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Chapter Fifty: Winterfell and King's Landing

Tyrion

He would not allow Cersei to tell the Stark girl about the marriage arrangements. He was sure that Sansa would not welcome the news from anyone, but he knew that his sister would take too much joy in breaking the girl's heart. He would not allow for anyone to celebrate the child's pain.

Though knowing that he alone in the kingdoms would not rejoice in Sansa Stark's fall did not make it any easier for him to tell her the news. He dragged his feet for days before he sought her out to tell her. She was in her chambers, with her handmaidens.

Shae would be there, perhaps that was what had stalled him all along.

Since his father had returned he had seen less of Shae, but this news would break her. He would go from seeing less of the woman he loved to seeing none at all. He knew that. And he dreaded it.

When he knocked on the door to Sansa's chambers one of her other handmaidens answered the door, one of Cersei's spies no doubt. The girl did not say anything, but Tyrion caught the way her eyebrows rose in surprise. If she had expected anyone at the door, it was certainly not him.

"Lord Tyrion?" she greeted, dropping into a curtsy, "these are Lady Sansa Stark's chambers?" Her voice rose at the end, a question. No doubt she wondered if Tyrion had traveled here by mistake, there could be no reason for him to seek out Sansa Stark.

"A fact I am well aware of," Tyrion told the girl, his tone dry and humorless. At any other time he would have delighted in her confusion and surprise. But this afternoon, this conversation was not a cause for delight. "Could you please announce me to Lady Sansa?"

The maid nodded and with another quick curtsy she turned and moved out of the way and invited him into the outer room of Sansa's chambers. She gestured to seat that he could wait in before she moved to a door that led to the girl's bedchamber. She knocked politely and opened the door, not enough for Tyrion to see inside, but enough that she could stick her head in to announce his presence.

"Lady Sansa," she called out, getting the girl's attention. "Lord Tyrion is here to see you."

She would be surprised, no doubt, just as her maid had been. She would be confused. Tyrion had seen enough of the Stark girl to imagine the way her eyebrows would crease together. Perhaps she would even worry. She would think that Tyrion was there to bring her news of her family. And if it was a Lannister bringing the news it could only be bad.

He would not leave her to worry for long. He found that he could not wait for her to come to him. He moved away from the seat and as quickly as his legs could carry him walked to the door, pushing the maid out of the way so that he could enter and speak to Sansa directly.

She would be even more surprised by this action, but Tyrion had learned long ago that news like this was best delivered quickly. It was less painful that way.

"Lady Sansa," he greeted as he entered the room, only then realizing how improper it was for him to enter her bedchamber uninvited. She was standing, half turned toward him, the front of her dress undone, her corset visible to the waist. She quickly turned away from him, glancing at Shae with wide eyes and silently asking her handmaiden to help her tie the laces of her dress as quickly as possible.

Shae moved quickly, her fingers quickly lacing and tying the dress. But neither was quick enough. Before Sansa had turned Tyrion had caught sight of her. She was a girl, a child he knew that. But she had a woman's body.

His eyes had landed on the soft swell of her breasts, her narrow waist. Many men would be honored and happy to be her husband. Her body promised pleasure, as sick as it made him feel to think that. And it would be his.

Her beautiful body would be waisted on the Imp.

He quickly looked down, away from her, until her laces were tied and she had turned back to face him.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady," he greeted her when he was finally able to look up from the ground.

No matter how uncomfortable he was, she was more so. A pink blush covered her cheeks and spread down her long, pale neck. "Good afternoon, Lord Tyrion," she greeted him, ever the proper lady, even in the face of such embarrassment. She gestured to the purple gown she had on, "I was just trying on a gown for King Joffrey's wedding."

Tyrion nodded, "Yes," he agreed. "It should be quite a ... wedding." He stuttered over the word, realizing now that there would be another wedding before Joffrey's. One that Sansa would enjoy even less than the latter. He shook his head, two hard shakes left and right. He could not handle anymore small talk, if that was what one could call this. "I need to speak with you," he told her, his eyes darting toward Shae, "Lady Sansa," he stressed, hoping his love would understand and leave the room.

She did not.

"Of course," Sansa agreed, her shoulders square, a disinterested mask falling over her face. He was right, she thought that he brought news of her family. She was preparing for the worst. She was preparing to hear what he had to say and not reveal her inner feelings. Instead she would say what was required of her and wait until he had left to mourn.

She would do the same with the news of their wedding.

"Alone if I may," Tyrion stressed, still looking at Shae.

"Why do you need to speak to her alone?" Shae snapped at him, her eyes narrowing into a glare.

He wondered if Shae could read his face, if she somehow knew what he was going to tell the Stark girl and wanted to punish him for it; or if she was glaring at him on behalf of Sansa Stark, if she was worried that what he had to say would hurt the girl.

He had not anticipated Shae growing quite as attached to Sansa as she had. As much as Shae tried to deny it, Tyrion knew that she cared for Sansa, loved the girl even. Perhaps her glare was solely for Sansa's benefit.

"Shae," Sansa scolded, turning to look at her handmaiden over her shoulder before she turned back to Tyrion. "Please excuse her Lord Tyrion," she apologized. "She is not from here. But I trust her, even though she tells me not to."

Tyrion sighed, his eyes darting from Sansa's face to Shae's and back again. They completed this circuit two more times before finally landing on Shae. When he spoke it was to both of them, and perhaps a bit to himself. "Sometimes, we think we want to hear something. And it's only afterwards when it's too late that we realize we wished he had heard it under completely different circumstances."

"It's alright, really," Sansa told him, she would not let him get away with sending Shae from the room. She would hear what he had to say and it seemed so would Shae. This would be much worse than Tyrion had intended.

"Where to begin," he mused as he turned away from his bride-to-be and his mistress so that he could shut the bedchamber door. Perhaps it was a bit improper, but he had already barged in on Sansa as she dressed and he would not have the other handmaiden hear this conversation. He squared his shoulders and turned back to both of them, "This is awkward."

Sansa smiled at him, almost sweetly, "My Lord," she told him, "whatever it is you need to tell me, surely cannot be so bad. What is it?"

"You are to be married, Lady Sansa," Tyrion told her. He did not have the stomach for small talk, but now that the moment had come he could not bring himself to tell her. He did not know how to. He watched as her eyes widened and she turned to look at Shae in surprise.

"Am I, my Lord?" she stuttered out. "And pray, how do you know?"

Seven Hells, Tyrion thought, she thinks I mean to Loras Tyrell. She thinks she's been caught. And she had, but she would also be punished. And it was up to Tyrion to inform her of her punishment. He looked away from her for a moment, "As you are a ward of the crown, ultimately it is the king's decision as to what to do with you," he told her, swallowing thickly once he had gotten the words out. "And the king and his council have decided that it is time for you to marry. If you were home in Winterfell, no doubt your mother would have started the process already."

Sansa smiled sadly at that and Tyrion cursed to himself, realizing that bringing up the mother Sansa might never see again was not the way to ease himself into this conversation. "Yes, my Lord," Sansa finally told him, still the courteous lady. "You speak the truth."

Tyrion nodded, still unsure of how to continue this conversation. Perhaps he should have allowed Cersei to tell the girl. His sister would have delighted in the girl's pain, but she would have just come out and told her. She wouldn't have stalled. She would not be at a loss for words now.

Sansa sighed, seeing his discomfort, but still not aware of the source of it. "Who am I to marry, Lord Tyrion?" she asked him, finally giving him an opening.

"Well," Tyrion said, drawing out the word as he looked away from Shae. His eyes landed on Sansa for just a moment before they dropped down to the ground. "Me. You are to become my wife."

...

Neither woman was particularly pleased with the news Tyrion had brought them. But they were so markedly different in their responses.

Sansa's face had been filled with relief when he mentioned that she was to be married. A short-lived relief that he did not bring news of another member of her family dying. But the relief quickly disappeared. For a moment several different emotions shifted over her face: surprise, fear, disgust, sadness, anger. Each rapidly replacing the other before she quickly allowed her disinterested, courtly mask to fall over her face. Her voice had been as hard as stone when she thanked him for telling her and asked for him to leave her chambers. But she had curtsied and her face had not betrayed her again in the minutes it took him to stutter out an apology and a goodbye before he left her alone.

Shae on the other hand had been livid. She was angrier than Tyrion had expected her to be. He supposed it was because of his assumption that she truly cared for the Stark girl. She was not simply angry that he had to marry another woman. She was angry that he had to marry Sansa, the girl she cared for. The girl she had sworn to herself that she would protect. She must have made some excuse to Sansa because she had quickly left the girl's side to quickly follow after him to yell at him. Tyrion had tried to explain to her that he had little choice in the matter, that his father would have Sansa killed if he did not marry her, but Shae would not listen.

After she had yelled at him she had stormed away, back to Sansa. And Tyrion had not seen either of them for a week.

But now, a few days before the wedding Tyrion could not let it go on anymore. Sansa would have to marry him, but Tyrion would do as much as he could to ensure that she would not marry a stranger. He sought her out, she was walking in the garden with Shae as his luck would have it.

He could not make eye contact with either of them as he bowed lowed to Sansa, "Lady Sansa," he asked her, addressing her foot rather than her face, "I wondered if I might accompany you on your walk this afternoon."

He was still looking down, he did not see the look Sansa and Shae exchanged, but he did hear Sansa when she spoke, "Of course, Lord Tyrion," she agreed. He looked up then, expecting to see the same polite courtly mask he had seen on her face the last time they had spoken, but instead the girl was smiling at him. A bit shy, a bit nervous, a bit embarrassed, but a smile all the same.

Shae glared at him as she moved several steps back and allowed him to take her spot next to Sansa.

They walked in silence as he worked up the nerve to speak to her. To tell it true he had not expected her to allow him to walk with her. He had not thought of what to say to her because even in his wildest imagination he had not thought that he would get even this far. Despite her smile and her agreeing to allow him to join her Sansa did not seem inclined to help him start a conversation. She walked beside him quiet as a ghost.

Most of the people they passed looked away from them, whispering quietly as they moved away. News of their engagement had spread through the Red Keep quickly, no doubt from Cersei's spies who posed as Sansa's handmaidens. As soon as they were married Tyrion would dismiss them all. He would have Varys find some girls that Tyrion and Sansa would be able to trust. Everyone was talking about their future wedding. Everyone was laughing behind their backs. And while they were walking they passed two men who dared to laugh in their faces.

"Ser Eldric Sarsfield, Ser Desmond Crakehall," Tyrion muttered to himself, speaking for the first time since they had started walking together. "Ser Eldric Sarsfield, Ser Desmond Crakehall."

He would have continued repeating the names, just to fill the silence if Sansa had not interrupted him. "What are you doing?" she asked, glancing down at him.

"I have a list," Tyrion told her without looking at her. They said the Starks were wolves, but Sansa was more of a doe, or perhaps a rabbit. Shy and fearful. He did not want to scare her away just as she was beginning to talk to him.

"A list of people you mean to kill?" she asked him, sneering slightly. Tyrion's jaw clenched for a moment at the sneer. He hated how little she thought of him. That she thought it a laughing matter that he could think to kill someone. He had killed many men at the Battle of the Blackwater. He had the scar to prove it. Why would it be unbelievable that he could kill Ser Eldric Sarsfield or Ser Desmond Crakehall?

But he did not mean to kill them. "For laughing at me?" Tyrion asked, finally glancing up at Sansa and smiling a crooked smirk at the girl. "Do I look like Joffrey to you?" He shook his head and looked away, missing the smile that slipped across her own lips at his question. "Death is a bit extreme, but fear of death ..."

"You should learn to ignore them," Sansa instructed him.

Tyrion sighed, she was a sweet girl, he realized. One that he definitely did not deserve. "My Lady, people have been laughing at me far longer than they have been laughing at you," he told her, his voice gentle. "I'm the Half-man, the Demon Monkey, the Imp."

Sansa sighed and shook her head, "You're a Lannister," she corrected him, saying the family name as if it meant something. And she was right, it did. "I am the disgraced daughter of the traitor Ned Stark."

Tyrion smirked, "The disgraced daughter and the Demon Monkey. We're perfect for each other." He was speaking more to himself than to her. It surprised him when she laughed. It was a bitter laugh, one with very little humor, but a laugh all the same. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Shae, wondering how the girl was taking this interaction. When she had yelled at him she had told him that she feared that Sansa would fall in love with him and he with her. Tyrion had assured her that Sansa Stark would never love him, but Shae had told him he was wrong. She's a child. A scared child in a city of will be kind to her, gentle to her. The first kind man she's seen in a long time. She will fall in love with you Shae had told him.

She was glaring at him now, no doubt believing that Sansa's laughter was the first sign that the girl could indeed be falling for him.

"What should we do to punish them?" Sansa asked, bringing his attention back to her.

"Who?" Tyrion asked. "Whom?" he corrected himself.

Sansa sighed as if disappointed with his short term memory, "Ser Eldric Sarsfield and Ser Desmond Crakehall."

"Ahh," Tyrion said, drawing out the word and nodding. So it's a we, is it, Lady Sansa? he thought to himself. "I could speak to Lord Varys and learn their perversions. Anyone named Desmond Crakehall must be a pervert."

"I hear that you're a pervert," Sansa said, smiling down on him.

Tyrion chuckled, delighting in this small conversation, even though it was little more than light teasing and small talk. It was more than he had dared hope for from Sansa Stark. "I am the Imp," he told her. "I have certain standards to maintain."

She laughed again and then gathered her skirts in her hands so that she could rush forward toward a bench and sit down. Her face now level with Tyrion's. Her blue eyes sparkled with merriment and mischief when she spoke, "We could sheep shift Lord Desmond's bed," she told him.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows at her, smiling as he shook his head, glancing between Shae and her Lady, silently waiting for one of them to tell him what she meant. Shae was smiling softly, not at him, but at Sansa. No doubt happy to see her lady happy about something again, even if Tyrion was in some small way the source of that happiness.

"We cut a hole in his mattress," Sansa explained to him, grinning even wider, "then you shove sheep dung inside. Then I'll sew up the hole and we'll make his bed again. His room will stink but he won't know where the smell is coming from."

Tyrion smiled, he liked the idea. And he liked the girl more for it belonging to her. "Lady Sansa," he admonished her in mock surprise.

She smiled, "My sister used to do it when she was angry with me," Sansa admitted, telling him how she knew how to do it. "And she was always angry with me." A sad look filled her eyes at the mention of her sister. The one everyone presumed dead.

"But why sheep shift?" Tyrion asked, wanting to chase that sadness away.

Sansa leaned closer to him, smiling wickedly again, "It's the vulgar word for dung," she whispered to him as if it were a secret.

Shae laughed, Tyrion smirked, quickly glancing at Shae before turning back to Sansa, "Oh, my Lady," he started, preparing to tell her that the word she was looking for was shit.

But Sansa interrupted him, "You asked me," she told him.

Tyrion nodded, he had asked her. He smiled at her and held his hand out to her. After a moment's hesitation she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her from the bench. Once they started walking she dropped his hand, but at least her demeanor was not as cold as it had been.

Perhaps there was hope for them yet.

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

They were maybe a days ride from the Twins now. Ever since their conversation about Walder Frey's new terms Lenora had been less cold with him. Less not warm. It was still clear that she disapproved of how he handled Walder's sons. She was still angry at him for putting his war on hold to attend this wedding. She thought he was weak for holding onto his word. The night before he had told her that he was honorable, she had accused him of hiding behind his honor.

He could see her point, but he wished that she could see his. The North had named him King, and he needed to be the best King he could. That meant keeping his word even if he did not want to. It meant submitting to Walder Frey's demands even if he would rather kill the man. It meant going to a wedding when he should have marched to battle.

But they had already seen so many battles. And they would see many more before the end of the war. Perhaps a wedding was what they needed. Even if it was for the likes of Walder Frey.

Lenora obviously disagreed with him. But she did not yell at him. And when she looked at him her eyes were soft and gentle instead of narrowed and disappointed.

He found her tonight studying his maps and war table in their tent after supper. She was beautiful, he would be the first to admit that. He stood for a moment in the doorway of the tent, watching her. Her skin seemed to glow in the candlelight, her eyes sparkled as she bent over the table. Sometimes her eyebrows furrowed, other times she lifted her right thumb to her lips so that she could chew on the fingernail, still others she bit her bottom lip. Whatever she was doing, she was certainly thinking.

He must have stared too long because after a minute or so she looked up from the table and her grey eyes landed on him. She did not say anything, she only smiled at him and nodded toward the table, a silent invitation for him to join her. He did, smiling as he moved around the table to stand behind her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.

She smiled, almost serenely as she leaned against him, warm and soft in his arms. She even tilted her cheek up to him so that he could press a soft kiss against her skin before she leaned closer to the table again. She did not move out of his arms, but now she was leaning away from his chest, rather than against it.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her, his voice quiet and soft as if it might break some sort of spell that had been cast around them.

"Who says that I am thinking anything?" Lenora questioned back, taking her eyes off the table in front of them so that she could glance over her shoulder at him.

Robb chuckled and reached out, smoothing the worry line between her eyebrows with his thumb, "This line right here," he told her, his voice still soft, "it tells me everything I need to know. It tells me that not only are you thinking about something, but that you are worried about it as well. Let me help you, let me worry with you."

Lenora smiled at him as she turned back toward the table, she reached out and took a hold of one of the carved wolves, bringing it closer to the twin towers of House Frey. "I was thinking about what we should do after the wedding," she told him, he watched as her eyes narrowed involuntarily at the mention of the wedding. "Where we should go."

"That's not a hard thing to figure out," Robb told her. "I already know what we should do and where we should go."

"You do?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. She bit her bottom lip and thought for a moment before she nodded. "I suppose it's not too hard, as you say."

Robb nodded, "We'll march to Winterfell," he told her.

But at the same time she had said, "We'll march on King's Landing."

They stared at each other in surprise. Perhaps it was not as easy an answer as either of them had believed. Robb shook his head, he could see that she thought he was a fool for wanting to march to Winterfell and take it back. "We must march on Winterfell," he told her, hoping that she would understand. She did not understand why he felt the need to agree to Walder Frey's new terms, but he hoped that he could make her understand this.

She arched her eyebrows at him and shook her head, "You should press south to King's Landing," she told him.

"No," Robb disagreed. "I am a King with no castle. Lord of Winterfell, but Winterfell is not mine. How can I march to King's Landing and fight to rule the entire Seven Kingdoms when I cannot hold my own House Seat? Who would follow me? Who would respect me? Who would listen to me?"

Lenora shook her head, "Lord Bolton's baseborn son holds Winterfell now, we had the raven before we left Riverrun. Winterfell is yours again."

"A burnt shell," Robb admitted bitterly. "We must rebuild. And before Winter arrives. And I must find Theon, Lord Bolton wrote that he had no word of what happened to Theon. He killed my brothers, he killed my smallfolk, he captured and burned my home. No man would follow a King who let such a large slight go unpunished."

"No man will follow a King who loses half his army over night," Lenora argued.

"I did not lose half my army when I lost half the Freys," Robb shot back.

Lenora shook her head, "I wasn't speaking of the Freys," she told him. She reached across the table to pick up one of the many scattered Karstark suns, the few best guesses they had as to where Lord Rickard's men were hunting for her uncle. "You lost half your army the night you executed Lord Karstark. And you will lose another half if you travel back to Winterfell, I swear it."

"How do you see that?" Robb asked her, pressing her for more information. "How do you see me losing even more of my men? Do you think they enjoy following a King who has no home of his own. One who cannot even protect his younger brothers?"

Lenora shook her head, "No," she told him, being honest with him. "I do not think they enjoy following a homeless King. But I think that if you brought them back toward their homes you would lose them. The days are getting shorter, darker, colder. There's been snow south of Moat Cailin. It's late autumn now, no longer summer and not quite Winter. But if you bring them back to the North, near their homes. You will lose them. They will sneak off in groups of two or three, a trickle that will turn into a stream and then a river the further north you go."

Robb shook his head, "They won't," he told her.

"They will," she argued back. "Their wives and homes will call their names. They have harvests to reap and fortifications to make before winter. This far south they would not dare to leave you, you would find them and execute them before they made it to Moat Cailin. Then, if they somehow managed to evade you, they would have to find a way to sneak past the Ironborn who still control the towers."

"But if I defeat the Ironborn," Robb started.

"Then they will have nothing stopping them. Would you hunt them all down in their homes and drag them from their beds?" Lenora asked. She shook her head, they both knew he would not. If he did it would only serve to help him lose more men than he already had. "And need I remind you that no army has ever taken Moat Cailin from the south?" she asked, her gaze landing on the carved Kraken that ruled the Moat on the map. "You were the one that told me that. It's too easy to defend."

"We could," Robb tried, but Lenora shook her head, cutting him off before he could continue his lie.

"If there were an army that could defeat the Moat from the South it would not be this one," she told him. "It's too small. You need more men, Robb."

"If I have too few men to take Moat Cailin how do you expect me to take King's Landing?" Robb growled at her, exasperated with her more than angry. She was right, even he could see that. But it seemed to him that he was trapped. He could not march North because he had too few men, he could not march south because he had too few men, he could not stay in the east, he had stayed for too long as it was.

Lenora smiled, "The people of King's Landing cannot be happy," she told him, "even with the wagons of food coming in from Highgarden. They're starving and poor, their children are dying. And my brother cannot be considered a kind King. They have not revolted because they see little hope in the action, but if they were given another choice, another man to put on the throne. I am sure they would join him in a heartbeat. The common people would join you."

"The common people?" Robb scoffed at her. "And what am I to do with them? They have no training, they have no skills. They would be pawns, used only to die with the hope they took down a Lannister man before they did."

He shook his head. The Lannister in Lenora, the part of her that had grown up planning fake battles with her grandfather did not see this option as a bad idea. He could see it in her eyes. She would send thousands of common people to their deaths if it would make it easier for Robb to take King's Landing.

But he could not do it. He would not do it. It would be cruel to ask it of them. He could not send a million people to their deaths just for a city. "I will not do it," he told her. She sighed at him, disappointed. Robb glanced at the table in front of them, "What about Casterly Rock?" he asked.

Lenora shook her head, "None of the smallfolk from the Rock would follow you," she told him, so sure of herself. "Even with me at your side. They're too proud. And too afraid of my grandfather for that. Though they might be better trained than those in King's Landing."

Robb almost laughed at her, she had such a single-minded focus when it came to planning for war. They had been discussing the common people fighting for him so even though he said no, when he brought up Casterly Rock she thought that he meant to have them fight for him.

He did not laugh though, rather he shook his head, though she could not see the movement. "I did not mean to have them fight for me," he told her. "I meant to ask for your thoughts on marching on Casterly Rock."

Lenora bit her lip. "You will never take the Rock," she told him. "Never. Grandfather would have left only a small garrison at the Rock, but it is too easily defended. And too large. You would never succeed."

"I do not need to succeed," Robb argued. "I only need to march on it. You said most of your grandfather's host was in King's Landing. That they would not leave until after your brother's wedding to the Tyrell girl. But if he heard that I was marching on Casterly Rock would he stay put?"

Lenora thought about it, Casterly Rock's gold mines were the richest and most productive gold mines in the world. There were free cities across the narrow sea that whispered about Casterly Rock gold and the golden castle the Lannisters were said to live in. Lannisters were proud, they could be greedy, and they were protective over their mines. If there were whispers about Robb marching on Casterly Rock then her grandfather would take them seriously.

"He might march out to the Rock," she admitted. "Or he would send soldiers out there."

"How many?" Robb asked.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "I wouldn't know," she told him. "I don't presume to be able to read his mind. I suppose he would send most of his Red Guard, he has no control over the City Watch or the Kingsguard, but the Red Guards are his to command. They're Lannister men, they would follow any orders he gave them."

Robb nodded. "And with the Red Guard gone from the city would it be easier to attack King's Landing?" he asked.

Lenora nodded, "They'll still be recovering from the Battle of the Blackwater," she told him. "They'll be weak and unprepared. Perhaps some would even be scared. My uncle Stannis did some damage to the walls and the gates and many of the common soldiers died during the battle. King's Landing will never be easy, but it would be easier if the Red Guard was gone."

Robb smiled at her and nodded, pressing a kiss against her cheek. "Then that's what we shall do," he told her. "March on Casterly Rock, draw the Red Guard out of the city and while they're hurrying back to the Rock, we will attack King's Landing."

Lenora chuckled, low and dark, "You make it sound so simple," she told him.

Robb shook his head, "War is never simple. But it is time to give Lord Tywin a taste of his own medicine. He had the Mountain lead attacks on the riverlands, now we will attack his home. War is difficult, but revenge? Revenge is simple enough."

-.-.-.-.-

The Hound

He had followed them for a week after they let him go. For a group of men who claimed to be knights and gave their group such a long, pretentious name they were not good at guarding themselves. Every night he was able to sneak past their scouts, they never caught him.

He was quiet and patient. They had stolen his gold and he would have it back. But he knew how the Brotherhood operated, he knew they no longer had his gold. They had stolen from him and he in turn would steal from them.

He already knew what he would take, it was the only thing he could take from them that may buy his freedom and forgiveness from the Lannisters. Thoros had had the truth of it the other night when he had told the men that Sandor Clegane had lost the protection of the king and his kennels. The men had laughed at the Hound without a kennel, but they did not realize that it only made him more desperate.

But even with the desperation he would be patient. He would wait until the perfect moment and then he would take the girl.

Tonight he had followed them to the top of High Heart, the red priest had been quick to light a fire, they said that sometimes he could see visions in the flames, but the visions could not have been very forthcoming he did not even see the dog hiding just beyond the circle of light that his men slept in, surrounding the fire.

He was hidden from the men and it seemed he was even hidden from the small woman who came to visit them during the hour of the wolf. She stood short, like the Imp, and had wild white hair, she leaned heavily on a gnarled cane as she slowly climbed the hill to warm herself by their fire. "The Ember and the Lemon come to honor me again," she greeted, nodding to the Fire Priest and a man in a yellow cloak in turn. The Hound watched from his spot in the dark as the woman glanced at Lord Beric, her eyes wider than before, "And His Grace, the Lord of Corpses."

"An ill-omened name. I have asked you not to use it," Beric told her, his voice little more than a growl.

"Aye," the dwarf woman nodded, "you have. But the stink of death is fresh on you, my Lord." Sandor smiled at that, the stink of death would be fresh on him, Sandor had killed him himself not seven days past. The woman was speaking again, "Give me wine or I will go. My bones are old. My joints ache when the winds do blow, and up here the winds are always blowing."

The Lightning Lord shook his head, "A silver stag for your dreams, my Lady," he told her. "Another if you have news for us."

The woman shook her head, "I cannot eat a silver stag, nor ride one. A skin of wine for my dreams, and for my news a song from Tom o' Sevens."

Beric seemed to smile at her from across the fire, "You will have you song from Tom," he promised the woman as he handed her his own wineskin.

Sandor swallowed thickly. He had little to eat over the last week and even less to drink. Only rain water, the wine sack was very inviting. But he was a patient dog, and now was not his time. The dwarf took a long drink from the wine sack before she spoke, "Sour wine for sour tidings, what could be more fitting? The king will die, is that sour enough for you?"

"Which bloody king?" the man in the yellow cloak asked.

"The wet one. The kraken king, m'lords. I dreamt him dead and he will die, and the iron squids will turn on one another. Oh, and Lord Hoster Tully's died too, but you know that, don't you?"

Sandor tried not to growl. The woman had the evil eye. She could see things in her dreams, that much was clear. It seemed that she was quite good at it, the Brotherhood Without Banners did not offer silver stags to just anyone, but at the moment she had told them nothing that Sandor could not have told them himself. He hoped for something useful.

Still, she continued, "I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief," she said. "I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the cry of the wolf. I dreamt of a lady at a feast and what a lady she was. She wore a gold dipped lion's tooth around her neck, boots of the softest doe skin and a crown of antlers on her dark head. But most impressive of all was her cloak, a large warm grey wolf's fur thrown over her shoulders. She sat at a feast in her honor, though she was far from pleased with the guests. And later I dreamt of that lady again, slaying a red man in a castle built of snow."

Sandor could not believe his ears. He could not understand why the men around the fire were listening to the dwarf woman. She claimed to see the future in her dreams and know news, but so far all she had spoken was madness. What did they care of a well-dressed woman at a feast? What did he care?

Beric spoke up once the woman had stood quiet for some time, "We have a girl with us," he informed the dwarf woman.

"Aye," she agreed with a nod, "the dark heart, so full of pain. I can see her."

"We're taking her to Riverrun to her mother," Beric told her, finally giving Sandor some useful information. He was patient, but his time would come to an end, he would have to grab the Stark girl before they reached Riverrun.

"Nay," the dwarf woman disagreed, "You're not. The black fish holds the rivers now. If it's the mother you want, seek her at the Twins. There's to be a wedding." She cackled at the word, as if she knew a joke about a wedding that she would not share with anyone else. She turned to the red priest, ""Look in your fires, pink priest, and you will see. Not now, though, not here, you'll see nothing here. This place belongs to the Old Gods still ... they linger here as I do, shrunken and feeble but not yet dead. Nor do they love the flames. For the oak recalls the acorn, the acorn dreams the oak, the stump lives in them both. And they remember when the First Men came with fire in their fists." She drank the rest of her wine in one large gulp and pointed to Beric, "I'll have my payment now. I'll have the song you promised me."

Sandor moved away from the top of the hill as they woke the singer. He did not want to hear the man's songs, he wanted to think. The old dwarf woman had done him good even for her madness. They would not be traveling to Riverrun, but rather to the Twins. He had even less time now to take the girl than before.

...

The next night Sandor followed the Brotherhood as they made for a small abandoned village that had been burned many years before, during Robert's Rebellion. The Brotherhood took refuge from the cold rain in a half rundown stable, but Sandor was left out in the dark and the rain. Like the worthless dog that many believed he was. But with the entire group in the stables, Beric believing them safe enough to not need scouts Sandor was able to get closer to them than he had ever gotten before.

He was sure that this was his chance. Tonight he would get the girl.

"I say we need a fire," the drunk priest declared, no doubt he hoped to look into the flames and hear whispers from his fire god. "The night is dark and full of terrors. And wet too, eh? Too very wet."

They made a fire and the priest set himself in front of it, staring into the flames. Even from his spot outside the building, staring through a small window that was more hole than window, Sandor could see the drunkard muttering to himself as the men quietly talked amongst themselves around him. He wondered what the priest was saying, wondered what he was seeing.

"Lannisters!" he yelled after a few minutes.

Sandor looked over his shoulder despite himself, sure that the priest had seen the Lannisters coming for him that night. But there was no one behind him, only the rain.

"Lannisters," the priest repeated again, this time more calm. "Roaring red and gold." He jumped to his feet and went to Beric. The man in the yellow cloak and the singer followed quickly after. They whispered for a time before Beric gestured toward the girl, silently commanding that she approach them. She did so quietly, carefully, timid like her sister.

"Tell her," the lightning lord commanded when she was finally close enough to the group.

Sandor watched as the red priest squatted down next to her, closer to her face. "My Lady," he told her, "the Lord granted me a view of Riverrun. An island in a sea of fire, it seemed. The flames were leaping lions with long crimson claws. And how they roared! A sea of Lannisters, my Lady. Riverrun will soon come under attack."

Sandor exhaled a breath he had not remembered holding. Good thing the girl's mother was at the Twins and not at Riverrun. If the Lannisters were going to launch an attack on Riverrun that was the last place Sandor wanted to be.

"No!" the girl screamed out at the news.

"Sweetling," the priest tried to soothe her, "the flames do not lie. Sometimes I read them wrongly, blind fool that I am. But not this time, I think. The Lannisters will soon have Riverrun under siege."

"Robb will beat them," she told them stubbornly. "He'll beat them like he did before."

"Your brother may be gone," the priest told her. "Your mother as well. I did not see them in the flames. This wedding the old one spoke of, a wedding on the Twins ... she has her own ways of knowing things, that one. The weirwoods whisper in her ear when she sleeps. If she says your mother is gone to the Twins -"

But the girl wasn't listening to him anymore. She wasn't even looking at him. She had turned to the yellow cloak and the archer, "If you hadn't caught me, I would have been there. I would have been home."

She was angry, whirling she broke for the door and when one of the men tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a fox. Out in the rain she ran past Sandor's hiding place, but she did not see him. Sandor did not waste time, as soon as she had walked past him he moved away from the stables. The Brotherhood would be after her soon, he did not need them to catch him spying first.

He had tied Stranger behind a half-burned building down the street from the stables. He moved quickly and quietly to his horse and then quick and quiet as a shadow he untied the horse and swung into the saddle. Stranger only whinnied once as they began to ride after the girl.

They were calling for her now, but they would not find her, not before Sandor and Stranger did. And once he had her on his horse they would be gone and the Brotherhood would never find either of them.

The rain was louder than the sound of Stranger's hooves, she did not hear them coming. He saw her and guided the horse closer to her, holding his reins in his left hand and leaning right, his mailed fist closing around her upper arm and holding on tight.

"Your hurting me," she yelled at him, twisting in his grip, though she could not see his face. "Let go, I was going to go back, I ..."

"Back?" Sandor laughed at her, the sound like iron scraping over stone as he jerked her arm and pulled her roughly up into the saddle in front of him. "Bugger that, wolf girl You're mine." She looked at him, wide eyed and kicking at the horse, but Stranger was tough, the horse could handle it. They rode quickly out of the village before the archer would be able to take aim on them. Sandor grinned down at her, "Tell me," he ordered once they were outside the village wall. "Do you know what dogs do to wolves?"

She swallowed, he had asked her that question once before. She did not want to know the answer. That much he knew.

Author's Note:

Hello friends, a nice long chapter for you this evening.
Did you like it? You should let me know by reviewing. If you're really nice you might even review the chapter I wrote this morning as well.
But that's up to you. I won't pressure you or anything.
Thank you for stopping by and reading! And an even bigger thank you for your potential reviews! I love them.

magclot23: Whatever happens, don't lose your mind! I have a plan for this story, one I think you guys will enjoy!

Stannisfan: I know that I'm sticking very close to the books right now, it's where I feel safe. And people seem to enjoy it. But don't worry, I will be branching away from them by the end of the week. I wrote some of the chapters today.

That's all I've got for now ... see you tomorrow.
In case you were wondering ... T-minus one chapter until we have some fun at a wedding.
I'm excited!
Are you?
Chloe Jane.