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Chapter Five: Flowers and Rivers

Once Robb had been bathed and fed, Maester Vyman came at him with a concoction of dreamwine and milk of the poppy. The last he remembered was putting up some feeble resistance, before coming around in the same chambers he'd occupied before the wedding. He couldn't even guess at how long he'd been asleep for. The lost time was an indeterminate abyss in which anything could have happened. It made him nervous.

Groggy from the medicines, he climbed out of bed. Stiff-limbed and weak kneed, he managed to cross the room and open the shutters over the window. Outside was darkness, but beyond the chamber door footsteps hurried away at the sound of him banging a shutter by mistake. There were guards on the door, he realised. He also realised he was naked, so he pulled a nearby robe over his shoulders and fell into a chair beside the hearth. The fire was still burning, showing that people had been attending him as he slept.

Weeks on the run in the Riverlands had left his nerves on edge. Even now that he was back in Riverrun, surrounded by thick castle walls, reinforced by outer-walls, he was still on edge. Every moving shadow, every small sound from beyond his windows, set his heart racing. He drew his knees to his chest, perching his bare feet on the edge of the chair, so he was completely covered by the robe and as small as he could be.

He stayed like that until the guard returned to his door, bringing company with him. As he rightly guessed, Brynden had been roused from sleep and brought to his room. The door opened, letting in a long shaft of lantern light, the Blackfish was dark against its shine. But Robb could tell it was him, with Arya bundled up in a thick blanket peering out from behind him. Seeing him up and about, she darted into his room and flung her arms around his neck again.

"She's been worried about you," said Brynden. "We both were."

He came into the room, setting the lantern down on the mantelpiece above the hearth. Its light combined with the fire to illuminate the whole chamber evenly.

"You've been asleep for two days," said Arya, finally letting him go again. "This is the second night."

Her blanket slipped from her shoulders, revealing the night gown she wore beneath.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking between them both. "I'm sorry for everything."

"The time for blaming yourself is passed," Brynden gruffly stated. "But your fever isn't; back to bed with you. I'll send the Maester in soon, but first we must talk."

"I don't want the Maester-"

"I wasn't asking," Brynden cut in. "And you need to heal."

"He's right, you know," said Arya.

"You're ganging up on me," Robb protested.

All the same, he did as his uncle bid and returned to bed. One thing he welcomed after weeks on the run was a feather bed and he thought he may as well make the most of it. Settled back in, Arya hopped up beside him, curling up under his arm and still wrapped in her blanket. She looked like a hedgehog curling into retreat. The chair he recently vacated was now pulled over to his bedside, where Brynden now sat in it. Whatever it was they needed to talk about, Robb could well see it would be no bedtime story.

"Joffrey's dead," Brynden declared. "The raven came shortly before you returned."

Robb made a sound half-way between a choke and a gasp of disbelief. "Dead! How?"

"Poisoned at his own wedding," Brynden replied. "Before you start turning cartwheels, listen for a moment."

A silence fell that set his nerves in motion again. "What?"

"It's Sansa," said Arya, darkly.

Forcibly married to Tyrion Lannister, a prisoner at the Red Keep, she would have been at that wedding. She would have been eating and drinking at the same table as them. How many others took the poison? Even though his sister felt lost to him already, he braced himself for more bad news.

"What about Sansa?"

"There's a warrant out for her arrest," said Brynden.

Robb breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you were going to tell me she'd been killed too. And what do you mean a warrant? She's already a prisoner of the Lannisters."

"She escaped. As soon as the King was dead, she fled the capital. Her husband was captured and is standing trial for murder."

Arya piped up again. "One of the smallfolk that came to us said she killed Joffrey in the form of a wolf, then changed into a bat and flew away."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Robb laughed. They made his sweet, starry-eyed little sister sound more like Mad Danelle Lothston than the little Princess in waiting that he once knew.

"I think we can discount that rumour, little sister," he said. "But Sansa has never hurt so much as an insect before, never mind kill a king. She did not do this thing, I cannot believe it of her. Now she will die alone in the wilderness, or hunted down by Lannisters. She will not last a night on her own."

"She survived a lion's den already, nephew," Brynden pointed out. "I think you underestimate her. Besides, the Hound is already out searching for her; the Brotherhood, too."

"The Hound?" he said, aghast.

"It's all right, Robb. Sandor hated me and he still brought me safe to the Twins and then to Riverrun," said Arya. It was meant to be reassuring. "And from the way he talked about Sansa, I think he's a little bit in love with her. He'll definitely look after her. Even more than he did me, I bet."

All the same, he sent up a silent prayer that the Brotherhood found her first. Before he reminded himself that Sandor finding her first was a damn sight better than the Lannisters finding her first. During the short silence, in which Arya dozed off with her head resting on his shoulder, Robb thought of Sansa again.

She'd been a prisoner, forced to marry her enemy, she had been undoubtedly brutalised every time his army so much as advanced an inch. She had been made to suffer ever since their father had been murdered. He wondered how much it took for even the gentlest of souls to break. Perhaps, after all, she did kill Joffrey. A few Lysene "tear drops" in a cup of wine, a sleight of hand at a busy wedding feast … it was all so easy. And the source of an unhappy girl's torment was dead forever.

"Any day now and we're going to be under siege," Brynden said, cutting through Robb's thoughts. "We need to establish a few rules."

Robb drew a deep breath and braced himself. He had a feeling these rules would only apply to him. "Very well, uncle."

"Everyone outside this castle thinks you're dead," he began. "And I want it to stay that way for as long as possible. Tytos Blackwood still flies the Direwolf banner over Raventree Hall, so he will be informed in due course. But for now, it's for us and the Brotherhood alone. Which means, when this castle comes under siege, you are confined to these chambers. The windows must remain shuttered at all times, in case anyone should see you. If you must go outside, you can visit the inner courtyards only, where no one can see you. Tell me first, and I will double check to make sure it's safe. Do you understand?"

For a moment, there was nothing he could say. "You mean I'm a prisoner?"

"You're protected," the Blackfish corrected him. With a sigh, he ran an agitated hand through his iron-grey hair. "This is not what I want, Robb. If word gets out that you're alive, the Lannisters, Freys, Tyrells and the gods know who else will be swarming over the Riverlands before we can so much as blink. I don't want those bastards knowing you're alive until you meet them in the field of battle, back at your full military strength. You'll give them a fucking heart attack."

He couldn't pretend to be happy about it, but he understood. The confinement would chafe. But too many Lannisters and Freys knew him. If Jaime Lannister was sent back to organise the siege he would be in real trouble. He lay back against the pillows, resigned to his fate. "Very well, uncle. I'll do as I'm told."

If Margaery harboured any hope of Arya opening up to her as their journey progressed, she was thus far disappointed. Their carriage clattered and bumped along the Kingsroad, slow at first but gaining speed as they entered the open countryside. While the girl had been giddy with relief at first, she seemed to think she would be left abandoned on the roadside. But the profuse thanks had settled into a silence that grew more worrying the closer they got to the Riverlands.

She sat opposite Margaery, huddled deep in her cloak. It was the same one she had been wearing the night she was smuggled out of the brothel and brought to the Maidenvault. Meanwhile, all Margaery could think to do was settle her and win her trust with comfits, lemon cakes and an endless stream of soft, comforting words.

"We're in the Crownlands now," she said on the fourth day of their journey. "Far from King's Landing, where neither Lannister nor Bolton can reach you. You do know you're safe now, don't you?"

Arya drew back her hood a little, showing her chestnut curls. Still pale and her face still emaciated and drawn, brown eyes bloodshot from crying. Margaery was at a loss for what to do to convince the girl that all was well. But even miles from the capital, the girl looked like she was being carried off to the gallows.

Arya managed a nod. "Thank you, your grace."

"Call me Margaery, please," she said, hoping the familiarity would help break down the barriers between them. She reached over and gripped the girls small hand in her own, squeezing it for reassurance. "I understand that you must still be grieving over the deaths of your parents and brothers. While I say I understand it, I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like. But you are not alone in this world. And while I do not know your great-uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, I know him by reputation. He's a fierce warrior, Lady Arya, he'll protect you with his life."

The girl flinched at mention of Ser Brynden's name, where Margaery thought it would bring her comfort. But after years of being kept prisoner in a brothel, it was understandable that the girl now distrusted all men. She had been used, as well as "trained". Her body had been sold, her virginity gone already.

A week or two after leaving King's Landing, they reached Harrenhal. The Lannister lions now flew from the battlements, the Direwolves trampled into the dirt. To spare Arya the sight of Stark men hanging in gibbets over the castle gates, they gave the castle a wide berth and clung to the main road, even when setting up camp.

After seeing Arya safely to bed, Margaery joined her brothers in the main pavilion set up in a broad open field. Loras was standing guard outside, but Garlan was within and waiting to receive her.

"How stupid do you think Petyr Baelish is?" she asked him, by way of greeting.

"Not at all," he replied, handing her a cup of hot spiced wine. "And you'd be a fool to think he was, sister."

"Exactly," she said. "He's as clever as he is cunning, and he's more cunning than a devil."

Garlan was half-smiling, regarding her curiously. "And what's brought you to this revelation, dear sister. You said yourself, you knew well enough."

A bench had been set up near a brazier, which Margaery availed herself of. It was chilly this far north, with damp seeping in from the God's Eye and the endless rivers that gave this region its name. Garlan sat beside her, placing a protective arm around her shoulders.

"He had Arya Stark under his roof all this time," she said, recalling the child's sorry story. "Even as the younger daughter of a disgraced Lord paramount, Arya was valuable to him. Yet, he let men use her all the same."

Garlan shrugged his broad shoulders. "The Boltons don't seem to mind her, er, debasement. Although, in their situation, they cannot afford to be choosey. How did Cersei react when she found out Baelish had been keeping Arya in a whorehouse all this time, even when the Lannisters desperately needed Stark hostages to bring the Young Wolf to heel?"

"That's the other thing," said Margaery. "Cersei was fine with it. I'd have thought she would have been spitting wildfire."

Garlan fell silent, his golden-brown eyes reflecting the brazier as he directed his attention more toward it than his sister. She could tell he was thinking the same as her, but just couldn't seem to bring himself to say it. At least, not until after another few silent minutes of inward rumination.

"Has it occurred to you, sweet sister, that that is not Arya Stark?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Of course!" she retorted, laughing. "It occurred to me as soon as Grandmother mentioned it, back in the Maidenvault. But Loras says he remembers her from the Hand's Tourney, she was sitting by Sansa's side when he gave her a red rose. From what little she's said to me, she knows Winterfell well, she knows Stark history."

"She could have been schooled on that," Garlan pointed out. "I could learn about Stark history just from picking up a book, if I didn't already know it."

"Yes, but details, like the name of their ward and when he came to live at Winterfell, the Household staff and the castle's workings," she added. "She sounds Northern, she has the accent."

But there were other signs, too. The closer they got to Riverrun, the more fearful and timid the girl became. Relief at leaving the capital had soon turned to fear at the prospect of being reunited with her family. But that could be for all sorts of reasons. For the moment, she opted to stay silent and hope her suspicions proved wrong.

Meanwhile, they brought Loras in from the damp cold outside. The three Tyrells picked at a light supper eaten with plenty of hot spiced wine. With a siege to look forward to, they took what pleasure they could while they could. Their talk grew lighter, from the prospect of dealing with the Blackfish to the people they had left behind at Court.

"I'm surprised Grandmother isn't here," said Loras. "I'd wager she could barrel her way through those castle walls before sunrise, should the fancy take her."

"From what I hear, her and Brynden Tully would make quite a match," Garlan laughed. "Speaking of which, I hear Lysa Arryn is to be wed to Patyr Baelish before too long. Our outriders saw some Knights of the Vale making their way up to the Eyrie."

"It's a wonder anyone's getting married these days," said Margaery. "I've heard its bad for one's health."

She was about to retire for the night when the guards appeared suddenly at the awning of their pavilion. Two of them in full armour, wet and slick with rain, they held a struggling girl between them.

"Arya?" Margaery said, striding across the pavilion to meet them. She looked between the two guards, impatient and questioning. "What is all this?"

The two men exchanged a nervous glance before the one on the right answered: "Lady Stark tried to run away, my lady. We caught her as she ran into the woods."

Behind her, Loras and Garlan had come up to see what the problem was. All three of the Tyrells now quiet, with Margaery trying to ignore the tide of suspicion now welling up inside her. Without another word, she took Arya's hand and held it tenderly, willing her to settle. She did, with her head held low and her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Sers, can you leave us, please?" she asked.

Sensing no danger from the terrified child, the men all left without hesitation. Meanwhile, Margaery and Arya remained where they were, kneeling before the brazier. She was soaked to the skin, with her brown hair dripping, hanging in wet tendrils down her shoulders. It was as pitiful sight as Margaery had ever seen.

"I think there's something you need to tell me," she said, gently tilting the girl's chin up so their eyes met.

She cringed, as if trying to shy away. The torment that clearly afflicted the girl intensified and Margaery hoped she'd just spit it out and end this now.

"Jeyne," she choked between sobs. "My name is Jeyne."

After a deep breath, Margaery smiled and laughed lightly to show she was not angry. "It's just as well you told me now, Jeyne. Or I'd have looked quite silly introducing you to Brynden Tully as 'Arya Stark'."

While her name had been a lie, the scars on her back and the abuse she suffered was all too real. It was no wonder she played along with this ridiculous folly to escape her captors and make a go of living in the wilds of the Riverlands. And while Margaery was genuinely not angry with her, she still had a problem on her hands. What to do with her. For now, she could only think to get the girl dry.

"Loras said he remembered you at the tourney," she said, leading her back to their own pavilion.

Now the truth was out, and she was no longer living a lie, Jeyne had composed herself. She just looked incredibly sheepish as she answered: "I was Sansa's best friend. We went everywhere together."

That made sense to Margaery, so she didn't question it. Poor Loras!

"Where is your home? Perhaps we might be able to take you back there."

"Winterfell was my home," she replied, sorrowful once more. "My father was Lord Stark's steward. He brought me south when Lord Eddard was made Hand of the King. He was killed in the fighting when Lord Stark was arrested."

And that explained the knowledge of Winterfell and its workings. A victim of circumstance, the girl was alone in the world. She had no value, except as a pawn in someone else's game. But what was Baelish playing at? Especially since he and Cersei knew this girl was an imposter. Whatever it was, Margaery resolved to worry about it some other time while she got the girl back into her own temporary tent home and into some dry clothes.

"Are you going to send me back?" she asked, worried. "If you do, I'll escape and I'll kill myself. I swear I will; I'll find a way."

Margaery drew her into a hug, soothing her again. "Hush, child. There will be no more of that talk. For now, you will accompany me to the Riverlands and I'll tell Lord Brynden you're my hand maiden. Your name will be Esme Flowers, the bastard daughter of a Highgarden steward. A kernel of truth to help you stick to the story. In the meantime, I will write to my mother and Garlan's wife. I am sure one of them will find a place for you in their household. Would you like that?"

For a moment, Jeyne looked like all her name days had come at once. She nodded eagerly. "Esme Flowers. I can remember that."

Margaery gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "Good girl. And all be well, I promise."

Except now, she had absolutely no bargaining chips to use with the Blackfish. Nothing but her own wits, at any rate.

While Robb had hoped his captivity wouldn't begin until after the siege had commenced, the Blackfish was taking no chances. 'Lannisters could come riding around the corner at any minute!' he insisted. They had spies watching the roads, even the Brotherhood had sworn to forewarn them of any armies marching up from the capital. Still, the Blackfish was not for turning. So Robb remained in his chambers, albeit several of them in a turret facing out over the rushing river. And, so far, he had been allowed to keep his windows open.

Nevertheless, the boredom would kill him long before starvation set in from any siege that might be happening. He slept frequently, with help from the Maester giving him dreamwine. His injuries recovered quickly and he even shook off the fever that had persisted since drinking dirty water during his flight from the Twins. Other than that, he was alone with his thoughts which soon turned sour.

He had spent one afternoon buried under the bedcovers, inconsolable with the grief he had kept hidden inside since the massacre happened. Throughout those long hours, he suspected people had called to his door, only to tiptoe away again when they heard the state he was in. But he couldn't stop. From grief, to anger, to unstoppable tears again. Eventually, he slipped into an exhausted sleep, spent and drained of all emotion. When he awoke the next morning, he knew he had to leave the past behind. The recent past, most of all. For better or for worse, he had survived. It meant he had a future worth fighting for.

Guessing that the siege hadn't yet begun, he opened the shutters on his windows and looked south. The sun was rising, turning the water of the rivers a liquid gold. Trout still leapt in the Green Fork, the wading birds still waded the shallows, taking flight on silent wings. Robb watched them go, feeling strangely at ease with the world just knowing that some of it carried on as usual.

The first person through his door that morning was Arya. She had a wooden sword in her hand and a bright smile on her face.

"Uncle Brynden's teaching me," she grinned. "I wish you could come too, I'm getting good and I want you to see."

This was too much. Arya had the run of the whole castle, while he remained cooped up. However, for her sake, he injected a little enthusiasm into his mood.

"That's good," he said, encouragingly. "Learn well, sister, and soon you'll be in my van."

Her reply was earnest. "I would, you know. I can fight as well as anyone."

"I don't doubt it, sister," he assured her. He then seized upon an idea. "And you can show me yourself if you get me out of here, one night."

Before the war, when they were children at Winterfell, she would have jumped at the chance. But war had made her cautious.

"You want me to sneak you out of the castle?" she asked, her brown tightening into a frown. "What if someone sees you and recognises you? It'll be Jaime Lannister and he'll tell the Queen-"

"Only to the courtyard, not actually out of the castle," he cut in. "Arya, come on. If you were locked up all day and night, you'd do the same."

"You're not locked up and Uncle Brynden is right, it's too dangerous," she said, growing stern. To emphasise her point, she poked him with her wooden sword.

Robb groaned aloud. "You're turning into Sansa – Ow!"

She had whacked him across the thigh with her sword at the mere suggestion.

"I am not, you stupid!"

He laughed, though. She was stung by the accusation, which meant she'd now have to prove to him she wasn't turning into her sister. He had her now. Arya knew it too, and she pointed the sword menacingly at him, trying with her might to sound serious and stern.

"The inner yards, where no one outside can see," she said. "And if anyone does, you're going right back inside and I'll tell Uncle Brynden to really lock you up. And throw the keys in the river."

"All right! All right!" he retorted, grabbing her around the middle and lifting her over his shoulders. "And don't tell me you wouldn't do the same if you're in my situation. You know you would. You'd jump out of the windows and risk breaking your legs."

He threw her on to the bed, where she bounced and squealed with laughter. She looked like the child she still was, just for a brief moment.

However, a chink of light penetrated his darkening world later that very day. The Blackfish came to his chambers, bearing good food and better news.

"It's the Tyrells," he said. "The Lannisters have sent the Tyrells to lay siege."

Robb had never met a single Tyrell before in his life and not a single Tyrell would know him. A crooked smile spread on his face as he sniffed a little more freedom on the horizon. True, a siege was still a siege. In that respect, they were all confined to the castle. But he could leave the keep, maybe even go down to the river gate and swim in the river, so long as he didn't venture farther than the walls and he took care to stay out of any firing line.

"It's safe for me to parlay with them, uncle," he said. "All I need is a false name."

Brynden shook his head. "You can't parley with them, they'll grow suspicious. From now on, you're my bastard son. I'll tell them you're my squire and cup-bearer. And your new name is … say it's Tristifer Rivers."

Tristifer, Robb thought. The Hammer of Justice himself. He almost laughed. "And my mother?"

"Just tell them you never knew her," Brynden replied. "It's something of a time-honoured tradition in the North."

He opened the window shutters a crack, just to see the road leading south. Already the golden roses of House Tyrell were visible in the distance. A great sea of them, wending north west. Golden roses, as far as his eye could see.

Thanks again for reading, reviews would be great if you have a minute. Apologies if it's a bit fillerish, but there were some loose ends that needed tying before Robb and Marge could meet for the first time (which will be next chapter).

BTW, it's been brought to my attention that my stories are being shared, in their entirety, on third party websites. I wasn't asked about this, or consulted in any other way. If you really want to share it, then please speak with me first. It's only polite and I don't bite. Also, I hope readers know that I only post here (and AO3 as Little_Ghost14), where my stuff is free to access and not hidden behind a paywall.

Also, one site I was directed to had hundreds of other GoT writer's stuff there. Feel free to message me if you're worried, but I don't want to say more here.