A/N: Thanks for the support. Just a friendly reminder that this story uses 'the unreliable narrator' so just keep that in mind when you're reading.

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

Three

Sansa:

The ride to Winterfell did not improve her mood.

Despite the hour and the distance upon hearing the news from Winterfell, she felt like she had no other choice, but to press on and return to her childhood home as quickly as she could. She wanted to make good time, but Domeric would not do it to the detriment of their mounts, so he set the pace and she followed, trusting his knowledge.

When she told her husband of her decision he offered no objections and gave the orders for their horses to be made ready for a swift departure. The sky was clear and the stars were bright. If the reason for their ride was not so despondent, she may have enjoyed it more.

They had been joined further up the road by a handful of Bolton men who had been waiting for them. They had scouted ahead and would serve as their escort. Among them was the rider from Winterfell who had come to the castle and brought with him a letter that could not be trusted to a raven.

That letter was the cause of her current sorrow. It was the reason she found herself riding to Winterfell at such an hour. Despite what it brought her, she still kept it close.

It was short and painful. Bran was gone.

There was more to the message, but Maester Luwin's tidy scrawl slipped her attention since her heart was reeling at those three words.

It was not news she could sleep on at Castle Cerwyn. It was not something she wanted to think about in some guest chamber or at Cerwyn's great hall. No, she didn't want to speculate or worry, she wanted answers. She wanted an explanation of how and why her younger brother was missing.

She would not get that waiting at Castle Cerwyn. They were at Winterfell so they rode.

Sansa had been looking forward to seeing Bran again. She had written him several letters, and she still had his sweet letter that he wrote congratulating her on her marriage to Domeric. He was so kind and thoughtful in his words, and in reading it, she felt like she had her old little brother back.

A brother she had not seen since leaving Winterfell for the capital all those months ago. She could not forget the last time she laid eyes on him. Sansa had tears then, seeing him look so small in his bed. He was unconscious. It hadn't been right that her energetic brother was now so still. Fear and doubt had clung to her heart that he may never wake again.

They reached Winterfell before morning. Luwin and Rodrik were waiting for them. Lady was sniffing intently the air and area around them, sensing her littermate, but unable to see or be with him. Sansa felt her direwolf's sadness through their bond by Summer's absence and the distraught it brought even when his scent was still strong.

Domeric had quickly gotten off his mount and moved to assist her. She was grateful for it. She did not need the help, but she did need him. He held her a few heartbeats longer for comfort before they moved together to speak with Winterfell's maester and castellan.

Maester Luwin had always seemed so different to Sansa than anyone else at Winterfell. Growing up with him as her teacher, he was so smart, so patient, so wise, and he seemed nearly above them because of everything he knew. She thought him incapable of mistakes or errors, seeing him make medicines or correcting her numbers or tending to the ravens or helping Father with a dispute.

Now, looking at him he didn't seem like that at all. The all knowing and infallible teacher, healer, counselor that she had built up in her head. No, now he was just an old man in grey robes.

"Lady Sansa," Luwin's mouth was pursed in worry. He dipped his head to her.

"Maester Luwin," She returned the greeting wishing they were seeing each other under better circumstances.

Ser Rodrik's greeting was a simple, and soft, "Lady Sansa," with a bowed head.

Domeric offered them the expected words, but kept his attention on her. Her hand was in his and she felt the slight pressure of reassurance and she returned it in thanks.

"We should go inside and discuss the matter," Luwin suggested.

"I think that would be best," Sansa had had enough of the late night wind and her time in the saddle had made her tired and sore.

Winterfell was different.

She hated having to leave and travel with the Queen to the capital. She had longed to return to it, but now as she walked the familiar corridors, it did not feel like it once was to her.

The wistfulness that had settled in her chest upon seeing Winterfell had begun to ebb away.

I left Winterfell Sansa Stark, but I return as Sansa Bolton.

Luwin and Rodrik offered no conversation as they walked nor did Domeric. He seemed content to walk silently beside her, but glancing at him, she could see the thoughts lurking behind his dark eyes. She saw the movement of his mouth and knew he was agitated and was holding back questions and other words he wished to give.

It felt strange to be led to father's solar and find it empty. How many times had Luwin walked her here to speak with her father and mother? How many times had she come here looking for them?

It was here that they told me I was betrothed to Domeric. She smiled at the memory, the first smile she felt on her lips since she was informed of Bran's absence. She looked over at the desk half expecting Father to be there. To have his elbows resting on it and his hands clasped together in front of his chin. His grey eyes focused on the parchment below, but when he heard her come in, how quickly they'd change and the weariness would slip away and he'd smile at her, and get up to greet her.

He wasn't there.

The solar was empty.

It was she who found herself sitting in her father's seat at the table. She felt so small in it as if she was still that little girl who'd climb into it, giggling, pretending that she was Lady of Winterfell. Father would laugh and smile and ask her to make rulings, and in pretend she did. It was a fun and silly game.

Its no longer pretend, she reminded herself and sat straighter in her seat, remembering how father would look when he was sitting. He looked and projected himself to be the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and now the former's role was on her and she'd not disappoint him.

I am the Lady of Winterfell.

Domeric had taken the seat Mother would sit in at father's immediate right. Lady disappointed that there was no Summer had settled herself down near the hearth with a lazy groan as she got comfortable.

The fire was already lit, the servants or Luwin had the foresight to make the needed preparations for this meeting. Luwin and Rodrik moved to take seats across from them.

Sore and tired, she refused to show either, looking between the maester and castellan with a carefully guarded look. I'm not the little girl you remember, she wanted them to know. I'm Sansa Bolton, and I'm the Lady of Winterfell and future Lady of the Dreadfort.

"Explain to me," She carefully kept her tone measured, "How Bran is missing and why he was not brought back upon that discovery?"

Why is my brother not here? She was yearning to see him. Sansa wanted to see him ride and hear his laugh. So that she could banish that last memory of him out of her mind of him still and broken on his bed. Instead, he was gone, and all she had to cling to was that sour thought which made her belly rumble. I miss his smile.

"Hodor," Ser Rodrik answered, the castellan of Winterfell still looked at a loss at what happened and how it happened.

Under his very nose, she kept that to herself, and insured none of that annoyance was conveyed in her face or tone. She instead gave him an encouraging nod to continue, knowing there must be more than their simpleton stablehand suddenly deciding to spirit Bran away one day.

Luwin then explained the harness that had been constructed to allow Bran to move about the castle and how it worked with Hodor. He then revealed that besides her brother and Hodor that Jojen and Meera Reed and the wildling prisoner, Osha were all gone.

She did not know the Reeds well, but she thought on them longer than the others. Sansa knew neither Bran nor Hodor were behind this decision, and that it had to be one of the other three. The wildling though tempting to blame, didn't make sense. Could this wildling subdue three others alone and take them all hostage? Sansa did not think so.

Father spoke well of Howland Reed and considered him a true friend and loyal to House Stark. Mayhaps, he did not teach such things to his children.

"And you sent out riders?" Domeric finally spoke. His tone was soft, but she sensed the agitation swirling underneath it.

"Of course we did," Ser Rodrik looked insulted that it had to be asked. "Summer was spotted in the south so we sent out riders there, but we could not find them."

Luwin gave a sad nod at their plight of letting the acting Lord of Winterfell slip away from them.

"It was then that we realized that they never went south, but north. Bran sent his wolf south to mislead us," Luwin said, "I then asked for an inventory to be taken and realized we were missing foodstuff from our stores. They must have been slowly and carefully in small quantities taking what they needed for this trip. I would not be surprised if they snuck off parts of their supper too for them to store away."

Bran sent Summer to mislead them, her heart worried over that. Was he more responsible than she first thought? Bran's a boy, she didn't think it possible that he was the one who led and decided on this course.

Why would Bran want to leave? It didn't make sense to her.

"Why would they go north?" Sansa couldn't understand why they left at all, but to go north was to go to the Wall. She knew Bran had always wanted to see it, but she could not think that was why they slipped away in the middle of the night. To visit the Wall and then for them to promptly return to Winterfell.

"We don't know," Luwin answered.

"Is it possible the wildling took them hostage?" Domeric was exploring one of the few leads they may have had, no matter how unlikely. Her taking them hostage and returning them to her people made some sort of sense, but to overtake all of them and lead them alone, didn't.

Unless, she tricked them. Still, Sansa wasn't fully convinced, but why take the wildling at all?

"No," Luwin dismissed, "Osha has served Winterfell well since Robb brought her back to the castle."

"He should've just brought back her head," was her husband's mild response.

Ser Rodrik looked aghast at Domeric's brazenness. "She surrendered, Lord Robb was right to show her mercy."

"And now she very well may have Bran," Domeric didn't even look interested in Rodrik's reply. "And is traveling north," He dismissed the looks they gave him. "This is the same wildling who wanted to take Bran and use him as a hostage for their King-Beyond-The-Wall. Or am I mistaken?"

Luwin and Rodrik's silence was louder than any answer they could've possibly given.

It was the castellan who found his voice first. "I taught you to disarm your opponents, Domeric not to dismember them."

Her husband's smile flickered across his face. "Ah, well that was learned at the Dreadfort, Ser Rodrik," he answered mildly, "The benefits of being a Bolton."

"What of Jojen and Meera?" Sansa did not need an argument to break out between her husband and Winterfell's castellan. Bran may have used Summer to mislead the search parties, but he was not the one behind this silly idea to abandon Winterfell.

No, she wouldn't believe it. She couldn't.

They could've persuaded Bran, she reasoned, and then forced or lied to the wildling to get her complacent especially if they were traveling north.

Would they not need someone who knew that land? Sansa mulled it over, but she still could not figure out the reason for any of this. It was a bothersome feeling in the back of her mind, gnawing away just out of her reach.

"They took a great interest in the godswood and went there often," Luwin said, "I do remember upon them arriving that was when Bran spoke to me about magic and asked me about it and if it existed." A sad smile played on his lips, "I think the boy just wanted some hope that he could use his legs again."

Magic? Sansa wasn't sure what to make of that, and exchanging a look with her husband told her plainly, he didn't either. Reluctantly, she put it aside for now because there were other matters that needed to be addressed now that her brother had disappeared.

"The rest of our retinue if they leave Castle Cerwyn in the morning should arrive sometime in the afternoon. They cannot know of Bran's disappearance," She had decided from the beginning that it must be kept a guarded secret.

Domeric's hand rested on her knee.

Ser Rodrik was not a man made for deceit. "What would you have us say?"

She had an answer already. "We will say that Bran went south to foster at the Neck with Jojen and Meera Reed." It could not be refuted, few paid the crannogmen much attention, and with their own disappearance along with Bran, it served to explain their absences as well.

Sansa slipped out of her seat, a rush of drowsiness greeted her. She was feeling the effects of the late night ride.

"A raven should be sent to Riverrun informing Lady Stark," Domeric had followed her example and moved to join her.

She knew what he was thinking about delivering that sort of news. Father had entrusted him with two of his children and Bran was already missing. It's not your fault. She squeezed his shoulder.

"A raven should be sent to Greywater Watch," His face began to harden, "Summoning Howland Reed to Winterfell to explain the actions of his children."

Luwin's eyes widened and Ser Rodrik looked scandalized by the mere suggestion of it.

Sansa was coming to a similar conclusion as her husband. She did not know why they were doing it, but the Reeds were surely a part of this. Bran would not just leave Winterfell. She would not believe it. If the Reeds were responsible then their father must answer for them.

"This is not a request," She clarified, "His presence is demanded. He may come after the Harvest Feast if he wishes so as to not draw attention, but he must come."

"My lady," Luwin was taken aback by her tone. "Your father has always considered Howland Reed a friend to Winterfell."

"Then Lord Reed has nothing to worry about," Sansa dismissed, "This isn't a message from the daughter of Lord Stark. This raven is sent by the Lady of Winterfell. Father has invested in me the powers to rule the north and with that, I demand Lord Howland Reed to make an appearance to explain the actions of his children and to determine if they are involved in anyway. Failure to answer or appear will make Winterfell consider House Reed a potential enemy to House Stark."

She moved to leave with Domeric beside her and Lady behind her. She paused to look back, to see their surprised faces, "I will see the letter before it is sent, but it will be sent today. Thank you."

She collapsed onto their bed as soon as she could.

After her meeting with Luwin and Rodrik, both exhausted and stressed, she knew she had to see to the preparations of their guests expected later that day. Domeric had made the suggestion that she should rest and he'd oversee it. She had been hesitant, but her weariness made her accept. So she slept and her husband began the preparations which included settling their Bolton guards at Winter Town.

He then woke her before the guests arrived to give her enough time to prepare herself. She then greeted them with her husband, and afterwards it was Domeric who found his way to their chambers to rest.

The Harvest Feast was quickly approaching and Sansa needed to ensure Winterfell was ready to host the northern nobility. There were matters and disputes she sat on from the smallfolk and she quickly realized that things were more dire than she realized. With so many men in the south there was fear that there would not be enough left to work the fields to bring in all the harvest and that would lead to all sorts of problems if it could not be resolved.

And what men they did have may be needed to be raised to march north if this King-Beyond-the-Wall believed himself capable of challenging the Stark's dominion over the north. She prayed it did not come to actual battle, but being the Lady of Winterfell she had to do more than that. She had to prepare for it.

I cannot fear it, she reminded herself, I can only be ready for it.

"I thought we'd never leave," Domeric grumbled. He had been woken up so that he could attend the feast with her, but his tone clearly conveyed he wished he just stayed asleep.

She agreed. After everything she had gone through during the day, the trials and the headaches, all she wanted was to just withdraw for the evening with Domeric and eat a quiet supper. It was a luxury she wasn't afforded. She was Lady of Winterfell now and had to properly host her guests who had traveled with them from the Riverlands.

So she sat in Father's seat in the Great Hall to feast their Frey guests. She did all that was required of her as the host. It had been a trying supper. It was not the duties that weighed heavily on her. It was the ghosts and empty chairs. All the familiar faces she was used to seeing around her, but none of them were there.

Robb, Jon, Arya, Mother, Father, Rickon, Bran. It was a long list. It felt so strange for her to be in the Great Hall, but without her family. It's just me and Domeric now. More than once, her heart conjured the sight of Bran sitting beside her. He would be grinning and talking excitedly at what he had been doing that day. He'd be more focused on his stories than his supper.

Where are you, Bran? The questions would not leave her. Why did you go?

She had read Luwin's summons to Howland Reed before the evening meal. He had once more voiced his disapproval of it, but when asked how else were they to find out what happened to her brother, he offered her nothing. So the letter was sent using the raven specifically trained for Greywater Watch.

The bird had to be specially trained because of the castle's unique ability to move throughout the swamps. So every Lord of Greywater Watch would give a special raven to the Lord of Winterfell to ensure that House Reed would always answer when Winterfell called them.

It had been a long and tiresome feast before Sansa and Domeric finally excused themselves. It was only after she believed they were there long enough so no slight could be taken by their departure.

They had been given the largest set of guest chambers within the Great Keep. Her room was deemed too small for both of them to be comfortable. They decided not to use the Guest House since that would be needed for the Harvest Feast. She didn't like the idea of staying there and then having to uproot back to the First Keep once the northern nobles began to arrive.

This arrangement allowed them space and privacy since it would give them their own solar. It even included a second bed chamber where a visiting lord's wife could retire to, but Sansa confidently foresaw that room seeing little use from them while she and Domeric were here.

Mayhaps, we'll make it Lady's room, she smiled. It was no longer easy to share a bed with a direwolf of Lady's size. Not to mention, now that she is married, she much preferred to share her bed with her husband. Lady was graceful, but would make the occasional noise of protest when they asked her to get off the bed when it was time to sleep.

"Lady Sansa?" It was a timid, but familiar voice that came from behind their door. It was Jeyne.

Sansa reluctantly sat up to greet her friend. She looked over her shoulder to see Domeric was sitting by the hearth. "You may enter, Jeyne"

She did, "I'm sorry to interrupt, Sansa." Her eyes showing her hesitation for her intrusion.

"I thought Colmar was to escort you to your chambers," Sansa remembered it well since it had been her who had planted the idea in his head.

"He was," Jeyne's voice betrayed her feeling for her husband's squire, "He is."

Sansa smothered the smile she wanted to show at how smoothly her plan for Colmar and Jeyne was going. It may not be honorable, but that did not bother her. She cared far more for Arya than any Frey.

This way it would be on the Freys and not her family. She saw the way Colmar looked at Jeyne. Sansa thought it'd be just a matter of time before his control slipped which would then lead to a potential scandal. It had worked easily enough on Fair Walda. Sansa had not liked her nor did she want her to come north, so she devised a plan to rid herself of Walda. It had been easy to quietly arrange for Walda's downfall.

A pity for her she was caught with a household knight instead of a lord or heir, Sansa had thought afterwards without feeling any such pity. Or perhaps Fair Walda should just be thankful she wasn't caught with one of her kin. She pushed that reminder of certain Freys and their Targaryen practices out of her mind as quickly as it had come.

Besides, she thought, Colmar and Jeyne were a good match for one another. It was not a political one for the Freys, but certainly a personal one for him. It would also make her friend very happy and Sansa thought Jeyne deserved it.

"You asked me to inform you when all the Freys had settled into their chambers."

"I did," Sansa remembered now, "Thank you." She smiled at her friend, she was pleased to see some of the old Jeyne beginning to emerge now that they were back at Winterfell. She did not mean the old mean Jeyne that would pick on Arya. No, it was the happiness that had been taken from her since that terrible day at the capital when Sansa's father was arrested and Jeyne's father was killed.

Jeyne slipped out of their room quietly and that was when Sansa for a flickering heartbeat saw Colmar waiting outside, before the door closed behind them. The look he tried to hide when watching Jeyne was easy for her to read.

"Colmar is quite smitten with Jeyne."

Domeric sighed. "Must we speak about Freys in our bedchambers?"

She giggled. She felt the bed shift with her husband joining her. "So," She said, "What should we be doing in our bedchambers?"

"I'll show you."

She happily let him, deciding that rest could wait a little while longer.

Robb:

To Robb,

How is Bran?

Tell him he must take me on a ride when I return to Winterfell, and that I'll insist if I have to. Ser Arys has said he will show him a few tips of wielding a sword on horseback that he learned in the Reach.

I envy the bonds between your siblings. Sansa talks of you often and the mischief you all caused. The stories are delightful and entertaining. However, I now fear what tricks you and your brothers will have planned for me when I get to Winterfell. It was only ever really me and Tommen. And, something had been written, but then thoroughly crossed out and blotted, making it impossible for him to read.

I miss you, and I wait patiently for your correspondence. Ser Arys just said I do not wait patiently. He may be right, but that does not mean he can correct his princess. I excitedly look forward to your next letter. Ser Arys approved of the word, so it is written.

Bran will be first in my prayers tonight.

All my best,

Myrcella

Robb folded up the old letter.

That had been the last true one that she sent to me. The one that came after had been her brother's words forced to be written by her hand. There's been silence ever since.

He had brought most of her correspondence with him. He had left Winterfell still planning on marrying her, and her letters brought him comfort and a feeling of contentment while he camped and marched his way from Winterfell through the north and into the Riverlands.

His original plan was to get father and her.

He sighed. I rescued my father, but I could not rescue her.

He put the letter on his desk.

She is a bastard born of incest. She is not a princess. The prickly voice of Septa Mordane haunted him. She's an abomination.

It was true. He knew that, but then he'd read her letters which were filled with such warmth and compassion and charm, and he could not help but see her differently. These are not the words of an abomination.

He knew what was right and what was wrong, but still he struggled. His thoughts and emotions wrangled with one another tirelessly, but all he wanted was peace.

"Is that from Jon?"

The suddenness of the voice startled Robb, jumping out of his seat, his heart pounding. "ARYA!" He said his sister's name like a curse when he spun around to see her standing beside him with a sheepish smile.

"I told you I do not like when you do that." The that was arriving unannounced and the sneaking up on him.

"I forgot," She said, not quite meeting his stern gaze.

Robb took a breath to try to calm his frantic heartbeat and to reel in the nerves that Arya had startled. He wanted to blame it solely on his sister's sneakiness, but this castle put him on edge.

Harrenhal, He had been camped here for more than a fortnight, and yet he grew no closer in his comfort of the place. This enormous ruined castle with melted brick and burnt stone was rumored to have all sorts of ghosts and shades that crept in the shadows.

He took up his rooms in the Widow's Tower. It was large, dirty, dusty, and filled with grime. He didn't think twenty straight years of cleaning could scrounge this place of the ill feeling that seemed to tickle at the back of his neck here and there.

It was too big. Too monstrous in size, and now it resembled a broken husk of a once glorious creation.

Arya on the other hand liked the tower, because of the stories that came with it featuring Queen Rhaena Targaryen, a dragon rider, and widow of two kings. She liked to explore its crevices and corners admiring the remnants of what was left behind and possibly to find anything that may have once belonged to the Queen. Harrenhal too, fascinated her since it was destroyed by Aegon and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys both of whom, Arya loved to hear stories about.

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd be with Princess Shireen?"

"I was," Arya answered, "And we were having fun, Lyanna too, but the Queen did not like it," Arya made a face at the mention of King Stannis' wife, and it made Robb laugh. "We were not conducting ourselves like proper noblewomen."

"You mustn't speak so freely about her, Arya," His rebuke had no bite to it, and Arya knew it, by the smile she gave him. "I'm surprised she hasn't learned that we northerners aren't proper nobles," He teased, pleased at the mischievous glint in his sister's eye. She agreed with his assessment with an enthusiastic nod.

"Is this from Jon?" She showed her quickness by snatching Myrcella's letter from his desk.

"Arya," Robb's tone stopped her fingers from opening it.

"Sorry," she bit her lip, giving it immediately back without trying to read it, a remarkable show of restraint from his very curious sister.

"Thank you," He pocketed the letter to remove any further temptation. I should throw it in the flames, but he never did. "It was an old letter from the Princess." He found himself saying.

"You like her."

"That doesn't matter," Robb put in brusquely, trying to misdirect his sister and her astute observation. "It's not about liking my bride. Our marriages are about helping our family." The words were said out of duty not desire. He's been dreading receiving a raven from his father informing him that he was in negotiations in a betrothal with a maiden who Robb did not know.

If it brought us the Vale does it matter?

His head gave one answer, but his heart another.

"Sansa liked hers," Arya pointed out. She had moved to sit on his bed. The topic of betrothals was not one his sister readily talked about since it reminded her of her own complicated situation with the Freys. They both knew if and when Father dismissed the Freys' betrothal it did not mean Arya was free from marriage. She'd just be betrothed to someone else in an effort to solidify alliances.

"We are not all so fortunate," Robb reminded her.

"Jon too," Arya added with a pout, "It doesn't seem fair that they get to like their betrothals but we don't."

"They took all the luck," Robb observed dryly, trying to make sure he didn't sound bitter that his future marriage didn't have the same promising potential as either Jon's or Sansa's.

"Still," She wasn't mollified, crossing her arms over her chest, "I don't like it."

Robb moved to sit beside her on the bed. He put an arm around her. "We must help our family," He reminded her. "If a marriage can help us end this war swiftly and safely get us back to Winterfell. Does that not seem a fair price to pay?"

She chewed on her lip, thinking it over. "But we're the ones paying it."

He chuckled at her tone, "Aye, we are, but I'd marry the ugliest maiden in the Seven Kingdoms if it meant you got to be happy and free."

Arya snickered, "Truly?"

"Truly," He confirmed, even in jest, he found himself meaning it upon seeing the bright smile his sister gave him before giving him a fierce hug.

"Fortunately for you," She said softly, "That Queen Selyse is already married."

"Arya," Robb's correction turned into a laugh while he held her.

That was how Olyvar found them to inform them that a rider from Jon's party arrived with news.

The Lannisters had broken the truce.

"Arrogance," Ser Axell Florent insured his voice was heard first after Robb gave his suggestion to King Stannis on how best to take advantage after learning of the Lannisters breaking the truce.

The king had gathered them in his solar in the Kingspyre Tower. It was a large room that looked more fitting for a great hall than a simple solar. It was well furnished, a large weirwood table was anchored at its center, where the king had gathered his council to decide what to do next.

Still, like all the castle, Robb did not like it. He remembered this was the tower that Harren and his sons were in when they were burned alive. Remnants of the Targaryen's unrelenting attack was seen in the brick and stone at how it melted and twisted buckling under the intense power of Dragonflame.

Did they perish in this room? He suppressed the shiver as that uneasy feeling coldly latched itself onto him.

It was a large room, but a small council.

King Stannis stood alone on his side of the table. He was not dressed like a king. He wore simple and plain clothes, black trousers and a grey tunic. His belt contained studden garnetts and yellow topaz, but those were hardly jewels of a king.

Ser Axell Florent who for reasons Robb did not know had found himself a place at the king's table. He had served as Stannis' castellan at Dragonstone for more than a decade.

If only the king left him there, Robb thought unhappily. The old knight had not liked him from the beginning, and Robb neither saw a reason to like let alone respect him. He was arrogant and dismissive and thought more of his worth than what it truly was.

Ser Davos, the smuggler who Robb had gotten to know and like while he was at Riverrun had traveled with his father to the Vale. His was a presence that Robb missed.

The last person of their council was the Lady Melisandre. She was a red priestess of R'hllor and rumored to be a shadowbinder out of Asshai. She stood away from them and the table as if their words or their tactics were unworthy of her attention. Her back was to them, looking into the bright orange flames of the roaring fire that was nestled into the huge hearth.

"He tells us he can take a castle, but not how," Ser Axell was a short man with thick arms and bandy legs. He had the prominent ears of a Florent, which only accentuated his homely appearance.

"I do not tell out of caution," Robb restrained his anger that wanted to lash out at the man standing across from him. "The Lannisters held this castle before us. It is not foolish to think they may have spies still here. It is a large castle and roaches will always scatter and hide."

There was another reason for why he hesitated. It was because he did not want to reveal how this plan came to him. Before Robb had settled in Harrenhal, he scouted the borders between the Riverlands and Westerlands to ensure that the truce was being observed. It was there that he found something.

No, it was not me, he corrected himself, It was Grey Wind. I saw it through his eyes. We were one.

He and wolf together found a hidden goat path that could allow them to avoid the Golden Tooth.

If he were to relay that secret path aloud, he feared it could lead back to the Lannisters and they'd adjust accordingly. He was counting on speed and stealth to bring them this successful invasion into the Westerlands.

"The gall," Ser Axell replied, "I have served His Grace faithfully for more than ten years," he sneered, "And I would not betray either him or the Lord of Light," He bowed his head in reverence with his last statement.

The knight was a fervent follower of this religion, that Robb had barely heard of. However, since they brought the north into the fold under Stannis, he was seeing more of it, and it did not leave him with a good impression.

It is everywhere, he noticed, including on the king's banner and in his council. He did not think Stannis was a believer like his wife or Ser Axell, which was the only relief Robb could find about the matter.

"The Lord of Light will give us victory," Melisandre finally turned to face them. The glow of the fire behind her made her look ethereal.

Robb did not like how her eyes were looking at him.

"I have seen it in the flames, my king," That powerful gaze turned to Stannis, who was standing stiff and silent. He looked more bothered at her attention than pleased.

He may be the only man who would, he thought of his king and the adviser he brought with him. Robb was slightly uncomfortable around her, but he could not deny that she was beautiful.

She was near enchanting with how she looked, presented herself, and her exotic lilt from her time in the eastern part of the world. Slender, and graceful, her hair was long and the color of burnish copper. She wore loose, red robes and on her pale neck she wore a red-gold choker containing a ruby.

"A victory led by Stannis," Ser Axell was quick to jump in on the priestess' words. "Not a boy," His worshipping look turned sour when he turned from Melisandre to then Robb.

"Lord Robb Stark has won more battles in a year than you have in twenty," Stannis cut in bluntly. He did not even cast a glance in the direction of the offended Florent knight. "I will hear his plans," He said, "Alone, and he'll have my answer then."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Robb bowed his head.

"Then victory we will have," Melisandre looked unbothered at not being invited. Her gaze stayed on Robb, and her ruby lips curved upwards. "I have seen you in the flames, Robb Stark."

Was I on fire? He thought dryly, but the tone she spoke it in made him keep it to himself. She spoke in such reverence as if he should be honored to be seen in a fire. Robb wasn't.

"Yes," she took his silence as if he was pleased at her premonition. "You are important in the battles to come, Robb Stark, your bastard brother too, Jon Snow." She decided, "I've seen you both and more."

From the corner of his vision he could see a pouting Ser Axell Florent at the attention Robb was getting, but not wanting. His eyes held longing in her direction. He yearned to be blessed by her words, when Robb just wanted her to look anywhere but him.

If she expected him to feel comfort at such words, he didn't. It was unease that built in his stomach.

I do not believe in her flames or Lord of Light, he reminded himself, so why did the discomfort remain?

A/N:

I don't think its too crazy for Domeric and Sansa to want Howland to explain what the heck is going on. They don't have all the information so they are chasing the few leads available to them.

Melisandre doesn't have the same influence/pull in this story as she does at this point in the books. My reasoning for this is because the north and riverlands so quickly came over to Stannis. That means the Sept at Dragonstone was never burned and Cressen is not dead. However, Melisandre is still an adviser with a growing following.

I'll admit I haven't really found the best groove or much confidence in my depiction of Stannis, Melisandre or Davos so I'm sorry if they still sound off.

Melisandre is she foreshadowing or bullshitting? I mean talk about a safe prediction, I predict that the two men who have been winning battles will continue to do so...Brilliant!

Just a quick reminder that if you notice a discrepancy in this story it is more than likely a liberty I'm taking. Such as a raven being able to find Greywater Watch. Or the layout of Winterfell and it being changed or tweaked. So no need to point them out. I'm aware.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire

P.S: If anyone needed/wanted a refresher or was curious about Bran and the Reeds and any possible hints you can go back and reread chapter 52 (Arya VII) of 'Our Blades Are Sharp.'