Chapter 26:

The cries of shouting men pierced through the chilled air and rang through the camps of the Northern army. Startled, Isabel quickly exited her tent at the shouts of Robb's name, curious to find out what news the bannermen were bringing back from the battlefield.

Westeros hadn't seen the high summer sun in many days, as the thick grey clouds hung low from the sky. The air was thick with fog, with the lingering smell of blood, sweat and stench and sent an uneasy feeling to the pit of Isabel's stomach.

"Love live the King of the North!"

"King of the North!"

"Kill the Kingslayer! Kill the Kingslayer!"

The voices of the men shouted over one another, while some shouted and cried out. Their swords and axes pierced out up the air, chanting over and over again.

Isabel walked over to the mass crowd, trying desperately not to collide with the rowdy soldiers. The few which recognized her made way and bowed their heads before resuming to their activities.

As she pushed her way into the circle, she noticed a man in chains, bound and bloodied bent over his knees lying in the mud. The soldiers spit on him, jeered on him and kicked him, while the prisoner kept his head low.

"What's going on?" Isabel asked to nobody in particular.

"We've caught the Kingslayer!" shouted a northern bannermen.

Isabel's eyes widened, in complete disbelief that the defeated and broken man lying in front of her was the Jamie Lannister she was so well acquainted with in King's Landing. They seemed like two completely different men – and yet, upon closer inspection, the resemblance was unmistakable.

Her jaw clenched and she curled her hands into a tight fist. She, like every soldier amongst her wanted nothing more than to slit his throat. She blamed him for her father's dead; blamed him for her own misfortunes; blamed him for Ned Stark's downfall.

Isabel Arryn wanted Jamie Lannister dead.

But reason calmed her down, and she knew that his life was more valuable to the army alive than dead. This was an advantage to Robb, if he could make the right political maneuvers and would keep Tywin's army at bay for now.

Isabel scanned around the crowd, looking for any member of Robb's war council and her heart sank when the only person her eyes fell upon was Black Walder Frey.

A lord who has made no effort to show his distaste towards her.

"My Lord," she called out to him, "What does the king intend to do with this prisoner?"

Walder Frey scoffed at her, "I'd have the limbs of the Kingslayer be ripped off one by one and fed to my dogs."

"I didn't ask what you wanted to do with Ser Jamie, I asked what your king intends to do," Isabel shot back, slightly taken back by the larger man.

"He's not my king," he menacingly whispered, but only loud enough for her to hear.

Before she could say anything further, he stormed away along with a handful of Frey men before his back disappeared amongst the other soldiers.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and the voices inside her head began talking again. The voice of her father whispered into her ear, as if he was right behind her.

Trust is the most foolish virtue, he had once told her.

Isabel turned her attention back to Jamie, who was still staring at the ground which made Isabel wonder whether he was still alive at all. To the shock of the army and herself, Isabel found herself walking towards the Kingslayer until his crouched body was right below her very nose.

At that very moment, she truly understood what it felt like to have true power.

As if sensing her presence, Jamie Lannister finally raised his head, and even in his state, behind the strands of hair which dangled in front his face, Isabel could see the Lannister arrogance that he always infamously held in his smirk.

"Miss me?" he asked.

Unfazed by him, Isabel knelt down until she was at his eye level and ignored the whispering curiosities and confused look of the soldiers around them. She brought her head just close enough beside his ear. "You will remember," she began to whisper, "at this very moment…what it feels like to be completely hopeless…and powerless."

Jamie let out a small chuckle, "A small nick in the road."

"Oh I doubt it," she sneered back.

"I'm surprised you made it out alive," he commented, "Oh I've heard the stories…the little blue bird gallanting into my father's army. Dear, dear, dear Isabel, not everybody is a warrior. Go home to your hearth and do what maidens do."

Her eyes widen and jaw clenched. "You're lucky your head is worth more to Robb attached to your neck than it is on a spike," she shot back.

"And where is your King now? I'm surprised he's letting his little lapdog prance around his army."

The fire within her ignited and before she could come to her senses, her hand flashed across her eyes and immediately stung from the impact she made.

The sudden impulse brought a momentary shock and silence around her, before the soldiers began to shout and cry even louder than ever before.

"Ouch," he dryly replied.

The crowd again went silent and this time Isabel looked up. Robb was standing at the edge, looking on with some curiousity and anger at her exchange with the Kingslayer. She was unsure how long he had been standing there, but she suddenly felt uneasy under his glare.

Jamie, also following her lead turned his head and took a deep gulp upon seeing Robb's face. Isabel turned towards him, sensing the discomfort and fear that overcame the Kingslayer and inwardly smiled at his displeasure.

"Don't worry," she echoed, "I look out for the underdogs."

"What? You won't let them kill me? Are you…defending my honour Isabel? I'm so touched…I didn't know you felt that way about me. I should have known after all these years…those stolen glances, that cute little giggle. You should have told me…I could have, oh, satisfied your desires." Jamie shouted out mockingly.

Before Isabel could answer, Robb stepped up and interjected. "I could have your tongue cut out if I wanted to. I could have your arms broken…or that pretty little face slashed up."

"Then why don't you? Or is the Northern King still a pup? Just like your father…all talk. It's what got him killed in the first place." Jamie wondered.

Robb sneered and his hand went to his hilt instinctively and proceeded to unsheathe his sword. Almost immediately, Isabel put her hand on Robb's forearm – a silent command to stop.

Robb looked at Isabel with the same intense gaze but said nothing to her, though she felt himself relax.

"Oh...just look at that. The little lovebirds," Jamie continued to mock. "What's that now? Can it be true? A simple touch of Lady Isabel Arryn silencing the great King of the North? Not very kingly now, is it?"

She knew what he was doing, and so did everybody else that was no observing their exchange. But before she could do anything to defend her own honour, Robb immediately spoke up.

"Lady Arryn, go back to your tent. I will call for your council along with my lords in the evening," he commanded.

Slightly shocked at his behaviour, it took more than a few seconds to realize she was being dismissed.

"I've every right to be here," she whispered under her breathe in a low whisper.

"No lady should be in the middle of a war," he shot back. "I won't ask again Isabel…go back to your tent."

Speechless, she couldn't do anything but obey him. Underneath the harsh stares of the common soldiers, Isabel Arryn uncomfortably left the area in the likeness of a little lame lamb being herded into a pen.

So this is it, she thought to herself. This is my sacrifice.

Foolish little bird, the voice hissed to her.

There were only but a few moments during the day where Talisa was able to get away from the chaos and cries of men and have a moment to herself. Being the field nurse was exhaustively painful and tiresome, but she didn't have any other choice.

She knew this was her calling; as if the gods had spoken to her.

She washed her hands in the little basin and slowly watched as the clear cold water turn into a dark, murky red colour. And even though she washed off the dried and fresh blood of the soldiers off thoroughly, she could still see and smell the faint scent of blood that she was sure was now painted on her skin.

Taking a huge sigh, Talisa went over to her bag and rummaged through her belongings before grabbing a tattered leather pouch. She traced her fingers over its grained before untying the string and opening it to reveals its contents.

A light smile formed on her face and was quickly reminded why she had come to Westeros in the first place.

It's all for you, she thought to herself.

Finally, she pulled out a small scroll of blank paper and quill writing one last message before she had to resume to the healer's tent. Talisa didn't fully understand the plans she was had been unknowingly a part of, nor did she really want to find out. At times, she felt uncomfortable for spying on Isabel Arryn for she thought the Westeros highborn lady was a kind and strong-willed woman.

But there were many things Talisa didn't fully understand about Westeros customs. The only thing she did know for certain was that she was here for one reason.

He depends on this, she told herself.

Rolling the parchment into a small scroll, she put the tiny message into her pocket and reminded herself to send it out with the raven when night came upon them.

She hated the secrecy, the lies and deceit…but it seemed almost inevitable to rid herself from its influence.

Isabel lost her appetite by the time dusk was approaching. Instead, she found herself pacing around her tent for the remainder of the day, restless and unable to calm herself down.

She should have known better than to think things could have been different. She was foolish to think otherwise, yet the foolish lovesick girl from her youth was pulling at her skirts. Isabel could almost see her younger self laughing and giggling, batting her eyelashes while being chased by the younger boy around the room.

Life was so simple then, she mused.

But everything was different, and within a blink of an eye, the two children disappeared from her sight and Isabel Arryn was faced with a stark reality.

She was alone, cold and angry in an empty room with a barren wooden table, a dying flickering candle and a poor small bed. This was a far contrast from the life she had envisioned – it wasn't supposed to be like this.

None of this should have happened, she bitterly thought.

The tent flapped open and she was pulled out of her dark thoughts and turned to see who her visitor was. Her mood remained sour and her frown deepened at the sight of Robb, still dressed in his armour and fur cloak, and she made no effort to hide her displeasure.

"I didn't see you at dinner…the field nurses say you've been skipping your meals lately," he commented and he put a bowl of a mysterious concoction of meat on the table. "You need to eat Isabel, you haven't fully recovered."

Unfazed by his concern, Isabel bit the inside of her cheek to keep her composure. "I didn't think you still cared," she stated.

Robb's jaw clenched but said nothing to soothe her feelings, "I'm not going to apologize for what I did earlier today. You shouldn't have been there to see all that…and you could have been seriously hurt by the men. The next time you decide to venture into the barracks, you are to have Ser Harrold or one of your Valemen with you."

"And what gives you the right to command me?" she angrily said, "I am not your bannermen, or your soldier, or your servant! Gods, I'm not even your wife!"

"I know," he whispered.

"I am the Lady of the Vale," she shouted, "I command an army that could rival yours! I hold the same titles and rights as any lord in the Seven Kingdoms. I am the first-born child of Jon Arryn, former Hand of the King! I was a member of the small council of King's Landing. And this is what I get? Treated like a bar wench…and of all people, you? You embarrass me in front your men? And of all people, in front of Jamie Lannister?"

"What will you have me do?" Robb retorted back with a voice far louder than he had expected. "What will my men think of me if they see a woman commanding a king?"

"Who cares what the common soldiers think. Let them relish in their own gossip," Isabel attempted to reason.

"I care, Isabel. I care because they look to me for morale and support. They look to me for guidance and strength. Most of them don't you know you are Isabel. They don't know your story…who your father is. They just see a woman prancing around in the battlefield…and that raises certain questions."

"What kind of questions?" she hissed, with no hint of her anger subsiding.

Robb didn't answer and looked at the ground, and his demeanour told Isabel the answers she was looking for. A sob reached her throat and she helplessly tried to hide it through a fake laugh. But she couldn't hide the tears that threatened to form at the corner of her eyes.

"They think I'm your whore?" she disbelieving asked.

"Isabel…" he began.

"Stop!" she shouted and took a step back from the Northern King.

"I've been so foolish. This is not my war to fight and it never was...I'm tired Robb. I should have never returned to King's Landing. All I want to do is to go home," she quietly said to herself, finally admitting defeat.

"As do I," he said with a heavy heart.

She put both her hands into her face and buried her sadness and sorrows within them, wanting to hide the tears from him. Robb's arm engulfed her shoulders and Isabel found herself buried in his furs. He affectionately kissed her brow and stroked her back in an effort to calm her.

"I should have never come back to Winterfell…after so many years, I thought I could just forget about you. But then there you were…all grown up, like a man. And-," she said.

"I should have never have asked you .. for something you could not give…you were right. Like you always are," Robb added.

"What do we do?" Isabel asked helplessly, still hiding her face in his chest, "You are to marry a Frey...and I…gods know what I must do."

"I could marry you," Robb said in all seriousness. "I don't need the Frey alliance anymore. You have an army...we could unite our banners."

"Don't be foolish Robb…you don't want to double-cross the Freys. If you go back on your word…they will go back on theirs. You don't want to go into another war with another house."

"I don't want to marry a Frey girl…I want to marry you," he said, before lightly placing a tender kiss on Isabel's lips.

In that moment, Isabel was brought back into her memories. They were young lovers again, under the godswood tree in Winterfell. The world around them was so simple and carefree and for a very small moment, Isabel felt happy and whole.

"You cannot break this alliance…not even at the expense of me...of us. There's too much at stake…despite what your heart tells you, you need to think like a King," she reasoned.

"So what will we do?" he helplessly asked.

She brought her hand up to his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin and beard through her fingers as a single tear fell onto her cheek. He brought his lips down and kissed the very spot it had landed before bringing his lips down upon her own. Their fingers entwined with one another, they chose at that instance to forget about their worries and woes.

I don't know, she sadly thought.

Yet deep down, she knew what had to be done.

The two men huddle over the wooden table, downing the last drop of cold ale in their small gold cups before resuming their hushed conversation with one another. Neither of them held any likeness for one another, and made no effort towards their hatred on their faces.

Black Walder Frey and Harrold Hardyng simply didn't trust each other.

But they both had a common enemy – and each had an ultimate goal in mind.

"Did you see them today? The men are beginning to talk," observed Ser Harrold.

Black Walder Frey grunted loudly and cursed under his breathe. "Her very presence is an insult to my father and our house. You better control that little lady of yours…she acts like a lord and walks around this camp as if she's something."

"Let her live in her dreams…for now," Ser Harrold tried to reason.

"I'm getting impatient! I want her gone!"

"Due time, Lord Frey. Good things comes for those who wait," he replied.

The larger man broke out in laughter until tears had begun to form in his eyes. Ser Harrold, bemused and perplexed wasn't entirely sure if it was the ale that caused this outburst, or it was something he had said.

"You Valemen..so virtuous and knightly," Walder Frey cried out in between breathes, "Were you nursed by your wetmaid as children too long?! No, Ser Harrold…good things come for those you take it!"

"And what do you suggest? What is your grand plan? Just kill her? That wouldn't be suspicious at all...she's in the protection of Robb...he's not stupid...you know, he'll suspect us. It'd only be a matter of time."

"Poison is a damn good option," Lord Frey muttered under his breathe, "If you're so smart, what's your plan?"

"I must say Robb and Isabel are already doing a fine good job and creating a certain level of…questionable honour between them. The men aren't stupid…they know and they talk. So let them talk…let them doubt their king. All we have to do is…facilitate it. Encourage it, and breathe fire into it."

"It still doesn't get rid of our little problem."

"Leave Isabel to me," Ser Harrold declared. "I've news from home…from my own house. Things are beginning to stir at home. Plots, plans, and betrayals. Isabel Arryn won't be sitting in her high seat for much longer. She'll be forced to go home…and then straight through the Moon Door."

With the sudden declaration, Lord Black Walder Frey filled their cups once more until the ale perfectly aligned with the rim. The two scheming men raised their glasses, letting the liquid spill down their arms.

"To victory," Ser Harrold offered.

"To hell," Walder Frey corrected.

An uneasy feeling overcame Ser Harrold, and a moment of doubt washed over his conscious. He was knowingly betraying his closest kin and all for what? It still didn't get him any closer to the seat in High Hall. Isabel's younger brother and his mother was still in the way, and he still hadn't the slightly clue as to how he would cast them aside.

To Hell. It was almost an invitation to go down an irrevocable path, and he feared for what he might do in order to realize his greatest desires.

Truthfully, Ser Harrold wasn't entirely sure if he was ready for to venture into the dark flames.

A/N: A little insight on my spin of Talisa's character! So who's excited for the new season! -xoxo