Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)
I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.
My name is Chloe Jane and I know that everyone is gearing up for what will probably be a very brutal season finale. So I thought I'd make it worse.
Enjoy.
Chapter Sixty-Three: Run Away
Tyrion
"The Crown may call its next witness," Tywin had commanded, his tone of voice bored, as if he could not wait for the trial to be over. And of course he couldn't, Tyrion realized, he had gotten what he wanted, Jaime would leave the Kingsguard and become his heir again. Their father had probably planned that from the beginning. Jaime had thought that he was saving Tyrion's life, but he was only doing what their father had always wanted him to do.
He looked around when the witness did not immediately appear. He was about to ask if the next was a ghost, perhaps Joffrey himself, when he heard her footsteps. It was strange, it had been so long since he had heard her walk, but he still knew it was her. Before he laid his eyes on her he knew that Shae was the next witness. She looked lovely, every bit the lady he had always wanted to make her. Her dress was pale pink silk, but it had long sleeves and sweeping skirts. No one would believe she was a whore in this dress.
She looked like a princess. A goddess even. The very picture of the Maiden.
He could not look away from her as she walked down the aisle, her gaze on the floor. His mind willed him to turn away from her, she was here to lie, to frame him for his sister, deep down he knew that. But his heart would not allow him to look away, and the hope that had risen in his chest when he first saw Varys take the stand came back in full force. This was Shae. His love. No matter what his sister and father had threatened her with, she would not betray him.
She had always told him that she wasn't afraid of his family, he had always warned her that she should be. But he was so happy that she had not listened to him. She was here, and she was about to prove to him and the Seven Kingdoms as a whole that Tywin and Cersei Lannister were not as powerful as they liked to believe they were. His gaze danced over her face, memorizing every line, the way the light danced over her cheeks. She was his. And she was here to save him.
He had thought that he would never see her again. But here she was, brave as the Warrior, and all his.
"State your name," Tywin commanded her, barely giving the girl a look. He was so sure that she would do exactly what he wanted her to. Tyrion tried not to smirk, he did not want to give away the game too early. He would let his father think he had won for now.
"Shae," his angel told him, not able to meet the judges' gaze.
"And do you swear by all the Gods that your testimony will be true and honest?"
"I swear it," Shae answered with no hesitation. Yes, you do, my love, Tyrion thought, turning his gaze on the beautiful woman beside him. She was wearing jewelry, a necklace, that he had given her. He was sure that it was a secret signal to him that she was on his side.
"Do you know this man?" Tywin asked, barely even nodding in Tyrion's direction.
Now she hesitated, but it was only right. The judges would not listen to her testimony if they knew she was in love with him. She was playing the game well. Why had he ever doubted her? She glanced back at him, her dark eyes landing on his face for the first time since she had entered the hall. And he nodded, she couldn't hesitate for too long. They would know something was afoot. "Yes," she told the judges, turning away from him to face them again, squaring her shoulders to show them that she was not afraid of them. "Tyrion Lannister."
"And how do you know him?"
"I was handmaiden to his wife, Lady Sansa," she answered, looking every bit the demure and faithful handmaiden. Tyrion had been right to get her placed in Sansa's service. She had been good for the girl, loved her even. Shae would do nothing to betray either Tyrion or Sansa.
"This man stands accused of murdering King Joffrey. What do you know of it?"
Tyrion almost snorted, by her own admission she was nothing to him but his wife's handmaiden. Why would his father think that she would know anything of his supposed plan to murder his nephew? And how did his father find her? What made him think that she knew anything? The hope that was rising in his chest stopped, almost choking him in his throat when it turned quickly and painfully into dread. "I know that he is guilty," Shae told the judges, not meeting any of their eyes, not turning to look at Tyrion. She stared at the floor. "He and Lady Sansa planned it together."
Behind him the court gasped, but Tyrion barely heard it. All he could do was stare at Shae. He felt his legs go weak and he stumbled a bit as he took a seat on the top step of his foot stool. How could she do this? She loved him. And he loved Sansa. She knew this was betraying them and putting them in danger and she said it anyway. What did they say to her to persuade her to lie for them? What did they have on her? It couldn't be gold, he had given her more than enough of that. And she had always said that she didn't love him for his gold. So what had they used?
He wanted so badly to ask her. But he didn't want to let on that she was anything more to him than his wife's handmaiden. And he had promised his brother that he would hold his tongue. No more outbursts, he reminded himself as his chest tightened painfully. What was it that Jaime had said? This will all be over soon.
"Silence," his father ordered dismissively as he glanced at the court. They quieted in an instant. Tywin's eyes didn't even land on Tyrion as he brought his gaze back to Shae. "Continue."
"She wanted revenge for her father, her mother, her brother. She blamed their deaths on the king. Lord Tyrion was happy to help. He hated Joffrey. He hated the queen. He hated you, my lord. He stole poison from the Grand Maester's chamber to put in Joffrey's wine at his wedding. He meant to escape with Sansa while all eyes were on the king. They planned to go north together and to attack King's Landing once they had an army."
Tyrion's fists clenched. Whoever had coached her and told her what to say had done well. There was enough truth to her words that they all sounded believable. Just like Cersei's testimony, just like Vary's testimony, just like Ser Meryn Trent's testimony. Pycelle's testimony was more lie than truth, even a blind fool could have seen that, but this one had enough truth that it was almost believable. He was married to Sansa. Shae was Sansa's handmaiden. Sansa, no doubt, had wanted revenge for her family. Tyrion did hate Joffrey, everyone did. Tyrion did hate Cersei. And he did hate his father. Joffrey's wine had been poisoned. Sansa did slip away in the confusion. She had the means to call the Northern bannermen. If all of those statements were true it was not hard to assume that her lie that Tyrion had planned to escape during the wedding feast as well was also true.
She had told him on many occasions that she was not afraid of his family. But here she was, lying for them. And here he was, a heartbroken fool.
Prince Oberyn shifted in his chair, a habit Tyrion had noticed that presented itself when the young Dornishman believed he was being lied to. "How could you possibly know all this?" he asked, his dark eyes narrowed as he looked at Shae. "Why would he reveal such plans to his wife's maid?"
Shae had not expected the question. Just as Cersei had not expected the question that Oberyn had asked her as well. Of all the judges sitting before him Oberyn seemed to be the only one who meant to take his role seriously. He had not already made up his mind as Tywin had, and he did not blindly believe everything he was told as Mace Tyrell did. Tyrion watched the panic in Shae's eyes as she decided the best way to answer the prince's question. He wondered which lie she would choose. In the end it wasn't lie, but a horrible truth.
"I wasn't just her maid," Shae told him. Oberyn shifted forward, his eyebrows raised. "I was also his whore."
The crowd behind him gasped again. This time Tywin did not silence them. He sat in the Iron Throne and he smiled. He knew he had won. "I beg your pardon," Mace Tyrell apologized. "You said you were his -"
"His whore," Shae told them again. Tyrion winced, even now after everything she had said. After all the lies. After he knew that she had come back to betray him. He could not stand to hear her call herself that. His mind flashed back to the last day they were together, when he had called her a whore. He had regretted it then. He regretted it even more now. What if it wasn't his family who had turned her against him? What if it had been him? What if it was the words he had said to her the morning of Joffrey's wedding? Had he created his own monster?
He barely heard his father ask how Shae had come into his service. But he heard her answer. He heard every word. "He stole me," she told them. "I was with another man, a knight in your lordship's army. But when Tyrion arrived at the camp he sent one of his cutthroats into our tent. The sellsword broke the knight's arm and brought me to Lord Tyrion." Tyrion had always remembered that first night in a more romantic manner. He had thought he saved her from the Lannister knight, rather than stolen her. "You belong to me now, he said," she continued. Tyrion gritted his teeth, hoping, praying to all seven Gods that she would stop there. She didn't. "I want you to fuck me like it's my last night in this world."
Behind him the crowd laughed, his father called for silence but they did not listen to him. From her seat to the left of the dais Cersei smirked. They were all mocking him. But they didn't know how he had felt. His father had ordered him to lead his mountain clansmen into battle. He did not know how to fight, he was certain he would be dead by the next evening. He had been scared. And he truly believed that it was his last night on earth. And Shae, to her credit, had made it an amazing night. And she had made every night since even more amazing. But she was spitting on all of that now. Not only was she allowing these monsters to mock him, but she was using his own words to do it. Had she ever loved him? Or was it all just an act?
"Silence!" his father bellowed.
"And did you?" Oberyn asked, laughter coloring his words.
"Did I what?" Shae asked him, confused by the question.
"Fuck him like it was his last night in this world?" Tyrion sighed, of course this would be what Prince Oberyn Martell was most concerned with. This was the man who had brought a Sand and his mistress to King Joffrey's wedding. He had thought he had an ally in Oberyn, someone who might take this trial seriously. But he could see that he was wrong.
Shae nodded a silent yes to his question. She could have left it at that, but with no further prompting she gave more. "I did everything he wanted. Whatever he told me to do to him. Whatever he wanted to do to me. I kissed him where he wanted. I licked him where he wanted. I let him put himself wherever he wanted. I was his property. I used to wait in his chambers for hours so that he could use me when he was bored. He ordered me to call him my lion and so I did. I took his face in my hands and told him, I am yours and you are mine."
She hadn't looked at him since she had first told his father that she knew who he was. It hurt him to look at her, physically hurt him. But he needed to see her face. He thought that if he could only get her to look at him he would be able to beg her to stop this. To tell the truth. To tell all of them that they had loved each other. "Shae," was all he managed, his voice cracked. She had already broken him. She turned to look at him, he shook his head, "Please don't do this."
"I am a whore," she told him, her own voice wobbling as if she was trying not to cry. "Remember?" I did this, he realized. This is all my fault. She turned away from him, back to the judges. "That was before he married Lady Sansa. After that all he wanted was her. But she wouldn't let him in her bed. So he promised to kill King Joffrey for her."
His father did not try to silence the crowd behind him. They were gasping and whispering and yelling. It was no wonder no one heard him the first time he spoke. "Father," he ground out, "I wish to confess." When his father did not immediately respond he spoke louder, yelling above the crowd and silencing them himself. "I wish to confess."
"You wish to confess?" Tywin echoed, leaning forward in his seat. Tyrion did not glance at Jaime, he knew his older brother would be worried. All the same he heard the clank of his brother's armor as he took a step forward, as if to physically stop Tyrion from doing whatever he planned to do next. But Jaime could not stop him now, no one could.
Tyrion turned away from his father and the other judges. He turned away from Cersei's disdain and Jaime's concern. He turned away from Shae and her lies. He turned to glare at the lords and ladies behind him, the men and women that he had saved during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He turned toward the ungrateful wretches who would have been raped and robbed and murdered if it weren't for him. And he glared. "I saved you," he growled at them, but he knew they heard every word. "I saved this city. All your worthless hides. I should have let Stannis kill you all."
The people were outraged, but he did not care. "Tyrion?" he father called down from the throne, silencing their shouts and cries. "Do you wish to confess?" Jaime took another step, this time toward their father, as if to remind the older man of the promise he had made his eldest son, and heir, Tyrion ruefully reminded himself. But Jaime could not save him anymore than he could have stopped him.
"Yes, Father," Tyrion told him, turning back to Tywin. "I am guilty. Guilty, is that what you wanted to hear?"
"You admit you poisoned the king?"
"No," Tyrion answered. "Of that I am innocent. I am guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being born a dwarf."
"You are not on trial for being a dwarf," Tywin told him, chuckling slightly.
"Oh, yes I am," Tyrion assured him. "I have been on trial for that my entire life."
"Have you nothing to say in your defense?" Tywin asked him, his voice hard.
"Only this," Tyrion answered. "I did not do it. I did not kill Joffrey. But I wish that I had." He turned toward Cersei, "Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than a thousand lying whores!" he yelled the last two words at Shae before he turned back to the crowd behind him. "I wish that I was the monster you think I am. I wish that I had enough poison for the whole pack of you! I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it!" His father called for Ser Meryn to escort him back to his cell, perhaps he was worried that Jaime would free him if given the chance. But Tyrion was not finished yet. He turned back on his father, "I will not give my life for Joffrey's murder and I know I will get no justice here! So I will let the Gods decide my fate! I demand a trial by combat!"
His father did not need to say anything, he could see it on his face. He would get his trial. He glanced at his brother, only now realizing that he could not ask Jaime to fight for him. Jaime would have been his first choice, his last choice, and every other choice in between. But he was on his own. As he always was.
At least this way it would not be his father that judged him and named him guilty. He did not want to give Tywin the satisfaction. And he would not go to the Wall quietly. He would not take the Black. If he was going to be named guilty for a murder he had not committed then they were going to have to behead him for it.
And may they all go to the Seven Hells for it.
-.-.-.-.-
Cersei
This was all working out almost too well, too cleanly. Cersei could not think of a time in her life when something had been this easy. She had a good memory, but life had never been good to her. But now, now the Gods were making it up to her and she was going to make sure that she did not miss a moment of it. Her brother, Tyrion, had always said that the world was cruel. He told her once that the good ones never got the reward they deserved, and that the cruel never got the punishment they had earned. His words had been prettier, he always had such pretty words, but that had been the meat of it. And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right.
She had never gotten what she deserved out of the world. And Tyrion, the little monster, had never gotten what he had earned. But that was about to change now.
Her life of bad luck had started the moment she was born. If the Gods had been kind they would have made a man. She was Jaime's twin, she should have been his equal. But the Gods had seen it fit to make her a woman and she had been paying for that every day since.
For so many years she and Jaime had been treated the same. And then one day, shortly after Tyrion had been born her father had changed all that. Jaime had been sent out to the tilt yard to learn to ride and to fight. He was expected to be strong. He was trained to lead and to rule. One day he would be given the Rock even though she was older than him. While he had been learning to be a man. She had been forced into dresses. She had been trained to dance, to sing, to sew. He was given strength and she was given the skills to be a desirable wife. They had never been on equal footing since. That was the second slight the Gods had dealt her.
The third offense was Tyrion himself. The monster who had killed her beautiful mother when he ripped his way into the world. She had not wanted another sibling, she could not understand why her parents had wanted one. They had their heir in Jaime, they had the alliance maker in Cersei. Could they not be happy with that? She could still remember how happy her lovely mother had been in the days and weeks leading up to Tyrion's birth. She had promised Cersei that she would love the child. She had picked out the furnishings for the nursery herself. And Tywin had doted on her for the entire nine moons. And how had Tyrion repaid their parents joy and hope? By murdering their mother so that he could live.
He should have died in those first few weeks. But the Gods were cruel. They were not on her side. They betrayed her and they allowed him to live. Every day he got stronger. And every day Jaime loved him more. Before Tyrion it had always been Cersei and Jaime, just the two of them. Two halves of the perfect whole. But with each day Jaime got closer to the monster, he forgave Tyrion for murdering their mother, perhaps he had never even been angry at him. Tyrion had stolen her mother from her and now he was stealing her brother. It was then that Cersei realized that she could not count on the Gods to give her what she wanted or deserved. The Gods not care about her. They did not care about anyone. If they had they would have let Tyrion die, they would have let Joanna live, they never would have created the monster in the first place.
Over the years, as she grew up the Gods were crueler and her life got worse. Her father sought to marry her to prince Rhaegar, but the Mad King chose a dark Martell princess over the Lannisters and their golden hair and mines. Next, Tywin thought to marry her to the younger Targaryen prince. He was just a boy and no matter how much Cersei protested her father would not listen. She was a girl, her opinions did not matter. Then she had fallen in love with Jaime, the one man in the Seven Kingdoms that she could not have. But the only man she wanted. They had only made love a few times when the Gods separated them, Jaime to the King's Guard and Cersei back to Casterly Rock to finish growing up with the monster.
It was then that she had thought the Gods could get no crueler. She had thought that they reserved a certain amount of cruelty for each human life, and they had given all of hers to her when she was still a child. They could do no worse to her, she was sure of it. And when her father married her to Robert Baratheon she thought her luck was turning around. He had just been crowned King, the Seven Kingdoms loved him. He was the most handsome and desired man in the entire realm and he was all hers. For one evening she thought herself in love with him. And then he had gotten too drunk at their wedding feast and taken her to his bed and whispered Lyanna in her ear. Her dream had turned into another nightmare. But a moon's turn later, when she realized she was with child, his child, she had thought to give it another chance. To give him another chance. If she could give him a son from their wedding night perhaps she could make him love her. Perhaps she could make him forget about Lyanna Stark.
She had a girl instead, Lenora, and the king had been angry at her for it. She could have died bringing the little wretch into the world and the girl didn't have the decency to be a boy. And Robert didn't have the dignity to pretend to be happy. But he took one look at the girl and he softened, just as Jaime had. It was that, more than anything that had led Cersei to commit her most shameful act. That softening of both men. She saw in their reactions what she had always wanted from her father. Jaime and Robert would never let Lenora feel less than, to feel inferior. They would raise her to be strong, to fight for what she wanted. They would give her everything Cersei never had but had always wanted. And what had the babe done to deserve it? What had Cersei done to earn the opposite?
But she couldn't even kill the girl correctly. And in the years to come she had realized that it would have been truly horrible if she had. Perhaps the Gods thought they were giving her a gift by saving her daughter. But all they gave her was a lifetime of guilt. Every time she saw her daughter's face, every time she heard her speak, or watched her train with Jaime, every time she helped her dress or do her hair she was reminded of what she had done. Of what she had almost succeeded at. There were days when she drank too much wine and she looked at her beautiful dark haired daughter and wanted nothing more than to wrap her hands around her delicate throat and kill her, if only to silence the guilt that was ever present at the back of her mind.
And Jaime took her side, the babe he barely knew over the woman he had loved his whole life. She lost any chance at Robert's love that night. And she lost Jaime's love as well. He fucked her just enough to give her three more children when he realized that she would never let one of Robert's come out of her womb alive. But when he had done the deed it was as if he were doing a duty he wished he did not have. There was no spark to it, no feeling. He was not hers anymore. In saving her daughter, the Gods had taken her brother.
They had left her miserable with Robert for years. They had taken her eldest son from her. And for a moment, at the beginning of the trial she had thought that they were going to take away her vengeance on Tyrion.
She had seen Jaime sneak away during the break between witnesses. She had followed him toward their father's solar. She did not need to be in the chamber to know what was said. Jaime had gone there to make a deal. He only had one that their father would accept and she had no doubt that he would make it to save their brother. He would take off his white cloak, become Lord of the Rock and marry. And he would be truly lost to her then. As would Tyrion, safe on the Wall with the Night's Watch.
She could not stand the thought of it. And for the first time in years, she prayed to the Gods, specifically the Stranger. She wanted Tyrion to die, and if anyone would make that happen it would be the Stranger. And for the first time in her life, after all the cruelties the Gods had laid at her feet, they finally did her a kindness.
Tyrion demanded a trial by combat. And Cersei knew that this was the moment her life would get better. The Gods were finally smiling down on her.
Tyrion would want to name Jaime as his champion. And she knew that Jaime would want to do it. But he had a golden sword hand, he could not fight. And even if he could, his position as King's Guard would only have permitted him to be Cersei's champion, not Tyrion's. She regretted that he did not have a hand then, she could only imagine Tyrion's face if she had named Jaime her champion. What would he do then? He could hardly wish for victory as it would mean the death of his beloved brother.
But it would not be. She needed to find a different champion, a stronger one, a more terrifying one. A man that would make any sellsword think twice about fighting for Tyrion, even his pet sellsword Bronn. She had thought for a moment about asking Oberyn Martell, he was a vengeful angry man, she thought that he would like nothing more than to kill a Lannister. But when she spoke to him in the gardens he made it clear that he had no interest in fighting for her. Tyrion was not the Lannister he wanted to see dead. She thought for the briefest second that he might even feel sympathetic toward Tyrion. That was the last thing she wanted.
She needed to find someone else. She thought about asking Bronn, himself, she would offer him double whatever Tyrion did. But the man almost seemed like he was loyal to Tyrion, despite being a hired sword. She did not want to give him the chance to turn her away. And he was not strong enough.
It was then that she remembered her father's stories of his time at Harrenhal and the Mountain. He was a Lannister man with no loyalty to Tyrion. And she would not need to pay him. He liked to kill people. Any fighting he did as her champion would be for the sport of it. She sent word that she wanted him in the capitol and she waited for him to arrive.
She found him a day after he had arrived. He was on the tourney grounds, standing tall and shirtless in front of a line of prisoners. He wielded a sword that was almost as long as she was tall. One by one guards forced weapons into the prisoners' hands and shoved them toward the larger man. And one by one he used his large sword to cut them clean in half, to behead them, to open their bellies and spill their innards.
Cersei had never been one to revel in bloody fights. But she was pleased by this. She approached him, smiling as she gathered her skirts in her hands to step over a pile of intestines. "Ser Gregor," she greeted him, waiting until he turned away from his latest corpse to look at her. "Welcome to the capitol. Thank you for riding here so quickly." She glanced at his sword arm, he was holding the large blade easily, in one hand as if it weighed nothing at all. "You seem to be in good form," she complimented.
"Who am I fighting?" he asked her, getting straight to the point. She appreciated that.
"Does it matter?" she asked him.
She already knew the answer. Ser Gregor lived for the fight, for the kill. And with the war finding its way to an end he was running out of men that he would legally be able to kill. It did not matter to him who he was fighting, as long as he was allowed to kill them.
Perhaps, once he had won the trial by combat she would give him the right to behind Tyrion instead of leaving the monster to Ilyn Payne.
-.-.-.-.-
Lenora
She was still not certain of Roose Bolton's plans for her. She wondered if she would ever be certain of anything when it came to that man. No, she realized, there was one thing that Lenora was certain of when it came to Roose Bolton and that was that she could not trust him. And that whatever he panned to do with her would be cruel. He had not saved her from all the death at the Red Wedding to provide her with a happy life. He had told her, more than once, that he planned to bring her back to Winterfell.
There had been a time, not so long ago, when she had wanted nothing more than to return to Winterfell. But at the time she had thought of it as a homecoming. And she had always pictured Robb at her side when she did. That was not a possibility now. Robb was dead, he would never ride at her side again. And if Roose Bolton succeeded in returning her to Winterfell it would be as a prisoner in chains rather than a homecoming.
He had told her, when they were leaving the Twins that he meant to make her Lady of Winterfell again. Perhaps that was a lie, perhaps he meant it to soothe her. But she worried that he had been speaking the truth when he told her that. The Starks no longer held claim to Winterfell, for all she knew there were no Starks left to claim it. No one had seen Arya since before Ned was beheaded. Sansa was married to Tyrion and in King's Landing, held captive by her family. Robb was dead. The boys were alive, but missing, lost somewhere in the woods and hunted. Perhaps even dead by now. And Jon was a bastard and a member of the Night's Watch.
But that wasn't right. Robb had legitimized him. The order was packed away, folded and hidden in her trunk. She still had it. And she was sure that she had heard stories, special circumstances where a Black Brother had been allowed to leave the Wall and reclaim his family name. It had only happened once, maybe twice, when the safety of the entire realm was at stake. Perhaps this could be one of those circumstances.
Perhaps after the war and everything that had happened to the Starks it would be enough to be able to release Jon from his vows to the Night's Watch.
"And perhaps he would refuse," she whispered to herself, shaking her head as she dressed. Jon had been so happy to follow his Uncle Benjen into the Night's Watch, so proud. And he had been at the Wall for almost two years now. Perhaps the Black Brothers were now his family. Perhaps he had let go of his family and his House before they had even left the world. Perhaps he wouldn't even want to see her. "There is only one way to find out," she whispered.
"What, my lady?" the girl who stood in as a handmaiden asked her as she tied the laces of Lenora's gown. She was a pretty girl, soft-spoken, she seemed gentle. Her name was Miranda and she was the kennelmaster's daughter. She had not been trained as a handmaiden and though she was kind her fingers were clumsy. She pulled too hard on the laces of Lenora's dresses and was not gentle enough with her brush, as if she were brushing a dog rather than a girl. But she worked hard. And though Lenora did not particularly enjoy the girl's company, she preferred it over Theon's.
Lenora shook her head, "Nothing," she answered the girl. "I was just talking to myself."
"Who is he?" Miranda asked. "And what would he refuse?"
Her voice was soft, it sounded kind, but Lenora sensed a trap. She could not trust anyone here at the Dreadfort. No matter how soft or kind they seemed, they all belonged to Roose Bolton. She was sure that anything she said to this woman in confidence would be used to betray her at the first opportunity. She shook her head, "It's nothing," she repeated. "Nonsense, I was only thinking of a dream I had last night. Foolish, really."
"I've always been very interested in dreams," Miranda told her, her voice lilting like a song. "They can be so revealing, where a person's mind goes when they are not awake to govern it. I'm sure your dream last night was very interesting."
I dreamed of Robb, Lenora thought. As I do every night. But I will not allow you to use his memory to hurt me. She shook her head, looking around the chamber for something else to talk about, anything else that she could use to change the subject, to distract the girl. She found it when the door to her chamber was opened by one of the kitchen maids, bringing in her tray for breakfast. When the heavy door was shut Lenora had not been able to hear it, but with the door open she could just barely make out the sound of the other people moving around the keep. "There seems to be more than the usual amount of activity this morning," she mused, looking between Miranda and the kitchen maid. "Am I to guess that we will soon have a visitor at the Dreadfort?"
"Not a visitor," Miranda told her, her eyes glinting and her lips turning up at the corners, "a homecoming."
"A homecoming?" Lenora echoed, her throat dry, fear clawing its way out of the pit of her stomach. "And who will be returning home?" She was playing stupid, both she and Miranda knew that. But she didn't want to say his name, in case she was wrong and until Miranda answered her question she could believe that anyone else was about to arrive at the keep. Because if it was Ramsay who was returning home it would only mean one thing. That he had succeeded in reclaiming Moat Cailin.
"Lord Ramsay, of course," Miranda told her, her grin widening. It did not make her look more beautiful, this wide smile. It made Lenora feel uncomfortable, as if this kennelmaster's daughter knew more about her future than she did herself. "He sent a raven three days past that he was his way back. He said he and his men would ride through the night. He is most eager to return."
"Lord Ramsay?" Lenora asked, catching on the girl's words.
She bit her lip and blushed as she glanced down at her feet. "Forgive me," she asked, the color on her cheeks darkening to an even more noticeable pink. "I have always called him that. Since the first time I met him when I was a young girl."
Lenora stared at her, her mouth dropped open in a most unladylike way when she realized what the girl wasn't saying. "You love him?" she asked, horrified that anyone, even this strange girl with her games and her schemes, could be attached to Ramsay Snow.
The girl looked up, still biting her lip when she nodded, "There was a time when I thought that I might be able to marry him," she told Lenora, whispering as if they were old friends. "He's a lord's son and I'm only a kennelmaster's daughter, but he was a Snow, it would have been allowed, proper even. But now," she shook her head. "I believe he won't be a Snow for much longer." She glanced up at Lenora and her eyes widened. "Oh! But forgive me! I should not be discussing this with anyone, least of all you, my lady."
For a moment Lenora was too surprised by the girl's admission that she loved Ramsay that she did not think to question why she thought that she would be unable to marry him now. Or why she should not have discussed it with Lenora. It was only after the girl had left the chamber that Lenora's mind caught up with Miranda's words. A kennelmaster's daughter could marry the bastard son of a lord without causing much of a fuss. But if the son were legitimized it would be out of the question.
Lord Bolton had told her a little more than a week ago that if Ramsay succeeded in regaining control of Moat Cailin that he would legitimize his son. Roose Bolton was the acting Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. And with his men controlling Moat Cailin, there was little her family could do about it. With their trip south Ramsay and Theon had turned Roose from acting Lord of Winterfell, to the actual Lord of Winterfell. Once he legitimized Ramsay, he would be the heir to Winterfell.
If all goes according to plan, my lady, you will still be the future Lady of Winterfell.
That had been what Roose Bolton told her the morning after the Red Wedding. The morning after he had killed her husband before her very eyes and stolen her entire world from her. Lenora's blood ran cold. She wasn't from the North, but she claimed it now and it claimed her. There was ice in her veins. Did Roose mean to marry her to Ramsay once he was a true Bolton?
She shook her head, quickly pacing across her bedchamber, as if she could out walk the thoughts that were plaguing her mind. "No," she whispered loudly, as if saying out loud would make her words truth. "It's impossible." She was a princess of the realm, even if she were trapped far from anyone who would defend her. Even Roose Bolton wouldn't dare.
And she wouldn't do it willingly, even if it was his plan to marry her to his bastard son. They would have to force her to say the words. And even between the small folks a vow made to the Gods under duress was no true vow. If it counted for field hands and fishmongers it would count doubly for a princess. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself, hoping to believe what she was telling herself.
It worked for a moment, just a moment. And then the panic set back in. And her breathing quickened. No matter how ridiculous her fear seemed she could not completely write it off. Roose Bolton had already stolen her from her family, what would stop him from trying to marry her to his monster of a son?
"Nothing," she answered her own question. "Nothing would stop him."
But she could stop it. They had taken her sword, they did not even allow her a knife when they brought her her meals. She could not hope to fight her way out of the fortress. But she could escape. With most of Bolton's army south of the moat, many of his men had traveled with Ramsay. The keep was almost empty. Lord Bolton spent most of his days in his solar with his cupbearer and his leeches. And with Ramsay returning today she only had a small window of time.
She ran to her trunk and opened the lid. She could take nothing with her. After weeks of remaining in her chambers, it would be strange enough that she was wandering the halls of the keep, that would raise enough eyebrows, it would be stranger still if she did so with a pack of her belongings on her back. She had no weapons, she had no money. Lord Bolton had had his men go through her trunk before it was returned to her, they had removed anything that could have been used as a weapon and all of her money.
No doubt he thought she would not be so foolish as to runaway in the North once winter was coming with nothing to defend herself with and nothing to buy provisions with. But luckily for her, she was just foolish enough. And, as luck would have it, he left her most of the jewelry she had traveled with. She would not part with the ring Robb had given her, but there was some Lannister gold necklaces that she would be able to sell or trade for food, cloaks, a blade.
Her fingers brushed over the dark wolf fur that made up Robb's cloak. Lord Bolton had pretended to be well-meaning and kind when he brought it to her. He had pretended that it was for her own comfort rather than a silent reminder that her husband was dead. She had slept with it for many nights, locking it up in her trunk only when she realized that it was starting to smell more like her than him. She wanted to take it with her, but it was too bulky, too big, too noticeable. She would not get far past her own chamber door if she wore that cloak.
She took it out, wrapping her arms tight around it before she buried her face in the fur. She cried and smelled him for the last time. And then as the tears dried she prayed to his Gods, the Old ones, and her New Ones, she prayed to him, she prayed to anyone that would listen to give her strength for what would come next. She refolded the heavy cloak and placed it back in her trunk. Then she grabbed a small satchel, one that could be hidden under the light, summer cloak that she would wear when she left and she slipped the order legitimizing Jon and as much jewelry as would fit in the bag. Then, as an afterthought, she grabbed the fork the kitchen maid had brought with her breakfast and she walked toward the door.
When she left the chamber, she did not look back. There was nothing for her behind her. Not any more.
The upper corridors were quiet, most of the castle folk were on the lower floors, preparing for Ramsay's return. Lenora stuck to the shadows, moving quickly and quietly, turning down corridors she did not intend to use whenever she saw someone coming, hiding in doorways when she had no where else to go. Despite all of her hiding, it was almost simple to escape the main keep. It would not remain that easy. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, choking her as she stepped out into the courtyard.
With shaking hands she lifted her hood over her head, pulling it forward as much as she could so that it hid her face in shadows. If anyone saw her now, they might not even recognize her. She moved forward across the courtyard, walking with as much confidence and purpose as she could muster. She hoped that anyone who saw her would pay her little attention, she prayed that they might think she was one of the maids, sent on some mission.
She could not walk out the gate, they would ask her name there. Her one chance was the walls that surrounded the keep. They were too tall to jump from. She paused for a moment at the realization and with a quick glance left and right she turned, walking toward the stables instead of the gate. She would not take a horse, but just in side the stable she found a coil of rope. "Please Gods," she whispered as she grabbed it off the wall and hid it under her cloak, "let this be long enough."
And then, she turned striding quickly around the edge of the courtyard toward a flight of stairs that would bring her to the top of the wall where the few guards who remained at the Dreadfort kept watch. There were no guards at the top of the stairs, but it did not feel safe there, too easy to get to. She looked left, she looked right, and then making a quick decision she turned to the right and walked along the wall. She would walk as far as she could and at the first glance of a guard she would walk back a safe distance and figure out how to get down.
But the man-at-arms caught sight of her before she saw him. "What are you doing up here?" she heard the man growl as he came up behind her, dropping his hand on her shoulder and spinning her around to face him. The movement caused her hood to drop from her head and Lenora gasped when he recognized her. "The little princess," the man almost sneered. "What are you doing? Last I heard you refused to leave your tower." His eyes darted down her side, the cloak did not cover her satchel or the rope as much as she would have liked. "Planning an escape are you?" he asked her, his voice more menacing now.
"Please Ser," Lenora begged, hiding one of her hands behind her back as she worked to get a better handle on her fork. She would only get one chance at this, she had to do it right and on the first try. "Please let me go. I'll do anything, just please?"
"You'll do anything?" the guard repeated, chuckling low and dark. "And what will Lord Bolton do when he realizes that I let you go?" Lenora did not answer. He laughed again, even darker than before, "I'll tell you, girl, he'll skin me alive. No. Save your Please sers, you won't find help here." His grip tightened on her shoulder.
She didn't make a sound, she did not want to risk alerting other guards, or warn the one in front of her that she was coming. Quicker than she had ever moved before she shot her left arm out, toward his face, she grabbed the right side of his forehead and wrenched his head left and down so that the right side of his neck was exposed and tense. She had the element of surprise, but he was stronger than her and fighting her. If she didn't move fast he would overpower her. With her fork in her right hand she used all of her strength to ram the fork up to her fingers in the soft skin just behind and below his right ear.
He stopped fighting, his eyes were filled with fear. He opened his mouth to scream, but she silenced him when she quickly pulled the fork down and forward, toward herself, ripping through his veins and his skin.
It was a technique her uncle Jaime had taught her once. Though he had always told her to use it from behind. She thought perhaps it would be because she would have more strength from behind. But when she ripped the fork forward and his blood began to spill quickly, showering her and covering her face and the top of her dress and cloak in its warm, stickiness she realized that it was because of the mess.
The man could barely speak, let alone yell now. The blood gurgled in his throat as he tried to breathe. He was dying, and quickly. She grabbed the rope from underneath her now stained cloak and tied it tightly around his waist before she lowered him down to the ground, knowing he would not have the strength to stand up or untie it. Then she threw the rest of the coil over the wall. With a quick glance to make sure no one was coming she gripped the rope tightly with both hands and threw herself over the battlements.
She swung far out away from the wall before she swung back, loudly and painfully slamming her body into the wall. Her grip loosened and she slid a few feet down the rope before she was able to catch herself again, wrapping her hands and her legs around the rope and holding on as tightly as she could. Her hands stung and the rope beneath them turned red, she had torn open the skin on her palms but she did not care. She would gladly rip her skin open a thousand more times if it meant freedom.
She took a moment, just a moment, to catch her breath. Her ribs ached and she worried that she had broken them when she slammed against the wall. But there was no time to worry too long. It would be a matter of minutes before someone found the body and alerted Lord Bolton to her absence. All too soon she was forcing herself to take deep breaths as she worked her way down the rope, one inch at a time.
It took her less than five minutes to reach the end of the rope, but it felt like an eternity. The rope was too short, but only by a body length. She held on tightly to the bottom of the rope, extending her arms above her head and stretching her legs as much as she could toward the ground before she dropped.
She hit the ground hard, but she was up and running a moment later even harder. She would not stop until she made it to the tree line and she made it far enough away from the keep that they could not see her. It would do her no good if they brought the hounds out, and she had left them plenty of belongings to use so that the hounds could catch her scent, but it made her feel safer.
After running for almost a quarter of an hour she stopped. She had a head start, now she had to figure out where she was going. She had only been on hunts with her father a few times, but she had learned some things when she did.
She needed to find a stream, nothing would throw the hounds off her scent more than water. It would be cold, but it would be worth it. But none of that would matter if she moved in the wrong direction. She wanted to go north, to the Wall, to Jon. She paused, glancing at the trees around her. "Moss always grows on the south side of the tree," she whispered to herself when she spotted a tree trunk with moss on it. The moss was facing her, facing south. She was going the right way.
Now to find a stream.
...
She had been walking in the stream for two hours when she heard the horse hooves behind her. They were too close, too fast, she had no where to hide.
She struggled in the knee deep water, trying to run. If they were going to catch her and she was going to die she was going to die running.
His voice stopped her.
"Where do you think you're going, my lady?" his voice was a soft, teasing sneer.
Author's Note:
Gods, I hope the FBI isn't monitoring my google search history. Because as of right now how to stab someone in the carotid artery is one of my most recent searches. Oops.
Anyway, how are you guys? Are you ready for tonight's episode? I'm still not sure if I am, but as always with Game of Thrones, it's gonna happen whether I'm ready or not.
My husband and I are betting on whether or not Dany and Jon fuck before they realize who he is. I've got high hopes for this episode.
And I had high hopes for this chapter, I've been waiting for it for a while now. Did I disappoint? Please let me know!
As always my friends, thank you so much for reading. For favoriting. For adding this story to your alerts lists. But most of all thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. I know I say this a lot, but I am honestly blown away by your response to this story. Every day.
So thank you!
And to the all stars who reviewed on the last chapter. You guys are my favorites. Keep that shit up. It motivates me more than you can imagine.
Cairbou5150: I'm so glad that you love this story! Thank you so much for reading. And for taking the time to review and tell me! I think you're pretty great for that. And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!
sltsky96: Good to see your name again, my friend! I'm so glad that you've still been reading and enjoying. And don't worry, I understand being busy so no guilt trip and blame from me. Especially not since you think what I'm doing with Robb is "exceptional." I was so sure that everyone would see it coming, and I've been so nervous that I was going to fuck up his return, so the encouragement is much needed and appreciated.
As for Lenora rescuing herself ... she's sure as hell going to try.
darkwolf76: Oh my friend! Prepare for a book length response to all of your wonderful reviews. Sit on back and get comfortable, this might be longer than the chapter. Kidding ... almost.
Chapter 60: I love that you picked up on all the truths in this chapter. I wish I could say that I am a good enough writer that the combination was completely on purpose. You have too much faith in me. But sadly, any common thread between the three points of view was unintentional. My outline put the three of them together because Jaime was sending help to Sansa, so then I went to Sansa who needs help, and finally to Cersei because Jaime sending Brienne after Sansa (even if Cersei did not know it happened) is just another indication of her rapidly declining control.
Don't worry, Jaime will be on his way north very soon (wrote the chapter yesterday). He hasn't forgotten Lenora, but he also know that he would be very little help to her with his hand (or lack there of). And I would imagine he's a bit afraid to face her. After everything she knows and everything that's happened, it's not going to be a warm welcome. (Pun intended because it will be in the North ... I think I'm funny.)
I had so much fun writing the Sansa and Littlefinger part. There will never be a Littlefinger point of view in this story because I think it would ruin him. He knows so much and has schemed so much that it would give away the game. So he teaches her with stories and riddles and thinks she's too stupid to pick up on half of it. But she spent almost two years with Cersei ... she's not as dumb as she looks. As for cannon ... it's gonna go cannon for a bit, and then ... Sansa's gonna deviate. I think you'll like it.
And Cersei ... my idea with her being more worried about Tommen than Lenora and Myrcella all stems from the prophecy. Gold shall be their crowns of her three remaining children, Tommen is the only one wearing a golden crown right now. So her paranoid mind is more worried about him than the others. That won't always be the case.
Chapter 61: Will Sansa find Brienne? Eventually. I don't want to give too much away.
I'm glad you enjoyed the part with Lenora and Theon and Roose. Theon gets so much hate that I am thrilled that I'm making at least some of you feel sorry for him (for at least a moment). And Roose respecting her was exactly the point of why he told her something. He's not going to give her everything, but her strength and her lack of fear in that moment was enough to make him tell her something. As for Lenora and a pregnancy ... you'll have to wait!
I was being overly indulgent with the Hound and Arya. I adore the two of them together. So that scene was purely for me. But I'm so glad that you guys enjoyed it too. They're going to head north together, perhaps they'll kill a few people on the way. There will be a Stark sibling reunion, though you'll have to wait a few chapters for that. And don't worry, Arya will get no where near the Boltons. (I love her too much for that.)
And finally chapter 62: Robb's having some trouble. He has his wolf dreams, he thinks she's north, but he doesn't really know what's going on. He's not himself enough yet to trust them. Don't worry it's coming, probably around the time he starts belonging to his names. And I'm actually glad that you're upset that he wasn't more emotional when remembering Lenora. That was the point. He's still all dark and twisty from his time being dead. I'm going to keep him there a bit longer I think.
DatMatt: I love anti-Cersei Jaime. In-love-with-Cersei Jaime makes me uncomfortable which is why there is so little of it in this story, and why he's going to get so much more anti-Cersei by the end. And I have been screaming at television Jaime this entire season to become more like my Jaime. It's a bit embarrassing really, how much I wish he would listen.
I'm glad you appreciate my review responses. I figure that if you guys take the time to write a review, I can take the time to respond. It's only fair.
As for your question about A Song of Fire and Gold, I don't think you're breaking any fanfiction etiquette so I'll answer. There's less action in it, mainly because Evelyne my OC is not as athletic or trained as Lenora and it follows her. But it is set during the Mad King's reign, so there's definitely drama. And since I'm not the show timeline I have lot more freedom with that story which is definitely nice.
LokiLova: Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. As for your horrible feeling about what is going to happen to Lenora between now and when she finds Robb ... you're probably right.
janaoliver: Another update, so soon! And this one after that. I hope you enjoyed it!
Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework: Hello again! I'm really happy that you enjoyed the last chapter. What did you think of this one? As for your question about Tyrion and Daenerys ... Tyrion's going to go somewhere, but not to the dragon queen. I like Dany, but she's not who I have as endgame on the throne if I'm being honest. And Tyrion's not going to back her when there's someone he loves more who might take it.
RHatch89: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this one as well.
Guest1995: I've been playing around with the idea of actually having Robb warg and know it. Right now he's having wolf dreams where he sees through Grey Wind's eyes, but doesn't quite believe it yet. But in a later chapter, I've been playing around with a part where he knows. But it's up in the air with whether or not it will make it in or not. You are right, he is with the Brotherhood, and they might turn around. They might not. You'll see.
I'm sorry that you hate the trial ... there was more of it in this chapter... and more still to come later. But there's a point for it all. I promise.
FairyFelicity: You got a lot of Lenora in this chapter. Not sure if you appreciate it though... she's in a spot.
And I'm glad you appreciated the details in Tyrion's trial ... cause you got more of them in this chapter.
zecrayz: Hello new review friend! Thank you so much for your amazing review. It honestly made me grin like an idiot for a solid thirty minutes. Thank you so much. I'm glad that you've enjoyed the story so far and don't worry, your review more than made up for the 62 chapters worth of reviews that you owe me. In moments when I'm suffering writer's block or worried about how something will read I will probably look back on that review for a confidence boost. So yeah.
I'm glad you're enjoying Lenora. When I started writing her I wanted to make her feel as real as possible. My goal, if I'm being completely honest, was to make it so that when you guys watch an episode of GoT, for a moment you wonder where she is. I'm not sure if I've succeeded, but just the fact that I did manage to write such a well-rounded character is a huge win. And the very act of making her real was enough to make it so that she doesn't always have that HUGE immediate effect on what's going on that you usually find with OCs (especially of the true Baratheon heir variety). As much as I would love for her to have an army and just take over Westeros ... she doesn't have dragons so she can't do that. But her struggles to try to make even the slightest difference, that's where I like to think the magic is.
Shades of grey. That is the perfect description for almost every character in GoT. And I have read my fair share of stories that ignore that. It's so easy to label many of the characters (Cersei, Tywin, even to an extent Jaime at times) as bad just like you said. But there also these human moments for all of them that you catch glimpses of on the show and in the books and when I started this story I really set out to expand on them. If you simply write Cersei off as bad, you miss so much of her story. And I didn't want to do that. With any of them. (Except Ramsay and Roose ... they're just bad, nothing worth saving or redeeming there.)
And thank you for your constructive advice. This morning I went back and I read the chapter on the Red Wedding and I see what you mean. It was a bit rushed, I can admit that. Partially because I was afraid to write it. I spent such a build up on Robb and Lenora that I love them. And I was afraid to do it to them even though I knew I needed to, even though I knew I was going to bring him back. So I kept my distance and that came through. Hopefully that will not be a continued theme throughout the rest of this story.
Gamemaster77: Thank you for your review! You got it in just in time. I was about to post this chapter when I got the notification. I'm glad you enjoyed Lenora and Theon. They'll come to an understanding at some point, but it will take a while. And there will be revenge for everything Ramsay does to her.
As for your question. There are definitely characters that are easier to write than others. Lenora is one of them, she's not based on me, but she's been in my head for so long that it's very easy to write for her. Jaime has always come easily. Robb when he wasn't all dark and twisty was very easy. Cersei comes and goes, there are days when she is so easy to write and others when it's like pulling teeth. On the days when it's hard I have a glass of wine (call it method writing) and that helps. Arya is surprisingly easy, which is why you guys have seen more of her as of late.
cvg: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And yes ... I will update now!
That's all I've got for now my friends!
I'm going to go hide in case you come after me with pitchforks and the like.
Enjoy today! If anyone wants to get in on the bet about Dany and Jon let me know in a message!
It's back to work tomorrow, so until next week,
Chloe Jane