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I'm dropping hints left and right.

Chapter Fifty-Three: I am the King

Arya

Everything was on fire when they arrived at the Twins. Everything was on fire and everyone was fighting. She briefly wondered at the Hound's determination to bring her to her family and ransom her off to them. He must have been desperate for gold, only that could have kept him moving through all the flames even though he was terrified of fire.

She couldn't tell who was the enemy. It was almost impossible to make sense of the battle in the darkness with the flames and the chaos. She thought for a moment that perhaps the Lannisters had attacked. But she could not see any of their red and gold armor. And of course they could have fought without it, but Lannisters were proud men. Both House Lannister and the men that fought for it. She had never seen Lannister men fighting in anything but their crimson plate with gold detailing.

And she did not see any of that here. And besides, hadn't the stupid red priest looked into his flames and seen the Lannisters attacking Riverrun. They weren't going to take her there because it was too dangerous. Ever since they had learned about the Frey wedding they had planned to bring her here. They believed it was safer. Surely if this was a Lannister attack his bloody flames would have shown him that.

She couldn't be sure. She was certain that she was imagining it. She hoped she was imagining it. She prayed she was imagining it. But through all the smoke and the flames and the darkness she thought she saw northmen attacking other northmen. She had never been as good of a student as Sansa, but he had tried to pay attention when Maester Luwin taught her the sigils and House words of all the Great Houses of Westeros, and anyone in the North knew the flayed man of House Bolton.

She was sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her as she watched. But it looked as though the Bolton men and Frey men (she could tell them by the twin towers on their banners and sigils) were attacking the rest. They seemed to be fighting the grey direwolves, the mailed fists of House Umber, the Mallister eagle and the Tully fish.

Whatever was happening it was a massacre, that much was certain. The Frey men and the Bolton men were winning. She screamed at them from her place on the Hound's horse, he was too bewildered to even stop her. She screamed and screamed, "You're Northmen! You're from the riverlands! You named Robb King! You're brothers! Why are you doing this?"

No one answered her.

No one paid her any attention at all.

Over the noise of the battle and even over the sound of her screams she heard the sound of a wolf howling. Grey Wind. She turned her head frantically, looking side to side for the wolf. Sure that at any moment Robb and Lenora would burst out from the castle, riding side by side with the wolf as they brought the traitorous attackers to justice.

But they never came. And after a short while it became clear to her that Grey Wolf was not fighting in the battle. His howls and cries were coming from a cage outside the castle. He was trapped. He was trapped and he was desperate to get out because he knew that something horrible was happening to his master.

Something horrible was happening to Robb.

She needed to get to the wolf and she needed to free him. Grey Wind needed to get to Robb. He would protect him. He would keep him safe. Nothing would happen to Robb if Grey Wind was at his side.

She squirmed in her place, testing the Hound's grip on her. He had been holding on tight since he had grabbed her and taken her right out from under the Brotherhood Without Banners' nose. He did not trust her at all. But now, now he was distracted. Distracted and afraid. He was trying to make sense of what was going on around them. He was trying to stay away from the fire. He wasn't holding her as tightly as he could have.

He wasn't holding her as tightly as he should have.

She squirmed again, this time very deliberately elbowing him in the chest. It probably did more damage to her than it did to him. Her elbow hurt more than it ever had in her life, she wondered if the bone had shattered. If not there would at least be a horrible bruise on it the next morning. But she was not like Sansa, she did not care about bruises. And she had more important things to worry about anyway.

It would not have worked, but the Hound's armor was old and dented. And somehow she had struck it just right, just hard enough that it had hurt him, or at least irritated him. His grip on her loosened even more as he reached one of his hands up to rub at where she had elbowed him, as if rubbing the armor would make it feel better.

That was her chance. She wiggled a bit more, writhing like an eel almost until she slipped. He reached for her, but they were too close to a fire of his liking and she was already falling to the ground. She remembered what Syrio Forel had taught her when she was learning how to be a water dancer. Cats always land on their feet.

She could be a cat.

She twisted as she fell and when she hit the ground it was on her hands and her knees. She didn't look back at the Hound to see what he thought. She didn't look at the men fighting around her. Even if they did pay her any attention it wasn't like she was a threat to them. Both the men that were still loyal to her brothers and the traitors had more deadly things to worry about than a small boy running through the camp.

Besides, she was quick as a cat. They wouldn't be able to catch her.

She ran for Grey Wind's cage, not knowing what she would do when she got there. What if she could not open it? What if it was locked? She would figure it out when she got there. That was how she had always dealt with problems when she was at Winterfell. One thing then the next. First, she would get to the cage. Second, she would worry about opening it. Third, Grey Wind would save her brother.

She was quick as a cat, but she was not watching where she was running. She tripped over something as she was running for the cage. At first she thought it was a log, or a bench from one of the overturned tables, but when she turned to look she realized that it was a body. One of the Umber men.

His eyes were still open. He was staring at her. "Please," he whispered to her, asking her for help.

She shook her head, she wasn't there to help him. She was there to help her brother. She was there to help her mother. She was there to help Lenora. Any time she spent helping this man would be a waste. But then something caught her eye. He still had his sword, he had not dropped it when he fell. It was gleaming silver and red in the firelight.

She braced her hands underneath her shoulders and pushed herself back to standing. And then she turned moving back toward the injured man. "Gods be good," he murmured, no doubt thinking that Arya meant to help him.

"The Gods can't help you," she told him as she bent down and grabbed his sword, pulling it from his loose grip. "I'm sorry," she added over her shoulder as she turned and began to run toward the gate again, this time with her stolen sword in hand.

She was still too far away. And Grey Wind was still howling. But there was someone else running toward the cage as well. A boy, perhaps even smaller than her. She could not tell whose sigil he wore on his livery. She did not know if he were enemy or friend. And because she did not know, she did not trust him. "No!" she screamed at the boy even though he could not hear her over the clashing steel, the yells of the fighting men, and the moans of the dying ones. "No!" she yelled again. "You get away from that wolf!"

But he did not hear her. And perhaps he was a friend after all, she thought as she got closer, squinting through the smoke. He was opening the cage. He was releasing Grey Wind for her. He was helping.

"Grey Wind!" she yelled when the wolf was free. His ears perked at the sound of his name. "Yes!" she shouted. "Grey Wind! To me! To me!" Her brother had been working on that trick when she left Winterfell. She was sure that he had taught the wolf at least that. He turned toward his, his gold eyes glowing in the firelight, the narrowed into slits as he looked at her and for a moment she thought that he might recognize her. But then the boy said something and the wolf turned back to him. The boy said something else and the wolf seemed to nod, as if he could understand.

With one final glance back at Arya the wolf took off, running away from the castle for the woods.

"No!" Arya sobbed more than she yelled. "You're going the wrong way! You're going the wrong way you stupid wolf!" Nymeria would have known to run for the castle. Nymeria wouldn't have run from the battle like a scared dog.

She was still running for the cage, but her gaze was on the cowardly wolf. She did not see one of the Bolton men order others after the wolf. She did not see him run his sword through the boy's belly and twist it before pulling it out and rushing toward the woods after the wolf.

She only noticed it when she arrived at the cage and the boy was not there. She spun in a tight circle, looking everywhere for him. It was then that she saw him leaning against the side of the wooden kennel, his hands pressed against his stomach, trying to hold his innards in. She wanted to kick him. But now she could see his livery, he had a grey direwolf on his doublet. He was one of Robb's squires. "Why'd you do that?" she yelled at him instead, kneeling down next to him so that they could hear each other. "That wolf could have saved Robb! Why did you send him away?"

"I didn't," the boy gasped out, too much in shock to even look up at who he was stalking to. His gaze remained on his stomach wound. "I told him to find King Robb. I told him to save him. I told him to go to the castle and the wolf ran to the woods instead!"

"Why would he do that?" Arya asked, sobbing again.

The boy looked up at her with wild eyes, "The wolf loves King Robb," he told her as if she didn't know. "The only reason he would have left is if King Robb wasn't in the castle. Or if he was dead."

"How would the wolf know that?" Arya asked.

The boy shook his head, "The wolf knows things," he told her. His voice was quieter now, his breath was coming out in quick, shallow gasps. He would die, Arya knew that and it seemed so did he. "Tell her," he whispered, reaching out one of his blood covered hands to grab onto Arya's wrist when she turned to leave him. "Tell her ..."

"Tell who?" Arya asked him, yelling even though they were close enough that she could have spoken at a normal volume and he would have been able to hear her. "Tell who?" she asked again.

"Tell Queen Lenora that I tried," he whispered to her. "They had stolen the key to his kennel. I could have gotten him out earlier. But I didn't have the key. Tell her ... tell her I found it. Tell her I tried."

He was still breathing, perhaps he had other things he wanted Arya to tell Lenora. Perhaps he did not want those to be the last words anyone would hear from him. But Arya did not have time for his last words. She did not care about his last words.

She stood up and turned toward the castle, determined to get in. She did not know what she would do once she was in there, but she would get in. That was her first problem. She thought of her list. First, get into the castle. Second, find her mother or Lenora if they were still alive. Perhaps her uncle Edmure, though he would not recognize her. Third, figure out what to do afterward.

She started to run toward the castle, so focused on her mission that she did not hear him running behind her. But she felt his hand on her shoulder. She turned and faced the Hound. He did not look angry, he did not even look afraid. He was looking down at her with something akin to sympathy in his eyes. He shook his head once, "It's too late," he growled at her.

It can't be, she thought as she turned away from him, preparing to run away again. It can't be too late.

She only got one step away from him before his mailed fist hit her in the back of her head and sent her falling to the ground, knocked unconscious.

...

The Gods were cruel. She did not stay unconscious for long. When she opened her eyes with a groan she was back on the Hound's horse, his arms were wrapped more tightly around her this time. They were still at the Twins, the fighting was still going on. The fires were still burning. And her brother was most likely still dead.

The Hound was kinder than the Gods. When he had pulled her back onto his horse he held her in the opposite direction. Her face was pressed against his chest. His huge shoulders blocked most of her view of what was going on around them.

He wasn't as dumb as he looked, he spurred his horse forward quickly and grabbed onto a banner that bore the twin towers of House Frey. Even though there were still men alive that were loyal to Robb, they were losing. The Frey banner was the safest cover. She did not know how he knew she was awake, but she felt his chest rumble underneath her cheek when he growled, "Keep your eyes closed, girl. Don't look."

And she didn't. At least not until she heard the chanting. Here comes the King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! Here comes the King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!

She looked then even though he had told her not to.

A group of Bolton and Frey men were leading a horse through the castle gate. There was a man on top of the horse, but it could not have been Robb, she was sure of it. His head was too large, it was misshapen. Her mind was still fuzzy from when the Hound had knocked her unconscious and it took her too long to realize what was wrong with her brother's head. There was a wolf's head sewn to it.

Grey Wind.

Tears filled her eyes as the Hound spun his horse around and rode them out of the courtyard. "At me, girl!" he growled at her. "If you're going to look, look at me! Don't look at that girl! You don't need to see it!"

But she wasn't the young girl that needed protecting anymore. She had needed Yoren to shield her at her father's execution. She did not need the Hound to shield her now. The Lannisters were behind this. She knew it. And she needed to see everything they had done so that she would be ready when it came time for her revenge.

They were moving too fast, she had only caught a quick glimpse at her brother. But something did not seem right. Grey Wind had run for the woods, but Robb and his wolf head had come from the castle.

It didn't sit right.

But nothing about this night sat right.

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

After he had carried her from the hall Lord Bolton brought her up to a bedchamber. He was kind enough not to bring her to the chambers she had shared with Robb the night before, though she was sure that it was not kindness, but rather the fear that she might somehow escape that had him bring her to a different bedchamber.

This one was small, narrow. It had very little furniture, only a small straw bed and a chair where one of Frey's daughters sat. Lenora was sure that they had been introduced but she could not think of the girl's name now.

There were no windows.

Tears were still streaming down her face, but she was too much in shock to do much else. Lord Bolton was surprisingly gentle when he placed her on the bed. She thought he would leave her then, tied up and under the watchful eyes of one of Frey's innocents as the old man had called them.

None of them were innocent.

But he didn't leave them. She felt him reaching for her hands and she found some of her fight again. She started to struggle against him, kicking and thrashing. He had killed her husband, did he really think that she would let him have her after that. He chuckled as she fought, low and dark. "Calm yourself, Your Grace," he commanded, surprising her at his audacity. He had the nerve to call her Your Grace after he had killed her husband. If the king was dead, was she still the queen? And if she was, she definitely was not his Queen. He had made that clear when he shoved a sword in Robb's stomach.

"Calm yourself," he commanded her again. "I do not mean you any harm. I simply wish to untie your restraints."

That caused Lenora to stop fighting. She had spent enough time watching Lord Bolton to know that he was an intelligent man. He was not stupid, and he was not weak. She doubted that he truly meant to untie her restraints. She did not have a sword, but that did not mean that she could not hurt him if she wanted to.

She was right. Once she had stilled he did not begin untying her right away. First she felt cool metal close around both of her wrists. Manacles. Another set closed around her ankles. He did not chain the two sets together, a small mercy.

"Do not try to run away," he warned her in that soft, too calm voice of his as he started to untie the rope from her arms and her legs. "I will chain your hands and feet together if I have to."

Lenora nodded, playing the part of the quiet and meek captive. Now, in a tower of a castle under attack was not the time to try to run away while her wrists and ankles were chained together. Even she was not that bullheaded.

Lord Bolton made quick work of her ropes and then he rolled her onto her side in the bed so that she could see the Frey woman. He stooped, bending at the waist so that he could look her in the eyes, "I will come for you in the morning, Your Grace," he told her, his lips twisting up into a smirk. I should have kicked him when he was untying me, she thought as she glared at him. "In the mean time I shall send up some milk of the poppy or dream wine for you. I imagine that it will be difficult to sleep after all the excitement down in the hall."

She couldn't kick him now. He was too far away. So she spit at him instead. She did not want his milk of the poppy. Or his dream wine. And she certainly would never have described the massacre that occurred in the hall as excitement. Her spit landed on his cheek. He sighed, closing his eyes in annoyance before he reached into his doublet and pulled out a handkerchief that he used to wipe off his cheek. He turned and when he spoke next it was to the Frey girl instead of Lenora. "Perhaps I will send up one of your brothers as well," he suggested to the girl. "Unless you think you can handle the princess Lenora."

And there it was ... princess. She had been saved because she was Cersei and Robert's daughter. They would be sending her back to King's Landing no doubt. If she had taken a moment to think in the chaos down in the hall she would have realized that it all smelled too much like a Lannister plot to be anything else.

Walder Frey would never have acted like this on his own unless he had had a powerful backer. And his own sons had admitted at Riverrun that he had received at least one raven from her grandfather. Tywin Lannister had planned this, but when the small folk heard about the wedding massacre it would be Walder Frey who received the blame.

The girl glanced at her, her eyes wide and nervous. "Perhaps you should send one of my brothers as well, my Lord," she whispered to Lord Bolton before she dropped her gaze, as if she was afraid to look at Lenora for too long.

She should be, Lenora though as Lord Bolton swept from the chamber. They all should be afraid of me.

She glared at the Frey girl for a minute after the door shut. The girl wouldn't look at her, but she was aware of Lenora's gaze. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking anywhere other than the bed. "How long has your father been planning for this?" Lenora asked finally.

The girl looked terrified, her eyes darted to Lenora's face and she must have realized that Lenora would not give up until she had an answer, because she gave one. "Since your grandfather wrote to him," she whispered. Lenora thought that was all she would get from the girl, but then she spoke again, "Lord Tywin sent ravens to my father and Lord Bolton. They made plans."

Lenora nodded, she had assumed as much. "And what was the reward for killing the King in the North?" she growled.

The girl shrugged, "I do not know what he gave to Lord Bolton, but Riverrun now belongs to the Freys."

Lenora shook her head, "Edmure is Lord of Riverrun."

"And we have Edmure, Princess," the girl answered. She wasn't arguing with her, simply stating a fact.

"The Blackfish will never give it up," Lenora warned her.

"The Blackfish is old and has not fought for many years, he won't last."

Lenora's eyes narrowed, "They won't get away with this," she warned the girl. "You won't get away with this. I may be in chains now, but one day I will find my way out of these chains. And when I do I swear to you that I will come after anyone and everyone that has profited from this. The Lannisters always pay their debts, you know. I will pay this one."

The girl seemed to smirk as a knock sounded on the door and one of the Frey men entered with a vial. Dream wine. "You've forgotten, Princess, the way Lord Stannis talks you are the only of your mother's children who isn't a Lannister. What do Baratheon's do with their debts, my Lady?"

The man stepped forward before Lenora could answer. He opened the vial and reached out for Lenora, she tried to twist away from him, but he grabbed on her hair at the base of her skull twisting her head to face him, "Hold her mouth open," he growled at his sister. The girl nodded and quickly rushed forward, using both of her hands to force Lenora's mouth open. She would have bit the girl, but she was smart enough to keep her fingers out of Lenora's mouth.

She shook her head, trying to fight them, to make the man spill the vial, but he had a stronger hold on her head than she had thought. Her hair started to rip as he tilted her head back, bringing her gaze toward the ceiling. Then, with little thought about choking her he poured the entire contents of the vial into her mouth. With her head tilted back she had no choice, but to swallow. He held her head back for almost a minute before he let go and shoved her back onto the bed on her side. "She'll sleep soon," he assured his sister before he turned. "I'll be outside if you need me, though I don't think she'll be much trouble now."

And he was right. Her vision was already narrowing, her mind going fuzzy. She tried to fight it, focusing on her hatred and the girl across the room from her. She was right, Lannisters paid their debts and she was no Lannister.

She was a Baratheon and she was a Stark. She would hold on to her anger, her fury. And she would never forget. And when her chance came she would show her brother, her grandfather, the Freys, and the Boltons what it truly meant when winter came for them.

...

The next morning the Frey girl pulled her out of the bed and with Lenora's mind still muddled from the dream wine the girl was able to undress her, bathe her, and then dress her again before she handed Lenora over to her brother so that he could drag her down to the hall. Lenora wished that her mind had stayed muddled for a bit longer, but it didn't. By the time she arrived outside the hall her mind was sharp again. She was aware of everything. She remembered everything.

The doors to the hall were wide open, but in her mind she could still hear the sound of them slamming closed the night before. She could still feel the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach when she realized they were trapped.

She didn't want to enter, even though she knew that Lord Walder and Lord Bolton would be waiting for her inside. She couldn't go in. This was the last place she had seen Robb. This is where she had watched him fall to the ground and use his last bit of strength to try to reach her. She did not want to go in there now and hear Walder Frey gloat about how he had killed her husband.

She didn't have much of a choice though. Whichever one of Lord Walder's sons stood behind her shoved her in the lower back, "Get in there," he growled at her. "They're waiting for you."

All the bodies had been cleared away, she was thankful for that, though it did not stop her from remembering. She looked to the right and there was the table the Smalljon had thrown overtop Robb to keep him safe from the crossbows above. And there, next to it would have been where he had died, beheaded at the hands of one of Bolton's men. And here where she was standing was where Dacey Mormont had been torn open by Ser Ryman Frey's battle axe.

The hall was a mess. Tables and benches were still overturned, food thrown on the floor. There were no more bodies. Gods, but there was blood. There was a long streak of blood that started near the middle of the room and made its way across the floor toward the doors. Robb her mind realized, her eyes focusing on his blood. She hadn't imagined it, he had tried to crawl and drag himself after her when Lord Bolton carried her from the room.

She must have still been feeling the effects of the dream wine, because she did not cry as she looked at the blood on the floor. Instead she felt only numb. She took a step further into the room and the men seemed to finally notice her.

Lord Walder remained sitting, eating his breakfast. But Lord Bolton stood from where he had been leaning against a table and he inclined his head to her before he walked closer to her. Lenora stiffened, wondering what he planned to do. She watched through narrowed eyes as he stepped around a woman who sat on the floor in front of the high table scrubbing at a large pool of blood on the floor. Catelyn and Lady Frey, Lenora realized as she stared at the blood pool.

Lord Bolton moved slowly, carefully, approaching her as one might approach a wounded animal. He did not need the caution, with her hands chained behind her back and her ankles chained together there was only so little damage she could do. He reached his hand out to her and she knew that if her own hands weren't chained he would have taken her hand, or her elbow. He seemed to falter for a moment before his hand fell on her upper back, just between her shoulder blades.

She flinched away from his touch, taking a small step forward, but his hand followed, "You must be hungry, my Lady," he said, his voice soft.

Lenora turned her head to stare at him in wide-eyed surprise. He could not truly believe that she could eat, especially here where her husband and his men had been massacred the night before. And yet, he guided her through the mess, being careful to stay as far away from Robb's blood streak as he could and brought her to the table in the front that he had been leaning against when she entered the hall. He sat her down and poured her some watered down wine.

She looked at him, her eyebrows raised, as he placed a plate of food in front of her. Everything had already been cut, she had a fork, but no knife. Not that the fork did her much good, her hands were still chained behind her back. Did he mean to feed it to her?

He used the fork to spear a piece of sausage and he brought it toward her lips. He did. She ground her teeth together, pursed her lips, and turned her head away from him. He could try to feed her, but she would have none. Not here.

"You must eat, my Lady," he told her. He had always had a soft, gentle voice. It had never bothered her as much as it bothered her now.

"Not here," she whispered to him, still turned away from the fork and offered food. She wasn't hungry, and any food he tried to force her to eat would only come back up. Surely he could understand that. He sighed, but placed the fork down on the table. He would not force the issue.

Lord Walder laughed at her, shoving another bite of food in his mouth as he did. He had no trouble eating this morning. "The Late Walder Frey, Lord Tully called me that because I didn't get my men to the Trident in time for battle," he told her, cackling in his seat above her. "He thought he was being witty. Heh. Look at us now, Tully! Your daughter's dead, your grandson's dead, your son spent his wedding night in a dungeon, and I'm Lord of Riverrun. Heh."

"The Blackfish still lives," Lenora spoke up, surprised at how strong her voice sounded despite how broken she felt. "The Blackfish still holds Riverrun."

"The Blackfish? Heh. An old man, no allies. I have Tywin Lannister backing me. Who does he have?" Lenora flinched at her grandfather's name, at the reminder that it was her own family who had planned this, who had murdered Robb, and caused her so much pain. Lord Walder studied her for a minute, waiting for her to argue. But she couldn't, he had a point. He nodded when she remained silent. "They all laughed at me," he told her. "All those High Lords. They all thought they were better than me. Ned Stark, Hoster Tully, you girl. People snigger when I marry a young girl, but no one said a word when Jon Arryn married a little Tully bitch."

"You'll be needing a new young girl," Lord Bolton reminded him. During Lord Walder's rant he had walked a slow loop around the hall, but he turned to look at Lord Walder now.

"Yeah," Lord Walder agreed with what Lenora assumed was a smile. "The ninth Lady Frey, perhaps she's in this room now." He leered at Lenora.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, but it was Lord Bolton who spoke up. "No!" his voice sounded. It was much closer than he had been before. Lenora turned to see that he was standing directly behind her now. He placed one of his hands on her shoulders, as if he was her guardian and he was protecting her. "Lord Tywin has specific arrangements for princess Lenora."

"Sending her back to King's Landing, heh, what a waste," Lord Walder told him before he took another bite of food. He did not close his mouth when he chewed. When he spoke bits of food flew out of his mouth and onto the table in front of him. It was sickening. "And you," he said, nodding toward Lord Bolton. He held up his glass, "The Warden of the North!" Lenora flinched, that title was Robb's. Bolton had stolen it from him when he took his life.

So that's what Bolton got for betraying his King, she thought.

"No more Starks to bow and scrape to," Lord Walder continued. "Must have been torture, following that young boy through the country."

Lord Bolton nodded, "He ignored my advice at every turn. If he had been a trifle less arrogant."

"He trusted you!" Lenora bit out, shaking her shoulder to force the man to remove his hand. "He trusted you and you betrayed him."

Lord Walder spoke over her, she was little interest to him now that Lord Bolton had made it clear that she would not become his ninth wife. "He called himself The Young Wolf. Heh. How's that for pomposity?" He grabbed his goblet again and lifted it into the air, "Here's to the Young Wolf!" And then he howled.

Lenora closed her eyes, committing this insult to memory.

"Forever young," Lord Bolton answered Lord Walder's toast.

...

Lenora waited until the two lords had stopped congratulating each other on their shared treason and Lord Bolton had escorted her from the hall before she spoke. When she had been in the hall all of her belongings had been packed and loaded into a wheelhouse. It was waiting in the yard out front. Casterly was waiting behind it.

"Don't get too excited," Lord Bolton warned her as he placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the wheelhouse. "I don't trust you enough to ride yet."

At the steps to the wheelhouse she turned, "You're taking me to King's Landing?" she asked him.

Lord Bolton studied her for a moment before he shook his head. "No," he told her, being honest. "You will go to Winterfell."

"But Winterfell's a ruin," she reminded him.

"A ruin that my bastard is starting to rebuild," he told her.

Lenora watched him, her eyes narrowed. "And what will happen to me at Winterfell?"

Lord Bolton smiled at her, there was something wicked and dangerous about his smile, Lenora recoiled from it. "If all goes according to plan, my Lady, you will still be the future Lady of Winterfell."

-.-.-.-.-

Joffrey

His grandfather had thought it his place to call him to the Tower of the Hand. He was beginning to regret naming his grandfather Hand of the King. His mother had made him do it. She said that he owed it to the old man for saving King's Landing.

He owed it to the man.

A King should never owe a man anything. His father had never owed anyone anything, except maybe Ned Stark, but look how that had turned out. Eddard Stark had betrayed his father, he had spread vicious lies about Joffrey, about his mother and uncle. And he had tried to say that Joffrey was not the true king.

No, a King should never owe anyone anything.

He should have named a lesser man the Hand of the King. Any other man besides his grandfather would have seen the honor in the position. They would have known that they owed their position and power to Joffrey. Instead of owing his grandfather, it would have been Joffrey who was owed something.

Any other man would have come to find Joffrey, not sent for him as if he were not the king of Westeros. His grandfather took too many liberties and it was time that Joffrey put him in his place. He would do it today. He would go to the Tower of the Hand and he would put his grandfather in his place. And Lord Tywin Lannister would never presume to order Joffrey to do anything, or go anywhere, ever again.

He would make sure of it.

But when he arrived at the Tower of the Hand he was surprised to see that he was not alone. His grandfather was there, as well as his mother, Varys, and Grand Maester Pycelle. Joffrey looked around at the majority of his Small Council. "Why am I here?" he asked, hoping he sounded like a powerful and busy king instead of the insolent child he knew his grandfather saw him as. "Grandfather? Mother? I have many things to do, I have a kingdom to run. I cannot waste my time walking to and fro between the Tower of the Hand and my chambers."

He did not miss it when his grandfather rolled his eyes. "We are well aware of that, Your Grace," he said though, very polite. "We would not have requested your presence unless it was of dire importance."

His mother nodded, reaching out for him, "We have a gift for you, sweetling," she promised him. "Very good news."

"Don't call me that, Mother," Joffrey ordered, pulling his hand free from her grasp. "Do you take me for a child? If you want to call someone sweetling go find Tommen, he's always crying for you anyway." He moved away from her and took the empty seat to his grandfather's right, next to the Grand Maester. "Well, what is it?" he asked, looking around the table. "What is this news? I await it eagerly."

His mother and Grand Maester Pycelle were grinning, as if whatever news they had to share was a gift for them as well. His grandfather was a bit quieter in his joy, but even he looked quite proud of himself as he handed over a roll of parchment to him. Only Varys seemed to have a straight face. In fact, the Spider almost looked sorry for whatever news the parchment held.

"I've taken the liberty to reach out to two Houses in the North on your behalf, Your Grace," Tywin told him as he unrolled the parchment. "They previously served House Stark, but now I believe they are ours. And they will remain ours for all of your days."

Joffrey raised his eyebrows at that, that was a large promise, one that his grandfather might find hard to keep. "And how do you know that they are truly ours?" he asked, wanting to seem involved. "How do you know that they are not still loyal to the Starks and only pretending to be loyal to me? I've been reading up on the history of Westeros. It has happened before that way."

"It has, Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle spoke up, "but not this time, I'm sure. They are loyal to you and you alone. They no longer serve the Starks."

"But how do you know?" Joffrey asked again.

"It's all in the letter," his grandfather told him, nodding to the parchment in his hands. "Shall I read it to you, Your Grace?"

"I am quite capable of reading, Grandfather," Joffrey snapped at him. Though truth be told he had always had trouble reading. When he stared at a word the letters got mixed up. He had never told his mother. And he had threatened any tutor who may have wanted to. He stared at the parchment in his hands for a long time, trying to make sense of it.

It was a losing battle, even if the letters hadn't been all mixed up it seemed to be in a code and it made very little sense to him. It seemed as though Lord Walder Frey at the Twins had sent a raven to King's Landing to tell them what his daughter had eaten at her wedding feast and her favorite gift had been. He scoffed, he would do a lot better than trout at his wedding. That was for sure.

He looked up from the parchment at his grandfather and raised his eyebrows. "I suppose this should make sense to me?" he drawled out. "I do wish you wouldn't waste my time and you would simply tell me what I should be so happy about."

"Don't you see it?" Tywin asked him. "We know these two Houses will be loyal to you instead of the Starks because there are no Starks left. Robb Stark and his mother died at the Twins no more than a week past. The North is yours, Your Grace."

"Truly?" Joffrey asked, looking between his grandfather and his mother. He could feel a grin spreading across his lips as he stood up from her chair. "Truly?" he asked again when no one answered him.

Cersei smiled at him, "Truly, my dove," she told him and for once he did not mind the pet name. It did not matter what his mother called him. Robb Stark was dead. Joffrey had killed him. He was King in the North as well as the other six kingdoms. "Your sister is free of the Stark boy and on her way home to us, even now."

Even the news that Lenora was coming back to King's Landing could not dampen Joffrey's good mood. He was no longer angry at his grandfather for summoning him to the Tower of the Hand. He did not begrudge all the steps he'd had to climb. He was not even angry when his uncle Tyrion walked into the chamber.

He grinned at his uncle as he waddled into the room. Tyrion paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows at Joffrey before he began to take his seat, "Killed a few puppies today?" he asked.

Normally Joffrey would have threatened his uncle's tongue for that comment, especially after that farce of a wedding when Tyrion threatened to cut off his manhood. But today he was too happy, too happy to even glare at his monster of an uncle. "Look!" he commanded to his uncle walking around the table so that he could drop the parchment in front of him. "Look at that!" He moved away back toward his mother as his uncle read the note out loud.

"Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding. I am sending you your black lion pet now, though I would have liked to keep it. Signed Walder Frey." He glanced up from the letter, his eyes landing on Joffrey. "Is that bad poetry or is it supposed to mean something?" he asked.

Joffrey's grin widened, he was not the only one who had missed the meaning of the letter the first time he had read it. His uncle thought he was so smart, but he could be stupid. "Robb Stark is dead," he told his uncle, giggling excitedly. "And his bitch mother." He expected his own joy to be mirrored on his uncle's face but all he saw was horror and what looked like disappointment. He turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, the older man smiled at him. That's better, he thought.

"Write back to Lord Frey," he commanded. "Thank him for his service and ask him to send Robb Stark's head." He glanced at his mother, "I'm going to serve it to Sansa at my wedding feast."

"Your Grace," Varys spoke up, Joffrey turned to look at the eunuch, missing the look his mother and grandfather exchanged. "Lady Sansa is your aunt by marriage." The Spider disapproved.

"A joke," his mother assured the man, "Joffrey did not mean it."

Who was she to speak for him? He was the king, she was only the queen regent, and not for much longer. Once he married Margaery his mother would only be the dowager queen. Nothing more. She had no right to speak for him. "Yes, I did," he told her, glaring at her. "I'm going to serve it to Sansa at my feast."

"No!" his uncle spoke up from the end of the table. "She is no longer yours to torment."

Joffrey turned his glare on Tyrion, "Everyone is mine to torment," he growled, walking over so that he could stand over his uncle, glaring down at him. "But if you are so worried about Sansa's delicate sensibilities ... fine, I won't serve it to her." Everyone around the table seemed to relax, he thought he heard his mother sigh in relief. He stood straight, turning to grin at them, "I'll serve it to Lenora instead. She'll be here in time for the feast and he was her husband after all. Don't you agree that she'd want to see him, one last time."

"That is enough," he heard Tywin thunder from the end of the table. "You will serve Robb Stark's head to no one, least of all your sister. I shared this news with you because I believed it important. I believed that you could hear it and handle it as a King should. With grace and humility. I see now that I was wrong."

Joffrey bristled, squaring his shoulders and glaring at his grandfather, "I am the king!" he hissed at the old man. "And if I want Robb Stark's head I shall have it! No one would deny me. I. Am. The. King!" He was so angry that he made every word of his last statement its own distinct statement. How dare his grandfather scold him in front of his Small Council? How were these men going to respect him after they had seen an old man scold him like a small child? All goodwill towards his grandfather was quickly disappearing.

"Any man who must say I am the King is no true king," Tywin told him, his green eyes hard as he stared Joffrey down. "I'll make sure you understand that once I've won your war for you."

Joffrey turned on his grandfather, furious, "My father won the real war!" he yelled at the old man. "He killed Prince Rhaegar! He took the crown! While you hid under Casterly Rock!" The unsaid word coward hung between them, thick and heavy as his grandfather's glare hardened even more.

He glanced down at his mother and even she was glaring at him. She took Tywin's side as well. Joffrey had no one. They were all loyal to Tywin. They all listened to Tywin. He was the king, but Tywin ruled the Seven Kingdoms. In that moment he hated his grandfather, more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.

Tywin regarded him coldly and then he did the cruelest thing he could have ever done. He dismissed him. "The king is tired," Tywin announced, never taking his eyes off Joffrey. "See him to his chambers."

Joffrey shook his head. He was not tired. And he would not be dismissed like that. He would leave only when he was ready. But his mother was standing from her seat and reaching for his hand, ready to pull him from the chamber. "I am not tired!" he yelled, but even now he could tell no one would listen to him.

He was the king, but he had no true power.

Author's Note:

Anybody still here? Do I still have readers? I hope so!
So it's another depressing chapter, made all the more depressing by the fact that my Cavs got their asses handed to them last night. It was depressing as hell. So I decided to depress all of you as well.
Just kidding this was already planned, even before last night's game.
But don't worry ... the Cavs will get their shit together on Sunday night (and so will this story!)
As always ... I would love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter! There's this wonderful empty box down there waiting to hear from you. Drop it a note!
HUGE amounts of gratitude to those who reviewed on yesterday's chapter. You are wonderful!

EternalKnight219: Haha. I would have updated all of them yesterday, but they weren't all edited. Still not. One chapter a day, every other week. That's my method!

writingNOOB: I'm not going to say anything. I'm not going to say anything. I'm keeping my mouth shut. But no, the story wouldn't be the same without the two of them. You are right.

TheHuntresss: Three chapters ... now two. Thank you for giving me the chance!

Arianna Le Fay: You'll just have to wait and see! I don't want to give too much away!

Vandal: Hey! Thank you, I'm glad that you liked the chapter! Unfortunately even though Lenora didn't see it ... Catelyn is dead. I love her, but she's gone.

sltsky96: Two reviews! I love it! And I love that the first one was entirely about Les Mis because you weren't ready to talk about the chapter yet. That really made me happy.
I mean looking back, I'm completely happy with who I got to play. Fantine was hard because she's completely motivated by this intense love she has for her daughter and as a 16 year old, I didn't necessarily understand that. And I was most excited to perform Pretty Ladies with her, but the descent into prostitution isn't exactly something the school board was down with so the most interesting and complex part of her story I didn't even get to touch on. But Enjolras, I could understand him. He so desperately and purely wanted to change the world that he didn't even care if he was there to see it when it was over. I could get behind that.
And then when Aaron Tveit played him in 2012 ... well I could get behind that. (He's on my list of five ... the people I'm allowed to cheat on my husband with. Husband approved. And he's a Cavs fan ... so extra points for that.)
Anyways ... the story: honestly killing Dacey and Smalljon was harder than killing Robb. I didn't mention Dacey very much because she wasn't going to play a huge role, but I love her as a character. I love all the Mormont women they're so tough and wonderful and I adore them. So it was hard to kill her. And I just like Umbers so those were hard deaths.
I will say this, if Robb survives, his lonely soul will be very haunted. And hopefully it will be amazing!

darkwolf76: Don't worry about missing any chapters ... you're back! That's all that matters. You are so sweet! It's an honest delight to hear that the last chapter was was one of the best chapters I've written so far. That's fantastic news. Seriously and truly. Thank you.
WHY DID I HAVE TO DO THAT TO YOU? Because it was important. It had to happen. I tried to do it as painlessly as possible ... actually that's a lie. I was aware it was going to hurt. It hurt me to write it.
As for how you see it going ... I can't tell you. It'll give too much away. But I've been leaving some hints here and there. But to answer your question ... no I cannot tell you 100% that Robb is dead. But I cant' tell you 100% that he's alive either.
At least I have one reader that will stick around wherever I take this story! Thank you!

janaoliver: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed it! I hope this chapter did not disappoint!

merlin1989: Thank you! Though you should've waited three more chapters.

Mattia18: Well no matter what happens, there will be drama. I promise you that.

DannyBlack70: Oh don't hate me! I'm only trying to give you guys the best story I could think of. And you noticed it did you? If anyone else noticed it they did not mention it. :D

That's all I've got my friends.
See you back here tomorrow!
Chloe Jane.