Lenna LXVI
She was staring out the window of her room when the knock came. She started, her brow furrowed, wondering who would be looking for her at this time of day. It was still quite early, her breakfast tray still on the little desk she had insisted be brought into her chamber. It was half the size of the one she had in King's Landing, but it dominated the small space, already covered in books and parchments pilfered from Riverrun's respectable library.
She'd found respite in those modest stacks in the week since their arrival, carrying books back to her room to pore over in an effort to keep her movements minimal and her mind occupied. She rarely left her rooms except to attend small council meetings, though she did regularly sit with the young queen and Cat Stark. Lenna had been more than a little flabbergasted to learn that the doe-eyed girl from the small council meeting was her new queen. Though Lenna dreaded being alone with stony-eyed Cat Stark, she rather enjoyed Talisa's company. The first day she'd been nervous as she wondered what on earth they would talk about. She shouldn't have worried. Talisa Stark talked plenty, but she wasn't idle. She and Lenna rolled massive amounts of bandages, sorted and processed herbs brought from the gardens and the woods around the castle, Talisa insistent on overseeing the medical stores of her husband's company herself.
Lenna was grateful for the occupation. Studying was a joy, but she found herself often dreamy as she sat at the little desk and looked out onto the rolling hills of the Riverlands. She was anxious and disquieted when left alone, which was most of the time, always wondering where he was and what he was doing. She'd only seen him at evening meals and during meetings, never finding another moment to speak with him alone. If the way he looked at her across the dinner table was any indication, all forlorn and dark-eyed, he was feeling the strain of it, too.
The knock was a welcome distraction. She went to the door as quickly as she could, eager to see if it would be her brother with a response from their father. She was expecting word from him any day, desperate to hear what he would say. She had been counting the days, knowing that it took a raven three or four days to reach White Harbor from the Riverlands, not to mention three or four on the way back. Even if her father had answered immediately, the earliest she could expect to hear was today or the next.
She flung the door open with great hope, but the face that greeted her on the other side was not her brother, but Talisa Stark. She looked faintly nervous, which Lenna thought strange. It was her Keep, and Lenna had never thought of herself as intimidating in any way.
"I am to visit the Lannister boys," she said softly, without any introduction. "I wondered if you might want to come."
Lenna looked at her with an open mouth. "Lannister boys?"
"Yes," she replied. "Willem and Martyn. They were taken a few weeks ago at the Stone Mill."
"Hostages," Lenna said flatly.
She nodded. "They were squires, but they are children yet, and I had thought it might be good for them to see you."
"Why?"
"Because you know their family," Talisa said quietly. "They are so afraid and unhappy, my lady."
"Lenna," she said distractedly. "Please. And yes, I will come."
Talisa smiled a little more certainly and moved aside so they could walk together. She led her through the halls confidently, and Lenna tried to remember what she'd heard of her quiet companion. A noblewoman of Volantis, a healer who had met Robb working in the aftermath of battle, not caring who it was she was ministering to, Lannister or Stark.
The boys were being held in a small cell. At least it had a real bed, much to Lenna's relief. She nearly cried when she saw them, the weak light from the high dungeon window setting their Lannister curls aglow. The elder looked so like Tommen that she was taken aback. Talisa had brought with her a basket of materials, and drew Martyn to her to inspect a wound on his hand.
"Has it been giving you pain?"
"No," he answered quietly, eyes like beryls looking to Lenna. "Who is that?"
"I'm Helenna Manderly," she replied, stepping forward. "I know your brother, I believe."
"Lancel?" the younger one said. They were boys, perhaps between twelve and fourteen, but young enough to have the look of childhood about them. The little one had been sitting on the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees, but his head went up with his question.
"Yes," Lenna said, coming closer. "May I sit?" The boy nodded and made room for her, and she had to remind herself that she shouldn't reach a hand out to smooth those curls. He looked so young, eyes big and staring as he looked up at her warily, and she cringed internally to realize that Sandor would have been this lad's age when he'd entered the Lannister army. It made her feel ill. "I did not know him well, I'm afraid," she said quietly. "I knew your cousins very well, though. And I have been to Lannisport before."
"You have?" he asked. She smiled, his interest clearly piqued. She remembered how it was when she had gone to King's Landing, so keen to talk about her home and having no one there to listen.
"A long time ago now, but yes. I went to Casterly Rock with the queen once. It is a beautiful place."
"You're one of them, though?" the elder said, not paying any attention to Talisa as she washed his wound and bound it up again.
"My father is Lord Manderly," she replied. "I have been your cousin's lady-in-waiting for ten years. I was...ransomed back." She darted a glance at Talisa Stark. The queen arched a slender brow but did not gainsay her.
Martyn looked at her suspiciously, but he must have decided to accept her lack of definitive answer. "We are waiting to be ransomed."
"Do you have everything you need?" she asked, suddenly concerned. The cell was small and dank. There was a tray with two empty plates on it, a bucket of water with a ladle. "Are you warm enough, do you have enough blankets?"
Martyn nodded. "We're just…"
"What?"
"Bored," he replied. "There's nothing for us to do. We just sit here."
Lenna looked at Talisa. She shrugged. "Let me see what I can do. If I can bring you books, at least."
"That would be nice," Martyn said, a little smile on his face, as if he'd forgotten how to do it.
Talisa finished her task and there was no excuse for them to stay. She collected her basket and together they bid the boys goodbye. Lenna tried to ignore the sound of the iron door closing behind them with a final thud.
They walked silently, but instead of heading back into the Keep, they found themselves walking in the godswood. Lenna had been right. It was a beautiful place, and she marveled at how natural it seemed. The gardens in King's Landing, even in White Harbor, were formal affairs with terraces and organized beds of carefully selected flora. This was like a little piece of the countryside plopped down inside the castle walls.
"This is a beautiful place," she observed, looking at Talisa. The queen smiled back at her.
"You were very kind," she said abruptly. "To those boys. They needed to hear some kindness."
"They're still children," she replied, thinking suddenly of Myrcella, of her brothers, when they had all been young. Even Joffrey had been receptive to love when he was little, and it wasn't uncommon for her to remember the feel of his warm little body in her lap and wonder where it had gone so badly. "They think they are men, but they aren't."
"Your answer, when they asked who you were," Talisa pressed, stopping to look at her companion. "You didn't tell them either way."
Lenna swallowed hard and wondered how much she dared to say. "If they're ransomed back, isn't better for us if they think I'm still loyal?"
"Perhaps," Talisa asked, looking at Lenna from the corner of her eye.
"My only possible use to you all is as an intermediary. It is a tricky line to toe."
"You care for the Lannisters," Talisa said suddenly. "Don't you?"
"Against my better judgement," she said thickly. "I don't know how to explain it. Tyrion and Jaime were kind to me, as was Cersei, in her way. I know they used me, in ways that I'm not even fully aware of, but I would press for a peaceful resolution to this madness. I would rather no one else die over this squabble. The queen once told me that women must be the weavers of peace. I don't know if she really believes that, but I do."
"Selfishness gets in the way. They all claim not to be governed by emotion, but what is honor but a feeling? The highborns make decisions based on what they want, not on what is right," Talisa offered, surprising Lenna. "I think I can assure you that we are in perfect agreement."
"And I always keep in mind something I heard Tywin Lannister say, of all people," she said with a humorless laugh. "Some battles are won with swords and spears, some with quills and ravens. It's about time we tried the latter instead of relying on the former."
The young queen looked back at her with keen intelligence and sympathy sparking in her eyes.
"I believe you are right," she said quietly. "These Northern lords are too married to their honor. It will be their end, if they aren't careful."
Lenna, of course, agreed. "I have heard much talk of honor and vengeance," she said carefully, not wishing to offend Talisa Stark. "But I have not heard much said in defense of the smallfolk. They are the victims here, no matter whose side they are on. When will someone think on them?"
The smile that twisted Talisa's lips was sad. "Never, I fear." She paused for a long moment. "I came to Westeros because I could not bear to stay in Volantis, not having grown up in a place where people were chattel. I swore I would never live in such a place again, nor would I bend to people simply because of their name or their money. And look where I am now."
Her laughter was bitter, and Lenna compulsively reached out to cover her hand where it lay on the handle of her basket.
"You are still doing good," Lenna insisted. "You are still helping those who cannot help themselves. Is that not why you came here?"
Talisa acknowledged this with a dip of her head, a long strand of dark hair falling forward.
"But I have still managed to somehow become a queen," she breathed. "And my marriage- my marriage has caused great upset and unhappiness."
"We cannot control where we love," Lenna replied quietly. "I know that as much as any."
The other woman's eyes scrunched in question and Lenna looked at the clouds as she pondered. The sky was a brilliant blue, so unlike the washed-out color of King's Landing, or even the cold skies of White Harbor. It was difficult for her to remember that there was a war being fought here, that she and this young woman were caught up in something outside of themselves. She struggled to accept that she was being hunted, even though she knew that reports of her betrothed were getting closer and closer to Riverrun.
"I will tell you," she said at last. "Only if you will not breathe a word of it to another soul. I would unburden myself."
Talisa's large dark eyes were fastened on hers, liquid like a hart's, but she drew Lenna along with her through the copses and groves, along the little gurgling stream. With little thought to anyone overhearing, or even the wisdom of such a torrent of words, Lenna told Talisa Stark everything. She started from the beginning, when she was a maid of fourteen or fifteen, friendless in the capital, and ended with their running from King's Landing. She was sure that she had shocked the young woman, her lips parted and her face full of concern. At some point she had reached a hand out and laid it on Lenna's arm.
"I will speak to no one about this unless you bid me," Talisa said. "I am so very sorry for what you have been through, my lady. I'm sure I had no idea. Not really."
Talisa's smile was tight, and Lenna did her best to return it. "There are more pressing concerns, I'm sure," she murmured, but Talisa shook her head.
"No," she replied quietly. "Nothing more pressing in my opinion. We are given one life. We should be allowed to live it, in whatever way we see fit."
Lenna impulsively bent forward and kissed the young queen on the cheek, trying to smile despite herself. Something binding and tight had loosened itself in her, and thought anxiety and worry still clouded her mind, she felt her burden eased, just as she had when she had told Jaime Lannister, when she'd told Tyrion. She couldn't explain why it had such an affect on her, telling the story, but she found herself clear-eyed and calm for the first time in weeks.
"You know," Lenna said quietly, "you never wished to be a queen, ran from such your whole life, but I don't think I've met anyone more suited to it."
Talisa colored, two spots of color blooming in her olive cheek. "Since you have made a confession," she said hesitantly, "I will make one of my own."
"You are with child," Lenna said with a lilt of laughter and a flash of dimple. "Aye, I know."
"How?" Talisa asked, her eyes again round as moons. "I haven't told anyone, not even Robb."
"I may not be a healer, your grace," Lenna said, "but I'm not blind either. You excuse yourself in the mornings and come back looking green, you can't abide certain foods at midday, and you carry yourself so carefully. I had thought you were merely graceful, much more graceful than I, but no. You are deliberate and cautious, like you are protecting something."
She colored even more darkly. "I want to tell them, but I wanted to be sure."
"All of my congratulations, your grace," Lenna said with a broad smile. "Tell him. He needs such happy news."
"Do you think the others-"
"Not that I have heard," Lenna replied, "but I do not see them often."
Talisa shot her a look of regret at this. "I do not like how they have kept you secreted away."
Lenna shrugged. "It isn't all bad," she replied. "I have been studying. Trying to find a solution to this fix."
"Have you heard of the new developments? The business with the Freys."
"But it is mended, is it not?" Lenna asked with a shake of her head. "Lord Edmure is to take Robb Stark's place as bridegroom, restoring the alliance."
Talisa's brow knotted and she looked down. "Yes, that's what we thought. But Frey has changed his terms."
"Whatever do you mean? He already agreed-"
"Do you think he cares? The North broke its contract, and now he is changing his terms. If we cannot meet them, he has threatened to break the trust altogether and pull his men from our armies."
Heaviness settled on her shoulders again, as real as any cloak or burden. Lenna reminded herself that she was just four and twenty, and she should not feel so very old as she did at that moment.
"What does he demand?" she asked with more calm than she felt.
"Harrenhal," Talisa said quietly. "He wants Robb to take it and turn it over to his control. He would have purview over the Trident."
With a great sigh, Lenna let out a breath. "Of course he would want that. Though he should know better than to want Harrenhal."
"Why?"
"It is simply too big," Lenna replied. "The lands that surround it are not capable of sustaining it when fully manned. And it takes an enormous force to keep it operating."
"It doesn't even matter," Talisa replied with a sharp exhalation. "How could we take it? We have good numbers, from what I have heard, but they have the stronger position. Tywin Lannister has pulled most of his forces to the south, leaving just the Mountain and his men, but the fortress itself is nearly impenetrable. Even with superior numbers it would be difficult if not impossible."
The Mountain. Of course. Dogged at every step. A wash of cold horror came over her like a deluge, and she could see nothing but the brothers as they hacked away at each other at the Hand's Tourney so long ago. Loras Tyrell had been the catalyst that day, but there was something far darker, more dangerous that brought Sandor and his brother to death-blows. She had no doubt that they both meant to kill the other that day, and she had a flickering of a terrible, awful idea.
Reports had still been arriving of raiding parties throughout their territory on the River Road. Gregor Clegane was looking for his bride and his brother, the story of their flight from King's Landing still a scandal. She hated to hear the accounts at small council meetings, to hear how they had, in fact, been written into a ballad. Only the ballad was a tragedy, Lenna cast as the abducted maiden and Sandor as the villain. And her idea, terrible as it was, would put both of them into harm's way again.
"I can think of a way," Lenna said quietly. "But no one is going to like it. I don't like it."
They were both of them quiet as they returned to the Keep, Talisa in her own head as Lenna turned the idea that she'd been honing over in her mind like a stone in a river, smoothing it and rounding it until it was as polished as she could manage. It was a heavy thought, weighty and risky, but if wielded correctly it could solve two dilemmas at once.
When the knock came an hour before dinner, Lenna opened the door expecting to see Talisa or Cat Stark. Talisa was indeed there, but Lenna didn't anticipate the other figure standing behind her.
Sandor stood at the queen's shoulder looking decidedly nervous. Lenna's heart swelled that he should be there, that her friend should have brought him to her.
"I thought the two of you might like to talk," Talisa said quietly. "We'll see you both at the small council meeting after dinner."
With a wistful smile, the queen left them looking at each other awkwardly across Lenna's threshold. It took her a long moment to realize that he was still standing in full sight outside of her door.
"Please," she said quietly, "come in."
Sandor LXVI
"You told her?" he asked, taking two steps into her little room and halting in the middle of the floor. He didn't know how he felt about it, didn't have words to communicate the satisfaction and the worry that had come over him when Robb Stark's young wife had sought him out in the training yards the hour before. She had bid him change and come with her, and he'd barely had enough time to put on a clean set of clothes before she summoned him again.
Walking through the Keep with Talisa Stark had made him feel utterly naked. All eyes followed them as they made their way through the passageways, the queen wending on such a convoluted path that he had no idea where he was or where they were going. When she stopped in front of the nondescript chamber door, she looked up at him with a strange little smile and he knew, he just knew what lay on the other side.
Lenna answered it, a shawl spread across her shoulders and her hair tumbling around her ears. It had already grown out quite a bit, nearly brushing her shoulders. He hadn't seen her besides small council meetings, and they hadn't had another opportunity to speak alone. It had been an entire week, and in that time he had come to realize just how much he had come to rely on at least seeing her every day. He couldn't recall a single time he'd gone so long with so little contact, except perhaps the boar hunt that killed King Robert.
That the queen knew surprised him, he would not have thought Lenna would have confided in anyone save her brother. Wendel had been looking at him appraisingly for the past week, the portly lord's eyes often lingering with an expression that had nothing to do with Sandor's contributions to their meetings. He felt like he was on trial, every little gesture judged. He did, however, believe that he was passing muster, if Wyman's smirks and jokes were a sign.
"I did," Lenna replied, closing the door and drawing the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. "Are you angry with me?"
He turned to look at her, unable to stop himself from dragging his fingertips along her jaw and taking a step closer to her.
"No," he replied. "Surprised. Not angry."
She walked into him, wrapping her arms around his chest and leaning her cheek to his breast. He buried his nose in the top of her head, closing his eyes and inhaling her. She smelled like lavender and honey, like a balm. He no longer gave a shit that he felt foolish, drinking her in like that, still starving for every little scrap he could scrounge. He'd let that fear of appearing stupid cost him too dearly.
"I didn't think she'd bring you to me," Lenna said, pressing her sharp little chin into his breastbone so she could look up at him. "It was a kindness."
His mouth quirked ever so slightly at that as he drank in the sight of her face so close to his. With just a moment's hesitation he bent to her, strangely unsure. She smiled against his mouth, hands twining around his neck just as they always did and he let out a long breath through his nose, content.
She drew him to sit on the chest at the foot of her bed. They both eyed the mattress warily. He was expected at dinner and had no intention of drawing attention to himself if he should be late, distracted by what they could do in that bed. He let himself be coddled, Lenna bringing him a glass of wine, stoking the fire as she prattled away, interrogating him as he tried to answer her questions as best he could. He saw her nervousness for what it was, and it made him smile. She was just as unsettled by their separation as he was, necessary as it had been. He barely was able to formulate a response to her barrage before she lobbed another at him, her movements quick and almost jerky. When she passed him on the way to her desk to do gods knew what, he caught her by the wrist and drew her instead in his lap. He leaned against the bedpost, tucking her against him in a way that reminded him strongly of their meetings in King's Landing's library, enjoying the expansion of her ribs against his arm as she breathed. The frisson of disquiet in her limbs calmed and she finally relaxed against him.
"Have they been treating you well?" she asked at last, craning to see him and so close their noses almost touched.
"Aye," he replied. "Called the guards off, at least. You?"
She nodded. "I've been trying to keep myself busy. There has been much to think about, none of it cheerful." She kissed him briefly. "I've missed you."
"Aye," he replied, tightening his arms. "We've been trying to come up with some sort of plan. These Northerners are difficult."
She laughed. "We are rather stubborn. I have concocted an idea. You will not like it."
The mirth did not reach her eyes, they were troubled and dark, stormy like a sea-squall.
"Tell me," he said simply.
With each word, he felt weighted down, as if he was being pressed. He'd seen that done once, in the Black Cells, and it had made even him hurt with detached horror. They were trying to extract a confession, had spread the poor man out on his back on the stone floor, a heavy door placed on his chest. It had been loaded with heavy stones until the man confessed. Not that it mattered much, as he died anyway. Sandor felt like each sentence, clever as it was, was a weight of fifty pounds, and when she paused for a moment, he stopped her.
"No more, not right now," he said softly, cupping her cheek in his hand and trying to savor the feel of her skin. She nested her cheek against his palm and he felt the dimple in her cheek deepen for a moment.
He laid his lips against her hair and pulled her closer. He didn't want to talk. He didn't have anything in particular that he wanted to say, he certainly didn't want to address all that was wrong about her idea, but he had spent the better part of a week in a frustrated maelstrom of want and worry, unable to speak with her let alone touch her. He spoke how he did best, with his hands. Soft touches gave way to firmer stroking until she was astride him, her mouth parted above his as she thrust her fingers into his hair, his hands roaming greedily along the lines of her sides and grasping at her rear. He wished they had more time, was tempted to hike up her skirts and take her, especially when her hands moved to his waistband trailed against the skin below his navel, making him jerk upwards against her and wringing a pleased sound from her throat that was half giggle, half groan.
He nearly dropped her when the door opened unexpectedly. Lenna stiffened and pulled away from him quickly, coming to rest unsteadily on her feet, her eyes still dark and clouded, her lips and cheeks reddened. He knew he was breathing heavily, convinced that his own aspect wasn't dissimilar, but he made himself move with deliberation, rising from his seat and straightening to his full height to face the seething anger of Cat Stark.
She was standing frozen in the doorway, her hand that had pushed open the door still poised in the air as she gaped at them. Lenna straightened her skirts, folding her hands calmly in front of her as if they hadn't just been caught grinding against each other in what the lordlings might call a compromising situation. If he wasn't so furious himself, he might have found it funny.
Cat Stark didn't find it the least bit amusing, her face transforming from palest white to a most unflattering shade of puce in a matter of moments. She spluttered and spat, words seeming to die in her mouth, her hands grabbing fistfuls of her skirts in her fury.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her eyes vengeful and full of rage as she looked at Sandor. He hadn't succeeded in winning Lady Stark over, but at least she was able to look at him now. Previously, she hadn't been able to meet his eye. Now she was looking back at him with fire in her gaze.
"Lady Stark-" Lenna tried, stepping forward.
"I asked the Hound a question," she replied, raising a hand in an action he was sure infuriated Lenna. "What are you doing in Lady Helenna's rooms."
"What did it look like to you?" he retorted, fists clenching at his thighs, unable to keep himself from prodding her. She knew exactly what they were doing, he didn't see any reason to pretend that she didn't. More than that, he hated that she was speaking to them like errant children. Lenna's mouth was a thin line and the fierce expression in her eyes would have felled even him.
"I don't want to say what it looked like," Cat Stark snarled. "I can't imagine why Lady Helenna would tolerate such a gross liberty-"
"And I could ask why you felt it appropriate to barge into my personal rooms without even bothering to knock," Lenna barked back, her little fists tightened into balls so tight her knuckles had gone white. Fuck, but she was lovely when she was angry. "Common courtesy-"
"Common courtesy would prevent you from entertaining a man like this in your rooms, alone, while under my roof."
"Isn't your roof, my lady," Sandor replied, cocking his good brow at her, breathing slowly to contain his rage, nostrils flaring like a bull. "It's your brother's. While he is away, isn't it your son's?"
"You have my word that we will take this up with the king. Now," she spat out. "You should be taken out into the courtyard and flogged, and you, my lady," she turned the full brunt of that heated gaze on Lenna, "you should be ashamed of such. You are the maiden daughter of a lord, not some Southern whore."
Not a maiden, but never a whore. He took a step forward in a way he fully intended to be menacing, perversely satisfied to see the flash of fear in Lady Stark's eyes as she drew back but half a step.
Lenna was surprising collected in the face of Cat Stark's rage. "You do wrong to speak to me so. I am not ashamed, Lady Stark. Not of him. Never of him."
Cat Stark spluttered again. "I must ask you to come with me. I was sent to fetch you to the small council, but-"
"Let's get it over with then," Sandor said, taking a step toward the door. To his surprise, Lenna came to stand beside him and slipped her hand into his.
"By all means," she replied, then gestured to Cat Stark to lead the way. The older woman looked back in what Sandor could only call shocked revulsion, taking in the sight of their joined hands with an open expression of disdain. Without a word, Lady Stark whirled away and prowled before them with her back rigid, the long auburn braid that fell down her back seeming to tremble with its own anger.
The muscles in his shoulders bunched, and he could feel a headache starting between his shoulder blades, rising up through his neck. He tightened his grip on her fingers in his and leveled his head down, anger beginning to truly bubble in his gut. He wanted to hit something, anything to alleviate the burning in his veins, the frustration and the absolute sense of wounded justice. Who was Cat Stark to look at them like that, all indignation and ire? He shouldn't have been in her rooms, but what choice was left to them? After all, it was a much smaller matter than what she had done. Sandor hadn't started a war.
A trembling of Lenna's arm against his made him glance down at her. He was bewildered to find her pressing her palm against her mouth, her eyes crinkled and tears running silently from their corners. Something in his chest constricted in hurt and shame to see her so embarrassed she was weeping, until the hitch in her shoulders told him that she wasn't upset. She was laughing so hard she was crying.
She caught his eye and shook her head, squeezing his hand in hers and fighting against the continuing onslaught of laughter. He took a deep breath, not seeing any particular humor in being called like an errant squire and a kitchen maid caught rutting in the stables before the King of the North by the boy's bloody mother. No, he was still incensed, but he was glad that Lenna seemed to be taking it in stride.
Cat burst into the small council room with unbridled fury, flinging the door open in the same entitled gesture that had spelled their discovery. Of all the years they had successfully snuck around with so much more at stake than an upbraiding, and it was now that they were caught. The bitterness and desperate hilarity of it wasn't lost on him completely.
"Robb," Cat Stark began, "I demand that you send this man out of this Keep at once. He has molested Lady Helenna and I will not brook his presence here another moment."
Robb was bent over a map, his usual stance these days, and he looked up at his mother in startled confusion. His young wife was standing at his shoulder, and she raised her eyes to Lenna and then to Sandor in turn. He wondered if she would speak for them.
"What are you talking about, mother?" Robb asked, straightening, looking Lenna and Sandor up and down.
"I found him in her rooms, and he was…he was taking liberties that a man shouldn't take of a lady, especially a man like him."
A man like him. That would always be the millstone around his neck. He'd spent his life hiding from what being 'a man like him' meant, but he hadn't stopped to think too terribly hard on what others thought it was.
"I took him to her rooms," Talisa said. "I thought they would want to speak to each other."
"They were more than speaking," Cat growled. "Whatever would make you think they would want to see each other?"
"Lady Helenna told me," Talisa replied. "In confidence. She-they- feared a reaction exactly like this one. I am sorry to say that I just betrayed her confidence in speaking without her leave. I beg your forgiveness, friend."
Sandor watched as a look of sympathy and understanding passed between the two young women.
"There is nothing to forgive," Lenna replied simply, and she might have said more but she was cut off.
"You must be out of your senses," Cat Stark railed, "to allow this man to touch you. He is not your equal, and your sully yourself-"
"He is my intended," Lenna said suddenly, and Sandor's chest expanded. "I have written to my father and expect his word any day now."
"Your father would never consent-"
"Yes, actually, I do believe he would," Wendel said. Sandor hadn't even noticed him, he'd been so quiet sitting in his chair near the window. A flood of heat chased through the rivulets of the scar as he colored, guilt and hot shame at being exposed before her brother making him go crimson.
"From what Lady Helenna has told me," Talisa Stark said gently, her voice musical and low, "there is no question of their intentions."
"You cannot allow this, Robb," Lady Stark hissed. "She is a highborn, Northern lady and he is..he is…"
"Stop," Lenna said suddenly, and the laughter that had earlier made her shake had been replaced by trembling rage. "Stop right there. Say no more, Lady Stark. I will not listen to anything you have to say against him. What has he done to you, I wonder, to make you hate him so? He was Cersei's guard, and then Joffrey's, yes, but hasn't he pledged himself to your service now? Hasn't be risked himself for me time and again? What more would you have of him to convince you that he is more than his face or his reputation? What more would you have of me?"
"I would have expected more of you," Cat Stark bit out, her voice like venom, her thinned lips not unlike those of a snake. "More than to align yourself with a blackguard and a Lannister dog."
Lenna had the grace to smile. "I have expected many things, my lady, of the people who claim to care for me. My blood and my father's allies. I do not fault them for falling short. But I will not be ashamed of the man who acted rather than stood by, who was brave and honest. He has killed for me, and he would die for me, and you lot would have let me stay in King's Landing until my head was mounted on its walls. You would have bewailed my fate, as you do your daughters', while doing so little to act."
"That is a strong charge," Robb bit back. "I am trying-"
"You are trying to keep a throne, your grace," Lenna replied. "And you are losing it. You have made decisions based on emotion instead of reason, and while I would never fault you from loving where you do, you have become an oathbreaker. You began this war to avenge your brother, then to avenge your father, and now- what is it you are fighting for, your grace? Is it your throne or your people? If it is your throne, be honest about it. If it is your people, do something to protect them." She was beautiful in a righteous rage, eyes blazing a brighter green in her flushed face, the lengthening curls fanned out like a dark cloud, like kelp, around her face. Her feature were sharp, almost hawkish, and he felt a surge of fierce pride.
"Now," she said, her tone diplomatic again but brooking no opposition, "if my father consents, I will marry Sandor Clegane. It is my wish and my will, though there was a time when he would have fought me."
"Aye," Sandor said quietly. "I would have. No longer."
"She's a lovely, highborn woman," Cat Stark exploded, "what reason could you possibly give-"
He mastered himself in an attempt not to strike the table with his fists at the sheer hypocrisy, his lips parting involuntarily in disbelief and indignation.
"Because of shit just like this," he growled, his voice heavy and labored. "Because it would make all of you cunts turn your nose up at her, think her tainted to be associated with the likes of me. Do you believe I haven't thought of what could happen to her, married to me? Do you think I'm that fucking selfish or stupid? I've already seen the way you look at her. I don't give a fuck how you treat me, I stopped giving a damn long ago, but you will not look down on her. You will not hurt her."
"And if her father gives his permission?" Talisa asked, and Sandor was surprised that it was the queen who spoke. When she looked at him, her eyes were almost tender, just as they had been earlier that day.
"I will not refuse," he said, looking only at the young queen.
"Robb-" Cat Stark protested.
"Aren't there more important things for us to discuss?" Lenna asked them all. "This business is ours, ours and my father's. A private matter."
"It could impact us all," Cat Stark ground out. "Word reaching the queen that you had married their traitor. Didn't you want to be of use as a diplomat? To serve as an intermediary? Will she really speak with you, will any of them, once this is done?"
Sandor sobered, and looked down at Lenna though he didn't want to hear the truth in it.
"I will have him," she said quietly. "And I will wait no longer. If my father gives his blessing, it will be done. With or without your leave, Lady Stark."
"Your mother-"
"My mother would have wanted me happy," Lenna replied. "She defied them to marry my father. My father defied Tywin Lannister to marry her. As far as I can tell, perhaps it is just a Manderly trait, marrying against Lannister wishes."
"What?" Robb asked, looking to his mother. Cat Stark had prowled away, hugging herself tightly and staring into the hearth,
"Tywin wanted my father to marry his sister, Genna," Lenna went on. "He refused, he loved my mother. It started a long series of events that eventually led my father and Tywin to sever entirely."
"They were friends?" Robb said in piqued disbelief. "Your father and Tywin Lannister were friends."
"Almost brothers," she said quietly. "I told you before. Tywin would use me as a proxy to control White Harbor."
"Even more reason that such a union is inadvisable," Cat spat.
"All due respect, Lady Stark, but you all don't get to lecture me about the inadvisability of my marriage," Lenna barked. "I broke no marriage pact. I was betrothed to the Mountain against my will, such agreements made under duress are null. You all entered willingly into your contract with Walder Frey. He's a slimy eel, and I would never have agreed to begin with, though I understand why you did, your grace, and I understand even more powerfully why you broke it." She had turned her focus from Cat Stark to young Robb. The king looked distinctly uncomfortable, almost chastened. "Your wife told me this afternoon that we should be able to lead the lives we choose, and I agree with her wholeheartedly. But you cannot point fingers at us without taking responsibility for the situation that your own marriage has cost your cause. Now. Do you want to solve the actual problem at your door, or do you want to continue to beleaguer me and cast aspersions at Clegane for wanting nothing more than what you already have?"
Robb had gone red-faced and Talisa pale. Sandor's shoulders had gone back and his chin up while she spoke, her words like a volley of arrows. He met Cat Stark's gaze defiantly until the lady looked away from him. He grunted in victory, knowing that she would say no more.
Lenna took in a deep breath, and Sandor felt her fingers go cold in his and she slipped her hand away, folding them in front of her in a stance he knew well. She leveled her gaze at Robb Stark in that unfathomably calm way of hers, pinning the young man with her gaze.
"The queen told me today that the terms had changed. That the Freys are demanding Harrenhal," she said.
"We will figure out-" Robb ground out, his jaw set and teeth grating loud enough to hear. He looked around at his council, but Manderly and Tully were both stonily looking at the table.
No plan then, none but hers.
"You have less than two months," Lenna said bluntly. "Now is the time to figure it out. And I had an idea," she said with care. "You will not like it, but it is an idea."
The atmosphere in the room changed entirely. The lords and ladies had all been so focused on their scandal that they had forgotten what they were actually there to do, and the revelation of this change in what was believed to be a concluded business had thrown them, an unexpected, cold wave of helplessness tugging on them all like a riptide.
"What is it?" Robb asked, a desperate hope in his tone that made Sandor shift in discomfort. "What kind of an idea."
She would not look at Sandor, keeping her eyes settled only on the young king. His pulse began to quicken, not in the way she usually inspired. He was cold, suddenly freezing, and he clenched his jaw against the threat of his teeth chattering and the tremble in his belly.
"I said earlier that we should bait them, look for a way to draw them toward you so you could lead a decisive strike and take the Mountain's vanguard, at least to stop the raiding here in the Riverlands. Tywin grows complacent if he has left only the Mountain in Harrenhal. He has pulled more than half of his thirty thousand south, leaving a skeleton force to hold the castle. He does not believe you will move against him. Even if you did, the fortress itself would be difficult to take, even with your full forces. So you must bait the Mountain, and if need be, bait Tywin Lannister."
"We have nothing to bait them with," Robb said in frustration.
"But you do," Lenna said, her voice carefully reasonable. "You have me. And you have Clegane."
Sandor grunted, fists clenching.
"There has to be a way to keep you out of it," he said at last. "I just got you away from them."
"I will be away from them," Lenna replied. "How are they to know that I am not? I will write the letters myself. They know my hand." Sandor did not like the idea of Lenna playing their games. "We must do something," Lenna said quietly, laying her hand atop his where it was fanned out on the table, his knuckles and fingertips pale. "We must take Harrenhal. If the Freys pull their bannermen from Robb's armies, we lose nearly half our forces. Tywin has only ever kept a part of his forces encamped there, but he has more. They are in the position of strength now, and we do not know if they will send for Dornishmen."
"They have also formed an alliance with the Reach. Joffrey is to marry Margaery Tyrell."
Sandor fumed silently. He was not used to being on a losing side.
"You must establish some kind of footing, some way to keep the North separate from them. You are already refusing to side with Stannis. If you are able to lure my brother out of Harrenhal, leave the rest to me."
"Even if we were to take him," Robb said forlornly, "his force would remain."
"The men will lose heart without a commander," Lenna replied quietly. "It is why we thought Stannis had won. Joffrey retreated into the Keep and his defenders lost their will. If it hadn't been for the late arrival of Tywin and Mace Tyrell, the king would have lost that battle."
"She's right," Sandor said miserably. "I left when I thought we would lose. I had to get her out. I couldn't protect her if they'd killed me, if Stannis had won. Men were abandoning their posts left and right, the fight gone out of them. They will be vulnerable without a commander and so far from Tywin. It could work. If they think you are willing to trade her back, and if he is required to fetch her, he will ride out."
"But even if we succeeded in drawing him out, isolating him, we wouldn't be able to hide our forces. They'll have scouts even if they the numbers are depleted," Brynden Tully said. He'd been largely silent, square fingers stroking his beard, the craggy face crumpled in thought.
"Which is why these marauders-this Brotherhood without Banners, yes?- would be useful to us. If we could only get them to talk to us," Lenna said quietly. "They are obviously very good at going unnoticed."
Sandor had an idea, one just as terrible as Lenna's and about as liable to work. But, if his worked, then perhaps he would be able to prevent her being used as such an enticement.
"Bait the Brotherhood, too, then," he said plainly. "One, then the other."
Lenna looked at him in confusion. "We have nothing they want."
"Sure we do," he replied. "You have a Clegane. They want one, I'd wager they'd taken the other, too."
"You are not your brother," she replied forcefully, brow furrowed and voice harsh.
"I am a Clegane. My brother hunts them, just as he hunts us. They would want me. I've had to deal with being his kin my entire life. They won't see much of a difference between us. But I might be able to at least reason with them."
"Sandor-" Lenna protested, and he heard the fear in her voice. He didn't know how to tell her, especially in front of them, that if they didn't move soon all thoughts of a future would be pure folly.
"You're right," Robb said sternly. "I don't like it, but I see few other options if we are to keep the Freys. We will try as you suggest, Clegane, and then decide from there."
"And if a raven comes from my father in the meantime?" Lenna asked, her voice higher than usual with a slight shake that made him wince. "What then?"
"You shall have your way, my lady," Robb said quietly. Sandor found it difficult to breathe, hope and dread mixing as thick mud, slowing his every thought. "I won't stand between you."
A/N: Again, not what I'd planned out. Hope to get the next bit out to you by the weekend. You want what's coming, but it needs a bit of polishing. That chapter was originally supposed to be this one, but the plot fairies intervened. I'm interested to see where they take us.
Hope everyone is doing well. Review, please. They make me happy.