Lenna XLIV
Wendel looked older than she remembered, the tawny gold of his curls beginning to show streaks of their father's snowy white. His open, affable face was weary, lined, and far more serious than she would have expected of her youngest brother, even with the nearly twenty year difference in their ages. But his eyes were the same, the Manderly green and grey and amber, swirled together like a sea squall, and she felt like a girl again, so exceedingly glad to see him she was giddy. She allowed the brittle facade she'd put on to melt a little as he gruffly wrapped his arms around her, but she couldn't it go entirely, not yet.
She had gathered Lady Helenna of White Harbor around her to speak with the guard, knowing that the lads on duty would recognize her name and relying on her birth and bearing to do what little she could to protect the man behind her. The uncertainty of their welcome had made her sit taller, trying to project the confidence and gentility she hoped would shield them, at least temporarily, despite her tangled hair and mudstained gown. To her relief, it had seemed to work, the guards not immediately setting upon them, almost as if they had expected her to turn up at some point though shocked that she actually had. Her identity was now the only thing that could preserve them in the short-term, and it was strange that it should be her protecting him.
She knew it was exceptionally risky for him to have brought her to Riverrun, even now as she saw the sympathy in Wendel's familiar gaze. Her brother had gathered her to him, but she knew he was sizing up Sandor as he remained wooden and unmoving in the saddle. There was a tension in Wendel's arms that spoke of weariness and worry, and she temporarily buried her face against his shoulder like she was a child, comforted beyond telling to see him in such an unexpected place.
Wrapped up in her elder brother's embrace, she felt the strain ebb out of her like the tributaries at low tide, and she felt just as drained as the fens did once the waters had receded and left the oyster beds and salt grass bare. To see him after so much heartache and trouble brought a sad smile to her face, and that white banner unfurled beneath her breast, fluttering weakly but fluttering all the same.
Sandor had not moved, still perched on Stranger's back. She knew that if she turned his face would be an unreadable mask, neutral perhaps in her eyes and menacing in nearly everyone else's. The moment of peace she found in her reunion with her brother was interrupted as worry reasserted itself, and she took a deep breath to see how Sandor would be received.
She had not expected Wendel to be the one who greeted them, but she was glad beyond telling that it was him and not some other Northern lord. It was the best she could hope for, and she was aware that Wendel had approved of Sandor when he had accompanied her to White Harbor years earlier. The two had talked at length, shared interests when it came to martial matters, and she'd been stunned at the camaraderie they had built along with Wylis. She hoped that their past accord would help him now, would bring him at least safely into Riverrun without major incident.
"Sandor Clegane," he said, and she clenched her eyes tight in preparation. "You have brought my sister safe to me. No harm shall come to you within these walls if you come peacefully. King Robb would speak with you. Immediately."
The tight coil that had been winching across her shoulders went lax, and she squeezed Wendel tightly in gratitude. He looked down into her face, bushy eyebrows creased in question and she smiled softly. Manderlys were an insightful lot, though she knew he would want to speak with her at length. Later.
Without a word, she returned to Stranger and lifted her arms, silently asking Sandor to help her back up. He hesitated perhaps a half second, but after her brother's tacit consent he leaned down and hefted her easily back into her place before him on the saddle. Their little party did not speak on the long walk across the bridge and toward the gates, and Lenna's happiness at being reunited with her brother dimmed to hear the rhythmic footfalls of the soldiers that had surrounded them. She had barely even noticed their presence, far too caught up in happier, more hopeful thoughts.
Riverrun was a truly impressive castle. In the diminishing light, it was like something out of a fairy story, unlike many of the castles she had known. Its pale, sandstone walls were nearly white, like the New Castle, but the afternoon sun warmed them almost to a pink, the blue roofed turrets lovely against the deepening sky. The bailey was generous, squat, and welcoming for something constructed as a first defense, the portcullis raised to admit them within the walls. She didn't know where the fancy originated, perhaps she was just tired, but Lenna imagined Catelyn Stark on those ramparts as a girl, red hair flying in the breeze that came off the river. It almost made her smile to think it, but she shook her head against such a foolish and romantic notion. The castle may be beautiful, but castles were fortresses, and they were built to sustain warfare.
She'd been living a fairy story, she realized, but the reality was far more grim than the books would have had her believe. The times she had imagined some grand adventure or escape, some valiant tale, were too many to count. Living one, however, was not exactly what she would have ever expected. Looking at that shining castle, picturesque and grand, it was easy to want to forget they were surrounded by soldiers, that her champion might be seized as soon as they entered the gates. She felt deflated and laid bare, so tired she sagged against him and wondered how she could have ever believed such foolishness, yet alone yearned for it.
In the courtyard, Sandor dismounted and lifted Lenna down to the ground, hands spanning her waist. His touch lingered, fingers dragging along her sides, and she was reluctant to release his shoulders as well. It would be folly, though, to stand there in front of suspicious eyes like star-crossed characters from on of those damned stories. She drew away, folding her hands in front of her until her brother came to where she stood in the mud, uncertain and wary, and tucked her hand into his elbow. It was a struggle to lift her feet and follow him as he led her away from Sandor and further into the castle. The guards continued to surround them, and she knew Sandor followed. She glanced over her shoulder at him, only for him to turn his face from hers, giving her the scar. He refused look at her, his shoulders hunched as they followed Wendel into the Keep. Eyes followed them in a mix of curiosity and wariness, and Lenna thought she could almost feel the tension radiating from Sandor. She could not begin to imagine his feelings. She was barely able to grapple with her own.
Wendel explained quietly that he was leading them to the Great Hall. To get there, they had to walk through the castle's godswood, but Lenna thought that garden was a more appropriate term. There was a heart tree, a pale weirwood that stretched its slender branches upward in such a way that they reminded her of the Maiden on the Sept of Snows. Instead of a wood, there were little pockets of wildflowers that hid themselves along the bubble of a stream, and the air was full of birdsong. It was free of artifice, and Lenna could detect no evidence of human hands in the arrangement of grasses and flowers, a little wilderness tucked inside the sandstone walls. As beautiful as it was, as peaceful, she derived little pleasure from it, far too anxious about the welcome that would meet them once they had traversed it. She both wanted to have it over with and wanted the path the stretch on forever so they never had to confront Robb Stark.
The Great Hall of Riverrun bordered the river itself, one long wall made up almost entirely of slender, lofty windows. The view was over the fertile Riverlands, the wide, rolling hills and trees, green and lush, just beginning to be swathed in lines of fog like specters. Looking at it cooled Lenna's mind, still running too quickly, taking in too much and worrying without ceasing. Everything seemed suspended, in crystal or water, time moving thickly. The sun was beginning to cast the room in hues of red and gold, the pale stone reflecting the light back tepidly as the sky began to deepen from washed-out day into the profound and somber blue of twilight.
Her eyes adjusted gradually to the dim, picking out the candles set in their tall racks, flames sputtering and bathing portions of the room in liquid light. They could not penetrate to the high ceiling, and against her will, Lenna remembered her entry through the Lion's Mouth at Casterly Rock. It was an unwelcome thought. This place was likewise unwelcoming, though she still had a sliver of hope that all would be well. Slender, fragile like a shard of glass, but hope remained.
A chill skittered up her spine as she entered with her brother. He ambled along as familiarly as if this was the Merman's Court, setting a brisk pace as he crossed the distance to the opposite end of the hall. From the door, Lenna could faintly make out a shadow there, leaning over a large table spread with parchment.
"Wendel, was it really her?"
She recognized the voice at once, and the shadow stood and straightened, turning toward them. As she drew closer, Lenna could see the ruddy light as it lit the auburn flames of his hair, the wide blue eyes. Robb Stark came slowly around the table, his expression avid, his jaw tight with what she couldn't say. The boyish softness that had still been in his features when last she saw him had melted away, leaving him handsome if hollow of cheek. He'd grown a beard and developed a set to his shoulders that left no doubt that he was the man in charge, his duty made manifest in his posture.
"It is, your grace," Wendel replied, his voice trembling with emotion. "Indeed, it is Lenna."
She stepped forward to stand beside her brother, surprised when Robb came to her and hugged her heartily. It was not an action she would have expected of a king, but she was reminded of her last meeting with him in Winterfell. It felt a lifetime ago. He must have surprised himself, too, because he quickly backed away and took her hand in his in a much more courtly way, eyes warm as he searched her face.
"We are so relieved to see you, my lady," he said solemnly. "We had truly thought you lost to us."
Lenna looked down, tears threatening to choke her. She wondered at the rush of feeling that overtook her, not fully understanding its source.
"Thank you, your grace. I am so glad to be among you all once more. I never thought I'd see you, any of you, ever again." She hadn't, remembering her desperation to send one last letter to her family before the Blackwater had begun. She had never dreamed that she would be standing in Riverrun with Sandor at her back, Robb Stark a King in the North and looking at her with unexpected care and genuine relief.
"Please, you must be exhausted," he said, gesturing to one of the several chairs nearby. "I know you must want to rest, but I believe we have things we must discuss first."
"Of course," she replied, settling stiffly into her seat. Her brother had wandered to the windows, his hands clasped behind her back as he looked out at the waters. Sandor, she thought in panic, looking for him in the gloom. He had made it halfway down the chamber, still flanked by armed guards. He was glowering, shoulders stooped and head lowered, the Hound creeping into his posture in silent self-defense. He held his hands open at his sides, his gaze locked on Robb Stark.
"Come," Robb Stark said coolly. "I'd speak with you, too, Hound."
Sandor took a step forward, his guard moving with him with mirror-like accuracy. Lenna could see the annoyance in his face, and she prayed that he would handle the situation with patience.
She needn't have worried at all.
"Your grace," he ground out, his fingers curling just perceptibly enough to show his effort. Robb Stark looked back at him without a shred of intimidation. Lenna hadn't anticipated that, Sandor acknowledging Robb Stark as a king. She was wrapping her brain around the idea herself. King in the North. The contrast of the young man and Joffrey, or even to Robert Baratheon, was striking, and not at all in a negative fashion. Watching Robb Stark stand with his chin lifted and his hands behind his back, Lenna thought that he looked exactly like a king ought, handsome and strong with his gaze unwavering and open to a man many others would have immediately clapped in irons. Lenna was heartened to realize that he was going to hear Sandor out, even if the outcome was not as she wished it to be.
"I should have you taken to the courtyard and beheaded," Robb said, his tone straightforward and even a little indulgent. "In fact, I ordered my men to kill you on sight when I first heard that a woman claiming to be Lady Helenna was at our gate. But it was Manderly that spoke for you."
Her heart sputtered, a gasp escaping her as a hand landed on her throat. Lenna looked at Wendel with open gratitude, tears again springing in her eyes.
"Your grace," she said, "if you would let me speak for him myself-"
"You will have your say, my lady," he replied. "But consider that while we are relieved to have you with us, safe and unharmed, you have been ten years in the capital. The queen has rejoiced in lording your close association with the Lannister family over your father and brothers. I doubt everything she said was untrue, and I do not know if I can trust your words, not yet."
Lenna had not considered that she should not be trusted, though she supposed she should have expected it. Robb was right, she had been a confidant of an enemy queen, a tutor and guardian of her children, and one of them by marriage. If everything had gone according to plan, she would no longer be a Manderly, but a Lannister. She shuddered to realize that had that happened, she would have been cut off from them entirely, knowing full well what had happened throughout the history of the Seven Kingdoms when women found themselves married to a House at odds with their own. If Joffrey had allowed her to marry Tyrion, her safety would have been assured in the short term, but she would have been expected to act against her own family. She felt, perhaps for the first time, that Joff had done her a favor in refusing Tyrion's plan, instead setting into motion the tumultuous series of events that now saw her at least safe in the company of those she would have chosen if given the chance.
"Your grace," Wendel protested, striding back toward his king with storms in his eyes. Robb raised a hand. Her brother looked to her, his face red as he silently blustered, and Lenna shook her head in resignation.
"Let him speak for himself," Robb said, turning his attention back to Sandor. "How did you come to be here, Hound?"
Sandor inhaled sharply, glancing at his feet. "I stole her, your grace," he said lowly, slowly raising his eyes to Robb Stark's. "I believed that Stannis Baratheon had won the Blackwater, would siege the Red Keep. I took her to keep her safe. She could not stay there, not any more."
"Why?" Robb asked. "She'd been there for ten years without incident, why take her then in the middle of a battle? Wasn't it more dangerous to leave in the midst of fighting?"
"She's been through enough," he replied urgently. "She didn't deserve to have to go through what was going to happen next, whether it was a siege or Joffrey's victory. Do with me what you will, your grace, but do not doubt her. She is not theirs, and she never was. I should have done it years ago, but I have done it now."
"Done what?"
"Gotten her out of there. You're right, your grace. Ten years she's been their plaything, and then Joffrey went and betrothed her out of spite."
"To your brother." Robb's eyes were cold as he looked at Sandor, but to his credit, he never wavered.
"Yes, to my fucking brother," Sandor spat through gritted teeth, his hands flexing at his sides.
"And you brought her here." Robb's tone conveyed a measure of confusion, perhaps even wonder. In it, Lenna heard opportunity. Robb Stark was too like his father to dismiss Sandor out of hand, to dismiss her. She remembered how Ned Stark had given her multiple chances to leave the capital, how keenly she had felt she was disappointing him with her staunch refusal. She wished that she had explained why it was she could not desert the Lannisters rather than have him believe, as his son must now, that she had made her choice based on loyalty to the queen instead of loyalty to her family.
"I didn't plan to," Sandor replied truthfully. "I meant to take her to White Harbor. I would still, if you'd allow me to pass." Lenna doubted very much that the King in the North would allow any such thing. She felt it very likely that they were stuck at Riverrun, at least for the time being.
"Why should I?" Robb asked righteously. "Why should I do anything other than give you the death you undoubtedly deserve?"
"Do what you will to me, grace," he replied calmly. "Only, do not punish her."
Robb seemed unsettled by this, and Lenna was as well. All the fight had left Sandor's frame, his shoulders slumped and his face slack as he looked at Robb dispassionately. Her belly clenched against the threat of hysteria, her fingers curled tight around the arms of her chair as she waited for Robb Stark to speak, to give his judgement. Instead, the poor boy rubbed a hand over his face and looked to Wendel.
"I can help," Sandor offered hesitantly, his eyes steady. Robb's attention snapped back to him in disbelief, and Lenna shut her eyes as her heart froze to ice. "I know them, your grace. I know them very well. I know how they work, and I've fought for them most of my life. I can help you fight against them now."
"You'd turn traitor, then?" Robb prodded, his brows disappearing under the fall of his hair in open condescension. Sandor gritted his teeth.
"Haven't I already,?" he asked in reply. "When I walked away from Joffrey on the ramparts and went in search of her, to take her home, I cut off any contract I had with them, and I had none. Not really."
"And why should we trust you?" Robb demanded, derision and mocking lacing his tone. He was looking at Sandor with narrowed eyes, incomprehension in his face.
"You have every reason not to." Sandor was always honest, even when it risked his neck. "I wouldn't trust me at all, your grace. But I'm not lying. I am not theirs. Haven't been for a long time."
"Would you swear fealty to me, then?" Robb Stark pressed, tipping his head back like he was issuing a dare. Sandor grunted, his eyes sliding to Lenna for the first time since this interview had begun. She looked back at him desperately, her hands clutching the arms of the chair. She did not exactly understand where Robb was going, or what he wanted from Sandor. Half of her felt he was granting this interview to save himself any guilt when he ordered Sandor's execution.
"Would it keep her safe?" Sandor asked in return, his eyes not leaving hers. "I swore an oath to her."
"She is in no danger here," Robb replied. "She is among her own people now. She no longer needs your oath." Robb looked to Lenna then, and she saw the entreaty for her to tell the whole truth in his gaze.
"He is my shield," Lenna interrupted, no longer able to stay silent. "Robb," she stopped, shaking her head at the mistake, "your grace, he takes no oaths, but he is my shield."
"Do you need one, my lady?"
"I have," she replied honestly. "I had great need of one. I am among my people now, as you say, but that doesn't change the fact that he is my shield. There is no stipulation in that pledge that releases him if I should no longer have need of his protection."
"You were not coerced into accepting him?" Robb asked, speaking in a way that made it clear he was uninterested in Sandor's perspective. "You did not say the words under duress?"
"No!" she burst out. "Your grace," she tried again, gentling herself, "he has done everything in his power to protect me, almost since I arrived in King's Landing. He has never been anything but a true ally to me."
"But he would renounce his king," Robb said seriously. "That is no mean thing, my lady."
"You have renounced him as well," Lenna protested, stunned by the implication and narrowing her eyes. "You have made war against Joffrey, and you would chastise this man for abandoning him?"
Robb had the grace to look mildly chastened, as if he hadn't quite considered that before. She was instantly reminded of how young he was, how unseasoned in role for all he put on a strong show of authority.
"He ran in the midst of a battle." Even Robb didn't seem convinced that this was unforgivable, but doubt still clouded his face.
This is the chance.
"Because there were no other choices," she said hurriedly, her voice rising in panic and pitch. She could not think straight, she had to make him understand. He must understand. "Stannis Baratheon was going to siege the Keep if they won. You know what happens in sieges. The queen...the queen had brought Ser Ilyn Payne into the solar. She was going to order our deaths. Those were the options if Stannis won, rape or death. Both, if you were unlucky. And if Joffrey won, my options were the same. No matter what the outcome of the bloody Blackwater, I was sentenced to rape and death." She had never said it out loud, never allowed herself to fully acknowledge what her future would have been if she'd stayed there in the Red Keep, if he hadn't managed to secret her out.
"You shouldn't be questioning him for what he did, doubting him as you are, you should be celebrating such loyalty and valor, as I do," she continued, knowing that her voice was almost incomprehensible, only distantly aware of the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. Her mouth tasted of salt and iron. "Even now," she pressed, her pleading making the young king wince, "he would die to keep me safe. That's why he brought me here. He knew there was a possibility that you would kill him, but he made a vow to keep me safe. He has gone to extraordinary lengths to honor that vow. If he was the scoundrel you wish to believe he is, wouldn't he have abandoned me instead of risking his life time and again? Wouldn't he have shirked it? The fact is, your grace, he takes no vows he could break." Robb looked back at her, and she saw him start to falter. "You have to listen to him, you have to trust him," she begged. "Please, your grace, do not sentence him to die. His death would be on my hands, and I-"
"You are overtired, my lady," Robb said softly. "Forgive me, I did not mean to upset you so. I must think this over, and I would talk with the Hound alone. You have my assurances that he will come to no harm, and I will try to hear him out," he said, taking her fingers in his again. Lenna dropped her head, covering her face with her free hand. She had the strangest feeling that now she had begun to cry she would not be able to stop. The king's voice was gentle when next he spoke. "You'll be given your own quarters and a maid to serve you."
"And Clegane," she replied thickly. "Where will you put him?"
Robb leveled his glare at Sandor again, who to his credit weathered the young man's scrutiny with patience. He did not answer her.
"Your grace-" she started, her voice cracking at the thought of him in chains.
"Lenna," Sandor said quietly. "It's alright. They're not going to hurt me. You need to rest." He looked back at her steadily, the gray light of his eyes unwavering. She felt her lip tremble again, but she nodded, rising to her feet.
Her brother was at her side in an instant, his hand beneath her arm as he led her away.
Sandor XLIV
Bollocks.
He forced himself not to watch her being ushered away, her brother spanning her shoulders with one arm, supporting her with his other hand beneath her elbow. She looked frail in comparison to portly Wendel, but it wasn't just the difference in their sizes that made him think so. He'd been noticing it for months. She seemed to be fading, her cheekbones too sharp, her eyes hollow, the lines of her neck too finely corded. He felt it when she lay with him, the plush softness that had driven him mad receding, leaving her ribs visible and hard, her hips two nobby points against him instead of the fleshiness he'd yearned for. Now, her tears seemed to have drained her entirely, and she went with her brother looking as weak as a fledgling, her shoulders still hitching and a visible tremor in her limbs.
Robb Stark was right. She needed rest before she collapsed from exhaustion. She needed a proper bed, proper food, and a bath. Clean, dry clothes that fit, and more to shelter her at night than his cloak or hers. He was not sorry to see her go, though he hoped it was not the last time. He could not bear the thought that the last time he saw her involved her pleading for his life.
He was startled from his melancholy by the sharp report of a door being slammed open.
"You can't tell me that you're going to listen to him?" The tall figure of Catelyn Stark entered, her shoulders rigid with indignation and her fists balled at her sides. "Why was I not sent for immediately? Where is Lady Helenna?"
"Sent to rest," Robb replied, pursing his lips in frustration. "Clegane was going to start explaining himself. I promised Lenna we'd hear him, so I will. Starting at the beginning, if you please." He gestured for Sandor to get to talking and ignoring his mother's angry huffing altogether.
It took great effort, and there were times he had to stop entirely to collect himself, to temper the rage that tightened his muscles and clenched his fists, but Sandor made himself keep talking. Robb Stark looked back at him neutrally, the lad's face a perfect mask of forbearance even as his mother scoffed from her place at the mantle. Cat Stark had always found it difficult to look at him, much like her daughter, not that he cared. She was standing straight-backed by the fire, her arms across over her chest, shaking her head in disbelief or derision from time to time.
He didn't know exactly what Robb Stark wanted, so he started at the beginning as he was bid, detailing how Helenna Manderly had been brought to the capital, ignored for years until she was useful. He told of how she taught the little grace, how she had unwittingly gotten into Cersei's circle. He explained how he'd been sent with her to White Harbor, how he'd openly told Wyman Manderly he'd been sent as a spy, and how the old lord had helped him.
Cat Stark snarled. "Wyman Manderly would never-"
"Ask him," Sandor replied simply. "Or Lord Wendel, or Lord Wylis. Or Lady Helenna. They all knew."
"They knew and never told Lord Eddard?" she said in flat disbelief.
"It was a deeply personal matter, my lady," he replied. "But I'm sure any of them could explain. It isn't my story to share, even now."
Robb gestured for him to continue. He talked of coming back, of her loneliness, the trip to Casterly Rock, to Winterfell, the way Cersei gradually came to rely on Lenna, no longer looking at her as Myrcella's tutor, but more as a friend. And he spoke of how anxious it made her, how dangerous it was for her. He made sure they heard about how Lord Arryn and Lord Stark had both jeopardized her, not understanding how deeply mired she was, how and why she refused Lord Eddard's offer to flee.
"She could have been safe-"
"She already had a target painted on her back, my lady," he ground out. "She always did. It would have only taken one misstep. If she'd have gone then, the queen would have taken that as a serious offense, and it would not have gone well for her, or her family, even before all this shit began."
That seemed to shut her up momentarily. And then he told them about Joffrey, his unadulterated hatred for Lenna and how he'd started to set his sights on Sansa, how he'd made them both walk the ramparts. How he'd made them look at Ned Stark's tarred head on its spike.
"Stop," Catelyn commanded, her voice deep with grief. "That is enough."
"If you cannot stomach it, mother, you need not stay," Robb said, swallowing thickly. "Continue, Clegane."
"It wasn't the worst of it, my lady," Sandor said, smirking at Robb's new use of his name instead of Hound. "Though it will be hard for you to hear." Cat Stark pressed her fingers against her lips and nodded. "He had your daughter beaten, in court. He made me take Lady Helenna's hair. I hacked it off with a knife in the throne room for all the lords and ladies to see."
"When?" Robb breathed, his eyes wide in concern and disgust. "When did this happen?"
"After the Oxcross, your grace," Sandor replied. "In payment for your treason. Or so Joffrey said."
"Oh my gods, oh my sweet girl," Catelyn whined, her eyes cast upwards as she attempted not to weep.
"Lord Tyrion tried to protect them, but he was unsuccessful." Sandor's veins still filled with rancor when he thought of the little lord's futile attempts to protect the Northern women. Despite how hard he claimed to have tried, Sandor thought him spineless.
"Sansa," Catelyn said roughly. "Was she well? When you left."
"She was alive, my lady," he replied, wondering if she would mark his meaning. Alive and well were two different things. "Lady Helenna wanted to bring her with us, but she would not come. She was convinced Stannis would do right by her."
"And you stood by, you left her-" Cat choked.
"What could I do, my lady?" Sandor asked, cocking his head at her. He was surprisingly not angry with the woman. He wanted to be furious with her snorts and guffaws, with the way she narrowed her eyes at him in the brief seconds she could look on his face. But he wasn't. He was too tired and too weary to be angry. She was clearly in pain. "When I paused for a moment, that day they were humiliated, he threatened to take Lenna's head. What do you imagine would have happened if I had refused my orders entirely?"
"You could have-" the lady spluttered, her mouth opening and closing aimlessly as she fought for words, any expression for the rage that still lit her eyes like braziers.
"Repudiated him? Resigned my place? And left them completely on their own?" he asked, his voice pitched low. "Lady Stark, I will not lie to you and claim to have given more than a passing fuck about your daughter. She is an innocent girl, though not a very bright one, but I would never have left Helenna Manderly to them on her own. Not for anything."
"I wonder what inspires such devotion," Cat said, and while her eyes weren't happy when they lit on his, they weren't as disdainful.
"So you stole her," Robb replied before Sandor felt the need to answer the king's mother. He was not ready yet to open that subject with them. He might never be, though he suspected it was coming. "You carried her away from what you perceived as grave danger."
"Perceived," he scoffed. "How was it not grave danger, your grace? Have you lived through a siege?"
"No," Robb replied. Anger bolted through his chest with the force of a scorpion. He hated how these wars were fought by little, inexperienced lords, ones who had never known the battlefield but who thought they could command thousands. Robb Stark was not dumb, and surely he had been instructed on war and tactics since his boyhood, but it galled Sandor that he was being questioned by a king no more than a lad while he, battle-hardened as he was, was expected to defend his very right to breathe.
"I have," he thundered, "and I know what happens to women, even highborns, during a siege. I was not going to leave her there."
"But Joffrey won that battle," Catelyn retorted. "There was no storming of the Keep."
"No," Sandor replied. "In which case, it is very likely that Lady Sansa was unharmed. But Lenna was in danger one way or the other. She spoke rightly just now. She had been sentenced to death, worse than death, in her betrothal."
"Your brother again."
"Aye," he replied. "He's put two wives in the ground, and he's not going to put her there, too. Not while I have a breath left in my body. I'm sure I'm not mistaken in thinking that he's probably hunting for her."
Robb confirmed this suspicion with a brief nod. "Raiding parties have been reported in our territory. Your brother is an unconscionable brute, but forgive me if it seems a bit of an overreaction to a broken betrothal."
"It isn't broken," he said plainly.
"What do you mean?" Robb asked, clearly confused.
"Nothing went the way it was supposed to go," Sandor said. "After Joffrey went after her, made me go after her, they decided that a marriage could be her shield, but she was never supposed to go to Gregor."
"Then who?" Cat demanded.
"Lord Tyrion," he answer flatly. "He offered her marriage himself, but the king-Joffrey- he would not hear of it."
"Tyrion Lannister wanted to wed her?" Catelyn Stark paced before the hearth. "She'd have been Lady of Casterly Rock, Tywin could not have been pleased."
"I understand that he supported the match, my lady," Sandor replied. "He'd thought it over for years. They all approved of it. They love her. But Joffrey would not hear of it."
"Why?"
"He dislikes Lady Helenna, my lady." Sandor had never figured out why it was that Joff had turned on her, remembering so clearly how he'd run to her in his childhood, clambering into her lap and reading with her, playing with his blocks and toys. Once she'd taken the faintest interest in Myrcella, the boy had soured.
"Why?" she repeated, clearly frustrated.
"I don't know," Sandor replied, shaking his head. "Nothing he does makes much sense. It doesn't matter really, does it?"
"The queen, her brother, her father- they all opposed Lady Helenna's betrothal to your brother, you say?"
"Aye," he replied. "At least in private. I believe that they actually love her, as much as they can. They did not want to place her in such risk. They tried-" It pained him to think of that one bolt of joy, of promise, that he hadn't been able to stop himself from feeling when he was on the table as an alternative. Granted, he didn't think it would have changed much, and she certainly wouldn't be safer if it had come to pass.
"They tried what?"
"They had thought to negotiate with Joffrey, before the betrothal was made known. But then Stannis began to move."
"What was the alternative?" Robb asked.
"I was," he said lowly. "They were going to offer me in his stead."
Robb reared back. "Why you?"
"It would have still carried the sting of insult, but I would never harm her," he replied, feeling his throat thicken at the disgust on Robb's face. It was the very expression he dreaded, that had haunted his meager hopes. Any tie to him would denigrate her in the eyes of these people. And why shouldn't it? You've never deserved her.
"Add to that you were close to them, they'd still have her under their thumb," Cat ground out. She clenched her eyes and her jaw. "Robb, we can't-"
"I was close to them," Sandor replied. "I have been personal guard to the queen since she went to King's Landing. Afterward, I served Joffrey. I heard plenty in that time. Plans to take over the Iron Throne, to unite the ports."
"But Joffrey is already king."
"Aye," Sandor replied, "but he's not reasonable. They can't control him. They fear him. Your father," he ground out, "no one thought he'd be executed that day. At least, not the queen or her brother. Not Lady Sansa, and certainly not Lady Helenna."
"You did," Cat breathed, the words accusation and venom. "You knew."
"I did not," he replied, "but neither was I surprised by it," he replied. "I know Joffrey. I know them all. I can be of service to you, if you will let me."
Robb Stark rose and went to the hearth, leaning his forearm against it and pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked into the fire for a long time, and Sandor could almost feel Catelyn Stark's eyes boring into him.
"You spoke of Lady Sansa," she said quietly. "You have not mentioned my Arya."
Sandor closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was not enjoying the interview, not least because the addition of Lady Stark meant he was inflicting an abundance of pain in what he wanted to be a simple accounting of the facts. Feelings jeopardized his already weak case.
"I have nothing to report, my lady," he replied. "She has not been seen since the raid on her father's household."
"Is she dead?"
"I don't know," he answered simply. "She was scrappy, my lady. We received no reports of a suspicious death, we've heard nothing of her at all."
Robb turned back to him. "It will take a great deal of convincing to bring my lords to accept you, Hound. Your reputation is a millstone around your neck, but I'm inclined to give you the opportunity to prove yourself."
Relief washed like ice through him, and it was a wonder that he didn't physically stagger, settling for blinking hard and taking a deep breath to steady himself again.
"Thank you, your grace," Sandor replied, his voice gravelly with emotion.
"One question, though," he said, looking through the fall of ruddy curls on his forehead. He had returned to the table, leaning over the maps and bracing his hands on its edges. "You said that the Lannisters believe that Lady Helenna is theirs. Is she?"
"Fuck no," Sandor growled, his voice bitter with spleen as his head came up and his chin rose in indignation. "No more than I am."
"I find that hard to believe," Cat Stark snarled. "You are nothing but a dog. You've served that vile nest of vipers for your entire life. Do you expect us to believe that you would turn on your master?"
Sandor grimaced, the smirk twisting into a snarl as fire lit in his belly. Robb Stark had already said he'd give him a chance, and Sandor was growing weary of his mother second guessing him.
"I have no master," he growled. Only a mistress, he wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue.
"We will speak again this evening after supper," Robb replied. "I warn you, Hound, that my generals will be harder to convince than I am. Best be prepared."
"Aye, your grace," he responded. Robb nodded briefly, then turned and strode from the room, leaving Sandor with the guards. He bit his tongue to avoid barking at them, going quietly as they led him from the Great Hall, Cat Starks' narrowed eyes nearly palpable on his back.
A/N: So instead of packing, I've been writing instead! I'm sure I will regret it, but I'm working three chapters out again, which is where I like to be! Woo!
Thank you for your continued reviews. They've been especially heartening as we start to forge ahead in a completely new direction. I suppose at this point, we can more or less agree that things have gone AU. Not what I'd originally planned, but I'm liking it, to be honest. A lot less like forcing a puzzle to fit together when the pieces are almost right, but not quite, and more like framing a new puzzle from the same image.
As always, I'm so pleased that so many of you have stayed along for this ride. It's my privilege to keep writing for you. I hope you know how much I appreciate your readership and feedback. Keep it coming! Love.