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I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.

My name is Chloe Jane and I read the entirety of 13 Reasons Why in pretty much one sitting yesterday. It was ridiculous.

Chapter Forty: To Serve the Starks

Sansa

She took care as she dressed that morning. She choose her best dress, one of purple silk and let her handmaidens do her hair up in the Southern style. She did not particularly like it, having her hair piled on top of her head like that, but Cersei had insisted. There was to be a celebration in the throne room and the queen did not want Sansa walking around with her hair down, reminding everyone of her northern heritage.

So her maids piled her hair on top of her head and twisted it and braided it tightly. And they tightened the laces on her dress as much as they could. And finally, she was ready to leave her chambers.

The throne room was more crowded than she had ever seen it. And it was brighter and more colorful as well. A sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. There were so many lords and ladies that they were pressed all the way to the back wall, jostling each other like fishwives on a dock. For the first time since she came to King's Landing she did not have a place of honor on the floor, instead she was to stand in the gallery above with some of the lesser lords and ladies and the richer city folk.

It was a demotion that was meant to shame her. But all she felt was grateful that she was further away from Joffrey.

King Joffrey sat above everyone amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was dressed in crimson samite, with a black mantle studded with rubies, and his heavy golden crown on his head.

Sansa wiggled her way through a press of knights and squires to a place at the front of the gallery, her hands wrapping around the railing just as the trumpets blasted their announcement that Lord Tywin Lannister had entered the hall.

Sansa looked down on the man from where she stood. He was a foreboding looking man. Looking at him now it was hard to imagine that this was the man that Lenora had told her stories about while they were both at Winterfell. Lenora had told her that Tywin Lannister was kind, but the man before did not look kind. Well, kind when it serves him, had been the princess' exact words.

Sansa could not imagine a time when being kind could serve Lord Tywin Lannister anymore than being surly. He had the look of a man who always got what he wanted. Just like his son Jaime. She smirked a bit, Ser Jaime Lannister was certainly not getting what he wanted now, he was still her brother's prisoner.

Lord Tywin rode his warhorse down the length of the hall and dismounted only once he had reached the Iron Throne. His armor was burnished red steel, inlaid with golden scrollwork that glittered in the sunlight. The Lannisters did love their House colors. And their sigil. A roaring lion with rubies for eyes crowned his helm and a golden lioness sat on each shoulder to fasten his cloth of gold cloak that was so long that it draped over the back of his horse. Even the horse's armor was red and gold, as if it were some sort of honor to be a Lannister horse.

The Lord of Casterly Rock and his horse made such an impressive picture that it was a shock when the beast dropped a load of dung right in front of the Iron Throne. Sansa laughed, bringing up her hand to cover her mouth as Joffrey stepped around the pile so that he could embrace his grandfather.

Once he had pulled away Joffrey turned to the lords and ladies of the hall, "I, Joffrey, of the House Baratheon, First of my name and the rightful king of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the realm do hereby proclaim my Grandfather, Tywin Lannister, the savior of the city!"

The men and women around Sansa cheered loudly and clapped though Sansa stood as still as she had before. She had not imagined the smirk Joffrey sent her way when he said the word rightful. The Starks had the blood of the First Men in them, the Northmen, if anyone was the rightful king of the First Men it was Robb.

By now Joffrey had turned back to Tywin and made a show of asking him to serve as Hand of the King. Lord Tywin had nodded his head solemnly and agreed as if it were an honor. As if the last three of the Mad King's Hands had not died. As if Jon Arryn had not died. As if her father, Eddard Stark, had not died, and as if his own son who had been the Hand of the King in Lord Tywin's stead did not currently lay dying somewhere in the Red Keep. Sansa hoped that this Hand would die too.

Squires moved forward to take off Lord Tywin's armor and once it was removed Joffrey pinned the seal of the Hand onto Tywin's chest. Then Lord Tywin moved onto the dais and took a seat with the queen at the council table. His horse was led away and the dung was removed.

Joffrey looked to Cersei and the queen nodded, telling him that he could continue.

Trumpets greeted each of the battle heros as they walked through the large oak doors and made their way toward the throne. Heralds cried their names and their deeds for all to hear, and the noble nights and highborn ladies cheered as if they were at a tournament. Or a cockfight. The place of honor was given to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden and his handsome sons, Ser Loras and his older brother Ser Garlan the Gallant. The three of them dressed alike, in green velvet trimmed with sable.

Joffrey descended from his throne again to greet them, a great honor that he had not bestowed on any of the other heros. He fastened a necklace around each of their throats, a chain of roses made of yellow gold, hanging from each chain hung a golden disc with the lion of Lannister picked out in rubies. It was a ghastly thing, but each man wore it as if it were an honor. "The roses support the lion," Joffrey announced as he fastened the last necklace, "as the might of Highgarden supports the realm."

He stepped back from them, though he did not return to his throne. "If there is any boon you would ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."

And now it comes, Sansa thought, bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet. She could not contain her excitement.

"Your Grace," said Ser Garlan, speaking first, "I beg the honor of serving in your Kingsguard, to defend you against your enemies." Ser Garlan was five years older than Ser Loras and a taller, bearded version of his more famous younger brother. But he did not lack in skill, from what Sansa had heard the man was almost as good a swordsman as his brother.

Joffrey drew Ser Garlan the Gallant to his feet and kissed him on his bearded cheek, "Done, brother," he told him. Sansa wondered if any of the surrounding men and women were confused by the term brother. None of them seemed to be though Sansa was sure that they weren't in on the secret as she was.

Lord Tyrell had bowed his head and asked to be put on the King's Small Council. Sansa wondered what sort of skills the man brought to the table, but his skills did not matter to Joffrey, his wish was granted and the fat man rushed his way onto the dais to take a seat near Lord Tywin.

Finally it was Ser Loras' turn. Sansa smiled, she had always wanted to be rescued by a handsome prince and now she would be. "Your Grace," he started. "I have a sister, Margaery, the delight of our House. She was wed to Renly Baratheon, as you know, but he was taken before their marriage could be consummated. She remains innocent. Margaery has heard tales of your wisdom, courage, and chivalry, and has come to love you from afar. I beseech you to send for her, to take her hand in marriage, and to wed your House to mine for all time."

Joffrey pretended to look surprised and Sansa's breath caught in her throat. What if he changed his mind? "Ser Loras," Joffrey told him. "Your sister's beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I too, have heard tales of her beauty and grace. It would be an honor to return her love, but I am promised to another. And a king must keep his word."

Cersei stood from her spot at the small council table, her gold skirts rustling around her. "Your Grace, in judgement of your Small Council, it would be neither proper no wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne, even now. Sire, your councillors beg you, for the good of your realm, set Sansa Stark aside. The Lady Margaery will make you a far more suitable queen."

The women around Sansa had the grace to look shocked, some even whispered words of comfort or apology. But the majority of the people in the hall seemed thrilled with the idea of Joffrey marrying Margaery. They cheered and shouted their pleasure like a pack of trained dogs. "Margaery!" they cheered. "Give us Margaery!" and "No traitor queens! Tyrell! Tyrell!"

Joffrey raised his hand and his people fell silent. "I would like to heed your wishes, Mother, and the wishes of my people. But I took a holy vow."

The new High Septon stepped forward, "Your Grace," he said. "The Gods hold betrothal solemn, but your father, King Robert of blessed memory, made this pact before the Starks of Winterfell had revealed their falseness. Their crimes against the realm have freed you from any promise you might have made. So far as the Faith is concerned, there is no valid marriage contract 'twixt you and Sansa Stark."

The people began cheering again and Sans wondered if they truly believed all this pageantry. Could they not see that this was all put together to humiliate her and to explain to them why Joffrey could set her aside. Queen Cersei would not have spoken out against Sansa unless she already knew that Joffrey would pick the Tyrell girl. In a dark corner of her mind she also wondered if the High Septon's explanation would be used to do away with Robb and Lenora's marriage if her brother and his wife were ever caught and brought to King's Landing.

Joffrey was stalling. He had not said it yet. Sansa's grip on the railing before her tightened and her fingernails dug into the wood. What if he didn't say it? What if he meant to keep her? But he must say it. She glanced down at the queen and Lord Tywin. Please, she begged silently. Please make him say it, make him say it.

Lord Tywin was staring at his grandson, his green eyes tight and narrow. Joff gave him a sullen glance and shifted his feet before he helped Ser Loras off the ground. "The Gods are good," he announced. "I am free to heed my heart. I will wed your sweet sister, and gladly, Ser." Everyone in the hall cheered and clapped.

Sansa was grateful that she was up in the gallery instead of on the floor. The ceremony would go on for hours, there were still more heros to be given honors, there were close to three hundred men to be knighted. And then there were the prisoners of the battle to deal with. If she had been down on the floor she would have had to stay for all of it.

But here in the gallery she could slip away. She would not be unnoticed, but at least the king could not force her to stay.

She tried to arrange her face into a look of appropriate sorrow as she moved through the knights and the ladies around her. She was almost sure that she had fooled them until Lord Petyr Baelish called out to her.

"My Lady," he called out, making her turn toward him. "My sincerest condolences."

Inside her sleeves Sansa dug her fingernails into her palms until they bled and tears flooded her eyes, "They're right," she told the man. "I'm not good enough for him."

"You shouldn't say that," Lord Petyr told her, shaking his head, "you'll be good enough for many things. He'll still enjoy beating you, and now that you're a woman he will be able to enjoy you in other ways as well." Sansa did not need to ask him what he meant by that, and now the tears that were sliding down her cheeks were not fake tears, but true ones, born of fear.

"But if he's not marrying me -"

"He'll let you go home?" Lord Petyr finished for her, there was no laughter in his tone, but Sansa could tell that he thought she was a fool. He was mocking her. "Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys," he warned her. He reached out, his hand wrapping around her upper arm, "You have a tender heart, just like your mother did at your age. I see so much of her in you. She was like a sister to me. For her sake, I will help get you home." He whispered the last part so that only she could hear it.

Sansa was sure this was a trick. Lord Petyr Baelish was a member of the king's Small Council. Joffrey had just awarded him Harrenhal. And he, himself, had just told her that Joffrey would not want to let her go. Petyr Baelish did not seem the sort of man who would act against the king's wishes unless there was something for him in the deal. She could not see what he would get out helping her escape King's Landing. And so, she could not trust him. "King's Landing is my home now," she told him, pulling out one of her practiced lines.

Lord Petyr chuckled, "Look around you," he commanded. "We're all liars here. And every one of us is better than you."

-.-.-.-.-

Jaime

He was laughing. For the first time in almost a year he was laughing. The feeling of the laughter bubbling in his throat felt strange, the sound of the laughter was foreign to his ears. But it felt so damn good. He laughed again, testing it out. It still felt as good as the first.

The wind moved through his hair and the boat moved along the river with the current and Jaime lifted his chained hands above his head and crowed out a cheer. He was alive and the sun was shining.

"Quiet," the wench ordered him with a scowl. Jaime wanted to tell her to smile, that these circumstances demanded a smile. But he knew she would not. Smiles would not suit her face half as well as a scowl did. Jaime squinted at her, trying to imagine the large girl out of her studded leather jerkin and into one of Cersei's silken gowns. He snorted, it would be better to put a dress on a cow than on this girl.

But Gods could this girl row. Under her man's clothes were a man's muscles, he was sure of it. She had rowed their boat for half the night and well into the morning and she still showed no sign of tiring. She was big and strong like a peasant, but she spoke like a highborn lady and she could read and she wore two longswords and a dagger. He wondered if she could use them. He meant to find out as soon as she took off his chains.

He still wore iron manacles on his wrists, but Lady Stark had been kind enough to cut the chains around his ankles so that he could walk. He had more freedom now than he had in weeks. "You'd think my word as a Lannister was not good enough," he had joked as they bound him. He was very drunk by then, Lady Catelyn had known what she was doing when she sent him that wine.

He remembered very little of their escape from Riverrun, just bits and pieces really. The pieces were small enough that if anyone were to ask him how to escape from the castle he would not be able to tell them. There had been some trouble with the gaoler, but the big wench had overpowered him. They had climbed countless stairs, he had tripped over his own feet a few times but the wench had a hold on his upper arm and she did not let him fall. They threw a dirty cloak over him and threw him into a boat at one point and he was sure that Lady Catelyn had ordered someone to raise the portcullis on the Water Gate. She told them that she was sending Ser Cleos Frey back to King's Landing with new terms of peace for the queen.

They had listened to her, even though Cleos Frey was not in the boat. He must have drifted off then because he did not remember anything else until he woke up, half convinced he had dreamed the entire thing. The wine made him sleepy and it felt good to stretch out, he hadn't been able to do that since they had moved him to his new cell. Years ago he had learned to catch sleep in his saddle on long rides, this was no different. Though Tyrion would laugh at him when he told his little brother that he had slept through his own escape.

But now he was awake, and his stretching had made him resent these manacles more than he had resented them the day before. "My Lady," he called to the wench. "If you'll strike off these chains, I'll spell you at those oars."

Her scowl deepened and she glared at him, "You'll wear your chains, Kingslayer," she told him through gritted teeth.

His shoulders involuntarily tightened at the name, a hunching gesture that Lenora had once pointed out to him. She said that he did it whenever someone called him Kingslayer, it had been an observation of a young girl. But it had always struck him that she noticed it when no one else seemed to. He forced his shoulders to relax and practically screwed a smile onto his lips. "Do you figure to row all the way to King's Landing, wench?" he asked her.

"You will call me Brienne," the large thing ordered him. "Not wench."

"My name is Ser Jaime," he told her, his smile becoming a little more real. He was sure that they could be polite, even as he plotted to kill her. "Not Kingslayer."

"Do you deny that you slew a king?" she asked him.

No, he thought, and if you knew the truth of it you would be thanking me for killing him, not judging me for it. He did not say that to her though. It was a long story and as of yet only Lenora and himself knew it. "No," he told her instead. "Do you deny your sex? If so, unlace those breeches and show me." He was being crude, but she expected no less of him. And one thing Jaime had learned from an early age was to always play the part people expected of him. "I'd ask you to open your bodice, but from the look of you that wouldn't prove much."

He had been so polite back in that cell that it felt good to be rude now. He had made all sorts of promises and sworn all sorts of vows. But Lady Catelyn Stark had never made him swear to be polite to his new chaperone.

Instead she had made him swear that he would never again take up arms against a Stark or a Tully. He swore it.

She made him swear that he would compel his brother to honor his pledge to return daughters safe and unharmed. He swore it.

She had made him swear on his honor as a knight, on his honor as a Lannister, on his honor as a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. He swore it.

She made him swear it on his sister's life. And Lenora's life. And his father's life. And his son's. By the Old Gods and the New. And he swore it all.

But he never swore that he would be kind to the wench.

She had told him that he had shit for honor and yet she was trusting him to return her daughters. But that wasn't right, she was trusting Tyrion to return the girls, Jaime was only the messenger. "Perhaps she is not as stupid after all," he murmured out loud.

The wench got it wrong, "I am not stupid," she growled at him as she rode. "Nor deaf."

He was gentle with her this time, mocking her was too easy. There was no sport to it. And it was a long way to King's Landing. If he mocked her too much, too early, it would lose all the fun long before they made it to the capitol. "I was speaking to myself," he told her. "An easy habit to fall into in a cell." She frowned at him, but said nothing. He sighed, it had been so long since he had talked to anyone, her silence would not do. He wanted to talk. "By your speech, I'd judge you nobly born."

"My father is Selwyn of Tarth, by the grace of the Gods, Lord of Evenfall," she told him after a long moment. It was grudging her answer. She did not want to talk to him, but she could see that he was not going to give up.

"Tarth," Jaime repeated with a nod, "A ghastly large rock in the narrow sea, as I recall. And Evenfall is sworn to Storm's End. How is it that you serve Robb of Winterfell?"

He meant to call her loyalty into question. It was the surest way to rile her. "It is Lady Catelyn I serve," she told him, too calm to be riled. He had failed. "And she has commanded me to deliver you safe to your brother Tyrion at King's Landing, not to bandy words with you. Be Silent."

But Jaime did not want to be silent. He had had too much silence as of late. "We could save a deal of traveling if you delivered me to my father instead of my brother," he told her. In truth he did not know where his father was, he hoped that the wench would tell him.

But she did not. "Lady Catelyn's daughters are in King's Landing," she told him. "I will return with the girls or not at all."

He sighed, already tiring of her. He leaned over the edge of the boat, watching his reflection in the water. Men of the Seven Kingdoms knew him as a knight with tamed flowing gold hair and clean shaven face. But the man that stared at him from the water was a man that even Jaime did not recognize. His hair was unruly and matted, a dirty yellow more than gold. His beard was that of a mad man. He looked as though he had aged five years in that dungeon. His face was thinner, with hollows under his eyes and lines he did not remember. He had always looked so much like his sister, but there was little resemblance between the two of them now.

She would hate it. But he rather liked it.

As Brienne rowed down the river Jaime watched it. Before the Stark boy had imprisoned him this stretch of the Trident would have seemed dull. But after all that time in his cell every bit of it was a new and brilliant adventure. Every tree, every rock, every one room shack they passed. There were no people though, no doubt chased away by the war.

Later in the afternoon they came across a live oak that was filled with dead women. The crows had scarcely started on their corpses, the skin still looked fresh. The ropes cut deeply into their throats and when the wind blew they twisted and swayed. It almost looked like a dance. The wench did not like it, "This was not chivalrously done," she told him as she steered the boat toward the shore.

Jaime could not believe that she was delaying them because of this. He tried to tell her not to stop, but the wench did not listen. Once the boat came ashore she pulled him out of it and pushed him onto the path. "Walk," she ordered him.

When they got closer to the swinging women Jaime was able to read the sign that hung around one of their necks, "They lay with lions," he read to her. "Tavern girls, I'd say," he told her. "No doubt they served my father's soldiers. Maybe one of them gave up a kiss and a feel. But here we are, the glorious work of the Northern Freedom fighters." He turned to the wench, "It must make you proud to serve the Starks."

"I don't serve the Starks," she told him again. "I serve Lady Catelyn."

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "Tell yourself that tonight when they swing in your dreams," he told her.

She pushed him aside, tying him to a tree. "What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Burying them," she growled at him.

"We shouldn't stay here," he told her, looking around nervously. The bodies were still fresh, whoever had hung them could still be near by. The last thing he wanted was to be taken back to the cells at Riverrun. "We should get back on the river. I really think -"

But she did not care what he thought. And she would not listen to him. She moved across the path to cut the women down, but stopped when she heard men's voices coming down the path. Jaime looked at her, his eyes wide, "Untie me now," he ordered.

She did not untie him, though she did move closer to him, her hand on her sword. Three men came around the corner and she caught their attention. The leader of the group stopped walking and asked them what their business was. He laughed when the wench told him that she was traveling a prisoner. His companions joined him. They seemed to think it was very funny that she was a woman.

Jaime ducked his head, hiding his face behind his hair as she began to untie him. "Who do you fight for?" the leader asked.

"The Starks," the wench told him, lying without looking up.

"What did he do?" one of the other men asked, gesturing toward Jaime.

"Apparently eating is a crime," Jaime growled, hoping that the girl would play along.

"No," she told him, "but stealing is a crime."

"But it's not a crime to starve to death?" Jaime asked. "That's justice for you."

They asked her where she was taking him. She told them Riverrun, though that was in the opposite direction. They had just come from Riverrun. They asked her why. "You steal from the Tully's it's their dungeon you rot in." Her mind was quicker than her looks had led Jaime to believe.

"Why not kill him?" one of the men asked.

"For stealing a pig?" Jaime asked loudly, wishing the girl's fat fingers would untie his rope faster.

The one who wanted to kill him was staring at him now. As if he recognized him. He asked Jaime a couple of questions and Jaime answered with negatives, claiming to be from Ashemark in the Westerlands. The wench finally had him untied and began to lead him back toward the boat when the leader stopped her, "What do you think of these beauties?" he asked.

The girl stopped walking and turned to look at the hanging women. "I hope you gave them quick deaths," she told the men.

"Two of them we did, yeah."

She glared at him for a moment before she jerked on the rope and began to pull Jaime away again. He followed her willingly, happy to be getting back on the river. When the one that thought he knew him called out. "Wait. I do know you." He moved closer to them and pointed at Jaime, "That's Jaime Lannister."

Jaime scoffed turning to look at the girl, "I wish someone would have told me," he said sarcastically. "I wouldn't have had to steal that pig."

The wench tried to tell him that he was wrong. Even the leader of the group seemed skeptical when he asked how the man knew what the Kingslayer looked like. Jaime knew he was dead when the man said that he had fought in the Battle of the Whispering Wood. That he had been there when they dragged Jaime out of the woods and threw him before the king. Again the girl tried to deny it, but this time the leader was suspicious.

"I've got a question for you both," he told them. "And I want you to answer at the same time. I count to three you both answer. What's his name?"

They were done. The girl was quick, but she couldn't read his mind. They would not give the same name.

"One. Two. Three."

On three the girl punched Jaime in the chest and sent him falling to the ground. Then she drew her sword and her dagger. She turned toward one of the men and punched him, sending him back a few steps before she sliced his throat open with her dagger.

A second one came at her, placing a hand on her shoulder and she spun around, her arms crossed at throat level. Once she was facing him she uncrossed her arms, both the dagger and the sword cutting through the man's neck as easy as warm butter.

Jaime was standing now as she advanced on the leader of the group. He walked backwards and tripped over a tree root, falling onto his back. It did not matter to the girl. She threw her sword and dagger to the ground and pulled out a second sword. "Two quick deaths?" she asked him before she ran her sword through the man's groin.

He would die, but it would be slow and painful.

Once she had begun to collect her weapons Jaime took a step forward, "Those were Stark men," he told her slowly, wondering if she understood what she had just done.

"I dont' serve the Starks," she told him one final time. "I serve Lady Catelyn. I told her I would take you to King's Landing. And that's what I'm going to do." She looked him up and down for a moment, "Stay," she ordered him before she moved across the path to cut the women down, still intent on burying them.

Jaime did as she ordered him. He stayed while she dug a shallow grave for each of them. He would not run from her now. One thing was clear, Brienne of Tarth knew how to use her steel.

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

He did not send for his mother when they first arrived at Riverrun. He was sheepish when he told her that they would meet in the Great Hall with his uncle before he sent for his mother. But nothing she could say would change his mind. Lenora sighed, she would not fight him on this anymore, the Gods knew that they had fought enough on the road to Riverrun to continue fighting now that they were here. Robb was determined to see his mother punished for releasing Jaime and there was nothing that Lenora could say in her defense, nothing he would listen to. No matter what she said he always had a reason for his anger.

The night before she had told him that he should forgive Lady Catelyn, that she had only done what she had done because of her love for her children. He had told her once again that it was no excuse. "It is an excuse," she had argued. "You just don't understand it because you do not have children of your own. If you were a father -"

She stopped there, unable to finish her sentence because once again she had reminded both of them of the child they had lost. The child that she had failed to protect and bring into the world. Robb's eyes had softened when he looked at her, but he remained stubborn. "I do understand," he told her, his voice soft. "My father once told me that being a Lord was much like being a father. Except that you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing fields are yours to protect. The charwomen scrubbing floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle ..." His voice trailed off and he got a faraway look in his eyes, Lenora wondered if he was seeing the faces of all the men he had lost since they left Winterfell.

He shook his head, returning to her. "He said that he woke with fear in the morning and went to bed with fear in the night. I didn't believe him. I asked him, how can a man be brave if he's afraid? 'That is the only time a man can be brave,' he told me."

Lenora watched him, as he swallowed tightly, struggling not to show her just how much the loss of his father still haunted him. "Your mother," she started, though she was unsure of what sort of defense she could offer up to him after that story.

"My mother forgot that I am responsible for every life - man, woman, and child north of the Trident. She thought only of herself and how she and her two daughters might profit when she released your uncle, and not of the thousands that could be hurt by it."

Now, as they sat on the dais in front of his Lords Bannermen and the River Lords and various knights Lenora could tell that Robb really did understand what it meant to be a parent, to worry about his children. She could see, in the lines that creased around his blue eyes and across his forehead that he worried about his people just as much as Lady Catelyn worried about her daughters. She knew that while he understood why his mother had set Jaime free he could not forgive her for it.

And she felt sorry for Lady Catelyn as Ser Desmond led her into the hall. Her brother, Lord Edmure, stood before her and Robb to tell them about how he had defended Riverrun at the stone mill and everyone in the hall had their eyes on Robb. Only Lenora, it seemed, watched as Lady Catelyn started to make her way forward. Only Lenora saw the look of fear cross over the older woman's face, as if she were afraid that she had lost this son too. Only Lenora watched as the fear was chased away by a look of wonder when Lady Catelyn realized that she almost did not recognize her son anymore.

She turned to study Robb herself, she had seen him every day, so it was harder for her to see the differences, but Lady Catelyn had not seen her son in many months, not since she left to treat with Renly. She could imagine what her good mother saw. His face had never been fat, not since she had met him at Winterfell, but war had melted away any softness that had been left. He grew a beard now, though he kept it trimmed close, little more than stubble, and his auburn curls were longer and more unruly now. It had rained almost nonstop as they traveled back to Riverrun and the water had rusted his mail, his surcoat and cloak were stained from the rust and from blood. Though they did not wear their crowns all the time he had gotten more comfortable with his, much more so than Lenora had with her own, he no longer fidgeted with it, but held his head high.

When his mother had last seen him he was a boy, pretending at being a king. Now, he was a king.

As Edmure finished his tale Robb reached out for Lenora's hand, she allowed him to take it and smiled when he squeezed it tightly, she wondered if he had seen his mother make her way into the hall as well. "Those who fell at Stone Mill shall never be forgotten," he told the people before him, many of whom had fought at Stone Mill or lost someone there. "Small wonder Lord Tywin ran off to fight Stannis. He'd had his fill of northmen and rivermen both."

Lenora turned her smile away from Robb and onto the hall as the men laughed and shouted their agreement. Robb let them have their fun for a few moments before he raised his hand and called for silence, "Make no mistake, though. The Lannisters will march again, and there will be other battles to win before the kingdom is secure."

It was the Greatjon who was the first to roar, "King in the North!" as he thrusted his mailed fist into the air. The northmen quickly joined him. And a moment later the River Lords answered with their own cry of, "King of the Trident!" The whole hall was filled with their shouts and pounding fists and stamping feet. At the noise Lenora would have thought that Robb had just declared victory over her family rather than warning his men that the Lannisters were not beaten yet.

Once the hall had quieted a bit the steward who stood next to the dais, Utherydes Wayn, banged his staff against the floor and announced Lady Catelyn's arrival. The woman did not look at the lords who whispered around her, but kept her eyes forward, solely on her son. She looked frightened.

Lenora could not hold back her smile when the Blackfish, who, as one of Robb's newest and closest advisors and the brother of the current Lord of Riverrun, stood behind Robb's chair moved forward and off the dais to greet his niece. That was a man who did not care what people thought of him as he leapt off the dais and pulled the woman into his arms, whispering a greeting to her that brought tears to her eyes.

Lenora moved to stand from her seat, but Robb kept a strong grip on her hand and kept her there. "Mother," he greeted, his voice hard and cold.

Catelyn turned away from her uncle to look at both Robb and Lenora, "Your Graces," she greeted, inclining her head to each of them in turn. "I have prayed for you safe return. I had heard that both of you were wounded at the Crag."

Robb nodded, "I took an arrow to the arm," he told her before he nodded at Lenora, "and the queen caught a sword with her hand and a shield to the back of her head."

Catelyn glanced between the two of them, her brows furrowed in concern. Lenora watched carefully, surprised that Catelyn had not already known the extent of their injuries. Had no one talked to her when she was imprisoned in her chambers? "But you're healed now?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

Robb nodded again, grinning widely at Lenora, "We've healed well," he told his mother without taking his eyes off Lenora. "I had the best care."

Lenora turned to him and pursed her lips, he was being a fool. She was sure that his mother noticed that his voice was still harsh when he spoke to her, that it only softened when he spoke of or to Lenora.

"The Gods are good then," Catelyn told him with a nod. Lenora watched as the woman's hands clasped and unclasped in front of her. She was fidgeting because she was nervous. "They will have told you what I did," she finally said, not a question, but an assumption.

Robb nodded, his eyes narrowed, but he did not say a word.

"Did they tell you my reasons?" she asked him.

"No," he told her. "But I have an assumption."

"For the girls," Catelyn confirmed.

"You betrayed me," Robb bit out at her, his voice cutting through the hall like a steel sword.

"Robb -" Catelyn started, trying to defend herself.

"No!" Robb yelled out. "You knew I would not allow it and you did it anyway."

There were tears in Catelyn's eyes as she spoke, "Bran and Rickon are dead in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King's Landing. I had five children, now I have three. And only one of them is free."

"Aye, My Lady," Lord Rickard Karstark agreed, pushing past the Greatjon to get closer to the dais. He looked like a ghost in his black mail and long ragged grey beard, his face was pinched and hard. "And I have one son, who once had three. You commit treason because your daughters are prisoners? I would carve out my heart and offer it to the Father if he would let my sons wake from the grave and walk into a prison cell. You have robbed me of my vengeance."

Lady Catelyn turned from the dais to look at Lord Karstark, "Lord Rickard, the Kingslayer's dying would not have bought life for your children. His living may buy life for mine."

Lord Rickard looked like he wanted to say more, but Robb held his hand up, "Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool," he told his mother, his voice quiet, though Lenora knew that every lord and knight in the hall could hear him. "You have weakened our position. You brought discord into my camp, and you did it all behind my back."

Robb looked past his mother to Ser Desmond Grill, "She will remain guarded day and night," he ordered the master-at-arms. "How many men did we send after the Kingslayer?"

"Forty, Your Grace," the man told him with a low bow.

Robb nodded, "Send another forty, with our fastest horses. He's had a few days on us, maybe a week. I mean to recapture him before he finds himself back with the Lannisters."

He turned back to his mother for a moment, watching her carefully. And then he sighed, "We must talk," he told his mother. Lord Rickard did not like that, he approved of the king's anger, but he did not like that Robb still wanted his mother's advice, with a low growl the man pushed away from them and left the hall. Robb's eyes narrowed for a moment, watching Lord Rickard leave before he turned back to his mother. "You and my uncles. Steward, call an end."

Author's Note:

There we are. In case you weren't paying attention we have now reached the end of Season two and A Clash of Kings. We've got a few more chapters where we very closely follow cannon and then we branch off into the world of my imagination.
It's a scary place. Let me tell you.
Anyway, feeling the foreboding set in yet? You should be. We're going to have some fun soon.
Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope that you enjoyed it. If you did you should drop a little review in the empty box down there. I love reviews. They make my day.
huge, Huge, HUGE thanks to those who have reviewed on the last chapter. You guys are my new favorites.

Melmela: Technically you reviewed on chapter thirty-eight, but you did so after I had already posted chapter thirty-nine so here we are! I'm glad that you enjoyed that chapter and I hope that you enjoyed the two that followed it as well.
And it's a good thing that you're anxious for the Red Wedding. You should be. Though I can't guarantee that the Freys and the Boltons will get their asses kicked. (At least not yet.) You guys will just have to trust in "my genius" as you say. I promise you won't regret it.
I'm glad that you're enjoying my new story too! Merry Christmas!

Prince711: Thank you for your review friend! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this one too. I think the bottom line is that Catelyn is heartbroken. And she thinks the only way to ease some of that heartbreak is to Jaime free and send him after her daughters. It's a stupid bet, but it's the only one she has.

Faby0411: No it's not just you. Or your email. I think it's Fanfiction, though the homepage doesn't say anything about it. All I know is that I have to post and delete a new chapter two or three times before it finally updates. And that's mildly annoying.

RHatch89: Thank you dear! I'm glad that you enjoyed it.

writingNOOB: Yeah, I think as much as Robb loves her he's still surprised when she continually chooses him over her family. He shouldn't be. Her mother had an affair with her uncle, tried to pass three bastards off as Roberts, kept the country in a war in order to keep Lannisters in power, and her brother tried to kill her. Lenora has definitely made up her mind when it comes to her family.
I loved the scene with Cersei and the flower crown. Despite the fact that Lenora is now fighting for the Starks, Cersei refuses to give up on her daughter. That might not always be the case though.
Lenora was relatively close to Renly. Not as close to him as she was with Jaime and Tyrion, obviously, having spent the first five years of her life at Casterly Rock. But when she came back to King's Landing Renly would have been put on Robert's Small Council. So he was at the Red Keep and they would have spent time together.

Raging Raven: No darling. Not yet. We're about twelve chapters (almost exactly) away from what we've all been waiting for. But I wrote the chapter yesterday. And now it's sitting on my computer waiting. I'll edit it a few more times, make sure it's exactly right and then in twelve more posts it will be here.

Seriously guys. I can say definitively we are twelve chapters away from my Red Wedding. So brace yourselves ... Winter is coming.
Chloe Jane.