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Chapter Seventy-Three: From Darkness, Light
Jaime
There were tears in her eyes, turning them to liquid silver. Jaime had never particularly liked Stannis Baratheon, and he knew that the stern man had never been Lenora's favorite uncle, but he could imagine what it felt like for her to have to stare down at his dead body. She had no more family on her father's side, Stannis had been the last and he was dead now.
She turned, not bothering wipe the tears from her eyes as she looked around the woods surrounding them. "I knew he would die," she told Jaime, her voice quiet, barely a whisper. "He had fewer men than Ramsay. They were not practiced in fighting in the cold and the snow. They were southern men." She shook her head, "I knew he would die." Her voice was gruff, she was trying to convince herself as much as him that she wasn't upset.
"But you hoped he wouldn't," Jaime spoke quietly, stepping closer to her. He glanced to his right, Brienne was standing there, watching the two of them with careful blue eyes. He could still remember her, when he first met her, talking about a shadow with Stannis' face killing Renly Baratheon. She had sworn she would kill him in Renly's name. He hoped that she would have the good sense not to bring that up now.
Lenora nodded, looking torn between standing straight and tall and throwing herself into his arms. She was still so young, she had seen too much death for one so young. He was surprised that she was still standing now. Even if Stannis had been the least dear of her uncles, he was still her blood, her last tie to her father. And he had been taken from her, just as the rest of her family had been taken.
"He was always so hard," she whispered. "So stern. Not as strong in battle as my father, perhaps, but smarter. He could have lived, perhaps."
"My Lady," Brienne started, stepping forward, her head inclined in a silent apology before she started speaking.
Lenora turned toward the blonde woman, her brows furrowed, no doubt wondering what the woman had to say. Jaime stepped forward, trying to block the taller woman from his niece's view. He wasn't sure who he was protecting - Brienne from his niece's anger and pain, or Lenora from realizing that one of the Stark sister's guardians had killed her uncle. "I'm sure that Lady Brienne wishes to convey her condolences," he assured his niece, the words sounding stiff and unnatural even to his own ears.
Lenora watched him, her brows furrowed, "And I am sure that she can speak for herself, Uncle Jaime," she told him, stepping around him so that she could look at Brienne. Her grey eyes narrowed, dancing over the look on Brienne's face. The woman knight did not look ashamed, in fact, she looked triumphant, but there was a cautious look about her eyes, at odds with the confident set of her jaw. "Though something tells me that condolences are not what she wishes to share," Lenora mused slowly.
Brienne stared at the girl for a moment before she dropped down to her knees, unsheathing Oathkeeper and placing the point of the sword into the snowy ground at her feet. "Your Grace," she started, glancing up at Lenora for a brief moment before looking back at the ground. "It was not the Bolton bastard or any of his men that killed your uncle. It was I," she paused for a moment before she glanced back up at Lenora, her eyes were still careful, her jaw still set. "I killed Stannis Baratheon."
Jaime was not sure what he expected from his niece. Perhaps tears, perhaps anger. He did not expect the dark, rueful laugh that escaped her lips as she shook her head. "I had wondered why you trusted Jaime, Bronn, and the Hound with the girls," she told the blonde woman. "Uncle Jaime told me how much your vow to Catelyn Stark meant to you, I found it odd that you forsook it to scout out the woods after Ramsay's men began to march back toward Winterfell. Only another vow, one you thought more important. Which vow brought you here, Brienne?"
"A vow I made to myself," the blonde woman answered, her earnest blue eyes locked on Lenora's face. "When I served as King's Guard to your uncle Renly. I was there the night he died. Myself and Lady Catelyn were in the tent with him. I saw him murdered by a shadow. One that bore Stannis Baratheon's face."
If Lenora thought Brienne's story was ridiculous, she did not let on. She watched the woman carefully. "My uncle Stannis killed Renly?" she asked in a quiet deadpan. She was not shocked or saddened by Brienne's confession, perhaps she had seen too much as of late to be shocked or saddened by anything. "With a shadow?"
Brienne nodded, "I am aware of how strange that sounds, my lady," she defended herself. "And I understand if you would see me beheaded for it. But I hope you understand that I was honor bound to do it by my position as one of Renly's guard and the only witness to the crime."
Lenora glanced at Jaime, the tears were still shining in her eyes, but there weren't as many. She raised a single eyebrow, silently asking her uncle if he believed what Brienne was telling her. Jaime nodded, "Brienne's sense of honor might be both annoying and mind numbingly boring," he told his niece, "But I do not doubt it."
Lenora nodded as she turned back to Brienne, "Did he confess?" she asked the woman, her voice steady and strong. "Stannis? Did he confess to the crime you hold him accountable for?"
Brienne nodded, surprised at how calmly Lenora was taking the news. "He did, Your Grace," she told her. "He confessed to using blood magic to murder his brother."
Lenora bit her lip and nodded. "And his last words?" she asked. "Did he have any?"
"He said, Go on, do your duty, Your Grace," Brienne told her. "He died well, Your Grace."
Lenora nodded, "Of course he did," she told the woman who was still kneeling in the snow. "He does everything well - did everything well. He had all the knowledge of a king, but not the people's love. And Renly, Gods help him, had all of the love and none of the knowledge." She shook her head, laughing bitterly as she glanced at her uncle. "Could there be another man more ill suited for the throne than my two Baratheon uncles?" she asked him.
Jaime smirked, in spite of the situation. Now was not necessarily the time for a joke, but it was all he had to offer, "Perhaps Joffrey," he suggested.
Lenora scoffed as she moved away from Brienne, her dark skirts trailing through the blood soaked snow, she neither noticed, nor cared. "My father was not so great at it either," she admitted out loud for the first time Jaime's presence. "Tommen could be, perhaps, if he weren't trapped under Mother's thumb and your bastard."
Brienne stared, wide eyed at Lenora's reaction and her course words. Jaime, who knew his niece much better was less surprised, though he could not follow her thoughts. "What are you thinking, Len?" he asked her quietly.
She didn't answer him, instead she turned to Brienne, "I imagine that you have spent a great deal of your life being made to feel ridiculous for what you are," she told the woman, her grey eyes dancing over Brienne's face. "A woman and a knight," she specified.
Brienne nodded, "Yes, Your Grace."
Lenora nodded, "And how have you dealt with it, Brienne?"
The blonde's eyes widened, she gave her head a brief shake, "I ignore it, Your Grace," she told her, simply.
Lenora nodded, glancing at Jaime, "She ignores it," she echoed.
"What are you thinking, Len?" Jaime asked her again.
Lenora ignored him again, "I suppose you want me to allow you to escort the Stark girls to Jon Snow before?" she asked.
Brienne's brows furrowed, "Before what, Your Grace?" she asked.
"Before you become part of my Queensguard," Lenora told her simply.
Both Jaime and Brienne's eyes widened. "Your Grace?" Brienne asked.
"Len -" Jaime started.
Lenora turned to Jaime, she had never looked more sure of herself, more certain than she did now, in this moment. "You too, Uncle Jaime," she told him, so confident that he would say yes. She shook her head gently, "I'm going to need a skilled Lord Commander of my guard if I plan to be the first queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
Jaime watched her, surprised, "Lenora," he whispered, shaking his head. He wasn't saying no, he just couldn't believe that she had made her decision so quickly. She glanced at him, her eyes cautious, she was suddenly uncertain of herself. He shook his head again, "No, sweet girl," he assured her. "Of course I would be the Lord Commander of your Queensguard, but wouldn't you rather have someone," he paused, "whole?"
She shook her head, tears in her eyes again, "I wouldn't want anyone but you, Uncle Jaime."
He nodded, his throat tight, his words catching. But she knew.
"Your Grace," Brienne told her from the ground, "I would be honored, but I will have to be released from the vows I made to Lady Sansa first."
Lenora nodded, "I wouldn't expect anything less," she told the blonde. "Now, please stand up."
Brienne remained on the ground, "Why?" she asked, still staring at the young woman in front of them. "Why didn't you kill me? Your uncle -"
"My uncle killed his brother," she told Brienne. "By the laws of the realm he would have had to die for that. You made a vow to protect Renly and you kept it. The realm is in short supply of annoying, mind numbingly boring honor," she shot a glance at Jaime before he gaze fell back on Brienne, she reached down, pulling Brienne to her feet, "and that same honor is exactly what I need with me on the battlefield."
Jaime stared at her, his mouth falling open. She was remarkable, putting the needs of the kingdom in front of her own personal feelings and desires. Just as a ruler would. "Len," he whispered, shaking his head.
She smiled, rolling her eyes almost playfully, "Go ahead and say it, Uncle Jaime," she told him.
"Say what, Len?" he asked her.
"That I will be an amazing queen."
...
She was standing in front of them, shoulders set, wearing armor that had been made for a squire, and still slightly too big for her, a poor imitation of the armor Robb Stark had had made for her, over a pair of breeches and shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back, tied into a tight plait. Sandor Clegane, Brienne, the wolf, and Jaime stood behind her, her unofficial guard as she addressed the few of Stannis' men they had been able to round up in the woods after the battle.
Most of Stannis' men were dead, many of those who had survived the battle were already trying to sneak south again. She was left with those who had been injured. Jaime had cautioned her not to waste her time, but she had laughed at him. "We need every man we can get, Uncle Jaime," she told him. "Before we head south we will have to beat Ramsay. We need these men, even if they are injured. They can heal on the way to Castle Black."
And with that she had stood in front of them, the one hundred men who were injured enough to be left behind, but that Jaime had deemed whole enough to heal and fight again.
She turned to them now, her jaw set, her eyes narrowed. The very picture of strength in spite of their circumstances and her sex.
"You don't know me," she called out to the men. "You don't love me. I'm a stranger to you. But you fought for my uncle Stannis, some of you fought for my uncle Renly as well! They are both gone now! But you are here and so am I! I am Lenora Baratheon, the only legitimate child of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister. With my uncles gone I have as much of a claim to the Iron Throne as anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. More than most. And I will be queen." Her voice softened as she continued to speak. "I know how much you have already risked. Your House, your family name, your lives. I am asking you all to risk it again to follow me south to take King's Landing and the Iron Throne."
It was quiet for a moment before one of the men spoke up, a knight of a lesser House in the middle of the group. "And why should we?" he yelled to her. The men around him grumbled out their agreement. Jaime stepped forward, his left hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to defend his niece, but without looking at him she held up her hand, silently sending him back to his place behind her as she turned her attention on the knight who had spoken out.
He seemed rather cowed by her attention, no longer as self assured as he had been when he had first spoken. "I mean no offense, Your Grace," he told Lenora, not making eye contact with her. "But my House was sworn to Stannis because of honor. He was as much a stranger to me as you are. As much a stranger as the bastard boy who sits on the throne now. And to be honest, it doesn't much matter to me who is sitting on the throne."
She watched him for a moment before she nodded, "I suppose in your day to day life it does not matter to you who is on the throne," she told the knight. "Any of you," she added, turning her gaze on the rest of the men. "But there will come a time when the Stark words ring true and Winter comes to the Seven Kingdoms again. In those cold nights you will want someone on the Iron Throne who is not only looking out for themselves but for you, and those sworn to you, as well." She shook her head, "Do you think my mother will much care if House Massey of Stonedance is starving in their keep as long as she can still get shipments of her favorite Dornish Red?"
The men in the crowd in front of her laughed uneasily. Her question rang true and they knew the answer to it, but that did not mean that they enjoyed facing the uneasy truth of it. Cersei was only the Queen mother, but she had the young king under her thumb and she would watch the rest of the Seven Kingdoms burn before she allowed herself or her son to face any discomfort. Jaime smirked, proud of his niece because she had done something very intelligent with her question. The man had not identified himself, but she had shown him that she knew him, even as a stranger. The young knight's shield was emblazoned with a triple spiral red, green, and blue on white. The sigil of House Massey, a lesser House that a princess of the realm would have no reason to know, but that a woman asking the men to fight, would need to know.
Lenora continued, her voice quiet and soft, and yet it carried out to the men, strong and hard at the same time. Steel wrapped in velvet, ice buried under snow. The heart of a lion, the soul of a doe.
"I have nothing to promise you," she told the men. "No riches, no gold, no honor. I cannot promise you your lives, or even that we will succeed in our endeavor. I cannot order you to follow me, nor compel you to. You owe me nothing. But I will ask you. I will ask you to pick up your swords once again and swear them to me. I will ask you to be willing to die for a throne you will never sit on. I will ask you to believe in me. And in return, I will believe in you!"
Some of the men were standing now, others struggling to their feet with the help of their neighbors. For one moment Jaime worried that they were preparing to leave. But they remained, standing in front of her, their eyes locked on Lenora's face. She turned to him, her brows raised, wondering what she should make of it. He smiled to encourage her and nodded. Keep going.
She turned back to the men. "And more than that I vow that if we succeed, I will be an honorable and just queen, a ruler of which the Seven Kingdoms has not seen since before the Mad King. I will never ask anything of you that I am not also willing to give. I will not ask you to march for me, I will ask you to march with me. I will not ask you to fight for me, I will ask you to fight with me. I will not ask you to die for me, I will ask you to die with me. You will not only be my soldiers, but my brothers! I will be your sword and shield and all of you will be mine."
It was quiet for one long moment before the cheer started. It started slow, a few men here and there but it grew, louder and stronger as each man leant his voice to the cry.
Baratheon! Baratheon! Baratheon!
...
In the end eighty of the one hundred men swore their swords and shields to Lenora's cause. It was not a large army; if Jaime hadn't seen their enthusiasm for their new queen with his own eyes, he wouldn't have called it an army at all. But what they lacked in numbers they made up for with heart.
And Lenora loved them all. They were hers in a way that he suspected even he had never been. They did not love her because they were her family. They did not follow her because of who her father was, or who her brother was, or even who her husband was. They followed her because they believed in her. And because she was theirs every bit as much as they were hers.
And it had taken a great deal of convincing to persuade her to ride ahead of them to Castle Black. She had not been swayed by Brienne's argument that it was normal and even expected for the leader of a host to arrive ahead of their men. And Jaime's impassioned pleas to get her to the Wall before Ramsay, who now most certainly knew of her escape from Winterfell, could find her had done nothing, save make her smile and press a kiss against his cheek for his worry.
In truth, it had been the men themselves that finally changed her mind. Many were still injured, there would be no training until they had reached the Wall, but they had elected leaders amongst themselves, one of them was the young knight who had spoken out against Lenora on the day she had called them to arms, Ser Justin Massey of Stonedance.
He approached her on the second day of what could have been a five day ride to the Wall but was quickly turning into what would be a slow, fortnight long crawl and asked to speak to her. He shared his concerns with her about the speed they were moving, the dwindling supplies, "If only you could ride ahead, to the Wall, and send back supplies, horses, at the very least a wagon," he had hinted.
Lenora fought him at first. Just as she had done with Brienne and Jaime. "These men agreed to follow me," she argued. "I can't abandon them now."
"Aye," Ser Justin agreed. "We did agree to follow you. But it'll be hard to do that if Bolton's bastard finds you and drags you back to Winterfell. We few barely survived our fist battle with him, we won't survive a second in the state we're in now."
She glanced between Ser Justin and Jaime, her brows furrowed, "What would you have me do?" she asked the two of them, her voice heavy.
"Take your horse and ride north," Ser Justin told her. "Take you uncle, the Lady Brienne, and the two Stark ladies. See them safely to their brother and then send back supplies, even if you have to steal them. I fear this march to Castle Black will do little to help us, save give the men a place to recuperate, but perhaps even that is enough. But if you continue to move slowly with us -" he shook his head, "I fear all will be lost, Your Grace."
In the end she took his advice, leaving Bronn and Sandor Clegane with the men so that they would know that she was not abandoning them. And taking Jaime, Brienne, Podrick, Sansa, and Arya with her to the Wall. And the wolf of course, who would not leave her side.
They only had five horses, and so Arya, the littlest of them all was forced to ride with another. Sometimes with Sansa, squished in front of her sister, telling each other stories of Winterfell and making plans. Sometimes with Lenora, sitting behind the princess, her arms wrapped around Lenora's waist as they pushed the horse to ride as fast as it could, their laughter mixing with the wind as they rode. And now, to, he sensed, her immense displeasure with him.
She had not wanted to ride behind him, she would not deign to wrap her arms around his waist, but now that she sat, perched in the saddle, in front of him she seemed just as displeased. "Are you unhappy, my lady?" Jaime asked her, his tone teasing as he looked up and caught Brienne's eye. Something told him that Arya Stark and Brienne of Tarth were cut from the same cloth - that Arya would enjoy being called my lady as much as the wench did.
He could hear the growl that rose in her throat even before she answered. This girl was wild. "I'm riding sidesaddle with the man who tried to kill my brother," she threw back at him, turning slightly in her seat to glare. "Why wouldn't I be happy?"
"Arya!" Sansa hissed at her sister, always the first of the Stark sisters to remember her courtesies. "You mustn't speak to Ser Jaime in such a manner. He promised Mother he would return us home and he is doing everything in his power to do so."
Lenora snorted from his other side, glancing at her uncle with a smirk. He imagined there had been a time when Sansa Stark had not spoken so highly of him. But there had also been a time when the girl had fancied herself in love with Joffrey. It was only natural for her to grow up and see the right of things. Lenora had never expressly forgiven Jaime for what he had done to Bran, but he had the distinct feeling that she understood why he had done it. It had been for her. For her family. Sansa seemed to be determined to forgive him, if only because Brienne thought so highly of him. Arya did not share either of the older girls' attitudes when it came to Jaime.
"Why'd you do it, Kingslayer?" she fired at him as she turned her gaze forward again, misliking looking at him.
Jaime winced at her casual, cruel use of the nickname. But he did not rise to the bait. "For my family," he told the small girl in front of him as his eyes drifted to Lenora. She was sitting straighter in her saddle, her spine a rod, her chin held high. She had understood why he had done it, but she didn't like to be reminded of it, of all the pain her family had brought on the Starks, of all the pain they were still bringing on the Starks.
Arya snorted, "For Joffrey?" she fired back. "You were worried that my brother would tell people what he saw? What he saw you and the queen doing? Worried King Robert would cut off her pretty neck and throw your children on the streets?"
"They aren't my children," Jaime threw back quickly, even if Cersei had wanted them to be, it would have been impossible. After what Cersei had done to Lenora he was ashamed every time he thought about the lengths Cersei had gone through to make a cuckold of Robert Baratheon, the things she had bribed and coerced and threatened him into taking part in. "And we weren't doing anything," he defended himself. "He caught her talking about it. He heard her say the three youngest weren't Robert's."
Arya's small spine straightened, she sat up taller, "And you worried that he would tell someone and your precious children, your sister, and yourself would be killed for it." She wasn't asking him a question, she was making a judgement. She was small, a girl, but he could hear the ghost of the honorable Ned Stark in her voice. She was judging him, just as her father had always done.
He bristled, "I didn't give a shit about my sister or the three children," he told her honestly, his voice sharp. "I didn't care about my neck either. I cared about Lenora and the danger that the news would put her in."
Arya was quiet for a long moment, her head turning slightly so that she could look at Lenora. "A fuck lot of good that did for her," she commented. Sansa gasped, begging her sister not to speak in such a manner, but Lenora smirked silently on her horse. Arya watched her for a moment longer before she turned to look at Jaime again, studying him. "Joff and the other two aren't your children," she told him, repeating his words. "But you think of Lenora as yours?"
Jaime looked away from Arya, watching Lenora instead. "I do," he told them both. Lenora's smirk softened into a contented smile.
Arya nodded, "You did what you did to protect your family, I can understand that." And then, because perhaps the young girl thought that she had been too kind, too understanding with the Kingslayer her jaw tightened, "But if you ever do anything to protect your family at the expense of mine again. I will kill you."
Sansa did not scold her. Jaime smiled, letting go of the reins with one of his hands so that he could hold it out to the young child so that she could shake his hand. "You have my word, Stark," he told her, his voice a good deal warmer than he would have ever imagined.
She shook his hand once before she dropped it and turned to face forward again, "And you have mine, Kingslayer."
When she said the hated words a second time it was not as cold, or cruel, as it usually was, it almost felt like a friendly term.
-.-.-.-.-
Robb
There was a lightness about him that he had not felt in so long, not since he was a pup. For a long time he had been without his pack, but now he had found some of them again.
He had found her. It did not matter that it had been with the help of the golden lion or his companion that smelled so strongly of ale. He had found her. And with their help he had tasted the blood of the man who had kept her from him.
They had left the keep he had once called home, traveling through woods that he first recognized, but soon were as unfamiliar as the great water he had once tracked her to. It was there that they found the other two, the human pups, the girls. He had smelled them, looking for the scent of his sisters but he could not find them. He had lost the scent of two of his brothers too.
But as they continued to move north, the air colder and more clear with each day, he could smell the last one. The white one with the red eyes. The one that always smelled ... other.
His pack would never be whole again, but it would be enough. It had to be.
He barely left her side, as pleased as he was to know the girl human pups had survived. She had been the one he had followed. She had been the one he was supposed to protect. And it seemed that she needed him the most.
She no longer smelled of fear, bitter and metallic like blood. There was a strength about her that had been missing since she had been taken from them. A strength and a courage. Courage that smelled like the woods he had grown up in after a rain. He could hear it in her voice, it sounded like steel and thunder. He could feel it in his very bones - a rush.
They were moving north now, away from the place he had once called home, but they would return. She had promised one of the human pups. And he knew from the thunder in her voice, the ice and rushing waters, and the steel. She was telling the truth.
They would go home.
...
He couldn't understand it. In his dreams they were so close. He was closer to her, to Lenora, than he had been in almost a year. He could see her, he could hear her, he could smell her, he could touch her. He could almost taste her in the air.
And when he woke, in those few distorted moments between asleep and awake - when he could almost belong to the name Robb Stark and she was with him - he was able to forget everything that had happened. He was able to imagine that she was there with him, sleeping in his arms.
But then the noises of the men around him would reach his ears, the sounds of the forest so unlike the one he had grown up in, the smell of mud and dirt and burnt breakfast. And his arms would be empty.
Before he even opened his eyes he would return to being nameless. To being no one. And she was gone, so far out of his reach that he forgot what it was to hold her.
Every day was the same, he would wake and his heart would break again when he realized that he was alone. At night he was Robb Stark, or at least a wolf, during the day he was a stranger, walking alone in the dark. One who could barely remember himself and was constantly chasing after the ghost of the woman he loved.
He was further south than he had ever been. Further south than he had ever wanted to go. It made him feel uneasy. The warmth, the humidity. The members of the Brotherhood complained that it was too cold, but they had never known cold. The air here was heavy, it sat warm like a fur coat on his skin and left him yearning for the cool, crisp air at the home he was still struggling to remember.
And with each step he took he could feel the distance between them growing. He could feel his daylight memories of her fading, no matter how he fought against it. He worried that the closer they got to the capitol, where the Brotherhood swore she was, the less he would remember of her. She would be a stranger to him, one he could only recall in his dreams.
...
According to Thoros they had made good time one day. Not that it meant much to him. Every day was the same - the never ending press south, the avoidance of main roads and towns, the trees that were as foreign to him as the Wolf's Wood must have been to Lenora when she first arrived at Winterfell. It was all the same. He could not tell the difference between a day when they made good time and a day when they made no time at all.
All the same the Brotherhood decided that they would stop early, they would set up camp while the sun still shone in the sky. That Anguy would hunt for food for their supper.
He went through the motions of setting up camp, helping when he could, staying out of the way when he couldn't. And when they were done, a fire already burning, Tom Sevenstrings rewarded them with a song while Anguy prepared to leave to hunt.
My featherbed is deep and soft,
and there I'll lay you down.
I'll dress you all in yellow silk,
and on your head a crown.
For you shall be my lady love,
and I shall be your lord.
I'll always keep you warm and safe,
and guard you with my sword.
He had never heard the song before. The rest of the men seemed to know the song very well. They sang along, they clapped out a beat with their hands, they hummed. He had never felt more alone in the group as he did now.
And how she smiled and how she laughed,
the maiden of the tree.
She spun away and said to him,
no featherbed for me.
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,
and bind my hair with grass.
But you can be my forest love,
and me your forest lass.
The song sat heavy on his chest, just like the air. It made it hard to breathe. Lenora had loved to sing, he could remember her voice clear and bright, like bells as she sang a song that a princess had no business knowing. A song that was so different from this one, and yet the same. They both spoke of love, and an unattainable woman.
He stood up from his seat by the fire. He could not listen any longer. The red priest arched a brow at him, silently asking where he meant to go.
"I'll go with Anguy," he told then, his voice a growl and leaving no room for argument.
They let him go.
...
They hunted the entire afternoon, until the sun hung low in the sky and the dusk made it difficult to see. Then they turned to return to camp. He hoped they weren't still singing when they returned.
As it was, it was something much worse.
They could hear the voices as they approached the camp, a mix of the men that he had become used to hearing - Lem, Tom Seven Strings, Thoros, and the others. And two new ones. One he was certain that he had never heard before in his life. And another that he could drag from his memory, slow and sluggish like trying to remember a dream from a different lifetime.
He stopped in his tracks, reaching out his hand and stilling Anguy who was in a hurry to get back to the fire with the deer they had killed. He couldn't go back yet, something deep inside told him they would stop talking the moment they saw him. And something deeper inside told him he needed to hear what they had to say.
"You're going the wrong way," the voice he thought he recognized said, equal parts teasing and serious. "Why on earth would you think they would send her south? She's the only power they held over Cersei. Bolton is more intelligent than that," there was a pause, a self confident scoff, "at least marginally more intelligent than that."
"Where is she then?" the Red Priest asked. "If you know so much?"
"Winterfell," the first responded, so certain and sure. "Where she was always meant to end up."
"And you were going to rescue her?" Lem asked, unconcealed laughter coloring his tone, "A dwarf and a bastard?"
Before the first voice could answer, the second new voice chimed in. "Didn't think you'd see me again, did you?" the man growled, sounding like both a boy and a man. Weak and strong, broken and complete at the same time. "Don't trust him," he warned his companion. "Don't trust any of them."
The first voice laughed, humorless, "I wouldn't trust them as far as they could throw me," he assured the younger man. "They're the Brotherhood."
"And the last time I saw them they sold me to a Red Witch to be murdered," the second voice added. "Who's to say that they won't do the same to you? To me again?"
"Nothing's to say," the first responded, lilting and playful. "Except they know as well as most, a Lannister always pays his debts. Cersei would pay a lot to see me dead, Jaime would pay more to see me alive. Twice that if I brought our niece home." The man was quiet for a moment, no doubt studying the group around the fire. "We're on the same side."
It was then that the man's words seemed to travel from his ears to his head. Then that he finally understood all that he had heard. One of the newcomers was a Lannister, his enemy. He felt a growl rising in his throat as he moved forward, no longer cautious, no longer fearful.
The Lannisters had taken everything from him. They had stolen his wife, the life he had hoped to live with her. They had killed him. And he would kill every one of them until he found Lenora again. He would start with this one.
He charged, like a wolf on the hunt, moving quietly through the trees until he reached the group, instinctively reaching for a sword that was no there. It did not matter, he would kill the man with his bare hands, he would taste his blood if he had to.
But the boy stopped him before he could get to the Lannister. The boy was tall, almost a man. He looked so damn familiar. He stopped, staring as the boy turned and it hit him. Silver and black. The same colors he had fallen in love with. Eyes that could be as warm as melted silver or as cold as castle-forged steel. Hair that was as black as a raven's wings. Baratheon colors.
He felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop open as he stared, shaking his head. "You look like her," he whispered, the statement made ridiculous by how very different the two were in stature. But their coloring was the same.
The boy was pushed roughly aside, in his place stood a short man, one who barely came up to his waist, one that he did know. Tyrion Lannister.
"You're supposed to be dead," the imp whispered, his own brows furrowed as he stared at Robb Stark, the last man he had ever expected to find in the Southern woods.
And in that moment, he was no longer no one. He belonged to his past. He belonged to his name.
He was Robb Stark.
-.-.-.-.-
Davos
They weren't alone. The majority of Jon Snow's defenders and friends were in the room. Edd, Davos, the wolf, the giant red haired Wildling who had seemed so skeptical and nervous when Davos shared his plans.
Bodies were for burning he had argued. Davos had promised him that if it did not work he would allow Jon Snow to be burned with the others. But first they had to try. The Red Woman had shown him that miracles existed. And though she did not seem to believe, he believed for her.
She began by having the men strip him down. There was no shame for the dead. And then, carefully, gently, almost lovingly she washed each of his wounds with warm water. Until his skin was clean, and nothing remained from his attack, but the deep gashes.
Then, speaking in a language he would never understand she began to cut his hair, throwing strands of it into the fire, she trimmed his beard and did the same. Then she washed his hair with the same slow, caution, she had used to clean his wounds.
The wolf slept at her feet as she worked, apparently calm in the knowledge that no one in the chamber would harm his master.
"Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon," she whispered, her voice deep and guttural as she washed his wounds. She had told them what she would be asking during the ritual, sharing her secrets with them so that they could pray too, so that perhaps all of their prayers would be heard by her fire god.
We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of darkness.
"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon," she whispered as she cut his hair and trimmed his beard.
We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out.
And then she seemed to still for a moment, to reach deep inside herself as she brought her hands to rest over his wounds, her left hand resting above the gashes on his abdomen, her right over his heart.
"Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson."
From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life.
Davos held his breath, watching closely, waiting for it to work, for the young man to wake up. He was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid that making even the smallest sound would break the spell.
Nothing happened.
Melisandre lifted her hands, waiting as well. When nothing happened, she turned slightly, looking toward, of all people, Davos for instruction. He nodded, encouraging her to try again.
She turned back to the body in front of her and placed her hands on his broken skin again. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson." Her voice was more sure of herself now, there was more force to it.
Davos repeated the words quietly in his head, hoping to help.
From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life.
Nothing changed.
She lifted her hands again to place him back on his body. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson," she whispered, her voice taking on a frantic quality as she tried again and again. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson." Her voice was faster, more desperate. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson."
He knew she had given up when she sighed.
"Please" she whispered.
From darkness, light, he thought as she lifted her hands from his chest and turned to look toward Davos, silently admitting her defeat.
The red headed Wildling sighed and stormed from the room.
From ashes, fire.
Melisandre and Edd left.
Davos moved closer to the table, looking down at the young Lord Commander. Nothing had changed, he sighed and turned away, leaving the man, at last, in peace.
From death, life.
...
He wasn't sure what had drawn him back to the room while everyone else gathered wood for his fire. Perhaps he had heard the wolf whimper. Or perhaps it was his complete faith in what he had seen the Red Woman do. He had seen her drink poison and live when it had killed a man. He had seen her give birth to a shadow demon that had killed a would be king. He could not understand why she would not be able to bring a man back from the dead.
The room was completely dark, the fire had gone out. And all the candles. The direwolf's red eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as it stood, eyes trained on the body on the table that was suddenly breathing, loud, panicked gasps as he sat up, his gaze and his hand falling to the wounds on his chest.
The man, who at the moment looked more like a boy, stared at him with wide eyes, struggling to get off the table, stumbling.
"Easy," Davos told him, trying to comfort the young man as he tore off his cloak to drape over his shoulders to cover his nakedness. "Easy."
The man was still gasping, his entire body shaking with the effort. Just as Davos did not know what had drawn him back to the room, he did not know what brought her, but without looking over his shoulder he knew that the Red Woman was with them. He guided Jon to a seat, gave him a moment to try to get his bearings before he asked, "What do you remember?"
"They stabbed me," the poor young man told them, his dark eyes distant and haunted as they looked past Davos, staring intently at nothing. "Olly," he paused, "he put a knife in my heart." He shook his head, tears swimming in his dark eyes as he finally turned to look at Davos, searching for answers he didn't seem to know how to ask for. "I shouldn't be here," he told the older man, his voice broken.
"The lady brought you back," Davos told him, gesturing toward Melisandre. It was a poor explanation, but the only one he had.
Jon turned to the woman, his brows still furrowed, his crumpled face still reminding Davos so much of a scared child's. He was still searching for answers. But Melisandre was searching for her own. She moved closer to him, kneeling so that she could be on his level. "Afterwards," she said breathlessly, "after they stabbed you, after you died, where did you go?"
Her questions were rushed and hurried. Davos felt sorry for the boy. Jon thought he shouldn't be there, but he wasn't entirely sure if the boy knew he had died. It was a lot to swallow, waking up and learning that not only had he died, but that he had been brought back by some strange woman, and an even stranger magic.
"What did you see?" she asked.
He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head, his face apologizing for disappointing them before he had even given them his answer. "Nothing," he rasped out. "There was nothing at all."
Melisandre stared up at him, shaking her head slightly, "The Lord let you come back for a reason," she pushed him. "Stannis is not the Prince that was Promised, but someone has to be."
Jon looked down, as if worried that he had disappointed the woman somehow.
Davos leaned down, his voice soft and warm, he did not want to frighten the boy anymore than he already was. "Could you give us a moment, please?" he asked the Red Woman. He was grateful to her for bringing Jon Snow back, but he worried that she would only confuse him with her words about the Lord of Light and the Prince that was Promised. Jon did not know where he had gone and he did not know why he was back. And he did not need her confusing him.
Davos waited until she had risen and slowly left the room before he spoke again. He grabbed a chair and sat down in front of the boy, being sure to give him as much space as possible. "You were dead," he told the boy simply, keeping everything as simple as he could. "And now you're not. That's completely fucking mad, seems to me. I can only imagine how it seems to you."
Jon nodded, his dark eyes trained on Davos' face as if he were a lifeline. "I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it. And now I'm back. Why?"
Davos shook his head, "I don't know," he told the boy honestly. "Maybe we'll never know. What does it matter? You go on. You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much shit as you can."
Jon shook his head, his eyes still locked on Davos' face. "I don't know how to do that," he admitted quietly. "I thought I did, but ... I failed." There were those tears again, as he looked down, ashamed.
Davos wondered if the boy was upset because he thought he had failed himself or because he thought he had failed his men. Knowing what little he did about the former Lord Commander, he would wager the latter. "Good," he told the boy, waiting for him to look back up at him before he continued. "Now go fail again."
Author's Note:
I have to say, I'm pretty proud of myself for this chapter. There was a reason I chose these three POVs. There was a reason I focused on these events. There was a reason I gave the chapter its name. Can you find the link?
Plus, as a bonus, a lot of you have been asking about Tyrion and Robb and it just so happened that they were already going to appear and find each other in this chapter, even without your questions. It's just funny that it worked out that way.
What do you guys think? Loved it (I hope so!), liked it (good!), hated it (I sincerely hope not!). Let me know in the reviews!
Thank you so much for stopping by to read. For adding this story to your communities. To your favorites lists and alert lists! But most of all, thank you for your reviews! They really let me know that I am on the right track here! You would think after seventy-two chapters I would be pretty sure of myself, but I still need the encouragement sometimes!
JanaOliver: I'm so glad that you were excited that I updated! And I hope that you were just as excited about this chapter! Don't worry, Lenora will reunite with Robb and get her revenge on Ramsay, though the first might come with a bit of a wait before it happens!
StarkTeller: Yes! I love when I make people cry! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter (and I hope you went back to finish the story you abandoned when you got the notification!) You and me both, about the BotB! I cannot wait to officially start writing it.
What speech did Kara give Mon-El? I've never seen the show.
RHatch89: And in this chapter they got another step closer! I kind of like having Ramsay around, but at the same time I cannot wait for Lenora to get her revenge!
bellaphant: I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! There was another reunion in this chapter and if you can't tell, I'm gearing up for a pretty big reunion in the next one. Your wish is my command about Tyrion and Gendry, they were on a crash course with the Brotherhood. (There will be more of them coming up soon! I think in the next chapter!) As for what Jon tells Lenora ... you'll have to wait and see.
TheDragonSinger: Dude! I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thank you for your review!
matrixboy122: I think you actually were the 700th review, my friend. What chapter does Robb see Lenora again? Chapter 82. Nine more chapters until they see each other again. It'll be worth it, I promise.
HPuni101: I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! And I hope this one at least scratched the Robb and Tyrion itch. Thank you so much for your review!
Lulu14168: What heart-wrenching thing do I have planned next? You'll have to wait and see. Maybe nothing at all. Or maybe something very big. But I figured I should give you guys a bit of a breather before we continued.
Gamemaster77: Aww! Well based on your standards, you will be satisfied with this story. I can promise you that both Stark sisters and Lenora make it safely to Castle Black. Whatever happens after that ... I will hold you to your statement, even if they all "immediately die afterwards!"
There was another reunion in this chapter. It did involve Tyrion and Gendry. But they were a bit further south. Even though they left King's Landing before Jaime, they've been sneaking whereas Jaime and Bronn left with horses and supplies and Cersei's blessing. So they moved a bit faster.
You are right. Ramsay will not get the same death he got in the show, but it is a question of how far Lenora will be willing to go to get her revenge. That part is going to be very internal and dark. Is she willing to stoop to his level? To become a monster like him? She'll consider it at the very least!
Ariaofrosewood: I'm so glad that you've enjoyed the reunions so far! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! As for Rickon? You'll find out soon!
Guest1995: Yeah, Lenora and Jaime deserve some happiness. As do the Starks. But this is GoT. There's still some heartbreak left for everyone in the story, no matter how nice I'm being right now.
Gendry and Tyrion didn't run into trouble, but they did run into a very lost wolf. They're going to set him on the right track soon!
Aww two reviews! I'm sorry for the wait! But I wanted to make sure that it was perfect before I sent it out to you guys! As for Tyrion, Gendry, and Lenora. They're going to meet up separately. Gendry's going to find Lenora first. And I needed them to be separate because I want to highlight both of them and I was scared that one would get lost if they happened in the same chapter.
Yes Lenora will see both Cersei and Robb again. And I can't wait for you to read them! They're pretty spectacular.
Falcon Lair: You're welcome! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thank you for your review!
Maddy: Hahaha. Nice try! I had some editing I wanted to do on this chapter before I posted it. Otherwise I might have posted it right on top of the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it!
ZabuzazGirl: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the reunions. And I hope you're looking forward to the big one that is coming up soon!
Kimberley: I'm so glad that you're excited! We are ridiculously close to finishing now. Eleven chapters left I think. That's insane. I never thought this story would get this far. But I'm so happy that it did! You are so sweet! It really means a lot to hear that this is the best GoT story you've read.
Vun: I'm sorry for the wait! But I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!
darkwolf76: You don't need to apologize. Enjoying Jon's death is probably the wrong way to phrase it on my part. But I knew what you were trying to say. I both hated writing about his death, but loved the challenge it presented and what it brought out of me. And I think you were feeling the same thing.
Not many dark scenes in this chapter either. I'm spoiling you guys (and the characters) but that won't last forever. Prepare yourselves ... Winter is coming. I'm glad you're shipping Jaime and Brienne. I'm a subtle shipper for them. And I love that you enjoy how I write Bronn. He's not a major character in this story, but I love him so he gets sprinkled in here and there. And it makes me happy when people notice him.
I'm glad the dialogue in this story is meaningful. My stories are always, generally dialogue heavy (with the exception of Jon's POVs) because I feel like the dialogue is what makes the characters come to life. Every time they speak they become a little more real. And with every chapter it is my job to continue that trend.
We did get some of Robb and the Brotherhood in this chapter! You guys are like mind readers. This is not the first time I've gotten a string of reviews asking about a character or a situation only to already have written it for the next chapter. And you were the only one to predict they'd run into Tyrion and Gendry. Bravo.
Thank you for your offer to help with future stories! I will probably take you up on that!
That's all I've got for now! Thank you so much for your reviews! They mean the world!
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.