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Chapter Eighty-Four: One Hour

Lenora

The old woman stared at her from across the table, her lips tugging down at the corners, as her pale eyes swept over Lenora's face. "You really do look like her," she muttered, watching for any sign of displeasure. Lenora was careful not to reveal anything. She had heard about this woman, she was intelligent, she would look for any sign of weakness and needle at it.

The woman was silent for a moment, watching her again. "I never believed it." She shook her head. "I didn't see much of you, only a short glimpse when you were a child on progress. It was difficult to see it underneath your father's dark coloring. But you really do look like her."

Lenora was quiet for a moment before she gestured toward the empty seat across the table, "May I?" she asked.

Lady Olenna Tyrell shrugged, pulling one of her shoulders up higher than the other, "You're a queen now, aren't you?" she asked, baiting her. "You can take anything you want."

Lenora took her time, pulling the seat out away from the table and then sitting down. "I may look like her, but I am not my mother, my Lady."

Outside the chamber door she could hear them, her men. She had not allowed any of them into the chamber with her and Lady Olenna. Not her uncles who did not trust anyone with her, not her husband who barely left her side, not her brother who thought it his duty now to shield her from everything, not even Brienne. She had never met the Queen of Thorns, but she had heard tales of her. She would find it disrespectful if Lenora had brought anyone with her.

Olenna watched her for a moment before she nodded, "No," she agreed quietly, her lips turning up slightly at the corners, a bittersweet smile, "I don't believe you are."

Lenora watched her for a moment, "Thank you for agreeing to see me, my Lady," she told her. "You did not need to."

The woman laughed, cold and hard, "Oh, I think I did," she argued, her tone dark. "The Seven Kingdoms have all seen what happens to the House that displeases you." She paused for a moment, "It's not unlike what your mother did to my House. You might not be your mother, but you must own to the similarities."

Lenora felt her cheeks flush as she glanced down at the table before her. She had not doubted that the Queen of Thorns would bring this up, but she had not imagined that the old lady would be so blunt about it. "My Lady," she started, "you must understand -"

"I understand just fine," Lady Olenna interrupted her. The older woman stood from her chair and moved toward a table at the edge of the room where a decanter of wine and two goblets sat. She poured wine in each goblet and brought them back to the table. "I was in King's Landing when Sansa Stark received the news. If the girl was so upset over the loss of her mother and her brother who she had not seen in years, it would have been much harder for you. You loved him and he was taken from you. There was a score that needed to be settled. And you did."

There was something in her tone that caught Lenora's attention. It was a weight, a heaviness that she did not quite understand. Her gaze dropped to the wine goblet in front of her, she wondered if there was poison in it, if the Queen of Thorns would use this meeting as an attempt to settle the score between herself and Cersei.

The old woman followed her gaze and chuckled, as if she could read Lenora's thoughts. "Do not worry, dear," she commanded. "I would not poison you. Not with your undead husband and your uncles and your army. Not for revenge on your mother." She shook her head, a bitter twist of her lips in place of a smile. "I may have started this battle, but I do not believe I will be the one to finish it."

Lenora's brows furrowed as she glanced up at the woman. "I don't believe I understand, my Lady," she said slowly. "What do you mean?"

Lady Olenna shook her head, leaning back in her chair to watch her. "When my scouts first announced your arrival they thought it was Cersei's army marching from King's Landing," she told her instead of answering Lenora's question. "And for a moment, I hoped it was." For the first time Lenora realized that Lady Olenna was completely dressed in black, she was still mourning. "But it was you."

Lady Olenna shrugged her shoulders, "You'll want my fighting men, of course," she guessed. Her voice did not turn up at the end - she was making an assumption rather than asking a question. "And the grains and fruits and vegetables from the Reach. Armies are difficult to keep fed, after all." She sighed, "I suppose it is fitting that we fed your brother as he fought against you and your husband and now we will feed you and your husband as you fight against your mother." She shook her head, "South versus North and North versus South. And so it goes, over and over again."

Lenora shook her head, "I would not take anything from you that you do not want to give, my Lady," she assured the old woman. "I meant it when I said that I am not my mother." And then, because she knew that she had to give the woman something she stood from her chair and moved toward the window. "You are right. I did what I did at the Twins to settle a score. I won't say that I wouldn't do it again. I do not regret killing Walder Frey, but the others -" she paused for a moment, her gaze locked on the horizon through the windows. "Perhaps I was too quick to judge."

The old lady began to laugh, "Don't go weak on me girl," she commanded. "I thought you were made of stronger stuff than that. Every one of those rat bastards deserved exactly what you gave them. Don't doubt that for a moment." Lenora turned to look at the woman, her eyes wide. She had expected many things out of her conversation with Olenna Tyrell, but she had not expected to hear that.

"And you have more scores to settle yet," Lady Olenna continued, watching her closely. "At least one more, with your mother." She paused for a moment. "You will need our support. Cersei and her men will be well fed in King's Landing, though the people will be starving. You and your men have been marching for weeks. You'll need food, more weapons, reinforcements." She was quiet for a moment. "And High Garden is in a position to help you with that. But first, I need to make my mind up about you."

"And what will help you do that, my Lady?" Lenora asked, turning away from the window and moving closer to the table again.

"Tell me what you thought of your brother," the lady ordered. "Joffrey. Not the younger one. We all know that you loved the boy."

"He was a cunt," Lenora told her, without pause, without blinking, without regret. "And a monster. Even as a child. He did not deserve to be king, not because he wasn't my father's son, but because he had no respect for what that meant. My mother coddled him, spoiled him, filled his head with the belief that being King made him better than everyone else. He thought it meant that he was above reproach, that he could do whatever he wanted, and he often did." She glanced down, her hands were clenched into fists, "I had always meant to love him, I had always wanted to. Sometimes, I could close my eyes and picture him as an infant in his crib, small and helpless and for a moment I would love him. And then I would open my eyes and see him for the monster he was."

She shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly as tears sprung to them. She didn't know if she was crying for the man who never got the chance to redeem himself, or for the baby that she had failed. She shook her head again. "He was a monster."

Olenna was watching her carefully. "You do not think that the throne makes you better?" she asked.

Lenora shook her head, "A ruler's only job is to lead and to serve. One cannot do that while looking down their nose at the people they are meant to serve. A king is not better than a beggar, he just has fancier clothes."

Olenna stared at her for a long moment, the lines on her face deepening as if something Lenora had said made her unhappy. "My granddaughter used to believe the same thing," she finally told her, giving voice to her sadness. She paused for a moment, a half shrug, "Admittedly there was always something self-serving in my Margaery's giving nature."

Lenora silently arched an eyebrow at the old woman, as if to ask, who says it isn't self-serving for me as well? But the joke did not last long. She sighed, "I am sorry, my Lady," she assured the woman across the table from her. "For your loss. It was a terrible thing."

The old woman waved her off, something in her face changed. "Yes," she agreed bitterly. "It was terrible. Unspeakable." She was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting past Lenora, settling on the wall. "But I've done unspeakable things too," she told Lenora. "To protect my family. Or I watched them being done on my orders." She shook her head, her gaze landing on Lenora. "And I, unlike you my dear, never lost a night's sleep over them. They were necessary. And whatever I imagined necessary for the safety of House Tyrell, I did."

She leaned forward in her seat, taking something out of her pocket. "But there is no House Tyrell to look after anymore," she whispered, more to herself than to Lenora. She shook her head, "Just an old woman, with nothing left. Your mother took everything from me." She set the object she had pulled form her pocket on the table in front of her. A small vile filled with clear liquid.

Lenora's eyes widened, Lady Olenna had not poisoned the wine yet, but she intended to. "I should take everything from her as well," the old woman mused.

"Lady Olenna -" Lenora started, drawing the old woman's gaze to her face.

Olenna held her hand, silencing Lenora without saying a word. "But perhaps the blow would be harder felt if it came from you?" she asked in a whisper. She reached out for the vile and popped the cork. "You wanted my food and my men?" she asked as she poured the contents of the vile into her own wine goblet. "They're yours. They've been yours from the moment I realized who was marching to my castle. It was the last order I gave them." She leveled Lenora with a glare, "Use them to make your mother regret the day she ended my family."

Lenora opened her mouth, reaching her hand to to stop the old woman when she reached for her goblet, but Olenna waved her off. "Don't fret about me, you stupid girl," she commanded, lifting the goblet from the table. "I have been waiting a long time for this."

Lenora could hear the truth in the woman's words. Her hand dropped, "Will it be painful?" she asked, her gaze locked on the glass goblet.

Olenna shook her head, "The Maester assures me that it will be like falling asleep," she told her. She lifted the goblet and drank all the wine in one long pull. "I would hate to die like your brother," she told her as she wiped at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Clawing at my neck, foam and bile spilling from my mouth, eyes blood red, skin purple." She shook her head, reaching out and placing her hand on top of Lenora's as if she meant to comfort her as she described Joffrey's death.

Lenora's chest tightened. She had heard stories of her brother's death, they were calling it the Purple Wedding, she wondered now if it was because his skin had turned purple as he died. She had asked Sansa about it, but the Stark girl was too timid, too polite. She wouldn't talk about it. Lady Olenna seemed to take no issue with the subject.

The old woman patted her hand again. "It must have been terrible for your mother to watch," she told her. "It was horrible enough for me. A fucking scene." She shook her head, "Not at all what I had intended."

Lenora's gaze shot up, her brows furrowed. This was the last thing she had expected to hear from the prim and proper Lady Olenna of High Garden. "You see," Olenna continued. "I had never seen the poison work before." She shook her head, "And so you also see," she added. "Your mother did not strike first. Terrible as the Sept of Baelor was, it was a retaliation, a settling of a score that she didn't know she had. I deserved it."

She was quiet for a moment, blinking her eyes. "My men are yours, Your Grace," she told Lenora slowly, the poison already fogging her mind. "But make certain before you march on King's Landing that you are ready to pay whatever price your mother may charge. She will not hand over the throne and the kingdoms willingly. She's worked too hard for them. She's given up too much."

Lenora could not sit there anymore. She stood from her seat, pulling her hand out from under Olenna's and spinning, tripping slightly over her feet in her hurry to leave the room. But the old woman called out to her, and against her better judgement Lenora turned to face her. "Tell Cersei," the Queen of Thorns ordered, one final wound on the woman she had been unable to beat. "I want her to know it was me."

...

"Are you alright?" Robb asked her later that evening when they entered their chambers. They had stayed up, late into the evening in the Lord Mace's solar as Jaime intended to leave at dawn the next morning to travel toward Casterly Rock to gather support for Lenora in the Westerlands. Lenora sighed, she supposed the solar no longer belonged to Lord Mace, he and the majority of his heirs had died in the Sept. After Lady Olenna had drank her poison, prepared to go on and see her family, she had not told Lenora who was the next Lord of Highgarden.

There must have been a cousin somewhere. It would be up to Lenora to find them.

"Nora?" Robb called, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced up at him, eyes wide. He sighed, his lips turning up at the corners in a half-hearted smile. "I asked if you were alright?"

Lenora nodded as she moved closer to him, reaching out for him, seeking comfort in a way that she had not done in months. "It's been a long day," she told him quietly as he wrapped his arms around her.

She felt him nod as he pressed his lips against her temple, "And there will be longer days yet," he agreed. Both of their minds going to the days ahead. Gathering support would only be half the battle, there wasn't a single doubt in anyone's mind that Cersei would fight them for the throne. Before all of this was over, there would be war.

She sighed, tilting her head so that her chin rested against Robb's chest and she could look up into his eyes, "I don't suppose it would be too much to hope that when we arrive in King's Landing, Mother will look at the size of our army and decide that war is not worth it?" she asked him, her lips turning up in the corners so that he would know that she knew it was an impossible hope.

Robb sighed, "I wish she would," he told her. He was quiet for a long moment before his arms tightened around her, "But your mother blew up a Sept, Nora," he told her. "The Great Sept," he shook his head. "I don't think she's going to balk at the size of any army."

Lenora nodded, "You've got the right of it," she agreed quietly. "But just for tonight, let's pretend that you are wrong."

Robb laughed at her, pressing a kiss against her lips. "As you will," he promised her before he picked her up and spun her around, chuckling as she threw her head back and laughed.

And, for that night, they pretended that the weren't at war.

...

The Stormlords were fewer and quieter than the last time that Lenora had seen them. Younger too. Many of the lords she had grown up knowing when her father brought her on progress had died in the battles between Stannis and her brother. Many of their first sons and heirs had perished as well. From her seat at the high table of Storm's End she stared at a hall filled with second and third sons, nephews, and cousins.

Whatever was left.

But they were proud. And angry.

And winning their allegiance would not be easy.

She had not spent long on courtesies with these men. None of them had the time nor the temperament for it. They had keeps to rule over, families to rebuild. And she would not dare insult their intelligence by pretending that every man in the hall did not know exactly why she had called for them. The moment the doors to Great Hall had shut she stood from her chair and calmly told them that she planned to march on King's Landing, to take the capitol back from her mother. She expected their help.

Slowly the men began to whisper, glancing at each other, and whispering behind their hands so that she could not hear their words. They leaned around their neighbors, and to the tables behind them, getting different opinions. Robb sat tense beside her as she took her seat again, he misliked their whispers. But Lenora waved off his silent concern. This was the way the Stormlords had always been. They whispered, and roared, and argued, and then finally, after gaining some sort of consensus they would express their displeasure.

Unlike Lady Olenna's quiet games and tests, this was something that she understood.

Byron Swann, the third son of Lord Gulian, the Lord Swan that Lenora had grown up with, was the first one to speak to her. He stood from his seat and glared at her while he spit on the floor. "And why should we fight for you?" he asked her, his dark eyes locked on her face. "Why should we fight anyone's wars anymore, save our own?"

Lenora's eyes narrowed for a moment as she watched him. "You were never raised to be a Lord, were you, Lord Byron?" she asked him, leaning forward in her seat so that she could lean across the high table. She shook her head before the man could answer. "No," she told him. "Your brother Donnel was meant to be the Lord of Stonehelm. Your brother Balon went on to join the Kingsguard, he guarded my brother Joffrey, my brother, Tommen, I believe he even guards my mother now. And you?" She smiled, shaking her head again, "You were content to fight in tourneys and woo women if my memory serves."

The man glanced down, cowed, he had not expected her to know so much about him. Lenora silently thanked Maester Pycelle who had set her to learning all the great houses in Westeros when she was a child. She leaned back in her seat, "I am sorry for your loss, my Lord Byron," she told him, inclining her head to him. "Donnel marched for Renly, and your father fought for Stannis, and Balon for Joff. You stood to lose so much, and you did. And for that I am sorry. I am sorry for your unlucky fortune of becoming Lord of a House you were never supposed to rule over. I am sorry that you lost so much. I am sorry that I am here, asking you to risk so much more. And yet, I ask. Because I must."

Her gaze left the man and swept over the entire hall, making eye contact with each of the surly Stormlords. "You have all given so much, already," she told him. "And I am sorry for that. But I have given much too. I have lost my Baratheon uncles. I have lost a brother and sister - bastards they might have been, but my brother and sister all the same." She did not mention Joffrey. "I have lost the two Stark boys, Lady Catelyn Stark who was like a mother to me." She was quieter now, but she knew that they could still hear her. "I lost my freedom." She glanced toward Robb, her eyes softening, "My husband." Her gaze swept the hall again. "My father."

She could feel tears filling her eyes, she blinked rapidly until her vision was clear again. "We have all lost so much," she told them. "And yet I still ask. Because until you stand up, until you begin to take back what is yours you will keep losing. You have your keeps. You have what is left of your families. But do you think they will be safe when my mother turns her gaze on you. A lion's memory is long. She will remember that you sided with Renly, with Stannis. She will not forgive it. Join me, fight for your way of life. And when I win the Iron Throne, you will return safe to your homes, with my gratitude."

"And who will lead us?" Brienne's father, the Lord of Evenfall called out. "You are a woman."

"As is your daughter, Lord Selwyn," Lenora countered, her voice hard. She glanced behind her to where Brienne stood in her dark armor. "She fought for Renly, she fights for me. She is as strong and brave as any man." She glanced down, slightly humbled, "I like to believe that I am too." She paused for a moment before she looked back up. "But I will not be alone." She gestured to the knights around her, the ones who made up her Queensguard, her uncle Tyrion, Lord Royce from the Vale, Robb, and his Northmen. "I have plenty of men to give me counsel," she assured them, her lips turning up at the corners as the Stormlords laughed at her jest.

"I would be honored if some of you joined us."

She stopped talking then, staring the men down, waiting for them to make their final decision.

It did not take them long.

And as they yelled, it felt as if the roof of the hall shook at the sound of their roar.

Baratheon! Lenora Baratheon! Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!

-.-.-.-.-

Jaime

Cersei's army was waiting for them a mile out of King's Landing. It was a larger force than Jaime would have hoped for - while they were marching south she had managed to fortify her forces with soldiers from the Golden Company and many Lannister bannermen. He had not succeeded in gaining much support for Lenora in the Westerlands. Only Lord Desmond Crakehall had been willing to break from Cersei and join Jaime in fighting for Lenora.

Jaime had not admitted defeat easily, he swore to them that Lenora would be a good queen to them, he swore that she was a Lannister at heart. They did not believe it - while the young princess had spent her early years at the Rock, Jaime had done his job too well when raising her to know who she was. She wasn't a Lannister. She was a Baratheon, through and through.

And perhaps, she wasn't even that. Perhaps she was a Stark they theorized. She obviously loved her Stark husband. It was the North that had first crowned her queen. And old rivalries ran deep. Tywin had spent his entire grown life railing against the North, his bannermen had all heard his grievances. They did not trust them. And they did not trust the Baratheon princess who loved their Lord.

But because of who Jaime was, and who his father had been - just as he and Lenora had expected, the Lannister bannermen let him leave their council. Only one house would join him, but the rest would not imprison him and turn him into his sister. There was a bit of loyalty in that.

Lenora's brows furrowed as her gaze swept over her mother's army, "Is that the Golden Company?" she asked him, nodding toward the gold armor. It was a rhetorical question, there was only one force that could be that large, and that well-armored. She turned toward Jaime, a brow lifted, "Where did she find the money for that?" she asked.

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "She must have promised them payment after the battle," he told her.

Lenora's gaze dropped down to his right hand, "Your golden hand isn't worth that much, Uncle Jaime," she told him, her lips turning up at the corners.

Robb let out a low whistle from her other side, "Are those -" he asked, his voice dropping off in awe as he stared ahead.

"Elephants?" Lenora finished his question for him. "Yes. Ten of them." Her brows furrowed further as she began to count the line. "I'd guess three thousand horses?" she asked.

Jaime shook his head, "Four," he told her. The Golden Company appeared to have close to two thousand, there was another thousand horses from the Crownlands and around a thousand in the forces from the Westerlands. "She'll have about fifty thousand men."

Lenora's brows dropped as she turned in her saddle and looked at her army behind her. They were similarly matched, minus the elephants. The difference was that Cersei's army had not been marching for weeks or months. They were well-fed and stronger.

Jaime reached his left hand out, dropping it onto her shoulder. "They may look stronger," he told her, his voice warm and certain. "But they are not as hungry. They are not fighting for something they believe in. They fight, not because they love their queen, but because they fear her." He turned nodding to the men and woman around them that had chosen to march and to fight with Lenora. "Every man and woman behind you loves you. They would die for you. And that is where the true strength of your army lies."

Lenora shook her head, "Grandfather always said that the army that was strongest was the one that was best provided for."

Robb snorted at that, "And yet he lost every battle against me," he reminded her.

Jaime's first instinct was to take offense to that, but his anger quickly softened, the boy was right. He chuckled, low and dark. "Aye," he agreed. "And he died in a privy."

"Shot by a dwarf," a voice added from behind them. Lenora and Jaime both turned quickly, surprised to see Tyrion behind them, sitting rather uncomfortable in the saddle of his horse. He wasn't supposed to be there. Lenora had ordered him to stay behind the lines, to stay in the Stormlands. Jaime had agreed. He was not sure how his little brother had somehow escaped both their gaze and traveled to King's Landing with them.

Lenora sighed, "Uncle Tyrion," she greeted him, her voice was heavy with worry and fear. "You're not supposed to be here."

Tyrion fixed her with a disappointed look, "And you are not supposed to speak to me as if I am a child," he told her. He glanced behind him, "Arya Stark is here. And Lyanna Mormont. Why am I to be hidden away in a keep when they are allowed to fight?"

"Because they were supposed to be hidden away with you," Jaime answered dryly.

They were all very good.

Lenora's eyes were heavy as she scanned the crowd again, looking for the two girls in question. "It was not a punishment to keep you three back," she told him. Her brows furrowed, her gaze dancing across the faces around her landing for a moment on Jaime, Brienne, Bronn, Tyrion, Robb, the Hound, Ser Davos, Gendry, Tormund. "There are already so many on the field that I care about," she told him. "I do not need to worry about you and the girls as well."

Tyrion's chest puffed out, "I held my own at the Battle of Blackwater Bay," he told her. "I managed to survive, though your mother tried to kill me."

Jaime's chest tightened at that. He misliked the reminder that he had almost lost his younger brother at battle. That he almost lost him on their sister's orders. He gently guided his horse back, closer to Tyrion and reached out to cup his brother's face in his hands, "Yes," he agreed. "You survived, at the expense of your face. You might not be so lucky this time, little brother."

Tyrion glanced up at him and smiled crookedly, "I had to give you something," he told Jaime, jesting. "I could not be the handsome brother and the intelligent one. You deserved one of those titles."

Jaime chuckled and shook his head, "At least!"

Tyrion nodded, "At least," he agreed. His brother's gaze darted between Jaime and Lenora for a moment before it settled on Jaime, "What say you?" he asked. "Shall the two Lannister brothers fight side by side for the first time in their lives? Shall we show Cersei what real lions can do?"

Despite his better judgement, Jaime nodded, his hand dropping from his brother's cheek to his shoulder, an encouragement rather than a restraint. "It would be an honor," he assured the smaller man. "An absolute honor." He lifted his gaze to Lenora and could tell that his niece was displeased by how easily he had given in to Tyrion, but there was no going back now.

"And the girls?" Lenora asked them, turning her gaze on Robb. "Shall we let them fight too because we are incapable of telling anyone no? Even if it is for their own good?"

Jaime glanced at Robb, "I can't speak for you," he told the boy. "But I can speak to the training Arya has received since we found her," he gestured between himself and Lenora. "It has been many years since I have seen someone so young - boy or girl - with such promise with a blade." His gaze landed heavy on Lenora and he smiled when she blushed under his indirect praise. "I cannot promise that she will be safe, but I can promise that she will give it her best effort."

Robb glanced between Jaime and Lenora for a moment, his brows furrowed, torn. He turned in his saddle, glancing over his shoulder toward the men behind them. Somewhere in the large host Lyanna Mormont and Arya were hiding. He shook his head, "She has long since outgrown needing to listen to her older brother," he sighed.

Lenora looked disappointed, but she did not argue. She lifted her hands from Casterly's reigns and held them up, "Do what you will," she sighed. She turned her head, "Brienne," she called out, catching the blonde's attention. "You will stay with the girls?" she asked. "You and the Hound. If everything goes to shit, you will get them out of here."

Brienne nodded. It was a sign of her devotion to the youngest Stark girl that she did not argue. She did not ask to stay with her. The Hound did not argue out loud, but his dark eyes shifted toward Jaime, a silent question. Jaime nodded, "The Queen will not be left alone," he promised

Lenora shook her head, of course she would not be left alone. She had Robb, Jaime, Bronn, Tormund, Ser Justin, and apparently her uncle Tyrion as well. She turned toward Robb, "Go find Arya," she told him, her eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze across the field toward Cersei's army, they were still too far away for Cersei's archers to reach them. "We won't advance until you are back."

Robb nodded, his own gaze drifting across the field as well. "I want the elephants killed first," he told them. "They could crush five of our men at once. We will need to target them."

Lenora nodded, glancing toward Bronn, "Tell the archers," she told him, agreeing with him. "Crossbows." She turned toward Jaime, "Aimed at the eyes?"

Jamie nodded, "I've never fought an elephant," he admitted. "But that is where I would aim," he agreed.

...

Cersei, or rather her generals, had planned their spot well. They had the rise. Lenora's army had to climb uphill, with no defenses, while being shot on by archers above and attacked by elephants three times the size of their horses. He would have been proud of his sister if he hadn't been marching against her, if she had not set up this defense of King's Landing against her only living child.

But it would not have been his sister if she had not made a fucking mess out of everything.

And this was a mess.

Jaime had been in enough battles that he knew that things never went according to plan. Even the best war mind in the world, his father, had made mistakes. Even his plans had gone awry. And so had Lenora's. Even with their archers and their scorpions trained on the elephants, they weren't all dead yet, there were still many moving through the battle, trampling men as they ran. Killing both Cersei's soldiers and Lenora's with reckless abandon. And when they did die? The Gods help whatever pool bastards were underfoot when the giant beasts fell. Jaime had ridden past more than one man caught underneath a beast's weight, calling out for help that would never come.

But it felt good, to be back on a battlefield again, to be fighting to protect his niece. To be fighting to right the wrongs his family had done to their country. Jaime had not done many things right in his lifetime, but this - this was one of them. He would have to tell Lenora that when they survived the battle.

If they survived the battle.

Jaime shook his head, silently berating himself for his lack of faith, when they survived this battle.

She was to his left now, fighting between her husband and her brother. When the battle had started even Jaime had to admit that it was a shock to see her fighting beside each of her men. She and the Gendry boy looked so much alike in their coloring, it was obvious who their father was. And when the boy swung his war axe it was like staring at a ghost, Jaime could easily imagine what Robert must have looked like in his prime, fighting on the Trident.

But it was Lenora and Robb that surprised him the most. Robb had not been with her during the Battle of the Bastards, Jaime had not seen them fight together. He had seen them ride together, he had seen them walk together, and move together. But he had never seen them fight together.

He had heard rumors, that during the Battle of the Five Kings, Robb and Lenora had fought together. That once he trusted her not to betray him he had put a sword in her hand. That they fought together, side by side, protecting each other.

But he had never imagined that it would come back to them so easily. The battle was chaos, as they always were, all around him there were men fighting, and screaming, and crying and dying, and shitting themselves. But Lenora and Robb moved as though they were dancing - a dance they knew by heart. Without words they moved, ducking and swinging, and watching out for each other without fear for their own life because they knew the other would protect them.

Never in his life had Jaime felt more ineffectual than he did in this moment.

Lenora did not need him. She had Robb Stark.

He heard his brother chuckle, low and dark as he stepped in front of him, blocking the swing of a Lannister soldier before they could cut his brother in half. He turned, keeping one eye on the battle around him, his other landing on Tyrion. The smaller man shook his head, "Finally come to protect someone who might need you?" he teased, stepping out from behind Jaime and struggling to lift the war axe they had found for him.

It was the smallest one they could find. And even it was too much for his younger brother. Jaime shook his head, "We never should have let you come, brother," he murmured as he turned his gaze away from him, focusing on the battle at hand. Lenora's army had one benefit, with the exception of the Golden Company and the Lannister soldiers many of Cersei's soldiers were only men. Men who were too old, men who were too young, half starved and plucked off the streets of King's Landing, given a sword and told to fight for a Queen they had never wanted.

The bulk of Lenora's force was from the North. Battle hardened men who knew how to fight, who had been fighting for years - for their whole life. Men who had chosen Lenora as their Queen and would follow her to death willingly.

Jaime was pleased to count himself among those men.

-.-.-.-.-

Tyrion

Tyrion misliked this battle. He had misliked it from the very first. Many had called him a fool for fighting during the Battle of Blackwater, but at least during that battle had had been on the side that had the advantage. They had had the better ground, they had had the wildfire. He had none of that now. He was not a fighting man, he was a fool to think for even a moment that he could be.

The one thing he could give Lenora and her husband was his mind. And in this battle - he had nothing to give them. No clever plan, no unexpected twist, no surprise attack. He was as useless as a child swinging a toy axe.

Worse than that, worse than being useless - he was someone who needed to be looked after. Jaime was, without a doubt, one of the best fighters on the field - even with his golden sword hand. And instead of being focused on the fight, on protecting Lenora, on anything else. Jaime was at his side, protecting him. Because they were family. And even though he had told Tyrion not to fight, even though he should have left his stupid brother to die if that was what Tyrion was so determined to do, Jaime would not allow it.

Loyal to the end.

Tyrion's brief foray into battle on the Black Water had not prepared him for this. He had felt the battle high then, the one Jaime had always told him about. But he did not feel it now. Instead, he watched his older brother, in awe of the way he moved, so certain, so strong. Tyrion could not imagine how Jaime could swing his sword over and over again, felling one enemy after another, but it would never end. No matter how many people Jaime killed, they hardly advanced. And there would always be another one, fast approaching better rested, stronger.

This could not go on forever.

...

But it didn't. He could not say when the fighting ended. It could have been as early as an hour or two, though for certain it had felt like days. But eventually the fighting had ended. Unlike Blackwater, it ended quietly, his father never showed up, leading the forces of Highgarden and easily cutting through the burned and exhausted enemy. There were no trumpets, no war horns, even the cries of the dead seemed to have quieted.

But all the same, the battle ended eventually.

Tyrion glanced up, pulling his hammer out of the stomach of one of the few men he had managed to fell during the battle, his gaze locked on Jaime.

His golden brother was painted red. Lannister colors. Gold plate and red blood. There was a cut on his forehead - a gash across his temple, dangerously close to his left eye. Deep and bloody, but not deep enough to scar as Tyrion's had. There would be a mark, but it would be faint. His brother would still be handsome.

"Is it over?" he asked, turning away from Jaime so that he could look for Lenora. "Have we won or lost?"

Jaime shrugged, looking around as well. If his war practiced brother did not even know why the fighting had stopped Tyrion would not even hazard a guess. "Where's Lenora?" he asked, his mind quickly going to the worst. The only reason he could imagine for the fighting to stop was because the Queen in the North was dead.

Cersei's army would not be stupid enough to surrender without her order and he couldn't imagine his sister taking the field to admit defeat. No, Cersei would be safe in the Red Keep, she would let every man, woman, and babe in King's Landing be put to the sword before she would ever surrender to her daughter.

And so, if the fighting was over, it could only mean one thing. His side, Lenora's men and women, had nothing to fight for.

He saw Jaime's eyes widen at the realization. His brother reached down, grabbing onto Tyrion's shoulder and yanked him along behind him as he moved, retreating back toward the bulk of the Northern Force. "Len?" Jamie yelled loudly over the cries of the dead. "Len! Len?" Each time he called her name his brother's voice sounded worse - more broken, more afraid. Tyrion had never heard Jaime sound like that before. He had never realized that his brave older brother could be afraid.

But he was afraid now.

"Len?" he called out again, his voice cracking. "Lenora?"

"Uncle Jaime?" Tyrion heard her call. He laughed in his relief, the laughter breaking through the dread that had been clogging his throat. Lenora was still alive. "Uncle Jaime?" she called again, this time closer. "Uncle Tyrion?"

Tyrion smiled in spite of himself when she approached them, rushing, Gendry and Robb following close behind. If he had thought that Jaime had looked like a mess, it was nothing compared to Lenora. Her dark hair had fallen loose from its braid, it was matted and clumped and sticky with drying blood. Her face was covered with it - though most of it was splattered and almost none of it appeared to be hers. A quick glance over her face and even with all the blood Tyrion was able to ensure that there were no cuts on her face.

The rest of her body had not faired so well. There was a gash on her left arm that ran elbow to wrist, the sleeves of her shirt were stained with her blood. The arm hung limply at her side, Tyrion could only hope that she would still have use of it. Her fingers twitched as he watched her, and relief flooded his body, it would hurt, but it would heal. Someone, Robb if Tyrion had to guess, had tied a tourniquet around her upper arm, to keep her from bleeding out.

There was a cut on her stomach as well, just below her armored vest. It wrapped from above her hip to around her back, as if someone had dragged their sword across her belly as they ran circles around her. But still, his strong, brave, stubborn niece stood tall. At least until she found them. And then in a moment she dropped to her knees, tears filling her eyes as she reached out for Tyrion. "You're alright," she gasped out, smoothing his hair away from his face as if he were a small child.

Tyrion's jaw twitched, fighting a smile. "I am old enough to be your father," he teased her, his lips twitching so that she would know that he was not angry with her. "I should be the one comforting you."

"You've always done an awful job at it," she told him, laughing through her tears as she turned, her gaze dancing over Jaime's face to make certain that he was alright as well. For a moment she was quiet as she watched them. Tyrion glanced over her shoulder, locking eyes with Robb before deliberately letting his gaze land on Lenora again, silently asking if she would be alright. Robb nodded, any injuries that Lenora had obtained looked worse than they were, she would not die from them.

"What do you know?" she asked them, her gaze drifting between each of her uncles. "Who have we lost?"

"Lord Selwyn of Tarth," Jaime told her, his voice heavy. "And Ser Justin. Those were the ones that I saw, there will be others."

Lenora nodded, "There were," she told him, her voice heavier than Jaime's. She was responsible for these men. She had brought them here to battle, they had died on her orders. She would feel each and every one of their deaths. "Lord Royce gave his life to protect Lyanna Mormont," she told them. "And even that might not have been enough, the girl is gravely injured. And Lord Cerwyn's son." She shook her head, "So many Umbers." Her gaze dropped and she shook her head again, "So many others. And the battle's not done. Not yet."

That surprised Tyrion. "If the battle is not over, why has the fighting stopped? Will we break for supper?"

Lenora was kind. Her lips turned up at the right corner, granting him a half hearted smile for his truly horrible jest. "There was a white flag," she told him. "From the Red Keep. She does not mean to surrender, but she means to treat with me."

Jaime shook his head quickly, "Your mother will not surrender," he warned Lenora.

"I know," she told him.

Tyrion reached out his hand, cupping her cheek, "She will have a trick up her sleeve, Len," he told her. "A meeting with Cersei will not end well for you. Only a fool would hope for anything different." He watched her for a moment, "And we did not raise a fool."

Lenora nodded, "You did not," she agreed.

Tyrion's gaze was heavy on her face, "And yet you will meet with her anyway," he guessed.

Robb stepped forward, closer to Lenora, "I have told her not to," he told Tyrion, turning his head to glare at Lenora. But there was something soft in his eyes, even now he could not be angry with her. "I ordered you not to," he whispered, his voice softening.

Lenora ached an eyebrow at him, "You may be a king, Robb Stark, but you cannot order me."

"And your uncles can't either?" Tyrion asked her.

She shook her head. "Mother will not surrender," she agreed with them, "at least not now. But she will not harm me. She can't. I am her daughter, her only child left. Surely she does not want the throne that much."

Tyrion glanced at Jaime, wondering if his brother believed as Lenora did. He looked skeptical at best.

It was Robb that spoke first though, "You will see a maester first," he told her, ordering her though she had told him not to. "You will have your wounds seen to before you meet with her." She nodded, that was an order she would comply to.

"And you will not go alone," he added.

"I won't take you," she told him, turning to face him, her hands falling onto his arms. "It would be tempting fate to bring a man who has already died to meet my mother." She shook her head, "You would not leave that room alive." She glanced at Gendry, "And neither would you," she told him. "You look too much like my father. Joff tried to kill all of our father's bastards. You and I are his last two children. I will not lose you."

"Me?" Tyrion asked. He did not particularly want to see his sister again, but he would do it for Lenora.

Lenora stared at him for a moment, "She would kill you the moment you stepped into the room."

"I'll go with you," Jaime told her.

"You will not," Lenora's voice snapped as she turned to face him, her hair flying in the wind. "I do not want you anywhere near her."

"We do not want you anywhere near her," Jaime countered. "And you will not go alone."

Lenora nodded, "The Hound," she told him. "And Brienne. I will take them and no one else."

For a moment Jaime, Robb, and Tyrion shared a look, each silently weighing whether or not they thought they could change her mind. But in the end they all knew that they could not. Lenora would do what Lenora wanted to do. She could ask their counsel, but she would do what she wanted to do, what she thought was best. And if she wouldn't take Jaime with her, then Brienne and the Hound were the next best thing.

Robb moved closer to her, his hands lifting to frame her blood stained cheeks, "One hour," he told her. "I will give you one hour. After that, you're coming out, or we're," he gestured at himself, Jaime, Gendry, Tyrion even, "coming in."

She nodded, "Alright," she agreed."

"One hour," he told her again wanting to hear it from her.

Lenora sighed and rolled her grey eyes, "One hour," she agreed.

Author's Note:

OH. MY. GOD. Guys!
I'm so sorry! But as always, I have not abandoned this story. The chapters are just coming at a slower pace and for that I am sorry. But know that I still love this story, and I will not stop writing it.
Especially with the new episodes of GoT coming out! Have you been watching them? I have! (Could you spot the easter eggs from recent episodes in this chapter?) And they are AMAZING!
The only thing I would consider possibly more amazing than this season of GoT? Avengers Endgame ... which I may have seen five times this weekend. I'm obsessed! And my mind has been this fun jumble of GoT and Avengers thoughts for weeks!
It's a scary, wonderful place to be!
Anyway, I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter.
Once again, I'm not going to respond to any reviews, in favor of getting this update out to you sooner, but know that even when I am not posting I read all of your reviews (often several times) and I appreciate them all so much.
So keep them coming.
We would not have gotten this far in Lenora's story without you.
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.