "Start with her hands. We'll see how her brother facies - "

"What is the meaning of this?"

It was the Imp. And in an instant Sansa was free. He walked up to her, barely taller standing than she was kneeling. He didn't look at her, but she already felt safe. "Someone bring her something to cover herself with," he commanded.

The Hound moved off the throne platform quickly, taking off his white cloak and handing it to her without looking at her or the Imp. Sansa bowed her head gratefully as she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. The Hound had given her a way to protect her dignity and before that he had tried to tell Joffrey to stop having her beaten. She did not know why he was being kind to her, as kind as he could be, but she was grateful for it.

"This woman is to be your wife," Tyrion told Joffrey, his voice like a whip. "Your job is to protect her, to love her. Not to torture and beat her."

"Mother says that it is always better for someone to fear you than to love you," Joffrey argued. "She fears me!"

"Yes," Tyrion told him, his tone sarcastic. "It really is a pity that Stannis, Renly, and her brother are not fourteen year old girls." He turned to the sellsword who stood at his side, "Help her up," he told him. "Bring her to my chambers." He turned to look at her, smiling almost kindly. "I will come see you shortly, Lady Sansa. I would speak with my nephew first."

She nodded, allowing the sellsword to help her up, "Thank you, My Lord," she told him, nodding again though she didn't look him in the eye. He was a Lannister, the same as Joffrey. Just because he was being kind to her did not diminish that fact.

-.-.-.-.-

Tyrion

"Am I your prisoner?" she had asked by way of greeting when he had met her later in the Tower of the Hand. He supposed that she had a right to ask him that, she had known nothing but cruelty from the Lannisters since her father had died. She had no reason to expect any different from him. Though it did sting a bit, he had hoped that she would recognize that he had meant to be kind to her. He had sent handmaidens to bathe her, he had sent a maester to see to her injuries, he had sent food. He had even made a point to send her to what had been her sister's chambers, instead of the ones she had used when her father was Hand of the King. He had worried that her old chambers would bring back too many memories.

"My guest," he told her, well aware of how skeptical she would be of the word. She had been his sister's guest in King's Landing for months and she had been subjected to all manner of cruelty from Joffrey. To Sansa Stark guest could very well mean prisoner. Though it was not what he intended for her. "I had thought that we might talk."

The young woman in front of him nodded, "As my Lord commands," she told him, her voice hard and distant. Practiced. She would not simply open up to him because he asked it of her, he would have to be open to her as well.

"I was a guest of your aunt's," he told her as he moved to the table in the middle of the room and pulled a seat out for her. She sat down, not because she wanted to, but because it was proper. Her back was straight as a rod, her shoulders tight. He struggled to push her chair closer to the table for her. She did not help him. Once he was finished he moved around the table and took a seat himself. "She had me thrown into one of the sky cells," he continued as if she was actually interested in what he had to say, "for the murder of her husband, Jon Arryn."

She looked up at him, her eyebrows raised, "And had you done it?" she asked him.

He chuckled and shook his head, "I've done a great many things in my life," he told her, "but I had never killed a man. Jon Arryn's blood is not on my hands." He paused for a moment, trying to ensure that the young girl in front of him was listening to him. "Just as your brother's success in battle is not on yours," he told her.

Her eyes darted up to his face for a moment and for a second Tyrion believed that she believed him. For just a moment he could see hope shine in the young girl's eyes, but then she looked away from him, her jaw clenched. "My brother is a traitor," she told him, again in that practiced voice that served her so well in King's Landing. "Whether I was there at the battle or not, I am a traitor by blood."

Tyrion smiled at her, a bit ruefully, the girl knew exactly what part she must play to stay alive in this city and she was not going to stop playing it even for a second. "You have the right to know why Joffrey was so angry," he told her, his voice gentle. "I do not know what he told you, if anything, before he had his man beat you. But now you will have the truth of it. Six nights ago your brother fell upon my uncle Stafford, encamped with his host at a village called Oxcross, not three days ride from Casterly Rock, and much too close to home for our comfort. Your northerners won a crushing victory. We received word only this morning."

There it was, only for a moment, a flash of victory in her eyes. She was probably wishing that her brother had attacked Casterly Rock itself. But just as quickly as it appeared it disappeared, "That is terrible, My Lord," she murmured, looking away from him. "My brother is a vile traitor. The Gods should not have allowed him to win."

Tyrion smiled at her, "It is said that the Princess Lenora is not the prisoner we thought she was. She travels freely through the camp, unguarded. After the battle she helped the Silent Sisters see to the wounded men, helping on both sides. Joffrey believes that your brother has persuaded her to turn traitor, it is the only reason she would not use her freedom to run away and come home to her family."

Sansa looked up at him, her eyebrows knit together in confusion, "And do you believe that as well, My Lord?" she asked him.

Tyrion shook his head, "I believe that my niece was put in an uncomfortable situation. An impossible one, perhaps. We left her up there, when both of your fathers were still alive. It was clear when we left Winterfell that she cared for your brother and he for her. Those feelings might not have disappeared when this war started."

"You think she loves him," Sansa supplied. Her voice was quiet, but Tyrion could sense that the idea of it made her happy.

He nodded, "Lenora is brave," he told her. "But she was also always weary and cautious when it came to her own feelings. She would not have fallen willingly, she would not have fallen easily. But if she loves him she will stand by him, even as he marches against her family. It does not make her a traitor any more than you loving your family would make you one."

She did not take his bait, instead she shifted in her chair and looked away from him. "Ser Lancel said Robb led an army of wargs ..."

He laughed, disdainful and humorless, "Ser Lancel wouldn't know a warg from a wart," he told her with another chuckle. "Your brother had his direwolf with him as he always does, but I suspect that's as far as it went. The Northmen crept into my uncle's camp and cut his horse lines and then your brother sent his wolf down to the camp in the dark during a storm to frighten the horses Even war-trained destriers went mad. The knights were trampled to death in their tents and the common foot soldiers and rabble woke up in terror and fled. It is said that many did not have the chance to grab a weapon to defend themselves, but the truth of it is that most dropped their weapons in order to run faster."

Sansa raised her eyebrows, "That does not sound much like a battle," she observed.

"No," Tyrion agreed with a shake of his head, "but battle or no it is clear who the victor was. Ser Stafford was slain as he chased after a horse. Lord Rickard Karstark drove a a lance through his chest. Ser Rubert Brax is also dead, along with Ser Lymond Vikary, Lord Crakehall, and Lord Jast. Half a hundred men were taken captive, including Jast's sons and my nephew Martyn Lannister. Those who survived and managed to evade capture are spreading tales of magic and wargs. They swear that the Old Gods of the North march with your brother."

Sansa shook her head, "The Old Gods cannot come south," she told him, somewhat bitterly. "You southerners cut down all the Heart Trees. They cannot watch if they do not have eyes." She was quiet for a moment before she turned to look at him. "So there was no sorcery?" she asked him.

Tyrion shook his head, "Sorcery is the sauce fools spoon over failure to hide the flavor of their own incompetence. My uncle was so stupid that he did not think he needed to post a sentry, he might as well have invited your brother into his camp. His host was raw, mostly young boys and old men - neither of which had much experience with weapons, battle, or war. The only mystery is how your brother reached him. Our forces still hold the stronghold at the Golden Tooth, and they swear he did not pass." He shrugged his shoulders as if it did not matter much to him, though he was just as curious as his father was. "Well, your brother is my father's bane. Joffrey is min. Tell me, what do you feel for my kingly nephew?"

He was not sure what he expected her to say, it was clear that she still did not trust him, though she was more open with him, more at ease than she had been when he first entered the room. He thought that maybe after what he had witnessed in the throne room she might tell him the truth of her feelings for Joffrey.

Instead he got a lie, an almost believable one by the look on her face. But the girl would be a fool to actually feel as she said she did. And Tyrion was convinced that Sansa Stark was not as foolish as she would have the Court believe. "I love him with all my heart," she told him without even a moment's pause.

"Truly?" Tyrion asked her, raising his eyebrows. "Even now? Even after that display I rescued you from earlier? You love him even after that?"

In her moment of silence he thought he had her, but then she spoke. "My love for His Grace is greater than it has ever been," she told him. She bit her lip for a second before she spoke again, "The princess Lenora is not the only one who bestows her love cautiously. Just as Robb's traitorous acts cannot cause her to abandon her love of him, Joffrey's rightful punishment of me cannot do so either."

Tyrion laughed out loud at that, the girl might survive King's Landing and his family after all, he realized. "Well someone has taught you to lie well. You will be grateful for that one day, I do not doubt it, child." He studied her, curious, she was fourteen after all, "You are a child still, are you not?" he asked her, flinching slightly. He was well aware of how embarrassing this question would be, though it was one that he must know the answer to. "You have not flowered yet, have you?"

The dark blush that covered her cheeks was enough to give him an answer. But she spoke anyway, "No, My Lord," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. Tyrion felt sorry for the child, she had already been humiliated in front of the court. Stripped bare down to her waist and beaten. He was humiliating her further and that had never been his intention. She bore her embarrassment well though.

"That's good," he told her, thinking of what might happen to her once she had flowered and Joffrey could make her his wife. "If it gives you any solace, I do not intend that you ever wed Joffrey. No marriage will reconcile Stark and Lannister after all that has happened. More's the pity. The match was one of King Robert's better notions, if Joffrey hadn't mucked it up." He was quiet for a moment, thinking, "Lenora and Robb might have been able to do it, their tempers are better suited for peace than the king's, but the longer we are at war the more Lenora's head and heart might be turned against her family. She might not want a reconciliation by the time this war is over."

Sansa was quiet, she did not have a pretty, practiced answer for his musings. After a moment she swallowed, "Surely nothing could make her hate you, My Lord," she finally whispered. "Even in the short time I saw the two of you together at Winterfell it was clear that she loves you. She would not turn on you."

It did not escape Tyrion's notice that she did not say anything in response to his intention to keep her from marrying Joffrey. He smiled at her, "No, but there was never any love lost between her and the king," he told her. He was quiet for a moment before he pressed on, "You are very quiet on the other subject," he told her. "Is this what you want? To end your betrothal to Joffrey?"

"I -" the red headed girl started, tripping over her tongue. Tyrion could see her mind working behind her eyes. She could not tell if he was tricking her or not. She had been taught to play the games of the Court, but she was unsure if this question was a game. She did not know what was the right answer to give. And she desperately did not want to give him the wrong one. "I only want to be loyal," she settled for.

"Loyal?" Tyrion asked her, pressing her to go further.

"Loyal to King Joffrey," she confirmed. "My one true love."

Tyrion chuckled. "If I were you I would want to be as far as possible from any Lannisters," he told her, his voice nonchalant. "I wouldn't blame you for it, Child. When I was your age I wanted the same thing, and I am a Lannister." He smiled, "They tell me that you visit the Godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa?"

"I pray for an end to the fighting," she told him, her hands folded in her lap. Pretty, as a painting.

"We'll have that soon enough," he told her. "One way or another. There will be another battle, between your brother Robb and my Lord Father, and that will settle the issue."

This time it was more than a flash that he saw in her eyes, her face was an open book and his eyes had time to scan the pages. She thought that Robb would win that battle, just as he had won at Oxcross, just as he had won at Riverrun, just as he had won in the Whispering Wood. She hoped that Robb would come to King's Landing victorious and rescue her. She wanted him to kill Joffrey, and Cersei, and probably Tyrion as well. They were a child's hopes. Robb had been successful at war so far, but if he were to fight head on against Tywin Lannister he would lose.

As much as he hated to Tyrion had to dampen her hopes, "Do not take Oxcross too much to heart, My Lady," he told her, his voice as soft and as kind as possible. "A battle is not a war, and my Lord Father is assuredly not my uncle Stafford. The next time you visit the Godswood, pray that your brother has the wisdom to bend the knee. Once the North returns to the King's peace, I mean to send you home."

He did not tell her that he meant to bring his niece back to King's Landing in the deal as well.

He did not tell her that his father would chop off Robb Stark's head after he had his peace.

He did not tell her that her family would not be allowed to return to Winterfell again, even if they were freed.

But something in the girl's blue eyes told him that she already knew all of it.

-.-.-.-.-

Catelyn

Stannis had not listened to sense any more than Renly had. He was older, wiser than his younger brother, but just as stubborn. They were both children she thought, children playing at war while her son, younger than both of them, by at least half, truly fought a war. She was angry at them both, for not listening to reason, for not realizing that their enemy was not their brother, but the lion who made his camp west of them. For agreeing to a battle between the two of them rather than to help her son.

But battle they would, as soon as the sun rose. And she would wait until it was over. She would wait and hope that whoever won would help her son fight Tywin Lannister.

And before the battle was fought, she would pray.

She had her men bring her to a nearby village so that she might pray at a sept. The village was so small that she wondered if it had a name, if at one time it had a name its villagers took it with them when they left to get out of the way of the war. They took everything with them, even the candlesticks in the sept itself.

On the way there she wondered what she could do besides pray. The fact that prayer felt like the only option left to her made her feel weak. She wondered if Lenora ever felt weak. The girl was strong, stronger than Catelyn had ever imagined a girl could be. Though, the more she got to know the young woman, the more she watched her, the more she began to wonder if Lenora was who Arya would grow up to be. Her wild daughter, no doubt, under the right tutelage would have grown to be a fighter just as Lenora had.

Her heart broke at the thought of Arya and once again she was left feeling weak. She hated the feeling, she had never felt this weak, not since she had married Ned and they had made their life together at Winterfell. She had felt strong there, she had to. One had to be strong to survive in the North and for years she had believed it. But when she stood next to Lenora, when she compared herself to her son's young wife, that belief disappeared.

If Lenora were here she would not have simply tried to speak reason to her uncles.

If Lenora were here she would not simply wait until the battle was over.

If Lenora were here her last resort would not be prayer.

But prayer was all Catelyn Stark had.

It was dark in the sept, even with her torch. Catelyn placed it in a sconce near the door and turned, looking at each of the seven faces in turn.

Every sept was different. The one at Winterfell had always felt like an afterthought, one that had been built expressly for Catelyn when she had married Ned. The one at Riverrun was beautiful, large and well lit. Ones from great houses or in large cities usually had a statue for each of the Seven, and an alter to pray at. This small sept, in this small village, had only rough charcoal drawings.

Instead of having faces given to them by stonemasons, these ones could have belonged to anyone and everyone. With the flickering of the flames the lines almost seemed to change before her eyes. Bringing up images of her own loved ones and people she knew.

The Father, bearded as he always was looked at one moment like her own father, Hoster Tully. A moment later he reminded her of Ned. A flicker of flame and it was Tywin Lannister she was looking at.

The Mother, whose smile was loving and protective looked like her own mother Minisa Tully. A woman that Catelyn had not seen in so long that she could barely remember her.

The Warrior had his sword sketched beneath his face and as the wind blew and the torch flickered Catelyn watched as the face changed. The Warrior was Renly and Stannis, Robb and Robert, Jaime Lannister and Jon Snow. For a moment it looked more feminine she could see Lenora in the charcoal lines, and Arya for an instant.

The Smith had his hammer and she could see their own smith at Winterfell in him, a man who had made countless weapons to help protect her son as he marched south. He would never know how grateful she was to him for that.

The Maid was beautiful, gentle. She looked like Sansa, and the youngest princess, Myrcella, and again - that brief flash of Lenora, the soft side to the young woman's warrior heart.

The Crone was wrinkled and wise, her smile knowing. Catelyn recognized her own face in the Crone's, her own worry in the wrinkles.

The seventh face ... the Stranger was neither male nor female, yet both. The Stranger was the outcast, the wanderer from far places, less and more than human, unknown and unknowable. Here the face was a black oval, a shadow with stars for eyes. It made her uneasy, she would get no comfort from the Stranger, but it was here, this face where she saw all of her loved ones. One after another.

She forced herself to turn away from the stranger and instead moved to kneel in front of the Mother. Before a battle most would pray to the Warrior, but Catelyn was not looking for strength in battle or victory. She was looking for comfort. The Warrior gave strength, the Mother gave comfort.

"My Lady," she whispered to the charcoal face above her, "I pray that you look down on this battle with a mother's eyes. They are all sons, every one. Spare them if you can."

A crack ran down through the Mother's left eye. It made her look as if she were crying. In the still night Catelyn wondered if the Gods did cry, if they even listened. They were as silent tonight as they had always been. She wondered if Ned's Gods had been silent too when he prayed to them at Winterfell. Had his Gods answered his prayers when hers kept their silence?

The smoke from the torch was making her eyes burn. She looked down to the ground and wiped at her eye, blinking back her own irritated tears before she looked back up at the Mother again. The face no longer looked like her own mother's, the shadows had swayed and shifted, and as she looked more closely at the charcoal picture in front of her she realized that it was Cersei's face that seemed to be staring back at her.

She almost backed away before she realized something. Cersei is a mother too. No matter who it was that had fathered her three youngest children they were beyond a doubt Cersei's. She had carried them in her womb for nine moons, felt their kicks, brought them forth into the world, nursed them at her breast. As cruel as the woman was, she could also love. She could also care. She could also be gentle.

"Does Cersei pray to you too, My Lady?" Catelyn asked the Mother. She could see the proud, cold, lovely features of the Lannister Queen etched upon the wall before her. The crack still looked like a tear falling from Cersei's left eye, reminding Catelyn of one more thing. Even Cersei could cry for her children. If the three youngest were really Jaime's Robert would have killed them as soon as he knew. Bastards were common, but incest - it was a sin in the eyes of both the Old Gods and the New. Cersei had kept their secret, she had protected her children. Lenora had gotten her strength, not from her warrior father, but from her lioness mother.

Catelyn remembered the lesson about the Seven her septon had taught her as a child. "Each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven," Septon Osmynd had told her. There was as much beauty in the Crone as in the Maiden.

And the Mother could be fiercer than the Warrior when her children were in danger.

Lenora's strength came from her sword. Catelyn's, from her children.

She left the sept then, to return to Renly's camp and use the strength she got from the Mother when her children were in danger to make one last appeal to the would-be southern king. One last attempt to sway him away from battle with his brother and toward battle with the Lannisters.

She found him inside his pavilion with Brienne armoring him for battle while the Lords Tarly and Rowan spoke of dispositions and tactics. It was pleasantly warm inside, despite the chill to the air on the other side of the tent flaps. "I must speak with you, Your Grace," she told him, for the first time using the King's style in an attempt to catch his attention.

Renly turned to her and nodded a greeting, "In a moment, Lady Catelyn," he told her before he turned to the Lords in front of him. "See to your battles, My Lords. And if Barristan Selmy is at my brother's side, I want him spared."

"There's been no word of Ser Barristan since Joffrey cast him out," Lord Rowan objected.

"I know the old man. He needs a king to guard, or who is he? Yet he never came to me, and Lady Catelyn says he is not with Robb Stark at Riverrun. Where else but with Stannis?"

The lords nodded their agreement and bowed their way out of the tent. Once they left and it was just Catelyn, Renly, and Brienne, the King turned to look at her. "Say your say, Lady Stark," he commanded as Brienne swept his cloak over his shoulders. It was cloth-of-gold, heavy, with the crowned stag of Baratheon picked out in flakes of jet.

At least for the battle he would not be wearing Highgarden's colors.

"The Lannisters tried to kill my son Bran," she told him, without thinking. The words spilled from her lips without a thought, but as she said them she knew them to be true. "As I waited by his bed, praying that he would wake up I asked the Gods a thousand times why someone would try to harm him. But the Gods did not answer. Your brother gave me the answer. There was a hunt at Winterfell the day my son fell from the tower. Jaime Lannister did not go on the hunt, neither did the Queen." She knew that Renly was intelligent, he would understand why that fact was important. "I beg you, Your Grace, let me go to Stannis and tell him what I suspect."

"To what end?" Renly scoffed at her.

Catelyn took a deep breath and closed her eyes, taking a moment to silently ask the Mother, once more, for strength. "Robb will set aside his crown if you and your brother will do the same," she told him. She knew that at the moment Robb had no intention of setting aside his crown, but she hoped that she would be able to persuade him. She knew that her son had no interest in the Iron Throne, he wanted to return to Winterfell. She wanted that for him. She hoped that he would see that this was the easiest way to do so. Robb would listen to her, even if his lords did not. But they would have to listen to him.

"Let the three of you call for a Great Council," she continued. "One like the realm has not seen for a hundred years. We will send for Bran, he will tell his tale and all men may know the Lannisters for the true usurpers. Let the assembled lords of the Seven Kingdoms choose who shall rule them."

Renly chuckled at her as if she had told him some great jest. "Tell me, My Lady, do direwolves vote on who should lead the pack?"

"I beg you in the name of the Mother," Catelyn began. She was ready to fall on her knees and truly beg him to listen to her when a sudden gust of wind flung open the door of the tent. She could not be sure, it happened so quickly. But she could have sworn that she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. When she turned there was nothing there, just the King's shadow shifting against the silken walls.

She heard the King begin to speak, saw the shadow moving, lifting its sword - black on the green silk. But when she turned back to Renly she saw that his sword was still in its scabbard. Still sheathed. But the shadow sword was still moving.

"Cold," Renly said, his voice small and puzzled, a heartbeat - a second before the steel of his mail shirt parted like ripped parchment beneath the shadow of a blade that was not there. He gave a small, thick gasp before the blood came gushing out of his throat.

Brienne turned, screamed out, "Your Grace, No!" as she stumbled forward and caught Renly's crumbling body in her arms, falling down onto her knees, his blood flowing fast, covering the blue of her own armor.

The woman's scream alerted the guards outside that something had happened. And before Catelyn could even begin to understand what she had just seen two guards rushed in. They did not stop to ask questions, they saw Brienne kneeling on the ground, holding Renly's body and they unsheathed their swords. "You'll die for this!" one of them threatened, moving closer to Brienne.

"No," Catelyn tried to tell them, shaking her head. But her voice was too soft, too quiet. "It wasn't her. It was Stannis." Truth be told it was a shadow, but just as she had known that she was speaking the truth when she said that the Lannisters had tried to kill Bran she knew she was being honest now. That shadow, whatever it had been, was Stannis' doing.

The knight moved on Brienne and she stood quickly, drawing her sword without a moment's pause. She matched swords with one of the knights, shoving him aside to swipe at the other. The first attacked her again and the large woman easily stepped out of his way, dragging her sword along the side, underneath the lip of his armor, slicing through his mail shirt and cutting open his stomach as easily as a man would cut his meat.

As he fell to the ground the other approached her from behind. She quickly turned to face him and swung her sword up to meet his when he tried to swing at her neck. She lunged forward and pushed him to the ground. Then, while standing above him she drove her sword down through his neck. The only reason the knight remained on his knees was because her sword was holding him upright, she yanked it away from his body with a slick sound and he quickly slumped down onto his stomach, dead.

Brienne stared down at their bodies for a moment before she dropped her sword to the ground and turned back to Renly, her King. She was crying as she knelt at his side again, begging him to return to her.

Catelyn moved toward her quickly, trying to pull her away. "You've got to leave," she told the young woman. But the blonde knight did not listen to her, her sobs only got louder. "They will hang you for this." She turned, she could hear more men outside the tent, no doubt they heard the fight and would be there to check on their King soon enough. "Now," she insisted, pulling on Brienne's arm.

The knight stayed on her knees, but she let go of Renly's body to round on Catelyn, grabbing onto her arm desperately. "I won't leave him," she promised.

Catelyn's face was stern, her voice was hard as she moved closer to Brienne's tear covered face, "You can't avenge him if you're dead," she told the woman before she stood up and yanked Brienne with her.

They left the tent through the back, quickly and quietly finding Catelyn's men. They grabbed their horses, Catelyn deciding that they could leave what little belongings they had brought with them.

They would ride quietly, quickly through the night. Catelyn could only hope that they would be far away from Renly's camp when his soldiers learned that their King was dead and that Brienne was missing.

Author's Note:

So no Lenora and Robb in this chapter, just the whispers of them. But I think it was a good chapter all the same. Needed to deviate from them a bit today to move the story along.
I hope that you enjoyed it.
Did you? Huh? Did you? If you did you should drop down to that handsome looking box just below where we are now. It's lonely. And would love some review love.
(So would I!)
The biggest thanks goes to those wonderful human beings who reviewed the last chapter. You are made of all the good, happy things on earth, I'm sure of it.

HPuni101: Thank you dear! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well.

Guest (1): I'm really excited that I get to number the guest reviews this time. That's fun. Anyway hello! Welcome! thank you for stopping by and binge reading this story! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as the previous twenty-five.
You asked: When answering a question from my reviews, if I could type out the question before I answer it so that people don't have to go through the reviews to find the question like you've been doing for the last twenty-five chapters.
The answer: yes!

HopelessRomantic44: Thank you! Another binge reader! I love it! I've figured that readers are kind of like me. They're not going to take the risk on reading an "In Progress" story over a "complete" story because what if the writer gets writer's block or stops writing? So I have a feeling the longer this story gets and the more I write the more binge readers I will get. Anyway, thank you for your review. I'm glad you've enjoyed this story so far and I hope that this chapter was worth the wait!

123bluebell123: I'm so glad that you have enjoyed this story so far. And thank you, thank you, thank you for saying that it is not "predictable," "cringey," or filled with "OOC" moments. That is a HUGE compliment and honestly what I strive for every time I sit down to write. Hopefully I can continue to live up to that!

Guest (2): Hello second guest friend and third binge reader! You made my day this morning when I logged in to post this chapter. And your review was so full of compliments that I am still smiling. You know how to bribe an author into posting a new chapter: compliments. Just kidding, but still ... thank you! I'm glad that you think that my original content is believable ... that was the biggest challenge I had to fight when I started this story. So it's great that I seem to be succeeding so far.
And trust me ... I know the feeling. I get mad when Lenora isn't in episodes. I've been fighting the flu for the last week or so and I've been rewatching GoT and in some of the episodes it was like I knew what Lenora would do and I was so angry that she wasn't there.
As for a "new pup" ... maybe. You will have to wait and see.

That's all I've got for now guys.
Once again, thank you for all of your support. It really is amazing.
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.