Chapter 18

"How could you," Nysa shouted, throwing the doors open and drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

The Lords turned silent and when she saw the eyes of Robb, Smalljon, Lyra and the many others who had come - she knew that they understood her anger. Lord Karstark had told her everything. Torrhen had been guarding Ser Jamie. Though no one knows what prompted Torrhen to enter the make-shift cell, Torrhen did and was strangled to death by Ser Jamie. He escaped, killing a couple other guards. And upon being captured again, somehow had persuaded Lady Catelyn to release him. Nysa wanted to know who had killed Torrhen. And Lord Karstark was all too happy to inform her of what happened. Nysa turned to see Arya narrow her eyes at her.

"Your mother released the Kingslayer!"

Arya turned sharply towards her mother. "He attacked father! Why would you..."

"Arya, I wanted to get you and Sansa back," Lady Catelyn pleaded.

"So you released him," Nysa questioned.

Lady Catelyn turned to her as her eyes watered. "You don't understand, Nysa."

"Oh but I do," she stalked forward. "He pushed Bran out of the tower! Queen Cersei admitted that to your husband," she stated. "He attacked Lord Stark! He ordered the Lannister guards to kill Stark guards, to kill my brother, to kill me," she shouted. "Did you know that he did those things?"

"Ser Jamie admitted to pushing Bran when he was our prisoner," Lady Catelyn replied.

"Then, how could you do it," Arya asked. "How could you do it after everything that he did?"

Lady Catelyn shook her head. "I wanted you and Sansa back."

"And what made you think that I was even there," Arya questioned.

"Lord Tyrion sent your father's body back to me," Lady Catelyn told her. "Petyr came with it and told me that both my girls were at King's Landing. That if I did this..."

"Petyr," Nysa narrowed her eyes, "as in Petyr Baelish? He betrayed Lord Stark, betrayed your husband," Nysa protested.

"No," Lady Catelyn shook her head.

"He stood there with a smile on his face," Nysa continued forward, "as King Joffrey ordered for your husband to be executed. He did nothing to stop it!" Lady Catelyn continued to shake her head. "He just stood there and let it happen!"

"Petyr has been my friend, a brother to me since I..."

"Well, your childhood friend was no friend at all! He lied about Tyrion Lannister being the one who hired the assassination on Bran." Lady Stark's eyes widened at that. "Oh yes, I had a talk with Lord Stark and he told me that Littlefinger made you believe that it was Tyrion Lannister."

"He was my friend. I had no need to doubt him!"

"Did you even think to ask questions?"

"Why would she question him," Robb stood up this time and turned to her. "He was her friend - their only ally in King's Landing. He kept my mother safe when she went there to warn my father. He gave her no other reason to suspect that he'd lie to her like that."

"You're letting your mind cloud your judgement. Lord Tyrion was not even there when Bran fell," Nysa countered. "He had joined the hunt!"

"Perhaps you're letting your mind cloud you judgment," Robb shouted back at her. "My mother doesn't need to defend herself to you!"

"And you agree with her release of the Kingslayer," she questioned as Robb took a step back. He glanced at Lord Umber and Lord Stevron Frey who were the only ones in the room. They knew, especially Lord Umber, that Robb was not particularly joyful about the Kingslayer's release.

Before either of them could comment on Robb's silence, Arya stood up slowly. "Littlefinger was here," Arya added as both Nysa and Robb turned towards them. "He spoke with Lord Tywin about an alliance with House Tyrell."

"What does that have to do with right now," Robb asked impatiently.

"He mentioned that he was already there to seek peace with Renly," Nysa sighed, wondering too where Arya was going with this.

"And that he had gone there under Lord Tyrion's bidding," Arya finished as realization hit Nysa. "Lord Tyrion made a promise with mother, a sign of good faith that he'd return Father's bones to her, after his release."

Nysa looked away as Robb continued to stare at Arya. "So, not only has she allowed one Lannister to slip past her, she's allowed two."

"I did it the first time and Lord Tyrion allowed your Father's bones to come back to me, to Winterfell," Lady Catelyn stood up, shakily but certain this time. "Littlefinger made me believe not just in his friendship but also in the Lannister's words that if I returned Ser Jamie to King's Landing, then I would get the girls back."

Robb shook his head. "You made pacts behind my back."

"I did it for my daughters."

"But Arya has not been in King's Landing for months, mother!"

"How was I to know? Sansa's letter did not speak of her and..."

"Because you went against my word," Robb insisted. "Right now Stannis Baratheon marches on the Capital. That means that the Tyrells would fight against Stannis. They would not care that they are siding with the Lannisters, as long as they get rid of Stannis. Petyr Baelish was sent by Lord Tywin to manipulate them. And I'm sure that he was there to do the same with you."

"Robb," Lady Catelyn shook her head.

"No!"

"No one may agree with what I did. But I did what I had to do in order to protect my children. I am their Mother," Lady Stark shouted, turning to Nysa with tears upon her face. "You would do anything for your children, Nysa. When you have a child of your own, you will understand." She sobbed and looked away from her.

"Torrhen is dead," Nysa said softly causing Lady Stark to look back at the young maiden.

"I am sorry about that."

"Ser Jamie killed Torrhen! He murdered him," Nysa screamed. "I may not be a mother! But I'll do anything for the ones I love! And Lord Baelish took that away, Ser Jamie took that away, you took that away!"

A hand came out, faster than she expected it to. Lord Frey stood up as well as Lord Umber. Lady Catelyn gasped and pulled her hand back. Nysa reached a shaky palm up to her face where Lady Catelyn had slapped her and noted how her face had heated up in both shame and anger.

"Nysa, I..."

Nysa's eyes started to water. She'd had men - harsh and cruel guards from the South - cause her physical harm. She'd never thought that Lady Catelyn - a woman who had practically raised her - would ever do such a thing.

"I understand that you are upset and grieving for Torrhen, Nysa, truly I do," Lady Catelyn went to touch her shoulder but Nysa stepped back. "You forget that I lost my betrothed, too. He was taken by yo..." Lady Catelyn stopped abruptly and looked away. "I lost my betrothed. And now I've lost my husband. I know your grief, Nysa, more than you could ever know. You may not agree with me. You may not even like me right now. But I stand by what I did. Robb knows how to fight in battles. His Lords know how to command their men. But all I know is my family and I want them safe. So, I will do what I know is best for each and everyone of them."

"Is that where you get your skill from?"

Nysa turned to see Ser Perwyn nodding towards Lady Dacey. "She is highly skilled, Ser Perwyn. I would not be caught leering at her."

Perwyn snorted before walking forward. "I like my women strong, so I suppose it would not matter." He came to stand by Nysa. "It is good to see you again."

"And it is good to see you," she nodded before turning back to Lyra who swung her sword, cutting the training dummy in half. "Now what am I to practice on," Nysa called out, teasing her friend.

"You and I could spar," Ser Perwyn bowed to her before walking towards the open yard. He got into his stance and looked opposite of where he stood to see that Nysa did not follow him. "What's wrong?"

"She did not want to fight against a man just yet," Dacey narrowed her eyes at him.

Ser Perwyn scoffed and shook his head. He lifted his hand to point at her. "You've killed the Mountain, a feat in itself that is no small task." He paused and chuckled. "Men here in the Riverlands have longed to plunge their swords into him for the cruelty he brought down upon all of us," he put his hands out as half of the yard cheered. "And yet none of them got the chance," he said quieting them down, "but you," Ser Perwyn's sword lifted to Nysa. "You are ready."

Nysa unsheathed her sword as Ser Perwyn's eyes narrowed at the steel. That was the Valyrian steel sword that Torrhen Karstark had been carrying on his journey. He did not know much about it - only that it belonged to the young woman standing in front of him. She no longer wore the same dress she had worn earlier this morning when they had arrived at Harrenhal. No, Nysa wore breeches and a tunic - black and form-fitting.

Gendry walked towards Nysa then and handed her a small black helmet. It appeared delicate and the design was intricate - it could have acted as a mask instead. But the more the others thought about it, the smith - Gendry - had made it that way for Nysa. Tails of black fur - or small metal chains, whatever they were - hung from the sides. She looked a little like death and Perwyn had to shake his head to focus on the maiden before him.

She charged at him first - sloppily, Perwyn had to admit.

He defended himself for the most part. She didn't have a tactic or particular skill when it came to using the sword.

Finally, he decided to end it and with a couple moves was able to sweep her off her feet.

Nysa screamed angrily and scurried to get up. Was he trying to make a fool out of her? She charged again only to get deflected by him. This continued on until finally, Nysa tore her brother's dagger from her boot and ran into Ser Perwyn, tackling him to the ground. She had just lifted the dagger up into the air to stab him when she saw that he was smiling.

"You were mocking me, this whole time," she practically shouted at him.

"I was not mocking you," he chuckled before moving his leg and nudging her off. "You were doing that on your own."

"How dare you," Lyra went to step forward but her sister stopped her.

"Your friend here charges without thinking," Ser Perwyn nodded to Nysa before moving her hand that held the dagger towards him, "but you do this as though it were second nature."

"The last time I sparred using the sword was against my Uncle," Nysa looked away sadly.

"The knight who went back to Winterfell," Ser Perwyn asked as Nysa nodded.

She had been told by Lord Karstark that her Uncle had fallen by the hand of Theon Greyjoy. He had gone back to Winterfell, under Robb's urging. Neither of them knew that Theon had betrayed his King, that Lord Greyjoy had planned to attack the North. Now she held the sword that she had refused to learn when she was a child and swore that she'd plunge it into Theon's gut.

"My Uncle taught everyone in Winterfell how to use a sword, even that Greyjoy."

Perwyn smiled in understanding before moving her in another stance. "The best thing that I can tell you to do is to treat your sword as though it were a dagger. Remember that you have a keen eye for a person's fighting styles and you can determine which moves they use the most. Just as you did with the joust," he pointed out, "watch your opponent first and then determine what would be best for you to do. Now," he nodded to the sword, "what skills do you use with a dagger?"

"I've never really taken to a sword," Nysa answered honestly. "My Uncle would have a headache trying to teach me. My brother said that with a dagger, I only need to strike at three places. If I'm low to the ground," she knelt to show where she would plunge her sword into Ser Perwyn who nodded.

"Most men don't have armor there," he praised her brother's reasoning.

"If the guard is taller than me, then," she twisted the sword and held the point towards Perwyn's throat, "thrust up." She received another nod of approval. "And if he's too close, has me up against the wall," their bodies came to press against one another.

A small jab came to Ser Perwyn's side and he smiled. "You gut him," he added, "did your brother tell you to twist the dagger..."

"As I pull out," she nodded, "and never let it go."

"Same thing with your sword," Ser Perwyn gestured to it, as he took a step away from her. "Always hold it firm and close, it'll help to keep your form balanced also."

A throat cleared, causing everyone's head to turn into the direction that it was coming from. Robb stood there, his eyes trained on Nysa. He couldn't allow them to part, especially with the way he had treated her in front of his Lords and the other Northmen. It wasn't right. Lord Karstark would be the next one he'd talk to. He had apparently spoken much to Nysa about things Robb would have rather she heard from him instead of others.

"Your Grace," a few of them bowed. Robb simply nodded at them, barely acknowledging the men.

Nysa hesitated at first - uncertain about what he wanted - before dipping into a curtsy.

"If you are done training the young Lady, might I beg a word with her," Robb gestured for Nysa to come to him. She made a clicking sound with her tongue and her teeth as though she rather not go with the King. "Please," he pleaded as Nysa lifted her chin in the air and strode past Robb, ignoring his offered hand.

Robb sighed but followed Nysa towards the pathway that she was walking.

"Nysa," Robb groaned at the pace she had set. "Would you slow..."

She turned quickly to look at him, her eyes burning with fury. He had never seen her so upset. Sad, yes. Depressed, yes. Frustrated, irritated, annoyed - yes to all of them. But this was a different expression set upon her face and it almost frightened him.

"I did not want the others to see you speaking to a bastard," she spat out.

She was upset about their earlier argument. After she had ran from the room where his mother was, Robb followed her down the hall. He thought to comfort her but she turned her anger towards him, questioning his decision to allow Ramsay Snow to go back to the North. She didn't trust him and that he had acknowledged. But Lord Bolton is one of his bannermen, one of his father's bannermen. He trusted House Bolton. And in the middle of their argument, he'd called her a bastard who didn't know anything. She was shocked and appalled and the slap that landed across his cheek told him everything.

"I didn't mean it the way it came out and you know it," Robb began.

Nysa folded her arms across her chest. "Actually you did mean it exactly that way," she demanded, "you knew what you were doing when you said it."

"Everyone keeps turning me in that direction or this and I..."

"You couldn't listen to one more word coming out of my mouth, is that it? I'm just the bastard girl who grew up with you. It's not like I protected your sister and helped capture Harrenhal and..."

"Gods Nysa," Robb ran his hand through his hair, sounding exasperated. "I did not come here to argue with you. I wanted to apologize and you're making it difficult for me. Why can't you just stay quiet?"

"Apparently I'm not a good bastard. Well, what do you know," she looked away, "Joffrey, Cersei, Littlefinger and Lord Bolton are right," she snorted, "I don't really know my place."

Robb sighed again. "You do know it," he replied quietly. "It's my fault for forgetting that it's right alongside my sister, my mother or anyone else who I hold in high regard." Nysa softened a bit at seeing Robb begin to calm down. "My father promised your father, Ser Rodrik and Jory that you would always have a place in Winterfell," he nodded, "you are my best friend, Nysa. And friends are hard to come by in stressful times such as these. You are right. You have been there since we were children. My father, my mother, my sisters, my brothers," he smiled, "they've always welcomed you as though you were one of us. And I let my frustration slip. I took it out on you because you were there, you were yelling at me, you were censuring me," he chuckled.

He walked towards a spot a few feet away and looked out across the yard. The silence was maddening. Nysa wanted to yell and shout. She wasn't sure why, either. It could have been that the grief over Torrhen and her Uncle's death had passed. And now she was experiencing the anger towards those who caused it. After a sigh, she walked slowly to stand next to Robb.

"It's easy to forget that I would always listen to your words, especially when everyone else wants me to be a King," he explained.

"Forgive me, too," she said as their eyes met, "since we're speaking on forgetting ourselves. I forgot that you are under much duress as well. I didn't think to put myself in your place and," Nysa shook her head with a small smile on her face. "And it did not help that you finally got your sister and one of your best friends back only to have them both turn on you."

Robb chuckled lightly and nodded. "Arya is happy a bit - as happy as she could be. But she does not agree with my decisions either."

"She hardly listened to anything proper before all of this."

He reached out and slowly ran his hand down her arm until he reached her fingers and locked them together with his. "I think a part of me deserved it. I don't know what I'm doing Nysa," he confessed. "I think you are the only one who I have admitted that to - other than Theon," he finished with a snarl.

"It's true, then? He's really taken Winterfell?"

"He has," Robb answered.

"And my Uncle," Nysa's voice cracked.

Robb took a deep breath and glanced up at her. He didn't need to answer. She already knew it to be true. She just wanted - hoped - that Lord Bolton had been wrong.

"I'm sorry about Ser Rodrik. And I'm sorry about," Robb's voice broke this time and he knew why. "I'm sorry about Torrhen Karstark."

She closed her eyes and nodded. Sniffing and wiping away at the tears that were forming, she attempted a smile. "I hear that you are to wed soon."

"Nysa..."

"It had to be done," Nysa stood straighter. Robb attempted once more to bring her back to him but she shook her head. "In order to get the men needed to fight for your sisters. In order to cross the Twins to get to your father, in order to get more men for your army you had to wed a Lady. You had to wed someone who was the daughter of a Lord."

"You know that I would not choose a bride for her wealth or status. But this time, it was..."

"It was necessary to wed someone who has a name," tears began to stream down her face. "You know when your father told me that he was writing a betrothal contract for me and Torrhen, I thought about you. And I knew that you would find a beautiful young Lady from a great House..."

"I haven't even met her," Robb interjected.

"She could still be very beautiful."

"I don't know her name."

"Why are you making excuses, Robb?"

"I just can't help but think that it should still be you," he responded.

She made to turn around - to run away before the situation became dire - but felt his hand grip onto hers. They struggled at first. Nysa pounded his chest with her fists as Robb tried to calm her with assurances of his feelings but she knew that his words to her meant nothing. He whispered into her ear how much he missed her, how much he thought about her while they were apart, how much he wanted to go back to Winterfell with her - just him and her.

"But it is just a foolish dream," Robb finished. "Nothing could come of it."

"If being in the South taught me anything, it is that I - a girl with no name - means little in the world."

"If I was free of my betrothal," Robb began.

"Don't," Nysa shook her head against his chest. "Let us not entertain such foolishness. Like you said it was just a dream."

"But if I was," he continued. "Would you," he paused, feeling his chest tighten. "Would you accept me?"

"I cannot answer that."

"You still love him don't you, even though he is gone."

"The love I have for him will be there for a long time, perhaps forever."

Robb moved them so he could look down upon her. "And what of your love for me?"

"I loved you both," she whispered before letting a tear fall.

"Which one did you love more?"

"I cannot answer that either. And as you said, none of that matters, Robb. You are to wed a Lady from House Frey. Let us not dwell too much on it," she rest her head on his chest as he ran his hand soothingly down her back.

Robb held her as though it were the last time he could. He could pray and dream that they were back in Winterfell but she was right, he was right. None of that mattered now. They were here in Harrenhal. They were faced with war. Their home was under attack. People had expectations of him, of her. And those expectations did not involve one another. He sighed and held her closer. He had so much on his shoulders and was glad that one small moment away from everything - away from being King and the expectations that came with it - and simply just be Robb.

Nysa walked slowly towards the room she had been staying in with Ser Lucion. She wasn't sure what she'd find there but she was glad to have a moment to herself. She had just left the yard where Gendry and her had a rather disappointing conversation.

"That wasn't right what you did," Gendry told her when she had walked into his small room. He didn't look up at her but continued to work on the sword he had in his hand. "You shouldn't disrespect the King or his mother," Gendry glanced over his shoulder quickly before returning to work.

"My betrothed is dead because..."

Gendry moved the sword and stuck it back onto the coals. "Would your betrothed appreciate you speaking like that to his mother?"

At first she was taken aback by his questioning. She'd never disrespect Lady Karstark. That woman had been like a mother to her. The only other Lady she considered in high regard was... She paused and realized what Gendry was pointing out. "No, he would not," Nysa answered honestly.

"Would he have welcomed your attitude that you displayed to the King?"

"You didn't seem to care whether or not I..."

"Because I was waiting for the opportune time to speak to you about it," Gendry answered her, glancing at her with a frustrated look. "We don't do things like that, Nysa! We don't speak out of turn. We don't disrespect those who are higher than we are!"

Nysa shook her head, as though not understanding quite what Gendry was implying.

He sighed heavily and gestured for her to sit down. "We - me and you," he pointed between them, "we're bastards, Nysa. We don't address Lords or Ladies without being addressed to first. We don't shout at them in their private quarters, in castle hallways or in courtyards in front of the eyes of others. We don't deny them the way you so decidedly denied the King!"

"Deny him?"

"Yes," Gendry replied, "when he requested to speak with you, you acted as though you were some high-born and..."

"Lord Stark has always told me that I can speak freely and openly," Nysa stood.

"I'm sorry to say it, Nysa, but Lord Stark is no longer alive," he said gently as the anger in Nysa was replaced with grief. Her chest heaved and she looked away, tears threatening to spill forth. "Forgive me, Nysa," Gendry called her attention again. "I'm just," he sighed. "You are right. Lord Stark allowed you to behave in such a manner. The other Northern Lords may have allowed you some liberties befitting a high-born but," he paused.

"But in truth, I am no high-born," Nysa finished, feeling as though she were back in the Capital. "My father may have been a knight and my mother may have been a Lady but that means little since they were not wed."

"Nysa..."

She held up her hand to stop him. "Let me just say, Gendry, that I never - well in truth, rarely - ever felt that I was a bastard. Lord Stark," she sniffed her tears, "he treated me as though I were a Lord's daughter or his own kin. Lady Stark even..."

Nysa looked away and thought of Lady Stark then, closing her eyes and allowing the guilt to consume her.

"For someone who has graced you with extreme kindness, you repaid it in kind," he sarcastically bit out and Nysa felt truly reprimanded. "You are not in the North and Lord Stark is no longer alive to oversee your care. I understand that you were treated, um," Gendry scratched the back of his neck. "I understand that you were treated as though you were not a bastard. But you are one, Nysa."

A snort escaped her mouth and she shook her head. "Everyone has been telling me that since we left the North. From the moment that the King and Queen arrived in Winterfell, I've seen the disdain that Jon and I received on more than one occasion." She slowly sat back down. "Did you know that the last time I was actually called a 'bastard' was by another back in the Dreadfort?"

Gendry shook his head and she understood his confusion.

"The Dreadfort is the home of House Bolton in the North," she explained. "Lord Bolton's son, he," she paused and shook her head. "He too, told me what 'good' bastard girls ought to do. When I went to Karhold, Lady Karstark told me not to listen to him. That I was a Lady," she wiped her face.

"You live a life that many others like us would envy, Nysa," Gendry went to sit by her. "I do not know how to read or write well. I never got to sit at the high-table, let alone be in a dining hall with other high-born. I do not know how to dance or..." Gendry chuckled. "I do not know a lot of things that you or Arry had ever been graced with."

Nysa laughed and turned to him. "You could become a knight. For there are many knights who do not know writing or dancing skills, either."

"Are you teasing me," he smiled.

"Never," she smiled in return before they both shared a laugh.

After they had lapsed into silence, Gendry sobered and turned to her. "Your behavior may have been allowed in the North or when Lord Stark was alive but the truth of it is that you had no right to say such things," he said as she nodded solemnly. "It is hard for you to grasp, I understand that now. You were allowed to dine in the hall of Lords, Ladies and even the King and Queen. But, people like you, like me, like us," he clarified, "we don't behave in such a way. I'm sure the northern Lords may have tolerated it but m'lady's brother is King now. He is not Lord Stark's son. He is their King. He is King of the Trident as well. We don't want him to lose their respect."

"Nysa."

They both jerked slightly and turned towards Gendry's doorway to see her brother standing there. He gestured for her to follow him out and so she did. A distance away Nysa spotted a few of the guards training. Her brother lifted up his hand, signalling for her to take a turn towards another part of the grounds. When he stopped at a location where Nysa recognized as the same spot she was with Robb, she realized that her brother had probably witnessed or overheard their conversation.

"He is betrothed, Nysa."

"I know that," she replied.

"He may be the boy that you grew up with but he is a King now, a King betrothed to..."

"To a Lady from House Frey, I understand," her voice was clipped and Jory turned to her to see his sister trying to remain calm.

"I am going to suggest that you stay away from him," Jory stated. Nysa narrowed her eyes slightly. "It is obvious that he cares for you, Nysa. Perhaps he always will. But if our journey to King's Landing has taught us anything, it is that a King will take mistresses to his bed."

"Robb is too honorable to..."

"Nysa," Jory warned. Nysa sighed, pressed her lips and closed her eyes before giving her brother a slight nod. "I know that this sounds heartless considering that Torrhen has died and you have yet to grieve for him as well as our Uncle, but you can still wed," he whispered the last part causing her head to shoot up at him.

Her eyes were wide as Jory took her hands in his. "Are you telling me to give my heart away..."

"Not at this moment," he replied. "But with Winterfell currently in the hands of either the Greyjoys or the Boltons, I need to think of your safety and where you shall go."

"What do you mean?"

"If Ramsay secures Winterfell for Robb, what do you think he'll ask for as his payment?" Nysa shook her head. "Perhaps Lord Bolton could ask Robb to legitimize his son," he put forth. "And Ramsay will need a wife or maybe Lord Bolton will seek a wife."

"They wouldn't ask for me," she whispered.

"I wouldn't put it past them. Lord Stark's arrangement still stands. Your Lord Uncle still has a lot for you to inherit," he reminded her.

"Gendry just reminded me that a lot of things are no longer possible since Lord Stark has passed."

"Lady Stark will honor it but you'll have to go and make your peace with her." Nysa turned away at Jory's suggestion. "She has been like a mother to you since Lord Stark and I brought you back to Winterfell. She was only doing what she believe to be right and to get her daughters back. Do you realize that you disrespected the Queen Mother?"

"You heard about it as well," she asked with a sigh. It seemed as though everyone in Harrenhal knew of her discussion with Lady Catelyn.

"She may not have the vindictive, harsh demeanor as the Queen Mother of the Iron Throne. But she loves her children fiercely and you are included in that, do you not realize that?"

"She allowed Ser Jamie to be set free," Nysa shook her head. "She allowed Baelish to..."

"To Manipulate her," Jory finished. "Lord Stark was also manipulated, we all were. She was not there to see what happened. There was no way for us to get a raven to warn her. I'm sure when he presented Lord Stark's bones to her that he told Lady Stark that if she released Ser Jamie, then her daughters would be returned to her as well. Not everything is painted as it seems. And you remember what Arya said about Littlefinger when he came here. He was scheming to put Margery Tyrell in Sansa's place. He plays both sides, he has been doing so for a long time."

"He does whatever suits him best," Nysa nodded.

"And what suited him best was to play to Lady Stark's love for her children and her husband. Look how quickly he was able to get the Tyrells to fight for the Iron Throne," her brother reminded her. "Besides pitying Lady Stark for her error, remember that she has a good heart - the same heart that took you in when you were but a child. She didn't need to but she did."

Nysa nodded, feeling once more properly reprimanded.

"I'm sure she will convince her son to allow his father's wishes for you to stand. You could still wed a Lord in the North of your choosing - someone you trust and know. You could even choose a knight that you've met here in the South - something I'm sure that your Lord Uncle would be pleased with."

"What does all of this have to do with staying away from Robb?"

"All of that means nothing if Robb takes you to his bed." Jory gripped her hands tighter. "He cares for you. His eyes are only for you. I've seen it, heard your conversation with him."

"You were spying on me," she questioned.

"The two of you were locked in an embrace. You hardly noticed I was there. Again, I want to remind you that you should not get too familiar with the King. Not when you have so much more at stake. It will only be ruin if you allow it to happen."

Nysa pushed back the door and looked about the room - the room she had dined with Ser Lucion. Thinking about the last two conversations she had with both Gendry and her brother - she had never felt so empty in her life.

Slowly her feet took her to the table and she sat there, contemplating the last conversation she had with Ser Lucion. She had no home to go to. Winterfell was destroyed. Robb may have sent Ramsay back to help liberate it but she couldn't grasp that notion of obtaining assistance from the Boltons. She sighed and fiddled with the threading of her dress. House Bolton was - and still is - a northern House in service to House Stark. They came to help Robb get Sansa and Arya back, defend the North and Lord Stark. Robb, she shook her head. No, he is King Robb now - a King who is betrothed to a Lady from House Frey.

Nysa sunk in the chair, her good manners and posture leaving her. She was also without Torrhen.

He brought out his bow and the few arrows in its holder. "You still remember what I taught you?"

"Of course," she smiled.

"Take this with you, use it if you have to," he lifted his hand to her cheek. "It will be as though a part of me were with you."

A tear ran down Nysa's cheek as she thought about that day in Winterfell when they had told one another their farewells. That's exactly what it had been - a farewell. She'd never see Torrhen again and that hurt her - broke something in her that she didn't know was there. There was a chance at happiness and freedom with Torrhen. Lord Stark had promised her Greenhall as a wedding gift. She smiled at the silly notion of perhaps wedding someone else now. She couldn't fathom it.

She hurried past Lord and Lady Stark before running towards her Uncle. "Oh Uncle," she threw her arms around him. "I wish we were back at Winterfell. I wish..."

"Hush now," he pushed her back slightly before tapping her chin, "keep your head up, child. It can't be all that bad."

"Oh Uncle," she folded her arms on the table and rest her head on them. It is terrible now, she thought. Horrible! Her Uncle was gone. True, her other Uncle would send her fine dresses and jewels and such. But Ser Rodrik had been there with her everyday. He would battle imaginary monsters that were attacking her in her nightmares. He'd taught her to ride - just as well as the boys because 'she was his niece'.

They were both gone. And now that the anger had left her, all she had was grief.

Robb held the parchment in his hand and sighed heavily. Closing his eyes, he threw it towards the middle of the table and shook his head. "What my sister and those who were in Harrenhal stated about the Tyrell alliance is true," he announced before looking up at his Lords. "Lord Tywin was able to return to King's Landing with the Tyrell forces and defeated Stannis," he gritted out.

A few of the northern Lords shook their heads, cursing and murmuring among themselves. It was then that Ser Stevron Frey stood up. His complexion was no longer pale as when they last saw him. It was as though several years had been shaved off of his face and for a moment they wondered what had happened to bring him into such a state. He cleared his throat, gaining their attention. He looked at Robb first. Robb nodding his approval, Ser Stevron began to speak.

"With Tywin so far south, I think it best to approach your original plan of taking Casterly Rock," Ser Stevron suggested.

"He wouldn't have allowed a large party to return to the Westerlands," Lord Bracken agreed. "Taking Casterly Rock now would be opportunistic."

"They're still trying to recover from the siege on King's Landing," commented Lord Blackwood who sat on the opposite end by the Northern lords. It caused a few to turn. "And if I'm not mistaken, your Uncle has recently chased a Lannister army out of the Riverlands. For now they won't give us much trouble."

"Although," Lord Glover interjected. "Casterly Rock is quite far from here. You have some men in Castamere but not enough."

"Perhaps we shouldn't have marched this way," Patrek Mallister spoke up.

"We had to regroup," Lord Glover looked over at his brother, "it was vital to the strength of the North and to the Riverlands," he nodded at the river Lords. "My Grace, you had your army scattered about. This was good that we come here and claim this castle."

"You had no wish to take the Iron Throne, your Grace," Smalljon responded. "All you want is peace for the North and to return your sisters. We got one of them back and that is a victory in itself."

"What of Winterfell," Robb asked turning towards Lord Bolton.

Lord Bolton nodded. "My son's last raven informed me that they had just arrived. They will carry out your instructions as ordered," he gave a slight nod.

"Once I know that my brothers are safe then we'll march on to Casterly Rock," Robb stated. "Jory," he called forth.

Jory stepped forward and nodded to Robb.

"I want you to take my mother, my sister and," there was a pause in his voice before he cleared his throat. "And take your sister back home as well. My mother can ensure that my father's bones have been laid to rest in the crypt," he said softly. "My sister has seen enough war and death. And as for your sister," Robb reached over and took a parchment in hand. "This was," he paused and took another breath. "This was written while Torrhen was alive. It was to allow Nysa and Torrhen to have Greenhall," Robb looked up at Lord Karstark.

"A generous offer," Lord Karstark nodded with a gruff voice.

"My father wanted Nysa to have it and it would have made a good wedding gift for them," he tried to smile but couldn't. "I think," he paused and looked at Jory. "When your sister is ready, inform her that my father's intentions for her still stand. House Cassel has served us well. She'll be protected under the care of House Stark until she chooses to wed."

Jon warily approached the side of the castle, looking at the guards who were there. He wondered if he should announce himself or just stay hidden. By now everyone would have known that he had deserted the Wall. He wasn't jesting Sam when he said that he knew more about deserters than anyone else. He had gone with his father and Robb on several occasions to see what happened to a deserter from the Wall. Whether that was to be his fate or not, he walked closer to the walls of the castle.

"Who goes there," someone shouted.

Jon wasn't as hidden as he thought he was, apparently. "My name is Jon Snow. I am the son of Lord Eddard Stark, brother to Robb Stark. I've come here to speak to one of Lord Umber's brothers about helping me get to my brother."

There was a small discussion between the two guards who stood above him. He let out a shaky breath as they both disappeared, hopefully to inform whoever was left in charge of Last Hearth that he was here.

He had been some time that he had been waiting outside until he noticed a noise from around the corner. He walked towards it, pulling his horse behind him. Jon halted when he saw Osric Umber, Greatjon's second-born son, upon a horse flanked with a few guards.

"We received a raven about your desertion," Osric looked at Jon with pain in his eyes. "You broke your vows, Jon."

"I know," Jon replied.

"I never thought that it would be you."

Jon nodded and looked down.

"My brother fights with my father, fights for your brother, for your father."

"I'm sure you've heard the news about my father," Jon interrupted.

Osric nodded. "Is that why you've left?"

"I had a decision to make. Believe me," Jon looked up, "it was not an easy one to make. But I ride South for my father."

"You broke your vow," Osric repeated. "You should be executed. You know that."

Again, Jon nodded, carefully considering the men behind Osric. Many of them didn't like his presence here either. At the same time, they didn't want to pass judgement down upon him. Jon mulled this over. Perhaps he would be able to get out of this without a scratch.

"I just want to help my brother, help my father, my sisters," Jon began. "Robb went South to get Sansa and Arya, avenge our father. I want to do the same."

Osric gulped and put his horse forward. He dismounted and stood in front of Jon. "The last I heard, the Ironborn are attacking Deepwood Motte and Bear Island. If they get pass, they'll march up to Last Hearth. Rumor is that Torrhen's Square has already been taken, along with Winterfell."

"Winterfell," Jon's eyes narrowed.

"You haven't heard that piece of news," he asked. Jon shook his head. Osric cursed and turned away, towards the guards and then back to Jon. "Theon Greyjoy betrayed your brother. Word is that your other brothers, Bran and Rickon are dead at Theon's hand."

"No," Jon shook his head again and took a step back. "You're lying. Theon would never..."

"He's the one who sits in Winterfell now. His father has proclaimed himself King the same as your brother, Robb."

"King," Jon couldn't understand. He felt all sorts of feelings at the moment, anger, frustration, hurt, betrayal, hatred, grief and oddly comfort as well. Robb was King now. He could do something surely about Theon, right? Jon shook his head.

"Well," Osric cleared his throat, "my father was the first to proclaim your brother, King. The rest of the Lords agreed."

"Is Theon still at Winterfell," he questioned.

Osric nodded.

"I won't go South then," Jon shook his head.

"You broke your vows, only to turn around defeated?"

"No," Jon looked determined and pulled his horse forward. "The Ironborn don't belong in the North. They never did. I will ride to Deepwood Motte first and then march down to Winterfell. I will get rid of every Ironborn who thinks he can take the North away from my brother." Jon mounted his horse and looked over at Osric. "Your father declared my brother, Robb of House Stark, his King. Would you help your King's brother protect the North, protect our home," he questioned.

Osric smirked and nodded, pulling on the reins of his horse before mounting up as well. "Deepwood Motte?"

"Deepwood Motte," Jon nodded, "for the King and for the North."