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Chapter Forty-Five: The Horn Blew Again

Tyrion

His father did not waste much time holding a small council meeting. No more than a week had passed since Tyrion had risen from his sick bed and he was already being summoned to the Tower of the Hand for a meeting. He had smirked when he read his father's letter telling him the time and the place of the meeting. It was power grab if he had ever seen one.

Small Council meetings were historically held in the Small Council Chamber. But Lord Tywin had changed the location to show all the members of the Small Council who had the true power when it came to ruling the Seven Kingdoms. In this one change of location Tywin had made it clear that he would listen to the advice and the suggestions of the other members of the Small Council, but in the end it would be his will that was enforced.

Tyrion was not late when he finally made it to the meeting chambers in the Tower of the Hand, but three members of the council had already arrived. Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Petyr Baelish, and Varys were already there, standing silently in the doorway as if they were unsure of their next move. Tyrion smirked, never had he seen these men more confused and unsure of themselves than he did right now. He stood slightly behind them, waiting to see their next move before he took his.

If he shifted slightly he could look between the men and see the table. There was Lord Tywin standing beside his seat at the head of the table and then there were five chairs running down the left side. It would be a small Small Council Meeting. Mace Tyrell had been named to the Small Council as well as Tywin's brother Kevan, but Tyrion had a feeling that neither would be attending this meeting. Ser Kevan was off leading the Lannister forces as they chased Robb Stark up north, and Mace Tyrell was no doubt eating and planning his daughter's wedding to Joffrey. The Lord of Highgarden was able to come, but Tyrion was sure the man would not.

No, he thought, the fifth chair is for Cersei.

Tywin stood at the head of the table for what seemed almost a minute after Tyrion arrived before he sat in his seat. And then he gave a silent nod, the only indication that the Lords of the Small Council were to be seated.

In the Small Council Chambers everyone had their own seat, one they had been sitting in for years. But in this new chamber the seats were fair game. Varys was the first to move, he nodded at Tywin, but before he could take a step, Littlefinger had walked around him and while nodding his head to Tywin the Master of Coin and new Lord of Harrenhal had walked as quickly as he could to the seat closest to the Hand.

Varys was next, sighing at Littlefinger's forwardness and no doubt rolling his eyes as he quietly moved to the seat next to Littlefinger, claiming the second closest seat to Lord Tywin.

Still Tyrion waited.

Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled forward slowly, not looking back at Tyrion as he took the third seat down the row, next to Varys. He would not like being so far from the Hand. It was common knowledge that the further down the table one was the less importance he had. But there was nothing that could be done of it now.

All three men were looking at Lord Tywin, but they turned as they heard Cersei's shoes tapping against the floor as she walked in. Cersei paused for just a moment, not looking down at Tyrion, but instead studying the men and where they had chosen to sit. No doubt she believed herself more important than anyone. But she had more grace and just enough courtly courtesy to not demand one of them give her his seat.

Instead she walked to the seat next to Grand Maester Pycelle and with as much queenly grace as she could she picked up the chair and slowly walked past all the Lords, around behind Lord Tywin and sat the chair directly to his right. Tyrion did not miss the way Tywin smirked at his daughter, as if proud of her for her action.

She nodded to their father before she turned her head to look at Tyrion, wondering what he would do next. In fact, all the Lords present at the meeting turned to look at him.

Tyrion smiled at them and slowly walked toward the only remaining chair. He had neither his sister's height or strength to carry the chair. Nor did he have her inclination to sit any closer to their father than he absolutely had to. So he tilted the chair back and struggled as he slowly dragged the chair from its spot to the one at the foot of the table, directly across from Tywin. The chair's legs scraped against the floor, only serving to further accentuate how little Tyrion wanted to be near the Hand of the King.

As he took his seat Tyrion looked at the rest sitting at the table. Lord Tywin and Cersei looked annoyed at his actions. Littlefinger looked amused. Varys and Pycelle seemed incredulous, as if they could not understand his actions. Though Tyrion knew for a fact that Varys would know exactly why Tyrion had dragged his chair to the foot of the table.

They were still silently watching him after he had seated himself. He waited a moment, but when it looked as though no one intended to speak he spoke up himself.

"Intimate," he told his father as he looked around the new chambers. "Lovely table. Better chairs than the old Small Council Chamber. Conveniently close to your own quarters." He nodded his approval, not that his father ever would have wanted it. "I like it."

Lord Tywin was not amused. And he had no more patience for Tyrion's playing around. He seemed to roll his eyes before he looked between the five people sitting before him. "What news of Jaime?" he asked them, his voice was quiet and deadly.

Tyrion felt his shoulders tense. He knew that voice. If he were a kinder man he would have warned the other members of the council. Lord Tyrion was asking a question he already knew the answer to. And what was more was that he was setting the men and his daughter up for failure. Whatever answer they gave him would not be good enough.

Tyrion had experienced that voice many times.

He knew it well.

Varys looked at Littlefinger to his right and Grand Maester Pycelle to his left before he turned to look at Tywin, "Still Robb Stark's prisoner, my Lord Hand," he told him. "Unfortunately."

"Wrong," Tywin answered. He did not shout the word or hiss it like a snake. His face was hard, but his tone of voice calm when he said the word. All the same it cut through the room easily, each man seemed to hang his head in shame. Only Tyrion and Cersei kept their heads raised, looking up at their father with obvious excitement.

When did Father free him? Tyrion found himself thinking as he looked at his father. Is he here in the Red Keep now?

Tywin reached into his doublet and pulled out a scroll of parchment, "And your son, Ser Jaime Lannister, has managed to escape Riverrun with the unlikely aide of Lady Catelyn Stark," he read out loud to the council though he did not tell them who the letter was from. He stared at them again, taking the time to meet each set of eyes in turn. "I will ask again," he told them. "What news of Jaime?"

Everyone dropped their gaze this time. Looking at the table in front of them rather than meeting Lord Tywin's displeasure. Even Cersei looked away. Tywin sighed, rolling his eyes. "Twenty thousand unwashed northerners have known about his escape for weeks," he told them, almost scolding them. "Collectively you all control more spies and informants than the rest of the world combined. Do you mean to tell me that none of you has any notion of where he is?"

"We are trying, my Lord," Varys told him, not looking up from the table.

"No," Lord Tywin thundered at him. "If you were trying my son would have been returned to me. Try harder."

Varys nodded silently.

Cersei looked up at her father, "What news of Lenora, Father?" she asked him. Her voice little more than a whisper. "Did your informant give any word of her? Is she alright?"

Tywin did not look at her when he answered, "I have no new information on your daughter."

Tyrion smiled at him, "Then perhaps you should follow your own advice, Father," he called down from his end of the table. "And try harder."

Tywin was not amused by this either. He turned toward the three Lords of the Small Council to his left. "What else do you have?" he asked.

Varys spoke up quickly, eager to please, "Robb Stark and most of his bannermen are in Riverrun for the funeral of his grandfather, Lord Hoster Tulley. In Stark's absence, Lord Roose Bolton holds Harrenhal." The Spider shot a teasing look at Littlefinger, "Which would seem to make him Lord of Harrenhal in practice if not in name."

"Let him have it," Tywin commanded with a wave of his hand. He did not want to waste time with these men's games. "The name serves our purposes much more than that useless pile of rubble." Tyrion raised his eyebrows as he watched Littlefinger smirk. What had they planned? Littlefinger had always been a grasping little man. He would not settle for a name and a title if it did not come with the land.

Tywin answered his silent musings a moment later. "The Lord of Harrenhal will make a worthy suitor for the widow Arryn."

And there it was.

Lord Petyr looked very proud of himself as he lifted his gaze to Tywin and spoke. "I am extremely grateful to you, my Lord," he told Tywin. "Lady Arryn and I have known each other since we were very young. She has always been," he paused, "positively predisposed to me."

"But would she have you?" Varys bit out, raising his eyebrows.

"She had me a few times before, Lord Varys, and voiced no complaints," Littlefinger assured him.

"Bedding is not wedding," Cersei told him. "Even a cow like Lysa Arryn might be able to grasp the difference."

"If successful," Pycelle interjected, "the courtship would make Lord Baelish the acting Lord of the Vale."

"Only until Lord Robert, Jon Arryn's son, comes of age," Littlefinger assured him. "He's only a boy. I will see to it that he grows into a man. A man who is King Joffrey's most loyal subject and a fast friend to us all."

Tywin nodded, "You will leave for the Eyrie as soon as possible," he commanded. "And bring Lady Lysa Arryn into the fold. Then the Young Wolf can add his own aunt to the list of people who have taken up arms against him."

"Far be it for me to hinder true love," Tyrion interrupted. "But Lord Baelish's absence would present certain problems. The royal wedding may end up being the most expensive event in living memory." He was so caught up in ruining Littlefinger's plans that he did not notice the self-satisfied smirks that his father and his sister wore. "Summer has ended, hard times are upon us. Not a good time to leave the Crown's finances unattended."

"Fully agreed," Tywin told him. Tyrion smirked, happy that he had thwarted whatever plans Littlefinger had. He did not trust the man, but he would rather have him in King's Landing where he could be watched than in the vale with mad Lysa Arryn. "Which is why I am naming you the new Master of Coin," Tywin continued.

"Master of Coin?" Tyrion repeated, sure that he had misheard his father.

"It would appear to be a position that you are well suited for," his father told him, his tone nonchalant.

Tyrion leaned forward, hoping to make his father listen to him. "I am quite good at spending money," he told his father, begging him with his eyes to listen. "But a lifetime of unlimited wealth hasn't taught me much about managing it."

"I have no doubt you will prove equal to this challenge," Cersei sneered at him.

Tyrion turned to his father as if to ask for help, but as his father smiled at him he realized he would get no assistance from him.

He was on his own.

-.-.-.-.-

Theon

He could hear the war horns. They had been blowing them all night. It seemed from all sides of the castle. There was not a single corner of Winterfell that he could hide in. Wherever he was he could hear the war horns calling out to him. Alerting him that his enemy was near.

They did not blow them constantly, it would have been too easy for him to tune them out, just as he had done with direwolves' howls, if they had. No, they blew them occasionally. Far enough apart that there were times when Theon thought he was safe. But close enough together that he never stopped listening for them.

And they did so for days.

He had given up eating. He had given up sleeping. Even now, during the darkest part of the night, during the hour of the wolf, Theon sat straight up in a chair, staring at the fire, waiting for the next horn.

The hour of the wolf, he thought with a snort. It was fitting really. He had named a wolf King. He had betrayed a wolf. He claimed to have killed two little wolves. And now, during the hour of the wolf his end would come.

The horn blew again.

"I don't care," he growled at Maester Luwin who had come to see if he was alright. "I don't care how many arrows they feather me with. I don't care how many spears they run through me. I will kill that horn-blowing cunt before I fall."

That was the only thought that was getting him through the night at this point. He did not care if he died tonight, but he knew that he would rip the horn from the man's hands and plunge his sword through his heart before he did. It would be his last act.

His finest act.

The horn blew again.

"They want you to know you're surrounded," Luwin told him, his voice quiet.

Theon closed his eyes, he was sure that Luwin spoke quietly so that if the horn blew again he would be able to hear it. Luwin did not want to drown out the sound. Luwin wanted him to hear it, he wanted him to suffer. Maester Luwin was no friend of his.

"I know I'm surrounded," Theon snapped at him. "I've known it for days. They've made sure that I knew it for days. I know I'm surround. I know it because I stood on the battlements this afternoon and I saw that I was surrounded."

"They don't want you to sleep," Luwin told him, once again stating the obvious. "They want to suck your spirt."

They already have, Theon thought. But he said, "Thank you, wise Maester Luwin. Thank you for explaining siege tactics to me."

The horn blew again.

Twice.

"No word from my father?" he asked.

"No."

"Send more ravens," Theon ordered. Surely his father would care that they were going to lose Winterfell. Surely his father would care that he was going to lose his last living son and heir. Surely his father would send more men to defend the keep. King Balon wanted to call himself King of the North, surely he knew that in order to rule the North he had to keep Winterfell.

But of course he didn't. His father was a squid, King Squid he had heard one of the Winterfell men call him before he had him beheaded. King Balon knew nothing of ruling the North. He knew nothing of how stubborn the northmen were. All he knew was the ocean. All he knew were ships. All he did was raid. "Send more ravens," Theon ordered again when he realized that Maester Luwin had not immediately left his chambers.

"You killed all the ravens," Maester Luwin told him, his voice full of judgement as he sat beside Theon.

Theon clenched his jaw, he was insulted by the man who dared to sit in his presence. Luwin was nothing but a maester. Theon was a prince. He wanted to shout at the man to stand up, that he could only sit if he was asked. But something stopped him, the memory of Robb and Lenora. The two of them rarely felt the need to remind others who they were. They had ruled and led with an easy grace that Theon had been jealous of. He thought he would find it when he was named prince of the Iron Islands. He thought it came with the title.

It had not come to him though.

The horn blew again.

"The first time I saw Winterfell -" he started to say.

The horn blew again.

A sharp intake of breath, a clenching of the jaw. He tried again. "The first time I saw Winterfell, it looked like something that had been here for thousands of years. And would be here for thousands of years after I was dead. I saw it and I thought, of course Ned Stark crushed our rebellion and killed my brothers. Of course. We never stood a chance against a man who lives here."

"Lord Stark went out of his way to make this castle, this place your home," Luwin scolded him.

"Yes," Theon agreed sarcastically, "My captors were so very kind to me. You love reminding me of that. Everyone in this frozen pile of shit has loved reminding me of that. Do you know what it's like to be told how lucky you are to be someone's prisoner?" he asked.

Of course Maester Luwin did not. He was not a prisoner. Involuntarily Theon thought back to Lenora in the months after her mother and brother took Ned Stark captive. She had been a prisoner, with just as much freedom as Theon had been given at Winterfell as a child. Less perhaps as Robb had her followed everywhere by a guard. They had told her that she was lucky to be a prisoner. He had told her how lucky she was to be a prisoner.

Perhaps he regretted that now. Though he had enjoyed it then. Oh how he had enjoyed making her feel like the Starks had made him feel for years. There were moments when he had even been cruel to her.

The horn blew again.

Yes, perhaps he did regret it now. If only because he knew that after everything he had done, after every betrayal - when Robb came for him he would be coming for Theon's head. And the one voice that would be able to get through to Robb Stark, the would voice that would be able to gentle his mind and still his hand would not do so for Theon.

He knew that.

"Do you know what it's like to be told how much you owe them?" he continued. He did not turn to look at Maester Luwin. The old man had loved Lord and Lady Stark. Had helped raise their children. He would not have any sympathy for Theon now.

No one would.

"And then to go back home to your real father -"

The horn blew again.

And again.

And again.

Theon pushed himself out of his chair and onto his feet, running from the fire toward the window. "I will kill that man!" he yelled. "I swear to the Drowned God, the Old Gods, the New Gods. To every fucking God in every fucking heaven! I will kill that man!"

The horn blew again.

"Theon listen to me," Maester Luwin entreated softly. "I serve Winterfell. Now Winterfell is yours, so I serve you." Theon turned to look at him, his jaw tight. He wondered how much it hurt the old man to say it out loud. How much it bothered him to be standing in what had been Lord Eddard Stark's solar addressing the likes of Theon Greyjoy. How much he hated himself for having to admit that he serves a squid prince.

Don't worry, old man, he thought. I'm sure I hate it now just as much as you.

"I am bound by oath to serve you," he said, driving home his point.

Bound by oath Theon sneered in his head. And wouldn't you just love to break that oath. Wouldn't you, Luwin? "What is your counsel, most trusted friend," Theon ground out through his clenched teeth. "What would you have me do?"

"Run," Luwin told him. That one word its own sentence. Its own command. "Five hundred northmen wait outside your walls. You have twenty men. You can't win. It's darkest now. Run. Run now."

Theon pretended to consider it for a moment. Perhaps he even truly considered it. "There's nowhere to run," he told the old man. "I'll never make it back to the Iron Islands. And even if I did, even if by some miracle I slipped through the lines and made it home - I would be a coward." He shook his head, "The Greyjoy Who Ran. The shame of the family." He turned away from Luwin and threw himself back into his chair facing the fire.

He had allowed himself to hope. He had allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that Maester Luwin, who had served Ned Stark so well, would have an answer for him. A real answer. A way to escape the mess he had created. But he had been wrong to hope. For the old man did not have an answer for him. The man did not have sound advice or good counsel. He had a fool's hope.

Run he said.

He advised Theon to do the one thing that he could not do. The one thing that he could never do.

Run.

The horn blew again.

"Don't go home," Luwin told him. "Join the Night's Watch." Theon lifted his head. He had never wanted to be a Black Brother. He had never wanted to join the Night's Watch. But there was an appeal to it. If he joined the Black Brotherhood all his sins and betrayals would be forgiven. He would be safe from his father. From Robb. From the fucking horn blower. And the fucking men camped around him. He would be safe. No one would be able to touch him.

Except for Jon a voice whispered at the back of his head. Jon would be able to kill you. And what would they do to Jon after he did? He was already part of the Night's Watch, how much more would they make him suffer?

The answer was that they wouldn't.

Jon would kill Theon and no one would do a damn thing about it.

"Once a man has taken the Black he is beyond reach of the law," Maester Luwin continued. He came to stand behind Theon's chair, his hand on his shoulder. A gentle touch. Theon relaxed under the Maester's touch, it had been so long since someone had been gentle with him that even a hand on the shoulder was calming. "All his past crimes are forgiven."

Theon shook his head, "I won't make it to the wall," he swore to the maester. "I won't make it ten feet past the Winterfell gates."

"There are ways," the old man told him calmly. "Hidden passageways so that the Lords of Winterfell might escape. The roads will be dangerous, but with a little luck -"

The horn blew again.

Maester Luwin walked away. Theon turned to watch him. He knew what the old man was about now. He was not giving Theon counsel as the maester of Winterfell, sworn to serve the Lord of Winterfell. He wanted him to leave. He wanted Theon to run away to Castle Black so that the true Lord of Winterfell could return. Well Theon was a prince of the Iron Islands and the North. He would not run. And he would not give up on Winterfell. And if the old man refused to serve him well then he would kill him.

Or have him killed.

Perhaps in the morning.

"The Night's Watch is an ancient, honorable order," Luwin continued, not realizing that Theon had already turned against him. Not realizing that Theon knew what he was up to. Theon let him weave his web. It was better to listen to the old man than that blasted horn. "You'll have opportunities there."

Theon stood from his seat and advanced on Luwin, "The opportunity for Jon Snow to cut my throat in my sleep?" he growled. "You would like that, wouldn't you old man?"

"The opportunity to make amends for what you've done," the maester corrected him.

Theon turned away from him and moved toward the fire. "I've done a lot haven't I?" he asked, staring into the flames. "Things I've never imagined myself doing."

Maester Luwin shook his head, walking toward him. His chain rattled as he moved. "I've known you for many years, Theon Greyjoy," he told him. "You're not the man you're pretending to be." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Not yet."

"You may be right," Theon told him with a nod. "But I've gone to far to pretend to be anything else."

The horn blew again.

-.-.-.-.-

Jaime

For a moment when he had seen Locke he thought that he was in luck. Locke had once been his father's man, perhaps he still was. Jaime was sure that they would cut the chains on his wrists, give him a fresh horse and send him on his way to his father or to King's Landing. Where he could send Sansa Stark home to her mother.

Jaime had decided that he would return Sansa Stark to her mother. And the little one too if he could find her. It was unlikely to win him back any of his honor, but the notion of keeping faith when they all expected betrayal amused him more than he could say.

And he knew that it would please Lenora.

That was the truth of it really. He would release the Stark girls and return them to their mother so that when he came to rescue Lenora she would be pleased with him. Pleased enough to leave her sham of a marriage and return home to her family. Oh the girl believed herself in love with Robb Stark, but Jaime was sure that she was not. The boy had tormented her into loving him, being cruel and kind at times until she thought herself in love. He was sure of it.

He was sure Lenora would see that too once she was away from him.

But then Locke had told him that the King in the North would take his head off if he let the Kingslayer go and Jaime realized that he had it wrong. Locke had been his father's man. But no more. "You and your father lost too many wars," Locke told him with a dark chuckle. "We had to trade in our lion skins for wolf pelts."

"And men say I have shit for honor," Jaime muttered.

Locke had not liked that. At his signal, two of his men grasped Jaime by the arms and he drove a mailed fist into Jaime's stomach. AS he doubled over grunting, he heard the wench protesting, "Stop! He's not to be harmed! Lady Catelyn sent us, an exchange of captives. He's under my protection!" Locke hit him again, driving the air from his lungs.

Brienne reached for her sword, but the men were on her before she could lay her hands on it. Four men beat her into submission.

At least Locke gave them a horse. One for the two of them. They were tied back to back and thrown onto a horse. Pulled at the back of the column of men as they rode toward Harrenhal. "I hope you're pleased," Jaime sneered at her as the afternoon wore on. He spoke quietly, just loud enough for her to hear him over the men's singing. The Bear and the Maiden Fair was the song. He had always hated that song. "If you had armed me they never would have taken us."

"You were armed," Brienne snapped at him.

She had the truth of it. Though Jaime would never admit it. "I was in chains if you recall," he reminded her. "I am unmatched when my hands aren't bound."

"All my life I have been hearing, Jaime Lannister - what a brilliant swordsman!" Brienne told him. She paused for a moment, "You were slower than I expected." Her voice was full of disappointment. "And more predictable."

"I had been sitting in a dark cell for the past year!" Jaime defended himself. "I was chained and starving."

"And I'm a woman and I was still beating you," the wench cut in.

"You were not beating me," Jaime assured her.

"Maybe you were as good as people said," Brienne allowed him. "Once. Or maybe people just love to overpraise a famous name."

She hurt him. This was the only excuse Jaime had for what he did next. Later he would tell himself that he had been doing the right thing in warning her, but he knew the truth. She had hurt him and he lashed out. He did not have a sword, all he had were his words, but he knew that they would be enough. "When we make camp tonight, you will be raped, and more than once. None of these fellows have ever been with a noble woman, even one as ugly as you. You would be wise not to resist."

"Would I?" her voice was tight. She had hurt him and he had hurt her. "Is that what you would do if you were a woman?"

If I were a woman I would be Cersei he thought. "They'll knock your teeth out," he warned her.

"Do you think I care about my teeth?" she fired back.

"No," he answered honestly. The wench was braver than that. She would not care about her teeth, but he had a feeling that she would care about her maidenhood. "If you fight them they will kill you," he warned her. "Do you understand? I'm the prisoner of value, not you. Let them have what they want, what does it matter?"

"What does it matter?" she snapped at him, her spine stiff against his back.

"Close your eyes," he suggested. "Spread your legs. And pretend they're Renly."

"If you were a woman you wouldn't resist?" she asked him. "You wouldn't fight them? You'd just close your eyes? You'd let them do what they wanted?"

Jaime shook his head, "If I was a woman I would make them kill me," he told her truthfully.

...

They tied them to trees when they made camp that night. Close enough to their fire to under their watch. Close enough to the fire to smell their warm dinner. Close enough to their fire to hear their songs. But not close enough to speak to any of them.

But not so far that he couldn't hear Locke as he approached them, "I'll take the big bitch first," he said. "And then once she's good and wet you lot can finish her off."

Jaime prayed that she would not fight them, he prayed that she would take his advice and let them do as they wished. And he watched with wide eyes as she opened her fat mouth. "My Lord, I am Brienne of Tarth," she told him as if that would make a difference. "Lady Catelyn Stark commanded me to take Ser Jaime Lannister to King's Landing."

"Catelyn Stark is a traitorous cunt," Locke told her as his men untied her from her tree. "I was ordered to take the Kingslayer alive. No one said shit about you."

She turned to look at Jaime. Her blue eyes wide and pleading. She wanted him to help her. But there was nothing he could do. He had helped her when he warned her to stay quiet and she did not listen. He looked away from her, he was unable to meet her blue eyes as she stood there silently accusing him.

She did not need to say a word, he could read it in her eyes. Coward.

She fought them and they beat her before they dragged her off into the dark so that Locke could have her without having to look at her face. He could hear her screaming and fighting them as they disappeared through the trees.

He closed his eyes and sighed. She was so much like Lenora. She had the same strength, the same stubbornness, the same drive. If it had been Len that he had escaped with, Len who had been captured with him, would he have told her to stay quiet and let the men do what they wanted with her? Would he have stayed safe and quiet tied to his tree while the men raped and brutalized his niece?

No.

He opened his eyes and turned toward Locke, "You know who she is, don't you?" he asked. Locke turned to look at him, he did not say a word, but it was clear that he was intrigued. "She's Brienne of Tarth. Her father is Lord Selwyn Tarth. Heard of Tarth?" Locke moved closer to him. "They call it the Sapphire Isle. Do you know why?" Another step closer. "Every sapphire in Westeros was mined on Tarth." A lie, but he was sure that Locke wouldn't know it. "Sapphires are gemstones," he said when he did not seem to be reaching the man. "The blue ones."

"I know what they are," Locke snapped.

"Lord Selwyn would pay his daughter's weight in sapphires if she was returned to him. But only if she's alive. Her honor, intact."

Locke stared at him and for a moment Jaime worried that his lie had not been enough. Too little, too late. But then the man sighed, "Bring her back," he yelled into the dark woods. Jaime turned his head away, hiding his smile. He would only win the game if Locke did not realize that he was playing.

Jaime watched as they tied her back up to the tree. Locke watched him. "Your father," he whispered, squatting down so that he was closer to Jaime's level. "Would he pay your weight in gold to get you back too?"

"You'd be a rich man until the end of your days," he promised him, not meeting Brienne's eyes as she watched him. "And your sons after that. And their sons after that. Lands. Titles. You'll have them all. The North can't win this war. You're a smart man, you understand that." Locke was leaning closer to him, Jaime was sure that he had him. The traitor would be begging him to speak to his father on his behalf at any moment. "We have the numbers, we have the gold," he continued.

"Aye" Locke agreed. "You have those."

"Fighting for a loosing cause is admirable," Jaime told him with a nod. "But fighting for a winning cause is far more rewarding."

"Hard to argue with that," Locke agreed.

He had him. Jaime would have to move gently so that Locke didn't realize it. But he had him. "Now that we're speaking together, man to man, I was wondering if you need to keep me chained to this tree." He spoke that slowly, but sped up the next part to reassure the man. "Not that I'm asking to be released from my restraints. But if I could sleep lying down my back would thank you for it."

Locke nodded, "Unchain Ser Jaime from the tree," he ordered his men. He stepped back and watched Jaime for a moment. "I suppose you will be wanting something to eat," he asked.

"I'm famished, actually," Jaime told him with a nod and a smile.

Locke looked over his shoulder, "Bring a bird over here," he ordered his men. "And a carving knife." He helped Jaime to his feet and led him a few feet away from his tree where there was a board lying across two stumps. "Will this work as a table?" he asked.

"Yes," Jaime agreed with him. "That will do quite nice -"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. One of the men shoved him in his back and another kicked his legs out from under him. A third man yanked his chain and used it to pull his arms in front of him, his hands resting on the makeshift table.

Locke advanced on him with a knife.

They mean to scare me Jaime thought to himself, trying to reassure himself. They want me to piss my breeches and beg the Mother for mercy. He would not give them the pleasure.

Locke grabbed his hair and yanked his face around to look at him. "You think you're the smartest man there is," he sneered down at him. "And everyone alive has to bow and scrape and lick your boots." The blade was dangerously close to Jaime's eye. Jaime closed his eye, as if that might keep the man from digging his blade into it.

"My father," he grunted.

"If you get into any trouble the only thing you need to do is say My father," Locke mocked him. "And that's it. All your troubles are gone." He paused for a moment. "Have you got something to say?" Jaime stayed quiet. "Careful," Locke warned. "You wouldn't want to say the wrong thing. You're nothing without your daddy. And your daddy ain't here. Never forget that."

He pulled the knife away from his face and let go of his hair. Jaime sighed in relief as Locke turned to walk away. But he was too soon. Or perhaps Locke heard his sigh and changed his mind. Jaime would never know.

"Here this should help you remember."

Moonlight ran silver on the edge of the blade, the firelight was gold in its reflection as the blade came shivering down, almost too fast to see.

And then Jaime screamed.

Author's Note:

This chapter was ridiculously fun to write. There was no Robb or Lenora in it, just mentions of them, but this is one of my favorite recent chapters.
I mean, lets start with that small council meeting ... I've always loved that scene and I've been itching to play with it.
And then there's Theon's quick descent into paranoia and insanity. It was wonderfully entertaining to get into the mind of a crazy person.
And then poor Jaime and his hand. But so much fun! (Plus I really love Jaime and Brienne ... they're a fun pair to write about.)
Anyway, now that I've gushed about this chapter it's your turn. Did you like it? Go gush, the box is right there. And I love to read your reviews! They make me even happier than this chapter did!
Ginormous thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter (even though I think fanfiction did that thing again where it didn't notify anyone that I had updated ... seriously Fanfiction ... get your shit together!)

Salvatoresister887: Hahahaha! You guessed it! Lady Sybell is giving Lenora Moon Tea. I didn't want to be too obvious with it, but I wanted it to be something that people could look back on later and go, "Oh!" And Lenora would have never had it so she wouldn't know what it tasted like, but I imagine it would taste floral. Because it's also called Tansy Tea and Tansies are flowers, bright yellow ones to be exact.
And it had to be Lady Sybell who gave it to her, it's not a far cry from her character in the books, I changed the girl she was giving it to.

JustDroppinIn: You guessed it too! It is Moon Tea which means that Lenora won't be getting pregnant any time soon. And I did say that if Robb died there would be a child. So it would seem that I'm not going to kill off Robb.
But then I said that Lenora is going to end up hanging out with Jon around the time of Battle of the Bastards. I never said Robb would be hanging out with Jon.
Hmmm am I just playing with you guys? Who knows? (Oh right! Me! I know!)
I don't want to give too much away, so I won't tell you where you're close and where you're way far off and overthinking. But I will say this ... one of those theories is pretty damn close. (And don't worry, we're not far off from finding out which one. I think if I've got my posting schedule right and nothing goes crazily wrong ... not this week and not the next week (because I'll be working) but the week after ... it'll be time for a wedding.)
I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

Guest: They might have a baby ... but not now. Lady Sybell's seeing to that.

HPuni101: I'm glad! I like where it's heading too (if I do say so myself). And I'm happy to oblige you with updates after stressful days of work. Hopefully today wasn't too bad, but if it was ... here's an update! (And if it was a great day ... here's a cherry on top of that sundae!)

That's all I've got for now! Thank you so much friends!
See you tomorrow!
Chloe Jane.