Chapter 92

…

"We must leave here, now, and find them! They've been lost for nearly two years. There's not a moment to waste."

Catelyn Stark paced before the fireplace in the Great Hall at Winterfell – or, what was left of it - not understanding what her uncle and her brother could be thinking. How could they not wish to leave here immediately in search of her sons? Brynden merely sat at the largest table, drinking wine and glaring at Theon. She knew that he thought her an utter fool to believe his words. That he believed she had made a gross mistake when she spared his life, rather than putting him to death alongside the Boltons. Brynden and Edmure had both urgently whispered for her not to be taken in by his deceit. They urged her to put him to death for killing her sons.

And she had snapped that her sons were not dead. If there's even a possibility that my boys are alive – and that Theon could help me find them – I have to believe. I have to try.

She had ordered that Theon be brought along to the chopping block, and she had seen in his eyes that he believed she would kill him. Perhaps I should have killed him. For betraying Robb. Instead, she had turned her back on Theon and pronounced judgment on Roose Bolton and his bastard, sentencing them to death for their crimes against House Stark and the North.

It should have been Ned – or Robb – sentencing them to death and serving as Warden of the North. I'll have to serve as Lady Protector of Winterfell until Sansa returns or we find the boys and they come of age. If they are truly alive.

Arya had asked if she could wield the executioner's sword, but Edmure had shushed her as she huffed in disappointment. In the end, it was Greatjon Umber who swung the sword. Brynden had offered to do her the honor, but Catelyn had declined, telling him that a Northerner should be the one to swing the sword, executing Roose and Ramsay Bolton in the name of the North.

Catelyn thought she would feel some peace – some finality - once she saw Roose Bolton die, but she had not. She had not felt anything. Just as she had not felt anything when she learned of Joffrey's death. Nothing will ever bring back Robb or Ned. Joffrey, Cersei, Lord Tywin, Walder Frey, Roose Bolton…all of them are all dead. And it's not enough.

She had watched Theon carefully when Bolton's bastard knelt before the chopping block and the relief in his eyes when the head of Bolton's bastard was separated from his shoulders was not lost on her. He had nearly wept with joy. She didn't want to think about the torture that had been inflicted on him. He met her eyes – saw her watching – and an expression of resignation came over his face. She knew he expected her to kill him. He expected her not to have believed a word he said. Instead, she had ordered him brought into the keep as her prisoner.

Theon was weak. He spoke strangely and Catelyn realized he was missing teeth and there was something wrong with his jaw. He wasn't able to tell them where Bran and Rickon were – only that they had escaped in the night with Hodor and a wildling woman who was working at Winterfell. And their direwolves. As long as they have Summer and Shaggydog with them, they'll be all right. She thought about how Summer had ripped the throat out of the assassin sent to kill Bran, and knew that her boys were safe and alive.

Lady Catelyn had turned abruptly to Ser Brynden, and asked her Uncle how soon they could set off looking for the boys. And that's when he could no longer hold his tongue.

"You would set off in the dead of winter, on the word of a turncloak? On the word of the boy who betrayed you – betrayed Robb – and named himself the Prince of Winterfell? You've taken leave of your senses."

Her anger had flared at his words. "How can I leave my boys out there alone? As if I don't care that they are alive and out there in the cold?"

"How can you believe a word he says? You've just reclaimed Winterfell and you're ready to leave on a fool's errand? You'd leave Arya here alone, as you left Bran and Rickon?"

He roared in anger and she wanted to strike him for his words. For blaming her for leaving Bran and Rickon behind. For being a bad mother. But inside she knew he was right. She blamed herself enough for the both of them. The last time she saw Bran, he lay unconscious. And Rickon was just a little boy, left behind and not understanding why.

Before she could respond, the shuffling of feet in the doorway caught her attention. Two of the wildling women were ushering in a frail girl who stared down at the floor, her hair in her eyes. Lady Bolton. The imposter – put forth by Tywin Lannister as Arya. Catelyn had been told how the servants in Winterfell heard the girl scream and cry as Ramsay Snow beat her and raped her. They would see the marks and scars on her body, but she would never speak about what he'd done to her. As she slowly walked towards the girl, Lady Catelyn felt nothing but pity for her. The bastard is dead now. Perhaps that will bring the girl some comfort.

She was startled when the girl dropped to her knees. "Forgive me, Lady Stark. It was not my idea to impersonate Arya. It was Lord Baelish and the Lannisters…they made me. They said they would kill me if I did not pretend. They needed someone who was a northerner…who knew Winterfell and I…"

Lady Catelyn reached down and tilted the girls face up to hers. She had a black eye and she was thin and pale. She'd not seen her in several years, but she recognized her. "Jeyne," Catelyn said regretfully.

"Please forgive me, Lady Stark."

Catelyn's eyes filled with tears at the sight of Sansa's childhood companion reduced to this pathetic state – used and broken by men in their quest for power. I wonder if Sansa was this broken when she was at the mercy of Joffrey? If her eyes were dead like this before Jaime Lannister married her. She took the girl in her arms, gently holding her and stroking her hair, telling her it would be all right, though she was not certain that it would be.

"He's dead," she gently told the girl. "He'll not harm you again."

She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. It broke Catelyn's heart to see the fear and shame on the girl's face. Jeyne's eyes darted to Theon. "Is he to be put to death? Are…will he be punished?" she asked in a whisper. She cares for him. I suppose he was the only person here that she knew.

"We'll speak later, Jeyne. Privately. You'll stay here for the winter, and then we'll talk about what you'd like to do." Catelyn wondered if she could find a match for the girl, though the thought of marrying again might terrify her. She looked to the wildling women. "Get her settled in a new bedchamber." Not the one she shared with that monster.

"Thank you, Lady Stark."

As poor Jeyne was led away, Catelyn watched Theon and saw that his eyes followed Jeyne as she left the room. He seemed to sense her stare, and glanced at her, looking away when he met her eyes. She'd never known Theon to be embarrassed about anything. Why is he ashamed to be seen looking at Jeyne? She wondered what atrocities he'd witnessed inflicted on Sansa's childhood friend. Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She'd had about all she could take for one day and muttered for Edmure and Brynden to take Theon to his old chamber – where he was to be under guard. She stormed out before they could insist that he be thrown in the dungeons.

Catelyn made her way to the lord's chambers. The rooms she had shared with Ned for so many years. The bed had been made up fresh and all remnants of Roose and Walda Bolton removed. She closed the door behind her, looking around the room she'd not been inside for years. The elaborate, carved bed that had rested in the lord's chambers for generations had not been destroyed. Though, the thought of Roose Bolton staying in these chambers – sleeping in that bed with his wife – made her skin crawl. I don't know if I can sleep here again. Not without Ned.

She could only hope that Roose Bolton and his son would burn in the deepest of the seven hells. She hated the man, though she couldn't help feeling sorry for his plump Frey wife, who had clung to her aunt – Lady Roslin – as her husband was executed. Though I don't feel too sorry for her. She was at the Red Wedding and, like the rest of them, knew what was going to happen. Lady Bolton and her babe had been packed off to the Twins immediately upon entering her widowhood.

Catelyn, Edmure and their entire party would be staying in Winterfell for the duration of the Winter – until they mounted their attack on Riverrun in the Spring. She knew that it would be at least a year until the Spring came, and she should try to make herself feel comfortable. She ran her hands over the direwolves carved into the headboard, and felt nothing but regret. This is my fault. If I had not been so insistent on revenge for what happened to Bran…if I had not taken the imp captive…I would have been here when Bran woke up.

She knew that she could not go in search of Bran herself – as much as she hated it. Arya had to stay in Winterfell. Ned had told her countless times that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And for now, Arya was the only Stark in Westeros. This was where she belonged. Catelyn couldn't leave her. Not as she had left Bran and Rickon in her stupid quest to bring the Lannisters to justice. I'm so sorry, Ned. I stupidly listened to Petyr Baelish and tore the Realm apart.

"I caused all of this," she said whispered into the silence of her chamber.

They would form a party in the morning, to search for Bran and Rickon. She would insist upon it. I cannot rest until my boys are home safe. Or until I know for certain that they are dead.

She looked around the room. A room filled with memories of her marriage. Of her husband. Oh, Ned. I wish I never fell in love with you. She had not loved him when they married. But it was her duty – to bind House Stark and House Tully during the Rebellion. She'd felt nothing when Ned rode off into war beside Robert Baratheon. She had only felt hate when he returned from the war, bringing his bastard son with him. A son who looked far more like a Stark than her own babe. That was when she had prepared herself for a lifetime of unhappiness in marriage. But slowly, her feelings towards Ned had changed.

Ned treated her kindly. Gently. He was an affectionate father to Robb. But the first moment she knew that she loved Ned was when he came into the birthing chamber and Maester Lewin placed Sansa in his arms. He held her so securely and looked at her so lovingly. He had pronounced her the most beautiful babe he'd ever seen. The bells had begun to ring and Ned had told her that he'd ordered the bells to ring until sunset, in honor of their daughter. Why did you make me love you?

Catelyn began sobbing into the pillows as memories of her life with Ned filled her head.

…

Jaime stood in the doorway of the dining hall of their Lysene villa, shaking his head in amazement as Sansa, Pia and several servants emptied and organized the many trunks and crates she had brought from Casterly Rock, as well as the nearly dozen crates and baskets of food, clothing and other goods Sansa had purchased at the market that morning. Sansa had Julianna on her hip as she oversaw the flurry of activity that was slowly overtaking the entire villa. Though she was still just shy of twenty years old, she ran their household with the confidence of a woman twice her age. Her mother taught her well.

Sansa had purchased more gowns which, while still far more revealing than anything to be found in Westeros, covered more of her than the gown he'd selected for her the day before. He smiled to himself as Pia carried the large stack of gowns to their bedchamber.

"I preferred the one you wore yesterday," he called out. Sansa glared at him and continued her direction to the kitchen staff, though Julianna struggled in her mother's arms, and smiled happily when she was placed on her feet, running to Jaime as fast as her little legs could carry her.

He knelt down and caught her as she ran into his arms, hugging her tightly as he rose to his feet again. "How's my little lioness?" The babe had just woken up from her nap and was bursting with energy. "Are you helping your mother get our household in order?"

"Yes. Help mama." Sansa will make a proper lady of her. Though Jaime wondered what sort of future Julianna would have if they were forced to live the rest of their lives in Lys. She should be the lady of a great castle, with a husband who is worthy of her. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back, silently promising to secure her future.

"Her helping is more grabbing at anything shiny or brightly colored," Sansa said with a smile, leaning over the babe to kiss Jaime. "Thank you for allowing me to buy so many wonderful things at the marketplace today."

"Anything you desire, my lady," he said with a smile. "Though some of my soldiers nearly injured themselves carrying everything for you." She hit him playfully as he teased her. Perhaps he had overindulged her, but she looked so happy and curious about everything the merchants were offering.

"A lot of it was food, requested by the cook," she began, in her defense. "And I had to buy clothes. The gowns that were here, I can only guess were whore's gowns, purchased from a pleasure house." He chuckled, following her as she trailed along after two of his men who were carrying a large trunk into their bedchamber for her.

"You know I'm teasing you, Sansa. " She looked back at him and smiled before thanking his men for helping her and kneeling on the floor to open her trunk. Jaime sat on the sofa behind her, putting Julianna back on her feet to explore. He smiled as she sat on her knees beside Sansa, peering into the trunk. "You're happy here, though, aren't you?" he asked, reaching out and stroking her hair.

She turned back to him again, resting her hand on his knee. "Of course I am. I'm with you." They gazed at each other for a time before she turned abruptly at the sound of Julianna digging through the trunk. "What are you doing, nosy girl?" Sansa asked, lifting Julianna onto her lap so they could look through the trunk together.

He leaned back against the cushions and listened as Sansa spoke softly to their baby. He looked over her shoulder and saw that this trunk was filled with the items she had brought with her to King's Landing from Winterfell. The only treasures Sansa had left from her childhood. He'd given her plenty of baubles and dresses, but he knew these pieces of her childhood were important to her and more valuable than anything he could give her.

Julianna reached into the trunk and pulled out a small doll, showing it to Sansa. "Doll?"

He couldn't see her face, but the sadness in her voice was not lost on him. She held Julianna tighter and kissed her temple. "Your grandfather, Lord Eddard, gave me this…I wish you could have known him. He would have loved you."

Julianna took the doll and scurried off. He saw that Sansa was just sitting there silently, not even looking through her trunk. Jaime sat up and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I miss him. I miss my family."

"I know you do, sweet girl," he whispered, sliding to the floor beside her. Sansa turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his chest. He held her, watching as Julianna sprawled on the floor with the doll.

"Do you think Arya and my mother are all right?"

"I'm sure they're fine. The Blackfish won't allow anything to happen to them. If anyone could get them out of Casterly Rock safely, it's him."

"Will we ever know for certain?"

Jaime kissed the top of her head. "We can try writing. I don't expect the Targaryen would have remained at Casterly Rock for this long. If you write a letter to your mother and sister, I can send it to Ser Addam. It will take a while. We're a bit far for a raven but…every now and again, we should be able to contact them."

"Thank you."

"Anything to make you smile. I love you very much and you're the mother of my child…children." She smiled as Jaime rested his hand on her belly and softly kissed her lips.

…

Tyrion sat in what was his father's chair in the small council room. He wondered if Lord Tywin would be proud to see Tyrion now, or if he would never have seen him as anything more than a monster. He had thought that, with a different king, the meetings would be less tense, but it seemed that was not to be the case. All were present except for the Queen: Lord Varys, Jorah Mormont, and Ser Barristan. We must appoint more men to her small council. Someone with some humor, he thought, looking around the table.

Queen Daenerys strode in, escorted by four Unsullied. Tyrion knew that she had spent the morning on her balcony with Shireen Baratheon, letting the child watch the dragons fish in the Blackwater Bay. When Lady Margaery announced that she was with child, the Queen offered her heartfelt congratulations, but she had later confided in Tyrion that she was not able to have children herself, after losing her babe with her Dothraki Khal. Then he understood why Daenerys was so adamant about keeping the little orphan girl. Both were born on Dragonstone. Both were utterly alone – having lost their parents to war. Shireen was a sweet girl and she had a far happier nature than he would have expected, given how severe her father was. She frequently came to Tyrion's solar, asking to borrow books, and they had formed a friendship.

She would sometimes ask him questions about Jaime and Sansa, but only when she was certain they were alone. His spies told him that the smallfolk were beginning to murmur their desires for Jaime and Sansa's return to Westeros. He did not think that the Queen was aware, but the price she had put on Jaime's head was keeping the smallfolk from feeling any affection for her. Instead, there was a resentment growing towards her as Jaime and Sansa's popularity increased. And now that the Starks have Winterfell, the Northerners will demand Sansa's return.

Daenerys sat down opposite Tyrion, gesturing for everyone else to sit. He cleared his throat, unsure how to bring up what had occurred in court the day before. A terrified villager had come before the court the day before, speaking of the dragons burning homes in the countryside and another spoke of the body of a young child that was found, burned beyond recognition. Tyrion had wondered how many such incidents had happened and gone unreported, for fear of the Queen's reaction.

"Your grace…perhaps we should speak of the…the dragons."

"What about my dragons?" she asked sharply.

"Your grace. They are not used to living so near people – so many people – as they are in King's Landing. The will continue to destroy properties and hurt people, if they are allowed to continue as they are."

She looked away, and he could see that she knew he spoke the truth. "What would you suggest?"

"Your ancestors kept their dragons in the forged cages just outside the keep. They're large enough that they could still fly and-"

"You would see my dragons locked in a cage while your brother, the Kingslayer, is free? Living in luxury with his wife and children in Lys?"

"They're in Lys?" Tyrion felt his stomach drop in fear. Who could have known – and told the queen - where Jaime and Sansa went?

"I have many sources beyond the narrow sea, and they have informed me that the Kingslayer arrived in Lys several weeks ago. I knew that her grace would want to know immediately." Tyrion slowly turned his attention to Lord Varys and fervently wished the Spider dead. He didn't understand why he would have such animosity toward Jaime and Sansa – why he would lead the Queen to them. Unless he thinks Jaime needs to be dead before I will trust Margaery.

"The Kingslayer must be returned to Westeros and executed for his crimes against House Targaryen," the Queen pronounced.

Varys responded before Tyrion could. "The Kingslayer will not be easy to return to Westeros. You're better off sending a faceless man, and being done with it. Just as the Usurper, King Robert, sent one after you."

"No," Tyrion said before he could stop himself. "Your grace, that is not necessary. Jaime will not return to Westeros. I have no doubt about that. He is no danger to you or your reign."

She tilted her head as she considered him. "I think you're allowing brotherly affection to cloud your judgment. That the Kingslayer lives – with his wife and children by his side – is an insult."

Ser Barristan cleared his throat. "I agree with Lord Tyrion, your grace." Tyrion was surprised that Ser Barristan would speak in favor of Jaime's life, but he listened with interest. "Ser Jaime is no harm to you in the Free Cities. There's no need to send an assassin. Lord Varys would have this violence and killing continue forever. The people are tired of it, your grace. They wish for peace. And mercy. You have the iron throne. Is that not enough?"

"But how long will I keep the throne if I show such weakness?"

"Mercy is not weakness, your grace," Ser Jorah said quietly. "You have shown forgiveness to myself and Ser Barristan…and only good has come of it. Someone must be the first to stop this war. The people will only see you favorably, if it is you who brings them peace."

Tyrion nodded, grateful that he was not alone in arguing for Jaime's life. Perhaps Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah are not so bad after all. "I agree. Rather than spending your time seeking revenge, what would benefit your reign would be to travel north. Now that the Starks have reclaimed Winterfell, it would be best to make peace with them, your grace. The north is united. It would serve you well to give them no cause to unite against you."

"Northerners have no love for the Kingslayer," she said stubbornly.

"His wife is heir to Winterfell. You'd be killing the father of her child. Do you not think that would displease them, your grace?" He could see that she was considering his words. "Spring will come next year and Lady Stark will wish to reclaim Riverrun for her brother. It would be wise to reach a truce with her and her brother before they amass any more support." Tyrion was hoping that uniting the Realm would distract Daenerys from her desire to kill Jaime, but he knew if Varys continued to whisper in her ear, there would be little he could do, other than send warning to Jaime. "Traveling north would also remove the dragons from King's Landing for a time. That would alleviate the complaints of the smallfolk." For now.

Daenerys nodded. "I think a trip North is a worthy suggestion. We'll leave tomorrow. Lord Varys, I would speak with you privately."

Tyrion wanted to stop Varys from speaking to the Queen alone, but he knew that she would be angry if he treated her as if she were a child or incompetent. So he left, hearing Varys murmuring of Jaime and Sansa and "folk heroes." Tyrion quickened his pace, resolving to send a raven to Ser Addam immediately, so that word could be sent to Jaime in Lys. I can't let them kill my brother.

…

As always, thank you for reading. It's interesting and challenging to write "beyond" where the books are, and imagine how the novel could end, but it's been fun to do and I appreciate all of the reviews and encouragement. And a special thanks to those of you who consistently post reviews. It motivates me to continue, and to finish the story, rather than to leave it unfinished as so many fanfics are.

Next chapter: Jaime and Sansa encounter someone unexpected in Lys