Thank you to everyone who has read this story. Especially to those who have taken time to review. Thank you!

As a precursor to the Lannisters finding out about Jon, I think it's only fair to let the Northerners know first! So, here goes…

Chapter Thirty-One: Now or Never

Never once did Sansa take her eye off Harrenhal. Every time she saw large companies of men riding out in the distance, she feared her brothers would be among them and she would miss them. But Sandor assured her the Starks would keep their own men to garrison the fortress. Occasionally, they had to duck into the undergrowth and hide as the troops marched right past them, heading south. Not even in the Red Keep had she seen such numbers of fighting men and it made her heart beat race as the realities of Robb's war were brought home to her. Feelings exacerbated by the fact that she still didn't fully understand why he was even doing it.

"Where are they all going?" she asked, once they were on the move again. Even as she did, another host of hundreds was riding to the west. "Are they going to the Riverlands?"

"The Westerlands, more likely," Sandor answered, following their progress. "They'll harry Tywin's northern borders. Those ones who just passed us will be headed towards the Crownlands, hoping to draw the Lannister's out."

Instinctively, Sansa turned her head back the way they had come, as if expecting to see them in action. "But if they all stuck together and marched on King's Landing, they would win for sure. Look how many there are, and there's bound to be thousands more in Harrenhal."

Sandor's burned face contorted as he smiled. "There's more to Westeros than King's Landing, little bird. Your brother needs to take as much of it as possible before the Lannister's take him seriously. So he's spreading out his troops and sweeping down the land. Robert Baratheon did the same." He paused, studying her face for a moment. "Don't be scared, little bird. Your brother is as good as unopposed now that he has the Reach and the Riverlands with him. The Eyrie too, if your Aunt has half an ounce of sense left in her addled wits."

She tried to smile, but images of Robb and Jon marching into great green explosions filled her head. She remembered how the Blackwater burned and the silhouettes of men plunging to their deaths from the rigging of tall ships. That was what greeted Stannis and it was waiting for them, too.

"How much of that green stuff do the Lannisters have?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "That wildfire, I mean."

Sandor looked her in the eye then. "Plenty. But those kinds of tricks only work once."

She supposed that were true, but she knew she wouldn't stop fearing the wildfire until her brothers had successfully taken the capitol.

Meanwhile, their journey to Harrenhal continued peacefully. No more soldiers passed them, and the castle was so close now she could make out the Stark banners hanging from the southern gatepost that led out onto the waters of the God's Eye. She pulled on the reins of her horse, bringing it to a standstill. Wordlessly, she looked and looked at the snarling silk direwolves with tears in her eyes. Sandor didn't even notice until she sniffed loudly, prompting him to turn Stranger around and trot back to her. When he drew level with her, he plucked a silk handkerchief from beneath his breast plate.

"You're home now, little bird," he said, handing it over.

She took it, noticing it was the same one he gave to her after Meryn Trant had beaten her at the Red Keep. A smile teased the corners of her lips as she dabbed her eyes. But before she could get her horse moving again, several figures leapt out into the road ahead, each one with arrows nocked and ready to loose. All were trained on Sandor.

"Lay down your weapons and step away from the Lady," the man in front yelled at them. "Come in peace and we shall not harm you."

Without thinking, Sansa leapt down from her horse and ran to Sandor, who was still mounted on Stranger. Positioning herself in front of him, she spread her arms wide as if trying to shield him. Unable to make out their liveries, she could only hope they were friendly forces.

"No!" she bellowed back, heartbeat racing again. "Don't hurt him, please!"

Their commander, still with longbow drawn tight, approached a step closer. Only then she noted the pale pink cloak of House Bolton. Slowly, he lowered the bow and smiled at her in a way that made her blood run cold. Behind her, she heard Sandor lower to the ground, his sword being draw as soon as he was back on his feet.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths made a convenient war room and council chamber. Not being one to sell himself short, old Harren the Black had made the place big enough for half the realm, it seemed to Jon. They had set up a map table for planning and a separate table for conferences when they were in council. Mace Tyrell was there at that moment, along with Olenna and Lord Ashford. Randyll Tarly was there, along with Garlan and Loras Tyrell. On the northern side, Robb, Rickard Karstark, Lord Glover and Greatjon Umber were all present. Lady Catelyn Stark found herself speaking on behalf of the River Lords. The only other woman was Lady Margaery, seated beside Jon himself. Only one man in the room belonged with none of them: the chainless Maester, Qyburn.

He leaned down between Jon and Margaery, offering some potion that Jon was reluctant to take. "It will help your shoulder heal faster, my lord. Just as effective, if not more so, than my other treatments."

Margaery didn't like him, but he had proved an excellent healer. Despite his misgivings, Jon took the potion in its small vial and set it aside for later. "Before I go to bed this evening, I would like one of those poultices for my leg. The one you gave me last night was very good."

Qyburn bowed deeply. "As you wish, my lord."

Jon thanked him, but Margaery watched him leave with a frown marring her features. Even when the ex-maester had ducked out of a small side door, she kept her golden brown eyes on the closed door. "He's up to something with Lord Bolton, you know. They're always whispering in each other's ear."

"Ramsay was injured when we took the castle, that's all it is," Jon assured her, reaching for his cup of small ale. He realised then that he was dismissing her out of hand. To reassure her, he turned in his seat to face her properly and squeezed her hand. "I'll have a word with Robb and we'll both keep an eye on him. Try not to worry."

"You don't need me to tell you there's always been enmity between your houses- "

"I know that better than anybody," he reminded her. "I was held hostage by his father."

Margaery blushed in response. "Of course, I'm sorry. But I had to say something. Both him and Qyburn make my skin crawl."

"You and I, both," he replied. "And you have my word, we're taking notice."

Any further discussion of the matter was brought to an end by Robb formally opening the meeting. All of their generals had already met, but in a formal setting they still preferred to break bread with each other as their friendship slowly took root. Servants appeared, bearing silver platters loaded with bread and salt, handing them to each person in turn. Another soon followed, bearing a wassail cup full of fruit wine from which they all drank a mouthful each. When the formalities concluded and small talk among the council members died away, Lord Karstark was the first to get to his feet.

Jon and Margaery both looked up at the rugged old Lord. He was of an age with the late Lord Stark, but looked older. A cadet branch of the Starks, they were also blood. One of the few houses Jon felt they could rely on fully, other than the Umbers and Glovers. Even this far south, he dressed in the furs of the far north, over a boiled leather surcoat emblazoned with the sun sigil of his house.

"Along with many of you here today," he began, glancing at the familiar faces surrounding him. "I called my banners to answer the new Lord of Winterfell's rallying cry, to march south and avenge his father's murder. When I got there, like the rest of you there that night, I ended up pledging my sword and bending my knee to the King in the North, Robb Stark. Together, we vowed to take back the North from the Lannisters and their bastard get ruling from the Red Keep. But since that day- "he paused again, looking directly at Jon and Margaery. "Since that day, I and many others have felt something amiss in this campaign, my lords. As much as I welcome this grand southern alliance, many of us feel something is being kept back. Before any more of us die in this war, does his grace not feel it time to enlighten us?"

The faces of the southern generals hardened, but the northerners murmured their assent to the question. Robb had to raise his hand, bidding them to silence again. Once the hall had settled, Robb looked down the table towards Jon, who met his gaze and understood it was time. Nervously, he nodded toward his brother, a gesture of assent.

Chair legs scraped against the wooden floor as Robb rose to his feet. "My Lords, I beg your forgiveness and understanding on this matter. But my Lord of Karhold is right. Some aspects of our campaign have been withheld while we ourselves got to grips with the developing situation- "

Robb was cut off as voices rose in anger and discontent.

"How do you expect us to fight for you if you don't even tell us what for?" one man demanded.

"This is absurd," claimed another.

But many others were making their displeasure known. After a moment, Jon himself got up and called for silence. Suddenly, all eyes were turned to him and he felt himself faltering under their scrutiny. His breath became laboured and he could feel the colour rising in his face. Never before had he addressed such a large audience and it was threatening to overcome him. Quickly, he glanced down at Margaery, to see if she thought he was doing the right thing. She had remained seated, but now looked up at him and smiled encouragingly. Her hand found his, and squeezed reassuringly.

"Go on," she whispered. "Now or never."

Before he began, he withdrew a locket from his breast pocket and laid it on the table. Black enamelled, studded with glittering red rubies, some knocked out where the deathblow had felled its previous owner.

"My Lords, my brother speaks true," he began, his mouth dry now. "But he also spoke true the night you declared him King in the North. Northern independence is still the chief objective of your campaign. That has always been the case and always will be the case."

He paused for a moment, looking down at the locket on the table. Now that the moment had come, he felt like he was crossing a Rubicon. Once the truth was out, there was no taking it back and no turning back. He felt like he was blindly leaping off a cliff edge.

"We never did lie to you, my lords," he said, looking back at them again. "The information we withheld was- "

"With all due respect, Lord Stark, what has this to do with you? You don't even command an army in this war."

Karstark was about to get to his feet again, but Glover pulled him back down. "Let him speak, man!"

But Jon felt his nerves desert him. His hands were shaking and he could barely think straight. If he dithered much longer, the northern generals would think him a green boy incapable of anything. He snatched up the locket and tossed it down the table, giving himself a second to bunch up every inch of courage he had.

"Look at it; it was in my blood father's hands the day he died on the Trident. I am the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark," he declared. "All of you gathered here today know full well why I had to be raised as the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark. My war is not your war, my lords, I understand that as well as any of you. But if you follow my brother in helping me to take the Iron Throne, I will give you the north. On my honour as a Stark, I will give you what you have earned – independence."

Disbelief was heavy in the air as Lord Karstark opened the battered old locket, revealing the likenesses of Lyanna and Rhaegar. But while he looked, Jon unsheathed Dark Sister and laid her on the table.

"And there's this," he said to the room at large. "Dark Sister, wielded by Visenya Targaryen herself and brought to me by Aemon Targaryen."

The sword was passed down the table, each lord in turn satisfying himself of its authenticity. But still the air was heavy with their reticence. But before Jon could formulate another impromptu speech, Lady Stark got to her feet and appealed for silence.

"My Lords, I share my blame for bringing this to pass," she admitted. "I took it upon myself to arrange the southern alliance before any of you had been informed of what was really happening. For that, I offer my sincere apologies. But I had to act fast, before the Tyrells joined the Lannisters and ended up fighting against us. My hand was forced. But the consequences of my hasty actions are clear in this meeting today."

Garlan Tyrell nodded, rose to his feet and kissed Lady Stark on the cheek. "My Lords, a word if I may?" Without waiting, he pressed on with what he had to say. "It is beyond remiss that we knew the truth before you did. But necessity compelled Lady Stark, as she has already stated. But, my lords, I wish to leave that subject for the time being. What I would like to say is this: when our realm was seven separate Kingdoms, all we ever did was fight among ourselves. The battles fought back then were just as ferocious and bloodthirsty as any we fight today and no one here wants to go back to that, am I right?"

Met with universal agreement, Garlan continued. "But the situation we have here is a King in the North, whose brother is the King in the South. Although our kingdoms will be separate entities, we will share a bond of blood through his grace, Robb Stark and his grace, Jon Stark. Bonds of family and blood can never be broken. Surely you can see that if you join us in making Jon Stark King, it will not only guarantee Northern independence, but assure lifelong good will and mutual accord that will eliminate the bitter feuding that tore us apart in the past?"

"Hear, hear!" Lord Glover replied. "Lord Tyrell has the measure of it. A Stark in the north and a Stark in the south can only be to the benefit of the North. You have my sword."

Jon was still on his feet, where he could thank Lord Glover immediately. "For what it's worth, my lords, being made King in the South came as something of a surprise to me, too."

Laughter rippled about the room, breaking the tension that had been steadily building since Lord Karstark brought the matter up.

"My wife's uncle guarded Lady Lyanna Stark during her confinement at the Tower of Joy," Mace Tyrell stated, rising to his feet. "Ser Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard, you may remember him. We have had this fact confirmed, independently, with Lord Leyton Hightower. Lady Lyanna was indeed pregnant with Rhaegar's child. That child can only be the Lord Stark who stands before you now. So be in no doubt, Jon is the rightful Targaryen heir. It goes without saying, House Tyrell is with him all the way. As such, House Tyrell is with the North. Even the Manderlys."

More laughter followed, as the ancient bad blood between Tyrell and Manderly was brought up. Originally a southern House, the Manderlys had been forced out of the Reach and given White Harbour. But all was forgotten now that north and south came together for a greater evil.

"Starks to the North and Starks to the South," Umber laughed deeply from his place at the table. "That I can live with. I pledge my sword to you, Lord Stark. For the sake of the North, I'll help plant your arse on that ugly iron chair."

Jon grew solemn as the others followed suit. Reluctant and still disgruntled at not being told sooner, they complied nonetheless. When it was all done, he could have fainted with relief. They did not declare him king, of course, because he would never be their king. But he had the support of their forces, which was all he needed. Now he knew he had crossed the Rubicon.

"We should have had this planned a lot better," Robb chided as they emerged into the open. "With Jon dithering about whether or not to take the throne, it was impossible."

"I am still here you know," Jon pointed out. "But it was a lot to take on, surely you understand that."

"Stop squabbling, the pair of you. You both have the support of the north, so all is well." Lady Stark was slipping back into a motherly role as she admonished them both equally.

Both Robb and Jon rolled their eyes.

Robb paused a moment, watching over the yard where Garlan Tyrell was fighting three men at once and winning. Other men were in training too, getting ready for the upcoming battles in the south. The whole of the old tourney ground had now been converted to a training ground that rang constantly with the clash of steel on steel and the constant thudding of arrows slicing through archery butts. Soon, he knew, it would be time to advance again whether or not they managed to draw the Lannisters north.

Slowly, they progressed through the yards, heading for the south gate where they could walk along the north shore of the God's Eye. It had fast become a favourite spot of theirs away from the chaos inside Harrenhal. As they went, Robb slowed his pace and watched as Jon and Margaery walked ahead. His brother had come so far now that he was voluntarily holding Margaery's hand. He laughed to himself as he thought on how awkward Jon was around girls – even ones who would soon be his wife.

As he went to catch up again, the horn blasted out over the yard and caught his attention. Another blast, followed by a third.

"Mother," he called out. "Mother, there's someone at the gates."

Jon and Margaery had heard it too. They all regrouped and picked up their pace as they made their way to the front gates. They could make out the Bolton banners amassed before the portcullis.

"Open the gates!" Robb called out. "Let them in."

The old portcullis whined on its winches as it ascended, painfully slowly. The small Bolton host made its way inside before it had fully risen, with Lord Ramsay out in front. On the end of a rope he had the Hound tied and gagged, almost being dragged along by Ramsay's destrier. Mounted on a white palfrey, a tall young woman with auburn hair wept piteously, pleading for Sandor to be released unharmed.

For the second time in as many weeks Robb found himself barely recognising his sisters. "Sansa!"

Her tears dried instantly as her gaze locked into his. But as she tried to dismount, Ramsay gripped her arm.

"I found your sister, she was a hostage of this traitor!"

But Sansa wrenched her arm free and ran full speed across the yard, Robb rushing up to meet her. When they met, he wrapped his arms around her protectively as she broke down sobbing into his shoulder. But he kept his eye on Ramsay and his new prisoner.

"Release that man now!" he commanded.

Meanwhile, Catelyn had heard the commotion. She cried out at the sight of her daughter, a cry of relief and emotion that had been suppressed for nigh on two years. Crossing the yard seemingly at the speed of light, she pulled Sansa into a tight embrace, smothering her in kisses. Freed up to deal with Ramsay and the Hound, he and Jon linked up.

"You heard me, Lord Bolton, release that man now," Robb repeated.

"He had your sister-"

"He brought her to us," Jon cut over him. "All you did was meet them outside the gates when you should have been in the council chamber with us."

Ramsay looked incandescent. "Didn't you hear me? This man abducted your sister from the Red Keep, and we have no way of knowing he intended on bringing her here."

"Liar!"

Both Robb and Jon whipped round to where Sansa had extricated herself from her mother's vice-like embrace. Her tears had hardened into anger and she strode up to her brother's side.

"He saved me from the Lannisters, he brought me all this way until we were ambushed by these men," Sansa blurted out. "Robb, make him release Sandor, please."

Ramsay, with a look of pure loathing in his eyes, had already done it. The Hound cursed him, spat at his feet, but stood his ground. Robb shook with relief as soon as it was done, but noted how the Bolton men soon retreated. He went to call them back, but with Sansa newly returned to him he soon thought better of it.

"My apologies, Ser-"

"I'm not a knight," Sandor rasped over him. But he drew a deep breath, calming himself. "Well, there's your sister."

As he spoke, Sansa rushed back to his side and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before thanking him.

"All the same, Clegane, you have my gratitude. I have no gold with me to pay the ransom, but you're welcome to stay here and sup with us until the debt is settled," said Robb.

Sandor stepped around Sansa, drawing close to Robb and looking him in the eye. "Keep your gold, boy. I gave the little bird my word that I'd bring her to safety and that's what I've done."

Robb was mystified. "So, what do you want?"

But Sandor was already walking away. He looked back over his shoulder and replied: "I wanted to protect your sister. That's what I've done. What's the matter? Can't believe an ugly, twisted cunt like me could do something out of the goodness of his blackened heart?"

Jon watched Sandor in disbelief. "I remember you trying to scare me in Winterfell. Well, seeing as you've abandoned your king, I'd say it's time you swallowed your bitter pride and at least supped with us."

But it was Sansa's appeal that seemed to sway him. "Sandor, please. If you go they'll find you and kill you. Join us and we'll keep you safe."

Robb caught a glimpse of the burnt side of Sandor's face as he turned back fully, seemingly amused at the prospect of the Lannisters killing him. But the smile faded as he met Robb's gaze.

"If I stay, I'm sworn to the Little Bird, you understand?" he said. "My sword is hers; never yours."

Taken aback, Robb was too dumbfounded to counter that argument or consider what it could mean. "I'm not going to stop any man from protecting my little sister, Clegane. So long as you promise to do her no harm, give your life for hers and swear to uphold her honour."

Sandor's face twisted in distaste. "Yes, yes, whatever you like."

That seemed good enough for Sansa, who beamed from ear to ear. Her tears were now long gone. "And you will always have space at my hearth, I'll never ask of you anything that will bring you dishonour and all the rest of that knightly rubbish you hate so much."

Robb looked on in shock as laughter rumbled from the Hound's chest. He retrieved his sword and horse from the pile left by the Boltons before joining up with her again.

"See what she's been learning under my tutelage," he jested as he passed Robb. "Only yesterday she told me Jonquil was a love-struck arsehole who needed feeding to the wolves."

Despite his nervy misgivings, Robb laughed. "I can quite imagine, Clegane. I can quite imagine."

As they returned to the castle, Robb looked up and noticed the chainless maester watching over them from the top of the steps. For a moment, their gaze met, Qyburn's expression completely unreadable.

Luckily for Ser Davos, the journey was a straightforward one. Sail out of the mouth of Blackwater, up round Crackclaw Point and along the Bay of Crabs until they reached Saltpans. The only problem was he was rowing alone. Princess Shireen tried to help, but her tiny arms were no match for the oars. However, they made it in the end. Once at Saltpans, he managed to find a sturdy horse strong enough to carry them both the rest of the way to Harrenhal.

All the while, he chatted to the little Princess to take her mind off her grief. She was all alone in the world and even her beloved fool, Patchface, had been taken from her. Ser Davos, like just about everyone else, detested the half-wit. But anyone who made the little Princess smile was all right by him.

They had been on the road for a week when Ser Davos spotted the huge host of men marching down the road.

"Who has the blue bird flying against a white moon?" he asked Shireen.

"House Arryn," she replied, twisting in the saddle to see round him. "Their words are "high as honour'".

"Oh really?" he looked over his shoulder, trying to get a measure of how far away they were. Such a huge host of men would move slowly and they already had a decent head start on them. It was unlikely they would catch them up.

"Yes, Lady Lysa Arryn is the sister of Lady Catelyn Stark, so they might be friendly," Shireen explained, looking up at him with her guileless blue eyes.

"I hope you're right, princess, but we best not hand about to find out," he replied, urging the horse on faster.

Once they were out of sight again, he pulled up Shireen's hood to disguise her face. He wasn't ashamed of the greyscale, as her mother had been. But he didn't want to draw attention from passers-by. Not with an army hot on their heels. Uneasily, he looked back again, making sure they still had a good lead on them.

Thank you again for reading. A review would be lovely, if you have a minute.

As always, there was so much more that I wanted to cover in this chapter (especially the council meeting where the northerners learned of Jon's true identity). So there's going to be more of that next time; focusing on the aftermath and consequences of the revelation. Thank you again.