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I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.

Here we go, Sunday. Game day. And my deadline. For those of you who trusted me and gave me three chapters to decide if you were going to stick around after the Red Wedding. I thank you, and hope you'll still be here at the end of this chapter.

...

Don't you dare peek!

Chapter Fifty-Five: The Wolf Smiled

Jaime

His return to King's Landing was anticlimactic to tell it true. He had assumed that his father would have Lannister scouts roaming around the Crown Lands looking for him, but if Tywin had done that, none of the men would have looked at him twice. He was intelligent enough to know that.

If anyone was looking for him they were looking for a tall, golden haired knight in either white or gold plate. A sword in his hand. Any man looking for Jaime Lannister would not have given a second thought about this man. This stooped, dirty creature with a wild, desperate look in his eyes and dulled yellow hair matted with dirt and sweat. This man with a sling on his right arm, keeping his stump elevated, and only one hand to his name.

His useless left hand.

Now that Brienne was dressed as a man again they would more likely think that she was Jaime Lannister than the wretched man who rode beside her.

When they reached the city walls Jaime was vague about who he was. The guards of the City Watch did not need to know his name and he did not need the humiliation he would feel when they looked at his stump and realized that the Jamie Lannister was about as useless in a fight now as Brienne's wooden sword had been against her bear.

When it came out that Jaime Lannister had lost his sword hand he wondered what new name the people would call him. Would they still call him Kingslayer even though he would never be able to kill a man again? Would it be worse than Kingslayer? Jaime could not imagine a worse name than that, but he was sure that if given enough time the smallfolk would come up with one.

He scoffed to himself, shaking his head. There was nothing worse than Kingslayer. Let the people call him whatever they wanted. It would never be worse, never be more shameful than what they were already calling him.

Brienne turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised. She was concerned about him, worried about him. She had been kinder to him since they left Harrenhal. He didn't know whether it was because he had told her the story behind Aerys' death or if it was because he had saved her. He hoped that it was because he had saved her. He didn't want her gratitude, but he would rather that than her sympathy.

He met her gaze and shrugged his shoulders, a soft, quiet gesture to let her know that he was alright. That he wasn't going mad or anything like that. Her blue eyes narrowed and she continued to study him. He sighed and looked away, she could look at him all she wanted, he did not have to look at her though.

Instead he studied the city around them. The signs and scars of the battle with Stannis were everywhere. Parts of the city walls were still black from Tyrion's wildfire. Three catapults still stood in one of the squares. Houses and buildings were destroyed. There were poor, hungry people everywhere.

Jaime supposed that it should not have surprised him. There were always poor, starving people in King's Landing. But the war had driven more in than usual. He wondered if Joffrey was doing anything to alleviate their suffering. He suspected not, the boy had always been a selfish, spoiled child. He doubted putting a crown on his head had solved that problem.

Brienne stared, turning her wide-eyed gaze away from Jaime so that she could look at the streets they were riding up. She's never seen King's Landing, Jaime realized with a start. He looked at the street with more open eyes, imagining what they looked like to a newcomer. It was a depressing sight. But that was never new. King's Landing had always been a disappointment.

It was the largest city in the Seven Kingdoms. If one had never been to King's Landing all you would know were the stories. People talked about the beauty of the capitol city all the time. They were usually speaking about the Great Sept of Baelor or the Red Keep and its gardens.

The rest of King's Landing was a crowded dirty place. Its stench could be smelled from miles away. There was nothing beautiful or wonderful about it.

They had come in through the King's Gate on the south eastern side of the city. Bolton's men had wanted to enter through the Dragon Gate at the North end of the city but Jaime had quickly ridden around it. Riding to the King's Gate would add at least another hour to their ride, but Jaime was happy to add it if it meant avoiding Flea Bottom.

"Flea Bottom is where the poorest of the poor live," he told Brienne as they rode through the streets. To avoid talking about himself he would tell her about the city. "There's not much to eat there, perhaps less now than ever as the war has driven more people inside the walls. I have heard that most of the people there survive off of bowls of brown."

Brienne raised her eyebrows, "What's a bowl of brown?" she asked him.

Jaime shrugged his left shoulder, "A stew that will include whatever the maker can find. Cats, rats, murder victims."

"That's horrible," Brienne gasped out. Her disgust showed clearly on her face. Her skin was so pale that the freckles stood out more than ever.

Jaime shrugged his shoulders again and looked out over the road they were riding. He had chosen the King's Gate because they could ride River Row all the way to the Red Keep. Being on the outer edge of the city and nearest to the Blackwater Rush it was the best smelling street in the capitol. "That's the truth of living in King's Landing," he told her. "They forget about Flea Bottom in the songs and stories though."

Brienne did not answer so Jaime continued, "There are seven gates into the city," he told her. "The Dragon Gate, the Iron Gate, the Old Gate, the Gate of the Gods, the River Gate, the Lion Gate, and the King's Gate."

Brienne snorted, "Of course there's a Lion's Gate," she teased him.

Jaime smiled, he much preferred when she was teasing him than when she was looking at him with sympathy shining in her pale blue eyes. "It leads to the Gold Road," he told her, though he was sure that he didn't need to give the explanation. "It was named long before my family had any power here in the capitol."

She smiled at him, "I'm sure it was," she told him. "I was only teasing."

Jaime was about to assure her that he knew she was teasing but she gasped. He turned to look at her, worried that something was wrong, but when he turned he saw that her gaze was turned forward, in front of them. The Red Keep. It was a beautiful castle, he could admit that. Breathtaking even, especially the first time one saw it. He smiled softly at her and turned away, he would not interrupt her awe.

The Red Guard at the gate to the Red Keep were harder to pass than the City Watch. He had to give these guards his name. And they did not believe him. They laughed at him even. It took him and his escorts almost an hour to persuade them that he was who he said he was. And even then they only agreed to let them enter the Red Keep if they escorted him to his father. They would only leave him when Tywin Lannister confirmed that he was, in fact, Jaime Lannister.

Word must have gone ahead of them that a man claiming to be Jaime Lannister had entered the city because by the time Jaime reached his father's solar in the Tower of the Hand his sister and brother had joined Lord Tywin as well. Jaime had not wanted that. He was not ready for that. He was sure that he was not even prepared to face his father, but that was an evil he had to face. Now with his sister and brother there as well it would be even more difficult.

Brienne and his escort gave him space, they did not follow him into the Tower of the Hand, not that he was sure that they would have been allowed to in the first place.

And so, he entered the solar and faced his family on his own.

Disgust. Disappointment. Sympathy. That was what met him when he entered the chamber.

When she first saw him his sister stepped forward eagerly, ready to embrace him. It had been a year since he had seen his family. A hard year of imprisonment. He might have even allowed his sister to embrace him, something he had not permitted since Lenora was born. But he was not given the chance to make up his mind.

She looked at him and her green-eyed gaze dropped to his right arm. To his stump. She recoiled quickly as if he would burn her if she touched him.

Tywin studied him, his shrewd eyes narrowed before his gaze flicked to the guard standing behind him. Without looking at his son he nodded to the guard, silently affirming that Jaime was his son. When the guard left Tywin looked at him again, and Jaime wondered why Tywin had even bothered to claim him. The look the man was giving him was full of disappointment and a cold, hatred. He was ashamed to call this man his son. Jaime swallowed and looked down at his feet, unable to meet his father's eyes.

Only Tyrion was kind, though Jaime hated the sympathy that shone in his brother's eyes. All his life he had watched over Tyrion, taken care of him, protected him. He was the one who was supposed to feel sympathy for Tyrion, not the other way around.

Tyrion sighed and moved closer to Jaime, reaching up for his older brother's left hand. "You look horrible," he told his brother, forcing his lips to turn up into a smile, though the sympathy in his eyes did not lessen.

Jaime snorted in spite of himself, "I still look better than you," he joked, happy to fall into their usual exchange of jokes and insults.

Tyrion chuckled, "That is not hard to do, brother," he told him as he practically pushed Jaime into a seat. He moved around the table in front of Jaime, pouring him some wine before he sat down too. He took the seat next to Jaime and shot a pointed glare at both his father and his sister, disappointed that they were not treating Jaime better.

Jaime did not care how they treated him. He smiled at his younger brother, grateful for his kindness. Out of habit he reached his right arm out for the glass of wine, almost knocking it over. Tyrion reached out without saying a word and steadied the glass before it could spill.

Jaime smiled at him sheepishly as he reached out his left hand.

Tywin watched his blunder with narrowed, stormy eyes.

Cersei looked away.

After a moment of silence Tywin finally spoke, "How did you escape?" he asked, getting straight to business. "We have heard such varying tales."

"I did not escape," Jaime admitted. He was embarrassed by that fact and would much rather tell his family that he had escaped Riverrun all on his own. But he had given Lady Catelyn his word and he meant to keep it. "Lady Stark released me."

Cersei snorted, "The woman was a fool," she muttered.

Jaime felt his left fist clench. The muscles in his right arm tightened, pain shooting though his arm. He had tried to clench his right fist as well, but it no longer existed. He thought that Lady Catelyn was a fool as well, but he could not blame her for her hope. He would not allow his sister to blame her either.

"She hoped that in returning me to my family I would be able to return her daughters to her. I know that the little one has not been seen in many months. But Sansa is here." He turned his glare from his sister and softened it before he looked at his father. "I mean to return Sansa Stark to her mother and brother," he informed his father, watching him beseechingly.

Tywin studied him for a long minute. His eyes narrowed again and if possible he looked even more disappointed in his son. He had not raised Jaime to be so soft. He was ashamed that his son was asking to return their only Stark hostage for nothing. Finally he shook his head, "Impossible," he told Jaime, his voice hard and flat.

"It's not," Jaime argued. "Father," he told him. "The northmen will not end this war. Whether you hold Sansa Stark or not. They will not give up their fight. Return her to her family."

"No," Tywin told him, shaking his head.

"I swore to her," Jaime tried, hoping to touch on his father's pride. "In order for my release I had to promise her that I would return her daughters to her. Without that promise, without that Lady, I would still be in Riverrun. I owe her a debt."

He left it unspoken, but he knew that his father heard the silent words And a Lannister always pays his debt.

When Tywin spoke his voice was even harder than before, "The girl was not yours to promise," he told his son. Jaime squared his shoulders, prepared to continue fighting. His father sighed as if he could read his son's stubbornness on his face. "It matters not," he told him. "There is no one to repay the debt to. You are safe."

"I don't understand," Jaime told him, shaking hiss head as he looked toward Tyrion for an explanation.

Oddly enough Tyrion would not meet his gaze. It was Cersei that spoke up. "You must be tired," she told him, her voice soft and gentle though her disgust still shone in her eyes. "We have much to discuss. But I am sure you would appreciate a bath, a meal, and sleep before we do."

"I would much rather discuss it now," Jaime told her, his gaze never leaving his father.

"You need rest," Cersei told him again, ignoring him as she stood from her chair and moved toward the door, calling for a guard to show Jaime to his chambers.

Jaime sighed as he looked between his father and Tyrion. Neither of them spoke out against Cersei. It wouldn't matter how hard he fought, he would get no more from any of them until he had rested.

"This is not over," he warned them as he finally stood from his chair. "I will send the girl back to her mother."

-.-.-.-.-

Davos

They were still at Dragonstone when the maester received the raven from the Wall. He had read it passively, as most maesters read letters from the Wall. Ravens from the Wall always came with the same plea. Send us men. The maester was relatively new to Dragonstone, but even he knew that Stannis would not give them any men. Stannis had so few men to himself and he could not send any away.

Even prisoners.

But this letter was different. There was something in it that the maester had never read before. Surely it was a mistake, or a story meant to frighten the Great Lords of Westeros into complying with the usual request of men. But it was enough for the maester to bring the letter to his king.

Stannis did not read the letter. He had much more pressing matters to deal with. Mainly Davos and his betrayal. He held the letter clenched in his fist, still unread as he sent for his old friend.

Davos was taking his role as Hand to the King very seriously, though he was sure that he was currently living in his last moments as Stannis' Hand. Regardless of how little time he had left, as soon as he received his summons he went to the King's solar. There he found only two people.

Stannis and the Red Woman.

Stannis glared at him as he entered and Davos had the shame to look down. He could not meet his king's gaze. Though he was sure that setting the boy free had been the right thing to do he could not forgive himself for acting behind the king's back.

Stannis had imprisoned his previous Hand for just as much. Davos could already see his cell, probably darker and deeper than his previous one. He supposed that was why Stannis had sent for him now, to punish him.

He could not look at his king, but his gaze darted to the Red Woman. He hoped that Stannis would behead him. He did not want to be a sacrifice on the Red Woman's fiery alter. He would not.

Stannis did not waste time with greeting Davos. They both knew why the old smuggler was there. "You let him go," Stannis accused his friend, staring at him with hard eyes. Davos nodded but did not say a word. He had no defense. Stannis sighed, "You do not deny it?" he asked, his voice was rueful as if he wished that Davos had.

"No, Your Grace," Davos finally said, shaking his head. "It was the right thing to do."

The Red Woman was glaring at him, her dark eyes shining. "You saved one life," she told him, it almost could have been a congratulations if she were not advancing on him with a glare. "Your mercy saved the boy. But how many thousands will die for it?"

Davos shrugged his shoulders, it was stupid but he was unable to hold his tongue, "I suppose you should look in your flames, my Lady." he suggested, nodding toward the brazier that was burning despite the afternoon heat. "Perhaps they will tell you."

The Red Woman looked insulted, furious. But Stannis snorted. It seemed that even when he was a believer in the Lord of Light, a true believer, he still found delight in Davos' simple, truthful words.

"Very well," Stannis sighed, his voice was hard, though his eyes were filled with sorrow. No matter how angry he was with Davos, the man was still his friend. It still pained him to do this. "Davos Seaworth, I, Stannis Baratheon sentence you to death."

Davos squared his shoulders, he had been prepared for this. It still stung, but he must be brave. He nodded to Stannis, "Very well," he told his king. "But as you still have not unnamed me Hand of the King it is my duty to strongly advise you against this decision."

Stannis seemed torn between laughing and complete shock at Davos' words. "And why do you advise against it?" he asked Davos, his words slow and measured. As if this conversation was trying on his patience.

"When you named me you Hand, Your Grace, you said it was because I was the only man you trusted to give you honest and just council. Execute me now and your new Hand will not be able to do that. I set the boy free because I knew it was right. I knew that you know, deep in your heart that it is right. But you would not listen to me." He took a step forward, Stannis did not move away. "You brought me to see the boy because you knew that whatever the Lady Melisandre had planned for him it would not be kind, it would not be gentle. It would not be right. Without asking for it you begged me for my council. Well, here it is. You are the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms and I believe with every fiber of my being that you will sit on the Iron Throne. But this is not the way. Blood magic is not the way. The rightful king should win the throne the rightful way. The honorable way. Not by killing an innocent boy."

He stepped back, away from the king, he had said his peace and now he would wait for Stannis' final judgement.

Stannis watched him, a frown playing at his lips, his eyes filled with grief and disappointment. One of his fists clenched and in the silent room even Davos was able to hear the crinkle of parchment in his hand. Davos looked down as if he were surprised, and unfolded his hand to find the letter that he had forgotten in his anger. He sighed and walked away from Davos, unrolling the parchment so that he could read the letter.

He was sure it wasn't important, it was from the Wall. They would only be asking for more men. But it was a way to stall. It was a way to make up his mind about Davos Seaworth without looking in the knight's eyes, without seeing the disapproval in Melisandre's.

The letter was from the old maester of the Night's Watch. But it was not the same story Stannis was used to reading from Castle Black. Their Lord Commander was dead. He had taken a large ranging party north of the wall and had never returned. Only one man returned, a steward who swore that he had seen an army of White Walkers moving toward the wall. Maester Aemon begged for assistance. In the name of the Old Gods, the New Gods, and even the Fire God - he begged. There were so few members of the Night's Watch now, even fewer after the ranging party had traveled north to die.

What the living steward had seen would come for them. And if the Night's Watch could not stop it. It would come for them all.

"Take him away," Melisandre ordered, but Stannis held up his hands to still the guards before they could grab Davos. He handed the Red Woman the letter so that she could read it with her own eyes.

"Why didn't your flames mention that?" he asked her, somewhat bitterly when she had finished reading.

The woman did not answer him right away. She threw the letter into the fire and stared deep into its flames. "They did, my King," she told him after a moment. "You saw it yourself, though we did not yet know what it meant." She shook her head, still staring. "This war of Five Kings means nothing. The true war lies to the North. Death marches on the wall." She moved closer to the fire, her eyes narrowing before she stopped.

She turned to Davos, her eyes wide, "And you have a part to play in the war to come, Ser Davos," she told him, the surprise in her voice echoing the complete shock in her eyes.

Stannis laughed, not bitterly, if Davos was speaking true he would have described his king's laugh as one of relief. "You tried to kill her once," he told Davos, "I have not forgotten. But you see, Ser Davos, the Lady Melisandre and her Fire God that you love to mock so much. They've saved your life."

Davos nodded and looked down, "Be that as it may, my King, I would much prefer to say that you saved my life."

Stannis chuckled again, "Say whatever you like, Ser Davos, but you're in His army now."

He looked between the Red Woman and Davos, "We will leave the battle of King's Landing for a different time. We will leave Davos' rescued boy for now. We will go north.

-.-.-.-.-

Thoros of Myr

They found the body half drowned in the river, at least a day's ride from the Twins. At first glance there was no telling how long it had been there. But when Lord Beric climbed into the river to pull the wretched thing out they were able to get a better look at the skin. It was not yet grey with death. Despite the mud and blood that covered the face it was clear to see that the body was still relatively fresh.

"A guest at the Frey wedding?" Lem asked, his voice heavy with regret as he stared down at the body in front of them.

Beric studied the corpse, "Perhaps," he told his men. "Though they survived the wedding, I'd wager it was the river that ultimately did them in."

"And not that?" Anguy asked, pointing toward the large wound they could all clearly see.

Beric shook his head, "No," he told them. "I don't believe so."

They all stood around the corpse for a few silent minutes, "Lions or wolves?" one of the men asked, glancing around at his companions. "Who is to blame for this one?"

"They're the same," Beric told them as he knelt beside the body and using the edge of his purple cloak he began to wipe the mud and blood off of the face below him. "They're both at fault," he paused as more of the face was revealed to him. He tilted his head to the side, studying the face for a moment before he turned to glance at Thoros, his eyebrows knitted together.

Lions then, Thoros thought to himself as he recognized the body. Lions and wolves might be the same, but it was the lions who had done this one in.

"Should we bury it?" Lem asked, staring down at the ground just to the left of the body, as if looking at it sickened him.

"Yes," Thoros started.

But Beric shook his head, "No," he commanded, still looking down at the body, his eyebrows still furrowed. "We'll leave it," he told his men, finally turning away from the corpse to look at his men. "We've got more important matters."

"There's been no sign of Sandor Clegane," Anguy told him, answering to the more important matters. "Everyone we've asked says the same thing. They have not seen him. Wherever he took the Stark girl. She's lost to us now."

Beric looked around the group, his gaze landing on each of them. "We will continue to look," he told them as he stood from the riverbank and led the men away. Leaving the body still laying on the bank.

...

Thoros approached him after their supper. The two sat quietly, side by side on a log near the fire. Lord Beric commanded Tom Sevenstrings to sing them as many songs as he knew.

"That's a dangerous command, my Lord," Tom had told him, grinning cheekily. "I know a lot of songs!"

"Sing them all then," Beric commanded again.

Only once Tom was deep into his second song and several of the men were singing with him did he turn to Thoros. "How many times?" Beric asked him, his voice so quiet that even if one of his other men was sitting on his right, they would not have been able to hear him.

Thoros sighed, this was not the first time they had had this discussion. And it would not be the last. Every time he brought Beric back less of his friend returned. He started to forget things.

The first time he forgot that he had died. He forgot his name. He forgot the name of the woman he was betrothed to. The amnesia had only lasted a matter of days. With some patience and some guidance Thoros had been able to help him remember.

The second time he forgot all the same things, but he also forgot who Thoros was. Again Thoros helped him remember. And it worked, of a sort. No matter how hard he tried, he could not help Lord Beric remember his childhood home.

The third time Lord Beric forgot things, as usual. But more frighteningly he stopped eating. Thoros watched him carefully, waiting for the day when his friend would starve to death. But it never came, it seemed that Beric simply did not need to eat anymore. From that time on he would never remember the name of the woman he was supposed to marry.

The fourth time it took him longer to remember what little he could anymore. It seemed that he could only remember five things from his previous life: his name, his purpose, Thoros, a flaming sword, how many times he had died.

The fifth time: his name, his purpose, Thoros, and how many times he had died.

The sixth time in the cave: his name, his purpose, and Thoros.

When Thoros did not answer right away Beric asked again. "How many times, my friend," he persisted.

"Six," Thoros told him as reluctantly as ever. "And as always, each time is harder."

Beric nodded, "For me too," he admitted. "I've been standing one foot in the grave since the first time you saved me. The more times you brought me back, the more of me I left behind."

Thoros nodded, "Then why do you continue to put yourself in those situations, Beric? Do you want to die that badly?"

Beric shook his head, almost sadly. "I don't have wants anymore, my friend," he admitted to Thoros. "I haven't since, I don't remember when."

"The fourth time I brought you back," Thoros supplied. "Perhaps the third when you stopped eating. Eating and wants often go hand in hand."

Beric nodded, watching his friend's face carefully. "What is it, Thoros?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he watched the priest's face.

Thoros shrugged his shoulders, "You lead the men from the front," he told Lord Beric. "And they love you for it. But it has gotten you killed six times. If it is so hard to come back you do not need to court death so. Lord Tywin leads from the rear. Lord Stannis as well. You would be wise to do the same. A seventh death might mean the end of both of us."

Beric studied his friend carefully. "The Young Wolf led from the front."

Thoros smiled ruefully, "And Ned Stark as well," he reminded his lord. "And look how it turned out for both of them."

Beric fell silent. And for almost an hour Thoros thought their conversation was finished. And then, quietly Beric began to mutter to himself. Thoros watched the Lightning Lord carefully. "What are you saying, my Lord?" he asked, his voice quiet under Tom Sevenstrings' continued singing.

"How many times?" Beric asked again.

Thoros sighed, "Six," he told the lord again.

"Six," Beric repeated with a slow nod.

"What are you saying?" Thoros asked, watching his friend with wide eyes. He watched as the lord's eyes darted toward the path that led to the river. And the body that lay beside it. He thought he knew what his friend was saying, but he hoped that he was wrong.

"Nothing that I have not said before," Beric told him. He shook his head, "Six times, Thoros? Six times is too many."

...

He woke him up in the middle of the night. When the rest of their men, save the scout, were sleeping. He didn't say a word, he didn't have to. Thoros knew that he would regret this, but he followed his lord and friend as he always did.

They moved quietly so as not to wake up the men. They crept past the scout. And moved silently down the path to the river. There in the near darkness, lit by only the sliver of the crescent moon above them, Lord Beric knelt in the mud beside the corpse.

"We must save them," he told Thoros, glancing up at his friend.

Thoros shook his head, much as he hated to deny his friend, he had to. He had not been lying or being dramatic when he told his friend that he feared a seventh resurrection would kill them both. He knew it would. Every time he brought Beric back to life involved a transfer of some of his own life force, his own fire, to Beric's dead body. He did not have enough to share anymore. One more resurrection would kill him whether it was Beric or this body by the river.

Beric was still looking at him, waiting for a verbal answer. Thoros sighed, "I'm sorry, my friend. You know I would never deny you anything I had the power to give. But I must deny you this."

Beric looked at him, still thinking. Thoros looked into his eyes, expecting to see disappointment, expecting that Beric blamed him for being a coward. But it was not disappointment or anger that shone in his lord's eyes. But rather a steely determination.

"Lord Beric no!" Thoros called out, moving closer to the Lightning Lord, reaching out for him so that the could stop him. In that one moment he knew what his old friend meant to do. And he meant to stop him.

But Beric was too fast for him, too strong-willed for him. Before Thoros could get to him he had bent over the corpse on the bank and pressed his lips against the cold, dead ones. Pouring every bit of life and fire and soul into the dead body.

Thoros watched wide-eyed and afraid as he watched the flame of life pass from his friend to the corpse. It happened both slowly and quickly and all at once.

Beric barely had time to straighten, to move away from the body before he fell. His eyes remained open, but he no longer breathed. He no longer saw. He was dead, and Thoros knew that this time he would stay dead.

The body took a bit longer, it had been dead for much longer than Thoros had ever let Beric lie still. Just as Thoros was wondering if his friend had given his life for nothing it happened.

The body began to rise.

...

The men did not find Sandor Clegane the next morning, but they did catch themselves a Frey. As they were running low on gold Thoros agreed to send a raven to the Twins, ransoming the lad for one hundred gold dragons. They were a leisurely day's ride from the Freys, but they would only give the ransom until sundown before they hung the lad.

The Freys were still celebrating their successful wedding, but one of Lord Walder's many sons was sent out to meet them with the ransom. He was a haughty sort, one who thought that now that his father was named Lord of Riverrun that made him above the other men.

He rode into their camp and demanded to see his nephew. He would not give them the ransom until he saw that the boy was alive. That was his first mistake. Prisoners did not make demands of the Brotherhood Without Banners.

They took his money and grabbed him by the arms before they dragged him into the woods so that they could show him his nephew. The boy was hanging from a tree, swinging lightly in the wind. He had been swinging since the moment they had sent the raven to the Twins.

The boy never stood a chance.

And neither did his uncle.

He protested, yelling and threatening as they slipped the noose around his neck and through the free end of their thick rope over the tree branch, preparing to hang him next to his kin.

"You had no right!" the Frey knight yelled.

"We had a rope," Lem told him as if that made everything right. And perhaps after what they had done at the wedding, it did.

Tom Sevenstrings grinned at the man as he got more desperate, "Here now," he told the man, his voice soft. "Don't soil yourself. All you need to do is answer me a question, and I'll tell them to let you go."

The Frey nodded enthusiastically, "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice desperate. "I will tell you whatever you want to know!"

"Well, as it happens, we're looking for a dog that ran away."

"A dog?" the soon-to-be dead man answered.

"Answer to the name Sandor Clegane," Thoros told him. "He was making for the Twins. We found a ferryman who took him across the Trident, and a poor sod he robbed on the kingsroad. Did you see him at the wedding, per chance?"

The dead Frey shook his head, "The Red Wedding?" he asked to clarify. "No. I didn't see him. I don't think so. And anyone else would have said something if they had. He was not there."

Tom nodded, "No? Ah, that's a pity. Well, up you go."

"No!" The Frey yelled. "No, don't! I gave you your answer you said you would let me go!"

"He said that he would tell them to let you go," Anguy corrected.

"Aye," Tom agreed. "That I did. Lem, let him go!"

"Bugger off!" Lem yelled as he began to tug on the rope.

"Please!" The Frey tried again. "I have more money! I will pay you! Whatever you want!" When he didn't touch on their greed he tried to touch on their sympathies. "I am a father! I have children!"

"The Young Wolf never will," Anguy told him.

If the man was confused as to why they brought up Robb Stark he did not say so. "He shamed the North!" he told them. "The entire realm was laughing. He would never have won the war. We had to restore honor to the North."

That had the men laughing. "Maybe so," Lem told the man. "What do a bunch of blood peasants know about honor?" He grinned wickedly, "We know some about murder though."

"Murder?" the man echoed. "I murdered no one! All I did was drink! They murdered, not me! My father! My brothers! But not me! I am innocent!" And then, as if the word innocent reminded him of something he began to yell. "I demand a trial! I am innocent and you have no witnesses!"

"As it happens, you're wrong there," Tom told him. All the men, Thoros included, turned to look further into the woods. The Frey turned quickly, Thoros could not see his face, but he would wager that the man's eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.

He had new clothes, and several new scars, and there was a cold look in his blue eyes that did not look as though it were a familiar look in the normally friendly eyes. But there was no mistaking the Tully blue eyes or the auburn hair. It was the Young Wolf.

The man shook his head, "We killed him," he breathed.

"It's we now?" Lem asked, chuckling. "I thought it was them."

Thoros watched as Robb's eyes narrowed as he stared at the Frey. After a long moment the young man dragged his gaze away from the man in front of him and lifted it to meet Thoros' eyes. He gave a curt, silent nod. Thoros nodded back. "He doesn't remember much at the moment," he informed the Frey. "That will change soon enough. But, it seems, he remembers you."

The Frey opened his mouth to plead, but the noose chocked off his words. His feet left the ground, the rope cutting deep into the soft flesh beneath his chin. Up in the air he jerked, kicking and twisting, up and up and up.

And below on the ground, Robb Stark smiled.

Author's Note:

BOOM! I'm not very good at giving hints. Sometimes I'm too vague to even consider my ramblings hints and other times I'm too obvious.
This time I think I was too obvious.
Who saw it coming? Raise your hands! (Or you know ... put it in a review!)
Regardless of whether it was a complete surprise or you saw it coming a mile away I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, you should review! I love reviews! They make me happy. Especially when I'm staring down a seven day work week that begins at 6:30 tomorrow morning.
Reviews make me ridiculously happy under these circumstances.
So I will simply say thank you! Thank you for your past reviews. And thank you in advance for the wonderful reviews you're about to leave me!

Vulcran: I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! And hopefully after this chapter you're still hooked! Thank you for your review!

writingNOOB: I feel bad for Sansa, I will admit that. Sure she's a bit annoying (not as annoying as WHERE ARE MY DRAGONS?! Daenerys) but pretty annoying. But she's like thirteen and no one's super likable or levelheaded at thirteen so I can't blame her. Eventually she'll see the truth and once she sees how unhappy Robb's death (I can put that in italics now!) made Lenora she'll drop any anger she still carries. I promise.
As for Sansa and Ramsay ... I can't do that to her, she's a child. Even I'm not that cruel. But I'm also one who doesn't like writing rape scenes. So unless I completely change my mind at the last minute you guys won't have to read that about Lenora though.
And whatever happens to Lenora ... she won't be playing a damsel much longer!

Arianna Le Fay: No guarantees about what the Boltons will do to Lenora. You will just have to wait and see. The one promise is no rape. I had to bring them in though, I love the Boltons and I have wanted to play with Ramsay since he was introduced. This is my chance. Do you still want someone else to be Lenora's love interest? Even now when Robb is alive again?

RHatch89: Thank you my friend! I hope you liked this chapter! And I think after reading it, everyone knows ... Robb and Lenora will be reunited. Though they've got a long road ahead of them before it happens.

ZabuzasGirl: Thank you friend! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

sltsky96: I love your reviews! They're so long and they make me so happy! So thank you for that! Don't worry, I'm super extra about revenge too. I mean I just brought back Robb Stark so that he could get his own revenge on everyone who betrayed him without help from his little sister. So revenge is kind of my jam.
I'm also ridiculously thrilled that I'm making you feel bad for Cersei. I'm not going to lie that was a side goal of this story. (First, I wanted to give Robb his revenge. Second, to give him a wife that was actually interesting. Third, I wanted to give Jaime his redemption ... the show was taking too long. And Fourth, I wanted to give a more human element to her.) So this is really exciting.
I'm sorry I'm killing you with Sansa. I have a love/hate relationship with her. Sometimes I adore her and other times I'm like, shut up Sansa ... no one likes you. You are right though, I do have a replacement lined up for Ramsay. It's nice how it works out like that. And I think Lenora might be a more interesting counter to Ramsay than Sansa was.
It wasn't just a glimmer! I hate killing direwolves so that wasn't going to happen! And I hated when they killed Robb! So that didn't happen either. Fanfiction is a wonderful place where all wrongs can be righted.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, dear!

janaoliver: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! You should be worried ... very worried. Though perhaps more for Ramsay than Lenora.

DannyBlack70: I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! And I hope you enjoyed this one too. You are the one who I am most sure you saw this coming. So what did you think?

Guest: I'm glad that you're loving it so far! And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too!

queen ares: Jesus! Two days! I wrote the story! I know it all. I don't even think I could skim it over in two days! That's some dedication. Thank you! And I'm extremely touched that this is one of your favorite GoT/OC fics. Thank you for telling me! I love to hear it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

That's all I've for now friends! Thank you so much for reading, for your reviews, for your support! Without it this story would never have gotten this far. (And we've still got a while to go.)
See you next week,
Chloe Jane.