Thank you to everyone who has read, alerted and favourited this story. Especially those who have taken time to review: It all means a lot. Thank you.

Just so you know, this chapter follows on directly from the last chapter. There's also another happy reunion in this chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen: Lifting the Vale

If there was one thing Sansa knew for sure about Petyr, it was that he was well able to look after himself. In the face of the wrath of the Vale Lords, he had held out his hands in a gesture of surrender, smiled and began his silver-tongued explanations and justifications like a child talking his way out of a bout of mischief making. Meanwhile, poor Sweet Robin had had to be carried out of the hall by the Maester twitching, frothing and calling out her name over and over.

"Alayne… Alayne… Alayne!" he echoed all down the outer-galleries, as he desperately tried to squirm from the Maester's arms.

All the while, Jon held her close and she held him, unable and unwilling to let him go. She could tell he was half-numb with shock and disbelief himself. She yearned for privacy, but for the moment, there was no escape. Worse still, any minute now and the Lords could turn their swords upon her. If they believed she murdered Joffrey, if they fancied currying favour with Cersei, if Sweet Robin was so angry he ordered it… But this was a chance she knew she had to take.

"My Lords! Enough!"

Lady Waynwood was on her feet, looking each man in the eye. Startled, Sansa and Jon parted to watch her, waiting for what was next while hardly daring to breathe. When Lady Waynwood had the floor, she continued:

"Clearly, we have been lied to, and I am never surer of anything than when I say I'm certain Lord Baelish has a whole array of excuses and reasons as to why this happened." Chastened, Baelish shut his mouth as Lady Waynwood paused and turned to Sansa. "For clarity, is this true: you are Lady Sansa, of House Stark?"

"I am," Sansa replied, tremulous and weak. After drawing a deep breath to gather herself, she continued more assuredly: "And I didn't murder King Joffrey, I had no part in it. Yes, I fled the capital after the murder but only because I knew I would be unfairly blamed. Cersei would never have given me a fair trial, no more than our father was given a fair trial."

"I know my sister, she is no murderer," Jon added, firm and loud as he addressed the whole assembly.

She could see he was still in shock, his eyes widening in bewilderment. It seemed he hadn't even heard about Joff's death, let alone her own alleged involvement in it.

Meanwhile, there was a moment of silence which seemed to draw out forever. Sansa stood, rooted to the spot as she waited for the allegations against her to fly. But, all that happened, was Lady Waynwood approached her, placing her hands on Sansa's face, cupping her cheeks as her mother once did.

"Have no fear, my lady," she said, softly. "Who here do you think cares one whit about Joffrey Lannister?"

Behind her, Jon turned from dire seriousness to stifling laughter.

"A bastard born of incest is no true king," another pointed out. "We would have been fighting alongside House Stark from the moment of Ned Stark's arrest, had we had our way."

His declaration was met with a cheer of approval and Sansa felt suddenly weak-kneed. She linked her arm through Jon's, who managed to discreetly hold her upright as he leaned into her ear.

"You need to get them onboard, Sansa," he whispered so only she could hear. "And we need to talk. There's much you don't know."

Before she could say anything, Petyr spoke up with the desperation of a drowning man seizing at the first passing life raft. "And we will join the fight, my lords. When the time is right."

"And when will that be, Lord Baelish?" she asked, getting her wits together again. "The longer we tarry here the more I think the chance is gone. The Boltons have Winterfell, my family is decimated and the Lannisters are stronger than ever. All the while, I'm stranded on this mountain pretending to be your daughter and getting nowhere. If we're going to join the fight then it must be now. Not next year. Not even next week. We must end this Mummer's farce now, before we end up a laughing stock!"

"Lady Stark is right, Lord Baelish," Lord Royce declared, stepping up to the front. "Lady Lysa took your advice and stayed her hand. We waited for the call, and it never came. Might I remind you that Ned Stark was like a son to the Vale and we did nothing when he was arrested and murdered on the steps of the Great Sept. We did nothing during the war of the five kings, when we should have been at the Young Wolf's side. We did nothing, as the battles were fought and won. We did nothing as the Red Wedding unfolded. And we're doing nothing now that our neighbours are besieged and our allies run into the ground. Enough, I say. Enough!"

His angry outburst was met with another roar of approval from the assembled lords. While others got to their feet to add their voices to his. Petyr was the one looking besieged now.

"You've made us look like cravens!" one declared, to a chorus of agreement.

"My lady," Waynwood whispered in her ear. "Take your brother somewhere private for now. But you may want to speak with Lord Arryn, only he can call his banners."

Sansa nodded, all too grateful to be given an escape. She took Jon's hand, motioning to his companions to follow as she led them through the hall. In the outer-gallery, with the lord's voices muffled by the closed doors, she allowed herself a moment to pause and think and steady her shaking limbs.

Jon, his friend, the wildling girl and her baby … all had been perplexed and bewildered by the goings on inside that hall. She almost felt guilty for ruining their plans – the real reason they had all made the long journey from Castle Black to the Vale. Only Jon was smiling, still looking her up and down as if he couldn't believe it was her. She felt the same way about him.

"I think we have them," she said, beaming.

Jon sighed heavily, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders. "But what about that boy? The one foaming at the mouth. Please, tell me that isn't the actual Lord of the Vale. It's him we need to convince."

"Yes," she agreed. "But it's not so bad as it looks. He can be a sweet boy, really. If you handle him properly."

Looking far from convinced, Jon let the matter drop and introduced her to his friends. The four of them soon slipped into idle chatter as they returned to Jon's rooms in the upper-levels of the castle. She had chosen that spot thinking they could talk privately. A somewhat defeated attempt since their first meeting had been conducted in public, before all the Lords of the Vale. She could curse Petyr for forcing her hand in so vulgar a manner.

Once Sam, Gilly and the baby had been returned to their rooms, Jon led her to his own and locked the door behind them. Alone at last, they flung their arms around each other as if they were reuniting all over again. It wasn't long before she was growing tearful again and had to withdraw just to pull herself together.

"I'm sorry," she said, laughing through her tears. "I'm being silly."

"You are not," he replied, handing her a scrap of a handkerchief. "But there is something I need to tell you. And it's not something I could say in front of all those people."

She dabbed her eyes and folded the handkerchief. "Tell me what?"

Before talking, he guided her to a seat close to the fire. Only when she was securely seated did he inform her of Robb's survival. He carried on talking after that, some kind of explanation of how Robb did it, what happened and where he ended up. But Sansa barely caught a word of it. Her mind felt like it had gone blank, to the point where she almost forgot who Robb was.

"You mean our brother?" she asked, wide-eyed with incomprehension. "Our brother who was murdered?"

Jon, now sat in front of her, nodded. "He's not dead, Sansa. He wasn't even in the Twins, he was outside because Sandor Clegane had brought Arya to him."

"Sandor…" she whispered, the rest of her sentence seemed to trail off into her own confusion.

But Sandor made sense. She remembered he'd fled King's Landing after the Blackwater, so it could have happened. He could have found Arya and brought her to Robb. But she still felt like she was having her hopes raised, only to be cruelly dashed again – it had happened so many times she now just expected it. Joffrey did it when he promised to spare her father's life. The Tyrells did it when they said they wanted to get her out of King's Landing. They threw her a lifeline only to reel it in when she got within touching distance. And every time, she sank a little deeper in her own despair.

Jon's not like that, she reminded herself. He wasn't cruel, like Joffrey. He wouldn't tease her or make fun of her for being naïve. All the same, what he was saying seemed impossible.

"Is it real?" she asked, nervously climbing to her feet. "Robb's alive and Arya too? Please don't joke with me, Jon."

Jon got up with her, his hands steadying her as she rose, as if worried she might faint at a moment's notice. "I would never jest you over something as serious as this. I'm not some power-mad Lord toying with you. I'm your brother."

Quickly, he turned away and rummaged through his possessions. "Harwin. Remember Harwin from Winterfell? He told me all about it. He made the journey from the Riverlands to Castle Black, telling me to come south and try to raise an army for Robb, because he's trapped at Riverrun. That's why I came, Sansa. Not just the Watch, but for Robb."

He pressed two documents into her shaking hands, urging her to read them. She could barely make out the words through the tears now swimming in her eyes. A decree of legitimisation and a letter, written in Robb's own hand and affixed with his seal. Her heart beat raced in time with the dawning comprehension that this was real, Robb was still out there. And, what was more, he was out there in need of her help. And Arya, too.

"We need to go!" she gasped, staring wildly at Jon. "We need to go right now!"

"Sansa, you need to raise the Vale. We should go with an army, remember?" he was looking a little worried.

They could get the supply baskets down the mountain, then catch Mya and the mules before sundown, if they rode hard for the lowlands they could reach ground level by evenfall and to the seven hells with the damn mountain clans, she'd take them on herself if need be… As her racing thoughts crashed through her mind all at once, she felt her knees giving in as she passed out cold in her brother's arms. This was all too much for one day.

The Crannogman was the size of a child, but showed his maturity with a full beard. Barely taller than Arya, he stood straight-backed and with his chest out. He may as well have been looking the Greenlander lords that surrounded him square in the eye. They may have been a diminutive people, but they were proud and they had their own way of doing things. Accordingly, when he entered the great hall of Riverrun, Robb sat up and took notice of the visitor. Beside him, Margaery remained on her feet, one hand resting gently on his shoulder.

Usually, Crannogmen remained the Neck and avoided the sneers of the larger folk who populated the neighbouring lands. There had always been a level of antipathy between them. However, Ser Garlan had lived up to his nickname of 'the gallant' by immediately setting the Crannogman at his ease, discussing the history of the area and their famous attacks on the Ironborn. Bread and salt had been eaten and guest rights extended.

"We learned of your grace's survival from Freys we captured trying to cross the Neck," he began. "We managed to coax a few words from one or two of them, you see."

A murmur of laughter rippled across those seated at the dais. By 'coaxed' they all guessed he meant with a poison dart trained at their chests and a knife to their throats.

"Of course, we thought they were lying," he continued. "A man would say anything to save their own skin and what better way to do that than by telling us what we wanted to hear. But more and more of them said the same thing: that your grace was alive and on the run in the Riverlands. Some said you roamed with a pack of wolves around you, great fearless beasts. Then a captured Bolton told us. All in all, Lord Reed was of the opinion that too many people had told us the story of your survival for it not to be true. And now, I see, it is true."

Robb nodded. "Aye, it's true. You can tell Lord Reed that and send him my thanks for all that he's done to guard the Neck for me."

"That I'll gladly do, your grace. But there's more," the Crannogman continued. "Lord Reed sent me here to bring you this…"

He gestured toward the door of the great hall, which opened and let in a long shaft of sunlight from beyond. Robb caught the sound of scuffling, rasping breath and subdued whimpering. Curious, he frowned deeply, sitting up a little straighter. Behind him, Margaery stepped to the edge of the dais and exchanged a look with him. Robb could only shrug as the prisoner was led inside the great hall.

Surrounded by Greenlanders and Crannogmen alike, the prisoner was tied at the wrists and bound at his feet. Hence the scuffling footsteps. The prisoner's back was bent, his head lowered. Thinning hair covered his head, pure white and torn out in patches. He was emaciated and covered in scars, he looked seventy if he was a day. For a moment, Robb squirmed with discomfort.

"I do not condone the mistreatment of prisoners," he said, gently. "I mean not to chide Lord Reed-"

"Forgive me, your grace, he was like this when we found him," the Crannogmen interjected.

Knelt on the polished oak floor, the prisoner kept his head down and it sounded like he was crying. A pitiful, rasping choking noise that sounded like a cat coughing up fur. Teardrops splashed onto the oak boards beneath the man's knees.

"Who is he?" asked Robb, frowning deeply.

A small, quavering voice stumbled over an answer. "Reek… my name is Reek."

Robb rose to his feet and joined Margaery at the edge of the dais. "Sorry, what's your name?"

Margaery stood on tiptoes and whispered in his ear: "I think he said 'Reek'".

"Reek … my name is Reek."

The prisoner was met with a horrified silence from the onlookers. Ser Brynden stepped forward and tried to bring a chair to the prisoner, only for the prisoner to fall forwards flat on his face. It was as his great-uncle lifted him up again that Robb noticed he had no teeth left. Even his face was scarred, but it was familiar all the same.

"What do you mean by bringing him here?" Olenna demanded. "If that were a dog I would have ended its suffering a long time ago."

A murmur of agreement swept the room, but Robb held up his hand for silence.

"Wait," he said, stepping down from the dais.

A chill closed over him, despite the nearby fire. Taking slow measured steps, he approached the creature bound on the hall floor, catching a full face of his rotten stench. It was like a cloud that surrounded him, clinging to his scrawny, ravaged body just like the rags he wore. The closer Robb got, the more the man cringed and whimpered. He repeated the name Reek over and over again, choking it through sobs and coughs.

The others were horrified, staring in silence as the creature fell apart before their eyes. But Robb was starting to realise… the features were starting to reassemble in his mind's eye. It didn't take much longer for him to start wondering whether it was the stench that was making him feel sick, or the fact that it was Theon Greyjoy. He didn't know. He didn't care. His fist connected to the Ironborn's jaw, sending him reeling backwards and a spray of blood splashing against the wall at his side. Theon's cry of pain filled the hall, bringing gasps from those watching in horror.

Margaery was pale with fear, looking at him as if she no longer recognised him.

"That was poorly done, your grace," Ser Garlan said, gently rebuking him.

Even Brynden looked horrified. "What's gotten into you, nephew? The poor wretch is half-dead."

They didn't know. None of them knew. Robb realised he must look like a larger, smarter version of Joffrey in that moment, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Only Margaery realised something was horribly wrong. She came to him, gently tugging back toward his place on the dais. But it was Arya who spared him the pain of having to tell everyone. She sprang from the shadows with her face contorted in pain and anger, spitting his name as though it was venomous.

"Theon!"

She launched herself on the prisoner, spitting in his face and lashing out with fists and feet. Unable to protect himself, Theon buckled and fell to the floor, curled up as tight as he could be. Robb caught Arya, managing with great difficulty to drag her away while everyone else on the dais sprang into action.

"Get him out of here!" Blackfish commanded. "To the cells, damn it!"

Robb kept a firm hold of Arya, while Margaery held on to Robb himself. She was whispering in his ear, soothing words of comfort he could not make out over the sound of his pounding heart and rushing blood.

"You shouldn't have dropped him here without a word of warning," said Garlan. "What were you thinking?"

"Why don't you just kill him?" Olenna asked. "I mean, really!"

Robb was still stunned and silent as Theon was hauled off the cells beneath Riverrun. Only once he was gone did he manage to extricate himself from Margaery's arms, whereupon he made for the door quickly and vomited violently over the threshold.

Jon kept his voice down as he explained to Sam what was going on. They had met on the terrace their adjoining rooms shared, while Sansa recovered inside. It all seemed to get a little much for her and she had passed out clean in his arms. Now she lay on his bed, sleeping it off with a little dreamwine from the Maester. He could see her still, as he had kept the terrace door open. When she awoke, he would notice right away.

"I've heard of Petyr Baelish," said Sam. "I heard my father talking about him. He was Robert's Master of Coin, so how come he's ended up Lord Protector of the Vale?"

"More to the point, how did he end up as near sole custodian of my orphaned sister?" Jon said. "I mislike it, Sam."

"Oh no, my father said no one at court trusts him," Sam added. "I think he's one of those sly-courtier types who, even if you threw him to the wights beyond the wall, he'd only end up as Chief Advisor to the Great Other."

Jon laughed, but quickly composed himself. After all, it was probably true. Furthermore, it was a truth he was quick to verify when Sansa awoke some hours later.

Groggy and confused for a moment, she came too and apologised profusely for passing out on him. But Jon had to cede it had been an emotionally fraught day. First their reunion, a fight in the hall, getting most of the Vale Lords on side and then being told her siblings aren't dead. It was quite a lot for anyone to take on, especially in the space of a few hours.

"Hullo again, Sam," she said, joining them on the terrace. "I probably didn't have the presence of mind to say it before, but it is nice to meet you. Gilly and baby Sam, too."

"And you, my lady. Jon's told me all about you, and Arya."

Sansa laughed lightly. "About what an awful brat I was, I bet."

"Definitely that," Jon interjected. "At great length."

Sam shuffled aside to make room on their bench for her. For a long moment, Sansa looked out over the mountaintops, now covered in a soft-falling dusk. It really was a most exquisite view. In the meantime, Jon tried to put his finger on how Sansa had changed. Because she had. The starry-eyed girl full of dreams had gone. In her place was a young woman who, according to Lord Royce, practically ran the Vale at Baelish's side. She was competent and capable and learning fast.

"Lord Arryn came looking for you, he was worried about you," said Jon. "I wouldn't have minded, sister. He knows your name is Sansa, but he's still calling you Alayne."

"He doesn't like change," she said. "But he'll get used to it."

Jon smirked. "Nor do fainting fits excuse you from bedtime story duties, either. Sorry about that."

She sighed heavily. "Of course. Mustn't forget the bedtime story."

"Tell him the one about the little lord who shook so much he slipped on his own drool and accidentally fell through the moon door," he suggested.

Sansa was laughing again, and it made him feel better to see her smiling. It seemed she had not done that in a long while. However, the new Sansa soon turned serious again.

"Why did you come?" she asked. "Robin told me he got a couple of letters from you, but he threw them away. He said it was something about dead people. Then, the other day, during story time actually, I remembered a man coming to the Red Keep with a dead arm that was all rotted. I have a feeling these two things are connected, brother."

"That would have been Ser Alliser," said Sam. "Do you remember, Jon? The Old Bear sent him down with the arm of a wight."

"Did the King see him?" asked Jon.

"No," Sansa replied. "Joffrey was still alive at the time and he would have had no interest in that sort of thing. Lord Tyrion saw him, but your Black Brother arrived days before the Battle of Blackwater. I doubt Lord Tyrion would have been able to help him, now he is in exile from what I hear. Cersei won't care. Nor Tommen. But speak with Lord Arryn. I know he's simple-minded and weak. But his lords are not. And I will vouch for you. I remember what I saw when Ser Alliser came to the Red Keep." She paused for a moment and met his gaze. "What's happening out there, Jon? What are these dead things?"

He hesitated before answering. Still he had the old Sansa in mind. Not this new Sansa, who took in interest in what was going on in the world.

"Wights," he said. "The Others, the white walkers as Old Nan used to call them. They're real, Sansa. They're marching south and we cannot stop them anymore."

Old Sansa would have cowered and hidden under the blankets. New Sansa nodded her head, in a gesture that was almost sage.

"Well then," she said. "We better get a move on. Raise the Vale, raise the Riverlands and take back the North with Robb. Then we all go North again and see what we can do about these white walkers."

Jon smiled approvingly. "You make it sound simple."

"It is," she said. "The Tyrells are laying siege to Riverrun, I know that much. Margaery is a friend of mine. She will listen, so will her brother, Ser Garlan and her grandmother. Together, we will convince them of the threat beyond the wall."

"And what about Joffrey's murder?" he asked, worriedly. "Don't they blame you?"

Sansa smiled again. "Oh no! Margaery knows who did it and she knows it wasn't me."

Jon couldn't help but feel that Sansa wasn't the only girl who'd had a gutful of Joffrey. But, whoever killed him, he couldn't blame her. Lady Margaery was clearly not to be trifled with.

"It's funny, you know, I was telling Robin the story of the Long Night to get him interested in your work," she recalled, wistfully. "I thought it was just an old story, a legend to scare children. Do you mean to tell me it isn't, that it's happening again?"

"I don't know about a Long Night, sister," he said. "But they're back. It's happening again."

"Very well. Then we will do what we can to help. I'll see to it personally."

"Thank you, Sansa." Jon admired her calmness. But he wondered whether she understood the magnitude of what was coming. All the same, she was strangely reassuring now she was in full possession of herself. He rather liked the new Sansa.

Robb thought he was alone until he felt Margaery's arms around his waist. At least, he hoped they were Margaery's arms. He turned to doublecheck and smiled as he found her there, tiptoed with her chin resting on his shoulder. For a moment, the two of them looked out over the Tumblestone as the day faded into dusk. Nothing was said. But then, nothing needed to be said. All he needed was her presence and the feel of her arms circling around his waist.

Theon had been a shock and the past had been dredged up all over again. Bran and Rickon, the sack of Winterfell and the loss of the North. He was always aware of it, of course. But now, just as he was getting mobilised again, just as he was beginning to look to the future, the past came crashing through the door and dragged him right back down again.

"My brother feels bad for scolding you," said Margaery. "He didn't mean to."

"No," replied Robb. "If I'd seen someone punch a man who was bound and immobilised, I would have done the same thing. He wasn't to know it was Theon fucking Greyjoy." As an afterthought, he added: "At first, even I didn't know it was Theon Greyjoy."

Margaery kissed his neck. "He's been gelded."

"I did not give permission for Theon to be tortured," he pointed out, flatly. "But I didn't ask too many questions, either. Not at the time."

"Do you feel some guilt?"

Robb was quiet for a moment, as he remembered Bran and Rickon, and all those others lost in the Sack of Winterfell. His answer was barely a whisper. "No."

"All the same, perhaps now is the time to bring an end to him," she suggested. "Take him to the yard and snip him at the neck. No godswood. Just take his head."

Robb turned to face her properly. "You said I needed to learn from my mistakes-"

"He's no good as a hostage, sweetling," she said. "You know what the Ironborn are like. If they're incapable of rape, they're left to die."

Robb tried not to laugh. "He was captured while going into Moat Cailin to convince the Ironborn to surrender to Ramsay Bolton. What if I kept him alive to surrender Moat Cailin to me instead?"

"Moat Cailin is the gateway to the North," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "If you have Moat Cailin, you have the North."

"Unlike Ramsay Bolton, I will keep my promise to the Ironborn. Surrender to me, and they may leave in peace," he said. "If, on the off-chance that Asha Greyjoy cares about what's left of her brother, she'll leave the North and start working with me."

"If she doesn't?" asked Margaery.

"Then I get Moat Cailin back and she can have her brother's bones," he answered.

"You're learning," she praised him, kissing his lips.

"If Theon gets the Ironborn to surrender to me," he continued, "and Asha doesn't want him, I'll execute him before the weirwood. He will pay the price for his betrayal, but he will not be damned in the eyes of our gods."

Margaery nodded. "That's fair. That's more than fair."

Smiling wolfishly, he picked her up and carried her over to the bed. She laughed as he let her fall backwards onto the feather mattress. They would be married soon, and that thought soon pushed Theon from his mind.

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

Next time: Robb and Theon talk. Jon, Sansa and Sweet Robin form an unlikely triple act.

Also, a few people have asked about the Brotherhood, the Hound and Brienne. They're all still out there searching for Sansa. Now that she's on the move again, they'll all be meeting again soon.