Lenna XLV
Wendel hovered at the door. He had led her to a pretty room, small with a four-poster bed and a view over the verdant Riverlands, standard issue for all ladies' guest quarters in Keeps throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Really, she could have been anywhere from the Stormlands to her own White Harbor, but the familiar environment did little to ease her. She had stopped crying on the long walk through the castle, and truthfully, she was too tired to weep any more. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the bed, but being in such soft surroundings only served to emphasize how filthy she was from traveling. She looked down at her dress, taking in the muddy, torn hem and the numerous and nameless stains that spotted the skirts. Her hands were grimy, Locke's blood still dark around her nails, and her hair was greasy where it fell against her neck and chin.
"May I?" Wendel asked, hesitating at the threshold. Lenna squeezed her eyes, the last bit of moisture collecting on her eyelashes. She wanted very much to get out of her gown and take a bath, but she nodded. He entered, leaving the door open a crack behind him.
"You are well? Truly?" he asked, wringing his hands together. He was standing apart from almost as if her were afraid of her. Perhaps he was.
"Aye," she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. She rubbed the back of her neck and braced the heels of her hands against the feather mattress. It was plush, so soft that she just wanted to fall backward into it and slip into sleep. She felt as if every one of her bones was broken or bruised, and it was getting harder and harder for her to think coherently.
"We thought you were dead, Lenna," he choked suddenly. She looked at him from behind the dank curtain of her hair. He had grown pale, his eyes tortured. "It was like to kill Father when that bag arrived."
She closed her eyes, too tired to do much else. She was sorry for their pain, truly she was, but there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. "I wish there had been a way for me to tell you all."
"I know," he replied, wiping a hand across his face. "And so fast on the heels of Wylis."
"What?" Lenna asked, her head flying up so quickly a muscle in her neck twinged. A new ball of panic began to roil in her belly, her lungs shrinking. "Isn't he here?"
Wendel looked at her desolately, lips parted. "No, my dear. He was taken prisoner at the Green Fork."
Anger flashed through her, anger and despair. She had no idea that Wylis was captive. Locke had said both of her brothers were at Riverrun, he had made it sound like they were looking for her. But it wasn't Locke's mistake or misinformation that distressed her the most. It was Cersei's.
"She knew," Lenna hissed, her voice rough and sounding like it belonged to someone else. "She knew he was captured and she didn't tell me."
"Who?" Wendel asked.
"Cersei," Lenna whispered. "She called me to her as soon as we had word of the Green Fork, of Ser Jaime, and I comforted her. I held her as she cried over him. I cared for her and she didn't even tell me my own brother was captive."
Wendel looked at her apologetically, clearly at a loss for words. She couldn't exactly explain how she felt. Betrayed. Used. It made her so furious she could barely see, and to her relief and consternation, tears rose again. She pushed them down forcefully, the cold anger she thought she'd mastered rising again from her gut. She felt like a bit of frayed cloth, an old handkerchief, one that had been washed over and over again and was now completely wrung out. She drew her dirty wrist across her mouth and straightened her back. She was so dreadfully tired of crying, of everything.
"Where is he?" she asked dully, unable to look at her brother and already knowing the answer.
"Held at Harrenhal," he whispered.
She winced as if she'd been stung. Harrenhal. She'd never seen the place, but it must be cursed, an earthly hell that contained her monsters, and now her brother.
I should be there, not Wylis, she thought dejectedly, closing her eyes against the idea of her jolly, portly brother in a dark, dank cell.
"Is there any hope of ransoming him?" she asked, knowing the likely answer.
"Lord Tywin offered to send him back if Father abandoned King Robb." Wendel's eyes and voice were flat as a becalmed sea.
"And he refused." Wendel nodded. Lenna passed her palm over her eyes, wiping away the wetness there. "Wendel, everything is such a mess. And for what? A parcel of quarrels that powerful people decide to settle with the lives of others."
"What do you mean?"
"Tyrion Lannister had as much to do with the attempt on Bran Stark as I did, brother," she said tiredly. "I know him well. He isn't capable of that kind of thing. He's not like his father, or his sister. He doesn't think that way. He'd never harm a child. But that accusation, that decision to take him captive...that has turned the world upside down."
"It isn't that simple-"
"Of course it isn't," she bit back at him. "Of course it isn't that simple. It is so very, very complicated and convoluted. But, perhaps, this series of events would not have been set in motion if she had staid herself, gone through the proper channels, followed the bloody rules-"
"There are no rules, Lenna," Wendel replied solemnly. "You should know that better than all of us."
She sighed, passing her hand over her face again. "There are finite options, brother. Trajectories, outcomes. Wendel, tell me truthfully- do you believe Robb Stark to be a capable ruler?"
Wende flattened his lips and looked at the floor. "He is our king, Lenna."
"Yes," she said. "He is a king. Just as Joffrey is. Just as Stannis claims to be, as Renly claimed to be."
"And Balon Greyjoy," Wendel said.
"What?" she said. "Since when?"
"Shortly into this whole mess. Styles himself King of the Iron Islands. He has captured Winterfell, or, rather, Theon has."
"Theon Greyjoy?" she barked. "That mealy mouthed-"
"Lenna," Wendel said tiredly. "Lenna, I didn't mean to upset you. I thought you knew."
She shook her head and rose from where she was perched on the edge of her bed. She went to the window, looking out over the rolling hills, the sun still sending liquid golden light over the landscape, lighting the little streams and rivers into molten threads through the meadows.
Her brother was silent for a long moment, but the air was taut with tension as he weighed his words.
"I will send a raven to Father immediately. What will you have me say?"
"Let me send it," she said, feeling old beyond her years as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I need to think, though. I will bathe and put on fresh clothes. If you will bring me parchment, I will write to him myself."
"He would like that, I'm sure," Wendel replied. "I'll return before dinner. Will you attend?"
Lenna shrugged. She felt that the last thing she could do was face a crowd of people in a closed room. The very idea made her want to go to sleep and never wake back up.
Wendel didn't press her, slipping out the door and murmuring a few soft words to someone in the hall. A trio of maids entered carrying a tub and kettles of water, silently going about their work as she watched them dejectedly from the edge of the bed. When they withdrew, she carefully peeled off the gown and chemise, neither of them fit for more than fuel for the fire, but she folded them carefully anyway. She didn't think she'd ever felt anything better than the tub full of hot water as she reclined in the bath in the soft heat of the modest hearth, though she could barely enjoy it. The fire was lit, and she took her time scrubbing the grime from herself. Her hair had become wormy and greasy, and she lathered it vigorously to the point of pain, but it again fell in curls around her face instead of dank mats.
When she rose from the tub, she noted with distaste that it was the color of river water, a dull gray-brown that swirled with dirt. One of the maids had quietly entered the room and stood at the ready. Lenna welcomed the towel that was spread for her gratefully.
A selection of gowns had been found for her, and Lenna decided on a dark blue one that fit her well enough. She wouldn't be surprised if it was Catelyn Stark's own dress. They were nearly the same height, though Lenna was a little taller. It was only slightly too short for her, the delicate bone of her ankle barely peeping from below the hem. It left her feeling rough and naked, no longer fit for such fine things after a month sleeping nestled in hollows or curled up against Sandor in some little cave.
Lenna breathed deeply once the door was closed, the maid bustling out with her soiled clothes. She stretched out on top of the bed and slept like the dead. She didn't even make it to the plump pillow with its embroidered sham, her head falling on her arm like she was still sleeping beside a campfire.
A knock woke her perhaps an hour later. The sun had gone down completely, and there was no moon, no light in the room except the glow of the fire.
She rose, yawning, and answered the door, finding Wendel on the other side of it. He carried an inkwell and a raven scroll.
"Come in," she said, opening the door wide enough for him to enter. There was no desk at which to write, so she set the materials on the casement window.
"Are you feeling any better?" he asked solicitously.
"I had a bath and a nap," she replied. "I feel a new person, really."
"I am glad. You are so thin, Lenna."
"That's what travel will do," she said gently. They were both lying to themselves if they thought she'd lost nearly two stone in just the short weeks since she'd fled the capital. She hadn't had an appetite in months, too sick with worry to eat more than she absolutely had to not to collapse. She wondered how much Wendel knew of the last months, how much he would want to know. She wagered he wasn't quite prepared to hear everything that had passed, especially her encounter with their kinsman. She shuddered to remember it, the incident felt like another lifetime though it hadn't even been a week.
"How is Clegane?" she asked tightly, her mind never far from him.
"He's safe for now," Wenden replied. "I told you, I vouched for him, and Father will, too, once he knows that he's brought you here. I do not think he is in any danger, not from King Robb."
"Will they imprison him?" she asked tightly. She'd had many flashes of him leaning against dank stone walls, his wrists and ankles bound again. It made her feel nauseated.
"No," he replied. "He's being given quarter in the barracks. With a guard for now. King Robb wants to give him a chance."
"To do what?" she asked carefully. Surely Wendel didn't mean as a soldier. Sandor was her shield now, he couldn't just sell his services to the highest bidder as he'd used to do.
Of course they bloody want him. Sandor was a soldier. He knew nothing else. He was a damned fine one, too, if his career with the Lannisters was any indication. His name was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as one of the most formidable fighters in Westeros. That, and he had maintained his positions for the majority of his career. She knew he had been given significant responsibility during the Blackwater, though he still refused to speak of that night.
"Show himself to be loyal."
"He's my shield," she said lowly. "Robb can't just take him into his army without my leave."
"Lenna," her brother said with a note of cajoling that almost made her angry. "You must understand that he has to prove himself in some way. He cannot just go on as before. They don't know him as you do, even as I do."
It wasn't a satisfactory answer, and Lenna hated that her brother was right. Of course they didn't trust him, she should be thanking the gods that they hadn't dragged him out into the muddy courtyard and beheaded him that afternoon. At least Robb was giving him a chance, even if she felt the injustice of it like a blow.
"And King Robb has already decided how he wishes to use him?" she asked quietly.
"That is to be determined," Wendel said. "We are to all meet with the king's small council tonight. After dinner."
She nodded. She felt she had gotten away with giving very few answers, probably because they were too concerned for her. She turned from him and took up the pen as she stretched the parchment out over the smooth stone. Wendel paced as she wrote, the only sounds in the room his footfalls and the scratch of the nip on the paper. When she was done, she handed him what she had written.
Dearest Papa,
I live. Due to the efforts of Sandor Clegane, my shield, I am delivered safe to Wendel in Riverrun. I understand that you owe him something for his loyalty, and I beg you to give it to him. It is my only wish.
My love to you all, and I ardently hope to be with you in White Harbor as soon as may be.
Your affectionate daughter,
Lenna Manderly
Wendel read the parchment and sucked in a breath, shaking his head emphatically even as the color drained from his cheeks. "Lenna, I know Father promised him-"
Anger made her vision flash white. So, her brothers knew what their father had said to Sandor that afternoon in White Harbor, pulling him close and whispering so urgently, and she'd had no idea, not for years. It made her furious.
"Of course you do," she scoffed. "You all knew. You all knew before I did."
Wendel's eyes were full of sympathy as he looked at her, and she felt cut to the quick.
"Now isn't the time," Wendel said quietly. "They don't trust him, Lenna, or you. Not yet, not fully. You've been in King's Landing for ten years. Even if he has brought you here, which was a sound decision, his reputation is black as the seven hells and not likely to be overcome soon."
"I suppose my reputation is tarnished now, too?" she asked flatly. "After all, I was left in King's Landing for ten years." She stood and went back to the window, the darkness of the night like to fill her lungs and choke her. "I did things I am not proud of, but no one did anything to get me out. I have been a hostage for the past year. A hostage, Wendel," she hissed as she turned to him, "just like Wylis. I may have kept my rooms, my fine clothes, but I was a prisoner. Was I supposed to make my way back on my own, brother? Was I supposed to stand against the Lannisters?"
"Lenna, I'm sorry," he said desolately. "We didn't know what to do."
"You're sorry? You should be," she fired back, so tired she no longer cared. "You and Father and Wylis. You have no idea what it was like, Wendel. And this is my one chance at some mote of happiness, and you're telling me to wait? I've spent a decade waiting. Waiting for someone, anyone, to help me. Only one person did, and you're telling me that I'm to care what others think of him?"
"Lenna, you're talking about a marriage to the fucking Hound." Wendel's face had gone an unflattering puce as he tried to control himself, spluttering and spitting like a bulldog.
"He isn't the Hound," she whispered, feeling entirely stripped. "Not with me."
"Regardless, sister," her brother retorted, spirit back in his face, "you will have to wait for Father's reply." Wendel had the grace to stop himself and bit his tongue. "Forgive me, Lenna. Of course you deserve to have your wishes honored. If it is truly what you want. But I beg you, act with prudence."
She laughed drily. Prudence. She had lived her whole life with prudence, and it had gotten her nowhere, just stranded in King's Landing for years on end. She'd often wondered what might have happened if she hadn't been so affable, so pleasing and amenable. Would Cersei have sent her home after a year or two? She would never know. She had played her limited hand cautiously, maximizing her sustainability. At least it had given her Sandor.
"You will not object?" she asked stiffly, cocking her head wearily at her brother.
"No," he replied. "My hesitation has nothing to do with Clegane himself, sister. I will be the first to admit that I always liked him. Once I got over his face, and that reputation." She scowled. "We've all known for years," he continued softly. "We all saw how he treated you in White Harbor, how he cared for you in Winterfell. Father did make a promise, but are you sure you wish to bind yourself to him? He has kept you safe, yes, but once it is done, you can't undo it. Being tied to him carries great risk."
Lenna shut her eyes against the world. "Probably."
"Then can't you see that marrying him would be folly? I want you to be happy-"
"I love him, Wendel," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I will not be happy unless I am with him."
"Don't be foolish," Wendel said harshly. "You're talking like a daft girl."
"Don't you dare," she bit out lowly, her eyes burning into his. "Don't you dare talk to me like a foolish child. I am not a maid of fourteen anymore, and I know my own damn mind. If Father consents there will be nothing that keeps me from him. Do you understand?"
Wendel was taken aback, clearly not expecting Lenna to speak to him in such a way. She didn't care. She'd been batted about like a plaything for far too long to brook such treatment from one of the people who was supposed to care for her, to protect her.
He failed, she thought bitterly. And it was true, much to her sorrow.
"I beg your forgiveness," he said softly, having taken a dozen deep breaths. When she looked at him again, there was genuine contrition in his face. "I cannot tell you, sister, how happy I was to know that you were alive, and to know that you were with him. After that news, I never doubted that I'd see you again."
She decided to forgive him and accept that his objections stemmed from brotherly concern. He simply didn't know her well enough anymore to really know what was best for her, and added to this was his own ever-present fear. He must be just as worried as she was, his thoughts constantly on protecting his family, and now that included her again. She managed to smile weakly, a tremulous, fleeting thing.
"Will you come to dinner?" he asked. She shook her head mutely.
"I am tired," she said. "I would stay here."
"Very well," he replied. "A tray will be brought up for you. But after dinner, you are expected in the small council chamber. I will come for you then."
Wendel took the parchment and rolled it carefully before letting himself out of her room. Lenna should have gone back to sleep, but she sat and just stared at the floor, her mind such a jumble that no clear thoughts formed.
Another knock. She sat up abruptly, panic streaking through her like a volley of arrows. She looked around frantically, trying very hard to remember where she was. It took long moments and the appearance of her brother to land on Riverrun, her brain not quite having caught up. It was discombobulating to say the least.
A tray sat on the little dressing table, its contents cold, and Wendel eyed it unhappily. She knew she needed to eat, but in her defense she had no idea that the tray had been delivered. She must have been heavily asleep indeed.
"You are wanted," Wendel said simply. "Are you able?"
She nodded and rose, linking her arm in his as she suppressed a yawn.
He led her back through the godswood, now starlit and warmed by the thrum of crickets. In the Great Hall, they passed the table where she'd seen Robb Stark earlier that day, darting through a side door and starting to climb a narrow flight of stairs.
"Where are we going?" she asked, winded and leaning heavily on the slender railing that wrapped around the outside of the risers.
"Small council meeting," he replied, wheezing as he mounted the last few stairs.
He led her through another door into a close room with long table surrounded with chairs. A few people had already filtered into the room. Wendel went to a specific seat with long practice and without thinking. It was clear to her that it was his place.
"Are you on the council?" she asked, sitting next to him in the offered chair. Her back hurt and her eyes were dry, feeling as though they had grown their own hair.
"Master of Coin, and Master of Ships while Wylis is imprisoned," he supplied. "There were quite a few who disliked two Manderlys, but it was King Robb's decision."
Lenna swelled with pride, smiling at her elder brother unabashedly.
"And you, my lord?" she asked, surprising the other occupant of the room. He was a rugged man of later years, perhaps her father's age, and he was looking at her as if trying to read her character in her face. The eyes that looked back at hers were almost the same blue as King Robb's, as Catelyn Stark's, and his steel grey hair was still full. It curled around his eyes, startling silver in contrast with his dark scaled plate. A large fish was emblazoned on his black-clad breast.
"Hand of the King," he said gruffly. "Never thought I'd see such a day, but here we are."
"Oh," Wendel said absently. "Lenna, this is Brynden Tully. This is my sister, Lady Helenna Manderly."
"Ah, yes, the damsel in distress," Brynden replied, but his voice was indulgent instead of derisive. "They'll be writing songs about you, you know. But, you are home now, I suppose."
Lenna smiled at him and one bushy brow twitched back at her. Robb entered with two blustering men wagging their tongues at him, brows dark and cheeks red. Cat Stark was trailing at their heels with an expression of barely controlled exasperation, followed by a slender young woman Lenna had never seen before, but whose face was schooled into the picture of forbearance. She knew that look all too well, she thought wryly, rising when her brother and the Blackfish did, feeling a little dizzy and wishing she had eaten something.
Then Sandor was there, standing at the end of the table flanked by two guards. She almost went to him, her brother's hand on her arm staying what must have been a physical start on her part. He looked a little better, probably just as she did. He'd bathed and shaved, the skin of his cheek and neck smooth, his hair still slightly damp as it fell in waves to his shoulders. It made him look younger. They'd somewhere found clothes almost big enough to fit him, though she suspected that the trousers he had tucked into his boots were too short. The tunic was blue, and his jerkin a dark gray leather. He did not look like someone who had spent the evening languishing in a dungeon, and some of the iron in her heart fell away.
His eyes immediately met hers across the room, full to brimming as he looked at her. She was sure she looked the same as she was overcome with relief. Neither knew what to do, that much as clear. He nodded stiffly and she returned it, her throat thick.
"Sandor Clegane," Robb said, pulling his attention away. Sandor stood to his full height, shoulders thrust back and chin slightly raised. She suspected he seemed rather fearsome to the rest of them, even to men like Greatjohn Umber and Rickard Karstark, both of whom looked at him in hostile fascination. "You have brought Lady Helenna back to us. You have our thanks."
"What use is thanking the dog," Karstark grumbled. "Take him out back and slit his throat, that's what I say."
"He returned my sister to me at his own peril," Wendel said, steel in the gray flecks of his eyes. "I am grateful to him."
"He's still a Lannister dog," Umber replied, leaning back nonchalantly in his chair. "Have we gathered here to decide what to do with him?"
"Not exactly," Robb said, leaning forward. "I have already decided what I'm going to do." The other lords swivelled their heads to look at him. Lenna did, too, her breath lodging in the hollow of her throat. She felt like her blood was full of bubbles and it made her short of breath. "He will join us as a strategist and will have his own command in our armies."
"Robb-" his mother protested, and Lenna bit her tongue against the blame she wished to cast.
"Your grace?" Sandor said, openly astonished.
"You are an experienced fighter, Clegane," Robb said, his gaze direct. "I have no reason to believe that you will turn on me."
"He turned on Joffrey," Karstark barked. "He turned on his king."
"As Lady Helenna pointed out to me earlier, my lord, we all did," Robb returned. "How can we fault him for turning his back on that monster, a false king if ever there was one?"
Karstark did not reply, but he did sit back in his seat.
Umber turned on him now, sitting forward. "You fought for the Lannisters-"
"I fought for my liege lord, just like you are now," Sandor replied stoically. "You'd like to believe that you'd choose your King in the North under any circumstances, but you wouldn't. You were raised on honor, weren't you? And honor binds you to your liege."
"Then you have none to turn your back on them," Umber spat. "Even if they are Lannisters."
"You put stock in vows, don't you, my lord?" Sandor asked, eyes glittering dangerously. Umber narrowed his gaze and grunted. "I've only made one. I had to turn on them to keep it," Sandor said, and Lenna did not miss how he cut his eyes at her.
"What kind of vow was that?" the old lord said, not bothering to mask the mocking in his tone.
"I am sworn-shield to Lady Helenna. They threatened her. I kept her safe from them. I will do as she bids me."
He looked at her openly then, and the ferocity in his gaze seemed to make the air thicker, harder to breathe. By the gods, she thought, her brain grasping fingerlessly at such a promise.
"Lady Helenna," Robb said, her focus sharpening on him. "I know we spoke at length on this subject earlier, but to reiterate it to my councillors, do you trust this man?"
"With my life," she replied earnestly, turning her full gaze on the young King. "I owe everything to him. He-"
"I explained everything already, Len-my lady," Sandor said, and she looked to him again. She inhaled slowly through her nose, her chest expanding to strain the borrowed gown, the bodice suddenly tight. "You don't have to tell them."
She could do nothing but look back at him and hope he could see the gratitude in her face.
"I don't trust him," Umber said lowly. "Once a Lannister dog, always a Lannister dog."
"I do," Brynden Tully said suddenly. "And even if I didn't, what choice do we have? Do you believe Lady Helenna is their servant?"
Robb levelled his gaze at her and she looked back at him warily.
"No," he replied tightly. "I do not believe Lady Helenna would have run if she was their servant. She would have stayed in King's Landing."
"Why didn't she come before?" Umber barked.
"That is my fault," Wendel said abruptly. "Mine and my father's. Clegane tried, years ago, to convince us to keep her when she was sent home for a visit. We refused, believing that by sending her back we were preserving ourselves. We have a complicated history with the Lannisters, you see, a long story that I'm happy to tell if needed. But, mark my words, Lenna didn't want to be there any more than we wished her to be. No one could have foreseen where we would be now. No one."
Lenna looked at her brother gratefully, not missing the glint in his eyes.
"If my word is not enough," she said quietly. "Let our actions prove our loyalty. We know them better than you all. Let us help you."
Sandor XLV
She looked at him imploringly. He nodded.
"I accept your offer, with my lady's leave," he ground out, looking to Robb Stark. "What did you have in mind, your grace?"
Robb gestured to the maps on the table.
"We are at a bit of a stalemate," the young king said embarrassedly. "We have not engaged with more than a raiding party in weeks, not since the disaster at the Stone Mill."
"Your grace?"
"I had planned a way to take out their vanguard, but it was not successful." They both knew that Gregor Clegane commanded Tywin's vanguard, a formidable faction of mounted men. Sandor wasn't surprised that they hadn't been successful. His brother was a brute, what acute faculties he possessed dedicated to one thing alone, and that was strategy. Sandor fancied himself a better fighter than his brother. He was smaller, quicker, and for his size, just as powerful. He also believed he was just as smart, if not smarter, than Gregor. They were more alike than he cared for. He would kill him, he'd kill him and bring her his head.
"Where?" he asked, looking carefully at the map and pushing away the vengeful tide. "Here?" He indicated the Green Fork. He wished he'd heard more of the Northern movements of the last few weeks. He'd been so wrapped up in preparing for a siege that he'd allowed the information to pass in one ear and out the other, never dreaming he'd need to use it.
"No, here," Robb said, pointing to the Red Fork. "Weeks past now, just before the Blackwater. I was hoping to take King's Landing myself, to open a corridor south. I would still try it. We had meant to draw your brother's forces into our territory."
"Surround him, rout them out," Sandor replied, nodding. "Sound idea. What happened?"
"We didn't give him enough time," Robb supplied, his terse tone drawing Sandor's attention to his face. The boy looked annoyed, and Sandor wanted to know why. "It was a risk, letting him draw deeper into our territory. The idea was to lure them far enough that we could surround them on all sides. Unfortunately, my uncle Edmure got nervous and attacked prematurely."
"But you won the skirmish?" Sandor asked, perplexed.
"Yes," Robb replied, "and no. It was technically a victory. We drove them back, they retreated to Harrenhal, but we were not able to destroy them."
"You need a new plan," Sandor said lowly, flicking his gaze to Lenna. He felt odd with her there, watching and listening as he did what he did best. She'd seen him fight once or twice, but she'd never been present in meetings of this kind. It made him feel self-conscious even though she was practically glowing at him.
"Aye," Robb replied. "Do you have any ideas?"
"Perhaps a beginning, but I do not know how sensible it is," he replied, his eyes going to the tactical maps strewn across the table. "Can I look closer?"
Robb Stark nodded, and Sandor leaned over the table. He was not blind to the huffing of the other lords, only Manderly and Lenna sitting quietly, observing him.
"What are you doing?" Catelyn demanded, turning toward her son. He rejected the urge to snarl at her. "He's one of them, he's-"
"He's in our Keep, mother. I don't think he has any secret means to send our plans to them. Do you, Clegane?" The forbearance in Robb Stark's voice gave him pause. Something was not sitting well between mother and son. Sandor wondered what it was. He raised his lone brow at Lady Stark in reply.
She took a step back, anger evident in the harsh lines of her face. She looked as if she'd been carved from wood, one of those queer faces on the Northmen's weirwood trees, her eyes full of disdain.
Sandor turned his attention to the maps spread out on the table. The Starks had already taken most of the Riverlands and everything to the North. The map that took up most of the table was littered with colored chips representing troops, all closely clustered around the Trident and to the south. Riverrun was not far from their southern front, something that made him wary.
"We came through here," he said, tracing his finger along the River Road. "Quiet for the most part, but we were going through the forest. Avoided the roads. But here," he said, touching Maidenpool, "still swarming with Lannister men."
Robb nodded. "They've fallen back to regroup, same as we have."
"Tywin and my brother are at Harrenhal," Sandor said. "At least, that's what the talkers we bumped into said."
"Yes and no," Robb replied. "Your brother was left in charge. Tywin went to King's Landing. Things quieted for a time after the siege in the capital, but they seem to be rallying again. We've had increased reports of raids."
"Numbers?" he asked gruffly. "Roughly."
"Five thousand still in Harrenhal by our estimation. Possibly more encamped to the south."
"A good scout could find out," Sandor grunted. "And you?"
"Robb," Catelyn protested, pleading in her voice as she leaned toward him. Robb Stark held up his hand to silence her.
"Comparable," he replied, "but our ability to call in reinforcements is dwindling. The Mountain is still sitting there, but I doubt we'll tempt him back here again."
He grunted. "No, he would not fall for the same trick twice. He's stupid, but not when it comes to this."
"No," Lenna said, and Sandor looked up in surprise. "Neither he nor Tywin would fall for such a ruse again. But perhaps there is another way."
Sandor clenched his fists and pursed his lips. "What would you suggest then, my lady?"
"Bait him like a fish," she supplied. "Both of them."
"Explain," Robb said, blue eyes troubled.
"He's leading raiding parties, correct?" she said, rising from her seat. Her brother was looking at her with horror mixed with wonder. "We heard of them from passersby, the Mountain and his men on the River Road, still in the vicinity of Stone Mill."
"Aye," the king replied.
"The way I see it, you have two advantages. First, Tywin Lannister is now having to focus on two fronts: you here in the Riverlands, and Stannis on the seas and to the southeast. He is having to split his resources, so he will not wish to engage a large faction while prioritizing the defense of King's Landing. This is no longer a feud," she said, darting her eyes at Lady Stark. "This is a war for a throne. He would hold it at all costs. The second advantage is no one yet knows that Clegane and I are here. For now, you can use what we know without their knowledge. Instead of a large engagement, choose a small one, or at least a targeted one. Is the Mountain's band worth it to you?"
"Without question," Brynden Tully said from his chair. The Blackfish's face was as dark as his scaled plate. "He has been wreaking havoc on the Riverlands for over a year, attacking our folk."
"Beric Dondarrion had been sent after him," Lenna said carefully. "What has become of him?"
"Killed at the Mummer's Ford," Wendel supplied.
"I am sorry to hear it,' Lenna replied. "He was a good man, and an honorable knight. The rest of his band? Wasn't Thoros of Myr with him?"
"Vanished," Cat Stark said, turning to face her. "Neither hide nor hair has been reported."
Lenna looked at Sandor quizzically, confusion written on her face.
"That makes no sense," he said. "There is nowhere for them to go without being seen. They're somewhere between here and Harrenhal, wouldn't you think?"
Cat Stark shrugged and Robb looked a bit peevish. Sandor looked at them both in disbelief.
"No one thought to search them out?" Lenna asked. "Thoros of Myr would be an asset, any man who had first hand knowledge of the Mountain should be high on your list of people to find."
"There are reports of a small band of marauders." Sandor didn't recognize the quiet voice, his attention drawn to the slender young woman standing at Robb Stark's shoulder. He'd never seen her before, and this was the first time she'd spoken. Like Lenna, she had a long face, but she wasn't nearly as tall, her straight black hair bound up sensibly on the back of her head, a few pieces framing her face. Her eyes were large and so dark as to appear black.
"Where?" Sandor asked.
"Between here and Harrenhal, as you said. I've seen them."
"My apologies," Robb Stark said quietly, looking sheepish. "My wife, Talisa."
"Where did you see them?" Lenna asked, leaning forward in her chair.
"I have been at work here for quite some time. These marauders continue to engage with Lannister forces, their raiding parties in particular. I believe they are on the hunt for your Mountain."
"You don't know that," Robb said lowly, the undercurrents of his voice stormy.
Her dark brows rose in challenge. "And you don't know that they aren't." She turned her attention back to Sandor and Lenna. "They carry no banners. But they leave Stark forces alone. At least they have until recently."
"What has happened?" Lenna asked.
Talisa's nostrils flared and Sandor noted that Robb was looking everywhere but at his wife. "They have taken the part of the smallfolk. They push back raiders from all sides."
"You can't be ordering raids," Lenna said, her voice rising in anger.
"No," Robb barked back, "but you know how men can be." He looked at Sandor in supplication and he couldn't help but let out a gruff breath.
Sandor thought a long moment before he spoke.
"Your grace," he said carefully, "I think you need to talk to these men."
"They will not respond to a summons," Robb bit out.
"Have you tried?" Lenna asked abruptly.
Robb looked abashed, color pinking his cheeks. "No."
"Then you must try," she said firmly. "See if they respond. What you do next will depend on the outcome."
"My lady is right," Sandor said, looking at Robb. "It would be foolish to plan something without good information. He won't continue to bite if we don't bait him well the next time. I say we wait."
"We watch and we wait," Lenna said softly, and he couldn't help but look back at her. When had that phrase become their words?
"And what of you, Lady Helenna," Cat Stark said suddenly. "What do we say about you?"
"Nothing," Sandor replied quickly. "As far as they are concerned, Lenna is still unaccounted for. We both are."
"Why not let others know?" Cat asked. "Surely, your family-"
"They have been informed," Lenna replied. "But keeping my whereabouts quiet, for the time being, is in everyone's best interest."
"Why?"
"Because they are looking for me," Lenna said flatly.
"There were search parties sent out," Sandor said. "They want her back."
"All due respect, but Lady Helenna isn't an heiress, she isn't the daughter of a Lord Paramount. Her father is rich, to be sure, but all this trouble over-"
"Cersei loves her," Sandor growled. "That, and she's too useful to them."
"She's a tutor," Cat said derisively. Sandor decided then and there that he did not like Lady Stark.
"They believe me loyal," Lenna said. "I have never proven to be anything else. I believe, and Clegane and my brother may agree with me, that I have been kept in King's Landing all these years for one purpose alone. To be used as a proxy when such a time comes when Tywin Lannister wants to use my family's naval power."
"You are Lady of White Harbor in name only," Cat ground out.
"Tywin sought to marry me to Tyrion and Jaime Lannister," Lenna replied, "with the intention of making me Lady of Casterly Rock. Explain to me why he would want such a thing when the hatred between he and my father is so thick? The feud with my family is a long one, Lady Stark, and one that even I was unaware of until my last visit home. Tywin is plotting to take the Iron Throne, has been for years, and I was being groomed to take possession of White Harbor once my father and brothers had been either killed or attainted."
"But now-" Cat interrupted.
"This engagement is but a fly in his ointment," Lenna replied stolidly. "They believe me to be loyal, and they believe me to be important for their endgame. They believe me naive enough to do their bidding, have brought me close to them. If you let my whereabouts be known too soon, you will ruin your chances to use me to your advantage. Say nothing until you have talked to these bannerless men."
"She could be an intermediary," Brynden Tully said abruptly. "She was close to the queen, yes? She's ours, but they believe her to be theirs. That could be useful. It will be useful. But not if we tell them where she is. Not right now. They are right, and I've been trying to tell you the same thing. Now is the time to wait. We cannot plan a course of action without more information. These bannerless men might do the trick, they might not. But as surely as they are consolidating their forces, so must we. We are beginning to splinter, and you know it."
Sandor didn't know why everyone was suddenly staring at the table, and he looked to Lenna to find the same expression of confusion on her face.
"That business is settled," Cat Stark said, her voice pitched low. "Edmure will take Robb's place. It has been agreed."
"It has weakened us with the Freys. Period," Brynden said. "And their bannermen. You brokered an alliance between House Frey and House Stark, not between House Frey and House Tully. This young man here understands it, a vow is a vow." He nodded to Sandor, and he felt his cheek heat, casting his hair forward across his face to avoid their scrutiny. "But, as you say, it is done."
"And I'd not undo it," Robb barked. Sandor wished he knew what they were talking about. He was having a hard enough time following their battle plans, let alone the family troubles that were further miring them in confusion and emotion. The young king rose from his chair. "I will send out runners at dawn, see if we can track down these men. If we can, perhaps we can bring them to our side. Perhaps."
"And if we can't?" the Blackfish asked. "Then what?"
Sandor took a deep breath, looking at Lenna. She gazed steadily back at him, that deadened acceptance already dulling her eyes. With a barely perceptible inclination of her head, she gave him what he needed.
"Then I will find him myself," he said at last, looking at Robb and clenching his teeth. "I will hunt him down and bring you his head."
"Alone?"
"If need be," he rasped.
Robb Stark nodded. "Until then, you'll be given a command and a contingent of men to train. Hand to hand, I should think. You'll be expected to meet with me and my commanders daily, and you'll continue to be housed in the barracks. You'll take your meals in the hall with the rest of us."
"Your grace," he said, inclining his head. He could not muster words to express his thanks.
"Lady Helenna, you will attend the queen and my mother, and I would like you to be present at our small council meetings going forward. I would ask, however, that you confine yourself to the Keep itself. We have no reason to believe we have Lannister eyes among us, but it would be best to keep your presence here as quiet as possible until we decide what to do with you."
"Of course, your grace," she said quietly. "I understand."
"Now," Robb said, his face strained with fatigue. "I suggest we adjourn and get some rest."
The others rose to leave, slipping out of the little room in groups of two or three, Robb and his young wife slipping their arms around each other as they went. Sandor's guards dispersed, and he took a deep breath, their departure like the loosening of bonds. He hadn't been able to tear his eyes from Lenna. She still sat beside her brother's chair, her hands folded in her lap as she gazed back at him. Wendel Manderly was watching them both with understanding, and though he drew in a breath as if to speak, he exited the room without a word, leaving them alone.
As soon as the door was closed, Sandor crossed to her in two strides, just in time to wrap her against him as she threw her arms around his neck. She tilted her face to him and he found her mouth with his without pause, her lips parting against him as he kissed her, feeling as if he was drawing breath from her lungs.
"You are well?" he asked, drawing away from her. "Your brother-"
"I'm fine," she answered quickly, "just worried about you."
He passed his hand over her cheek. "You should go. Before they notice."
"It won't matter, not for long," she said quietly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes in hesitation.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I wrote my father," she replied, taking a step back and looking fully into his face. "I have asked him to keep his promise to you."
Just like that, the wind fled from his lungs, leaving him feeling flattened. He knew his mouth had fallen open, that he was gaping at her like a fish. She was still looking up at him, her expression beginning to shift from careful neutrality to hurt and concern. Her eyes narrowed almost unnoticeably, and she cast them down.
His heart ricocheted against his ribs as he lifted his hand to tilt her chin upwards again.
"And if he agrees?" he asked, his voice barely audible, a whisper of gravel.
She shook her head, still not looking at him. "Perhaps my brother is right."
"What do you mean?" he asked, fear and sorrow clutching at his windpipe.
"He said it was foolish, too dangerous-"
"Aye, it would be dangerous, Lenna," he replied. He wanted to shout but I don't care. Wendel was right. Being tied to him would be a millstone around her neck, potentially even a death sentence in the wrong situation. But he didn't care. Not any more. "But do you think it foolish?"
"No," she said, her voice small and almost scared.
"Me either," he said quietly. "It won't be easy. Your father and brother, that's one thing. The rest of these Northerners…"
"I'll handle them," she replied quickly, finally turning her eyes to his, large and solemn and full of light. "That is, if you agree."
"Aye," he said, feeling his lips quirk. "Of course I do. Though I fear you'll regret it."
"Never," she whispered harshly. He bent to her again, cradling her head in his hands, marvelling again over her softness and warmth against him. Once, he would have questioned her, would have denied her out of hand, pushed her away for her own good, but he couldn't say no to her, not now, not anymore.
"You should go," he said quietly, pulling away. She smiled gently and rose again to press her mouth to his before hastening to the doorway, slipping out and down the staircase.
He watched her go with a calm in his breast that he didn't expect. An unlooked for peace where there had just been anger and fear before. Peace, and a ferocious beating of white feathers that made his heart speed and his breath come deep.
Hope.
A/N: This took longer to get out than I anticipated. Thank you for all the well wishes on my move. It had been an unmitigated disaster, but the light is at the end of the tunnel. Just a heads up, I will probably be taking a brief hiatus after the next chapter. Don't worry, there is plenty in it to keep you satisfied for a bit, but I will be travelling abroad for three weeks and not able to spend as much time on this as I might wish to!
As always, thank you for your kind comments, favorites, and follows. They are real pick me ups.
So- any thoughts on where this is going? Got a few big surprises up my sleeve! I love to hear your ideas and predictions. Keep in mind, I take them all to heart! I have a general outline of where we are headed, but always open to input and heading in another direction, hence recent events.
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