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Chapter Eighty-three: Forgiveness

Gendry

She approached him and Arya the evening after they had marched from the Twins. Arya surprised him, instead of refusing to leave, instead of eavesdropping on them; she stood up and with a smile toward Lenora she moved away from their small fire toward the larger one where Lenora had been seated with her uncles, Robb Stark, and the rest of her Queensguard.

Lenora stood for a moment, head turned as she watched Arya walk away, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips before she turned back toward Gendry and nodded toward the seat that Arya had just vacated.

"Mind if I sit with you?" she asked him softly.

Gendry had the distinct idea that if he told her that he did mind that she would respect that, that she would turn and walk away and leave him on his own. It was something he had never gotten before, not even really from Arya - a respect for his personal space and wishes. That it should be coming from a queen surprised him.

He nodded and stood from his seat, making more room for her and waiting until she had seated herself before he regained his seat. For a long moment they were quiet, Lenora's head turned back toward the fire she had just left so that she could watch as Arya sat beside Robb, leaning against him and smiling up at him as if the man had hung the moon. "It's good to see her happy," the older woman mused, still watching the young girl. "There was a time when I didn't know if that would be possible."

Gendry shook his head, "You didn't see her when we left King's Landing, Lenora," he told her, meaning to reassure her. "After her father -" he stopped himself short when he saw the way her jaw tightened, Lenora did not like to be reminded of Ned Stark's beheading any more than Arya did. He took a deep breath, "Even then she had her moments of happiness," he assured her, skirting around the difficult subject to reach his point. "I never had any doubt that there would be a time when she would truly be happy again."

Lenora turned away from the fire and glanced at him for a moment before she turned back, "Things could have gone very differently," she mused, "for both the girls. I wish I had your faith that everything would work out well." Her gaze was heavy as it landed back on Arya and her brother. "What do you think of my husband, Gendry?" she asked him.

Gendry shrugged and shook his head, "I don't know much of him -" he started.

Lenora shook her head and laughed, the laugh was colder than he was used to, "Don't lie to me," she commanded him. "You traveled to Winterfell with him. You spent months with him. There are times when I think that perhaps you and Tyrion know this new Robb Stark better than I do." She turned, her gaze landing on Gendry. "So tell me," she commanded again, "what do you think of him?"

Gendry was quiet for a long time, his own gaze leaving Lenora's face to land on the man in question. "I was terrified of him the first time I met him," he told her honestly. "And terrified for days after. He told Tyrion what had happened to him and I did not want to believe it, could not believe that a man could be killed and brought back to life. But your uncle believed him. And the longer I traveled with them the more I came to believe as well."

"Why?" Lenora breathed, turning more toward him as he spoke.

"He had obviously been changed," Gendry answered her. "Drastically. I knew from rumors in King's Landing and from what your uncle had said that you loved him. That you had not simply married him because he forced you to or for your safety - you loved him. And from what I had learned about you from your uncle you would not have loved the man that I met in the woods.

"I knew that he had to be good. That he had to have once been gentle and kind. That he spoke more than he does now and that the words he spoke were good and just and everything Arya had ever said that her father was.

"I could tell by the lines around his mouth that he had smiled often, and laughed loudly. I could imagine the two of you riding together, dancing together, laughing together. I could hear it in the stories he eventually began to tell about you. There was a longing.

"And there was only one thing that could have caused so drastic a change - death."

Lenora was quiet for a long time, watching him, "There are worse things than death," she whispered softly. She was so quiet that he wondered if she was even speaking to him any longer or if she was speaking to herself. "They can change a person too."

She was still speaking to him then.

Gendry watched her, thinking about everything she must have been through at the hands of Ramsay. She had never spoken to him about it and he would never be so forward as to ask her about it. But he had heard the smallfolk in Wintertown talking about the Bolton bastard. He had sat quietly while Jaime and Tyrion quietly discussed what little she had shared with them about it. He had heard Robb and Jon talking about it at Winterfell. She had been through something terrible, something that would have broken weaker women - something that would have broken weaker men.

"I suppose there are," he agreed with her softly. He hesitated for a moment before he reached out and dropped his hand on top of hers. For a moment she tensed, still not quite used to being touched in gentle way, he was about to pull his hand away from hers when he felt her relax beside him. He turned, looking down at their hands - they were so different. His were large and suntanned, covered in burn marks and callouses. Hers were small, delicate and soft. They were pale from all of her time kept locked inside Winterfell. The callouses from her battles with Robb had softened during her imprisonment - there were blisters on her palms now, as her hands grew accustomed to holding a sword or horse reigns again.

There hands were so different and yet they both came from the same man.

"He did not break you, Lenora," Gendry told her softly.

She glanced up at him, her brows furrowed. "How can you tell?" she asked him. "How do you know that he did not break me when I worry about it myself? How do you know when my own uncles who have known me my entire life walk around me on tip toes so as not to startle me? How do you know when the man I love can barely look at me after what I did at the Twins? You do not know everything I have done."

Gendry shook his head, he would not insult her by pretending that he did. "But I do know who you are," he told her.

She scoffed at that and turned away from him. "You barely know me, Gendry," she told him. "We share a father and you have spent some time with me, but you do not know me. You do not know what I am capable of."

"I do," he argued with her. "I saw it at the Twins."

Lenora's jaw tightened for a moment and she nodded, "Yes," she agreed. "You saw it at the Twins. You saw me murder an entire House without blinking. Without stopping to think if any of them truly deserved it. Without asking for counsel or assistance or forgiveness." She turned toward him and shook her head, "That was not something I learned from our father," she assured him. "That I learned from my mother."

Gendry was no simpleton, he knew that Robb and Jaime and Tyrion and many others were uncomfortable with what Lenora had done at the Twins. He had heard them whispering about it. But what he had not realized was that Lenora was not completely comfortable with what she had done. She thought herself a monster.

And she had come to him to help her out of it.

He cleared his throat and leaned closer to her, squeezing her hand to get her attention. "Do you mind, Your Grace, if I tell you what I saw at the Twins?" he asked her, smirking when she opened her mouth to remind him not to call her your grace.

She watched him for a long moment before she nodded, pulling her hand free from his grasp so that she could gesture toward him. Go on then.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

"I saw a warrior," he told her. "You think you were a monster, but that is not what I saw. It wasn't what Arya saw. Or your uncles. Or Robb Stark. I saw a strong woman who had been to the Seven Hells and back. A woman who made it through something unimaginable and is still trying to make sense of it all. You did not murder an entire house, you saved the innocents - the women, the young children. You did not need to stop and think if any of them truly deserved it - every man in that room profited from the death of your husband, they all celebrated it. You did not need to seek counsel or assistance from the men you have gathered around you now - we do not know the pain you have carried since the Twins. We can imagine, we can guess, but we do not know. If this was what you needed to do to set that pain down, then so be it. You do not need anyone's forgiveness."

During his answer she had ducked her head, hiding from his gaze. When he stopped she glanced up at him, her brows furrowed. Her lips tugged up at the left corner, a rueful half-smile. "Where did you get so wise?" she asked him, not addressing what he had just told her.

He smiled, "It was not something I learned from our father," he told her, repeating the words she had used when describing her actions at the Twins. "That was something I learned from my mother."

Lenora watched him for a moment before she shook her head, "Horse shit," she called him out. "You never knew your mother. She died when you were young."

Gendry smiled, "I must have spent too long with Tyrion then," he mused.

Lenora smiled at him for a moment before her face became serious again, "Do you think it was undeserved?" she asked him. She held up her hand before he could answer her, "And do not say that it does not matter as long as I think it was deserved. I want to hear your thoughts. Did I go too far at the Twins?"

Gendry shook his head, "No," he told her honestly. "Not after what Walder Frey and Roose Bolton did to you. You were doing what you thought was best for your people, your House, and your future."

She watched him carefully, "There's a but," she teased him.

He sighed, "But, I would caution you. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton did what they did because they thought it was best for their people, their Houses, and their future."

She tensed, her spine impossibly straight, "You think that I am as bad as they are?" she asked him.

He shook his head, "No," he told her emphatically. "But history is always kinder to the victors. Remember that."

She watched him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed. "You're right," she told him, her tone neither playful nor cold. "You have spent too much time with Tyrion."

She stood and began to turn, to walk away from him. "Lenora," he called out, catching her attention and forcing her to turn back to him. He swallowed a lump in his throat, he did not want to tell her this, but he had been carrying it since he and Tyrion first saw Robb Stark in the woods. It got heavier each day, it was time to tell one of them. And she was here.

"It's my fault," he told her, "that Robb died." Her mouth opened, ready to tell him that he was wrong, but he interrupted her before she could start. He told her, slow and stuttering, how the Brotherhood had sold him to the Red Witch and she had dragged him to Stannis. He told her how they said that he had powerful blood, King's blood and how they had put leeches on him. Three of them. How Stannis had taken each of the leeches and thrown them in the fire and named three names. Joffrey Baratheon. Balon Greyjoy. Robb Stark.

Lenora shook her head, "That is not your fault, Gendry," she assured him, moving closer to him so that she could sit beside him again and reach out for his hand. "You were not to blame for what happened to Robb. Walder Frey. Roose Bolton. Tywin Lannister. Not you."

He shook his head, "I told myself that," he told her. "When I made it back to King's Landing. When I heard about the Red Wedding. I told myself that the Red Witch didn't have any actual magic to her, that she wasn't truly able to cause a man's death with a leech and some of my blood, let alone three. But they're all dead - the three that Stannis named, they're all dead. And a Red priest brought him back. There is magic. Why shouldn't hers be real too?"

Lenora was quiet for a long time. Gendry began to worry that he had convinced her. That she now saw that he was at fault for Robb's death and that she would never forgive him. But she still held his hand and when she spoke her tone was soft and gentle. "Stannis is dead now," she told him quietly, "with or without magic, he is dead. And if this witch truly had magic, if she did use your blood to cause the death of my husband, I think you have repaid that debt by now."

"How?" Gendry asked, lifting his gaze to her face.

She smiled softly at him and patted his hand. "By bringing him back to me."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

They marched slowly. Lenora knew that after the Twins it would be impossible to hide. The Seven Kingdoms would know that she was marching South, they would also know that Robb Stark was still alive. Her mother would know.

There was no need to rush now, no way to take advantage of the element of surprise. Now was not a time to rush, but to take her time. To move slowly, carefully, thoughtfully.

Both Jaime and Tyrion were sure that her mother would not send forces out to meet them, she had too few. Because of Myrcella's death in Dorne, one that was an accident, but that Lenora had no doubt her mother blamed on the Martells she would not look for allies there. The Storm Lands did not love her, they belonged to Lenora by right, perhaps to Gendry. The East and the Eyrie were already marching with her and her Northmen. And Highgarden, after what had happened in the Great Sept, they were no friend to the Lannister queen.

All she had were parts of the West, perhaps the Lannister lands, though Jaime had faith that many of them would join Lenora, and the forces from the Crownlands. She would use those forces to shore up King's Landing, it was the intelligent thing to do.

And so, Lenora would take her time. She would march slowly, gathering men and supplies as they went so that when she met her mother's army on the field of battle she would meet it stronger and sure to win.

And so, they marched slowly. And in those weeks, Lenora began to heal. Slowly, but surely, just as she marched. It had all begun with the night at the Twins, with her conversation with Gendry. He was correct, she had been carrying her pain for far too long, and if the night at the Twins had done anything, it had allowed her to finally set some of it down.

She had her revenge on those she held responsible for taking Robb away from her. She had her revenge on those who had held her captive, who had tortured her, those who had thought that they could break her. And she had Robb. With each night they retired to their tent together, to make love and to sleep in each other's arms, she finally began to trust that. To know that no one was ever going to take him from her again.

Neither of them would allow it.

She smiled more; she laughed more. And one night, she finally began to let Robb in. She brought him to their tent early, almost as soon as supper with her uncles was done; and in the flickering light of the candles that lit their tent, she finally told him everything that had happened to her since the Red Wedding.

It took her hours to get it all out. At times she stuttered, tripping over her words, at other times they rushed out of her like a river while she avoided meeting his gaze, afraid to see the anger she knew would be burning in his ice blue eyes. She whispered and she cried and she sat in silence, wrestling with her own fear, before allowing herself to be brave and tell him the worst of it.

When she was done, when she had nothing more to say, she finally glanced up at him. He was sitting on the edge of their bed, bent forward, cradling his head in his hands as if he could not bear to look at her. She couldn't blame him, she knew that none of this was her fault, but there were men all over the Seven Kingdoms who had set their wives aside for less. Her heart began to beat faster, throwing itself against her ribs as she realized that this might be too much, that perhaps she should not have told him everything.

What if this was how she lost him?

"Robb?" she whispered, moving closer to the bed. She sat down beside him, reaching out for his hand. "Robb, please talk to me? Say something?"

He didn't say anything. But he did push her hands away from him, as if he couldn't bear to touch her. Lenora sat, watching him with wide eyes as he stood from the bed, turning to glare at her. She had known that he would be angry, but this was something else. His blue eyes were cold and hard, ice. His face was still, a mask for anger and pain that she could not even begin to imagine. His fists clenched, and for a moment Lenora had feared that he might hit her. Her hands stilled, halfway between her lap and reaching for him. Certain that the last thing he wanted at the moment was to touch her.

His eyes were locked on her face, but she couldn't be certain that he truly saw her. Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and stormed from their tent.

Her first instinct was to follow after him. To grab his arm and make him see her, to make him talk to her. But she had already caused him so much pain, the last thing that she wanted to was to cause him more. To torture him with her company and her face and the reminder of everything they might have had if it weren't for the Boltons. If it weren't for the Freys. If it weren't for her own family.

And so, she did not chase after him. But she could not sleep.

She sat on the edge of the bed, exactly where he had left her. And she waited.

For what she did not know. There were times during the night where she fooled herself into thinking that she had not made a mistake when she told him what had happened to her. When she lied to herself and promised that they could come back from this, that eventually Robb would return to the tent and there would be nothing wrong. Those were the easy moments.

And then there were difficult ones, painful ones that tore her heart in pieces as she realized that she might be waiting for nothing. That Robb might not ever come back. That he might not ever return to their tent, or to her. There were moments when her chest tightened and her breath hitched when she realized that she might have put too much on him, that this would be what finally broke him. That he would never be her Robb again.

He was gone for most of the night. But he did finally return, just before dawn. Lenora still had not fallen asleep and so she knew that he had returned when she heard Brienne, who was standing guard outside her tent whisper a greeting to him.

He entered the tent quietly, as if he were worried that he would wake her. And when his gaze finally landed on her, his jaw clenched. She realized that he wished that she had been sleeping, that it would have made his return easier for him. Her gaze dropped to her lap, she had hurt him again.

But then she heard him move closer to her, and his hand slipped under her chin, gently lifting her gaze to meet his face. "Nora," he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of her name. That was all he said. "Nora."

His knuckles were bloody, she could smell the iron in the air around them. His eyes were bloodshot. Wherever he had been for most of the night, he had been crying.

Her chest tightened. She had never wanted to hurt him more than she already had.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, leaning until his face was pressed against her stomach, buried in the shirt she wore. Her hands lifted, she wanted to comfort him, but was not certain how to do so. Cautiously her left hand landed on the back of his neck, his skin was warm. Her right landed on his head, her fingers threading through his hair, stroking it, comforting him.

He took a deep breath in, his shoulders shuddering, a sound that was more animal than man ripped its way out of his throat as he pushed closer to her. "I should have killed him," he growled against her stomach. "I should have ripped him apart. Torn his arms from his body. I should have burned him alive." He shook his head, ignoring the quiet, soothing shushing noise she made. "I should have killed him for you, Nora. That should not have been on you. None of it should have."

"No," Lenora argued as she shook her head. She bent over him, pressing a kiss into his sweat dampened curls. She knew who he meant. As angry as he was at what Ramsay had done to her, he was angrier at her. She had stolen Walder Frey from him. He could not kill her grandfather - Tyrion had done that before leaving King's Landing. He could not kill Roose Bolton - Jaime had seen to that. He could not kill Ramsay, he had arrived at Winterfell too late. But he had been at the twins, and she had called for Grey Wind instead of him. She had stolen his last chance at revenge. She had thought to save him from all of it, but she had been wrong.

"I did not want you to," she told him softly, whispering against his hair. It wasn't enough, not after what she had taken from him, but she hoped that he would understand her explanation. "Robb," her voice cracked. "You have already seen so much, done so much, lost so much. This was something I wasn't certain that I could come back from, I couldn't risk you too."

She wondered if he had been carrying this with him since the Twins, before he even knew the extent of what Ramsay Bolton had done to her. She wondered how long he would have carried this if she had not decided to tell him everything tonight.

For a long time he stayed draped over her lap, his face buried in her stomach, allowing her to stroke his hair and whisper in his ear how much she loved him, how sorry she was for everything that had happened to him, how much she wished she could take it all away. And then, he shook his head and lifted his face from her shirt. His eyes were still bloodshot. She looked away.

But his hand lifted to her chin, gently pulling her to face him. He stroked her cheek with his thumb before he spoke and her breath hitched at the feeling of his callused thumb brushing over her skin, she had almost lost this.

She watched as the right corner of his lips tugged up into a bittersweet smile. "You do not need to be so strong, Nora," he told her, his tone rueful, as his hand moved toward her cheek, cupping it. "I can carry some of your pain too."

She leaned into his hand for a moment, her eyelids fluttering shut when she realized that she had not lost him - that she could not lose him, no matter what had happened to her. She would always belong to Robb Stark. And he would always belong to her. She kept her eyes closed as she turned and pressed a kiss against the inside of his palm. "I know that," she assured him, her lips brushing against his palm with each word.

He snorted, a sound of bitter derision.

Her lips turned up at the corners, a bitter smile. "I know that now," she told him, correcting himself. "And I am trying to let you."

He chuckled, cold and hard, and when she opened her eyes, her gaze locked on his face, his own lips were turning up at the corners in a rueful smirk, "Try a little harder, would you?" he asked her - half bitter, half teasing. "I feel as though I have been constantly fighting you to let me in, ever since I returned." He closed his eyes for a moment, "I'm tired, Nora," he told her, his gaze weary when he opened his eyes again. "Aren't you?"

She nodded, "I am so tired," she agreed with him quietly.

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her lips before he pulled away, "Then no more," he told her, his gaze sharp and heavy as it landed on her face. "No more hiding from me. No more shielding me from things you believe will hurt me. Of the two of us, only one of us returned from the dead," he smirked, as if he had told a joke. "I am stronger than you think, Nora. I can handle what happened to you, I can handle your nightmares, your fears, your pain. I can carry it for you. I can handle your plans for what comes next, and more than that, I can help you." He shook his head, "You are no longer on your own."

Lenora watched him for a long moment before she nodded, "I am yours and you are mine," she whispered, a quiet admission that while they had both changed drastically since before the Red Wedding, as far as she was concerned, they still belonged to each other.

They always would.

Robb nodded, pressing another kiss against her lips, "I am yours and you are mine."

-.-.-.-.-

Cersei

It was impossible.

She had heard her handmaids whispering about it in the hall outside her chambers. The Young Wolf lives, they had whispered behind their hands. But it was impossible, Robb Stark could not live, Roose Bolton had cut him open - sternum to navel at Walder Frey's damned wedding. Everyone knew that the Lannisters had been behind, but no one dared even whisper about it. They had been far too busy whispering about how the Freys had sewn the boy's wolf's head onto his neck.

But still, the handmaids whispered.

They were stupid girls; girls who couldn't tell the difference between facts and fantasy. And they would soon be proven wrong.

It was impossible.

She heard the High Lords of the southern kingdoms speaking about it in the throne room when she arrived to grant petitions. The Young Wolf lives, they told each other quietly, their eyes darting to her throne. No doubt they thought that he would want his revenge. And there were so few Lannisters left to pay the debt. But they were wrong, he had died months ago. Her father had promised her. It was how they had won the war, how the secured the throne for Joffrey. No one could follow a dead man.

But still the lords spoke in hushed tones.

They were stupid men; ones who had forgotten her father. Tywin Lannister was too cautious, too careful to celebrate anything that was not a certainty. And he had celebrated Robb Stark's death. The lords would soon be proven wrong.

It was impossible.

That was what she told herself as she read the raven scroll sent to her by Qyburn. He had written hastily, the ink smearing on the page since he did not take the time to sand his letter before rolling it up and sending it to her. The Young Wolf lives, he had written to her. He marches south, with your daughter by his side. She reread the scroll several times, Qyburn was not the sort of man who would believe foolish tales, though she was still convinced that he was mistaken. Perhaps it was another Stark who marched south, there were so many of them after all, it was hard to keep track. And there was the bastard brother of his, living in Winterfell and ruling as its Lord.

Qyburn had to be wrong as well. Robb Stark could not be alive. It would ruin everything. And Lenora would not march with him, not against her mother unless she was forced. No, Qyburn would soon be proven wrong.

It was impossible.

...

Her two sons sat, silently watching her. Their green eyes hollow and empty. The skin under their eyes bruised and dark as if they had not slept in many days. She did not look to them for advice, they were boys after all, boys playing at being men. But as she took a sip of wine, her gaze drifted toward them again, even with the hollow eyes and dark circles they looked so much like their father that it hurt.

"It can't be true," she told them as she took another sip of her wine. She shook her head. "Robb Stark cannot be alive."

It was Joffrey that answered, his voice echoing against the stone walls of her chamber, "Why not, Mother?" he asked her, turning to examine his fingernails, looking for dirt. "You were not there. You did not see him die with your own eyes. Perhaps you were mistaken."

"Your grandfather was not mistaken," Cersei snapped at him, her voice harsher than she meant it to be. She was about to apologize to her eldest son when he laughed, sharp and cruel.

"Ah, yes!" he crowed, still chuckling. "Grandfather was always so intelligent when it came to battle. Whatever happened to him, Mother?" He turned toward Tommen who had remained silent until now.

The younger boy smirked, "I heard he's dead," he told his brother, his voice just as empty as his eyes. "Shot with a crossbow while on the privy."

Joff laughed again, slapping his knee as if his younger brother had told him some great jest. "What a way to go!" he announced loudly. "I mean, it's not choking to death at your own wedding ..."

"Or being blown up by your own mother," Tommen added, his gaze locked on Cersei's face.

Joffrey nodded, "But it's got style to it. Do you think Robb Stark knows how the great Tywin Lannister met his end?"

"Enough!" Cersei commanded, interrupting her sons before they could continue laughing at her father's expense. "Enough."

Joffrey watched her for a moment, his gaze heavy. "Enough, Mother?" he asked her, echoing her words. "Have you finally had enough? Have you had enough with your complete lack of control over what's happening around you? Have you finally had enough reacting instead of acting? Have you finally had enough with watching your daughter take so easily what belongs to you?"

Cersei shook her head, "Lenora -" she started, about to defend the daughter who had long since betrayed her family.

"Has the North," Joffrey interrupted her defense before it could start. "She will have the Storm Lands. They say the Knights of the Vale march with her. She'll have Highgarden after the Sept. And Dorne, they don't like you there. Mother, you call yourself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but Lenora has five of them."

Cersei's fists clenched at her sides. She loved her daughter, but Lenora could not be allowed to steal so much from her mother. "They're mine," she growled. "She can't have them."

"She already does," Joffrey told her, he sounded bored with it all. "What are you going to do to get them back?" he asked. "It won't be long before she has the Westerlands too. The bannermen will follow Jaime before they continue to follow you."

Cersei shook her head as she downed the rest of her wine. She moved across the chamber toward the door, throwing it open and catching the chambermaid by surprise. The girls never stayed in her chambers anymore, they seemed frightened by her when she spoke to her sons, they kept their distance, waiting in the corridor until she had need of them. "Send for Qyburn," she ordered the girl, her voice cold and hard. "Tell him that we must prepare for battle."

"Your Grace?" the young woman asked, confused.

"Robb Stark isn't dead," Cersei told her, the words tasted bitter and rotten in her mouth. "He marches south as we speak. Dragging my daughter with him, using her name and her face to gain men for his army. We must stop him. We must rescue her."

She moved back into her chamber and slammed the door shut behind her. The door was loud, but not loud enough to drown out her son's words as he disappeared as if made of thin air.

You're too late, Mother, he whispered to her. You're always too late.

She's not yours any longer.

She's his.

-.-.-.-.-

Robb

"Where should we go first?" her voice was warm and gentle at his side, but it still caught him by surprise.

He turned toward her, an eyebrow arched. They were standing side by side in their tent, the great wooden table, carved to look like Westeros in front of them. He had never thought to ask what had happened to the table that Lady Mormont had carved for him after the Twins. It had, apparently made its way back to Winterfell, carried by Bolton men like his wife. She had brought it with them when they began their march south.

"Are you asking me for advice now?" he asked her, his tone teasing as he draped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer to him, tucking her underneath his arm. "You've gotten so good at not needing my help, why ruin that now?" He was teasing her, and testing her. After their discussion a few nights ago Lenora had started to finally make an effort. She had begun to let him in, to lean on him. He would take whatever he could get, but he would tease her while he did so.

She gently shoved his side, though with his arm wrapped around her, when he took a step away from her, he dragged her with him. She lost her footing, but he caught her - his hands falling to her hips to steady her. "If you continue to tease me I will stop asking you for advice," she warned him, her gaze darting toward him for a moment again before it landed on the table in front of them again.

Robb chuckled as he leaned closer to her and pressed a kiss against her temple. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he had worried that they had lost this. But here she was - warm in his arms, leaning against him as she asked for his advice. "Where would you like to go, Your Grace?" he asked her, still teasing.

Her eyes sparkled as she shot him a look, "You were never respectful before, Robb Stark, don't pretend to start now." She turned back to the table in front of her and dropped her hands onto the edge, leaning over the table as she studied the pieces in front of them.

There were the suns in Dorne. The roses in Highgarden. Some lions near Casterly Rock and the stags in the storm lands. There were some lions around Kings Landing where they knew her mother would be amassing her own troops, but the bulk of the pieces were in the middle of the map, hers to command. It seemed that for now, the majority of the Seven Kingdoms stood with her.

"Uncle Jaime says that we should head to Casterly Rock," she mused. "They are equally as likely to follow Mother as they are to follow me. He says that it might come down to who approaches them first."

Her jaw tightened as her gaze landed on the lions in the West. She didn't like that idea. Robb didn't either. He did not like the idea of his wife trusting her life to men who might side whoever asked them first. It was not the sort of loyalty that would keep her alive on the battle field.

"Tyrion says the Storm Lands," she mused, her gaze drifting toward the stags. "He says that they are mine by birthright. He believes that I should go there because they are a certainty. I should bulk up my forces, that it might persuade others to join me."

Robb shook his head, he had not said anything against Jaime's plan, Lenora seemed set to dislike it. But she was considering Tyrion's plan. He could hear it in her voice. "It's too close to the Crownlands," he told her, shaking his head. "If it were up to me I would not have you march to the Stormlands until you had more men behind you. Until you were ready to meet your mother in open battle."

From where they were in the Riverlands there was no way to reach the Stormlands without marching straight through the Crownlands.

She nodded, her gaze darting over the table. "Highgarden then," she mused, stepping out from under his arm to move toward the flowers. "With them comes half the West. And after my mother blew up almost all of their heirs they will not join her. They will want their revenge, I can help give them that."

Robb nodded, he agreed with that plan though she had not asked for his opinion yet. She glanced up at him and smiled. "Who would you go for next?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling. She had always loved planning for battle.

Robb thought about it for a moment, his gaze dancing over the table. "I would send Jaime to Casterly Rock," he told her. "After Highgarden. He is most likely out of your two Lannister uncles to gain the Rock's support. And if they have already decided to back Cersei, he is the only one whose life they might spare."

Lenora nodded, considering his plan. "And while he is at the Rock we would head south east toward Dorne?" she asked, walking her fingers across the table. Robb nodded, following close behind her. "Then north toward the Stormlands before finally marching on King's Landing?"

"That's how I would do it," Robb told her with a shrug. "I would save the safe bet of the Stormlands for last. They won't go anywhere. They are no friends of Cersei Lannister."

Lenora shook her head, "No they are not," she agreed with him softly.

Something was troubling her. Robb had not been gone so long that he could not see that easily on her face. He moved toward her, cupping her face in his hands. "You might not need to stand against her, my love," he told her, his voice gentle. "Your mother might stand down when she sees that you march with six of the seven kingdoms. She might see reason."

Lenora shook her head, a bitter smile playing at the corners of her lips. "My mother has never seen reason," she argued with him. But she didn't step out of his arms, Robb took that as a sign that she was still searching for advice and comfort. She shook her head, "This has meant war since the moment we left Winterfell," she told him honestly. "No amount of men following me will change that."

"So we will fight," Robb told her, his voice warm.

She nodded. "If we lose -" she started.

"We won't lose," Robb cut in, trying to help her stay strong.

Lenora shook her head, lifting her gaze to his face. "We are not children, Robb. This is not the War of the Five Kings where you did not lose a single battle. We lost then and we were winning. I will not allow myself to believe that we are safe until it is all over. And so, we must make plans. We must make plans for what will happen if we lose."

Robb sighed, "Alright, Nora," he told her softly. "What will we do if we lose."

"Arya must be brought back to Winterfell," Lenora told him. "Gendry too. That is the only place they might be safe."

Robb nodded, he could agree to those terms. "And you?" he asked her.

Lenora shook her head, "The only way I mean to return to Winterfell is as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," she told him, her voice fierce. "I will not return under any other circumstances."

Robb had thought that would be her answer. He nodded, reaching out for her hand and lifting it to his lips so that he could press a kiss against the inside of her wrist. "We return victorious or not at all," he vowed to her, meaning every word.

Lenora shook her head, "You may return," she told him, her voice earnest. "Robb," she continued when he began to shake his head. "I love you. But this isn't your war."

He shook his head and pressed another kiss to her wrist, "You are my world, Lenora Stark," he told her. "If you are at war, I am at war. And I will not return home without you. Do you hear me?"

She nodded, "I hear you," she whispered back.

Author's Note:

Hello! I'm back with a bit of a filler chapter. A surprisingly difficult thing to write which is why it took so long. The next chapter will be easy, there's action and substance, but this chapter needed to be written to get us there.
A necessary evil, but an evil all the same.
I'm getting very bad at responding to all of your reviews, and I apologize for that, but like the chapter before last, I feel as though you guys might rather have an update than wait another day for me to write responses to your reviews.
Just know, that I read all of them (I read my favorites many times) and they all mean so much to me.
When I started this story, I wasn't sure if anyone would like it. So it means a lot that so many of you read it and love it as much as I do. So thank you.
In other news ... about 40 chapters ago I told you guys that according to my timeline for this story there were going to be eighty-two chapters. That must be wrong because we're on chapter eighty-three and we're not close to the end yet. It looks like it's going to be around 89 chapters now.
But we're still in the home stretch.
I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter! I will be back soon(ish) with chapter eighty-four!
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.