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

My name is Chloe Jane and I'm really excited about the chapter I just wrote, but won't post yet. (hint ... there's a wedding)

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dead. Dead. Dead.

Tyrion

He had ordered his men into a wedge. He may not have grown up with a battle mind, but in the days leading up to Stannis' attack on the city he had meant to train his brain into one. He had read a lot about the great battles of the past and from everything he had read he determined that this formation would be the best for a sortie.

He was still surprised when the men around him moved, following his orders, and forming a spearhead with him at the point. He looked to his right and Ser Mandon Moore nodded at him, the flames shimmering off his pale armor, he held Joffrey's banner proudly, a crimson and gold standard with stag and lion dancing hoof to paw.

He looked to his left and was surprised to see Podrick Payne, sitting atop a horse with a sword in his hand. He shook his head, "You're too young!" he shouted to Pod. "Go back!"

But the boy was stubborn. If possible he settled himself further into his saddle, "I'm your squire, My Lord," he argued.

There was no time for fight or discussion. He would have to come. Tyrion sighed, "With me then," he ordered the boy, as if he knew anything about surviving a battle."Stay close." And then he kicked his horse into motion, leading his men into battle.

They rode knee to knee, following the line of the looming city walls. They went from a walk to a trot, wheeling wide around the base of the tower. Arrows and stones were flying blindly from the city walls above them, no doubt hitting some of the King's Landing men. But the Gods were kind to Tyrion and nothing hit him. Ahead of them loomed the King's Gate and a surging mob of soldiers wrestling with a huge ram, a shaft of black oak with an iron head. Archers off the ships surrounded them, loosing their shafts at whatever defenders showed themselves on the gatehouse walls.

"Lances" Tyrion ordered as he sped his horse to a canter.

The ground was slippery, a dangerous mix of mud, blood, and corpses. His horse stumbled over one of the many dead bodies and for a terrifying moment Tyrion was sure that he would fall from his horse before he made it to the enemy. But his horse regained its footing and he rewarded it by quickening their pace. He held his battle axe above his head and shouted, "King's Landing!"

Other voices joined his cry and together his horse-filled arrowhead streaked across the beach, with human screams and pounding hooves, and sharp blades kissed by fire.

Ser Mandon got the first kill of the sortie, dropping his lance at the last possible moment and driving Joffrey's banner through the chest of a man in a studded jerkin. He lifted the man full of his feet before the shaft snapped.

Tyrion got the second. Just ahead of him a knight whose surcoat showed a fox peering through a ring of flowers. Florent was his first thought, but helmless was his second. He smashed the man in the face with all the weight of his axe. Cheering to himself as the swing took the man's head off.

Pod did as he had been told and rode beside Tyrion, hacking and slashing. He was not particularly practiced, but with the height and force of the horse behind him he had no trouble cutting down a few of the foes they passed.

Over the noise on the beach Tyrion could dimly hear cheers from the city's walls. He wondered what a sight they made. A spearhead of soldiers, led by the Imp. It must have been a sight. Ahead of him Stannis' men dropped their battering ram as they either turned to flee or turned to fight. Tyrion rode down an archer, opened a spearman from shoulder to armpit and gutted a knight wearing a swordfish-crested helm.

Ser Mandon flashed past him, death in snow-white silk. Tyrion followed him, jumping his horse over the battering ram. Their enemy was fleeing. He turned to look for Podrick, but he could not see the boy anywhere. An arrow clattered against his cheek, just barely missing his eye and he kicked his horse back into action. Wherever Pod was, he hoped the boy was safe, but he could not simply sit and look for him.

The men that had commanded the battering ram were gone, but there was still fighting on the riverbank. Ser Balon Swann's men, no doubt, trying to push back Stannis' men as they swarmed ashore off the burning ships. "We'll ride for the Mud Gate!" Tyrion commanded.

Ser Mandon, who was still at his side as Joffrey had commanded, held his sword above his head and shouted out Tyrion's order for any men who had not heard him, "The Mud Gate!" And they were off again, moving quickly around the city walls, hoping for the same success as they had seen at the King's Gate.

Behind him Tyrion could hear the men shouting. Some yelled for King's Landing! Still others chanted, "Halfman! Halfman!" he wondered who had taught them that. Even through his helm, even with the chanting he could still hear the battle sounds all around him. Anguished screams, warhorns, trumpets, the hungry crackle of the wildfire that still blazed on the river. Now that he was out here and had seen it for himself Tyrion could no longer blame the Hound for being afraid. There was fire and death everywhere.

Stannis' men were still crawling from the river. Though most of them were not fit to fight. They were burned and bleeding, some were choking on water, they were staggering, and Tyrion was sure that most of them were dying. He led his men through the thick of them, delivering as quick and clean a death as he could to any that his battle axe could reach. The battle shrank to the size of his eye slit. Knights twice his size ran from him and his horse. And still, he was faster and stronger. Still they died. "Lannister!" he yelled as he slaughtered a man. He turned toward sky and waved his axe up at the distant stars, for a moment sure that he could hear even them cheering for him.

He felt drunk, though he had had no wine since that afternoon.

The battle fever, he thought, remembering a time when Jaime had explained to him what it felt like to be in battle. He had never thought to experience it for himself, but he imagined that this was what Lenora felt when she had a sword in her hand. If that were the case it was no surprise why his niece had been determined to be as good a swordsman as Jaime. He had never felt stronger, never felt more alive than he did in this moment.

He could still remember Jaime's words. "You don't feel your wounds then, or the ache in your back from the weight of the armor, or the sweat running down into your eyes. You stop feeling, you stop thinking, you stop being you, there is only the fight, the foe, this man and then the next and the next and the next, and you know they are afraid and tired, but you are not. You're alive and death is all around you, but their swords move so slowly, you can dance through them laughing."

Tyrion had not believed Jaime then, but he could understand him now. He was indeed laughing as he rode his way through Stannis' men. Let them kill me if they can, he thought.

And they did try. A spearman ran at Tyrion. He swung his axe and lopped off the head of his spear, then his hand, then his head, trotting around him in a circle while laughing wildly. An archer, bowless, thrust at him with an arrow, holding it as if it were a knife. Tyrion's horse kicked the man to the ground and rode over him, killing him beneath his hooves. He rode past a banner planted in the mud, one of Stannis' fiery hearts and he chopped the staff in two with a swing of his axe.

A blaze of white appeared at the edge of Tyrion's vision and he turned expecting to see Ser Mandon. But this was a different white knight, Ser Balon Swann. He raised his mace to point down river, bits of brain and bone clung to its head. "My Lord," he yelled out over the noise of the battle. "Look there!"

Tyrion turned his horse toward the Blackwater the surface was a roil of blood and flame. The sky above was red and orange and a garish green. Twenty galleys were jammed together on the river, maybe more, it was hard to count in the dark. Their oars were crossed, their hulls locked together with grappling lines, they were impaled on each other's rams, tangled together and packed so closely that it was possible to leap from one deck to another to another and cross the Blackwater. Tyrion had made them a bloody bridge. Hundreds of Stannis Baratheon's boldest and bravest were moving quickly across this makeshift bridge.

Parts of the bridge were sinking, parts were on fire, and the whole thing was creaking and shifting and looked as though it was about to burst asunder at any moment. But that did not stop them. Tyrion turned back to Ser Balon, "Those are brave men," he yelled at him, admiration coloring his tone. "Let's go kill them!"

He led them through the guttering fires, Ser Balon and his men right behind him. Ser Mandon fell in with them, taking the place on Tyrion's left, his shield a battered mess.

A spearman wearing the red crab badge of House Celtigar drove the point of his weapon through the chest of Tyrion's horse before he could dismount and the horse fell, spilling Tyrion from the saddle. Tyrion's axe went spinning, followed by Tyrion himself. As he lay in the mud he could hear his horse beside him, not dead yet, screaming in pain. Somehow he managed to draw his dagger and slit the poor beast's throat to end its pain.

Then he was on his feet again, fighting his way closer to the boats on foot, staggering and slashing as he did. It was only then that he realized that his view of the battle had widened, his helm had fallen off when he fell from his horse. It was too late to look for it now. Men came rushing at him. Some he killed, some he wounded, but no matter what there were always more.

He lost his knife and gained a broken spear. He clutched it and stabbed, screaming curses as loud he could. His two white shadows were always with him; Balon Swann and Mandon Moore, beautiful in their pale plate. Surrounded by a circle of spearmen, they fought back to back, they made battle as graceful as a dance.

His own killing was a clumsy thing.

He moved toward them and tripped over the body of one of his men. He fell again. Over the sound of the battle he heard someone yelling to him. "Here!" he yelled back. "Here, I'm here! Help me!" His voice sounded so thin that he could barely hear himself, but Ser Mandon heard him.

"My Lord," the knight ordered. "Take my hand! My Lord Tyrion!"

When Tyrion looked up he saw the knight in front of him, holding his arm out. His lobstered gauntlet was sticky with blood, but it did not matter, Tyrion reached out for it, wishing his arms were longer. It was only at the last, as his hand landed in Mandon's grip and the knight pulled him to stand that something niggled at him ... Ser Mandon was holding out his left hand, why ...

Was that why he reeled backward, or did he see the sword after all? He would never know. The point slashed just beneath his eyes and he felt its cold hard touch and then a blaze of pain. His head spun as his body fell away from the knight and back to the ground.

Ser Mandon raised his sword again, prepared to strike a second time. But Tyrion watched, dazed as a spear was rammed through the man's throat, killing him where he stood. Tyrion fell to the ground, his eyes closing. And someone was kneeling over him. "Jaime?" he croaked, choking a bit on the blood that filled his mouth. Who else would save him, if not his brother.

"Be still, My Lord," someone told him. "You're hurt bad." It was a boy's voice, though that made no sense. It sounded almost like Pod.

Tyrion forced his eyes open as his head dropped to the side. He meant to see who had come to his aide, but instead he saw a new force come riding across the mud, fresh soldiers on fresh horses.

Ours or theirs? He wondered before his eyes closed again.

-.-.-.-.-

Cersei

It was Lancel who came with the message. Her young cousin turned lover who told her that the battle was lost. She did not look at him, she did not look at Sansa, she did not look at the women who had come to her for protection. She looked down at her wine glass, it was empty now, and spun it around in her hands. This was always a possibility, but it was not supposed to happen.

"Did you hear me, Your Grace?" Lancel asked her, his voice had an echoing, far away quality to it. Like when she was a child and she and Jaime used to swim in the Sunset Sea, they had a game where one would stick their head under water and the other would yell something to see if they heard it. That was what Lancel sounded like now.

"Tell my brother, Ser," she ordered him. Her voice was just as distant as his. She should care, but the only person in this room she cared about was Tommen. And she would take care of him.

"Your brother's likely dead," he told her. She glanced up at him sharply, all those years she had spent wishing Tyrion would die and now he had. She thought she would feel joy. But all she felt was an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her brother was dead. Soon her sons would be dead. And then she would be as well.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

Ser Lancel's surcoat was soaked with blood seeping out under his arm. When he had arrived inside the ballroom the sight of him had made several women scream and cry. "He led the sortie to protect the King's Gate. Others say he rode with Ser Balon's men toward the Mud Gate. But no one has seen him of late. Ser Mandon's likely gone as well, and no one can find the Hound." The young man shook his head, "Gods be damned, Cersei, why did you have me fetch Joffrey back to the castle? The gold cloaks are throwing down their spears and running, hundreds of them. When they saw the king leaving, they lost all heart. The whole Blackwater's awash with wrecks and fire and corpses, but we could have held if -"

"Why are you here?" Cersei bit out at him, interrupting him. She did not want to hear his complaints, she wanted to hear if there was any hope of her and her children making it through the rest of the night alive.

"I mean to collect the king and bring him back to the battle," Lancel told her. "If the men could see him, I know they would fight again. Stronger than now."

Cersei shook her head, that would not happen. "Where is my son?" she asked. She had ordered him back to the castle, but they had not brought him to Maegor's Holdfast. As much as she wanted him where she could see him she knew that he could not hide with the women, if they had won he would have been the laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms. He was somewhere nearby, but she did not know where.

Lancel shook his head, "There's fighting on both sides of the river now," he told her, continuing with his report. "Some say that Lord Stannis' men are fighting each other now, but no one is sure. It's all confused over there. Ser Balon's fallen back inside the city. The riverside belongs to Stannis. They're ramming at the King's Gate again and your men are deserting the walls and killing their own officers. There's a mob at the Iron Gate and the Gate of the Gods, city folk fighting to get out of the city. And Flea Bottom's one great drunken riot."

It was now that Cersei dared a look at the red headed girl sitting beside her. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but her lips turned up a bit in the corners. She had not changed her prayers, she was happy that they were losing. That Joffrey had lost. She still hoped for escape. Cersei shook her head, she would wipe that smug look of the girl's face if it were the last thing she would do. She turned away from Sansa to look at the captain of her Red Guard, "Raise the drawbridge and bar the doors. No one enters or leaves Maegor's without my leave."

"What about the women who went to pray?" her captain asked her.

She did not care one bit for the women. Praying was a waste of time, the Gods did not listen to their prayers or care for them. "They chose to leave my protection. Let them pray; perhaps the Gods will defend them." Then she turned back to Lancel, "I will ask you again. Where is my son?"

"The castle gatehouse," he told her. "He wanted to command the crossbowmen. There's a mob howling outside, half of them gold cloaks who came with him when we left the Mud Gate."

She did not care that they would laugh at him now. He was no safer on the castle walls than he was at the City Walls. She wanted him inside the holdfast where there would be three sets of walls between him and Stannis. "Bring him inside Maegor's now," she ordered.

"No!" Her cousin was so angry that he forgot to keep his voice down. He yelled the word and several of the women at the closest tables turned to look at him. He was so angry that he forgot who he was talking to. He had shouted at the queen and on any other day than today during a battle, he would have been imprisoned for it. But tonight, he did not care. "If I bring him in we'll have the Mud Gate all over again. Let him stay where he is. He's the king -"

"He's my son," Cersei interrupted as she rose to her feet. "You claim to be a Lannister as well, cousin, prove it." She turned to the captain of the Red Guard, "Osfryd, why are you standing there? I told you to raise the drawbridge and bar the doors now. Now means today."

The guard quickly ran from the dais, another guard following him. Some of the frightened hens below her followed them, crying or praying. They did not know what was happening outside the castle gates, but they knew enough not to want to be trapped inside the holdfast. Cersei did not care, let them run, there was nowhere safe anymore.

"Cersei," Lancel pleaded, "if we lose the castle, Joffrey will be killed in any case, you know that. Let him stay, I'll keep him by me, I swear -"

Cersei had reached out for Tommen's hand and pulled her sleepy son out of his chair as Lancel pleaded to keep Joffrey in harm's way. When she turned back to him, her eyes narrowed into a glare he still did not back down. "Get out of my way," she hissed at him before she slammed her open palm into his wound. Her cousin cried out in pain and fell to the floor as if he had fainted.

Cersei spared him one disgusted look as she pulled Tommen around her fallen cousin and began to leave the room. "Oh Gods!" she heard one old woman wail. "We're lost, the battle's lost! She's running!"

She did not care to calm them down. All she cared was for her son. She did not even slow as women began to stand from their seats and move toward her as if they would question her. From somewhere behind her she hear Sansa Stark call out. "Don't be afraid! The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city!" It made her smirk, the girl had wanted so badly to be Queen once. Well now she would get a taste of it. Let her rule over this roost of frightened hens. And let her be the first one raped when Stannis' men stormed the castle.

"Where are we going, Mother?" Tommen asked her as she led him from the ballroom.

She turned to look at him, her little boy looked so frightened. She knelt down in front of him, still holding his hand in hers. She lifted her free hand to cup his cheek, "Don't worry, Sweetling," she told him, her voice soft and gentle for perhaps the first time that night. "I will keep you safe."

"But where are we going?" the boy pushed, he was determined to have an answer.

"On a little hunt," Cersei told him.

"A hunt?" Tommen asked. "But Stannis and his men have the King's Wood."

She smiled at him and shook her head, "No, my sweet boy, we're not hunting animals. We're looking for things."

"What things?"

"Something from Joff's chambers, and Lenora's, and Myrcella's," she told him.

"Why?"

"Because I think it might make you feel better," she lied to him. The hunt was for her. If she was going to die away from her children she would surround herself with their belongings. But she could not tell Tommen that, it would only serve to frighten her boy. "Don't you miss them?" she asked.

Tommen shrugged his shoulders, "Lenora and Myrcella," he told them. "But I just saw Joffrey this afternoon."

Cersei smiled softly at him, "Well I miss Joffrey. Will you come with me when I find something of his?"

Tommen nodded. He still did not understand what was going on, but he would do as his mother asked. Cersei nodded and stood from the floor, leading the way.

They went to Joffrey's chambers first. She looked around the room for a few moments before she settled on the wooden toy sword that Robert had given him for his second nameday. Joffrey had loved that sword, he had toddled his way around the castle for months beating cats and servants alike with the sword. It was one of the few times she could remember Robert smiling at the boy. He would chuckle every time he saw him with the play sword clutched in his tiny baby hands.

They went to Myrcella's chambers next. Even though her youngest daughter was old enough to be sent to Dorne, the girl was still such a child. Her chambers were filled with all the dolls and toys that she could not bring with her. Tommen selected a doll that had been made in Myrcella's own image, a beautiful thing with pale skin and golden hair. Delicate and soft.

Lenora's chambers were harder. When she had left for Winterfell she was a Lady, a woman grown. She no longer had toy swords, or dolls in her chambers. They had been left much the same as she had left them. Cersei had been unable to enter them after they left her daughter up north and she had refused any suggestion to clear them out after Robert died, she was that sure that Lenora would be returned to her family in King's Landing soon. But she had not returned and now Cersei was desperate to find something of her daughter's to hold onto.

It was Tommen who found it, a crown of blue winter roses from one tournament or another, looped over one of the bedposts at the head of the bed. Cersei nodded as she lifted it off the post, Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of the Flowers, had given it to her when he crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty. Her daughter had once had such an infatuation for the young knight that she had kept the crown, even after the flowers dried.

Armed with their treasure Cersei led her youngest son back down the stairs. The drawbridge was raised, but there were ways out of the Holdfast for those who knew them. Cersei took one now, out the back and into the Godswood, she pulled her son quickly though the woods, she did not like being outside. The thick walls of Maegor's had blocked the sounds of the battle, but here in the Godswood she could hear it, and so could Tommen. She did not want the boy frightened.

Soon enough they had entered the Great Hall and Cersei led her son to the Iron Throne. She sat on the uncomfortable throne and pulled her son into her lap. He was clutching tightly at Myrcella's doll and he had Joffrey's play sword tucked under his arm. Lenora's flower crown lay on his lap, hanging over one of his legs to rest on Cersei's lap as well. She wrapped her left arm around him tightly, her right hand dug into the pocket of her dress, searching for the small vial she had gotten from Grand Maester Pycelle that morning. Milk of the poppy, enough to put her son into a deep sleep that he would never wake up from.

As she searched for it, she distracted him by telling him the story that she had told all of her lion cub children. The story of the little lion in the King's Wood.

The story did not last as long as she would have liked. Sooner than she wished the story was over. She uncapped the vial and, sniffing back any tears that dared fill her eyes, she held it up to her son. "I will keep you safe, My Love," she told him, encouraging him to drink. "I promise you."

But before her son drank any of the milk the doors to the throne room were thrown open and soldiers marched in. Cersei stood quickly, taking her son with her. All their treasures fell to the ground at their feet. Cersei's eyes darted over the surcoats and the banners. The golden rose of high garden led them in. But there was the Marbrand's tree, Tarly's huntsman, Redwyne grapes, and Lady Oakheart's leaf as well. All of Renly's force that had not immediately backed Stannis.

A knight at the front of the group reached up and pulled off his helm, Ser Loras of Highgarden. For one terrifying moment Cersei was sure that this was how she and Tommen would die. That Highgarden had finally backed Stannis and had come into the battle as his reserve.

But then the men parted and Tywin Lannister walked through them toward her with his helm in his hand. "Father," Cersei breathed, turning the small vial upside down and spilling its contents before she dropped it to the floor. She would have no need of it now.

"The battle is over," her father announced to her with one of his rare smiles. "We have won!

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

His fist clenched around the parchment in his hand, crinkling it and possibly tearing it in some places. He turned his head to look at Lenora, she was sitting in the corner of their chambers sewing by the window while Rollam struggled to read a story to her. Every once in a while she would put the dress she was working on down so that she could lean over and help the young boy with a word when he asked for help.

She was very good with him. And he was good for her. He wondered what this news would do to her. He wondered if she would be happy to hear it. She had seemed so resolute the week before in the yard outside the castle. She had told him that she was saying goodbye to her family and he believed her. But this man was her uncle. And after almost a year he was finally free.

Free by his own mother's hand.

His fist clenched again and he took a deep breath, forcing his hands to relax and his face to soften. "Nora," he called out, waiting for her to look up at him before he continued. "Send the boy away," he commanded.

Lenora's brows furrowed but she nodded and leaned closer to Rollam, whispering something to the boy. He quickly stood up and after gathering his book he left the room with a quick bow to Robb as he passed. Once Rollam was gone Lenora put down her sewing and stood, walking over to him. Even though he was working hard to relax his face there was no hiding from Lenora. "What's wrong?" she asked him, studying his face carefully.

He sighed, looking away from her for a moment before he turned back toward her, "Your uncle is free," he told her, watching her intently.

It was impossible not to notice the way her eyes lightened, sparkling silver. Her brows relaxed and the lines between them disappeared. The worry lines that creased her forehead from time to time softened and her lips quirked up at the corners. Her shoulders relaxed as she swung her hands in front of her body and then behind them before clasping them tight to keep them from moving. The news made her happy, though she wanted so badly to compose herself and hide it from him.

"What made you decide to free him?" she asked, misunderstanding his statement.

A chuckle rose at the back of his throat, low and dark. "I didn't free him," he told her, his voice gentle.

She shook her head, she didn't understand, "What?" she asked him. "I don't understand. If you did not set him free how is he? Did he escape somehow?"

"No," Robb told her, still laughing even though the circumstances were far from humorous. "Someone freed him."

"Who would do that without your consent?" Lenora asked him. But as he watched her face he saw the flash of understanding, "Your Mother," she whispered. He nodded, his mother. She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "She had just found out about the boys," she told him, making an excuse for her. "And with no one knowing if my mother has Arya or not. No doubt she thought that this was the only way she could get Sansa returned to her. She did this for Sansa, really her only child left now that you've decided that you don't need your mother's help anymore."

Robb nodded, she really did not need to make excuses for his mother. He had considered them all. He knew she did this for Sansa. He knew that she was driven by grief. He knew that she had only been thinking about her family.

But she should have considered him. She should have realized what this would do to his war effort. She should have left the Kingslayer where he was.

He looked up, Lenora was still watching him. "You'll forgive her, won't you?" she asked once they had made eye contact. "When you see her you will be gentle to her."

Robb sighed, Lenora had once told him that he could not disappoint her and as much as she had meant it at the time she was wrong. He could disappoint her. And he was about to. "I have forgiven her," he told her, his jaw clenched when he saw the bright smile slip onto her lips. She was proud of him. "But I cannot be gentle with her when I next see her."

Her smile fell quickly, " Robb," she started.

He cut her off. "I understand her reasons, but Nora! He was my most valuable prisoner. I could have used him to bargain for an end to this war. And she set him free, and means to hold him to terms that only the Gods know! If she were anyone but my mother she would lose her head for this! Her head."

"She's your mother," Lenora argued, trying to drive that point home to him. "Whatever she did, she thought it was right."

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head angrily as he turned away from her. "She knew it wasn't right. That's why she did it in the middle of the night. That's why she told no one. That's why she didn't discuss it with me first. She knew what she was doing and she knew it was stupid. And she did it anyway."

"Maybe she didn't think at all," Lenora argued. "Perhaps it was that she was driven almost mad with grief for the boys and she had set him free before she even knew what she was doing."

Robb shook his head again, "She visited him twice. The turnkey said so. She brought him wine and got him drunk. And visited him two nights in a row, after midnight. She set him free on the second night. It was meditated. She knew exactly what she meant to do."

Lenora watched him for a moment, her eyes no longer a happy silver, but now a stormy grey. "What will you do?" she asked finally.

"My uncle Edmure has her confined to her chambers," he told her, shaking his head. "Her door is guarded and she is allowed no company."

Lenora's eyes widened, "Confined without company?" she repeated. "Guarded? Robb she is grieving. She's lost her husband, her daughters, her two youngest sons. Her father is dying! She will go mad if you leave her alone like that, a prisoner in her own childhood home."

Robb shook his head, he would not have Lenora pleading for softer treatment of his mother. "What would you have me do, Nora?" he asked her. "It was treason, what she did. My mother is a traitor. When I tell my bannermen what she did some of them will want her thrown in the Kingslayer's old cell. We hung men a month ago for doing this. She cannot be left unpunished."

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Gods," he moaned, shaking his head. "I'm going to have to tell my bannermen. What will they think of their King now? Winterfell taken, the boys killed, and my mother freeing our prisoners."

He was quiet for a minute, thinking of his Lords Bannerman's reactions when they heard the news. Lord Rickard Karstark had wanted Jaime Lannister dead since the Whispering Wood. And now the man was free. Lord Karstark would think Robb weak if he did anything less than behead his own mother for freeing him.

"She has spoken to Edmure about it," he told her, his voice defeated.

"Did she say anything to defend herself?" Lenora asked.

Robb shook his head, "She thinks she has done nothing wrong. She believes that he will use his freedom to return the girls."

"Lannisters do pay their debts," Lenora told him, "his freedom will be a debt that he will have to repay."

She still had faith in him, that much was clear. But Robb did not have her faith. "Even if he does send the girls back I would not have traded him for them," he told her.

"They're your sisters!" she yelled at him, raising her voice for the first time.

"I'm fighting a war!" he shouted back. "And using him a certain way could have ended this war! Instead, perhaps, I might get my child sisters back!"

She stared at him for a second, her eyes narrowed into a glare. And then she crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him. "You better go tell your bannermen," she told him, her voice hard as steel and about as unforgiving. "I suspect you will want to ride for Riverrun as soon as possible to deal with her. So I will tell the servants to begin packing. We can leave by dawn tomorrow."

Robb stared at her and took a deep breath, this was not what he had wanted. He did not want to fight with her. He did not want her angry at him. "Nora," he breathed softly.

She turned to look at him again and shook her head, "If it were the other way," she told him. "And I was back at King's Landing. I had Jon as a prisoner and you had Myrcella and Tommen I would make the trade in a heartbeat for them, Because they are my family and that is what you do for family."

He couldn't tell her that she was wrong. Because if they hadn't been fighting a war he would have agreed with her. But he was fighting a war. He was responsible for all of his men and all of the people in the North who had named him King. He needed to win for them. And he could not see a way to win now that he had lost the Kingslayer.

"She told Edmure that he said he would come back for you," he told her.

Her eyes widened. She had not expected that. He nodded. "That's what he drunkenly told her before he escaped. That he would send the girls back to her, but then he would come and take you. He does not mean to give either you or I a choice. He said that he will bring you home to your family."

She was so angry at him that he half expected her to tell him that it was good news. He half expected her to tell him that she wanted to be returned to her family. But instead her jaw clenched and she wrapped her arms tighter around her chest. "He can try," she told him, her tone as stubborn as her jaw. "But I won't go willingly."

Author's Note:

Yay! Jaime's free and I get to play with him again. That's fun! I'm happy.
What did you guys think of this chapter? I hope you liked it. If you did you should write a little review down there and that box. It's a super friendly box. It'll even thank you for your review.
And I'll thank you too!

Guest: I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too! (I'm pretty sure the wait wasn't too long!)

RHatch89: Thank you dear! Hope this one was equally as awesome.

darkwolf76: Hello friend! I'm glad that you liked chapter thirty-seven and I hope you liked chapter thirty-eight too. And also this one. As for Jaime ... he might try to get Lenora from the Starks, but I think for now ... he's got a babysitter so he's probably on his was to King's Landing. (But don't worry ... he's not going to Dorne. That's a bullshit story line that I'm not even going to touch.)

Stannisfan: Glad to have entertained you on your bus ride!

Raging Raven: Yaaasssss! (right back at you!)

That's all I've got. But huge thanks to all of you who have reviewed.
Quick question: Is Fanfiction still glitching out and not sending alert emails?
See you back here tomorrow?
Chloe Jane.