Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)
I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.
Hey guys ... I know that some of you always read my author's note at the end of a chapter. But do me a favor ... everyone go read it today (after you've read the chapter). Read at least the first part? Okay? Deal.
-.-.-.-.-
Suggested listening for this chapter:
"Red Wedding" from Red Nose Day last year with Cold Play (if you want a humorous take on it).
Or Rains of Castamere (Ericthepooh on youtube has a fantastic extended cut of the song if you want to hear it).
Chapter Fifty-Two: The Wolf Was Howling
Robb
They could hear the Green Fork before they saw it. With all the rain that had fallen over the last month the river seemed to growl more than flow. Robb donned his crown as they drew nearer to the Twins and he asked Lenora to do the same. She laughed at him when he asked, not sure how much good the crown would do in making her look like a queen when her hair was soaked and her cloak dripping. But all the same, she did as he requested.
His next request was for Edmure and Catelyn to ride with them at the front of his column of men. Edmure rode to his left, Catelyn to Lenora's right. One of the Westerling knights bore his banner, the grey direwolf of Stark on its ice-white field.
The gatehouse towers emerged from the rain like ghosts, hazy grey apparitions that grew more solid the closer they rode. The first time they had come to the Twins Robb had barely seen them, he had sent his mother to treat with Lord Walder and when they were permitted their crossing they crossed the bridge without ever entering Lord Walder's hall. This would be the first time that Robb would see the inside of the Twins.
On the opposite side of the river Robb could see several thousand men encamped around the eastern castle. Under the dark clouds and the rain their banners all seemed to be grey. He imagined that many of them were Frey men, here to celebrate the wedding of their Lord's daughter.
"Tread lightly here, Robb," Catelyn cautioned him from Lenora's right. Robb and Lenora both turned to look at his mother. Robb's eyebrows were arched, he wondered why his mother was nervous. Lenora did not seem as skeptical, though that did not surprise Robb, his wife had been lecturing caution since they had left Riverrun. "Lord Walder has a think skin and a sharp tongue, and some of these sons of his will doubtless take after their father. You must not let yourself be provoked," Catelyn cautioned him.
Robb sighed, "I know the Freys, Mother," he reminded her. "I've ridden with them. I've commanded them. I know how wronged Lord Walder feels, and more than that I know how much I need them. I shall be as sweet as a septon."
Lenora scoffed at him from her horse, "I will believe that when I see it," she muttered.
Robb pursed his lips, trying not to smile at the dark haired girl next to him, but it was impossible. His face split into a grin. She smiled back at him, her eyes shining a light silver despite the grey dreariness around them.
His mother was not finished giving advice though, "If we are offered refreshment when we arrive, on no account refuse. Take what is offered, and eat and drink where all can see. If nothing is offered, ask for bread and cheese and a cup of wine."
"I'm more wet than hungry," Robb told her.
"Listen to your mother, Robb," Lenora snapped at him. Out of the corner of his eye Robb saw his uncle turn to study them, as if he was surprised to hear Lenora order Robb around. Lenora continued, "Once you have eaten of his bread and salt, you have the guest right, and the laws of hospitality protect you beneath his roof." Catelyn nodded, Lenora had understood the warning she was trying to give Robb.
Robb chuckled as he looked at them, his two worrying women. "I have an army to protect me," he told them. "I don't need to trust in bread and salt. But if it pleases Lord Walder to serve me stewed crow smothered in maggots, I'll eat it and ask for a second bowl."
"And you won't kiss me for a fortnight," Lenora warned him, playful again, now that she knew he would heed his mother's warning.
Four Freys rode out from the western gatehouse, wrapped in heavy cloaks of thick grey wool. There was Ser Ryman, son of the late Ser Stevron, Lord Walder's first born. This grandson was the only one that Robb recognized, though he imagined the other three were Ser Ryman's sons, the Lord of the Twins' great grandsons.
Edmure was able to introduce the other three, "Edwyn is eldest," he whispered to Robb. "The pale slender man with the constipated look. You'll know the wiry one with the beard, it's Black Walder, he came to treat with us at Riverrun. Petyr is on the bay, the lad with the unfortunate face. Petyr Pimple, his brothers call him."
They halted their horses as was customary and waited for their host to come to them. Grey Wind edged forward, standing between Robb and Lenora's horses. His tail was stiff, his yellow eyes narrowed. When the Freys were a half-dozen yards away the wolf growled. Robb looked down on the wolf, surprised, but Lenora did not seem that shocked that the wolf was growling. The silver in her eyes had dimmed to grey and her gaze flew to Robb's face, her look clearly telling him, I told you.
"Grey Wind," he called, trying to get the wolf's attention. "To me. To me!"
The wolf did not listen. Instead he leapt forward, snarling.
Ser Ryman's palfrey shied off with a whinny of fear and Petyr Pimple's reared and threw him. Only Black Walder kept his mount in hand. He reached for the hilt of his sword. "No!" Robb shouted to both man and wolf. "Grey Wind, here. Here."
Lenora spurred Casterly between the direwolf and the Frey horses, cutting the wolf off before he could attack. The wolf veered away, and only then seemed to hear Robb calling.
The Freys did not look amused, "Is this how a Stark makes amends?" Black Walder asked, he seemed less polite than he had been at Riverrun, though Robb supposed that being home at the Twins might have emboldened the man. "A poor greeting I call it, to set your wolf upon us." But he was smiling, as if he was joking.
Robb chuckled too, though Lenora struggled to even smile at the man as she guided Casterly back to her spot beside Robb. Robb swung down from his horse and held out the reins to Petyr, "Petyr, take my horse," he commanded. "Yours is almost back to the stable." The lad seemed as if he were going to turn down Robb's offer so Robb dropped the reins in his hand and moved back toward Lenora. She shifted forward in her saddle so that he could climb up behind her. This would not be the first time they had ridden in the same saddle.
"You come late," Ser Ryman declared.
"The rains delayed us," Robb told him. "I sent a bird."
It was Edwyn who cleared his throat, the politest of the four, "We have chambers prepared for you in the Water Tower, Your Graces," he told Robb and Lenora, nodding to each of them in turn. "As well as for Lord Tully and Lady Stark. Your Lords Bannermen are also welcome to shelter under our roof and partake of the wedding feast."
"And our men?" Lenora asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"My Lord Grandfather regrets that he cannot feed nor house so large a host. But your men shall not be neglected. If they will cross and set up their camp beside our own, we will bring out enough casks of wine and ale for all to drink the health of Lord Edmure and his bride. We have thrown up three great feast tents on the far bank, to provide them with some shelter from the rains."
Robb nodded, "Your Lord Grandfather is most kind. My men will thank him. They have had a long wet ride."
With the courtesies and the pleasantries out of the way their hosts turned and led the way to the Twins. The meeting had not gone as badly as Robb had anticipated, but that meant very little. They still had to speak to Lord Walder. There was more trouble at the gatehouse. Grey Wind balked in the middle of the drawbridge, shook the rain off, and howled at the portcullis.
Robb whistled impatiently, "Grey Wind. What is it? Grey Wind, with me." But the wolf only bared his teeth.
"He does not like this place," Lenora whispered to him with a quick glance at their Frey escort to make sure non of the men had heard her.
Two more of Lord Walder's sons had arrived from out of the gatehouse. Lame Lothar and Walder Rivers. "It's the sound of the water he fears," Rivers assured them. "Beasts know how to avoid the river in flood."
"A dry kennel and a leg of mutton will see him right again," Lame Lothar assured them. "Shall I summon our master of hounds?"
"He's a direwolf, not a dog," Robb told him, his voice sharp. "And dangerous to men he does not trust. Rollam," he called for the youngest Westerling - the boy and the wolf had bonded since the Crag. "Stay with him," he ordered the young boy. "I won't take him into Lord Walder's hall like this."
They found Lord Walder Frey sitting in the High seat with the eighth Lady Frey standing beside him. Frey sons, daughters, children, grandchildren, husbands, wives and servants crowded the rest of the hall. When Robb and Lenora were announced they all sank into silent curtsies and bows. Only Lord Walder spoke, "You will forgive me if I do not kneel, I know. My legs no longer work as they did, though that which hangs between 'em serves well enough, heh."
The last part of his speech and the little laugh at the end seemed to be directed at Lenora, he seemed to be leering at her. Robb stepped forward slightly, shielding as much of her from Lord Walder's view as he could without being obvious about it.
Walder's gaze scanned Robb's face, "Some would say it's a poor king who crowns himself with bronze, Your Grace."
Robb would allow him this slight, Lord Walder felt wronged. And Robb needed him and his bridge more than Walder needed him. "Bronze and iron are stronger than gold and silver," Robb answered. "The old Kings of Winter wore such a sword crown."
"Small good it did them when the dragons came. Heh." From here he moved on to greet the other guests he recognized. "Well, Lady Catelyn, I see you have returned to us. And young Ser Edmure, the victor of the Stone Mill. Lord Tully now, I'll need to remember that. You're the fifth Lord Tully I've know. I outlived the other four, heh. Your bride's about here somewhere. I suppose you want a look at her." He waved to one of his sons and quietly instructed him to find the Lady Roslin.
As they waited he turned his gaze back on Lenora. "Queen Lenora," he greeted her with a shallow bob of his head. "You were a Baratheon last time you were at the Twins, though not quite as fair as your Baratheon siblings, are you? You have the look of your father. If I had had my way King Robb would have left you here when he crossed and by now you would be the ninth Lady Frey. How would you have liked that?"
Robb's hands clenched into fists, but Lenora spoke up beside him and her voice, gentle and soft, served to calm him down enough to keep him from reaching for his sword. "It would have been an honor, my Lord. But at the time I had already been betrothed to the king, it could not have been done."
"No, I suppose not," Lord Walder agreed, his gaze dropping from her face to her chest, "You are a pretty slip of a thing. A tiny waist, nice firm teats, I'd wager. Not like this one," he nodded his head toward his current wife. She was blushing, but did not speak out against her husband's rude statements. "I wouldn't have been willing to leave you either."
Lenora was saved from having to answer by the entrance of Edmure's betrothed. Roslin was a small girl, pretty and delicate. Perhaps even smaller than Lenora, but she looked weak. When Robb glanced between the two he thought Lenora the more beautiful of the two, but it was clear that his uncle approved of the girl. She was soft-spoken and sweet, crying a bit as she expressed her desperate wish that she did not disappoint Edmure.
After their introduction Lord Walder sent her away and ordered Lame Lothar to show the guests to their rooms. "My Lord!" Catelyn spoke up from behind Robb. "Some food would be most welcome. We have ridden many leagues in the rain."
"Food, heh. A loaf of bread, a bite of cheese, mayhaps a sausage?" Walder asked.
Robb glanced at his mother, she was eyeing him with narrowed eyes, he sighed and nodded to her. "Some wine to wash it down," Robb added. "And salt."
Lord Walder grinned at him. "Bread and salt. Heh. Of course, of course." He clapped his hands together, and servants came into the hall, bearing flagons of wine and trays of bread, cheese, and butter. Lord Walder took a cup of red himself, and raised it high with a spotted hand. "My guests," he called out. "My honored guests. Be welcome beneath my roof, and at my table."
...
Robb sent Lenora to their chambers as he went to see his men across the river. It did not take him long and after a quick meeting with Lord Bolton who had arrived from Harrenhal shortly before Robb and his men he arrived back in their rooms.
Lenora smiled at him from over her shoulder when he entered the bedchamber. She had already bathed and rather than dressing she had sat on the floor by the fire in nothing but a silken robe while her handmaiden brushed her hair until it was dry. The hair shown in the firelight as she turned away from him again to whisper something to the girl. The girl nodded and quickly stood, curtsying to Robb on her way out of the room.
Robb waited until the heavy oak door shut behind her before he moved toward Lenora. "You have no more need of your handmaiden tonight, Lady Stark?" he asked her, arching his eyebrow as he knelt down behind her and picked up the brush the girl had set down so that he could continue to brush his wife's hair.
She smiled, sighing almost contentedly as she closed her eyes and leaned back, leaning into his touch. "I don't plan to," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. "You see, I only truly need her to dress and I was planning on doing nothing but undressing for the rest of the night."
Robb chuckled as he set the brush back down, "Is that so?" he asked, his voice teasing.
Lenora nodded, turning around and rising to her own knees so that they were both kneeling on the ground. She reached out one of her hands and cupped his cheek, "I love you, Robb," she told him before she leaned closer and pressed her lips against his.
It was not a gentle kiss or a particularly soft one. As soon as Robb began to kiss her back she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, biting down on it gently before she slipped her tongue into his mouth to tangle with his. Robb groaned against her lips, letting the kiss continue for a few minutes before he pulled away from her. "I love you too, Nora," he whispered to her.
Then he stood, taking her into his arms and carrying her over to the large feather bed.
She had been right, they did not have need of her handmaiden for the rest of the night.
Nor anyone else for that matter.
...
"Lord Bolton is here," Lenora told him once they were finished and she was curled up, naked and warm in his arms. It wasn't a question, Robb had no idea how she knew that his bannerman was at the castle, but she did. He would not lie to her. "What news does he have from his son?" she pressed. "What news from Winterfell?"
Robb sighed, this was not the talk he wanted to have with her after they had just made love. But she was a determined thing. If Lenora wanted to talk about it, they would talk about it. It was best not to fight her. "The Ironborn killed almost everyone before they set the castle ablaze," he told her. "Bolton's son was able to save a few. They're at Winterfell now, rebuilding as much as they can. Ramsay, the bastard, swears that he will not rest until he has hunted down every last Ironborn and killed them."
"And Theon?" Lenora asked. "What of him?"
"Alive," Robb told her, his voice harder than he meant it to be. "Ramsay sent his father a strip of his skin, flayed from the littlest finger on his left hand. Bolton wanted to make a gift of it to my mother but I told him to burn it instead."
"The bastard flayed him? Lenora asked, her voice tense. She tried to sit up, struggling to push herself away from Robb's chest, but Robb would not let her move. He much preferred her curled into his chest. "That's against the laws of the realm."
Robb nodded. "And I shall punish him once the war is done. I swear it."
Lenora tilted her head up to study him, "You'll hate to hear it," she warned him. "But that is how my grandfather would handle the situation as well."
Robb smiled a bit ruefully at her, "You've been telling me to act more like Tywin Lannister since the war began," he told her. "You should be happy."
"If it keeps you alive then I am thrilled," Lenora promised him, leaning up to press a kiss against his jaw line.
-.-.-.-.-
Lenora
The drums were pounding, pounding, pounding. It was all Lenora could hear. She wondered if Lord Walder was as deaf as he was old. It was the only thing she could think of that could explain why the Lord of the Twins called this chaos music.
It was cold and wet outside, the rain still fell. But inside the western hall the air was hot and thick. A fire roared in the hearth and rows of torches burned on the wall. And all the people packed in close, sharing their body heat made the room feel almost uncomfortable. Lenora was quietly jealous of the men at arms who were being feasted outside the castle on the eastern side of the river. They would be wet, but she would take that over the uncomfortable heat she was feeling now.
Even on the dais they were closer than she would have liked and as the King and Queen of the North she and Robb had more room than most. She and Robb were seated between Smalljon Umber and Robin Flint, even here at a wedding feast they had guards, not that Lenora minded them. It had been she who had forced Robb to accept them when they proposed to guard them during the feast. She was thankful for the sword belts they wore around their waists and even more thankful that they were not drinking during the feast.
Many of Robb's Northmen were, not that she could blame them a great deal. The meal had been a sorry affair. The feast began with a thin leek soup, followed by a salad of green beans, onions, and beets, river pike poached in almond milk, mounds of mashed turnips that were cold before they reached the table, jellied calves' brains, and a leche of stringy beef. The wine, mead, and ale certainly washed down the taste of it all.
She did not envy their guards taking the food straight. Gods, but she was grateful to them.
She had eaten very little though that was in part due to the fact that she and Robb had barely a chance to sit down before they had been pulled onto the dance floor. Robb had danced with each of Lord Walder's daughters, with Edmure's bride and the eighth Lady Frey, with his widowed daughter Ami, and Roose Bolton's wife Fat Walda, he had danced with the pimply twins Serra and Sarra, and even with Shirei, Lord Walder's youngest, who must have been all of six.
Lenora in turn had danced with Ser Ryman Frey Lord Walder's grandson, his son Ser Edwyn, Black Walder, Lame Lothar, Petyr Pimple. And Tytos Frey, Arwood Frey - another grandson, and finally Raymund Frey. Some of the dances had been entertaining, Lame Lothar had spent their time together making jokes about his limp. And Petyr had been kind, stuttering out a thank you to her for Robb letting him borrow his horse the day before. But others had been silent, stoney affairs. Some of the Freys were making merry, but many of them were not. It made Lenora nervous.
She and Robb shared one dance together before he was whisked off by more Frey women. It all seemed to please Lord Walder so much that Lenora would not complain. They needed him, they needed his bridge. If he wanted every one of his daughters and granddaughters and great granddaughters to dance with Robb she would allow it.
She moved back to her seat on the dais as Robb moved across the dance floor. The music was still pounding though it was impossible for her to name the tune the musicians were playing. Above the din came a sudden snarling as two dogs fell upon each other over a scrap of meat. They rolled across the floor, snapping and biting as a howl of mirth came up from the crowd. Someone doused the dogs with a flagon of ale and they broke apart.
The sight of the dogs made Lenora wish once more that Grey Wind had been allowed at the feast Lord Walder had refused to allow him in the hall. "Your wild beast has a taste for human flesh, I hear, heh," he had told Robb when the king asked. "Rips out throats, yes. I'll have no such creature at my Roslin's feast, amongst women and little ones, all my sweet innocents."
Robb had wanted to argue, but Lord Walder beat him to it, "Have your wedding or have your wolf," he told Robb. "But you can't have them both. And you can't have my bridge without the wedding."
So they had the wedding and Grey Wind stayed outside the hall with Rollam. And Lenora regretted it the entire evening.
Lord Bolton, who had been sitting beside Lady Catelyn had left his seat, no doubt in search of a privy. With Robb still on the dance floor Lenora moved down the dais to sit beside her good mother. "A few more hours and this farce will be done," she murmured to the older woman as she looked around the hall. Her gaze landed on Edmure and Roslin who were sitting as close together as they could, sharing one plate, one goblet, stealing chaste kisses between bites. "Though Lord Edmure does not seem to think it a face," she observed, turning to grin at Catelyn, "And to think he complained about his bride the entire way here."
Catelyn smiled and nodded, "He seems quite pleased with her now," she agreed. "Though something about her is odd, her smile almost seems stitched in place."
"Don't say that to Robb," Lenora warned, "He'll accuse you of worrying like a woman again."
The man in question made his way over to them, he smiled down at them, "Would you care for another dance, Nora?" he asked, smiling at his wife.
Lenora shook her head, smiling back playfully, "I would much rather see you partner with another of Frey's daughters. Surely there's one around here somewhere that you have not yet danced with."
Robb turned to his mother, pretending to be wounded, "Mother! You must save me from this fate and agree to dance with me."
Catelyn smiled kindly at her son, "Thank you, but no," she told him. "A dance is the last thing I need with the way my head is throbbing. Go find another daughter."
"He's going to punish us for this," Lenora mused as he walked away. Though perhaps not, instead of partnering with one of Lord Walder's brood Robb approached Dacey Mormont and asked her to dance.
Dacey was one of Robb's guards and one of Lenora's favorites at that. She was tall and willowy with a shy smile that always seemed to light her face up. She had a graceful way of fighting with her battle axe. One that made Lenora envious. While her uncle had always encouraged her sword fighting her mother had dealt with it as if it were an annoyance. Lenora was jealous of the fighting women of Bear Island who were just as tough as their men, and often twice as deadly. It was a delight to see that Dacey could be as graceful on the dance floor as on the battlefield.
Edmure was kissing Roslin again, the Greatjon was drunkenly singing The Bear and the Maiden Fair even though the musicians were playing a completely different tune, Ser Marq Piper and Ser Danwell Frey played a drinking game, Lame Lothar was telling jokes to a group of Northmen in the corner of the hall, one of the younger Freys juggled three daggers for a group of giggly girls. There was noise and joy everywhere.
The Smalljon approached and asked Lenora if she would join him for a dance. As he was not her husband she would not tease him by forcing him to dance with Frey girls. Lenora smiled at him as she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to the dance floor. She was once again surprised by the difference between northern and southern dances.
Southern dances were formal affairs - pairs of dancers would line up on the dance floor before the dance started and they would not leave until it was over; there was a set number of spots on the floor per dance, no more and no less; the dancers rarely touched. Compared to their southern counterparts northern dances seemed complete chaos - couples joined the floor and left it whenever they pleased; they danced wherever they wanted; there were no set steps and much more touching.
She could still remember her first dance with Robb the night she had arrived in Winterfell. How her heart had jumped into her throat the moment he so casually placed his hand on her waist. She was not sure which was greater, her shock at the way they danced or her shock at the realization that no one else seemed to be shocked.
The Smalljon was laughing at her rigid form, calling her a proper southern princess when Lord Walder stood slowly from his seat and clapped his hands, calling for silence. "Your Grace," Lord Walder called out to Robb, "the septon has prayed his prayers, some words have been said, and Lord Edmure's wrapped my sweetling in a fish cloak, but they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath, heh, and a wedding needs a bedding. What does my sire say? Is it meet that we should bed them?"
Robb pretended to think about it as he scanned the hall, his blue eyes finally landing on Lenora. There was a playful sparkle to them, no doubt he was remembering their own wedding. When he had stopped the bedding before it was over and taken her to his tent himself. Lenora understood that the northmen loved their customs, but she did not envy Roslin her bedding ceremony. Even though they had not consummated their wedding that night, even though part of her thought she hated Robb, there had been something special about him taking her to his bed himself.
Roslin would not get that romance, she would not get that kindness. The crowd was already filled with people shouting and begging, "Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!"
Robb raised a hand, quieting the shouts, "If you think the time is meet, Lord Walder, by all means, let us bed them."
His approval was met with a roar of approval from the crowd and the women rushed forward to grab Edmure, pulling him from the dais. Lenora supposed she could have joined, but as a married woman she had the choice not to. She did not particularly want to help undress her husband's uncle, she would stay in the hall. She was not the only woman who stayed, though there were only a few others who remained. Lady Frey, Dacey Mormont, and Catelyn Stark were the only others who did not rush on Edmure.
Robb would stay too, it would have been a great honor to Roslin if he had participated, but he would not presume to insult Lenora in such a way. Many of his guard remained in their spots as well. And even more Frey men, though Lenora could not blame them Roslin was their sister, cousin, aunt.
"I hear Tully men have trout between their legs instead of cocks," Alyx Frey yelled loudly over the noise of the crowd. "Does it take a worm to make them rise?"
Marq Piper answered, "I hear that Frey women have two gates in place of one!"
"Aye," Alyx answered. "But both are closed and barred to little things like you!"
The crowd laughed at the exchange.
Whatever men who chose to take part in the bedding crowded around Roslin and hoisted her out of her chair and onto their shoulders. Over all the noise Lenora could hear the Greatjon yelling drunkenly. "Give this little bride to me!" he bellowed. "Look at this little thing! No meat on her at all!"
Lenora blushed as she thought about her own wedding, it had been the Greatjon who had tried to carry her as well. The Smalljon chuckled beside her, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "My father has always loved carrying the bride. He likes to take part in the bedding ceremony, but he does not enjoy ripping the clothes off the poor maid. So he carries her instead."
Lenora smiled and nodded, "That's much more honorable, isn't it?" she teased.
"He seems to think so, though he's always drunk when he thinks it."
As man and maid were carried from the hall, a trail of clothing behind them, it got quieter. Most of the musicians had left with the crowd to play outside the bridal chamber door until the couple had consummated the marriage. The few that were left seemed to be discussing which song they should play next.
With so many people gone from the hall it was expected to feel different, less merry. But as Lenora looked around it wasn't relief at the silence that she felt, but rather a tense nervousness. Something did not feel right. She was still standing in the middle of the floor beside the Smalljon and she turned on the spot, looking around. She watched as Dacey stepped up behind Edwyn Frey, touching him lightly on the shoulder and speaking softly, asking him something.
Edwyn who had been polite since they arrived and had even spent a great deal of the night flirting with Dacey turned on her now with a stormy expression on his face. "No," he told her too loudly. "I'm done with dancing for the time being."
She turned back to the Smalljon and raised her eyebrows. She was sure that he was going to tell her that her worry was ridiculous, it was what Robb always said whenever she got like this. But the Smalljon was different, he reached out, closing his hand around her left wrist and squeezing it tightly, "Stay close, Lenora," he ordered her, his nerves and worry making him forget to call her Queen or Your Grace. She did not mind nor did she want to correct him. "There's something amiss," he mused more to himself as he tried to catch Dacey's eyes and signal that she should move toward Robb.
Lenora pulled lightly against his hand, wanting both of them to walk toward Robb, but the Smalljon shook his head, "I have my orders, Little Queen, if something goes wrong I am to get you to safety. Then come back for King Robb." Lenora wanted to argue, but three things stopped her.
The first was the slamming of the doors, she was sure that if she had been closer to the heavy oak doors she would have heard the bolts slide into place.
The second was the realization that these orders would have come from Robb himself, and the Smalljon would never disobey his King.
The third was that the musicians began to play again. It was a different sort of song, not the bawdy or lively tunes they had been playing previously. This one was slow, and low. It sounded sinister. No one sang the words, but they did not need to, Lenora already knew them. She had known them her entire life.
And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?
"The Rains of Castamere," she whispered.
The Smalljon looked at her, his eyebrows knit together in confusion, "What?" he asked her.
"The song," she whispered, "It's the Lannister song." She turned toward where Robb stood, preparing to yell to him that he needed to run, but instead of words a loud seemingly unending scream escaped her lips as she saw him turn toward her, staggering suddenly as a quarrel sprouted from his side, just beneath his shoulder.
If he screamed too, the sound of it was swallowed by the pipes and horns and fiddles. And by Lenora's own scream.
She watched with wide eyes as a second bolt pierced his leg. She saw him fall. Up in the gallery half the musicians had crossbows in their hands instead of drums or lutes.
She wrenched her wrist free from the Smalljon's grasp and ran toward him, wishing for her sword. The Smalljon was faster than her. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him wrestle a table off its trestles. Crossbow bolts thudded into the wood, one, two, three as he flung the table down on top of Robb, shielding him from anymore bolts.
He reached for Lenora again, "Get behind me, Lenora!" he ordered her.
"Give me a sword!" Lenora fired back.
The Smalljon shook his head, looking at her sadly, "If I had two you could have one. But I need it to get you out of here. It's the king's orders."
"Not without Robb," Lenora argued with him, moving to run toward the table.
The Smalljon stepped in front of her, catching her around her middle and practically throwing her back. "We can't have both of you in the same place!" he yelled at her over the noise. "It's too simple a target!"
"Then get him out of here. Now!"
She felt someone else's arms close around her waist and she struggled against them until the Smalljon lowered his lifted sword and she realized that whoever had her was someone they knew. "Go," she heard Lord Bolton order the Smalljon. "Protect your King as your Queen orders. I shall make sure that no harm befalls Her Grace."
The Smalljon nodded and turned on his heel, rushing into the fray. Lenora's head turned right and left, taking in the scene before her. Robin Flint was ringed by Freys, their daggers rising and falling. Ser Wendel Manderly rose ponderously to his feet, holding his leg of lamb. A quarrel went in his open mouth and came out the back of his neck. Ser Wendel crashed forward, knocking the table off its trestles and sending cups and food flying. Lady Catelyn was on the floor, crawling toward the table that stood over Robb, a quarrel in her own back.
She struggled against Roose, but he would not let go of her.
The Smalljon cut down Ser Raymund Frey, as he lifted his sword to fight another a crossbow bolt drove him to his knees. Lucas Blackwood was cut down by Ser Hosteen Frey. One of the Vances was hamstrung by Black Walder as he was wrestling with Ser Harys Haigh. The crossbows took Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey, and half a dozen more. Young Ser Benfrey had seized Dacey Mormont by the arm, but the Mormont woman grabbed a flagon of wine with her other hand and smashed it full in his face, running for the doors.
They opened before she got there and a dozen Frey men-at-arms followed Ser Ryman Frey into the hall. They were armed with long axes. The horns and drums and clashing steel went on all around them, creating its own deadly music. Ser Ryman buried the head of his axe in Dacey's stomach.
By then more men were pouring in the other doors as well, mailed men in shaggy fur coats with steel in their hands. Northmen, Lenora thought, quickly followed by Bolton men. For a moment she thought they were saved until one of them struck the Smalljon's head off with two huge blows of his axe.
She screamed again, suddenly realizing that she was not being held safely in the arms of one of Robb's bannermen, but rather being held captive by a traitor.
She struggled in his arms, stamping on his foot and kneeing him in the groin until she was able to wriggle herself free. She quickly made for a table, hoping to grab a dagger until she could get her hands on a sword. Bolton was moving after her quickly. He caught her just as her hand was closing around the hilt of a dagger. "I'm sorry, my Lady," he apologized, always polite, as he grabbed ahold of her hair and slammed her head down on the table, knocking her out briefly.
She did not stay out for long. It could not have been more than a few minutes when she blinked her eyes open. She was laying on her stomach on the floor, blearily looking around the hall, praying that all the screaming was just the memory of a bad dream. It was not. She tried to stand up, but she couldn't. Her arms were wrenched behind her back, tied together and then tied to her ankles. Bolton had worked quickly to subdue her.
For a moment she wondered why no one was trying to kill her, but the thought quickly left her mind when she saw the tabletop that the Smalljon had flung over Robb shifting. Her husband struggled to his knees. He had an arrow in his side, a second in his leg, a third through his chest.
From his chair Lord Walder raised a hand and the fighting seemed to stop, the music definitely stopped. All but one drum. Outside the doors Lenora could hear the crash of distant battle and closer the wold howling of a wolf. Grey Wind, she thought, wishing the wolf free.
"Heh," the Lord of the Twins cackled at Robb, "the King in the North arises."
Lady Catelyn had not been as useless as Lenora. She had moved around the room, half crawling, have crouching. She had grabbed a dagger off of some table and now she stood with the stolen dagger to Lady Frey's throat. "Lord Walder!" she roared, gaining the man's attention. "Lord Walder, enough! Let it end! Please! He is my first son, my last son! Let it end and I swear to you that we will not seek vengeance. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. We will forget this."
Walder Frey did not seem swayed by her words. Lenora looked away from the pair and toward Robb, he was crawling toward her. She wanted to shout at him, to tell him to crawl to the door, not to her, but she didn't want to draw attention to him either, lest another bolt find its way into his body.
"Take me for a hostage, Edmure as well if you haven't killed him. But let Robb go!" she begged.
"No." Robb's voice was a whisper. "Mother, no ..."
"Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, please. Save yourself ... save Lenora. Get out and go!"
"Nora," Robb gasped out, grabbing the edge of a table and forcing himself to stand. "Grey Wind ..."
"Go to him. Now Robb, walk out of here."
Lord Walder snorted. "And why would I let him do that?" he asked.
Catelyn turned back to him, her dagger digging further into Lady Frey's throat. "On my honor as a Tully. On my honor as a Stark. Let him go or I will cut your wife's throat."
For a moment Lenora thought the ploy might work. But then Lord Walder smirked, "I'll find another."
Lord Bolton moved quickly, grabbing Robb by the shoulder and spinning him to face him. Robb looked at Roose with hope shining in his eyes, he still thought the man an ally. "The Lannisters send their regards," Roose growled before he drove a dagger into Robb's stomach. He pulled the blade free and let go of Robb's shoulder.
Lenora screamed, tears streaming down her face, as Robb turned to her, slowly falling to his knees. "Nora," was the last word she heard him say as his face fell to the floor in front of him.
Lady Catelyn's scream joined Lenora's as she sliced the eighth Lady Frey's throat, sending the woman to the floor with a rush of blood.
Lenora did not see what happened next. Lord Bolton was standing in front of her. He grabbed her under the shoulders and ignoring the flinch of pain he pulled her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder, quickly striding from the hall. The way he had thrown her, her chest was pressed against his, her face next to his arm. She could see the hall, just barely with her left eye.
It was full of blood and the sounds of dying men.
She could not be sure, she would never be sure. It all seemed a nightmare. But it looked as though Robb was still crawling across the floor.
Following her, trying to protect her, with his last breaths.
-.-.-.-.-
Tyrion
His father had asked to see him. He was angry no doubt. He had been married for almost a fortnight and Sansa remained a maiden. Worse than that, half the castle seemed to know it. Maids whispering to squires. Squires whispering to knights. Knights whispering to their ladies. And the ladies whispering to anyone who would listen. Tyrion almost missed when the city was preparing to battle against Stannis, at least then all the High Lords and Ladies had something else to worry about than whether or not Tyrion had consummated his marriage with the child his father had thrust upon him.
He heard the whispers and the laughter everywhere he went. It seemed the only person in the Red Keep that did not find their marriage and their unused marriage bed amusing was his young wife.
Sansa's misery grew worse every day. Tyrion would have happily broken through her courtesies to give her whatever comfort he could manage, but he knew it would do very little. Regardless of the fact that she had thanked him on their wedding night for being kind to her and for protecting her - she did not want comfort from him. She had married him because it would keep her safe, not because she wanted to be with him. He was a Lannister. Regardless of how little he had actually done to her family, his family was to blame for almost every one of her woes. She would not forget that. And no kind words from him would make their circumstances any better.
As much as she seemed to appreciate his kindness, no kind words would ever make him handsome or fair in her eyes. Or any less a Lannister. This was the wife they had given him, for the rest of his life, and she hated him.
This would be what his father wanted to speak to him about. His failure as the girl's husband. His failure as Tywin's son. His failure as a Lannister.
As he entered his father's solar he heard a voice saying, " ... cherrywood for the scabbards, bound in red leather and ornamented with a row of lion's-head studs in pure gold. Perhaps with garnets for the eyes ..."
"Rubies," Lord Tywin interrupted, "garnets lack the fire."
His father was talking to one of the city armorers, or smiths, about a sword. At least two by the sound of it. Tyrion cleared his throat, causing both his father, and the man he was speaking to, to turn and look at him. "You sent for me?" he asked, walking further into the chamber.
Tywin nodded, turning back to the table, "I did. But first, come and look at this."
Tyrion raised his eyebrows, surprised that his father wanted him involved, or that he might want his opinion on anything. Ever since the scene he had made at his wedding feast his father had had as little to do with him as possible. He walked closer to the table. A bundle of oil cloth lay on top of it. On the cloth lay a longsword and a dagger, Lord Tywin held another longsword in his hand. "A wedding gift for Joffrey," he told Tyrion as he lowered the sword in hand a bit so that Tyrion could get a better look at it.
When the light hit the blade the steel shimmered dark, almost black, and a cherry red, the crossguard and pommel shone a bright gold. "Everyone in the streets is whispering about Stannis' magic sword," Tywin sneered. "Perhaps it is time to give the king a sword of his own. A weapon that would put Stannis' blade to shame."
"That's too much sword for Joff," Tyrion warned his father, thinking off all the evil ways his nephew might try to use it.
Tywin shrugged, "He'll grow into it," her assured him before he handed the sword to Tyrion. "Here, feel the weight of it."
The sword was much lighter than Tyrion would have guessed. He imagined that even he could have wielded it. As he turned the sword over to inspect it more closely he saw why it was so light. There was only one type of steel in the entire world that could be beaten so thin and still be strong and useful in a fight. There was only one type of steel in the entire world that bore those ripples, the mark of steel that had been folded back on itself many thousands of times. "Valyrian steel?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Tywin looked proud of himself as he nodded, "All three," he told his son, gesturing toward the second longsword on the table and the small, but deadly looking dagger.
Tyrion could understand his father's pride. Valyrian steel blades were expensive and hard to find. There were a few thousand remaining in the world, two hundred of which were in the Seven Kingdoms, but no more. It was finite resource. One that could not be found anymore, not since the doom came to Valyria. Many Great Houses owned Valyrian steel blades, they passed them down generation to generation as heirlooms. The Lannister House had even had one once, a greatsword named Brightroar, but it had been lost when the fool King Tommen had carried it to Valyria hundreds of years ago, perhaps even thousands. Neither blade nor King had returned.
On many occasions his father had offered to buy Valyrian steel swords from impoverished Houses that desperately needed money. Tywin would have paid dearly for the steel too. But no House was so far gone, or so foolish as to give up their swords, no matter how desperate their circumstances were.
Tyrion wondered where his father had gotten the these three blades. He knew that there were a few master armorers, even some in King's Landing, who could rework old Valyrian steel. Perhaps his father had not paid for all three blades, but had rather only paid for one, a large greatsword that had been reworked into two smaller longswords and a dagger. "The colors are strange," he murmured turning the sword over and over in the sunlight as he silently tried to figure out where his father could have gotten the steel.
Most Valyrian steel swords were a dark grey, Lord Stark's had almost looked black. But this one in his hand had a red as deep as the grey blended into the folds. The two colors lapped over each other without ever seeming to touch, each ripple distinct, like waves of night and blood upon some steely shore. "How did you get this patterning? I've never seen anything like it."
"Nor I," the armorer agreed, speaking for the first time since Tyrion had entered the solar. "Lord Tywin asked for a crimson sword, and I tried, but every time I folded in the red it would darken and some folds would not accept it at all. They say these old swords remember. And perhaps they do, this one was not easily changed."
Old swords remember? Tyrion thought, echoing the armorer's words in his head. There was something else that remembered. Something that was just as dark, just as ominous, just as deadly as this sword. The North.
He almost dropped the sword in his haste to unhand it. He knew where his father had gotten the steel for the three blades. He had only seen it once or twice when they were at Winterfell, by the time he arrived in King's Landing the sword had seemed to disappear. But here it was again, reworked into three blades, with some red folded in. What had Ned Stark called his Greatsword? Ice?
I should have returned it to Robb Stark when he asked, Tyrion thought regretfully. His father was proud of the swords, that much was clear, but he had come about them in a dishonorable way. Tyrion wondered if the blade would ever work just right for Joffrey. The steel remembered and the North did too. It would know that it did not belong to the Lannister King.
"And the other sword?" Tyrion asked, though he was sure he knew the answer to his question.
"It is meant for Jaime," Tywin told him, confirming his suspicions.
Jaime was still lost somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, Tyrion wondered at his father's confidence that Jaime would be returned to them. And it must have been confidence, otherwise he would not have had the sword forged for him. He waited while his father sent the armorer off with the blades, asking for them to be returned the day before Joffrey's wedding with their scabbards.
Once the armorer was gone Tyrion asked about the dagger. "So a sword for Joffrey, a sword for Jaime, and a dagger for yourself?" he asked, not daring to hope that they dagger might be for him. He was not even sure if he would want it if it were.
Tywin snorted, "I have no need for a dagger," he told Tyrion as he moved toward his desk.
"Of course not," Tyrion agreed with a nod, "but it would be nice to have, would it not?"
He was not hinting that he wanted it, though his father must have thought so because his eyes narrowed, "It is not for your either," he told Tyrion. "It is for Lenora once she is returned to us."
Again, Tyrion was struck by how sure of himself Tywin seemed. Lenora was somewhere in the North now, marching and fighting and loving Robb Stark. But Tywin seemed to think that she would soon be home in King's Landing as a certainty.
He snorted, "The only way I see Lenora being returned to us is if her husband is killed. She loves him Father, surely you can understand that. She will be grieving if she is returned to us. You think a dagger forged from her dead husband's, murdered father's greatsword will buy her happiness? Even if it is Valyrian steel?"
Tywin did not seem to appreciate his son's censure, "Lenora is doing her duty by her husband as she was trained to do. If she loses him she will come home and do her duty by her family as she has always done." Tyrion raised his eyebrows, he was not as sure as his father. But he had opened the gateway for his father to get to the point of his invitation to Tyrion, "As will you," he added, glaring at Tyrion.
"I married the girl," Tyrion told him. "I did as you commanded."
"I commanded you to put a child in her belly," Tywin lectured him.
Tyrion sighed, "And do you think she will open her legs for me?" he asked. "After everything our family has done to her own?"
"One way or another you will get that girl pregnant," Tywin told him.
"I will not rape her!" Tyrion yelled at his father.
Tywin sighed, disappointed in his son, "She will have a Lannister child," he warned his son. "At this point, I don't much care which Lannister it belongs to. Remember that."
Author's Note:
How are you guys doing? Everyone okay? Happy? Sad? Angry with me? Don't worry, my dears, I have a plan. Trust me, will you?
But if you don't, if you're so angry at me for what I just did, make me one promise. Wait three chapters before you decide not to read any longer. Okay? Three chapters. Keep reading, at least until Sunday night. You'll have a much better idea of my plan by then if you wait.
Anyway, I'm quite happy with this chapter. Very happy actually. I'm a bit of a sadist like that, apparently.
Thank you, as always, for reading. Thank you for adding this story to your favorites list. Thank you for adding it to your alerts list. But most of all thank you for your reviews. Both the ones you've already left and the ones I hope you will leave today.
They make me ridiculously happy.
BigWilly526: Don't worry friend, there won't be any Tyrion/Sansa in this story. Just hints of a friendship and respect. As much as I love the two of them I know that a lot of people don't. And it would be cruel to force it on people who are here for a completely different story. I'm glad you liked the Davos part ... there's more in the future!
writingNOOB: There will be a face off between the two lionesses and Cersei is going to be a vicious, desperate bitch when the time comes. And Lenora is going to be less forgiving of her mother than usual. Because you're right, this is the story that Cersei tried to poison her daughter. And eventually Lenora's going to learn about that.
Hahaha! It has been a while ... fifty chapters to be exact since that scene!
Guest1995: Oh my god I love this! You have no idea how much I love this idea. All of them actually. Unfortunately by the time Lenora gets to King's Landing most of these situations will be impossible because there's a lot of death in between now and then. Some of them could be twisted to work though. And if not ... a series of one shots. Hmm. I can see them now: "Seven times Lenora Baratheon was too fiery for her own good" or something like that. It's a working title.
Mostly because if given the time I could probably think of so many scenes that I would want to play out.
Of course you would get credit if I used any of your lines ... hell you would get credit for the whole idea of the one shots if I did them. And now that I'm thinking about them I might have to do them! You certainly know how it works ... compliment the author when you make your request and they'll do it.
At least I probably will. :D
sltsky96: I'm glad you enjoyed the Les Mis reference. I have loved this musical since high school. I had a rather brave and ambitious theater director who figured that he had like twenty students who regularly auditioned for the school plays and perhaps all of them could sing. So my junior year the school play was Les Mis. I auditioned for Eponine ... it was all I wanted, On My Own is probably one of the best songs I have ever heard. But I made two mistakes: 1. I was a junior (he admitted to giving seniors preference). 2. I told him I would take any part in the musical (if you really want a character ONLY accept that role).
This senior bitch, Kathryn Gill got Eponine (she wasn't actually a bitch ... she was super nice). I got the parts of Fantine and Enjolras. I was a little upset at first, especially when I got the part of a boy (but he was described in the book as looking like a girl) and it made for some fun costume changes back stage, and I looked fantastic dressed as a French revolutionary. Plus between the two characters I got so much more stage time than Kathryn Gill (HA. HA. HA Take that, Gill).
The whole musical is a masterpiece, though I must say, my favorite song is Grantaire's Drink With Me it's so open and vulnerable, morose and hopeful at the same time. Like, these kids (and they are kids) know they're going to die and still they're singing about their friendship. I was so mad when they cut it out of the 2012 movie. It's a beautiful song. At least until Marius turns it into a song about Cosette. #francebeforeyourpants Marius.
I'm sorry, you probably did not need this rant about Les Mis, but you got it!
Anyway, that's all I've got for today my friends.
See you back here tomorrow!
(Hopefully)
Chloe Jane.