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I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.

My name is Chloe Jane and I forgot to celebrate this yesterday so here it is: 200,000 words guys! 200,000. Damn.

Chapter Thirty-Two: One That Loves and One That Goes To War

Tyrion

The city was getting more and more unsafe with each passing day. Tyrion had sent off all of his clansmen to the Kingswood. Their job was to find the men Stannis had sent marching from Storm's End. They knew that Stannis was sailing to King's Landing, but he did not have enough ships for all his men. A large number of his host would be marching.

Tyrion had sent his clansmen through the woods to terrorize Stannis' men. To raid their camps and kill their scouts. He wanted bodies of Baratheon soldiers hanging ahead of the marching army, he wanted the stragglers to be killed where they stood. He wanted his wild clansmen to eat away at Stannis force, to diminish them as much as possible, to weaken them before they arrived at King's Landing.

Even with the departure of his clansmen King's Landing was more crowded today than the day before. People were still pouring into the city, looking for safety from the war. It was stupid, Tyrion thought. Yes, King's Landing had walls, but these small folk who were abandoning their villages and looking for refuge were camping in the very city that would soon be under siege.

They were getting out of hand, as they had the day they sent Myrcella to Dorne. And Tyrion feared that he did not have enough men to keep the peace and defend the city.

He had Bronn's hirelings, about eight hundred of them. But Tyrion would not be stupid enough to place all of his hopes on a bunch of sellswords. With the exception of Bronn, it would seem, sellswords were fickle creatures. He was doing all that he could to buy their loyalty, he even went as far as to promise Bronn and a dozen of his best men lands and knighthoods once the battle had been won.

They had liked that. They drank his ale and laughed at his jokes and called each other Ser that night, but Tyrion did not trust it. Neither had Bronn. The man had smiled at him, a dark smile, and told him after the rest of his men had left, "They'll kill for that knighthood, but don't ever think they'll die for it."

Tyrion had not needed the warning. He already knew that if the battle turned against them the sellswords would be the first to turn tail and run.

The gold cloaks were just as bad, just as uncertain. He had six thousand men in the City Watch, thanks to Cersei. Six thousand, but only a quarter of them could be relied upon. Ser Jacelyn Bywater had warned him of that. There were a few traitors, though with the help of Bronn and Varys Tyrion liked to believe that he had found most of them. He would never be fool enough to believe that he had found them all though.

Besides the traitors there were several hundred that, in Ser Jacelyn's own words were, "greener than spring grass." They were men who had joined the City Watch recently, seeing it not as a way to gain honor, but as a way to get bread and ale and safety. They were boys who had never held a sword in their life. They would not want to appear craven in front of the other men, they would be brave at the start of the battle. But if at any point it seemed as though the battle was going to turn against them they would run. One or two at first, but that first runner would have a thousand more following close behind.

When they broke, they would break fast.

There were some seasoned men, some good men, in the City Watch. These were the ones that had received their gold cloaks from Robert, when the city was at peace, rather than Cersei. These men had been trained.

But, they had been trained as watchmen and, as his father had once told him, a watchman was not truly a soldier.

Of true soldiers - knights and squires and men-at-arms Tyrion had no more than three hundred.

Three hundred against Stannis' entire host, which had only grown after Renly's death. Tyrion tried not to be nervous. Whenever he thought about how few true fighting men he had compared to Stannis he remembered a time years ago when he and Jaime had brought Lenora to the Rock for a visit.

The girl was young, no more than eight or nine years old. One night, after supper, she had sat beside Tywin in his solar and the two of them had looked at a large map of King's Landing. Tywin had pointed out the city's strengths and weaknesses. He had explained to the girl how his Lannister men had sacked the city during Robert's rebellion. Together, heads bent over the map in front of them, they had planned a defense of the city.

This was nothing new, it was one of Tywin's favorite activities with his granddaughter. But this time he had made it more of a challenge. King's Landing would have one soldier to every five of its enemy's.

Lenora had struggled, she trusted her grandfather, thought that every word out of his mouth was worth its weight in gold. But she could not see how King's Landing could survive under those odds. Tywin had chuckled at the young princess and softly told her, One man on a wall was worth ten beneath it.

Tyrion did not trust his father's words as much as Lenora had, but he intended to test the truth of it with Stannis.

The city was busy, especially the beggars, the whores, and the fishwives. As he moved through the city streets Tyrion was surprised to see that the busiest people in the capitol were the fishwives, he would have assumed the whores - though, he was no longer visiting them so they had lost a large amount of business there. There was no food coming into King's Landing, it would be stupid to expect it with Robb Stark's war in the Riverlands and Stannis' army marching from Storm's End. Any possible food wagons would be ambushed by those two armies.

The only food coming in was fish, caught by fishermen from the city. As such, the price of it had risen, it was now ten times the amount it had been before the war and Tyrion was sure that it would have risen again by the next morning.

The carpenters were busy, he could hear them even from the Red Keep, working on the Mud Gate, the weakest gate into the city. The one that Stannis was most likely to attack. Under his orders they were extending wooden hoardings from the battlements. They were coming along well. Tyrion was pleased.

He was not pleased by the number of ramshackle structures that had been allowed to grow up behind the quays, attaching themselves to the city walls like barnacles on a ship. They were all manner of businesses: bait shacks, pot-shops, warehouses, merchants' stalls, alehouses, and the cribs where whores cheaper than the ones found in Littlefinger's establishments spread their legs. They had to go, much as it displeased him to get rid of an alehouse or a whorehouse. If they stayed Stannis would hardly need scaling ladders to storm the walls of the city.

He sent Bronn to burn them. To burn everything between the water's edge and the city walls. It would make him enemies, no doubt, but it would make the city safe once Stannis arrived.

It had been done easily enough. Tyrion wished he could make the walls around King's Landing twice as tall and three times as thick just as easily, but that was impossible. And pointless as well. Thick walls and tall towers had not saved Storm's End from Stannis, or Harrenhal from Aegon Targaryen, or Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy.

He could still remember Winterfell, as if he had just left it. It was not as grotesquely large as Harrenhal, or as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm's End. But there was no doubting Winterfell's strength. He remembered the first night they were there, Lenora had sought him out before supper and had explained to him that she had been wrong about Winterfell. I always called it a castle, she explained to him. In my letters to him. I always called Winterfell a castle and he never corrected me. But this is not a castle. She had shaken her head, her eyebrows furrowed as she searched for the correct word to describe her new home. This is a fortress.

And, as was usually her way, his clever little niece had been correct. Winterfell was a fortress. There was a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe.

The news that Winterfell had fallen had come as a shock to him. He had not wanted to believe it when Varys had given him the news. The Gods give with one hand and take with the other. They had given Robb victory in every battle he fought, and in turn - they took his home.

He should have rejoiced, Gods knew that Cersei did. Robb Stark and his army had to turn north now. He could not take over the Seven Kingdoms if he could not protect his own home. He would march north and winter would come. During the winter the Northern Lords would get comfortable, they would remember what it felt like to be home and they would forget their battle by the time spring came. This loss of Winterfell would mean a reprieve for the West, for House Lannister, but ...

If he closed his eyes he could just barely remember Theon Greyjoy from his visit to Winterfell. The boy had been a proud young man, though much of his self confidence was a false pride. Tyrion Lannister was highly skilled at pretending to be confident when he was not, he could spot it easily in others. The boy was always smiling, always teasing, skilled with a bow. Some at Winterfell seemed to care for him, but it was hard to imagine that any of them would accept him as their Lord. The Lord of Winterfell would always be a Stark.

Lenora had dragged him into their Godswood one morning. It had felt eerie, cold and foggy. He had instantly been reminded of all the stories his septa had told him when he was a child. This was a place of magic, of the Others, and wargs. It felt like a foreign world compared to the Southern world he was used to. Even their trees had been different. Tall sentinels armored in their grey-green needles, the great oaks, the hawthorn and ash and soldier pines. And at the center, the tree he had heard stories about - the Heart Tree. A pale giant with red leaves and a face carved into the trunk, one that looked as if it were bleeding.

When he closed his eyes he could almost smell the place. Earthy and brooding, the smell of centuries. He remembered how dark the wood had been, even during the day.

Lenora had taken it in stride. She had loved it for its foreignness, she had rejoiced in its strangeness and celebrated the newness of it all. But Tyrion had never felt so out of place as he had when he walked in that wood. Even with his sister and his father had never felt like more of an unwelcome intruder as he had in the Stark's Godswood.

That wood was Winterfell. It was the North. He wondered if the Greyjoys would feel it too.

The castle might well be theirs, for now, but never that Godswood.

Not in a year, or ten, or fifty.

-.-.-.-.-

Theon

It was the silence that woke him. Though he did not immediately realize that. It was warm under the furs. His legs were tangled in the sheets and with Kyra's own long legs as well. She was curled up against him, her arm draped over him, her large breasts brushing against his back with each deep, steady breath she took.

She had not woken him up. He sat up slightly, the girl made a sleepy noise of displeasure, but without opening her eyes she quickly adjusted to his new position, still curled around him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to think of what had woken him. Was it a noise? Had he heard something? Had he heard someone?

The wind blew against the shudders, somewhere within Winterfell's walls he heard the yowl of a cat, but there was nothing else. None of his men were calling in alarm, there were no battle horns. There was nothing.

He moved back and wiggled until he was lying down again and told himself to sleep. Winterfell was quiet. He had taken it. It was his. And now it was quiet. He had guards posted. At his door, at the gates, on the armory. All was well.

He would have said it was a bad dream, but he could not remember dreaming. Kyra, the wonderful girl, had worn him out. He had sent for her, told his men to go to Winter Town and find the most beautiful girl they could and bring her to the castle. Until she had entered under those orders she had never seen Winterfell before.

Eighteen years in Winter Town and she had never seen inside Winterfell's walls. She had been in awe. And Theon could not blame her. He could still remember the first time he had seen Winterfell, when he was just a boy. He had not believed that castles could be that big, could look that strong.

She was not particularly beautiful. Theon had seen prettier girls, he had even fucked some of them. But she had come to him wet and eager, and flexible as a weasel. And there had been a certain, undeniable spice to fucking a common tavern wench in Lord Eddard Stark's own bed. He could just imagine the look on the honorable Ned Stark's face if he could have seen what Theon did to Kyra that night.

He could just see the disgust on Lady Catelyn's face, if she had somehow been able to walk in on him. While he was doing all the things that he was sure that Ned Stark had never done to his cold, unfeeling wife.

But the honorable Ned Stark had had a bastard, Jon Snow. While fighting Robert Baratheon's war Ned had found a woman and fucked her, even though his own wife was waiting for him, pregnant at Riverrun. He had fucked her enough to get her with child. And cared for her enough that he had taken that child back to Winterfell with him and raised the boy among his own children.

From what little Robb had told him after he had married Lenora, there were certain things that a man did with whores that he did not do with his wife. And Theon had treated Kyra like a whore that evening.

It was probably the most exciting fuck the bed had ever witnessed.

He still could not sleep. Kyra murmured sleepily as Theon slid out from under her arm and got to his feet. She still did not wake though. He was thankful for that. He wanted to fuck the girl, not talk to her.

A few embers still smoldered in the hearth, but nothing else in the room moved. The world was still. He moved to the window and opened the shutters, leaning against the stone sill, his eyes searching the dark for the dark towers that made up the thick walls of Winterfell.

The night air touched him, cold as winter and goosebumps rose on the skin of his arms and his legs. But the yard was still and the walls were quiet. Above his head there was nothing but a black sky filled with stars, so many that a man would not be able to count them all, not in a thousand lifetimes. Stars and a half-moon.

He told himself that there was nothing wrong as he turned away from the window. He reminded himself that he should be elated. He had taken Winterfell with fewer than thirty men, it was a feat that he was sure the Iron Islands would sing about for generations to come.

He continued toward the bed, maybe he'd have Kyra again. She was still sleeping, but he could roll her onto her back. She would wake up slow, but soon her gasps and her giggles would drive away this silence that was worrying him so.

This silence...

He stopped, a mere foot from the bed, his cock instantly going soft.

Since returning to Winterfell he had become so accustomed to the sound of the direwolves howling that he hardly heard it anymore. He blocked it out. But now, now that they had stopped some part of him, the hunter in him, had noticed their absence, even if his brain had not.

Theon rushed to the door of his bedchamber, not bothering with clothes and quickly opened it. Urzen, the guard he had placed outside his bedchamber before he brought Kyra in was still standing there. He looked surprised to see Theon standing there naked as his first name day, but Theon did not care. "The wolves are quiet," he told the man. "Go and see what they're doing and come straight back."

Urzen nodded and began to move away from the door, but Theon called him back quickly when another thought occurred to him. "And make certain that Bran Stark and his little brother are in their beds as well," he ordered. "Be quick about it."

As worried as he was about Bran and Rickon not being in their beds, truthfully the direwolves worried him more. The thought of them roaming loose around the castle left him with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had fought in the Whispering Wood alongside Robb, he had seen what sort of damage Grey Wind could inflict on a man and Robb had always had more control over his direwolf than his younger brothers had had over theirs. Grey Wind only killed who Robb wanted him to, Bran and Rickon had barely been able to get their wolves to come when called.

He hadn't been in the Wolf's wood the day the wildlings had attacked Bran and Lenora, but he had been there for the aftermath, he had seen what Summer and Shaggy Dog were capable of. Unconsciously his right hand lifted to rub his throat, as if to make sure it was still in tact and did not have a gaping bite mark in it.

As he waited for Urzen to return he moved around the chamber, quickly putting his clothes from the day before on. They were strewn all over the floor, exactly where he had left them when he tore them off, eager to get at Kyra as quickly as he could. His movement must have woken her because she stirred in his bed, "My Lord?" she muttered, looking at him with her eyebrows furrowed together.

"Go back to bed," Theon ordered her. "This does not concern you." She still looked suspicious, but she nodded and laid her head back on the pillow. A moment later her breathing evened out, deep and slow, she had fallen asleep again.

Theon finished dressing, the entire time he waited and listened, hoping to hear a howl. He had too few men he realized as he grew tired of waiting for Urzen and left his bedchamber alone, setting out to check on Bran and Rickon's bedchambers. He had enough men to take Winterfell, he did not have enough men to hold Winterfell.

...

The boys were missing. The wolves were gone. Hodor and that wildling bitch had disappeared. Two of his guards were dead; one with his throat slit, the other torn to pieces by the two wolves and thrown into the moat, ironically sacrificed to the Drowned God the Iron Islanders loved so much. Though Theon was sure that had not been Osha's intention.

No one would tell him what had happened. Not to save Theon, not to save the boys, not save their own skins. He had rounded up all the castle folk and demanded the truth from them. And not one would speak. So a hunt it would be.

They set out a dawn, Theon and several Iron Islanders, Dagmer included, the man was carrying a large sack that Theon could only guess what was inside. He brought Farlen, the kennelmaster against the man's wishes and as many hounds as they could hope to control. He even brought Maester Luwin, the man would be no help during the hunt, he might even work against Theon, but he did not trust the old maester at Winterfell on his own.

As an afterthought he had even allowed one of Lady Catelyn's wards, a boy named Walder, come with them. They assembled by the Hunter's Gate and headed into the Wolfswood as soon as the sky began to grey with the dawn. Ten younger men, one old man, and one boy setting into the dark woods, armed with whatever they thought would protect them best from the direwolves.

Gelmarr had equipped himself with a longaxe whose reach would allow him to strike before the wolves were on him. The blade was heavy enough to kill with one strike.

Aggar wore steel greaves.

Theon had a bow, he would need nothing else. He had fought in the Whispering Wood, helped protect his King with an arrow. He hoped that he would not need to take Robb's brothers' lives with another. This was not the bow he was used to, he had left his with Lenora. But it would do its job and it would do it well.

He had thought that Osha would lead the giant and the children south, toward where Robb fought. To Riverrun and their mother. But her trail was North, she headed to the wall where Jon would be able to protect them.

The sun rose in the sky, but the woods, as always, remained dark. The higher the sun rose in the sky the more nervous Theon became, but he told himself to be patient. The four they chased were on foot, Theon would have them before the sun set.

Maester Luwin rode up beside him some point during midday. "Thus far hunting seems indistinguishable from riding in the woods, My Lord," he told him, his voice full of a feigned indifference.

Theon smiled at him, refusing to rise to the bait, "There are similarities," he told the old man. "But with a hunt there is always blood at the end."

Their path led to the mill, and then they lost it. No matter how much the hound sniffed, or how angry Theon got, they could not pick up a new scent. Only the one, only the one that had brought them to the mill in the first place.

Theon stood, glaring at the Miller, his wife, and the two brats they had taken in to help run the mill with all the men gone for the war. He was so angry. He had taken Winterfell, but he could not expect to hold it without Bran and Rickon. The North would never accept him unless he had Bran and Rickon Stark.

Dagmer called his name, trying to get his attention, finally he moved to stand directly in front of Theon, forcing him to look up at him. "Send the old man home," the older Ironborn ordered. "Send them all home."

"Why?" Theon asked, they had not found the boys yet, he did not intend to return to Winterfell without them.

"Send them home," Dagmer ordered again. Then he dropped his voice lower, to a whisper. "I have an idea of where the little lords went."

Theon nodded, "I will stay here with Dagmer," he announced. "The rest of you may return to Winterfell with the Hounds. I have no need of them now. I know where Bran and Rickon are hiding.

"Prince Theon," Maester Luwin called from his horse. "You will remember your promise? Mercy, you said." He was practically begging for the boys' lives.

Theon's jaw tightened, "Mercy was for this morning," he told the old man. "Before they made me angry."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

She was unsure of what she felt more of. She was feeling relief and worry in equal parts.

Relief because he was leaving the main host.

Worry because he would be so far away.

Relief because, if the Gods were good, it would be many moons before she saw him again.

Worry because he would be so far out of Robb's control.

Relief because Lord Roose Bolton made her feel so uncomfortable.

Worry because she did not trust him to act in Robb's best interest so far away from his King.

But someone needed to go. Her grandfather had left almost no one at Harrenhal, Robb wanted to continue west toward the Crag, but he could not leave Harrenhal in Lannister hands while he did so. And he trusted Roose, no matter how much Lenora distrusted the man, Robb believed he could count on him.

If anyone could take Harrenhal quickly, and hold it, it would be Roose Bolton.

And so, at his last supper at camp before marching east, Lenora had allowed Robb to invite the man and his favorite soldiers to feast in their tent. She smiled at the older man when she told him to sit at Robb's left in the place of high honor. She giggled at his compliments and sat to his left. Understanding that the best way to keep Roose on the path Robb set for him was to make him understand just how important he was to his King.

Roose was kind to her. He spoke more to her during the feast than he did to Robb. And for a few moments Lenora could almost see the man that Robb saw when he looked at him. She could almost understand why Roose Bolton was one of Robb's most trusted bannermen.

"I must congratulate you, Lord Bolton," Lenora told him, forcing her voice to stay light, as she reached for her wine goblet. It was empty.

"And why is that, Your Grace?" Roose asked as he held up the decanter of wine and offered to pour more in her goblet. Lenora nodded silently in gratitude and the man filled her cup.

She took a sip before she answered, "I have just now heard that you were recently married," she told him. "You must have done it in secret because I did not hear about it until Lord Karstark told me this afternoon."

Roose smiled at her and nodded, "Yes, Your Grace, I have remarried."

"And I hope it was for love," Lenora told him, watching him over the rim of her cup. "So often a man's first marriage is out of duty. His second is for love. Not all men are lucky enough to marry for love the first time around."

"Our King seems to have been one of the fortunate ones," Roose told her, glancing at Robb before turning back to Lenora. Robb was not part of their conversation, he was not listening in, but he must have heard Roose say the word King because when Lenora looked up she met his sparkling blue eyes over Roose's head.

She could not hide the smile on her face as she continued speaking to Roose. "He certainly seems to think so," she agreed. "Though, his father and my father agreed to the match long before Robb thought himself in love with me. It was a marriage of duty, that bloomed into love." She took another sip of her wine, "But," she continued. "We were speaking of your marriage, not mine, My Lord. Tell me of your new Lady Bolton."

Roose smiled, as if he was hearing some joke that Lenora was not. "Her name is Walda," he told her.

"Walda?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. "Now, Lord Bolton, correct me if I am wrong, but is Lady Walda by any chance from House Frey?"

Roose chuckled and nodded, "She is," he told her, though it was not a surprise. A name like Walda could only come from seeking favor with Lord Walder Frey. "You are as clever as you are beautiful, Your Grace."

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Lord Bolton," Lenora scolded, though she was careful to keep a smile on her lips. "It is not that hard to realize that Walda is very similar to Walder." Roose nodded, silently giving her the point. "Is she beautiful?" Lenora asked, fishing. She wanted to know why Roose Bolton had decided to remarry, his first wife had died many years ago and he had never shown any desire to remarry. And she was curious as to why he had chosen a wife from House Frey. Roose Bolton was a proud man, from what she knew of him he would see marrying a Frey as beneath him.

"She is beautiful," he told her with a nod. "In her own little sort of way, I suppose."

"She must be very beautiful," Lenora told him. "Otherwise you would have brought her here. Surely a newlywed bride would not want to be left from her husband for so long."

Roose shook his head, "An army camp or a march is no place for her, I assure you, Your Grace."

Lenora raised her eyebrows, "But it is a place for me?" she asked.

Roose smiled at her, his pale eyes scanning her body in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. She forced herself to sit still and not shudder under his gaze. "You seem to not only be well suited for the ways of war, Your Grace, but made for it. You enjoy long rides, which is good because war marches are full of them. My new wife, would not be so well suited for a horse, and as war is no place for a wheel house - she would have no other way to travel."

"Your wife does not like horses?" Lenora asked. "That is understandable, few women do."

"Horses do not like my wife," Roose told her, still smiling that secretive smile.

And there it was, Lenora realized, the secret joke that she had not heard. There was something about Lord Bolton's new wife. Something he found amusing.

"And why not?" she asked, ready to get to the root of it.

Roose smiled, wide, though he did not show his teeth. "Lord Walter let me choose any of his granddaughters," he told her, taking a sip from his own cup. The older man did not drink wine, Lenora had noticed he had been drinking water the entire night. "He is so desperate to marry off some of his many grandchildren that he promised me the girl's weight in silver as a dowry."

Lenora nodded, her lips forming a silent O shape, she now understood why he had said that horses did not like his wife. He shrugged his shoulders, his smile softening a bit. "So I have a fat, young bride."

Lenora nodded, a bit disgusted though she did not want him to see it. "I hope she makes you very happy," she told him.

Roose smiled and nodded, "Well, she's made me very rich."

He watched her for a moment and Lenora was sure that he could read her thoughts, that he knew just how disgusted she was in that moment. But if he could read her thoughts and feelings he did not let on. Instead he stood from his seat, water glass in hand and waited until everyone around the table quieted before he spoke.

First he nodded to Robb, "Your Grace," he said, "allow me a moment to say a few words?" Robb nodded and Lenora was sure that he was going to toast his King. But Roose Bolton was an intelligent man and he knew one of the best ways to please his King was to praise his Queen. So instead he turned to Lenora and smiled down at her. "Your Grace," he said, holding his hand out to her.

Lenora glanced at Robb, her eyebrows raised. He nodded and she smiled as she slipped her hand into Roose's and allowed him to pull her from her chair.

Once she was standing Roose continued, "I have often heard it said that the Gods created two kinds of hearts. A woman's heart and a man's. One that loves, and one that goes to war. But our beautiful Queen is the perfect example of the third kind of heart. A woman with the heart of a warrior. Not only do you love, but you go to war for those you love. King Robb could not have given us a better Queen than you, even if he had searched his whole life. I have no doubt while I march to take Harrenhal that you will take the best care of our King. And once this war is won, and the false King Joffrey no longer sits on the throne I am sure that the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms will know just how lucky we are to have you as our Queen."

Robb was grinning, he was so pleased with Roose's statement that he stood from his chair to clap the older man on his shoulders. Lenora was a bit quieter with her praise, inclining her head and curtsying with one hand as Roose still held her right hand. Her eyes narrowed as she sank into her curtsy, she was sure that Roose Bolton was playing a game; she just did not know which, or how to win.

When she rose from her curtsy she smiled, "Lord Bolton," she told him as she pulled her hand free from his grasp. "If only we all had your way with words."

Roose chuckled at her, "If only we all had your way with a sword, Your Grace," he told her. The men around the table laughed as if it were a joke, but the careful way his pale eyes watched her told Lenora that the Lord was anything but jesting.

She nodded, "To tell you true," she told him, "I would choose the blade over the words any day. So you can keep your words and I will keep my sword."

It was a veiled threat, but one she was sure he understood as she walked away.

Author's Note:

200,000 words. Shit guys, that's a lot. And there's still so many words to come.
It's crazy. Thank you so much for your support! Without you guys this story would not have gotten past the few thousand words of the first few chapters. So you're pretty amazing.
Especially all of you who review. Those of you that read each chapter, but do not review, owe each and every update to the wonderful souls who do!
Want to join that club? It's not very exclusive. We don't have any dues or fees. All you have to do is write out a little review in that empty box down there. Do that and you're in.
Simple right?

RHatch89: Oh you guys are so worried about Robb and the Red Wedding! I just want to tell you guys what I have planned, but I don't want to ruin it. So I won't say anything, except that you are right, they are stronger together. Though, Lenora can be pretty strong on her own.

writingNOOB: Seriously, three of the four new reviews are about Robb. I have you guys so worried about him. It's fantastic. I suppose I didn't introduce myself, hello I am Chloe Jane and I am a sadist. I laugh at other people's fears. Just kidding.
You are right as well, friend, this story is very much about Lenora and Robb. So I imagine that the Red Wedding will not be completely cannon. Though you will all have to wait and see.
And trust that I know what I'm doing.

sltsky96: Don't be upset, I love Robb too. And try not to worry, we still have many, many chapters until we get to the Red Wedding and you see what I have planned.

Guest: Thank you! I'm glad you like it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

That's all I've got for now!
Have a fantastic day!
Chloe Jane.