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Chapter Fifty-Nine: Wolf Dreams

Sansa

Take him! She could still hear Cersei's desperate cries in her head. Even after days at sea. Every time she closed her eyes she could hear the broken screams, the desperate cries, her immediate orders that the Kingsguard arrest Tyrion for Joffrey's death.

When Ser Dontos had told her it was time to go she barely hesitated. There was a small part of her that had wanted to stay; a scared, childish part of her that needed to watch him die. She wanted to be sure that he was truly dead, that there was nothing more he could ever do to her.

But she was smarter than that. She knew that in little more than a moment Cersei's mind would jump from Tyrion to her and that in no time they would be looking for her. Whatever had happened, whoever had done this, they had made it impossible for her to remain in King's Landing.

Despite her fear and confusion a giggle had bubbled up in her throat as Ser Dontos pulled her through the empty streets and the alleyways, heading toward the water. Whatever had happened, and she wasn't sure that she would ever hear the truth of Joffrey's death, she was finally free.

She would leave King's Landing. She would leave Joffrey and his taunts and cruelty. She would leave the queen and her open hatred. She would leave the lords and ladies who had been so kind to her when she was Joffrey's betrothed but had turned on her the moment she was no longer in his favor. She would leave all the fear and pain. She would leave all the horrible memories. She would leave it all.

She remembered Tyrion and for a moment she felt sorry that she would leave him. He had been kind to her. He had tried to protect her in his own way. She had been terrified and embarrassed when she had first been forced to marry the man. She had heard the court's taunts and had allowed them to color the way she looked at the man who called himself her husband. But he had been good to her. He had never forced her to do anything she wasn't comfortable with. He had never hit her. He had never yelled at her. He had taken no joy from the deaths of her mother and brother.

He had taken care of her. He had forced her to eat when she would have starved herself. There was that time when he had first come back to the Red Keep when he had protected her from Joffrey. He had married her in an attempt to protect her from any other fate the Lannisters could have come up with. And if Joffrey had let them leave after the battle of the five dwarves he would have taken her away from that horrible wedding and no doubt told her jokes until she was able to forget the reenactment of her brother's murder.

She wanted to ask Ser Dontos if they could not turn around and go back for Tyrion. Once they were away from King's Landing she would ask him for a divorce, he was a good man and she knew that he would give it to her. He would no longer be her husband, but they could be friends. He would need an escape from King's Landing just as much as she did.

But it was a stupid thought, she knew that the moment the question came to her lips. She bit down hard on her tongue to stop herself from asking. Even during that frenzied run from the Red Keep she could still imagine Cersei's voice in her head. She could still hear the distraught screams. And the order.

Take him!

There was nothing she could do for Tyrion Lannister.

She could only save herself now.

Their escape from the Red Keep was an odd combination of sprinting and hiding. When Ser Dontos first told her that he meant to save her she had thought that he would bring her on the most direct route to the harbor. She had thought that before they even rang the bells at the Sept of Baelor to announce the death of the king she would be on a ship on its way out of Blackwater Bay. But they spent a good part of the afternoon hiding in alleyways and abandoned shacks, always just one step ahead of the Kingsguard or the gold cloaks that were rushing through the streets looking for her.

Ser Dontos had found her a cloak that she could wear to cover her recognizable red hair, but it would do little to hide her fine dress. She was sure that if they were caught she would be recognized and apprehended in an instant.

Take him!

So she trusted Ser Dontos, just as he had asked her to do all those moons ago in the Kingswood. She ran when he told her to run. She hid when he told her to hide. She never spoke a word. She never questioned him. Her mother had raised her to be a lady, she had trained her to obey orders. And although she was of a higher station than Ser Dontos, during their escape she obeyed every whispered order he gave her.

The first time she spoke was at dusk when Ser Dontos brought her to a small rowboat. It was waiting for them in a cave by the bay. The cave looked so abandoned she wondered if the Gold Cloaks even knew it existed. "Where are we going?" she asked him, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Somewhere safe," he promised her.

The rowboat did not look safe. It looked old, some of the wood was rotting. She wondered if it would even stay afloat with the two of them in it. But with one glance over her shoulder in the direction of King's Landing she realized that anything was safer than what lay behind her. Even if the boat did sink with the two of them in it, even if she did drown in the middle of the Blackwater Bay it would be a better death than whatever Cersei intended for her.

She stepped into the boat without a second thought.

She stepped into the boat without a single regret.

This was her first step to freedom.

It was a cloudy, overcast night. She supposed that there might be a moon shining somewhere, but here over King's Landing the clouds blocked out the light. It was as if the Gods themselves wished to help her escape. She felt safer than she had ever felt as soon as their little row boat was out in the bay. Even if they thought to look in the bay, none of the Gold Cloaks would see them.

She was out of sight. And out of the queen's reach.

This time when the laughter rose in her throat she did very little to silence it. She was free. She did not know where she would go, but she trusted Ser Dontos when he said it would be safe. Safe, she had not felt safe since her father's death. One death had taken her sense of safety away, and another had given it back.

"Careful, my lady," Ser Dontos warned as he rowed them through the water. His strokes were strong and sure and for the first time that evening Sansa realized that she could not smell alcohol on his breath. Her dear knight who always seemed drunk had stayed sober for her tonight. Perhaps her beloved fairytales that Arya had made such fun of her for could be true. "Don't laugh too loudly, they might not be able to see you, but they can still hear you. We're not out of danger yet."

"Of course," she whispered, her laughter coming to an end immediately, but she could not keep her smile off of her lips. "Oh Ser Dontos!" she whispered, her hands reaching out for his before she realized that he needed both of his hands to row. They settled in her lap. "You've done it, my brave knight! You've rescued me!"

He smiled at her, glancing nervously over his shoulder toward the capitol, "I have, my lady, just as I said that I would."

She wanted to stay awake, it would have been more prudent. But after his reassurance that he had rescued her she felt her eyelids become heavy. It had been a long day, filled with many surprises, and she was tired. With the feeling of safety came a better understanding of the toll King's Landing had taken on her. It had been many months since she had gotten a full night of sleep.

"Rest, my lady," Ser Dontos told her, his voice soft. "It will be a few hours yet before we reach the ship."

"The ship?" Sansa asked around a yawn.

Ser Dontos chuckled, "Did you think that I was going to row you all the way to Winterfell?"

"Winterfell?" Sansa echoed, a smile finding its way to her lips her eyes began to close. Resting was another order that she would follow. "I'm going home?"

"Eventually, I'm sure," Ser Dontos promised her. "As soon as it is safe."

Winterfell. There had been a time when she had been so happy to leave her home, so excited. She had begged her mother to make her father take her with him when he traveled with the King to King's Landing. She had been so stupid, her mother and father had wanted to keep her at home. She would have been safe there. But she had begged and pleaded until they had given in.

She had been such a child then. King's Landing had seemed an adventure to her. Joffrey had seemed the perfect prince. Queen Cersei had seemed kind. The King's Guard had seemed full of courteous and brave knights. Everything had seemed perfect.

But it had all been a lie.

King's Landing was not an adventure, it was a nightmare. Joffrey was not the perfect prince, he was a monster. Cersei was not kind, she was horrible and cruel. The King's Guard were cowards who would beat up a young girl because they were ordered to do so. Nothing was perfect.

And Ser Dontos, the drunk fool, was the bravest man she knew.

...

It was full dark and the ocean was covered in a thick fog when Ser Dontos woke her up. They were approaching a large ship. When Sansa looked behind him for the lights of King's Landing she could not see any. She wondered how far into the open ocean Ser Dontos had brought her and her heart swelled with gratitude. It would have been a difficult task to row that boat out of the bay, but he had done it.

Because he cared for her.

She was also filled with a sense of wonder and doubt at the ship they were approaching. It was large. She could not imagine how Ser Dontos would have been able to afford it. This plan must have been set in place for months, she wondered who else was helping her.

Once Ser Dontos had swung the small rowboat around so that it was next to the ship a rope ladder was lowered down for her. Ser Dontos stood, working hard to balance himself as he held out a hand toward her to help her to the ladder, "Up you go, my lady," he told her. When she hesitated he smiled at her, "You'll be fine," he assured her. "You're stronger than you know."

He was the first person who had ever called her strong. She wanted so desperately to believe him.

She started to climb.

As she neared the top she was faced with the dilemma of climbing over the ship railing, it was much too high to step over. She was sure that she could climb over it, but it would not be in the most ladylike fashion. She cursed silently to herself for worrying about being ladylike, Arya would never worry about such a thing.

Before she could even attempt to climb over the railing a pair of hands closed around her upper arms and hoisted her over, placing her feet solidly on the deck of the ship before letting go of her. She had been afraid for a moment, only Joffrey and his men had ever handled her in such a way. But she reminded herself that Ser Dontos had brought her here and that he trusted whoever was waiting for her to keep her safe.

She squinted through the dark to see who had helped her onto the ship. "Lord Baelish?" she asked, surprised.

"Petyr," he told her, his voice soft and gentle. In the darkness she felt more than she saw his eyes sweep over her body, head to toe. "Are you alright, my lady?" he asked her, his tone colored with concern. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head, too surprised to speak. "Good," he told her with a nod. "Good. I'm sure you've had quite a fright, but rest easy. The worst is past."

"Lord Baelish," Ser Dontos called up from the rowboat below. Sansa jumped, in comparison to Petyr Baelish's husky whispers, Ser Dontos' voice seemed too loud, too harsh. "I promised that I would get her to you safely."

Sansa's head turned sharply toward the ship railing. Ser Dontos had promised Lord Baelish that he would get Sansa to the ship safely? But she had thought that it had been Ser Dontos that had wanted to save her, now it seemed that Lord Baelish had been the one to plan the entire thing. She felt lied to. And for a moment a feeling very much like suspicion began to build in her belly, but then she reminded herself that it didn't much matter who had planned her rescue. All that matter was that she was now safe.

"Softly, my friend!" Petyr whispered over the railing. "Voices carry over the water."

"I should get back," Ser Dontos whispered up. "Before they notice that I'm missing."

Sansa moved toward the ship railing, she hadn't realized that Ser Dontos would not be coming with her. The suspicion was back again. She did not know Petyr Baelish very well, now Ser Dontos expected her to sail to Winterfell with him?

"You're not coming?" she asked, her voice less than a whisper.

It was easily covered up by Lord Baelish's louder whisper of, "First you'll want your pay, ten thousand was it?"

"Ten thousand," Ser Dontos confirmed, not meeting Sansa's gaze.

Petyr snapped his fingers and Sansa heard another man approach the ship railing on her right. She assumed that the man would drop a bag of ten thousand gold dragons or silver stags down into Ser Dontos' row boat. But instead she watched fear cover her knight's face, she heard his whispered wait, she watched him throw his hands up in front of his face as Baelish's man fired a bolt straight into his chest.

She screamed.

Lord Baelish quickly clapped his hand over her mouth as he pulled her away from the edge of the ship, threatening her with promises that the queen would hear her and the Gold Cloaks would be after her until she quieted.

And then he told her in whispers how everything Ser Dontos had told her had been a lie. About how he had only helped her to make himself rich, not because he cared for her. That it had been Petyr's plan all along to rescue her from King's Landing, that Ser Dontos had only been a pawn, the necklace a fake, the story of his grandmother nothing more than that - a story. And now he would be their cover. He would be found soon enough and one of the Gold Cloaks would claim that he had caught him helping Sansa escape, that he hadn't been able to recover Sansa, but he had killed the man who helped her.

They would stop looking for her in King's Landing then.

She hadn't wanted to believe him, but the evidence had been overwhelming. Her rescue was another one of King's Landing's lies. Her brave knight was nothing more than a drunk who rescued her for gold, not for honor.

And now he was dead. Just like Joffrey. Just like her father. Just like everything she had once thought was good and true in the world.

...

Lord Baelish had told her that he was going to take her home. And for her first day on board the ship she had believed him.

But on her second day she began to doubt him.

She was sure that Lord Baelish very rarely told people the truth. But she knew that he had told her the truth once, though she had been too stupid to hear it.

She heard it now.

Everyone in King's Landing was a liar.

-.-.-.-.-

Tyrion

"They buried the king today," Podrick told him by way of greeting as he let himself into the tower cell that Tywin had thrown him in. "Your nephew, I mean," he stuttered. "Joffrey, not Tommen."

Despite himself, Tyrion chuckled, "I'm aware which nephew I was accused of killing, Pod," he told the boy. "That is not exactly what I meant when I told you to bring me news. I could hear the bells from here. I knew he was buried this morning."

"Right," Pod told him with a nod, he seemed to be embarrassed by Tyrion's scolding. "Of course."

Tyrion sighed, he shouldn't have felt bad, the boy was a fool. Anyone with a brain between his ears would have known that when Tyrion asked for news he did not need to be told about the king's funeral. But all the same Pod was one of the few who had not abandoned him. He had been locked in this tower for over a week and he had only had two visitors: Pod and Bronn. Jaime had not even come to see him.

"I'm sorry Pod," he told the boy, making sure that his voice was softer than usual, an apology all its own. "Seeing the same wall, the same floor, the same face," he nodded toward the boy, a silent recognition that the squire visited him every day to bring him food, "day in and day out can grate on one's nerves. I've been irritable. But I should not have taken it out on you."

"You take things out on me all the time, my lord," Podrick told him with a shrug. "I wouldn't know who you were if you didn't."

Tyrion chuckled again, it was truly pathetic how much he looked forward to these visits. How far he had fallen in such a short time. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, what have you brought me?"

Podrick nodded and quickly knelt on the ground in front of Tyrion. He supposed that he should be grateful to his father, Cersei would have thrown him into one of the Black Cells, but his father had at least granted him a tower cell and a bed, nothing else. If he had one wish he would have wished for a chair. No, he thought as he watched Podrick unpack the wine sack and food he had brought with him. If I had one wish it would be for a whore.

He snorted at his own thought, it would have made his days more interesting at least.

Pod mistook his snort for one of derision at the food he brought. "There wasn't much that I could steal from the kitchens, my lord," he told Tyrion, apologizing. "Your sister, the queen, has ordered that you be given a rather bland diet. All the kitchen maids know that I am your squire, they would only give me so much for fear of the queen."

"Perhaps it is time that you find yourself a new employer, Pod," Tyrion sighed as he uncorked the wine sack and took a long draw from it. "A squire needs a knight, I am neither a knight nor likely to live long past the next moon."

"All due respect, my lord, you're not dead yet," Pod told him, for a moment Tyrion thought that he was making a joke, he laughed, but when he looked up at the young boy's face he saw how sincere he was. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd like to see my duty through to the end. I'm no quitter, my lord."

Tyrion smiled at that and took another, smaller sip of wine, "No you are not, Pod," he told the boy. "But as your employer I will have to order you to leave King's Landing as soon as the trial ends. As you said, people know you are my squire, the capitol will not be a kind place to you once I'm gone. I wouldn't be surprised if my sister did not find some way to blame you for my nephew's death as it is."

"Oh, I'm sure she thought about it," Pod told him with a nod. It was almost charming, the way this boy had no courtly filter. He said what he thought and he did not care how people felt about it. It was brave. And Tyrion liked him for it. "But I've been called for a witness instead. I suppose they think I will sell you out to save my own skin."

"And will you?" Tyrion asked the boy, his eyebrows raised.

"Only if you tell me to, my lord."

Tyrion chuckled, low and dark, "I would never order you to do that. But at the end of the trial, earlier if it seems that they might turn on you, I order you to leave King's Landing." He felt the need to repeat his order because he was not sure if Pod had listened to him the first time he gave it.

"And where would have you me go, my lord?" Podrick asked. "Who would take me?"

"Go north," Tyrion suggested. "Put as many leagues between you and the capitol as possible. Find my niece, find Lenora, she would take you if only because I sent you to her."

"And will she be in need of a squire?" Podrick asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Perhaps," Tyrion told him with a shrug. "She will most definitely be in need of a friend."

Podrick was quiet for a moment and then he nodded. "You wanted news," he said as Tyrion began to eat the bread and meat he had been given. "Obviously I do not know how you rank the importance of your news. So you ask me questions, I'll answer them as best I can."

"Fair enough," Tyrion agreed with a nod. He thought quietly for a moment, ranking the importance of his questions. "When will my trial be?"

"Within a fortnight," Podrick answered, his voice full of certainty. "Your sister wants to crown Tommen as king before the trial. To give more legitimacy to it, but the king will not judge you. He's too afraid."

"It will be my father then," Tyrion mused quietly.

"I don't know, my lord," Podrick answered.

Tyrion shook his head, it hadn't been a question. "It will be my father, Pod," he told the boy. "I will be judged and no doubt sentenced by my own father." Podrick looked down at his hands, wanting neither to confirm nor deny Tyrion's assumptions. Tyrion sighed, "And Lenora?" he asked, his second most important question. "Is there any news of Lenora?"

"She still has not been returned to King's Landing," Podrick told him.

Of course not, Tyrion thought bitterly. If Lenora were in the Red Keep she would have visited him. And she would have dragged a sheepish Jaime with her. "But is there any news of her? Does anyone have any idea of where she might be? Littlefinger? Varys?"

"Littlefinger has not returned from the Vale, my lord. And I'm not allowed in the Small Council meetings," Podrick told him, his brows furrowed as if he was afraid that he had disappointed Tyrion.

"I know that, Pod," Tyrion sighed. "But have you heard any whispers? This is the Red Keep. There are no secrets here. Surely you might have heard something."

"There have been whispers, my lord. Nothing more. I heard one of the Red Cloaks saying that they had heard that Princess Lenora had been seen at White Harbor."

"White Harbor?" Tyrion mused.

"Yes, my Lord," Podrick agreed. "A port city in the North. Just northeast of Moat Cailin. On the White Knife."

"I know where White Harbor is, Pod," Tyrion sighed, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "That's quite a ways north of the Twins, and much further away from King's Landing than she should be. Lord Bolton will have her of course, perhaps he did not like my father's terms?" It was a rhetorical question, Pod knew nothing about Tywin's agreement with Roose Bolton and even if he did he would have no way of knowing what the northern lord had felt about the reward for the Red Wedding.

"He was made Warden of the North," Podrick supplied. "Those terms are likable enough I would imagine."

"He was made Warden of the North for a time," Tyrion corrected. "Those last three words are important Pod. He would rule over Winterfell until I had a son by Sansa Stark. We told him that we would give him Arya Stark for his newly legitimized bastard -"

"You don't have Arya Stark," Podrick interrupted

"Fine then," Tyrion sighed, this boy was trying his patience today. "We would give him a girl that he could pass off as Arya Stark. His bastard and the changeling would be given a good stronghold in the North and would be in the line of succession for Winterfell after my children by Sansa."

Podrick thought about it for a moment. There had been a time when Tyrion had thought that his squire was an idiot, but as he had gotten to know the boy he had started to realize that he took in everything he was told and learned from it. That he might have been a bit slower than most, but that he was learning. That was more than he had ever been able to say about Joffrey. "It seems to me that Princess Lenora would have been a better prize than a girl pretending to be Arya Stark," he said softly.

"Exactly," Tyrion agreed. "And with the Ironborn holding Moat Cailin there is no way my father or sister could get an army up to the Dreadfort to take her back."

"Would you really need an army?" Podrick asked, his brows furrowed. "Lord Bolton somehow got her north of Moat Cailin. Most of his force is still south of the Moat. Seems to me that a small force of men could do it."

"And if my brother still had both his hands he would have already set out after her," Tyrion told the squire. "But there is no one that Lenora would trust besides Jaime. And if he were to go now it would be a death sentence." He was quiet for a moment, thinking about his brother. When they were younger, children, Tyrion had always looked at Jaime like one would look at the sun. Brief, quick glances, shielding his eyes from his brother's brilliance. All of that was gone now. With the loss of his sword hand Jaime had lost most of what made him him. Tyrion hardly recognized his brother anymore. "Have you managed to speak to Jaime?" he asked Pod, his third most important question.

Podrick shook his head, "He won't speak to me," the boy told him. "And he won't answer my notes. Though I suppose he's been busy as of late. What with King Joffrey's death and the upcoming coronation for Prince Tommen. I'm sure that after it has all settled down he will come to visit you."

Tyrion nodded though he did not believe it. Bronn had come to visit him too several times. They had talked about Jaime as well. The sellsword turned knight had told Tyrion that he and Jaime still practiced sword play every day. He had told him that Jaime refused to talk about him or the trial, no matter how many times Bronn prodded him.

Even when things settled down he doubted that Jaime would speak to him. Perhaps he thought that Tyrion really had killed Joffrey. He knew that Jaime loved him and they had never talked about it, but Joffrey was Jaime's son. With Tyrion on trial for Joffrey's murder it would place Jaime in a very difficult position between his love for his brother and his duty to his son.

And then there's Cersei to think about, the voice in his head needled him.

"Back to the trial," Tyrion muttered, shaking his head, trying to forget how much his sister hated him. "You're being called as a witness. Who else?"

"A few servants," Podrick told him with a shrug.

"That Cersei is paying, no doubt," Tyrion interjected.

"If you say so, my lord," Podrick agreed with him. "And Cersei herself. The Queen Regent seems very certain that she will win her case."

"My sister is nothing if not sure of herself," Tyrion told the boy. "And Sansa? Will my wife be called to give evidence against me?"

"The Lady Sansa has not been seen since the wedding feast," Podrick told him. "I thought I had told you that."

"You didn't," Tyrion deadpanned. "Where is she?"

"No one knows," Podrick answered. "The queen is desperate to find her, she sent an entire company of Red Cloaks after her. But no one in the city has seen her. They say she made it out before the gates were shut. She could be anywhere now."

"Not anywhere," Tyrion told the boy. "She'll be in the North soon enough."

"Why is everyone going north, my lord?" Podrick asked.

"Because it's far away from this hell on earth," he answered. "King's Landing is nothing but a den of liars and murders. All the good ones realize that soon enough and leave before they die or get too comfortable here."

"And which are you, my lord?" Podrick asked him. "Dying or too comfortable."

Both, I suppose.

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

He could not remember who he was. He could not remember where he came from. He could not remember who his family was. He could not remember what was important to him. He could not remember anything. Anything except the faces of those who had betrayed him.

He could remember those.

Anything he knew, he owed to the Brotherhood. The men who had found his corpse in a river, fished him out, and, as the red priest told him, brought him back to life. He wasn't sure if he believed that; something told him that it was not particularly easy, or even possible, to become undead. But it seemed to be the only thing that could explain the darkness.

That was another thing he remembered. The darkness, the nothingness. The red priest asked him what he had seen on the other side, he was afraid he had disappointed the man when he told him the truth.

Nothing. There was nothing on the other side. Nothing but darkness and silence. And the faces of the men who had betrayed him.

They called him many names. They called him Stark. They called him Robb. They called him the Young Wolf. They called him King in the North. But none of them felt like him. None of them brought back any memories. None of them belonged to him.

Or perhaps he didn't belong to any of them.

Thoros, the priest who had helped his friend bring him back told him it was to be expected. That the memories would eventually come back to him. And that when they did he would belong to his names again.

"Is it usually this hard?" he asked, angry that he could still remember nothing. He had been brought back weeks ago and he could not remember a thing from his past.

"I wouldn't know, my lord," Thoros told him honestly. "I've only brought Lord Beric back, many times mind you, but only him. The memories came easier for him."

"Why?" he asked. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing, my lord," Thoros promised him. "There is nothing wrong with you. Except for the way you died. I am not an expert, just a drunk priest that says the words. But Beric's deaths were always cleaner, expected even. His last thoughts were never ones of anger, fear, betrayal. I imagine yours were. You'll have to fight through all of that before you remember the good stuff."

"And was there?" he asked. "Good stuff?" he clarified when he did not receive and answer.

"I imagine so," one of the other men answered. They called him Lem for his yellow cloak. "You were married to a beautiful girl. All accounts say you were happy. Right Tom?" he asked, looking toward the group's singer.

"Aye," Tom Sevenstrings agreed. "I would've written songs about you and your lady love. If I were you I would be in a hurry to remember her."

"What was she like?" he asked them, desperately trying to remember her.

They glanced between each other, never quite meeting his eyes. Thoros leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, "It's best if you remember her for yourself," the priest told him. "Second hand knowledge is never more than a bandage for these things."

...

They invented a game of sorts for him. One they played every night. Every night, for an hour during supper he could ask them questions and they would answer them. There were rules, there were certain questions he could not ask. Everything had to be about facts. He could ask them the names of his family. He could ask them about the history of his House. He could ask them about the battles he had fought and won.

He could not ask them who his closest friend was. He could not ask them to tell him about his childhood. He could not ask them about her.

Memories were slowly coming back. Not useful ones, stupid ones about learning to ride a horse, about days spent in the woods, about an inn he had once stayed at when traveling. But whenever he mentioned them the men celebrated as if he had told them the most important thing in the world.

"My mother's name was Catelyn," he told them one night, not a question but a statement. Some of the men glanced up at him in surprise at that, they had not told him that yet. He had remembered it on his own.

Thoros was the one who answered, "Aye son," he told him. "Catelyn Tully. She was from the riverlands."

He nodded, quiet for a moment, "They killed her," he growled after his silence. "The men I see. The faces I see when I close my eyes. Slit her throat. Why?"

Tom Sevenstrings opened his mouth, but Thoros held up a hand, silencing the singer. "You tell us, boy." He shook his head, he couldn't tell them. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. "Think about it," Thoros urged. "Close your eyes. Focus on your mother, on her hair, on her voice. Focus. It will come to you."

He sighed, it seemed like a pointless exercise but he did as commanded. He closed his eyes and focused on the name. Catelyn Tully. For a moment all he could see were the faces of the men who had betrayed him. All he could hear were the sounds of the wind moving through the trees above him, the water in the stream behind him, the sounds of the men eating around him.

And then he saw her face.

She had red hair. And blue eyes, like his. Everyone had always told him that he had Tully eyes. He could remember that now. He could remember her smiling when he was a child, but now the face he pictured in his head was not smiling. Her lips were turned down as if she didn't remember how to smile. Her cheeks were hollow. There were dark circles under her eyes. And lines, each one marking a worry that she carried all on her own. She was standing in a hall, but it was not the one he imagined when he thought of his home, the keep they called Winterfell.

This hall was where she had died.

This hall was where he had died.

He could hear it now, over the sounds of the wind and stream and the men around him. He could hear the chaos. The yells of the men, both the ones fighting for him and the ones betraying him. The clash of steel. The sound of bolts being released from their crossbows. The old man laughing from his seat. He could smell the blood in the air, he could see it on his hands. He heard music over and under all of it, a song that he had only heard a few times, but the name of which was on the tip of his tongue. He heard a young woman screaming. She was screaming his name. He could feel the pain in his chest, as if he had been stabbed. Without meaning to he reached up and placed his hand over his chest.

"Yes, boy," Thoros told him, pulling him out of the vision, "That's the one that did it most like. But why?"

"The Rains of Castamere," he murmured without even realizing it. His tongue knew the name of the song before his mind. "It's the Lannister song."

He opened his eyes and looked around the circle, solemn faces stared back. They hadn't expected him to remember that. "And now the rains weep over their halls with not a soul to hear," Tom Sevenstrings confirmed for him.

In the back of his mind he could remember another person quoting that exact verse to him. A woman with dark brown hair and grey eyes. He wondered who she was, he wondered if she was important to him.

"The Lannisters plotted with the Freys and the Boltons to kill me and my men," he said, glancing around the circle for confirmation. The men nodded. "What did they get for it?" he asked, a cold bitterness coloring his tone.

"Walder Frey is now Lord of Riverrun," Anguy, the archer spoke up for the first time that evening. He closed his eyes, Riverrun was his mother's home. "And Roose Bolton has been named Warden of the North."

"And given Winterfell?" he asked.

They did not need to answer him, he knew he was right.

...

He was running through the woods. Not on two legs, but four. It felt natural. It was quiet and dark, the air was cold, but he had his coat to keep him warm.

He was hungry. His stomach was not empty, but it had not been full since the night he had started running. The night he had run from the men and their weapons and their fire. The night that the entire world had seemed to smell like blood.

He paused briefly each night to hunt and to eat. Not to satisfy his hunger, but to give him fuel to keep going.

He paused briefly when the sun was high in the sky to sleep. Not to fully recharge, but to give him just enough energy to go until the next morning.

He had to keep going. He had to find her. He was close, he could feel it in his bones. He could not stop until he found her.

He had lost her for a bit by the great water. He had hid, unseen, and watched as she was led onto the giant wooden house that could float on the water. He couldn't follow her there.

And so he had run, everything in him telling him to keep north, toward the colder air. He ran along the side of the great water, sniffing trying to smell where she had gotten off.

He had almost given up when he picked up her scent again.

And now he ran, following her.

He had to find her.

He had to find her.

She needed him.

...

"I wonder," he said the morning after his strange dream. "I wonder why you keep me around, why you won't just let me go."

"I helped bring you back," Thoros told him with a shrug. "Seems cruel to just leave you without your memories."

He shook his head, "That's not it," he murmured, glancing between the men. "Surely you have better things to do then watch over me until my memory returns. Why do you keep me prisoner?"

"You're not our prisoner," Thoros told him. "You're our guest."

"Then I'm free to leave if I want?" he asked. No one answered. He nodded, "That certainly sounds like a guest to me."

Anguy smirked, "He sounds like his sister, the little lady did not quite like how we treated our guests either."

"You had Arya?" he asked, the name slipping from his lips before he could even think about it.

"Aye," Anguy told him. "We had her. We were going to take her to you at Riverrun when she was taken from us. We don't know where she is now."

"What were you going to do with her at Riverrun?" he asked them. But it dawned on him before they answered. "You were going to ransom her to me. I would give you gold and you would give me my sister." He was quiet for a moment. "And now you will do the same with me."

"And help you with your revenge along the way," Lem told him.

Thoros was the one who gave him an answer, "Yes," he told him. "We are going to ransom you. Once we find someone who can pay. We need the gold." The priest was not apologizing for their actions, only giving him an explanation.

He nodded, not angry with them. He could understand it. "Why not send me to the Lannisters?" he asked. "They went through all that trouble to kill me the first time. If I remember right they shit gold, don't they? I'm sure they would pay you well to kill me again."

Thoros shook his head, the priest waited until he met his gaze before he spoke. "The Lord of Light brought you back for a reason, Lord Stark. I doubt it was to die at the hands of the Lannisters again. That seems hardly worth the trouble. We will not bring you to them."

He supposed that he should have felt reassured. But all he felt was empty.

...

They thought he was sleeping later that night when they talked about her.

"Why didn't you tell him about Lady Lenora?" he heard Anguy whisper across the fire.

"And what would I have said?" Thoros questioned back. "That we think his wife is still alive, but that we don't know where she is. Or who she is with?"

"It might help him remember her," Anguy suggested. "He might have some sort of idea of where to find her. I bet she would pay his ransom in a heartbeat."

"It was her family who organized the entire ambush," Thoros hissed. "Do you think they did that without her knowledge? What if she had known it was happening? What if she was in on it? Do you think he can handle remembering that right now?"

"She wasn't," Tom Sevenstrings spoke up as he strummed his harp. "They say that when he was stabbed, her scream could be heard on the other side of the Green Fork, even over the battle. She wouldn't have screamed like that if she had been in on it. She wouldn't have screamed like that if she hadn't loved him."

Thoros sighed, "Be that as it may, we have no idea where she is. It's better for now, perhaps, if he doesn't even know she's alive."

"Better because he won't run away and try to find her?" Anguy asked.

"Better because holding onto his anger will not help him bring his memories back. He's better when he's calm, quiet. Do you think knowing that the girl he loved is out there somewhere, probably with an enemy will keep him quiet and calm? And what if they've killed her?"

But she wasn't dead, he knew it. More than that, he felt it.

He had followed her scent only the night before.

Author's Note:

I have been waiting ALL week to post this chapter. Seriously, all week. I was super excited about Robb's part. But the longer I sat on it the more nervous I got. What if I did it wrong? What if I disappointed you? So here's hoping that I did him justice.
Though it's going to be a while before you really read his name. If you didn't notice read his section again. I call him him and only use his name once. That's because at the moment he doesn't belong to that name. And it's going to be a while before he does.
But he's coming back. He's talking now. Which is a lot better than the last time we saw him.
Anyway. What did you think? You should let me know. There's a review box down there where rockstars leave reviews! They make me happy and push me to update faster if that's any incentive to share your thoughts.
Plus ... you know you want to.
Anyway, thank you for reading, for adding this story to your favorites list, your alerts list, your community. But as always, the majority of my thank yous go to those of you that reviewed the last chapter. This update is for you.

HPuni101: You're more than welcome for the last chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!
Sansa and Tyrion ... I love them together. There might be hints at it throughout the story, but I don't think there's ever going to be an obvious Tansa moment ... the age difference tends to scare some people and I wouldn't want them to feel like they were forced onto that ship because of this story. That being said there will be hints at it and I will make it very easy to imagine them back together by the end of the story.

Wallflower: Thank the gods for your review! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well. Unfortunately that reunion you're waiting for is about twenty chapters away. I promise to make the wait worth it thought.

Raging Raven: Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

RHatch89: Lenora is a bit more than the Boltons bargained for. They're going to realize that soon enough and when they do it will be fantastic.

Kimberley: I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one too and that the wait wasn't too long, and if it was then it was at least worth it.

Brittstar1199: Haha. She will. Unfortunately for her she doesn't quite know what she's dealing with at the moment and she may come to regret that "can of whoopass" once she does.

janaoliver: Whatever happens, she will get her revenge. She's part Lannister after all. And they always pay their debts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

matrixboy122: I hope you enjoyed Robb's point of view. It'll be a while before he comes back, but every time he does he'll be a little more him. Thank you so much for your review.

Guest1995: You know me, I like to bring redemption to some of the worst characters.(except for Joffrey and the Boltons. There will be no redemption for them. I count it as a win every time someone tells me that they feel bad for the likes of Cersei or Tywin.
As for your list of what you're looking forward to, I'm looking forward to it too. I've written parts of those chapters but not all of them yet because I know if they're fully written I'll want to post them right away. And it's not time for that yet.
There will be a confrontation between Cersei and Lenora. As for Daenerys, she's not really in this story. I imagine her happily freeing slaves in the free cities and I want to leave her there.
Which means, that I have someone in mind for the Iron Throne. ;)

Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework: Hello new reviewer! Thank you so much for your (two) review(s)! I'm so glad that you're enjoying the story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter just as much. (Don't worry about the fist bump, I was doing a happy dance in my seat when I wrote about Robb coming back and I had known that would happen since the beginning.)

Innieminnie: I'm making you feel bad for Cersei? Wonderful! That's part of what I've intended to do.

Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967: I'm glad! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

DatMatt: Hello new friend! Thank you for your review, and thank you for sticking it out even in the middle there when you were worried about Lenora's character would change nothing. It was a slow build, I wanted it to be. There are so many stories out there where an OC (especially a woman) changes everything easily and that's not realistic. As strong as Lenora is, she's a woman who doesn't have dragons, so her impact is more subtle at the beginning, but the little changes snowball. Just like you said. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

That's all I've got for now. Go leave me some review love and I will be back soon.
Until then,
Chloe Jane.