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Chapter Fifty-Four: Running with Wolves

Cersei

"Where is she?" Cersei asked her father as she walked into his solar unannounced. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream. But her father would not respond to yells or screams. He would not respond to her tears or her anger. She had learned that many years ago. As angry as she was, her father would only respond to her if she stayed calm. He would only respond if she stayed respectful.

Not that storming into his solar unannounced was particularly calm or respectful. But with Jaime missing her father had at least become accustomed to the behavior. He looked up from the map he had been studying, his eyebrows arched. "Good morning, Cersei," he told her, ignoring her question as he turned back to his map.

Cersei felt a growl rising at the back of her throat, like the lion everyone said she was. She walked further into the room, picking up a dagger from her father's desk as she moved toward the table he was standing at. She slammed the dagger into the map, "Where is my daughter?" she growled at him, looking up at her father with narrowed eyes.

His green eyes landed on the blade sticking out of the map, he did not look amused when he lifted his gaze up to meet her own. "In the North, I would imagine," he told her, his voice flat and almost defeated.

"What is she doing up there?" Cersei hissed at him. "Still? Walder Frey sent a raven a fortnight ago. She should be here now, or at the very least have been spotted in the Crown Lands. None of our scouts have seen her. Where is she?"

Her father looked down, as if he was ashamed. And with that one look Cersei had her answer. She snorted, a derisive sound, "You lost her." It wasn't a question. The fact that her father could not meet her eye was enough to tell her the truth of it. Her father had lost Lenora. She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "All your planning! All your scheming! All your secrets and betrayals! I begged you to be let into your plans and you refused. You said I could not help you because I am not half as smart as I think I am. But look at you!" she stepped back from the table, gesturing at him with both hands, "You lost my daughter. Perhaps it is you, Father, who is not half as smart as you think you are."

Tywin did not look amused when he lifted his gaze to meet hers. Their eyes were so similar. The same green, the same golden flakes, the same determined glare. The same disappointment shining heavy in their eyes. She wondered who was more disappointed. The daughter who had finally come to realize that her father did not have all the answers, or the father who now knew that his daughter, his fiercest supporter, had lost her faith in him.

"Walder Frey sent another raven last week. He said that when Roose Bolton loaded Lenora into a wheelhouse they traveled north instead of south."

"And Walder Frey did not think to try to stop him?" Cersei growled at him.

Tywin snorted, "The Late Walder Frey?" he asked her, chuckling darkly as if she had told a joke. "That's what Hoster Tully used to call him. Walder Frey will not do anything unless he is sure that it will be beneficial to him."

"And saving my daughter would not be beneficial?" she asked her father, glaring at the spot on the map where the Twins stood. As if she could make Walder Frey pay for what he had done with her glare.

"He already killed Robb Stark for us," Tywin scolded her. "What more could you ask of him?"

"Loyalty, perhaps," Cersei fired back. "He was rewarded for killing Robb Stark and he would have been rewarded for returning Lenora when it became clear that Roose Bolton had no intentions of doing so. I would have rewarded him, even if you didn't."

"He would not have won against Bolton," Tywin told her with a sigh. "And Walder loves nothing more than his own sagging skin. He would not risk his neck for any reward in the Seven Kingdoms."

Cersei shook her head, "But he has risked his neck," she argued. "Certainly he cannot imagine that we will let this go. That we will forgive him for standing by when Roose Bolton stole our princess. I want him executed. I want his head."

Tywin sighed, no doubt finding her overly dramatic. But for perhaps the first time in her life she did not care what her father thought of her. "And do you mean to take it yourself?" he asked her. "Because I will not waste my time or resources going after a man who is like to die in the near future."

Cersei stared at her father in disbelief, "You would let him have an honorable death after he let your granddaughter fall into an enemy's trap?" she asked him. "You would let him be buried with honor and with his ancestors? You would let him die as the Lord of Riverrun? She is your granddaughter! Your blood! And you will just let this go?"

Tywin looked away from her, as if he was finished with the conversation, "I have other grandchildren," he told her.

Cersei slapped him. She hadn't planned to, if she had thought about it perhaps she would not have lashed out at him. But she didn't think, she acted. She stared at her hand, horrified, after she pulled it away from his cheek. "How could you?" she asked him, feeling something she had never felt before. Even when she was younger and her father had practically sold her to Robert Baratheon she had never felt as though he had betrayed her.

But now, now she felt betrayed. "She is my daughter," she told him, as if she could sway him with her pleas. "My firstborn daughter."

Tywin chuckled, low and dark, "Yes," he sneered at her. "And everyone in our family understands just how much that meant to you when she was first born."

Cersei sighed, looking away from him, "That was a mistake," she told her father. "I have never hurt her since. I would never hurt her. But we don't know what Roose Bolton will do to her. And she's with him now, somewhere in the North. And your army is still here where it can do her no good."

"My army is exactly where it needs to be," Tywin snapped at her, no doubt irritated that she dared to question his tactics. "I mean to use it to win this war. And in doing so I will teach Roose Bolton what it means to steal from a Lannister." He shook his head, "You wouldn't understand this," he started.

"But Jaime would?" Cersei interrupted.

Tywin chuckled, "No," he told her, "Jaime has been wrapped around that girl's finger since the day she was born, since the moment he held her in his arms. He wouldn't understand it. But Lenora would, she would understand."

"Lenora?" Cersei echoed, raising her eyebrows.

Tywin nodded, "She would understand. She would know that she was not as important as the war. If I sent my army after Bolton to reclaim your daughter I might risk losing this war. But if I use my army to put down Stannis Baratheon once and for all, to put an end to any small bands of northerners who still want to fight in the Young Wolf's name, to root out every last Ironborn and send them back to their forsaken islands ... by doing that I can win the Seven Kingdoms for your son and save your daughter."

"But what if it's too late?" Cersei asked him. "What if they do something to Lenora?"

"That is a risk I must take," Tywin told her. His voice had been hard, but he paused now and the next time he spoke his voice was softer, kinder. "Much as I care for your daughter, Cersei, you must think of the family. Of our family. We have a Lannister king on the throne."

"Baratheon," Cersei cut in out of habit.

Tywin rolled his eyes, "Yes, Baratheon. With Lannister blood in his veins. And a stronger loyalty to our House than House Baratheon. Whatever his family name, Joffrey is a Lannister king. One with a tenuous grip on the throne. He must be our first priority. I did not marry you to Robert Baratheon for nothing. I have worked too long and too hard for this. Some northern lord in the middle of nowhere will not take it from me."

"From Joffrey," Cersei corrected him. Though it was not much of a correction. She was finally seeing her father for what he truly was. He did not care about her, or even Jaime. He did not care about Lenora, Joffrey, or any of her other children. Perhaps he did not even care about himself. He cared about the family name. He cared about their House. He cared about Lannister, but gave very little thought to those who bore the name.

When she was younger he had told her about her grandfather Tytos. He had been harsh in his censure of his father. He told her that Tytos Lannister had cared too much for his family, too much for the people who made it up. He was too soft. He would have let House Reyne have their revolt against House Lannister. He would have let them rise above House Lannister even. It was then that Tywin had determined that when he was the head of House Lannister and the Lord of Casterly Rock he would never be soft like his father.

And he had gotten his wish.

But it made him every bit as monstrous as the Mad King.

She narrowed her eyes into a glare. "You better bring her back to me, Father," she hissed at him. "Or even the Mother above will not show you mercy." Then without another word she swept from the chamber.

-.-.-.-.-

Sansa

She was used to their laughter. It had followed her through the corridors ever since they had executed her father. It had only intensified since she had been forced to marry the Imp. But it was nothing she couldn't handle. She was a wolf. And wolves were brave. She would be brave too.

But this was different. It wasn't laughing. She was being followed by whispers now. Whispers that stopped the moment she approached people. She assumed that it was because she and Tyrion had still not consummated. She knew that her maids checked their sheets every morning. She knew that they whispered to the queen that they were clean every morning.

She assumed that they had whispered to others as well. No doubt the entire castle knew that she was still a maiden. She wondered what they whispered. Were they whispering that she was still untouched because the Imp disgusted her? Or did they assume that it was because she was some how repulsive to the dwarf?

It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. At least a little bit. She couldn't bear to think that people thought she displeased her new husband in any way. Whatever they were, he was lucky to have her.

And perhaps she was lucky to have him as well.

But whatever they were whispering, they weren't going to share it with her. No one. Except for Joffrey. He found her in the garden. "Lady Sansa," he greeted her, smiling almost kindly at her as he approached her.

She wanted to turn around. She wanted to run away from him. But she knew better. Running would only make him follow her. Whatever he wanted to tell her, whatever cruelty he wanted to lay at her feet he would do it. It would only be worse if she made him wait.

She forced a smile onto her lips as she turned to look at him. "Your Grace," she greeted him, sounding happier than she felt. "It's a beautiful afternoon, isn't it?"

Joffrey nodded as he came to stand next to her, "Yes," he agreed, holding out his arm to her so that he could lead her through the gardens. Sansa hesitated for just a moment, he chuckled. "Come now, my Lady," he chided her. "You are married to my uncle. You're family now. We can walk together through the gardens."

She nodded and placed her hand in his. "Of course, Your Grace," she agreed. She did her best not to look at him. He had always liked her meek. She had quickly learned that he was harsher with her when she seemed confident and brave.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. And just when Sansa began to think that she was safe Joffrey turned to her. "You must allow me to express my deepest sympathies, my Lady," he told her, letting the smile drop from his lips.

Sansa turned to him her eyebrows raised, "For what, Your Grace?" she asked him.

He looked surprised. His eyes widened, his brows lifted, his lips slightly parted. He was the picture of complete shock. But Sansa knew his face well enough to know that it was all an act. Whatever he was apologizing for he knew that she didn't know about it. He was pretending to be surprised because it was part of his act, part of his game.

It was what he did.

And she was his plaything.

"Surely they would have told you," he mused. "Immediately. I thought that I was remiss that I took too long to speak to you and give you my sympathies. I have known for days."

Sansa shook her head, she wanted to tell him to get on with whatever it was he wanted to tell her. But she couldn't be rude. No matter what she thought of him, not matter who she was married to, no matter how many promises Tyrion could make about keeping her safe from Joffrey ... he was her king. And she was his prisoner. She could not be rude. "Your Grace," she started, still not making eye contact with him. "Please. Whatever news you have for me, I would rather you give it to me right away." It had finally occurred to her that whatever Joffrey was hinting at could be what everyone had been whispering about in the castle. "Please tell me," she begged.

Joffrey sighed, as if he would rather be anywhere than with her. As if he would rather be doing anything than sharing this news with her. But there was a cruel sparkle in his eyes, no matter how much he pretended to be the kind, caring king - he was enjoying it.

"As you wish, my Lady," he told her. He paused for just a moment, "It would seem that you have lost more than you can imagine, my Lady."

Sansa shook her head, uncomprehending. She could not understand what he meant by saying that she had lost more than she could imagine. She had lost Lady, she had lost her father, her sister was missing and probably dead, Bran and Rickon were dead, Winterfell was in ruins. She had already lost so much. Who was this boy to speak to her about loss? He didn't know the meaning of the word.

"Your mother and brother," he told her. He looked sympathetic enough, but his lips turned up slightly at the corners. There was that glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this. And in that moment Sansa knew what he had come there to tell her. She knew it. But a small, childish part of her would not believe it, not until she heard it.

She just wished that she didn't need to hear it from Joffrey.

"What about my mother and brother?" she asked him, her voice flat and cold. She was too busy building up a wall so that she could hide behind it when he gave her the news that she did not call him Your Grace. Normally that would have made him angry with her, but today it seemed to make him smirk. As if he knew why she had forgotten the courtesy.

"Well, they're dead," he told her with no preamble. "They've been dead almost a fortnight."

She had promised herself that she would be ready for whatever it was he wanted to tell her. She had promised herself that she would not cry. But with the casual way he had told her ... it broke her.

She felt tears spring to her eyes as she turned to look at Joffrey, her steps faltering. Her mouth fell open and she stared at him as he smiled serenely down at her. "They're dead?" she echoed, wishing she could do anything other than parrot his words back to him. She shook her head, "No," she told him, as if her denial could change the news he was sharing. "No, they can't be."

Joffrey nodded at her, his smiling widening. "I am sorry, my Lady," he told her. He doesn't look sorry at all, she thought to herself.

"How?" she asked him. She didn't want to hear it, but she needed to. She was a wolf, she was the last wolf. She needed to hear what had happened to her family.

Joffrey's smile widened, "Lord Walder Frey betrayed them," he told her. "When they went to the Twins for your uncle Edmure's wedding. There was a massacre, the Freys and the Boltons attacked your brother's men. They killed them in the hall and outside at the camp. They killed your brother. Your mother slashed Lady Frey's throat, but one of Lord Walder's sons got their revenge. Only Lenora survived. She should be on her way here now." He paused, looking down on her. "I apologize, my Lady," he told her once again. She wondered if he was tired of apologizing to her. "I am being cruel. You do not want to hear this."

She did not, but once again she reminded herself that even if she did not want to hear it, she needed to. She shook her head, blinking her tears back. "Who killed my brother?" she asked.

Joffrey smiled, he was pleased that she wanted to hear more. "Some unknown crossbow men started the deed," he told her. "But my grandfather tells me that the final blow came from Lord Bolton, a knife to the stomach."

Lord Bolton had been Robb's bannerman. It was against the laws of Gods and man to betray your liege lord. Her father would have executed him for his crimes. But her father was dead. And it was unlikely that the Lannisters would do anything to the Boltons, especially because he had served them.

Not too many months ago it had been a battle of five kings, but now they were down to two. Joffrey and Stannis. First Renly had died, than the King of the Iron Islands, and now her brother. She took a deep shuddering breath, "And what did Lord Bolton get in exchange for killing his king?" she asked, trying to keep the pain out of her voice.

Robb was a traitor, after all, her mother too. She could not be seen mourning them. No matter how much she wanted to. Joffrey smiled, "Winterfell," he told her. Her gaze lifted quickly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out if he was lying to her or not. She could not bear the thought of her brother's murderer living in Winterfell.

Joffrey shrugged, "He's been named Warden of the North, at least until you have a son."

Sansa nodded. Joffrey watched her, his eyes flashing cruelly in the sunlight. Sansa looked away from him, unable to look him in the eyes. But she couldn't look at the gardens surrounding them either. She could barely remember earlier that morning when she had started her stroll and she had thought that it was a beautiful day.

Joffrey had stolen the beauty of the day. Just as he had stolen the beauty of King's Landing. Just as he had stolen all the beauty and joy from her life.

She forced herself to turn back to Joffrey, "Will you please excuse me, Your Grace?" she asked him. She knew that he would not want to let her go, he would want to keep her with him to hurt her. He would only let her go if he thought someone else would humiliate her. She swallowed thickly, "I must attend on my husband."

...

She did not attend on Tyrion. In fact she did not see much of Tyrion for a few days. He must have known that she knew what had happened. He must have seen the red rimming her eyes. And he had given her space. She would be forever grateful for that. She would not have been able to hold it together if the Imp had tried to talk to her about her family.

He stopped giving her space after three days. Three days of not eating, three days of not sleeping, three days of barely leaving their chambers. That was all he gave her. On the third day he approached her, she was sitting out on their balcony with Shae as her handmaiden tried to force her to eat something.

"Pigeon pie," Shae suggested, placing a pie in front of Sansa. Her sweet handmaiden had been trying to get her to eat since she had returned to the chambers sobbing about what Joffrey had told her. But she had no success.

"No thank you," Sansa told her without even looking at her friend.

"Lemon cakes?" she asked, trading out the pie for the sweet cakes that Sansa used to love.

"No thank you," Sansa told her again. She couldn't look at the food, she couldn't look at Shae. She glared at the table top in front of her.

"You love lemon cakes!"

Sansa's gaze flitted to the girl for a brief moment, narrowing into a glare, "No thank you."

"Tell her she needs to eat," Shae ordered, causing Sansa to truly look up for the first time. She hadn't noticed Tyrion walk out onto the balcony.

Her husband sighed, "My Lady," he said, his voice soft and gentle as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly would scare her off. "You do need to eat."

"I don't want to eat," she told him. She could not understand how nobody understood that. She couldn't eat, she didn't want to eat. The thought of eating, of surviving when her entire family was dead was impossible for her to comprehend.

He sent her handmaidens away and took a seat beside her, reaching for her hand. "I can't let you starve," he told her, his voice still gentle. "I swore to protect you."

Protect me? Sansa thought, almost scoffing as she pulled her hand out of his grasp. How could he protect her when every day his family seemed to profit from the death and destruction of her own? How could he protect her when she couldn't even let him touch her? How could he protect her when he was a Lannister and she was a Stark?

He sighed, he did not like that she had pulled away from him, but he did not yell at her as Joffrey would have done. He was kind, gentle even. "My Lady," he continued, still being formal. She wondered if he was doing that for her. "I am your husband, let me help you."

There was no helping her. Especially him. "How can you help me?" she asked him, curious to how he planned to do so.

"I don't know," he admitted to her. She could tell that he did not like being this helpless. Tyrion Lannister was not used to being at a loss. "But I can try."

She gave a curt shake of her head, "I lie awake at night thinking about them," she admitted to him. "Thinking about how they died. Staring at the canopy, seeing them."

"I could get you essence of nightshade to help you sleep," Tyrion suggested.

She didn't want to sleep. "Do you know what they did to my brother?" she asked him instead. "How they sewed his direwolf's head onto his body? And my mother, they say they cut her throat to the bone and threw her in the river."

Tyrion sighed again, his small hand lifted, as if he would reach for her again, but she quickly moved her hand off the table. He dropped his hand. "What happened to your family was a terrible crime," he told her. She wanted to laugh at him, it was a terrible crime that his family had profited from. "I did not know your brother, but he seemed like a good man," he continued. "An honest man, an honorable one. But I did know your mother. I admired her. She wanted to have me executed, but I admired her. She was a strong woman. And she was fierce when it came to protecting her children."

She could feel tears filling her eyes as she listened to him. She knew the truth of every word he said. "Sansa," he started, using her name for the first time since she had learned the news. "Your mother would have wanted you to carry on. You know it's true."

Sansa sniffed back some of her tears, she couldn't hear this anymore. She would never know what her mother wanted anymore because she wasn't there. She was dead. All so that Cersei could have her precious daughter back and Joffrey could feel more secure on his ugly throne. She had liked Lenora when she first met her. But now, after what had happened to her family. She wanted the girl to suffer, just as her brother had.

She excused herself stating that she wanted to go to the Godswood. Tyrion had nodded, excusing her. He told her that she should go, that perhaps the prayer would help. But she didn't pray anymore. The Gods didn't listen to her prayers now, perhaps they never had. She didn't go to the Godswood to pray, she went there so that people would leave her alone.

In the Godswood there were no whispers. There were no apologetic looks. There was no one trying to force her to eat.

She was alone there.

As she always would be now.

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

She was losing weight. She could feel it in the way her dresses hung on her. She could see it in the way Roose Bolton watched her carefully, as if he was worried that she would disappear before his very eyes. She would have found his concern kind if she hadn't been so afraid of him. If she hadn't been so angry with him.

He was not patent with her, not as he would have been if she were still his queen. He didn't yell, she wondered if the quiet, deadly man was capable of yelling. But when he led her from one place to another his grip was not gentle, each morning he would practically shove her into the wheelhouse. He brought her food every morning to break her fast and supper every evening.

He did not trust her enough to unchain her hands, but at least after the first week he had agreed to allow her hands to be chained in front of her, instead of twisted behind her back. The food was already cut before he arrived, he would not allow knives or blades near her.

The first few days he had force fed her the food. He had left it for her the first evening once they had left the Twins. But when it became clear to him that she was not eating in some sort of protest. Then he had started forcing her to eat.

For days Lenora had allowed him to force feed her. She was never hungry, she chewed mechanically, she swallowed when she was done. She opened her mouth for another bite of food that she couldn't taste. And then it hit her, this food was keeping her alive. She didn't want to be alive. But whenever Lord Bolton fed her he fed her an entire plate.

So one day she picked up her fork on her own and fed herself a bite. The man had looked surprised, his hand still reaching out as if he thought that she would not continue eating. But she brought another bite to her mouth. And another. And another. After a few bites she laid her fork down. She could not force any more down on her own. If Roose Bolton wanted her to eat more he would have to feed it to her.

But it seemed the man was pleased with her feeding herself. He did not force anything else on her.

So each day she continued to feed herself, though never very much. She wondered if Lord Bolton would eventually start feeding her again, when he realized that she never intended to finish the plate. When he realized that she was eating just enough to soothe his worries, but not enough to sustain life for very long.

She had given up on life. That much was clear to Lenora, though perhaps not to those around her. All the fire from the first night, all her promises to her Frey chaperone that she would get her revenge, it was all gone. She couldn't think of revenge. She couldn't think of her hatred. She couldn't think of her anger. All she could think of was how empty she felt.

Robb had once promised her that if something happened to him she would know how to keep living, even without him. He had promised her that she would be stronger without him. But he had been wrong. She didn't know how to live without him. She was not stronger. She was a ghost of herself. She didn't care about what was going on around her, she did not care where Lord Bolton planned to take her. She didn't care about anything, she wasn't capable of caring about anything.

Robb had also promised her that he would never leave her.

He had been wrong about that too.

He had lied about that.

He had left her alone, surrounded by enemies. If Lenora could have felt anger she would have been angry at him for leaving her. She would have been angry with their enemies for saving her life. She would have been angry at her grandfather for giving them the option of keeping her alive. She would have hated them at all.

But she was too tired for all that. She was too cold for all that. She was too broken for all that. She was too full of pain. She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to live.

But all that changed one morning as they got closer to Moat Cailin. If she had cared enough she might have asked Lord Bolton how he planned to get passed the Moat and into the North. But she didn't care. He still had her trapped in the wheelhouse. So she sat by the window, ignoring Fat Walda Frey, ignoring her Bolton guard. Her forehead was pressed against the glass, her eyes looked out at the landscape, but she was not seeing much of anything.

Fat Walda was speaking, her voice surprisingly high pitched for such a large woman. It hurt Lenora's head to listen to the woman. She sighed, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead closer to the glass, as if she could somehow escape the woman. The wheelhouse bumped and she opened her eyes for just a moment and she saw it.

A flash of grey moving through the trees.

"What is it, my Lady?" Lady Walda asked her, watching Lenora in concern when the girl sat up straight, her neck craning as she she pressed her cheek against the glass in an attempt to get a better view out the window. "Did you see something?"

"I thought," Lenora started, but she let her voice drift away. She couldn't have seen what she thought she saw, there was no possible way. She did not want to admit her stupidity, even to someone as stupid as Walda Frey. She didn't know Walda Frey, but she assumed the woman was a dolt. How else could she think being married to Lord Bolton was a good thing.

"You thought what, my Lady?" she pressed, not about to let it go. "What did you see?"

"A wolf," Lenora told her, her voice little more than a quiet whisper. "I saw a wolf."

"Well, that's nothing to be alarmed at," Lady Walda told her, settling back into her seat. "There are wolves all over the North. You know that, you've spent enough time here to know that."

She was right, Lenora knew that there were wolves in the North. She had spent enough time running with them to know that. It was this particular wolf that was alarming. "It was grey," she murmured.

"What, my Lady?" Lady Walda asked, she hadn't caught Lenora's whispered statement.

Lenora glanced away from the window for just a moment to level Lady Walda with a narrow-eyed glare. "Nothing," she told her before she turned back to the window. It had been so fast, the animal moved too quickly. But it had looked grey. And she swore that it had turned a golden eyed glance her way.

But it wasn't possible.

Lord Bolton had kept her from seeing it, but she had heard his soldiers talking about what they had done to Robb's body. She had heard them whispering that they had beheaded Grey Wind and sewed the wolf's head on to Robb's shoulders. They had paraded his body around the castle, chanting and celebrating.

She had heard them whispering about it.

So it was not possible that Grey Wind was still alive, that he was running through the woods, keeping pace with Lord Bolton's men.

It wasn't possible.

But the wolf had been so much bigger than a usual wolf. It's head larger. She had spent enough time with direwolves to know the shape of their head.

She was sure that the wolf was a direwolf.

But that wasn't possible either.

And yet, it was enough to give her hope. She wasn't sure what she was hoping for. But she was hoping for something. That evening when Lord Bolton brought her supper she ate every bite. He glanced at her, smirking a bit in pride.

But it wasn't for him, that she ate her food. And it wasn't even for her. It was for the hope of it. It was for the direwolf that she was still sure that she had seen running through the woods.

It was for the hope that perhaps one day she would learn how to survive. That she would be the woman that Robb had described to her not that long ago. If Grey Wind had somehow managed to survive then so could Lenora. And together they could get their revenge.

The next day she ate every bite of food he gave her in the morning and every bite of food he gave her in the evening.

And the next day.

And the next day.

And with every bite of food and every day she grew stronger.

With this strength her anger and her fire slowly began to return.

She would get her revenge.

She knew it now.

Author's Note:

Short chapter today, but I hope it was a good one.
What did you guys think? Did you enjoy it? I hope so! You should let me know by popping down to that lovely box down there and writing a review! I love reviews!
They make me happy!
Huge thank you to all of you who have added this story to their alerts or favorites lists (of both!). But an even bigger thanks to those who review.
You're the ones who keep this story going.
I hope you know that!

sltsky96: Two reviews again! I love it! I really do. Now let's get down to business (to defeat the Huns...) First of all I am super jealous of you ... and of course he goes to church with his family when he visits ... because he's like the sweetest man in the world.
ANYWAYS the story! I'm sorry it's hurting you my friend. I'd say it was never my intention, but it was always my intention to hurt you guys (just a bit) I'm of the school where emotional pain is a good thing. It makes happy(ish) endings sweeter in the end. And I'm glad that the story I've written so far is "too good to give up now" that makes my heart happy.
Whatever happens, don't worry ... Lenora will have a satisfyingly (probably) bloody end for her story.
And yes, as for your second review ... I can fully confirm Roose is being a scheming little shit like he always is. I both love him and hate him for the predictability of his complete lack of loyalty.

Alice Williams: Holding out hope are you? That's okay. You are more than welcome to do that, though I won't make any promises about what happens until tomorrow. You're thoughts on Grey Wind are very interesting ... did this chapter help confirm them for you? Or deny them? She will get revenge, I will promise you that. As for the Boltons ...

Mattia18: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one too. As for your doubt about Roose Bolton ... there's a conversation a couple chapters in the future that will explain his thought process, but I'll give you a bit to think about. Roose is banking that the North will regain control of Moat Cailin. There has never been an army (except one with dragons) that successfully attacked the moat from the south. All of the Lannister men are in the south. So even if he makes Tywin an enemy ... there's very little Tywin will be able to do.

Lauren220820: Thank you for giving me the chance! I promise you won't regret it! I pinky swear (and I hold those things dear!). I'm glad you've enjoyed the story as a whole so far and I hope that you continue to enjoy it!

DannyBlack70: I'm glad you don't hate me! I would love to write you guys a story where Robb's fuck ups don't lead to his death. But the lovable, honorable dumb ass just makes too many mistakes. I've laid a lot of hints about what I'm doing, so I bet you probably do know. You'll have to tell me after tomorrow's chapter. As for the part with Arya, you've got to keep in mind: it's dark, it's chaotic, she's just come back from being knocked unconscious ... so she could be confused ...

WritingNOOB: Another two reviews club member! I adore it! I like that the second one is like Oh my god! I have another thought! Anyway ... Keep reading, I know it's hard. But you might be happy you did come tomorrow. Or not ... depends on what you may be rooting for.
I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, even though I did not officially confirm anything. And I didn't do it again in this one. Grey Wind might be a hint.
Lord Tywin won't remarry her, I promise. And whatever happens, despite how broken and lost she was in this chapter, she's found her will again. She'll fight. And when her uncles come back into her life ... they'll help.
As for your second review, see the point above. :D

ZabuzasGirl: Thank you! Here's your new chapter! I hope you enjoy!

HPuni101: And the roller coaster just keeps going up and down. I won't make any promises about Robb (yet, possibly not ever) but as for Lenora and the Boltons ... you'll have to wait and see. I think I dropped hints about this way back in one of the 20-29ish chapters.

Arianna Le Fay: As of this point she will not be raped by the Boltons. I'm not a fan of writing rapes. But I'm also not a fan of sending a fourteen year old Sansa Stark back home and letting her be tortured by Ramsay either. Lenora's better equipped to handle herself I think. As for Winterfell ... you will have to wait and see for why they're bringing her there. It'll be revealed in a couple chapters. Promise.

Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967: I'm glad! Hope you loved this chapter too!

DannyRangerPhantom: I am currently sitting on my front porch with a glass of wine cackling at the thought that anyone would think I'm as evil as GRRM. I think I scared the mailman. Don't worry, GRRM has a way of killing every character that has more good qualities than bad. I'm not that bad. I like stories that end as happily as possible, where the bad guys get their dues, and where handsome princes get their asses saved by beautiful princesses. Sooooo, basically I like fairytales because none of those things happen in real life.
Anyway as for the Boltons ... I can't make any promises, except that whatever happens to Lenora she will get her revenge. She may not be full Lannister, but she's part. And Lannisters always pay their debts, and Lenora will pay them back double. I'm glad you love her though! It's hard to make fandoms love OCs especially when there's so many lovable and familiar characters already.

janaoliver: You're welcome! I hope you're just as excited to read this update as well!

BrittStar1199: You know you're the first person to tell me they're glad I went through with the Red Wedding. Thank you for that! Everyone was all worried about it, but I think it was one of my best chapters so far.

Guest1995: Yes! Sunday is the day you guys are all waiting for. Sunday I may keep a lot of readers or lose them. We'll see tomorrow! She was supposed to go back to King's Landing, that was what Tywin planned. But Roose had other plans. You'll learn why in a couple of chapters.

SWAG12: I'm glad it's getting good! I hope it stays good! Thank you for your review! And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well. (There was a lot of hoping in this response... I should find a new word!)

darkwolf76: Good, I like you, but I'm glad it broke your heart. If there's a GoT story that doesn't break your heart a few times... it's not trying hard enough. As for Grey Wind ... hmmm you will just have to wait and see. I might not be telling you guys something.
As for Lenora and the Boltons, everyone is super worried about that. Which I take as a compliment to my ability to create a very engaging OC. But with the self congratulations aside ... it's time to start to bring Jon back into the story. And I promised you guys a Battle of the Bastards. I'm not going to let him fight that fight alone. So Lenora's got to get her ass up north.
Tywin has a lot affection for Lenora, and I hope in this chapter I was able to at least display a bit of his regret and disappointed that he had been outplotted by Bolton. But at the same time he is still a man trying to keep his family in control of the Seven Kingdoms. He can't do that if he sends his men after Bolton and Lenora right away. At the moment Bolton is safe.
I'm glad you liked the Joffrey scene! It's such a horrible scene and I thought about telling it from Tyrion's point of view. And letting you guys see the complete and utter disgust he has for his nephew. But at the same time I wanted to give you guys a bit of an emotional breather. The last couple chapters have been pretty intense ... so I went with Joffrey's point of view instead. Still a horrible scene, just made a bit easier by being told through the words of an insolent little teenage bitch.

Damn guys! (Excuse the language, but ...) DAMN. You spend all this time telling me not to kill Robb and then I do and seventeen of you review on one chapter!
I should kill characters more often ... just kidding.
(Or am I?)
Anyway, that's all I've got for today my dears. Time to get back to my annual reading of Les Miserables. We're coming up on June 5 & 6 and musical nerds and french history buffs know what that means: June Rebellion time!
TO THE BARRICADES! (of freedom!)
Chloe Jane.