Catelyn quickly pulled back the furs while Robb and Ned settled Jeyne down on the bed. Casting a glance at Ned, she cried out, "Husband, remove your clothes at once. The blood-"
"T'isn't mine, wife. The man Sansa did bled all over me. She caught him right in the jugular." Ned kissed her cheek and tweaked her chin before disappearing into the changing room. "Our Lemoncake is a wolf after all-there's a touch of Lyanna in her for true."
Though she would have never dreamed it possible, it was true. Catelyn had seen it all: Sansa drew her knife as assuredly as any soldier, plunging it deep into the man's neck with all her might and drawing across his collarbone with a brutality she would never imagined her ladylike, sweet daughter possessed. She was both horrified and awed by Sansa's ferocity, and had quickly joined her in raining blows on the man.
"Father, I should have ceded my position to you as soon as you returned to us," Robb whispered quietly. "This may not have happened if I had only-"
Ned poked his head around the screen, exchanging glances with Catelyn before he spoke. "You mustn't think that way. I insisted that you remain king, Robb. I informed my counselors that my first priority was finding Arya, Sansa, Rickon and Bran and then taking back Winterfell. I wanted no more to do with the game of thrones in the south but such was not to be."
"I should have followed your lead rather than fighting my own battles and catching Jaime Lannister. I was determined to punish the Lannisters for taking my sisters and keeping you prisoner." Robb ran his hands through his thick curly hair in the same way Catelyn had seen Ned do many times before. "What good did it do us?"
"Plenty, since it was Jaime and Sandor and Sansa who figured out what was going on and shared it with us; else we would not have been prepared for them. The gods brought Sandor and Sansa together to protect Sansa and bring her and Arya back to us in time." Ned patted his son on the arm. "It is the will of the old gods, and though this has been most unsettling, it will work to our advantage in the long run, son; mark my words."
Glad to see the closeness of former days returning between Robb and Ned, Catelyn smiled and her husband and son. Though she did not share in her husband's worship, she could not deny that it made him the man she loved, and she cherished the strength his unwavering faith brought to their family. Jeyne moaned softly and turned in the bed, drawing Catelyn's eyes back to her patient.
"Will she be alright, Mother?" The worried look in Robb's eyes made Catelyn smile briefly; it was the same way he regarded Bran after his fall-no, after Jaime Lannister pushed him.
Swallowing hard, Catelyn replied, "Yes, Robb, I believe she will. She merely fainted from fear, nothing more." Carefully she then laid her ear against the swell of Jeyne's unborn child, a small smile playing upon her lips as she did so. "Your child is lively and well and kicking rather hard, my son; no need to fret." Deftly she removed hot stones from the fire, placing them in heavy sheepskin and then wrapping them in woolen pillow covers.
"What shall we do with Jaime, Mother?" Robb viewed his mother admiringly as she worked; Cat recalled he had always liked watching her tend the sick in Winterfell as a boy, and his attitude in that moment recalled the very young man he still was.
His question stunned her, for he had rarely sought her council since he began ruling. "And why would you ask me such a question?"
"Though Bran is my brother, I feel it is your place to decide his fate, Mother. Jaime harmed your son, the child you carried for nine moons and labored many hours to bring into the world." Robb shrugged. "It is what any mother would want, I should think, to sentence the man that injured her child."
Smiling, Cat placed her hand on his. "I am certain you believe I wish him dead, and yes, I did for a time. But killing Jaime Lannister will not return Bran and Rickon to us-it will not give Bran the use of his legs back. But sending him north might save the both of them."
Robb jerked his hand away just as Ned stepped back into the room. "Listen to your mother. Brienne of Tarth can escort him, trade him to the Ironborn for both Bran and Rickon. Or she can send him to the Wall as punishment and let Jon punish him as he sees fit."
Slowly Robb assented. "As you wish, Mother. We shall make it so as soon as we finish here, won't we, Father?"
"Yes."
Turning back to Jeyne, Robb asked softly, "Will she awaken soon?"
Pleased, Catelyn nodded at him; she was relieved he had stepped down as King and more relieved still to find him willing to listen to his parents once more. Already, the burden of leadership seemed to have removed a tremendous weight from her son, although unfortunately it was soon replaced by the burden of a new, insidious threat from within their ranks. After many moons of strain, Cat was glad to see the gentleness in her son returning as well.
"Yes, love, these will soon set her to right," Catelyn quietly said as she carefully set the cooled stones at Jeyne's feet and low back while the maid propped her up on one side with pillows. "Come Jeyne, open your mouth and drink this draught." She held the liquid to her good daughter's lips. Robb held Jeyne's head for her while whispering loving words to his beloved wife.
"I'm fine, really," Jeyne whispered hoarsely after meekly submitting to their attentions. "I was merely frightened, and to see Sansa take on that horrible man for me with that fighting knife, why, I-"
"Shhh, daughter, it is all over now. Sansa is a wolf and did just as any Stark would do under such circumstances. Put such out of your mind. We are all safe now. Sleep." At her words, Robb's demeanor relaxed slightly until a sharp rapping on the door startled everyone.
"Who's there?" Demanded Ned, resting his hand on the hilt of Ice as he approached the door.
"Sandor Clegane, my lord. I've brought the maester for my goodbrother's wife."
Catelyn smiled broadly at Ned. "Do come in, goodson." Abruptly Sandor Clegane entered the room with the mousy maester hot on his heels.
Hurriedly the man began attending Jeyne and so Catelyn, Ned, Robb and Sandor retired to the solar.
"How good of you to bring the maester." Catelyn offered as Ned patted him on the back. Shrugging, Sandor turned to leave. "I've got to get back to my wife. One of those bastards cut her hand."
"Is she alright?" Robb gripped Sandor's arm tightly as he spoke, the gesture sending a wave of anxiety through Catelyn.
Raising his brow, Sandor glanced down at Robb's hand, who quickly removed it. "She'll be fine. I'll see to it." With that he left the room.
"I should go to her after, to thank her," Robb pursed his lips together. "She saved my wife."
"Aye she did at that." Ned squeezed his son's shoulder. "Sansa would never expect it, but she would appreciate the gesture. It would go a long way to gaining her husband's favor, too."
Robb nodded.
"Come now; first we deal with the Freys and Roose Bolton."
"My lord, a message from Lord Umber." A voice announced, followed by a sealed note slipping under the door.
Frowning, Ned opened the envelope and read its contents.
"What is it?" Catelyn could not help but ask, alarmed as she was by the worried look in her husband's eyes.
"Maege Mormont just captured Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Bolton, along with a small sortie, as the men attempted to scale the castle's inner walls."
"How did they get so far into Riverrun?"
"I don't know," Ned growled as he waved to Robb. "But you best believe we'll find out."
The rage and bloodlust of battle quickly wore off, leaving Sandor's arms and legs as heavy as iron as he climbed the stairs to their room. The man was startled that Robb actually seemed worried about Sansa. "High time for it." He muttered as he turned the handle. As he opened the door, Sandor saw the wolf bitch sewing up Sansa's wounded hand.
Initially he was enraged, as Sandor was determined to treat her himself, but his anger soon melted into amusement as he watched her. Heavy brows knitted in concentration, Arya's pink tongue showed through the slight gap in her front teeth as she worked. "So, you decided to take up sewing after all," he smirked after a while, pushing himself off the doorframe. "Best not leave a scar on her or I'll beat you bloody."
Rolling her eyes, Arya shot him a dirty look before returning to her stitching. "Shut up, Hound, will you? I gotta concentrate now to get this just right."
Her head lolling back on the pillow, Sansa turned to him then, her eyes fluttering drowsily as she tried to focus on him. "Husband, is Jeyne alright? What of Mother and the rest?"
"They're all fine, lass. Easy now." Sandor settled behind Sansa on the bed, carefully resting his hands on her hips, rubbing soothing circles there as Arya tied up the last suture. "Are you in pain?"
"No." Groggily Sansa reclined in his arms and promptly fell fast asleep despite Arya's mending.
"Bloody hells, what did you give her?"
Arya jerked her chin at the empty flask on the table. "I mixed a quarter drachm of milk of the poppy in whatever's in that flask on your nightstand. Smelled like wine."
Now it was Sandor's turn to furrow his brow at her. The little bird didn't weight very much and he worried that her well-intentioned sister might have given her more of the substance than she needed. Sandor reached around her neck and lay his hand at the base of Sansa's throat; the little bird's pulse beat strong under his fingertips. "You're fortunate not have overdosed her, fool girl," he snarled. "Or I'd have skinned you alive."
Grinning at him, she finished wrapping the gauze around Sansa's hand and then helped Sandor lay her back onto the bed. "Don't worry, Hound. Maester Luwin taught me how to dose it after my tenth nameday; he said all ladies need to know how to administer medicine for the good of their household, and not rely on maesters for such. Sansa knows too; she helped me figure the amount. The wine makes it go down easier, since by itself it's rather bitter. She drank it like a champ."
Sighing heavily, Sandor nodded and ran his hands over Sansa's shoulders and back as she slept. "Should put the little bird out until supper, mayhap even tomorrow. She'll have a headache on top of hurt from her wound, mark my words, but at least she'll get a thorough rest and won't suffer anymore."
"She's tougher than you think, Hound." Sandor doubted that, for he had long admired her strength, having watched his beloved bride withstand many a beating at the hands of the Kingsguard. In fact, Sansa had shown herself capable of enduring great suffering with an iron will the likes of which few grown men possessed.
After washing her hands, Arya settled down in the chaise and picked at the tray of bread, fruits, and cheese. "It'll smart some for a few days. I took my time, though, and put the stitches in the line of her palm so there won't be too much of a scar."
"A smart little wolf you are. Many thanks."
Pleased with his uncharacteristic words of praise, Arya popped a grape in her mouth. "You can thank me by killing every last one of those bastards. Did you get the one that made for Sansa?"
"Aye, and I cut off his hands, too."
"Good, that'll show 'em." Fidgeting, Arya quietly asked, "So, what's the plan now, Hound? We aren't safe here anymore."
"You are as long as you're with me; believe that." Sandor growled low. "Your father, uncles, brother and the northern lords are holding council with Lord Frey as we speak."
"Did Lord Frey know what his men did?" Her gray eyes, so like his own, grew wide with anger. "Is he gonna punish them?"
"He feigned innocence, bloody bastard, but your brother and father saw through it." Sandor huffed at her. "No one is fool enough to believe those ignorant flops got such an idea on their own, let alone without assurance that someone more powerful would help them."
Arya sniffed, lost in thought. "Yeah, that's right. Might be Lord Tywin's doing. He's good at all sorts of planning and devious, that one. I overheard lots of his plans at Harrenhal."
"I'll bet you did at that," Sandor muttered, finishing off the last of the wine in his tankard. "There's no doubt that the old lion put them up to it; even Jaime said so."
"What do we do now?" Arya eyed him closely, leaning forward in her seat. "You promised Father you would take care of us."
"We're leaving tonight lass." Sandor cleared his throat. "You ready?"
Bounding to her feet, Arya nodded. "Yes. I packed like you said, Hound."
"Good on you, lassie," Sandor stroked Sansa's hair as he spoke with a tenderness that belied his fearsome exterior. He smirked when he saw Arya first stare in stunned silence, then wrinkle her nose disapprovingly. "Remember how I taught you to read the moon and stars?"
Arya nodded eagerly.
"Be ready to leave, you and Gendry, after the second quarter of the moon. From there make for the Vale."
"Why the Vale?" Arya gaped at him. "Are we going to Aunt Lysa? We don't know her very well-"
"No, not the Eyrie, the Vale; get the cotton out of your ears. Just do as I say, will you? I've had enough of your bloody questions for one day."
A sharp knock echoed through the room. Irritably Sandor glanced down at Sansa, afraid she would be awakened, but his wife merely snuggled closer to him. Jerking his finger at Arya, he barked low, "Open that fucking door before it wakes your sister."
"Who's there?" Arya hissed, placing her hand on Needle's hilt as she spoke.
"Arya let me in. Don't cut me now," came Gendry's voice through the door. "I brought hot water and lye soap for Lord Clegane, as well as more bandages."
Hurriedly Arya unlatched the door, only opening it wide enough to admit his entry before slamming it closed.
"Thought you'd want to clean the blood off of you," he nodded genially at Sandor, the young man seemingly embarrassed to see him holding his wife while reclining in bed. "How is your wife? Forgive me milord, I-"
"He's gonna gut you balls to brains if you keep calling him lord, Gendry," Arya snorted at him, and for once, Sandor joined her. "Just call him Clegane or Hound."
"It's alright, lad." Sandor somewhat irritably waved him closer. Though they had travelled together, the boy insisted on tiptoeing around him still, and it annoyed Sandor to no end. "Thanks to her sister here, her hand will heal nicely."
"I'm glad to hear it." Gendry dipped his head before hastily filling the tub. "Arya's right good at that sort of thing." When Sandor groaned and rose with difficulty, Gendry added, "Need help, uh, Clegane, with your bath?"
Sandor assented, wincing as he undid the straps on his vambrace. "Might need it at that. I'm wounded." As he removed the plate armor, blood poured out of his right pauldron, staining the floor and bedding.
"Fuck!" Sandor growled, hurrying toward the basin. Arya straightened up in her seat, staring at him wide-eyed. "I thought he caught me in the shoulder."
"Let me help you, Hound." Arya started toward him. "You want me to sew you up, too?"
"Just get out of here, wolf girl, lest you see me naked!" He spat at her. Sighing, Sandor continued more softly, "I know you mean well, lass. Come back when I'm done bathing, will you, and help me with this."
"Okay, I'll get my supplies ready." Arya grinned at him and hurriedly left the room.
