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Chapter Twenty-Seven: Monsters

Tyrion

Renly was dead. For the first time in many years Tyrion was unsure of how he felt. He had never particularly liked Renly Baratheon and the man was an enemy of Tyrion's family so he was not particularly saddened by the man's death.

But he had been counting on Renly and Stannis actually battling. He had hoped that the two brothers would meet on the battlefield and work to diminish each other's forces before a winner was named.

Instead Renly had died the night before he was to battle his older brother. Stannis' force was untouched. On Renly's side only he and two of his King's Guard, or as he called them, his Rainbow Guard had been killed. Many of the lords who had declared for Renly had already tripped over themselves in an attempt to bend the knee to Stannis.

The only hold outs were the Tyrells, the Tarlys, the Rowans, and Storm's End itself.

So one Baratheon king was dead and the other had doubled the size of his army over night.

What was more troubling was that Stannis was not Renly. If Renly had won the battle Tyrion could have hoped that the younger brother would march north to meet with Tywin Lannister. Renly, who had spent so many years on his brother's Small Council, would understand that the might and power of the Lannister family came from Tywin. He would hope to defeat Tywin Lannister on the battlefield and bring the old man's head to King's Landing when he came to take over the city.

But Stannis was a different kind of man. He was a stubborn man. He would never march on Tywin at Harrenhal when King's Landing was still left in the hands of Joffrey. Since Stannis was the victor of the unfought battle between he and Renly Tyrion could guarantee that there would be a battle for King's Landing before the turn of the moon.

"Murdered?" Cersei asked when she heard the news at the Small Council meeting. "By whose hand?"

Varys smiled at her, sweet and simpering. It made Tyrion sick. But all the same he let the Spider play his game, weave his weblike story for the Queen. "I have often found that too many answers is no better than no answer at all, Your Grace," the eunuch told her, his voice as soft as silk. "Very rarely are my informers as highly placed as we might like. They were not at the scene of the murder. And so, all I have for you are whispers. Whispers of whispers. Rumors of rumors. When a king dies, fancies sprout like mushrooms in the dark. There are a thousand and one answers to your question."

"And which answers have you heard?" Cersei asked, unimpressed by the man's warning.

"A groom says that Renly was slain by a knight of his own Rainbow Guard," Varys told her with a shrug of his shoulders, as if he was disappointed that she had not taken heed to the fact that none of these were true answers. "A washerwoman claims Stannis stole through the heart of his brother's army with his magic sword. Several men-at-arms believe a woman did the fell deed, but cannot agree on which woman. A maid that Renly had spurned, claims one. A camp follower brought in to serve his pleasure on the eve of battle, says a second."

Tyrion snorted at that, "A spurned maid or a whore?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I believe it more if the rumor was of a squire." Everyone in the council had heard the rumors of Renly's pleasure. It was more likely that Stannis had snuck into the camp in the dark than Renly had had a woman in his tent.

"The third ventures that it might have been the Lady Catelyn Stark," Varys continued as if Tyrion had not spoken.

That gave Tyrion some pause. What was Catelyn Stark doing at Renly's camp when her son was days away at Oxcross? During the time he had spent with the woman he had developed a sort of respect for Catelyn Stark and the one thing that he knew was that she would do anything for her family. It seemed strange that she would leave her eldest son as he pursued his war on the Lannisters. Unless, of course, Robb had sent her to Renly. Oh to have been a fly on the wall during that meeting if that were the case.

Cersei, though pleased that Renly was dead, was not as pleased that Varys could not give her a straight answer to who had killed him. As she usually did when she was upset she began to threaten the eunuch.

"Joff will be so disappointed," Tyrion interrupted with a roll of his eyes. "He was saving such a nice spike for Renly's head. But whoever did the deed we must assume Stannis was behind it. The gain is clearly his." And our loss he thought, he could clearly picture Stannis arriving to sack the city. Even if King's Landing managed to stand it would be a bloody battle. And one that would arrive much sooner than he had hoped.

"What of Renly's host?" Cersei asked, finally moving on from Renly's death.

"The greater part of his foot remains at Bitterbridge, Your Grace," Varys supplied, happy to give her the straight answer she was looking for, at least on this count. "Most of the lords who rode with Lord Renly to Storm's End have gone over banner-and-blade to Stannis, with all their knights."

"Led by the Florents, I'd wager," Littlefinger murmured, his tone dark.

Varys nodded with another simpering smile to the Master of Coin, "You would win that wager, My Lord, Lord Alester was, in fact, the first to bend the knee to Stannis. Though many others followed."

"But not all?" Cersei asked, lighting on that fact.

"No, Your Grace, not all." Varys turned to smile at her and held up four fingers. "Not Loras Tyrell," he lowered one finger. "Nor Randyll Tarly," another finger. "Nor Mathis Rowan and Storm's End, the fortress itself, will not yield. Ser Cortnay Penrose holds the castle in Renly's name and will not open the gates until he has seen proof of Renly's murder. Unfortunately for Ser Cortnay, Renly's corpse seems to have vanished." He lowered his last two fingers.

"So only four families have remained unbent to Stannis?" Cersei asked, disappointed.

"At least a fifth of Renly's knights departed with Ser Loras rather than bend the knee to Stannis," Varys tried to soother her.

Littlefinger's eyes were sparkling, "I am sure that the Knight of the Flowers was mad with anguish when he learned that his king was dead. How he must have felt for his," he paused to ensure that everyone at the table picked up on his innuendo, "poor sister," he finished. "Still a maid, I imagine."

Varys nodded, "Ser Loras is likely making for Bitterbridge. That is where his sister is. As well as a great many soldiers who suddenly find themselves kingless. The question is, which side they will take now. Will they back Stannis, like many of Renly's lords? Will they march north to Robb Stark? Or, perhaps, will they come to King's Landing?"

Tyrion shook his head, "They will not come to King's Landing without proper incentive," he told the council. "They might go to Stark without the same incentive because the Starks are not as hated as the Lannisters by the small folk. But they will not come to us willingly." He shook his head, trying to think of something. "There is a chance here, it seems to me," he told them, leaning forward. "Win Loras Tyrell to our cause and Lord Mace Tyrell and his bannermen might join us as well. Some of them may have sworn their swords to Stannis for the moment, yet they cannot love the man, or they would have been his from the start."

"They love us less than they love Stannis," Cersei reminded him.

Tyrion rolled his eyes, he had just told her that, no one loved Lannisters except for other Lannisters. But love was not the only reason that men followed. "Perhaps we can give them good and sufficient reasons to prefer Joffrey to Stannis ... if we move quickly."

Cersei raised her eyebrows, wondering at his plan. "Gold reasons?" Littlefinger asked, guessing at what Tyrion was thinking.

Tyrion shook his head, "Bribes may sway some of the lesser lords, but never Highgarden." No one argued that point, they all knew it was true. They also knew that Loras Tyrell was the key. Mace Tyrell had three sons, Loras was the youngest of the three, but he was also the favorite. If they could sway Loras they would get Mace Tyrell and all of his bannermen as well. "It seems that we should take a lesson from the late Lord Renly," he told them. "We can win the Tyrell alliance as he did. With a marriage."

"I hope this offer would be a true offer," Littlefinger muttered, his tone dark. He was still angry at Tyrion for lying to him about his plans for the princesses. Tyrion smirked, remembering how he had let Littlefinger believe that Myrcella would go to the Eyrie and Lenora would be married to Loras Tyrell. The Master of Coin now knew that both of those offers had been false.

"This one would be," Tyrion assured him. "I mean to wed King Joffrey to Margaery Tyrell."

"Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa Stark," Cersei objected.

"Betrothed," Tyrion agreed. "But not married. Betrothals can be broken. And this one should be. The Stark girl is the daughter of a traitor, her brother fights against the King's own grandfather. The Tyrells are much wealthier than the Starks."

"And Margaery is said to be lovely," Littlefinger spoke up. "And beddable."

Tyrion could see that his sister wanted to argue. She wanted to disagree. But she felt no love for the Stark girl and even she could see the disadvantages of keeping Joffrey betrothed to her. She was a good match when Ned Stark was still the Warden of the North and Hand of the King. She was a good match when her family was still considered honorable. But now she was tarnished. She sighed and waved her hand in a dismissive manner, "Make your offer," she told Tyrion, "but Gods save you all if Joff does not like this girl."

Tyrion was sure that Joffrey would like this girl. Once Cersei had given her consent it was easy work of deciding who to send to Bitterbridge to treat with Loras Tyrell, it would be Petyr Baelish and he would leave before daybreak the next day.

Once the meeting was finished Cersei bade him to hold back. She waited until the other Council members had left the room before she gestured to the chair next to her. Tyrion watched her, suspicious, but sat down as she had silently requested. She smiled at him, almost sweetly, "Tyrion, I know we do not always agree on policy, but it seems to me that I was wrong about you. You are not so big a fool as I imagined. In truth, I realize now that you have been a great help. For that I thank you. You must forgive me if I have spoken to you harshly in the past."

Tyrion stared at her, he wanted to be suspicious. It was in his nature, especially when it came to Cersei. But she was being kind to him. He wondered what sort of game she was playing. "Must I?" he asked her, making a bit of a joke out of her gratitude. "Sweet sister, you have said nothing that requires forgiveness."

"Today, you mean?" Cersei asked with a laugh. Tyrion laughed too, she had the right of it after all. For the first time in his life he saw what his brother, Jaime, must have seen when he looked at Cersei. His sister was beautiful and funny, and she could be enchanting when she wanted to be. In this moment Cersei reminded him so much of Lenora that his heart ached for his niece. When Lenora was kind to him he never had to be suspicious of it.

But when Cersei leaned closer to him and pressed a quick, soft kiss on his brow he was suspicious of her. She was hatching some sort of plan, he was sure of it.

And whatever the plan was he was equally sure that it would not bode well for him.

-.-.-.-.-

Theon

The decision wasn't an easy one. But it shouldn't have been. Deciding to betray the man who was the closest thing Theon had to a brother should have been a difficult, heart-wrenching, impossible decision. It was a decision that kept him up at night. One that he wrestled with day after day, even after he had made it.

Robb did not deserve it. He knew that. Neither did the little ones: Bran and Rickon. He had grown up with that family, eaten at their table, slept in their holdfast. He had watched as the youngest one grew from a babe to a toddler to a child. He had protected Bran, watched out for him, hurt when the boy fell from the tower and rejoiced when he woke up. He had helped teach Arya how to shoot a bow and arrow, he had watched her prank her older sister, and taken bets with Jon and Robb about how long it would take the "Little Lady" to gut any potential suiters who came calling at Winterfell. He had begrudgingly played Monsters and Maidens with Sansa, he had been her dance partner when the septa taught her and Arya how to dance, and he had joked with her about her love of knights and love stories as she had gotten older.

He had been at Winterfell when Lenora came to the castle. He had toasted her in the hall every night after she had saved Bran from the Wildlings. He had been there when she married Robb, no matter how angry she had been that night. He had seen her crowned and grow into the title the Northmen had given her: Queen.

And Robb.

He had grown into a man with Robb. He had hunted with him, studied with him, visited the whorehouse in Wintertown with him. He was there the first time Robb had seen Lenora, had seen the way he stared at her as if he had never seen anything in the world as beautiful as she. He stood with Robb in the Whispering Wood, had been ready to die for him. He had named Robb his King and had gone to his father to treat with him on Robb's behalf. He thought of Robb, above all the others, as his brother.

But all of that had changed when he arrived on the Iron Isles. He had once heard Ned Stark remark that once he left home he never really made it back. He hadn't believed the Lord - he was so comfortable at Winterfell, so comfortable in his position as Warden of the North. There was no way that Theon could believe that he did not feel at home at Winterfell. But now he felt it.

He had spent his years dreaming about returning to the Iron Islands. He was a ward of the Starks, but as his father's only living son he was heir to the Iron Islands and when his father died he would return to the Iron Islands and live at the castle on Pyke. At least that is what he had thought would happen. He had been stupid.

Pyke was not his home anymore. It seemed smaller. It smelled strange. No one knew him here. And his father. His father treated him as if he had asked to be sent to Winterfell. His father called him traitor and practically said that Theon was no son of his. That had hurt. It was Balon, not Theon, who had rebelled against the King. It was Balon who lost his two eldest sons during the rebellion. It was Balon that agreed to send Theon to Winterfell with Ned Stark after he had been beaten. And now, it was Balon who looked at his only son with obvious disdain.

It was Balon who mocked Theon's clothes.

It was Balon who almost struck Theon when he named Robb his brother.

But what had the old man expected? Had he thought that his son would live at Winterfell the majority of his life and not grow up to love the children he grew with? He barely remembered his older brothers' faces, but he could remember Robb, and Bran, and Rickon, and even Jon.

He had sworn to his father that Ned Stark had been no father to him. And that had been the truth. Ned had never been unkind to Theon, but he had been stern, and distant. And his wife, Lady Catelyn, had treated him with little more than barely hidden disdain. He had no love for either of them.

It was harder to swear that Robb meant nothing to him. But he needed to do it. It was the only way to gain his father's respect.

And now, this, was the only way to prove to his father that he was worthy of being named the heir to the Iron Islands. No matter how much it would hurt him to do it.

No matter how much it would destroy Robb.

No matter that it meant that he would never be able to return to his King, that he would be branded a traitor and every Northman would be after his head.

Including the one who knelt in front of him now, angrily spitting at him even though he was captured and outnumbered by Iron Islanders.

"Robb will gut you, Greyjoy," Benfred Tallhart screamed at him. "He'll feed your turncloak's heart to his wolf, you piece of sheep dung."

His uncle's voice cut through the insults, the priest demanded that Theon kill the man, he had spit on him, he had dishonored him and the Tallhart man should pay for that dishonor with his death.

"I have questions for him first," Theon told his uncle without looking away from Benfred.

"Fuck your questions. You'll choke on them before you get any answers from me, craven. Turncloak."

He was right. Theon knew that. Robb would gut him for turning on him, for using the Northmen's absence to raid the villages and towns on the coast. And if Benfred knew what Theon was planning his threats would have been worse. Robb would not just gut him for what he planned to do, he would probably set Grey Wind on him while he was still living.

Uncle Aeron was relentless. "When he spits on you, he spits on all of us. He spits on the Drowned God. He must die."

Theon tried not to roll his eyes and yell at his uncle. His father had given him command of the Sea Bitch, not Aeron. Aeron had been sent to counsel him, and to spy on him no doubt. But Theon controlled the ship and he could do what he wanted with his prisoner. And he wanted to ask him some questions.

"You'll lose your head for this, Greyjoy," Benfred yelled over Aeron's protests. "The crows will eat the jelly of your eyes." He tried to spit on Theon again, but only managed a little blood, most of it dripped down his own chin. "The Others bugger your wet god."

Theon sighed, he could have let Benfred get away with spitting on him, at least a bit longer. But he could not ignore the man mocking the Drowned God. He did not necessarily believe in the God, but his father did. And his uncle Aeron did. And his men did. It was the way of the Iron Islands and they would not take the insult lightly.

He waved his hand at Benfred and turned to walk away from the doomed Tallhart, "Silence him," he told his men.

It did not matter much, he was sure of his plan even without Tallhart's answers to his questions. But it would have been nice to know exactly what he would be going up against.

This was the part that would destroy Robb. It was bad enough that Theon had abandoned him. It was terrible that Theon had allowed his father and sister to plan raids on the Northern fishing villages. But it was unforgivable what Theon planned to do.

He knew just how many they had left at Winterfell. He knew the way Ser Rodrik thought.

He knew that he wouldn't need many men to do it.

And he knew it was the best way to prove to his father that he was not the Starks' man, but a true Iron Islander.

He planned to take Winterfell for himself.

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

They were marching the next morning. She had spent the day in their tent packing up their personal belongings. He had laughed at her when she told him that she wanted to do that, they had servants for a reason, but Lenora had told him that she wouldn't pack up everything, just the personal things. He had not been aware that they had brought so many personal belongings that it would take her the entire day to pack everything up.

But she had missed supper. So he had ordered one of the cookmaids to fix her a plate of food and bring it to their tent and he had set out to find his wife.

She was on the floor of their tent when he walked in, kneeling. Her dark skirt fanned out around her and her dark hair hung in front of her face. She would have made for a pretty picture if it weren't for the rod straight set to her spine and the tense set of her shoulders. Something was wrong.

In her lap sat a large leather pouch. He didn't need to look inside it to know what he would find. He had counted them. Many times over, he had counted them. Four hundred gold dragons. She hadn't looked up when he walked in, too focused on the pouch in her lap. So he softly called out to her, "Nora?"

Her head snapped up to look at him for a moment before her grey eyed gaze dropped back to the pouch in her lap. "What is this?" she asked him, her voice quiet. She wasn't accusing him of anything, she wasn't angry. She was curious, and slightly suspicious. And if he had to guess she was a bit resigned. He had a feeling that she already knew what it was, at least in part, and she was just hoping that he would tell her she was wrong.

"Four hundred gold dragons," he told her as he walked further into the tent, dropping down to the ground beside her.

She shook her head, her eyebrows knitted together. "That's a fortune," she whispered. "A family could live off of this for years." She turned to look at him, "Where did this come from?" she asked him.

Robb sighed, this was the part that would hurt. This is why he had hid the pouch from her. He had never wanted to have this conversation. Because Lenora was smart, she would come to the same conclusion he had, though he had a feeling she would come to it much faster. "I found it on the man in the godswood," he told her, looking away so that he didn't have to meet her eyes. "At Riverrun."

"The man who killed Ser Willum?" she asked him. He nodded. She was quiet for a moment. "This is the price for murdering a knight and our child?" she asked him, her voice shaking slightly.

Robb shook his head. "No one knew you were with child, Nora," he told her. "Except for you, me, the Maester, and I have a feeling - your uncle." She looked down, a blush tinting her cheeks and he smiled ruefully. He wasn't angry at her for confiding in her uncle, he had offered to let her write to her mother after all. But it would make what he said next harder for her to hear. "I think this is the price for murdering a queen."

Her eyes darted to his face quickly as his words sank in. She shook her head. "When that man came to murder Bran, he had been paid ninety silver stags and that was a lot. It was a lot, but there were many men in the realm who could have paid that price. But this -" she shook her head again.

Robb nodded, he knew what she was trying to work out in her head. "This is a price that most men would be unable to pay."

"A Lannister could pay it," she told him, her voice dark and low. He watched her eyes dart around the tent, she wasn't looking for anything, she was thinking. He could just imagine what was going on in her head as she tried to figure out which of her family would have done this. The Imp? Her grandfather? Her mother?

He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze in an attempt to get her to look at him. When her gaze finally landed on his face he shook his head, quick and fierce. He hated her mother and grandfather, he distrusted the Imp, but even he did not think they would do this to her. There was only one person who had both the money and the inclination to harm Lenora like that. "A King could pay it," he told her, his voice little more than a whisper.

Lenora stared at him for a moment with wide eyes. She started to shake her head, she did not want to believe him. "He's my brother," she told him, her voice cracking a bit as she defended him. "My baby brother. If anything, wouldn't he want to rescue me, not kill me?"

Robb shook his head too, "Stannis' ravens went to King's Landing too," he told her. "No doubt many of the court and even some of the small folk now know that Stannis has named your brothers and sister bastards. Even if he doesn't believe it, even if he writes it off as a rumor. It would do him no good to have you returned to Court, walking around the Red Keep, looking so much like your father."

He reached out and brushed a strand of her dark, Baratheon hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Then why doesn't he just leave me here?" Lenora asked, her voice a broken whisper. She knew the answer, Robb knew it. But she was so hurt by the realization that she didn't want to accept it. She refused to. "I wouldn't make any trouble for him here," she promised, as if Robb could speak to her brother on her behalf. "If he simply agreed to your terms we would go back to Winterfell and I would never go to King's Landing again. No one would ever have to compare us."

"Because," Robb whispered, wrapping his arms around her small frame and pulling her into his lap so that he could hold her against his chest. "Even if your brother did not know that you were with child it is safe to assume that eventually you would be. And as much as I bet he wants to write off Stannis' declaration as a rumor it won't matter if other men believe it. If you had a son and Joffrey is a bastard then your son could sit on the throne."

"And if men believe it then some might declare themselves for my son," Lenora whispered, her voice muffled against Robb's jerkin. She was quiet for a moment, "Soon he will learn that he did not kill me," she whispered, her voice even quieter than before.

Robb pressed his cheek against the top of her head and nodded, she was right about that. "Aye," he told her as gently as he could. "Soon he will learn that you still live."

"And he will try again," she added.

"I'd wager he will," he agreed.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him, pulling away from him so that she could look him in the eye.

Robb unwrapped one of his arms from around her so that he could pick up the pouch that was still sitting in her lap. "Protect you," he told her, forcing his voice to sound light. "Just as I have been doing. And hope that the next one is just as well paid. And the next. And then we'll use the King's money to buy weapons that we will use to take his city from him and cut off his head."

That almost gained him a smile. Almost. Her lips twitched up at the corners for less than a second before they dropped again.

He threw the pouch on the ground and stood up, pulling Lenora up with him. "I ordered one of the cookmaids to bring you supper," he told her, looking around the tent. "But it would seem that she has gotten lost on the way here. Shall I go find her?"

Lenora shook her head, "I'm not hungry," she told him. Robb wanted to argue with her. Lenora had this way of refusing food when she was upset. It never lasted more than one or two meals now, but it still worried him. Even though she told him that she was alright he still thought she was on the mend from her attack. Not eating would just make that healing time take even longer. But she stopped his argument on his lips when she looked up at him, her grey eyes glassy, "I just want you to take me to bed," she whispered to him.

Any other man would have seen that as an invitation. He would have assumed that she meant that she wanted to make love to him. But Robb had grown accustomed to his wife since they had married. He knew that right now she was seeking comfort. She did not want to be fucked. She wanted to be held.

He slipped one of his hands underneath her legs and the other around her back and he carried her to their bed. Once there he placed her on her feet so that he could untie her dress. She had stopped wearing a corset shortly after they had left Riverrun so it was quick work to strip her down to just her shift. Then he pulled back the furs on the bed and encouraged her to slide underneath them.

She shifted her body, trying to find a comfortable position as he too stripped down and climbed into bed. Once he was sitting beside her she rolled into him. Her head rested on his chest and her legs tangled with his. He reached his left hand up and began to run his fingers through her long hair, hoping that it would soothe her. "Tell me a story," he whispered after a moment, anything to distract her from the fact that her brother had most likely ordered her murder.

She was so quiet for a moment that he thought she had already fallen asleep. But then she started talking. "My uncle used to tell me this story when I was a girl, whenever I was scared. I think his mother told it to him. Though I think he changed some of the details to make me feel like I was part of the story."

"And how does it go?" Robb asked her. "Your uncle Jaime's version?"

"A lion lived in the Kingswood," Lenora started, her eyes closed as if she was trying to remember how it had felt the last time her uncle had told her this story. "He had no cubs of his own, but one day he found one - a little runt that had been abandoned by its mother and desperately needed protection. Now this grown up lion did not want any cubs, he did not want to have to take care of anyone but himself, but the first time he saw the little runt of a cub he was gone. Love at first sight. So he took the orphaned cub in and raised her as if she were his own. And he loved her very much."

Robb chuckled, "This sounds familiar," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Lenora's head.

"I told you," she whispered, "he changed it to make the story about me."

"So this lion and his cub live in the Kingswood?" Robb asked, prompting her back to the story.

Lenora nodded, "And he loved her very much," she told him again, as if that was the most important part of the story so far. "But there were other things, evil things that lived in the woods as well. Bears, poisonous plants, snakes, and wolves. The wolves were the worst. The little cub, she could hear them howling in the night. She was frightened. The big lion told her, 'You are a lion, my sweet, you mustn't be afraid. For one day, all the beasts will bow to you. You will rule them all. All the stags will bow. All the wolves will bow. All the bears in the North and the foxes of the South will bow to you. All the birds in the sky and the beasts in the sea. They will all come to you, little lion, to bend the knee.' And the cub said, 'Will I be strong, and fierce, and brave like you?' The big lion nodded, 'Yes,' he told the cub. 'You will be strong, and fierce, and brave. Just like me.' The cub asked if the big lion would be there, beside her the day all the beasts of the forest came to bow to her. 'Yes," the big lion told her. 'I will be there, to keep you safe.' And the little lion was never afraid again."

Robb was quiet for a moment, "They really do try to turn you Lannisters against the rest of the world, don't they?" he asked her finally.

She smiled softly, "I was a Baratheon," she told him. "Though yes, my mother loved to tell me all sorts of stories about how horrible the North was. She had me believing that everyone, not just the Boltons, flayed their enemies in the North. There was a time when I was truly terrified of you."

Robb smiled at that, glad that she was not still terrified. "We must have seemed such monsters to you," he told her softly, hoping that she could hear the apology in his voice. "Especially after I forced you to marry me and almost forced you to endure a bedding ceremony."

Lenora turned her head so that she could press a kiss against his bare chest, "You did," she told him softly. "But that all changed."

"When?" Robb asked her. The answer, whatever it was, was so important.

"When I realized the monsters were protecting me."

Author's Note:

Hello friends! Back again today and hoping that you enjoyed this chapter!
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Anyway, thank you for reading! And thank you to all of you who have added this story to your favorites or alerts lists! But the BIGGEST thanks goes to the wonderful human beings who reviewed the last chapter. You are all beautiful!

alia00: Thank you for your review! I am glad that you are enjoying the story so far!

writingNOOB: You must be psychic, because the chapter I wrote yesterday includes Lenora either sitting in on a battle plan or taking part in the battle. One or the other, maybe both. Who knows? Only me. (And you guys in about five chapters...) You are right, she is a warrior princess after all. Thank you for your review! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

magclot23: Binge reader! I love it! I'm glad that you have enjoyed the story thus far and are all caught up! Here is a new update for you! I hope that it does not disappoint.

Raging Raven: What is complicated, dear?

HPuni101: You asked for more Lenora and Robb. You got more Lenora and Robb! With a side of Theon betraying everyone who counted on him. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

RHatch89: Thank you! I hope you liked this update as well!

darkwolf76: Stop it! You're making me blush! I am so glad that you have enjoyed the story up until this point. You read it all in one sitting? I don't even know if I could have done that! I'm glad that you enjoy my writing style and characters and I most definitely plan to keep up the "good work"! Thank you!

That's all I have for now.
Until tomorrow (perhaps, we'll see),
Chloe Jane.