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Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Wind Itself Was Their Song

Tywin

"The Starks have overextended their lines," his cousin Reginald told him, as if this was some comfort to him. "Now that summer's over they will have a hard time keeping their men and horses fed."

Tywin shook his head, he wanted to scoff at his cousin, but he would not go so far to humiliate him. He was a Lannister after all. "The Starks understand winter better than we ever will," he told the men sitting around the table, specifically Reginald. He tried not to make an example out of his cousin, but it was hard to keep the impatience out of his voice. "The cold won't beat them."

"Our spies report a growing discontent among the Northern lords," Armory Lorch jumped in, ready to persuade their leader that victory was on the horizon, at least for the South. "They want to return home and gather the harvest before the crops turn."

His cup bearer, the small girl who had pretended to be a boy moved around the table, placing food in front of each of his bannermen. Tywin's eyes followed her, there was something familiar about the girl though he could not think of what it was.

"And I am sure that if those same spies snuck into our own encampments, they would report growing discontent amongst the Southern lords," he bit out, he had no reason to wish not to humiliate Armory Lorch, the man was no relation to him. "This is war - no one's content! We've underestimated the Stark boy for too long. He has a good head for warfare, his men worship him," he was still watching the girl and his eyes were still keen enough to catch it - the smirk that slipped onto her lips when he spoke of the Stark boy. He knew the girl was from the North, could tell by her accent, not for the first time did he begin to wonder where the girl had lived before she ended up at Harrenhal. "And as long as he keeps winning battles, they will keep believing he is King in the North!" He turned away from the serving girl to glare at the generals sitting around him. "You have been waiting for him to fail," he told them, his voice hard. "He is not going to fail. Not without our help." This time he looked around the table, making sure to look each of the men in the eye. "So how do we stop him?"

"We've worked through the night, My Lord," Reginald muttered around a bite of food from his end of the table. " Perhaps we would profit from some sleep."

Tywin shook his head, this man was no Lannister as far as he was concerned. A true Lannister would not care about working through the night. He would do whatever he had to do to ensure that the Lannister King could sit on the Iron Throne, uncontested. When he spoke to his cousin it was in a colder tone than he had ever used with the man before, "Yes, I think you would, Reginald. And, because you're my cousin, I might even let you wake from that sleep!" He was not blind to the way the other lords around the table looked away, uncomfortable and nervous. There was no doubt that in his younger days he would have had Reginald killed for saying what he had.

But Tywin was not a young man anymore. And the Stark boy was doing too well on the battlefield. Tywin could not afford to lose one of his generals to his own hand when the Stark army was after them. "Go!" he told his cousin, his voice dripping with disdain. "I am sure that your wife must miss you."

Reginald looked around the table, confused by Tywin's statement. "My wife is in Lannisport," he told Tywin as if the commander might have forgotten.

"Well then you had better start riding," Tywin told him. He paused and when Reginald did not immediately rise from his seat Tywin spoke again. "Go, before I change my mind and send her your head instead." There was still enough fear of the Great Tywin Lannister that this time Reginald immediately got out of his seat. Tywin shook his head, "If your name wasn't Lannister, you'd be scrubbing out pots in the cook tent. Go!"

The man almost tripped over himself in his attempt to leave the room as quickly as he could. The girl moved around the table, coming to stand at his right to pour wine into his cup. She would serve all the men, but she knew the way of it and always served him first. He stopped her by placing his hand over the top of the cup, "Not wine," he ordered, his voice softening a bit as he spoke to her. "Water. We will be here for some time."

The girl nodded, her eyes lowered, careful not to make eye contact with him and she began to walk back to the desk where the flagon of water sat. Tywin turned to watch her, still trying to put his finger on what was so familiar about the young girl.

"Girl," he said, calling her back. She turned to face him, her eyes wide though she forced an almost calm look on her face. She was good at controlling her emotions. He waited until she had completely turned to face him before he asked, "Where are you from?"

"Maidenpool, My Lord," she told him. He felt his lips twitch up in the corners, sure he had caught her. She called him My Lord - not as lowborn as she hoped to pretend. He wondered what else he would catch the girl in. Her choice surprised him, Maidenpool was much further south than her accent would have suggested.

"And who are the Lords of Maidenpool?" he asked. "Remind me."

She struggled with keeping her eyes on his, she wanted to look away. He could tell. "House Mooton, My Lord."

"And what is their sigil?" he asked her.

Her answer was not as quick. This time she glanced away from him. She did not remember. He had caught her this time. "A red salmon," he told her. His voice was harsh, but his face gentle. "I think a Maidenpool girl would remember that."

The girl looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

"You're a Northerner, aren't you?" he asked, waiting to confirm his suspicions.

She nodded, quietly. He wondered if she was afraid to speak or if she was just afraid to give anything else away. It did not matter.

He smiled at her, "Good," he told her, rewarding her for telling the truth. "And one more time, where are you from?"

This time she met his eyes. This time she spoke confidently. "Barrowton, My Lord. House Dustin. Two crossed longaxes beneath a black crown."

This was a lie too, he suspected, though they were getting closer to the truth. He would let it rest for now. "And what do they say of Robb Stark in the North?" he asked her.

She paused, biting back a smile. There was that pride the Northerners had. Everyone always spoke about Lannister pride, they were a pack of lions after all. But the Northerners had their own kind of pride. A stubborn one. From highborn lord to lowborn servant - they were all proud of where they came from. And they were all proud of House Stark. "They call him the Young Wolf," she told him, whispering the last two words as if they held some kind of magic.

"And?" Tywin asked, raising his eyebrows and waiting for more. This was not all the girl had heard about Robb Stark. He would have it all.

"They say he's got giants, almost twenty feet tall, that came down from the wall and follow him like dogs," she started, though her voice was skeptical.

"And do you believe that?" Tywin asked her.

The girl shook her head, "The Night's Watch would never let a giant pass," she told him. "And what business would giants have with this war?"

Tywin smiled again, pride in the Night's Watch - another Northern trait. "What else?" he asked.

"They say he rides into battle on the back of a giant direwolf," she told him. This time her voice was not skeptical, it was quiet, an almost whisper, just as she had used when she called him the Young Wolf. She did not believe in giants, but direwolves - that was a magic the girl could believe in. "They say his Queen rides with him. I have heard it said that Queen Lenora has taken as many Southern lives as her husband. They say she is wild - wild like a winter storm."

She paused, daring a small smirk-like smile up at Tywin. The girl was no simpleton, she knew that she was speaking about his granddaughter. She knew what that rumor would do to him.

He looked away from her, he did not want her to see how much he struggled not to believe her words. He knew his granddaughter, Lenora was a good girl, a loyal one. But he could not doubt that she had heard the rumors about her mother and her uncle. And if she had, she would feel betrayed. Lenora was a good girl, but a stubborn one. If she felt betrayed she would turn away from her family to fight for what she believed was right. Even if that meant fighting for the North. "And?" he asked brusquely, turning back to the girl in front of him, there was more she wanted to say.

"They say he's more wolf than man," she told him, her voice still soft, "as all the Starks are. They say he can turn into a wolf himself when he wants." She paused, taking in a quick, sharp breath. "They say he can't be killed."

Tywin smiled, his eyes lifting from the girl in front of him to look around the men at his table. There was the truth of it. If the Northern smallfolk and their army believed that Robb Stark could not be killed then they would follow the man anywhere. They would fight for him through the winter. They would not return to their castles and homes until they had marched all the way to King's Landing and taken Joffrey's head.

"And do you believe them?" he asked her, finally turning back to the girl.

She paused, a frown finding its way onto her lips. "No, My Lord," she told him finally, looking away. She was meek for just a moment before her grey eyes lifted back to his face, staring him in the eyes almost defiantly, "Anyone can be killed."

...

It was the eyes, he realized, that gave him the answer. A few nights after he had questioned her in front of his generals the girl had brought him supper. She was a bit nervous, her grey eyes darted around the room as she began to place the food on the table from him.

They were not the same as Lenora's. They did not go from light to dark, silver to stormy, in a matter of moments depending on her mood. They stayed the same color, slate. But grey was grey and they reminded him of his granddaughter.

She was quick footed and quick minded. Her tongue sometimes got away from her. She would say more than she meant. But she thought for herself. And she could read. She was smart, so much smarter than he had first given her credit for.

"Is that mutton?" he asked her.

She nodded, "Yes, My Lord."

He shook his head, disappointed. "I don't like mutton," he told her.

She stuttered out that she would bring him something else from the kitchens. But he shook his head. It was the way she reminded him of his granddaughter, and a bit of his daughter, that pushed him to offer her the food. She told him that she wasn't hungry, but that was a lie. Tywin knew what they were feeding the castle folk, they were always hungry. She told him she would eat in the kitchen later, but he shook his head, growing impatient.

"It's bad manners to refuse a Lord's offer," he told her, though he was sure that she knew it. She was not lowborn, no matter how much she pretended to be. He walked around the table and gently pushed her into a seat, handing her a knife, "Eat," he ordered.

She hesitated for just a moment before she began to eat. Quickly, ravenously. She ate like a starving man. He smiled at her as he watched her shove food in her mouth. "You're small for your age," he told her. "I suppose you've been underfed your whole life?"

It was a test, if the girl was as lowborn as she wanted to pretend she would have spent many years of her life not being fed enough.

She shook her head, "I eat a lot," she told him around a mouthful of food. "I just don't grow."

Tywin nodded as he turned away from her, he had caught her again. And once again the girl had reminded him of Lenora. She had always been small for her age as well. "This will be my last war," he told her. "Win or loose."

"Have you ever lost before?"

He turned away from the window, voice and face hard - not as intelligent as he had thought. "Do you think I'd be in my position if I'd lost a war?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow. He turned back toward the window once he had seen her answering head shake. "This is the one I'll be remembered for - the War of Five Kings, they're calling it. My legacy will be determined in the coming months." He turned back to the girl, watching as she continued to eat, she had slowed down a bit. "Do you know what legacy means?"

She shook her head again.

"It's what you pass down to your children - and to your children's children. It's what remains of you, after you're gone." He gestured at the chamber around them. "Harren the Black thought this castle would be his legacy. The greatest fortress ever built - the tallest towers, the strongest walls."

He was sure he was boring her, but he was the Lord and she was the servant. She would listen. And if she was as much like Lenora as she seemed then she would find this interesting. He moved around the table to the fireplace, "The Great Hall had thirty-five hearths. Thirty-five, can you imagine?" He paused, looking around the room. "Look at it now - a blasted ruin. Do you know what happened?"

The girl nodded, putting down her fork and knife with a smile. "Dragons."

Tywin smiled at her and nodded, Lenora had always loved the tales of dragons as well. "Yes," he told her as he moved back toward the table. "Dragons happened." He sat down and poured himself a drink, gesturing back to the food, reminding the girl to continue eating. "Harrenhal was built to withstand an attack from the land. A million men could have marched on these walls, and a million men would have been repelled. But, an attack from the air, with dragonfire -" he shook his head. "Harren and all his sons roasted alive within these walls. Aegon Targaryen changed the rules - that's why every child alive knows his name, three hundred years after his death."

"Aegon," the girl said with a nod. "And his sisters."

Tywin raised his eyebrows, but he did not silence the girl. He waited. "It wasn't just Aegon riding his dragon. It was Raenys and Visenya, too."

Tywin nodded, watching the girl curiously. "My granddaughter loved the stories about Aegon and his dragons. Though I'm not sure at your age she remembered the names of his sisters. Student of history, are you?"

The girl continued on as if he hadn't spoken, "Raenys rode Baraxis, Visenya rode Vaegar. Visenya Targaryen was a great warrior. She had a Valyrian steel sword she called Dark Sister."

Tywin smiled, almost proud, "She's a heroine of yours, I take it?" he paused for a moment, watching the girl. "Aren't most girls more interested in the pretty maids in the songs - Jonquil, with flowers in their hair?"

"Most girls are idiots."

The way she said it, low and dark and full of contempt had Tywin laughing out loud. "You remind me of my daughter," he told her, noting the look of disgust that flitted across the girl's face. There for a moment and then gone. "And her daughter after that," he added. This time, the look was pride.

He looked away from the girl for a moment, a bit wistful, "When she was younger, maybe even younger than you, she used to come visit me at Casterly Rock. She was a bright little thing, smart and well-read. We used to sit for hours and read about past battles. We would look at maps and devise future battle plans. Once she persuaded me to allow some of the servants to help her reenact the Battle of the Trident." He shook his head, thinking about it, "She played the part of her father, of course, her warhammer made out of a loaf of bread and a stick, Jaime played Rhaegar Targaryen. She made him redo his death five times until she was sure they had it right."

The girl in front of him was quiet for a moment. "And now she is using all that knowledge to help Robb Stark," she murmured.

Tywin glanced down at the girl sharply, the brief moment of wistfulness gone. "Careful now girl. I enjoy you, but be careful." He nodded to the plate in front of her, most of the food was gone, but there was still some left. "Take that back to the kitchen - eat what you want."

The girl nodded and stood up from her seat, beginning to pick up the plate, "Yes, My Lord," she told him.

She started to walk away, but Tywin called for her attention once more, "And girl," he called after her, waiting for her to turn around. "Milord. Lowborn girls say, Milord, not My Lord. If you're going to pose as a commoner, you should do it properly."

The girl looked at him, still defiant, "My mother served Lady Dustin for many years, My Lord. She taught me how to speak proper - properly."

Tywin smiled at the girl and shook his head. "You're too smart for your own good - has anyone told you that?"

The girl smiled back at him, cheekily, "Yes."

He nodded at the door, "Go on."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

She sat, calm and composed, her hands folded gently in her lap as she and Robb waited for the man in front of them to begin speaking. Their scouts had come upon a group of riders, the leader of the group hailed from Riverrun, he brought news. And Cleos Frey.

At her first glimpse of the man's face she had worried that he brought news of Lord Hoster Tully, she worried that he came to tell them that Robb's grandfather had died.

But no, Lord Hoster continued to live, if only barely, and the news originated in King's Landing.

Lenora, Robb, and his bannermen had gathered to listen to what Cleos had to say. The man looked nervous, scared to the point of silence. She smiled at him softly, hoping it would be an encouragement to him. She was sure that he had already given this news to Edmund Tully at Riverrun and that he had received a less than welcoming response.

He was probably terrified of Robb's response.

"Well?" Robb asked, not altogether gently. "What did she say?"

Cleos glanced between Robb and Lenora, his eyes landing longer on Lenora than on her husband. She was his relation, after all, if anyone would speak up for him it would be her. "She," he paused, searching for the right words. "She admired your spirit, Your Grace."

Lenora smirked at that, she was sure that her mother had admired Robb's spirit, just as she was sure that the woman would not grant him his terms.

"And what then?" Robb pressed, losing his patience.

"She, erm..."

Robb sighed angrily and Lenora silently reached out and placed one of her hands on top of his. A gentle, silent reminder that the man he was addressing was terrified of him and that it was not entirely Cleos' fault. He turned his head to look at her and she caught a glimpse of a sparkle in those Tully eyes of his - a warmth. He softened a bit when he turned back to Cleos. "If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, Ser Cleos, we'd all hang."

As if to drive his point home he turned back to smile at Lenora, silently telling the man that if he did not hold Lenora accountable for her mother's actions he would not hold Cleos accountable for the actions of the very same woman.

Ser Cleos paused still, but after a moment he lifted his gaze to meet Robb's, "She tore the paper in half, Your Grace," he told them.

She felt Robb tense beside her more than she saw it. But to calm him down Lenora leaned forward, gesturing at Robb to keep silent, "You have acted honorably, Ser Cleos," she told him, smiling down at the man. "We thank you for it." She turned toward the Bannermen sitting around her and Robb. "Lord Karstark?" she asked, waiting until the man looked up to meet her eyes. "Please bring Ser Cleos to a pen, a clean one, and bring him a warm supper."

She did not miss the way the man glared at her. Most of Robb's bannermen accepted her as their Queen, but Lord Karstark still blamed her for being her uncle's niece. "All the pens are occupied, Your Grace," he growled out. "The prisoners from the Yellow Fork."

Robb had been repaying Tywin Lannister for all of the raids on the Riverlands by allowing his men to raid Lannister lands now that they were west of the Golden Tooth. Lords Karstark and Glover were raiding the coast, Lady Mormont was driving thousands of cattle toward Riverrun, and the Greatjon had seized the gold mines at Castamere, Nunn's Deep, and Pendric Hills. All of these raids and seizures had accumulated a large amount of prisoners.

"Too many prisoners," Roose Bolton bit out. And for the first time, perhaps ever, Lenora found herself agreeing with the man. She did not believe that they should kill or torture them, but they had taken too many. They should set the commoners and the lowborns free and save room for the more important prisoners.

She glanced between Lord Karstark and Bolton, not willing to be turned down. "Is there room for Ser Cleos anywhere?" she asked them.

"Does he need to lie down?" Lord Karstark asked her, his tone sarcastic.

Lenora sighed, she would forgive him that outburst, though only this once. "Bring him somewhere," she ordered the lord. "And make him as comfortable as possible. Your King gave him his peace terms and tasked him to bring them to King's Landing and return with Joffrey's response. He could have stayed in King's Landing, instead he returned. As he had been ordered. He deserves to at least be comfortable for that."

The Lord nodded and stood from his spot at the table, he grabbed Ser Cleos by the shoulder and angrily pulled him away. For the first time since he had arrived Lenora wondered why they had not left Ser Cleos at Riverrun, he would have been more comfortable there than at camp.

The leader of the group that had brought Ser Cleos to the camp stepped forward, "I beg pardon, Your Grace," he said, bowing low to both Robb and Lenora though it was the Queen who held his attention. And it was the Queen who he now addressed, "But I would not make him too comfortable."

"And why is that, Ser -" Robb's question dropped off when he realized that he did not know the man's name standing in front of him.

"No Ser, Your Grace," the man told him, bowing again. "The name is Enger, I am one of Lord Edmure's, I mean, your grandfather, Lord Hoster's guardsmen." Robb nodded and waved his hand, signaling that the man should continue speaking. "Ser Cleos also brought a few Silent Sisters with him to Riverrun," he told them, "and your father's bones."

"I don't suppose that we have the Queen Regent to thank for that?" Robb asked, unimpressed.

"No, Your Grace," Enger told him, shaking his head. "To hear Ser Cleos tell it, it was because of the Imp," he glanced at Lenora, no doubt hearing her sharp intake of air at the nickname. "Lord Tyrion Lannister, I mean," he corrected.

"And Ice?" Robb asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Lenora knew that answer, even before Enger gave it. There were too few Valyrian steel swords left in the world. Her mother and grandfather would not give up one as large and well made as Ice, not willingly at least. Enger shook his head, "The longsword was not returned with the bones, Your Grace."

"Has my mother returned from treating with Renly Baratheon yet?" Robb asked, pointedly not calling the younger Baratheon brother King. "She will want to see them before they are sent to Winterfell."

Enger shook his head, "She had not arrived when we left, Your Grace, though they do expect her soon. Renly Baratheon is dead."

Lenora's head turned sharply toward the man in front of them, that was news to her. "My uncle?" she asked, her voice quiet. "Who killed him?" Her uncle was too young, too strong to have died of natural causes. Whatever had happened to him, she would call it murder.

Enger nodded, "My apologies, Your Grace," he told her, turning from Robb to look at her. "I should have told you first. Your uncle has been murdered. The tales we have heard have been quite queer. Some even say your Lady Mother," he continued, nodding to Robb to indicate who's mother he meant, "did the deed."

"Lady Catelyn would not do that," Lenora dismissed quickly. "If the stories of Lord Renly's death are queer how can you be sure they are true? How can you be sure that he is not, at this moment, very much alive?"

"The castellan, Ser Cortnay Penrose, of Storm's End has sent out birds, many birds. He is a faithful man and would not send these ravens unless he truly believed that Lord Renly was dead. They all carry the same plea. Stannis has him surrounded by land and sea. He offers his allegiance to whatsoever King will break the siege. He fears for the boy, he says."

"What boy?" Robb asked, turning to look at Lenora, sure that she would have his answer.

"Edric Storm," Lenora told him, her voice quiet. "One of my father's bastard sons. He gave him to Renly as a ward."

Enger continued now that Robb had his answer, "Stannis has sworn the garrison may go free, unharmed, provided that they yield the castle within the fortnight and deliver the boy into his hands, but Ser Cortnay will not consent."

Lenora's brow furrowed, she could not understand what her uncle wanted with Robert's bastard son. Robb must have taken her furrowed brow for concern, rather than confusion, because he reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, "We cannot go to help him, Nora," he told her, his voice soft and gentle as a caress. "We must continue with the Lannisters and I cannot send any of my uncle's men from Riverrun, they must hold that castle."

Lenora shook her head, turning to almost smile at Robb, it warmed her heart that for a moment he had thought to go after this half-brother of hers. But she was not Robb Stark and Edric Storm was not Jon Snow, she had no relationship with this child. She had no desire to save him. "I do not know the boy, in truth," she told him. "My father would never be as brazen to introduce his bastards to his trueborn children. My mother would never have permitted it."

She looked away from him for a moment, his blue eyes were staring at her as if he didn't recognize her. She swallowed around a lump that felt surprisingly like shame and shrugged her shoulders, she had nothing else to give him. "The boy is nothing to me," she told him. "Only a bastard. I have enough bastards to care for."

Robb nodded, he seemed to understand, and turned back to the Riverrun man in front of them. His next question was for Lenora's sake, she knew it. "And any news of the Kingslayer?" he asked.

"We have hanged three men that traveled to Riverrun with Ser Cleos," the man informed them.

Lenora gasped, "You've killed envoys?" she asked, shocked. It was against every rule of war she had ever learned.

"False envoys, Your Grace," Enger assured her. "They pledged Lord Edmure their peace and surrendered their weapons so Lord Edmure allowed them freedom of the castle at Riverrun. For three nights they ate his meat and drank his mead whilst Edmure spoke with Ser Cleos on King Robb's behalf. On the fourth night, they tried to free the Kingslayer."

"And how?" Lenora asked, "Did they do that if they had surrendered their weapons?"

"One of them was a big brute of a man," Enger explained. "He killed two guards with nothing but his hands. He caught them by their throats and smashed their skulls together. The second opened Lannister's cell with a bit of wire. The third was some sort of damned mummer, he spoke with Lord Edmure's own voice and called up to us - Delp, Long Lew, and myself, and ordered us to open the River Gate." He shook his head as if ashamed, "It was not until Long Lew saw Lord Edmure's boat crossing the Tumblestone that we realized we had been tricked."

"Lannister was retaken?" Robb asked, his voice sharp. Lenora felt sorry for Enger, her husband had not killed the messenger when it came to Cleos Frey, but he seemed very close to killing Enger now.

"Yes," Enger told him. "Though not easily. Ser Jaime got hold of a sword, even with his hands chained together he still killed three men before we got him. It was a bloody mess. But, I believe that there will be no more escapes from that one. Lord Edmure had him thrown into the deepest cell. He's in the dark this time, chained hand and foot and bolted to the wall."

Lenora tensed in her seat and Robb leaned closer to her to whisper in her ear, "He tried to escape, Nora," he understood that she was unhappy with her uncle's treatment, but he would not condemn his uncle's decision.

"Can you blame him? Lenora whispered back. "Someone opened his cell and practically handed him a sword. Would you expect him to simply sit there?"

"We shall see to him the next time we are at Riverrun," Robb promised her, no doubt hoping that would calm her down.

Lenora sighed, but nodded before she turned back to Enger, she had one more question for the man. "And Cleos Frey?" she asked, acutely aware of Lord Bolton's pale eyes on her. She had just stated that Ser Cleos had acted with honor and ordered that he be treated well. If he had played any role in her uncle's would-be escape then Robb's men wouldn't look kindly on that command.

"He swears he knew naught of the plot, Your Grace," Enger told her. "Who can say? The man is half Lannister, half Frey, and all liar. Lord Edmure would have had him jailed, but he knew that King Robb would want to have the Queen Regent's terms from him. He has ordered me to bring Ser Cleos back to Riverrun at King Robb's leisure so that he can be put in the Kingslayer's old cell."

Lenora nodded, silently thanking the Gods that it could not be proven that Cleos had played a knowing part in the plot. The last thing she needed Lords Karstark and Bolton to believe was that she had defended the man who had tried to free Jaime Lannister.

Robb thanked Enger for the information and rose from his seat. He extended his hand out to Lenora and pulled her from her chair. He kept his hold on her hand once they were standing. "You will want to mourn," he said, his tone soft and gentle.

For whom? Lenora wondered. Should she mourn for her uncle Renly, murdered by some unknown assailant? For her uncle Jaime, left to rot in the dark under Riverrun? Or for herself, surrounded by powerful men, some of which wanted nothing more than to brand her as a traitor?

She did not voice these questions to Robb. Instead she nodded, "Yes," she murmured. "I would."

Robb looked around the camp. The were maybe an hour's ride from the nearest village, further still from Ashemark, though she was sure he would not allow her there. "I can give you some men to ride with you to the nearest village," he told her. "I cannot promise a Godswood, though I am sure there will be a sept, of some sort."

Lenora shook her head, she had no desire to ride in search of a sept. She did not want a Godswood either. She glanced toward the southern edge of the camp, where the Yellow Fork flowed, "The Gods can hear me beside the Yellow Fork as well as in a Godswood or a sept," she told him.

He nodded, "Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked her.

She shook her head, he had things to see to, he should not have to play her chaperone, "I would do this on my own," she told him, squeezing his hand tight for a moment before she let go of him and walked away.

She walked straight to the river and knelt on its bank, her dark skirts fanning out around her. She closed her eyes and waited, but no words came to her. She could think of no prayers. Instead she found memories. She wondered if this was how Robb had felt in the Godswood at Riverrun after his father's execution.

The memories all bled together. One moment she could see Renly and herself playing tourney on a pair of broomstick horses and a stick in each hand when she first came to live at the Red Keep. The next she was ten and dancing on his feet the first time her father had allowed her at a ball. She could still hear his laughter and remember betting on knights at a tourney when she was sixteen, Renly let her win every time.

She could still picture the sparkle in her eye when at fourteen she sat next to him in the stands as Loras Tyrell, the newly named Knight of the Flowers crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty at the tournament held for her father's nameday. She could still smell the flowers he had crowned her head with and was sure that the wreath was still in her bedchamber in King's Landing.

She had shared countless games of tag, hide-and-seek, and Monsters and Maidens with her uncle within the walls of the Red Keep. He had been a playmate, a confidant, a friend, and a constant reminder of what her father would have been if he hadn't spent his life fighting the heartache of losing Lyanna Stark.

She did not realize how long she knelt beside the river, living in memories, but when Robb came to find her it was dark. She flinched when she felt his hand land on her shoulders and her eyes sprang open wide, but she relaxed when she heard him chuckling behind her, recognizing him without having to turn to see his face.

"I wanted to give you the time you needed," he told her, his voice a quiet apology as he reached for her hand and pulled her off of her knees. Lenora grimaced in pain at the feeling of her legs straightening, it hurt after so long kneeling. "But with sun set, it's time to return to camp."

She nodded and began to walk back to the camp, dragging him along with her. There were cookfires everywhere, but it was dark enough that as long as they did not walk too close to the firelight no one would recognize them. Lenora appreciated the anonymous feeling to it. During the day she could not walk anywhere without one soldier or another bowing to her and calling her Your Grace.

As they walked closer to the pavilions where his bannermen slept Lenora could hear music. "What is that?" she asked, her voice hushed so that she could hear the music. "I do not recognize the song."

Robb smiled at her, "It's a new one," he told her. "Written about Oxcross. Wolf in the Night, they call it."

Lenora smiled softly, "And the stars in the night were the eyes of his wolf," she whispered, repeating the words of the verse she had just heard.

Robb lowered his lips to hers, pressing a kiss against her mouth before he finished the verse, "And the wind itself was their song."

Author's Note:

One hundred reviews! (technically 101, but who's counting? Oh! Me! I'm counting!)
Thank you all for your support! For reading, and favoriting, and putting this story on your Alerts list, but most of all for your REVIEWS!
In case you were wondering, I read every one of them (obviously). And it's truly how I gauge if I'm doing a good job.
So if you like this story, this chapter in particular, drop into that little box and write a review.
Why? You may ask.
A) It will make my day.
B) It will probably make me update faster.
C) If you have a question, and you ask it. I will answer. Sometimes with a straight answer and some time with some infuriatingly teasing remarks. But I will answer.
Just ask any of the people who reviewed the last chapter!

writingNOOB: Oh goodness dear! I have a confession to make. I have an outline for this story that I wrote before I typed the first chapter. I try not to deviate from it. I know what each chapter will contain, I know what characters it will feature. This helps me from deviating from it when a reviewer makes a suggestion that sounds good, but I am unsure of whether or not it will actually add to the story. I can look at those enticing suggestions and say, "No thank you, I have my own plan."
But your suggestion in your last review about Joffrey finding out that Lenora isn't dead and ranting and raving about it? I broke my rule for that one. I'm not completely comfortable writing in Joffrey's voice so I do it very rarely, but I had a place where I think it fits in and it led to a nasty little interaction between him and Cersei that I honestly love. And I can't wait for you guys to read it in ... five chapters.
As for why most people see so much of her mother's family in her and tend to forget that she's a "fucking Baratheon" it's because it suits them. Her mother is going to look at her as a cub, so is the rest of the Lannister Clan. The Northmen that don't like her can call her a Lannister and say that's why they don't like her. The ones that do like her can call her a Lannister and use it as bragging rights ... she was a Lannister, but instead of siding with her family she went wolf. You see?
But I promise, Lenora has not forgotten that she is a Baratheon. And soon enough, the rest of Westeros might remember that too.
Can't call her the Last Stag yet, because Stannis still around, but I like the Black Lioness. I might also borrow that from you.
And now that I have written a short story for a response to your review I am going to go!

HPuni101: You are more than welcome lovely! Here is your newest update! I think it's a pretty good one and I hope that you agree!

Guest (1): So I have two guest reviews duking it out for the one hundredth review (maybe you guys should go all WWE style ... kidding, please no chair smashing). I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too. And thank you for being my 100th review! You can be proud! (I know I am!)

Guest (2): Thank you for your review as well! I'm glad that you liked the last chapter. And thank you! I've been congratulating myself all morning for my ONE HUNDRED AND ONE reviews! Thank you for helping to make that happen!

That's all I've got friends.
Happy Easter for those of you that are the religious types ... I'm Catholic, myself, though my priest calls me a "Christer" in that I only show up at church on Christmas and Easter. (Which is a total lie ... I also go during Advent (I like the wreath) and on Ash Wednesday, and Good Friday, and whenever my life is falling apart. And I don't eat meat on Fridays during Lent.).
Regardless, I will be hopping my "Christer" ass (hopping like a bunny ... get it?) to church early tomorrow morning, but when I come home I might have an update for you.
Possibly ...
Maybe ...
But seriously, have a great holiday weekend.
Chloe Jane.