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Chapter Twelve: Stone.

Harwin arrived just as Jon was leaving. He could hear the Lord Commander issuing instructions to an unseen companion. "Sam, I forgot to send that raven to the Eyrie. Can you do it for me?" He was so distracted, the two of them almost collided. Jon stopped abruptly, re-shouldering a bag and gesturing to his companions to wait. An old longsword with a battered scabbard hung from his hip. "Well, Harwin. How was it?"

"Cold," Harwin replied, but could inject no humour in his reply. "I never doubted you, Lord Commander. But some things a man must see for himself before he can quite, er, comprehend the scale of the problem."

Truth be told, Harwin went out there knowing what to expect; he'd been told in explicit terms. Dead men rising from the grave. Why, then, had he been so shocked to go out there and see dead men, indeed, rising from their graves? It was a conundrum he wasn't about to waste time figuring out, although he suspected the difference between 'knowing' and 'understanding' had something to do with it. Either way, he returned to safety with an all-pervading sense of doom. If that wall fell, they were all fucked, to a man.

In the meantime, Jon smiled wryly. "Sam, Gilly, Little Sam and Maester Aemon all leave for Oldtown today. I'm going with them as far as Gulltown. If you're looking to return to the Riverlands and don't mind a day in Braavos, you're welcome to join us. Now you've seen what's out there, you can add your voice to mine when I try to convince southern lords to rally to a deposed northern king."

Braavos would have been tempting, before he saw the dead. But no one knew the hell about to crash down on them and the region was in chaos. He was needed in the North far more than he was needed in the Riverlands. "I thank you, Lord Commander. But duty calls me elsewhere, I think."

Jon was puzzled. "Where?"

Harwin smiled crookedly. "I thought I might drop in on the Boltons."

Jon laughed. Laughter that froze and died in the frigid air as he realised Harwin was being serious. But now was not the time to debate the matter.

"Safe travels, all of you," said Harwin casually.

He wrapped his cloak tight around his middle and pulled up the deep hood, covering most of his face. Before he left, he wanted to sharpen the blade of his dagger until it could cut the atmosphere. It was time to cause a little chaos of his own.

"Robb! Stop it!" Margaery's voice rang out as a spray of water washed over her, splashing against her face, getting in her hair and down the front of her gown. She shrieked against the sudden cold and exacted instant revenge. "You'll be sorry, just wait."

She pulled off her kirtle, leaving only her petticoat, before wading into the river and dunking his head below the surface of the Tumblestone. He had tried to flee from her by pushing himself away from the banks, but she caught him before he could even launch into a semi-decent breaststroke. Barely a second after pushing him under, she felt his arms close around her waist as he lifted her clean off her feet, rising like a river monster with her in a tight clinch. She laughed out loud again, relishing the feel of sun on her cold, wet skin.

It had been a rare day in the Riverlands. Even by evenfall, there was just enough warmth left in the sun to make a swim in the cold river bearable. She had never done anything so impulsive before in her life and she was loving every moment of it. When Robb eased her safely back down again, they were both waist deep in the water, standing so close to each other their bodies seemed almost fused at the hips.

His hair was soaked, turning the auburn curls dark as night. Exertion and cold had left him breathless, and his skin was covered in gooseflesh. But Margaery had lost herself in those vivid blue eyes as he leaned in close and kissed her lips. She felt like she was ten-foot-tall as they locked lips, then his hands began moving slowly down her hips. By the time he reached her thighs, below the river's surface, a warmth began to spread from her groin to her belly.

They were two miles downstream of the camp, completely alone. But even the thought of someone seeing them only served to excite her even more. She had heard men joke about the cold making them small, but that was proving to be a lie right now. She could feel him and she longed to have him inside her. It was a sudden, all-consuming desire. Then…

"I shouldn't be doing this."

With no further preamble, Robb pulled away again and waded to the shore. Understanding his emotional difficulties, she hid her frustration behind a mask of understanding. It was only his sense of honour, she knew that and she knew it was meant to be a fine and upstanding quality in a man. But, gods, it was frustrating. She remained where she was for a second, just to cool off. A feat made difficult as she watched him climb up the bank, naked as his nameday. Unashamed, she didn't even try to tear her gaze away from his backside as he stooped to retrieve his clothes.

Gods have mercy, she silently implored the heavens.

"I'm sorry," he called over from dry land. "I'm a fool."

"No," she replied. "No, you're right. Now isn't the time."

Once back on dry land herself, she learned the misery of having wet petticoats. But her outer-skirts and kirtle were dry, hanging on a tree branch to keep them clean. Robb was polite and restrained enough to turn his back while she shed the petticoat and donned the rest. Her miniver lined cloak was especially welcome.

"This is madness," Robb continued, still with his back to her as he pulled on his boots. "For both of us. You're meant to be marrying the king; I'm supposed to be dead. What are we playing at?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "All I know is that I'm thoroughly enjoying every moment of it."

It was a basic truth. All her life, she had made decisions only when she knew what the outcome would be. Even when decisions had been made for her, she had agreed to go along with it only when she had figured out a way to control the outcome herself. It had all been part of her training. When she thought about what it must be like to live with any form of uncertainty, she didn't think she'd be able to cope with it. It had scared her. Now it was happening and it was like being swept up in a storm – and she loved it.

Now dressed, they had flopped down on an outspread cloak in a clearing not far from the river's edge. Robb propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her where she lay flat on her back. Despite what had just happened, he looked happy enough. It made her wonder whether something else was on his mind.

"Seriously, though," he said. "I don't understand why you're doing any of this. You could have taken me captive and handed me over to Cersei. I think she'd love you for life."

Margaery began to wonder. "If I take you captive you'll not be going to Cersei!" She paused, drawing breath. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be flippant. The truth is, we needed to be close to the Lannisters thinking we could take them down from within. Ready for when the time comes for great change. But, the thing is Robb, Cersei is doing quite a splendid job of taking down House Lannister all by herself."

"You sound like you're being flippant again," said Robb. He lay back down beside her, his hands behind his head. "Anyway, what do you mean about the great changes? I thought you just wanted to be Queen."

Margaery was hesitant. "It was certainly a perk. But things changed; new developments occurred, our game changed. It does not do to be inflexible when playing at politics. Forgive my say so, my lord, but that was one of the lessons you learned the hard way."

"I know," he replied, dejectedly. "I know that now. Before all this, I thought honour and truth would see me right. Seems that I was wrong."

"I'm not rubbing it in," she gently assured him. "But nor will I shy from stating that a lot of what happened could have been avoided. Theon Greyjoy and Rickard Karstark – neither needed to happen and you were warned. If I am going to begin working to ally House Tyrell to House Stark, I need your word that you will listen to counsel."

Margaery had to concede that she had lost her heart to Robb Stark. That didn't mean she had also lost her wits to Robb Stark. He'd been declared King in the North just shy of his fifteenth nameday: a fact demonstrated in his utter political ineptitude which he tried to compensate for with a façade of youthful arrogance. Now he was barely eighteen and looking at her with the sheepishness of a spanked toddler.

"I did listen to counsel," he weakly protested. "I just wasn't very good at acting on it."

"Then promise me you'll improve your game," she said. "You're a brilliant general, no one can deny that. You never lost a battle and you were fourteen when you led your first campaign. But take counsel and act on advice. I'm preparing to gamble everything on you, but I need assurances in return that you'll let me play to my strengths, as I trust you to play to yours."

However, she stopped shy of pointing out that she and the Tyrells were more adept at politics than he was. That was the kind of salt in the wounds he just didn't need right now. Besides, she was still working out the finer details of how she would extract the Tyrells from King's Landing and out from under the boot of the Lannisters.

Meanwhile, she propped herself up and looked down at Robb. She feared she had stung him and wanted to show she was not angry. A fact she demonstrated by kissing his brow, soothing the worry lines away.

"Of course, I trust you," he said, at length. "I trust you enough to lure me out of a castle surrounded by armed men who're meant to be my enemies. But I must also do what I think is right for my people."

"I know that," she said. "But first we need to get you back into a position where you can do what's right for your people."

"I know I've been a fool," he told her. "I know it's my fault- "

"It wasn't all your fault, Robb. It was not your fault that the Boltons betrayed you. They would have done that no matter what you did. You weren't to know. The massacre was completely disproportionate to a broken promise and I'll defy anyone who dares suggest Walder Frey might have been justified, for it was indefensible and it was not your fault."

There was a moment of silence in which she became aware of the rapidly failing light, and not to mention the dropping temperature. But neither of them were in any hurry to move, so she kissed him again and this time, he returned the gesture. However, when he spoke again, he soon showed that his mood had dropped.

"Last night, I dreamed I was on trial," he said. "I think it was news of Lord Tyrion's escape that brought trials up. But my father was judging me, as Tywin judged Tyrion. My mother and Lord Karstark were giving evidence against me, with Sansa and Arya. Talisa, Roose Bolton and Theon Greyjoy were acting as witnesses against me. My father would not let me speak in my own defence. However, you were there and you tried to speak in my favour. The trial adjourns but, as with all dreams, it's suddenly recalled in the same instant and my father prepares to deliver his verdict. But I wake up before he can declare me either innocent or guilty. And after I did wake up, I lay awake in bed worrying over my father's verdict as if it were real."

It worried her that he was having such dreams. It was a manifestation of the guilt he still felt over what had happened, from losing the North to the Red Wedding.

"There is no verdict," she said. "How can there be when you have committed no crime and the deed is not yet done? Robb, this is not finished and you are not out of the game."

"No," he agreed. "But it shames me to be reliant solely on you to get me back into the game. And what's worse, Brynden is still insisting on keeping me firmly under wraps which means I cannot even begin to get word to any supporters I may still have left. You're my last hope and my brother, Jon."

"I'm going to suggest we send an envoy to Mereen, in the strictest of secrecy of course," she said. "Perhaps if we can offer aid to Daenerys Targaryen she can bring her army and her dragons over to aid us sooner, rather than later."

Robb frowned, a crooked smile on his lips. "I'm curious to see these dragons, I'll admit that. How many Unsullied did she get?"

Margaery shrugged. "I have no idea. It's why we need inside information, too. We also need solid information on the size of those dragons. And, let's face it, she's coming here sooner or later. It would be for the best if we try to help, rather than fool ourselves that we can see her off."

He was smiling still. "Your plans changed as soon as you heard about the dragons, didn't they? You're weakening the Lannisters in time for the exiled Queen's return. Is that what you're really doing?"

Margaery laughed good naturedly. "You're learning! But seriously, we didn't find out until Joffrey told us. They had reports from Essos, but Tywin wasn't in the least bit worried. However, House Tyrell stayed loyal House Targaryen until the bitter end of the Rebellion. And, naturally, hearing of the conquering queen and her hatchlings has changed things. While we make our plans, she is worth remembering. Anyway, enough of that. This is complicated and it's getting late."

Just before she left King's Landing, she had procured moon tea for her cousin. Lady Elinor, betrothed to Alyn Ambrose, had dallied with some Knight and soon found herself in the family way. Decisive action had been called for and Margaery hadn't hesitated in seeking out the remedy. If only all mistakes were so easily dealt with, she thought to herself.

In the meantime, Robb rose to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. "If I'm not back before sundown my little sister will actually kill me. Then Brynden will bring me back just to kill me again."

"And I cannot allow that to happen," she said, grinning. "I suppose I ought to let you go."

While he got back into his boat, she began the two mile walk back to camp. They had to return separately so they wouldn't be seen together and, more importantly, so Robb would not be seen at all. But once he was gone, even after his boat had pulled away, she did not feel alone.

The wolfpack that inspired so much fear and dread among the locals were circling again. She could not see them, but she sensed they were close. It was the rustle of undergrowth, the occasional breaking twig that followed her on her journey. Every so often she stopped, looked over her shoulder and thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of flashing yellow eyes or grey fur. But she felt no fear at all, none whatsoever. She got on well with wolves, these days.

But when Loras appeared, stepping into the path to meet her, she knew they had melted away again. He looked like a man bearing interesting news.

"You'll never guess what Cersei's gone and done now," he said.

The wolves were gone and now she was only intrigued. "Do tell."

"Remember that scruffy little Sparrow and his following of religious fanatics?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued: "She's only gone and named him High Septon and armed his followers with cudgels. They smashed up one of Petyr Baelish's brothels."

Margaery could hardly believe what she was hearing. "Really?" she groaned. "What is she playing at now?"

"I don't know, but they arrested all the girls working there," he continued. "They also arrested the man left running the running the place."

Bemusement gave way to a cold sense of dread. "And you sought comfort in his arms, did you not."

Loras nodded. "You met him once, remember?"

"I'm hardly likely to forget," she answered. "And Cersei knows. I mean, she knows about you and Renly. I don't think she would know about you and this brothel manager. But if he talks to these fanatics…"

Up close, back in the light of the camp, she could see the fear in his expression. There was little she could say to comfort him, less by way of reassurance and Loras knew it as well.

"Do you think now might be a good time to withdraw from King's Landing?" he asked. "It would mean us leaving the Riverlands too, but what do we care whether Ser Brynden surrenders or not."

"For now, we stay calm and we change nothing," she said. "At least not until we speak to Garlan and decide where we go from there. However, under no circumstances do we leave the Riverlands. There's something neither of you know. Something huge, which I am not yet at liberty to disclose. This will change everything."

Loras didn't look in the least bit reassured.

Names had power. Sansa Stark had always known that. Lannisters were not to be trifled with, the Tyrells were wealthy and powerful, the Starks (and she ceded she might be biased) were honourable and upstanding. Meanwhile, there were other names that carried stigma and shame and had the power to keep the name bearers in their place. Snow, Hill, Stone, Rivers, Flowers… the illegitimate by-blows of the various kingdoms that made up Westeros were marked out from their first breaths by the shame of a bastard name.

She found it strange, therefore, that donning the persona of Alayne Stone had been like donning wings and taking flight. A feeling so powerful she even dreamed she was a bird. Sansa Stark had been a victim: bullied, abused and beaten, while being pushed and shoved across other people's gameboards. Alayne Stone was someone else. She was clever, witty and confident. She learned the skill of diplomacy with ease and grace.

Sansa Stark already had some of the skills needed. She was polite and her courtesy had been her armour. But Alayne went much further than that. She deployed Sansa's finely honed courtesies to bring powerful lords around to her way of thinking, and helped to hammer out deals wrought between rival lords. She shed Sansa's daydreaming nonsense and learned to develop Alayne's cool headed rationality and logic. And the difference in how people treated her had been staggering.

People used to pat Sansa's head and tell her how pretty, how courteous and sweet natured a little lady she was. But people respected Alayne, despite being a Stone. They asked for her opinions and they listened as she spoke. Even Lord Royce had asked her what she thought of a deal being negotiated between the Tollets and the Corbrays. After that, Alayne's father had been waiting for her in the solar, smiling indulgently and pouring two glasses of fine wine.

He handed one to her, praising her performance at the meeting. "You're learning so fast, you'll soon be better than me!"

He tried to make it sound light hearted, but she saw a flicker of worry in Petyr Baelish's eye. It was the sort of fleeting thing Sansa Stark would have instantly forgotten, but Alayne Stone knew better. There would come a time when she no longer needed him, and the day was approaching faster than he anticipated.

"I'm learning from the best, father. You can't get better than that," she replied.

And you are not my father, she added in her head. Petyr had come up with Alayne's name and backstory, his bastard daughter raised in Braavos. But Sansa herself had learned to inhabit Alayne, shedding all the pain and emotional baggage of Sansa Stark in the process. But she was not about to shed her real father, real mother and real sister and brothers. She carried them with her as she made the metamorphosis into this smooth political operator for them, to help win back their home and their lands and titles. She wasn't doing it so she could be Petyr's little pet.

When she wasn't sitting in on important meetings, learning from the Lords of the Vale, she was invariably dealing with the real Lord of Vale. Sweet Robin, Sansa's cousin but no one important to Alayne. He was a sickly boy, beset with shaking fits and terrible fits of temper. Alayne and Sansa were of one mind: there was nothing bloody wrong with him and a damn good spanking would have worked wonders. Alas, Lysa had not agreed and played along to keep the foolish boy weak and utterly dependent on her.

His moods were worse, now that they were preparing to relocate to the Bloody Gate. Winter was close, they were already experiencing shortages as the mules couldn't get up the mountain and if they hung around any longer they'd be trapped and they would die. But these dire warnings did little to improve Sweet Robin's moods. He screamed for food they did not have and smashed his soiled chamber pot over the Maester's head. The smell had been awful, but Sansa had been composed enough for long enough to calm the boy and even get him dressed for the day.

In the meantime, they let him deal with messenger ravens in an effort to occupy his mind. It was never anything important, so they let him decide whether to act on it or not. Usually, it was smallfolk arguing over cattle ownership or licences for markets in Gulltown. Nothing too demanding, but enough to make him start taking responsibility for his lands. Sansa was pleased to find him at the messages again that morning.

He greeted her with a smile, and held one up for her to see. "We got a letter from the Night's Watch. Do you want me to read it to you? The last one I got was really, really funny."

Sansa instantly though of her brother. "Oh, yes please, my lord."

After that, she had an ominous feeling about the last letter that he had not mentioned to anyone. Meanwhile, Sweet Robin cleared his throat and sat up in bed. "It says, the Lord Commander is taking temporary leave and requests an audience with Lord Robert Arryn of the Eyrie…." He broke off and gave her a dubious look. "If he tries to come here I'll throw him through the moon door!"

"You could do that if that it pleased you, my lord," she said, knowing the word 'no' would trigger another wild shaking fit. "But I assure you that Lord Commander Mormont is a very reasonable man and he wouldn't like being pushed out of the moon door. And, if you did, who then would guard the realms of men from the Others, riding their giant ice spiders and the armies of the undead marching on the wall."

She tried to make it sound as dramatic and scary as possible, like Old Nan used to do with them. It was her hope it would excite the boy into accepting the audience.

He looked unimpressed. "Who's Lord Commander Mormont? Say's here his name is Jon Snow."

Outwardly, Alayne's face remained passive and only politely interested. Inside, Sansa Stark's heart was racing at thrice its normal speed. Jon was Lord Commander. A piece of information Baelish hadn't shared, if he even knew. And he was coming here, to the Vale.

"Mormont must have died," she said. "That is sad news. But I think Jon Snow must be very brave to take his place and come all this way to speak to you, my lord. He must think you very important. Don't you think you should grant his audience?"

His interest had been piqued. "Yes, I wonder why he is coming to me? He must need something from me and that makes me important."

Sansa nodded. "Very important. And I have another idea. Why don't you keep this audience a secret, even from Uncle Petyr."

"But, why?"

"You want to prove to Uncle Petyr how capable and clever you are, don't you?" she reminded him. "Well, this is your chance! If Uncle Petyr finds out about this, he will send the Lord Commander away thinking it will make you ill. So, keep it a secret and send your men to escort Lord Snow to the Eyrie without him knowing. Just imagine how surprised he will be when he walks into the common hall and finds you – a proper little Lord coming into your own – dealing with an important man like Lord Commander Snow. Uncle Petyr will have no choice but to allow you to rule after that."

Sweet Robin smiled from ear to ear. "You're so clever, Alayne! But Uncle Petyr's your father. You won't tell him will you?"

Sansa returned his conspiratorial smile. "I promise, I'll say nothing. This will be a secret just for you and me to share."

Damn right it would be their secret, she thought to herself. And if Baelish tried to stop her from seeing her brother, she'd put him through the moon door herself.

Thanks again for reading, reviews would be great if you have a minute.

I'd also like some opinions from my readership: you guys will have noticed I cut off a potential sex scene between Robb and Marge, and blamed it on Robb's fluctuating grief. But, in reality, I was iffy about bumping up the rating to an "M" and I really did want that scene to play out.

If I did decide to fully include "M" rated material in the story, would you guys object to it? Let me know your thoughts on the matter, thank you!