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My name is Chloe Jane and this chapter ... belongs to the girls.

Chapter Sixty-One: Ways to Die

Sansa

The further away from King's Landing they got, the more relaxed Lord Baelish became. They disembarked their ship at Gulltown and traveled by night until they reached Redfort. Then, with the sea and some mountains between them and King's Landing Lord Baelish changed their traveling schedule. They moved by day and at night, when they could find one they slept in inns. He was still careful to make sure that her red hair was covered when too many people were around and the few times he called her Sansa it was always in a whisper. To the few strangers they had to speak to her name was Elaine, and she was to be his niece.

The false name and the disguise worked well enough in the Vale. Her aunt Lysa and her cousin Robin had somehow managed to maintain the loyalty of their people, even though Sansa knew that they had not left the Eyrie since after Jon Arryn had died. Perhaps it was Lord Arryn who had inspired the loyalty, she thought, and Lysa had just taken advantage of it. It did not matter though, there were no Queen's men here and most of the strangers they met on the road barely spared her a second look.

Until they reached a small inn half a day's ride from the Bloody Gate. They were so close to the Eyrie now that Lord Baelish had not wanted to stop for supper. But Sansa had insisted. They had one horse between the two of them, and Littlefinger, playing the proper Lord had graciously offered it to Sansa every day since they had left the ship. But Sansa did not like riding, and her bottom hurt from sitting in the saddle for too long. They were safe here in the Vale, and so close to the Bloody Gate that they would be able to beat any Lannister men, if there were any around. Once they made it through the gate she would be safe.

But she felt safe now. And she was hungry now. And she was sore. And so when she had seen the inn and realized it was the last one she would see before they reached her aunt and cousin she had demanded that they stop for supper. Lord Baelish had tried to dissuade her, but she had smiled at him. "If you're that nervous, Lord Baelish, by all means, go on ahead. I am sure that I will be able to find the Eyrie on my own from here," she had told him, her voice light and playful. He would not leave her. Petyr Baelish had saved her from King's Landing for a reason, and she was sure that it was not to see her almost to her aunt at the Eyrie.

Grumbling all the while he had led the way into the inn and found them a suitable table in a back corner, far from prying eyes. But there were some eyes at the inn and they had been looking for her. Not long after they had sat down were they approached by a large blonde knight. The knight was tall, as tall as a man, but Sansa had seen her before and she knew that despite her height and her armor she was, in fact, a woman.

A woman who had escorted Jaime Lannister to King's Landing.

The large woman knelt in front of her, her blue eyes intense as she looked at Sansa as if she were a gift from the Gods. "My name is Brienne of Tarth," the woman announced.

"We met," Petyr told her, the woman never looked away from Sansa, but she flinched at what he said next. "With Renly Baratheon. What was it he used to say about you? Your loyalty came free of charge." Sansa watched across the table as Petyr's gaze moved over the knight's dark armor and her well-made sword. "Someone seems to have paid quite a bit for it since then."

Sansa was not as stupid as Petyr liked to think she was. She knew what he was hinting at, she knew who he was hinting at. He was warning her about the Lannisters. But she needed no such warning, she had seen Brienne of Tarth with Jaime Lannister at King's Landing. She knew the company this woman kept and she would not trust her. Even without Lord Baelish's warning.

The woman kneeling before her did not rise to Lord Baelish's taunt. Her gaze remained on Sansa's face. And when she spoke her voice was gentle, soft even, as if she had spent many days and nights dreaming about her chance to speak to Sansa. "Lady Sansa," she started, pretending that Lord Baelish was not even there. "Before your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word that I would find you and protect you. I will shield your back, keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

There was something in the woman's voice. Sansa did not trust her, but she wanted to. Never in her life had she heard someone sound so sincere. Something about her words made Lord Baelish nervous. He shuffled out of his seat and stood up.

"Please, Lady Brienne," he mocked her. "There's no need for such formality. You were Catelyn Stark's sworn sword?" The blonde knight nodded as she stood up, the light glinting off the hilt of her sword caught Sansa's attention. She knew that sword, she knew who it belonged to. "I've known Cat since we were children," Petyr was saying. "She never mentioned you."

"It was after Renly's murder."

"Ah yes," Petyr agreed. "You were accused of killing him."

"I tried to save him," Brienne argued.

"But you were accused," Littlefinger pressed.

"By men who did not see what happened," Brienne countered.

"And what did happen, Lady Brienne?" Sansa asked from her seat at the table. She did not need these two arguing for her. She was quite capable of speaking for herself and now that she had been rescued from King's Landing she felt safe enough to do so. She would not allow Lord Baelish to make decisions for her. She was able to do that herself.

The blonde woman flinched again. Sansa had the feeling that if anyone else had asked her what had happened to Renly she would not have told them. But she seemed prepared to swear her loyalty to Sansa and if Sansa wanted to know what had happened to Lord Renly the blonde woman would tell her. No matter how ridiculous it sounded. "He was murdered by a shadow, my lady," she told Sansa, turning away from Littlefinger. "A shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon."

"A shadow?" Petyr mocked, shaking his head. "With a face?" He glanced at Sansa, "This woman swore to protect Renly. She failed. She swore to protect your mother. She failed." He turned his gaze on the tall woman. "Why would I allow someone with your history to protect Lady Sansa?"

"Why should you have any say in the matter?" Brienne bit back.

"Because I am to be her uncle," Lord Baelish told her. "I am bringing her to her aunt Lysa now and then, once she is safe, I will marry her. We will be family. And she won't need the likes of you protecting her."

"Lady Sansa," the woman begged, turning back to Sansa. "If we could have only a moment alone."

"No," Sansa spoke up, tired of having Petyr Baelish speak for her. Tired of hearing Brienne talk about her mother. She would not speak to this woman alone. "I saw you at Joffrey's wedding," she told the woman, her voice hard and cold, like her mother's whenever she spoke to Jon Snow. "I saw you bowing to the king."

"Neither of us wanted to be there," Brienne told her. "Sometimes we don't have a choice."

"And sometimes we do," Sansa told her, her eyes narrowed. She knew everything about not having a choice. She had not had a choice but to be at Joffrey's wedding, but this woman who was neither a Lannister prisoner, nor a Lannister bride had not been ordered to be at the wedding. Brienne of Tarth, whatever she was, had had a choice. And she had chosen to be at the wedding with Jaime Lannister. "I recognize that sword," she whispered, glancing to the woman's sword belt. "I know who it belonged to. I know who gave it to you."

"Ser Jaime," the woman started.

"The Kingslayer," Sansa interrupted, noting how the woman winced at the word.

"He sent me after you -"

"To drag me back to King's Landing?" Sansa asked, standing a bit from her seat.

"To keep you safe," Brienne told her.

Sansa laughed at that, high and cruel, she sounded like Cersei when she laughed like that. She would believe that Jaime Lannister wanted her kept safe the day she believed that her brother would wake from the dead. "I'm quite safe as it is, Lady Brienne," she told the woman knight as she nodded, silently urging the woman to move out of her way. "Lord Baelish, we must be going. I want to be well past the Bloody Gate by sundown."

Petyr bit back a smile as he nodded and bowed. "My lady." He brushed past Brienne and stopped a few feet away. It seemed as though he was giving her space to say any final goodbyes to the knight, but Sansa knew him well enough to know that he was listening. She no privacy with Petyr Baelish. All the same, she would take his spying over Brienne's lies any day.

The woman reached out, her fingers closing around her wrist, "I will remain here, Lady Sansa," she whispered, so quietly that Sansa wondered if Littlefinger could even hear her. "If you ever need my services, if you need my assistance for any reason. Send me a raven, I will be there. I swore to your mother that I would protect you and I shall."

Sansa barely spared her a look as she pulled her wrist out of the woman's grasp and walked away from her toward Littlefinger. "What did she say?" Petyr asked her, leaning closer to her than necessary to whisper in her ear.

She did not know why, but she lied. "Just more vows that she serves me and not the Lannisters," she told him, her tone bored. "But she holds a Lannister sword, so all lies and falsehoods."

Petyr looked pleased enough with her answer that she was happy she had thought to lie.

...

She felt safe enough to lower her hood as they moved down the narrow path toward the Bloody Gate. They were almost there now, a few minutes more and she would be safely at the Eyrie, a place where even Queen Cersei could not touch her. But as soon as she had lowered it, Lord Baelish was ordering her to cover her head again. "A memorable shade," he had whispered, teasing the end of her braid between his fingers as they walked.

"But how would they know?" she asked him. And who would they tell?

"You know what kind of stories poor men enjoy the most?" Lord Baelish asked her. "The ones about rich girls they will never meet." He was quiet for a moment as Sansa lifted her hood, and then, as if he had heard her unspoken question he continued, "And even here in the Vale, whispers can reach King's Landing."

"Is this the only way into the Eyrie?" Sansa asked him, wondering if there could be some secret route the queen's spies and assassins could take to get to her.

"The mountains are impassible," Petyr assured her. "If you want to get into the Eyrie you must enter through the Bloody Gate. It does not matter how large your army is, if you want to attack you must do it on this road, three men abreast, and be slaughtered like goats. The first Lords of the Vale did not have much. But they had these mountains and they knew how to use them."

Sansa tried not to sigh, it always sounded like Petyr was teaching her a lesson, every time he spoke to her. She wanted to learn all she could from him, he seemed to know more about surviving in this world than anyone, but she wished that he would just tell her what she needed to know instead of using his mind games and stories.

"The fortress they built here has never been overcome, not once in a thousand years. Know your strengths, use them wisely, and one man can be worth ten thousand."

He stopped whispering as they approached the gate, coming to a stop before the closed iron portcullis. From up on the cliff above them a man called down, "Who would pass the Bloody Gate?"

"Lord Petyr Baelish and his niece Elaine," Littlefinger called up, surprising Sansa when he did not name her for who she was. Was she going to have to pretend to be Elaine even once they were safe inside the Eyrie?

The man stared at them for a long moment and Sansa was sure that he would name them liars, that he would know who she was in an instant. But instead he called to the rest of the knights on the cliff to stand down and he opened the gate. Calling out, "Welcome back, Lord Petyr."

Sansa glanced toward Littlefinger, wondering silently if she had made the wrong decision to follow him to the Vale, if perhaps she should have trusted Brienne of Tarth. She had no idea what awaited her at the Eyrie. All she knew was that it had to be better than what she had left behind in King's Landing.

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

She found him in the small, dying Godswood. His presence surprised her. She had never seen him in the Godswood at Winterfell, even after all his years away from the Iron Islands he had never believed in the Old Gods. Or the New for that matter. And even if he had, she found it hard to believe that the Old Gods would listen to his prayers or offer any mercy if he asked for it.

Not after he had killed two of their own, and children at that.

"Do you think they will listen to you?" she asked him, her voice softer and gentler than he deserved. The air around them was cold, her breath fogged in front of her and there were snow flakes dancing in the air. She watched a snowflake fall in front of her, only to melt on the ground at her feet. The air was cold, but the ground was still warm. Still, the Starks were always right, Winter was coming.

Theon turned to look at her, his eyes wide with surprise as he scrambled to his feet. He had not expected her to find him, perhaps he had not expected anyone to find him. And no doubt, after the last time she had spoken to him he probably thought that she would never speak to him again. She shook her head, a rueful smile resting on her lips, "My father always told me that the Old Gods were as vengeful as their northern men," she told him as she moved closer to him. "Something tells me that the North will not be forgiving to you and neither will their Gods."

He ducked his head, bowing slightly to her. He never met her gaze though, choosing to stare at her chin or her shoes rather than her eyes. This was so unlike the Theon that she used to know that she felt her heart breaking a bit for him. She would not allow it this time, she had shown Theon Greyjoy too much sympathy since arriving at the Dreadfort. He would get no more from her. Her jaw clenched as his blue eyes lifted to her chin, "You'll want to be alone, my lady," he stuttered out. "I'll leave you."

She allowed him to take three steps past her before she stopped him. "I did not dismiss you," she called out, her voice cracking like a whip. He flinched. She did not turn to look at him, she knew that he would be there, listening to every word she said, waiting for her. "Whatever is to happen to me, I am still your princess. You will leave when I tell you to and not a moment before."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him nod and slowly, carefully as if he was afraid that she was going to beat him he moved closer to her. He stood, just a step behind her and to the right. Almost next to her, but not quite. "My lady," he told her, his way of acknowledging that he was at her disposal.

"There was a time when you would have made fun of me," she told him, not looking at him. "There was a time when you would have pointed out that I was about as welcome here in a Godswood as you were. There was a time when you would have laughed and told me that I was just as foreign in these woods as you." She shook her head and turned to look at him, ducking her own head and forcing him to make eye contact with her. "There was a time when I liked you better."

He averted his gaze. "As you say, my lady," he agreed with her.

She shook her head, bitter and angry. "No," she told him. "There was a time when you would have rathered cut out your own tongue than call me my lady. What happened to that man? What happened to the Theon Greyjoy I once knew? The sharp-tongued young man who liked nothing more than his own reflection and lived to remind people that he was born to be Prince of the Iron Islands. What happened to you, Theon? Did that man die along with the boys?"

He shook his head, fast and violent, as if denying her question was enough to absolve him from any guilt it might have made him feel. But Lenora was tired of letting him deny his actions. She as tired of his excuses. She wanted to know why he had killed the boys and she would not let him leave the Godswood until he told her. "No, Theon," she told him, ignoring his whispered Reek. "You cannot run from this. You cannot run from me. You killed the boys. The Boltons might not care, they might even be grateful for it. But I will not allow you to hide from it. You killed them, and you must answer for it."

"No," Theon told her, shaking his head. "I didn't."

"You had someone else do it?" Lenora asked, her jaw dropping in horror. Throughout their marriage she had watched Robb struggle to live up to his father's beliefs. She had watched him protect and provide for prisoners that he had no room for. She had watched him behead his own bannermen when they betrayed him. He had done it all so that his father's ghost would be proud of him. Theon had grown up in the same keep as Robb, she had thought that some of Ned Stark's honor might have rubbed off on Theon, but it seemed she had been wrong. "Seven Hells, Theon," she cursed. "You couldn't even do it yourself?"

He shook his head, biting his lips as if trying desperately to keep something inside. "I didn't," he murmured, not looking up from his own feet. "I didn't, I didn't, I didn't."

"You did, Theon," she argued, turning to face him and reaching out so that she could drop her hands on his shoulders. He flinched away from her touch, but she held strong. "You did," she told him again. "You killed them. You betrayed Robb and you killed the boys. Why? So that you could make your father proud?"

Theon shook his head, still unable to admit to it.

"Your father didn't care about you," Lenora told him. "Even after you murdered the boys. Do you know who cared for you? Ned Stark! Robb cared about you. You were his brother and you betrayed him and murdered two innocent boys."

Theon shook his head again, he was biting his bottom lip so hard that he had drawn blood, it was dripping down his chin. His eyes were filled with tears and as he shook his head some of them flew off his cheeks, one of them landed warm and wet on the back of her hand.

She stared at it, unable to look at his face. "Can't you just admit it, Theon?" she begged him. "I need you to admit it so that I can hate you. I need you to admit it so that I don't have to feel sorry for you. I need you to admit it so that I can believe that you deserved whatever Ramsay did to you."

She was crying now, she could feel her own tears slipping down her cheeks. Theon had better control than she did. This was embarrassing, but she could not stop the tears. And when he glanced up at her face and guilt flashed across his face she realized that she didn't want to. She wanted him to see her tears, she wanted him to understand the pain she felt, the pain Robb had felt when he first heard what Theon had done.

She wanted him to suffer.

She wanted him to suffer more than Ramsay had made him suffer. She wanted him to want to die for what he had done. She wanted him to understand.

"I didn't," he told her again.

"Is that all you can say?" she asked him, lifting one of her hands off his shoulder so that she could wipe angrily at the tears slipping down her cheeks. "You were there when Rickon was born, you were there as they grew up, you helped rescue Bran and me from the wildlings in the Wolf's Wood. And all you can say is I didn't?" She shook her head. "The Theon I knew was braver than that."

"Not Theon," he started.

She sighed, shaking her head as she moved away from him. "I can see that now," she told him, her tone bitter. "You're not Theon at all. Perhaps you really are him, perhaps you are Reek."

He had spent so much of his time since she had arrived at the Dreadfort telling her to call him Reek, denying his given name that she thought for a moment that he would be pleased that she had finally accepted his new name. But a look of pain flashed in his eyes when she said it.

She didn't care, she wanted him to feel pain.

She looked away from him as she sat down on a fallen tree. "You can go," she told him, not even looking over her shoulder at him as she dismissed him. "I don't want you here." She nodded toward the heart tree and front of her, "And neither do they."

He was so quiet when he approached her that she did not notice him until his hand had already fallen on her shoulder. "I didn't," he told her again. His voice was still shaking, but it was stronger. Less a whimper and more a whisper. She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he cut her off before she could. "I did not kill the boys. I did not kill Bran and Rickon. And I did not have someone else do it for me."

She glanced at him now, her eyes wide. "They're alive?" she whispered, her voice quiet. He nodded. Her brows furrowed, "But the raven said you hung their bodies from the castle wall. Who did you kill?"

"Two farm boys," Theon admitted, not meeting her gaze. "Changelings dressed to look like Bran and Rickon. And burned so no one would recognize them. They had escaped with their direwolves before I knew. I couldn't catch them. But I could not look weak in front of the small folk. I murdered two innocent boys, yes, but not the boys. Not our boys."

She stared at him, waiting for more, but he never said anything else. "Do you want my gratitude?" she asked him, her voice harsh. "Do you want me to forgive you since you didn't kill Bran and Rickon?"

He shook his head, "I don't deserve anything from you, my lady," he told her hands that were folded in her lap. "I just wanted you to know the truth. The boys are alive. And they're out there."

"A boy of seven and a cripple," she murmured, her anger returning to her. "They're as good as dead. Perhaps I should be grateful, but if you had killed them at least they would have been given a clean death. Now they're probably starving and freezing to death." She was quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had told her. "Who else knows?" she asked him.

He looked down, ashamed. "Ramsay knows," he told her. "And Lord Bolton. And some of the Bolton men. They're hunting them now."

"Hunting them?" Lenora echoed, dread settling in her chest. She shook her head again, "You should have killed them, Theon."

He nodded, "Reek," he corrected her.

She looked at him, "Theon."

...

"I have been patient, Lord Bolton," she told the older man by way of announcing her presence when she walked into his solar that evening. "More patient than you deserve."

He glanced up from the book he had been reading as his cupbearer placed leeches on his naked chest. Lenora averted her eyes, uncomfortable at the sight of both his chest and the leeches. "Princess Lenora," he greeted her, bowing his head to her though he remained seated, a contradiction. "Good evening."

She moved closer to him, her eyes darting toward the cupbearer and wondering if she had the right to dismiss the boy or not. "I have been patient," she told him again. "You betrayed your king, you killed my husband, and then you kidnapped me and brought me against my will to the Dreadfort. I have been patient, but no more. I would like some answers. I demand some answers."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Are you really in a position to demand anything, my lady?" he asked her, his voice still annoyingly calm.

She glared at him, perhaps she was not in a position to demand anything of her captor, but she would have the answers anyway. She deserved them. And so, she ignored the cupbearer, she ignored the leeches, she ignored his naked chest and she threw herself into a seat across his desk from him. "My grandfather arranged the Red Wedding," she told him, finally calling the Frey wedding by the name she had heard whispered since they left the Twins.

She had not asked a question, but Lord Bolton nodded his answer. "He did," the northern lord told her. "Lord Tywin believed that if he could kill Robb Stark and decimate most of his host the northern cause would die with him."

Lenora smiled, dark and rueful, it sounded like her grandfather, ruthless and cold, guest rights be damned. He had done it well, if it had not been for the musicians playing Rains of Castamere even she might not have known that her family was behind it. All the blame would have fallen on the Freys and the Boltons. "And was I supposed to die at the Twins as well?" she asked him.

Roose Bolton smiled at her for a moment before he shut his book, giving her all of his attention. "You were not, my lady," he told her.

She nodded, she had expected as much. So far, nothing Lord Bolton had confirmed surprised her. "But I was not supposed to be brought here?" He shook his head. "I was supposed to be sent back to King's Landing. That was part of why my grandfather arranged the affair. To get me home."

Roose nodded, "That was one of the terms," he told her.

"Then why am I here?" Lenora asked him. "You were supposed to kill my husband, you were supposed to destroy his army, and you were supposed to return me to my mother. For those actions you were made Warden of the North and given Winterfell. Do you think they will allow you to have it even though I was never returned?"

"I imagine they do not have much choice in the matter," Roose told her, his tone dismissive. "With the Ironborn holding Moat Cailin they have little hope of making it north to rescue you or take Winterfell from me." He was gloating, not in an obvious way, but a quiet, teasing gloat that made her shoulders tense and her fists clench.

"The Ironborn will not hold the Moat for much longer," she warned him. "The squids are too far from the sea. They'll be running low on food with your men both north and south of the moat. Then what do you plan to do?"

He smiled, "You seem to think that I am like your dead husband, Lady Lenora," he sneered at her. "He used to discuss his battle plans with you, though I warned him not to. I will not do the same."

"Who am I going to tell?" Lenora asked him, glancing around the room as if looking for a Lannister or Stark spy. "I have no friends here. Perhaps I'll tell Reek, though he's as loyal to your son as one of your hounds."

Bolton was quiet for a moment, watching her before he nodded. "I have sent Ramsay and Theon south, they will take the moat back. Then my army will be united north of the moat and there will be no way for your Lannister soldiers to rescue you."

"You sent Reek to deal with the Ironborn?" she asked him. "They won't fall for that in a moment. It's obvious that your son owns the man."

"He will pretend to be Theon Greyjoy," Roose told her, his voice hard. "There won't be a battle. He will order them to surrender and then my son and his men will kill them all."

"And what will he get in return?" Lenora asked him. She was not as innocent as she had once been, she knew that everything came for a price now.

"Reek?" Roose asked her, his eyebrows raised. "He will get nothing. But Ramsay, will be legitimized if they succeed. He will throw away the name Snow and will hereafter be called Bolton. I will recognize him as my trueborn son."

Lenora stared at him, her eyebrows raised, "You would name that monster your son?" she asked him.

Roose smiled at her, "Until I have one of my own."

She wanted to ask him what he planned to do with her. But she was afraid of his answer. She wanted to ask him what would happen after Ramsay was legitimized, but she was terrified. She wanted to ask him if his men had found the boys yet, but she did not want to admit that she knew the truth about them.

So instead she sat, glaring at him from across the desk, hoping that he would know just how much she wanted him to fail. Just how much she wished him dead.

Roose Bolton smiled at her, as if he could read her thoughts and they delighted him. "You won't be at the Dreadfort much longer, my lady," he told her as he signaled to his cupbearer that it was time to start removing the leeches from his chest. "As soon as I have control of the Moat I will bring you home to Winterfell."

"And what will you do with me there?" Lenora asked him.

His calm smile was the only answer she got.

-.-.-.-.-

Arya

"Where will you take me now?" she asked him as they rode together.

The Hound turned to glare at her, "You ask too many questions," he told her. "Curiosity will kill you, little girl."

She smiled at him, he meant for it to be a threat, but he did not scare her. For all his growls and his glares Sandor Clegane had done more to protect her than he had ever done to harm her. He had kidnapped her from the Brotherhood, but after what she had seen them do to Gendry she was not sure that she could trust them not to sell her to the Lannisters if they offered enough gold.

He had meant to bring her to the Twins so that he could ransom her off to her brother and when they had faced the fire and fighting at the Twins he could have left her there, ransomed her to the Freys, but instead he had rescued her. He had protected her from seeing the worst of it and got her away as quickly as he could.

He had helped her kill Polliver. He had gotten Needle back for her. And he had given her a horse.

He liked to remind her that he could kill her if she caused him too much trouble, but she knew he wouldn't. And not because she was worth more to him alive than dead. He wouldn't kill her because he liked her. He wouldn't kill her because somewhere, along the road, he had decided that he would protect her.

And now, he could not scare her.

Her smile widened as she watched his glare intensify, "Where will you take me now?" she asked him again. "You wanted to take me to the Twins but my mother and brother were murdered. Where will you take me now?"

They were traveling south east, for a moment when she had realized what direction they were going she had worried that he meant to bring her back to King's Landing, to the Lannisters. But he had done so much to keep her alive, she didn't think he would waste that all now by bringing her back to the lion's den.

Besides, he seemed as afraid of the Lannisters as she was. Whatever had happened in the capitol before he left had scared him enough that he seemed in no hurry to return.

He sighed, glancing away from her as if he didn't want to answer her. "Your aunt Lysa is in the Vale," he told her. "The Eyrie. I'll bring you there and see if she'll pay me for you."

Arya shrugged her shoulders, "My aunt Lysa has never seen me," she told him. "She doesn't know what I look like. She might not believe you when you tell her who I am."

"Then you'll make her believe me," the Hound growled at her. "You'll tell her everything you remember about Winterfell and your mother. Then she'll have to take you, it'll be her familial duty."

Arya laughed out loud at that, "Familial duty?" she asked him. "Do you think people care about that in times of war? Have you heard the stories of my aunt Lysa? Do you believe that she ever cared about that? She left my brother when he needed her most, ignored him. What makes you think that she won't ignore me too."

The Hound turned to watch her, "If your aunt won't take you I'll bring you further south to King's Landing," he threatened. "So you had best hope that your lady aunt is feeling auntly when we get to the Eyrie."

Arya barked out another laugh, "You're a shit liar," she told him. "You're just as likely to willingly walk into King's Landing as I am. You won't bring me back to the Lannisters."

"Don't you want that?" the Hound growled at her. "Aren't they on that little list of yours? It would be easier to kill them if you were in King's Landing." He was mocking her, she felt her fists clench as she stared at him. The Hound chuckled, "That list is a lie, little girl," he told her. "You're too scared to knock names off of it."

"Your name is on the list," she warned him. "If I were you I would hope that I don't decide to knock your name off of it."

The Hound chuckled, he was not afraid of her. She wanted him to be. "If I were you I would hope that when you tried I was nice enough to kill you quickly," he told her. "You'll get one try, little girl, use it wisely."

She hated him.

...

They were laying on either side of a fire, resting for the night. She supposed that if she were out there alone she would not have been comfortable so out in the open, next to a fire. But with the Hound she felt safe. Whoever might come upon them during the night would be wise to rethink attacking the Hound.

And despite his daily threats. He would keep her safe.

He would keep her safe until he had found someone to ransom her to.

"Cersei, Walder Frey, Meryn Trant, Tywin Lannister, the Red Woman, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Ilyn Payne, the Mountain," she whispered, reciting her list. It was the only thing that could help her sleep at night.

The Hound turned his head, glaring at her through the flames, "Would you shut up?" he asked her.

She wondered how he could lay so close to the fire. Sure, he was a good five feet from it, but given his past she wondered if even that was too close. Perhaps the chill in the air was enough to make him fight his fear of the flames. Warmth over fear.

"I can't sleep until I say the names," she told him, angry that he had interrupted her.

"The names of every fucking person in Westeros?" he asked her.

"Only the ones I'm going to kill," she told him. She didn't need to explain herself, he knew about her list, she had explained it to him. But this was the first time that he had truly heard it. Usually she waited until he was sleeping to say the names.

He laughed at her, "Hate's as good a thing as any to keep a person going," he told her. "I know that better than most." He was quiet for a long moment and she thought he had fallen asleep. She was about to start her list again when he spoke, "If we ever come across my brother maybe we can both cross a name off our lists."

"If he were here right now what would you do?" Arya asked him, sitting up a bit so that she could squint at him across the fire.

He stared at her for a long moment, debating whether or not to let her in. For a moment she thought that he might trust her, but then he sighed. "I'd tell him to shut the fuck up so that I could get some sleep," he told her. She stared at him, quiet and waiting. There had to be something more, he couldn't leave it at that. He sighed again, "Go on," he told her, closing his eyes, "get it over with, your list of doomed men."

"I'm almost done," she told him as she lay back down and rolled away from him. "There's only one name left," she paused for a long moment, but she knew that he was listening. "The Hound."

...

She was up and practicing her water dancing by the river long before he woke up the next day. She woke up early every morning to practice, but she was usually finished before he woke up. This was the first time he had caught her. She did not know how long he had stood there, watching her practice, but she knew that Syrio Forel would be disappointed with her. She was as quick as a cat, but she had not been listening.

"What the hell are you doing?" the Hound had asked her when she turned to see him.

"Practicing," she told him. Wasn't it obvious?

"Practicing ways to die?" he asked her, his voice sounded angry. She did not know what she had done to make him angry, but she did not care. He would not always be around to protect her. She needed to keep practicing how to do it on her own.

"No one's going to kill me," she assured him.

"They will if you keep dancing around like that," he told her. "That's not how you fight."

"It's not fighting," she agreed with him as she turned away from him. "It's water dancing."

He laughed out loud then, as if she had told him the funniest joke in the world. "Dancing?" he echoed at her. "Perhaps you should put on a dress then. Who taught you that?"

"The greatest swordsman who ever lived," she told him, doing a one handed cartwheel as she turned to face him, Needle extended as if she meant to fight him. "Syrio Forel. The first sword of the Sea Lord of Bravos."

He chuckled, "You're all off," he told her.

"What do you know about anything?" Arya fired back, angry. The Hound could laugh at her all he wanted, but she would not allow him to laugh at Syrio.

"What happened to him?" the Hound asked.

"He's dead," she told him.

"Who killed him?"

"Ser Meryn Trant," she yelled, moving closer to him. He was laughing again, "That's why Ser Meryn is on my -"

"The greatest swordsman who ever lived killed by Meryn Fucking Trant?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. She tried to tell him that Syrio had been outnumbered, but the Hound kept going. "Any boy with a sword and armor could beat three of Meryn Trant."

"He didn't have armor or a sword," Arya defended her teacher. "Just a stick."

"The greatest swordsman who ever lived didn't have a sword?" he asked, chuckling. "Alright, you have a sword, let's see what he taught you. Show me."

She threw her sword from one hand to another, trying to confuse him, then with one fast quick twirl she lunged, stabbing him in the stomach. He would have been cut open if he hadn't been wearing armor. He looked down at her sword and almost smiled before he drew his hand back and slapped her across the face. She fell to the ground, staring up at him as he plucked Needle from her hands and turned it on her. "Lesson one," he told her. "Your friend is dead and Meryn Trant is still alive because Trant had armor and a big fucking sword."

Then he flipped the blade in his grasp, holding onto the steel and extending the handle out toward her so that she could take it back. "Lesson one?" she asked him as she stood up.

He nodded, "If you're going to carry that sword around, I had better teach you to use it."

...

They stopped at an inn that evening, not to stay for the night, but to eat supper. The Hound was quiet for most of the meal, it took Arya longer than she liked to admit to realize that he was quiet not because he had nothing to say, but because he was listening to the whispers and gossip around them.

"What are you listening to?" she asked him.

"Shut up," he growled to her, his ear turned toward a table of fishermen to their right.

"I'm telling you," one of them swore to his friends. "I saw them get on the boat. Lord Bolton thought that moving by night would keep her hidden, but I recognized her."

"Recognized her?" his friend echoed, not believing a single word the man said. "And when have you ever seen the lady? You wouldn't recognize her if she were standing in front of you now."

"I have too seen her," the first argued. "I saw her as she rode to the Twins for the Red Wedding. She was riding with the King in the North and that grey direwolf of his. That's how I knew it was them. It was the same woman, the same dark hair, the same grey eyes."

"You were close enough to see her eyes?" his friend chuckled. "Now I know you're lying."

"I'm not," the first defended himself. "They were headed north, toward White Harbor. Getting around the Ironborn at Moat Cailin."

Arya turned toward the Hound, her eyes wide, "Lenora," she whispered, "they're talking about Lenora."

The Hound did not say anything, he didn't even hint that he heard her. But when they left the inn and climbed back into their saddles he did not turn east toward the Vale and her aunt Lysa at the Eyrie.

He started to ride north.

Author's Note:

Hello loves, you asked for more Lenora and I hope I delivered! I'm not super excited about her section in this chapter (if I'm being honest, I'm all about the Arya love in this chapter) but it leads her to make a really exciting decision about three chapters from now that I just wrote this morning. And that part I'm in love with!
I hope you all are doing well. And that maybe this chapter helps you get over the hump this week.
Thank you for stopping by, thank you for reading, and thank you in advance for all the review love I know you're about to leave me. I'm sure that we're going to get past four hundred reviews with this chapter. I can feel it.
HUGE thanks to the review rockstars from the last chapter. You guys are what keeps me writing. Just know that.

HPuni101: Thank you! I was doing a happy dance all day on Monday. This is the largest story I have ever tried to take on and sixty chapters just seemed like a huge deal. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one!

DannyBlack70: Thank you for your two reviews! I really appreciate that you were going to wait until you were caught up, but that you had to tell me about Robb's POV. I'm so glad I nailed it. And I'm even more glad that you enjoyed reading it.
I'm having so much fun with Theon and Lenora. You guys got a little hint of it in this chapter. When he whispered instead of whimpered about the boys. He's getting stronger. Part of it is that Sansa saw him again at Winterfell, Lenora first saw him at the Dreadfort, so she's got a little more time with him, but she also challenges him more than Sansa did. He's going to end up more of an ally for Lenora than he was for Sansa. I rewatched her escape episode last night (a bit of research) and he had a moment when he pushes Miranda from the wall, but then Ramsay returns and it's almost like he helps Sansa because he knows that HE is not safe anymore. If/when (don't want to give too much away) he helps Lenora escape it's going to be more for her than for him.
There's been a lot of Sansa bits recently (and there will be more to come) because I love her and I love her arc (except for the recent episodes because she's turning into a bit of a stone cold bitch (no hatred for that) but I'm really worried she's going to try to kill Arya. And Arya's my girl. So I won't like her if she does.
As for Dorne, I'm not going to go too far into the Sand Snakes and my plot definitely follows the show more than the book, but Jaime won't go down there. And whatever happens to Myrcella, you guys probably won't see it, it's going to happen off page(?) (for the most part) but it's going to be that final thing that drives Cersei insane. And there's going to be a lot of collateral damage that is going to be a lot of fun to write. So I'm excited for it.

RHatch89: Thank you dear!

Wallflower: What will you do in your spare time? What will I do in my spare time? My weeks off have been devoted to this story for almost a year! What will I do? I suppose I will just have to write another one. And you might just have to read it.

Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework: Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one too. I'm really glad you enjoyed the Cersei part. Home girl is going insane. She's depressed, she's scared, she's angry, she's paranoid, and she is just steadily going off the deep end. And I have so much fun writing it! And I now it probably sounds sick and twisted but I really can't wait until after Tommen and Myrcella go because then the real fun begins. At least as far as Cersei's mind goes.
Gold will be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

FairyFelicity: I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this one. There was some Len in it. As for your request for more of them I checked my outline. There's some Robb in the next chapter. Neither of them in the next. And then there's at least one of them if not BOTH in every chapter to follow. So your heart will get its wish.

JaxAndCharlieTeller: I'm glad you love the story. And thank you so much for the information on Henry VIII. I know that my information was very basic, so thank you for adding to it. And it wasn't rude at all. I was a biology and history major in college (but I studied WWII like it was my job and basically nothing else) and I'm a proud American but I get a bit insulted when people spout off bad information about Hitler and the Nazis because I spent four years of my life studying them. So I totally understand where you are coming from. And I sincerely thank you.
As for what Lenora looks like. I picture her as Lily James with her brown hair and with grey eyes, not brown. It worked out really well because the picture for this story is actually her and Richard Madden from when they were doing Romeo and Juliet in London (not sure if they're still doing it, but they were).
Anyway, I hope you make it all the way to chapter sixty-one to read this reply!

OfSeashellsandStars: Oh my goodness, you binge readers amaze me! You read the story in a day? That's amazing. And I guess it means it's pretty good, so cheers to both of us for that! I'm so glad that you found this story. And I'm so glad that you're shipping Robb and Lenora "so hard right now". (Secret: I am too ... obviously.) As for Ramsay ... don't worry, whatever happens, he'll get what he deserves.

That's all I've got for now, dear readers.
See you on Friday!
Chloe Jane.