A/N: Months ago, I saw that someone had tagged this fic with "Robb Stark Lives" and it's been breaking my heart ever since.
Mace Tyrell was dead.
His assassination had been discovered later, after all the fighting had settled down. And after all the wounds had been patched, the last traitors and assassins routed from the castle, the remaining lords of Robb's alliance stumbled into the great hall, weary and covered in blood. Margaery leaned her head on her brother's shoulder, red-eyed and silent, both siblings clutching the same steaming mugs that everyone held and no one had the will to drink. Olenna, the Queen of Thorns herself, was indisposed in her grief for her son.
One by one, the lords arrayed themselves in chairs along the walls. Sansa looked around the room. Edmure Tully, Catelyn, Margaery and Loras, Rodrik Harlaw, Lord Royce of the Vale, Varys, Oberyn Martell, Bolton, Umber, Karstark, and any number of lesser lords. As each of them looked toward what the plan would be, going forward, only one thing was certain:
They would no longer be taking the Iron Throne.
"Our own men," a minor lord from the Reach said, sounding defeated. "How were so many willing to betray us? Willing to kill their own lord, to–"
"I can only speak for my own troops," Lord Royce said. "As I know the face of every man from my House that I brought with me. Yet men armored in my colors died last night – and not I nor any man with me can recognize their faces. What does that say to you, my lord?"
"Infiltration," someone said.
"Lannisters," a different lord replied.
A shudder went through the room.
"How did the Lannisters get in?" someone asked.
Sansa didn't look up at the speaker, nor at the one who replied, "Tunnels. Same bloody way we took the castle. Except there were dozens more we never knew about."
It figured, Sansa realized. If Tyrion had built a single tunnel, why hadn't his father? Or the many fathers before him? Casterly Rock was a rat warren of endless passageways and loops and–
Tywin had to have known about the one in his own room. And he'd have known Robb would take Tywin's rooms for his own.
She wished her grip was strong enough to crack her mug. They'd been so arrogant, sitting pretty in Tywin's castle. So proud of themselves. Sansa had known Tywin would strike back, had known how low he would stoop and still–
Someone else had spoken and she fought to catch the words still lingering in the air.
"We have to move immediately," a Tyrell bannermen was saying. "We're not safe here, not–"
"If we move," Bolton replied. "Where do you think will be more secure? The open road? The Riverlands, where Tywin's forces control and pillage? When we march, we must be prepared for battle. Are your men? Because I doubt our men are rested from last night."
Umber spat. "We still can't be sure who was attacking! They came from every damned army, every–"
"Not every," Varys cut in. Eyes turned to him. "I saw no ironborn colors among the assassins."
"Because we don't wear poncy colors," one of the Harlaw captains said.
Before an outcry could grow, Rodrik gave the more serious response of, "Because I only took twenty men to shore, not my whole fleet. Weren't all the rest of you complaining about equipment going missing? Should have guarded your armories better."
The uproar came at that. Every lord who had been stolen from was on his feet, shouting at Rodrik or shouting at each other, every man calling all the others incompetents and traitors. All except Sansa's party, sitting stoically on one side of the room, and the Tyrell siblings, on the other side.
Loras gave Margaery a little nudge.
She did not raise her head from his shoulder, but her clear voice cut through the noise nonetheless. "My lords. We will not waste our breath placing blame. What's done is done."
Bolton turned towards her from where he stood in the center of the hall alongside the other shouting lords. "My lady, that may be, but if we are to conclude your late husband's war, we must–" As he spoke, he took a step towards her.
A murderous growl rent the air.
The scarred direwolf never lifted his head from his paws from where he lay at Margaery's feet. His one good eye tracked Bolton's every move. His ruined eye, sewn shut, lent the wolf an even more ferocious air.
Bolton cleared his throat. "My lady, I–"
Grey Wind growled again, low and menacing.
"It's not safe having that thing around around." Umber gestured with his three-fingered hand towards the direwolf. "Not without the wolf's bloody Stark to tell it not to maul the rest of us. Take it out of here, my lady, before it hurts someone."
Margaery still had not lifted her head from Loras's shoulder. "You are welcome to try, Lord Umber. It does not listen to me. Though I can make no promises that this encounter will go any better than your last." Umber started to reply and Margaery added, "Should any man hurt the wolf, that man will have a Tyrell spear put through him."
Stunned silence answered her words.
"Someone brought the deer."
Slowly, everyone turned to Theon, sitting at Sansa's right hand. His eyes were still as red-rimmed as the rest of the Starks. Theon repeated, "Someone brought the deer. We keep talking as if the Lannisters attacked us, but someone brought a poisoned deer carcass into our halls for the direwolves. Someone we trusted."
At Sansa's feet between them, Lady gave a low whine.
"Who brought the deer?" Edmure Tully said.
Around the room, men shifted. Until finally–
"We did," Loras said. Sucked-in breaths responded to his words and he continued, "My father said it would be great fun, watching the wolves at work. Our men brought it into the hall, and–"
"Traitor!" Torrhen Karstark was on his feet. Other murmurs were joining in. "You murdered your king and–"
"SILENCE!" Sansa yelled, before the ruckus could get worse. Thankfully, the room quieted. She turned to Loras. "Did your father hunt this deer?"
"No," Loras said, with a frown. "Of course not. He never hunts." Loras swallowed. "Hunted. He never hunted." Margaery squeezed Loras's arm.
"Then how did he get it? Was it his idea to have the deer hunted?" Sansa continued.
"No," Loras said, his frown deepening. "He said it had been a splendid idea to give the wolves the deer, as if it had been suggested to him." Before Sansa could ask the obvious next question, Loras added, "I do not know who suggested it or had it hunted."
No one volunteered any alternatives.
Bolton took a sip of his mulled cider.
No one else had the stomach to drink. And Sansa knew. Of course she knew. There was exactly one man who had been with the wolves long enough to know they'd sense ill-intentions on whomever physically delivered the poison to them, exactly one man who knew that and hated the Starks enough to poison their wolves. A dead wolf, even a missing wolf would have sounded an alarm that Bolton couldn't risk. A sleeping wolf raised few suspicions.
Thankfully, no one expected Sansa to be anything other than solemn – masking her rage. "Thank you, ser," she replied to Loras. "We will look into the matter. You've lost as much as the rest of us, this night. No one suspects your late father or the Tyrells of any treason."
"But–" Torrhen Karstark started.
"No one." Sansa leveled a glare his way. Torrhen fell silent.
Margaery sent Sansa a grateful look. Sansa gave a nod in reply; neither girl was capable of even the slightest smile.
Perhaps the Tyrells had been involved… but they had gained nothing and lost much. Sansa doubted Tyrell involvement, but if everyone were her enemy, everyone her friend, she wouldn't dismiss it out of hand.
Though, the thought of whose advice that had once been brought yet another painful realization. Sansa had to clench her jaw to keep from crying out. She knew exactly who had orchestrated this with the Lannisters, exactly who had told Bolton what to do, exactly who had stationed guards in front of her own door.
Baelish.
Perhaps he'd even set the plan in motion with Tywin while he'd been under their roof, before Robb had exiled him. It was likely.
If she'd been able to pretend to be his friend, would Baelish have ever dared break that friendship? Or if she had killed him outright, would she have been able to protect Theon?
Both questions likely had the same answer: no.
My fault, Sansa thought for the millionth time. She'd crowned Stannis, exiled Baelish, and hidden Jaime. My fault. All of this.
She'd never told Robb her full secret; Robb had never fully trusted her. Which had beget which? Was it a surprise that Robb had then only taken her advice when it had suited him? Sansa had been his most trusted advisor but Robb had never blindly danced to her tune.
Knowing that, and knowing it would likely continue, by what right had she interfered with Stannis? If she'd been content to let the Battle of the Blackwater play out, Tywin would have reinforced his royal grandchildren and likely defeated Stannis – at a cost. Perhaps that battle-broken Stannis would have joined with the Starks on better terms. Perhaps he wouldn't have. Perhaps he'd have died. Regardless, Tywin would have been too busy defending King's Landing to bother moving against the Starks holding Casterly Rock. Joffrey would be alive – but so would Robb.
If Sansa had kept playing friendly with Baelish, dangled herself like an available piece of meat, he would never have killed the Stark brother whose crown made her a princess. Only once he'd known she wouldn't have him had Baelish moved against the Starks. It turned her stomach to think it, but if she'd realized Robb's life hung in the balance, she would have played friendly as long as Baelish wished. Hell, back in King's Landing when her father's life hung in the balance, she'd planned to marry the piece of slime to save him. She'd been vulnerable and alone, then; she'd thought the Starks strong and safely allied, now. Not strong enough. Not safe enough. Robb had died for it.
And Tywin Lannister would never have risked the Starks countering an assassination by hurting his son, had he known his enemies held him. But Sansa had been so preoccupied with preserving the advantage of their secret prisoner that she'd never stopped to consider the cost. Tywin's hand would never be stayed by something he didn't know they held. So he had struck – and Robb had died.
My fault. All of it. A single change and Robb would still be alive. Sansa knew they were the vicious thoughts of her grief, knew she was blaming herself too thoroughly, knew others were more to blame, but knowing couldn't make her stop fixating on her own share. If only she'd been better, smarter, less trusting, more cunning, she could have prevented it, could have–
Again, the conversation in the great hall had continued without her.
"We keep talking of traitors," Edmure said, "But what of the imp? We let a Lannister into our own halls and are surprised when he opens the gates?"
"Aye," Umber spat. "One who's opened gates before."
On Sansa's other side, Oberyn shifted. "Tyrion Lannister did not betray you last night."
"No?" Edmure said viciously. "And how do you know this?"
"Because I was with him," Oberyn calmly replied. "Five assassins attacked his room while he should have been sleeping. He barely made it through alive – and only because the assassins were not expecting me. Can you say the same, Lord Edmure? Were assassins specifically sent into your room to kill you?"
"Well… no." Edmure hesitated. "But there was a battle in the hallway outside my room and I had to fight just to survive and–"
"Right," Oberyn said. "Unlike Robb Stark, Mace Tyrell, and Tyrion Lannister, no men were sent specifically to kill you. None of those three men are your traitor, Lord Tully."
"Could have been a ruse," Umber muttered.
Without saying a word, Oberyn pulled down the neck of his tunic. A stitched gash cut across his chest. Then he pulled back his sleeve, revealing an even longer one on his forearm.
He simply said, "I have seen better ruses."
No one had anything to say to that.
Sansa put a hand on an uninjured part of Oberyn's arm, shocked that he'd been so hurt and said nothing. Oberyn covered her hand with his own, giving it a pat.
"But what do we do now?" Karstark said.
"We have to remain here to plan our assault," Bolton replied. "Then we muster the might of our alliance and crush Tywin into dust."
"Our might?" Loras said. "I hope you don't think any Tyrell men will be included in that. We march home. Tomorrow."
"What?!" Umber said, alongside the murmurs of a dozen other lords. "Your father was murdered and you–"
"Cannot risk being murdered, as well," Loras replied.
From his side, Margaery woodenly added, "Loras must marry. For the good of our House. We must have an heir."
Loras nodded.
"So get bloody married," Umber replied. "I'm sure there's someone in this castle who's willing. Then pick up your sword and fight, boy."
Loras shook his head. "Until I have an heir, it's too risky. I can't–"
To end any further debate, Lord Royce cut in. "The men of the Vale will also be returning home."
More outraged cries came at that.
"You can't be serious," Edmure said, getting to his feet. "We have more to fight for now, not less! Your king is dead. The nephew of your liege lady, murdered less than a moon after his wedding–" Margaery flinched. "–and the entire Riverlands under attack by that same murderer, and you want to retreat?"
"It's not about what I want," Royce said. "It's about the good of the Vale. I can see full well why you'd want to continue the fight while the Riverlands are under attack."
"It's not about that!" Edmure snarled. "This is the same alliance, isn't it? The same lords that banded together under King Robb to fight the Lannisters? The Lannisters dealt a grave blow and we have to hit them back! If we do anything less, we'll never be able to command respect again!"
Royce raised an eyebrow. "You may not, but–"
"And Dorne?" Bolton cut in before things could get truly out of hand. He looked to Oberyn, waiting.
Oberyn smiled enigmatically. "Dorne will keep its own counsel. For the time being."
Bolton gave a nod. "Then the way forward is clear. We will prepare for the assault on Tywin Lannister and–"
"Lord Bolton," Sansa cut in. "For the moment, we will do nothing. I will not let our grief make us hasty. We will post guards all throughout the castle – a quarter of our forces, if need be – and we will make no rash move."
"Are you mad?" Umber replied. "That's wasting time! Time where Tywin could be doing any number of foul things. If we're to move, it has to be now."
Bolton's smile at Sansa was tight. "I am afraid you do not have a military mind, my lady. Time is always of the essence."
"The Starks only have seven thousand men," Torrhen Karstark added. "If we do anything, we'll need allies." Edmure nodded at this; Oberyn smiled.
"Under seven thousand, after the attack," Bolton clarified. "And of those, under one thousand are yours, Karstark. Another thousand are Umber's. Three thousand are mine, with under two thousand Stark men."
Theon sucked in a breath. He could count as well as Sansa. Hundreds of Stark men had been lost in the attack; Bolton had lost none.
"So few?" Sansa breathed. To be outnumbered by the Boltons was not a fate she looked forward to facing.
"I'm afraid so." The apology in Bolton's words did not meet his eyes. "I offered to take my men north, to recapture our land from the Greyjoys. Robb chose to send Glover and Manderly, instead. As their houses did not have enough men on their own, he had to send Stark men along to bolster them. Unfortunate business." Bolton's icy gaze looked pleased.
Sansa closed her eyes, trying not to swear. Once again, Bolton had used the situation to his advantage. Glover had written that the four thousand troops under his command had disembarked at White Harbor a week ago, but Robb had heard little word since. The North was vast and the Greyjoys still held Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte.
"Regardless," Sansa slowly spoke. "We will remain in Casterly Rock, for a day, before we decide what to do."
Bolton turned to the other Northern lords. "Do you agree?"
Before anyone could reply, Catelyn's voice cut in, as smooth and strong as the finest steel. "They do not have to agree, Lord Bolton. With Robb…" She cleared her throat. "And Bran and Rickon back in Winterfell, Sansa is the next eldest Stark. You follow her command. To disobey is treason."
Bolton looked to Sansa, shocked. On one side of Sansa, Theon glared at Bolton as if he could kill the man through sheer willpower. On her other side, Oberyn shifted, laying his spear across his lap. Leaning against the wall behind Sansa was the Hound. And at her feet, Sansa's direwolf studied Bolton as if tracking prey.
Bolton cleared his throat. "Of course. I meant no disrespect."
Sansa stared him down. "Of course."
Margaery spoke up, her head still against Loras's shoulder. "Half the Tyrell forces will keep watch tonight. My father was also killed, Lord Bolton. You'd do well to remember."
Sansa stood. With a deep nod to Margaery, she said, "Thank you, Your Grace." Margaery startled. To the other lords, Sansa said, "That will be all. Get what rest you still can. We shall all need it."
With a dip of her head, Sansa dismissed them.
...
Sansa sat behind the gigantic desk in Robb's study, rereading the same supply report for the fifth time. She shouldn't be here. Robb should be here, buried behind papers as always and still managing a smile for his favorite sister – no matter how he jokingly denied it.
But he wasn't. He would never sit here again. Now, it was only Sansa, alone in this empty room, with nothing but papers, within, and men barely willing to follow her, without.
She was supposed to have slept. But she'd known she wouldn't be able to, and hadn't bothered trying. Not when there was so much work to be done, so much to handle now that Robb–
Clearing her throat, Sansa picked up the report for the sixth time.
A knock came at the door. Jorret, one of Robb's personal guards – now hers – put his head into the room. "My lady?"
Sansa put down the report. She wished Maege hadn't been so injured. "What is it?"
Jorret opened the door wider, revealing Oberyn. Immediately, her tension eased. She put the supply report aside. "Prince Oberyn, please come in."
He strolled to her desk as Jorret closed the door behind himself. "I am devastated by the loss of your brother," Oberyn said solemnly. "You have my deepest condolences."
"Thank you." She appreciated the sentiments, but as always, thinking on his loss made it hard to remember how to breathe without shattering into a million pieces.
Oberyn noticed, immediately coming around her desk to kneel at her side, taking her hands in his own. "You are strong, Princess. The North will survive – because of you. Do not doubt yourself."
A wan smile struggled across her face. Slowly, her breathing resumed. "I take it you wanted something?"
He squeezed her hands once more before letting go. "You said you were deciding what to do. I figured you should have all the information."
Sansa raised an eyebrow. "Willing to share Dorne's counsel?"
"Always." Oberyn winked. "As I assume you are no longer taking the Iron Throne, Dorne cannot pledge its men to you."
"I understand," Sansa replied. It hurt, but was far from unexpected.
"However," Oberyn continued. "Should you march north to exact vengeance against Tywin Lannister, my two thousand, as well as the rest of Dorne's forces, could be convinced to join that fight."
Sansa's breath caught. Fourteen thousand. Possibilities opened up, with those numbers. "If?"
Oberyn held her gaze, his smile soft. "We could not ride to avenge a man who was almost king, no matter how much I liked him." He paused. "We could ride to avenge my brother."
Slowly, she let out the breath. It was the same deal as before, yet it was good to know it was still on the table. "Thank you for not saying this in front of the other lords. No matter which way I chose, I'd be flogged by the half that disagreed. You have my eternal gratitude."
"I like the sound of that gratitude," he said with a chuckle. "But just because I prefer the power of the spear does not mean I am ignorant to the power of words. This is not a…proposal to run past any but yourself."
"Thank you," she said again, with a chuckle of her own.
Oberyn continued to study her. "You do not like Lord Bolton."
Sansa snorted. "I do not." It was the understatement of the year.
He continued his study of her. "If you march against Tywin, you will need decent generals. The Tyrells have Randyll Tarly, but I do not believe them to be staying. The Tullys have the Blackfish, but he's waiting back in Riverrun – which the Lannisters will have surrounded before you arrive."
Sansa raised an eyebrow. "And who do the Martells have? You?"
With a grimace, Oberyn pulled a chair up next to her to sit in properly. "Yes and no. I've commanded men in the Second Sons, but only small numbers. They tended to survive, but more due to my skill with a spear than my skill as a commander, I'm afraid."
Sansa sighed. "Bolton."
Oberyn gave a slow nod. "There is no one whom you need more, Red Wolf. Play carefully with him."
"Theon is…" Sansa started, but she knew it was a weak response.
Oberyn tilted his head. "Theon shows promise, to be sure. He also shows inexperience. In his pride, he was unwilling to ask for additional men from his king. So he took too few into Casterly and nearly lost the battle before it had begun."
She nodded, understanding full well. "We need Robb," she said desperately.
"I know," Oberyn said, putting a hand on her arm. "As I need Elia. And you need rest."
Her answering smile was thin. "All things we are unlikely to receive."
With a final pat of her hand, Oberyn stood. "The army is only as strong as its commander. Take care of yourself, Red Wolf."
...
Tyrion made his way down into the kitchens, trying to pretend that the eyes of every Tyrell soldier guarding every corridor and every doorway didn't track his every move.
There had been a gigantic war counsel after the attack, Tyrion knew. All the rest he knew was that he hadn't been invited. He assumed it had something to do with his last name.
Regardless, he remembered the sight of the direwolves ripping out the intestines of the stag they'd been served. It wasn't a sight anyone was likely to forget. He remembered a decided lack of direwolves in the ensuing battle. And he knew that whatever remained of that stag would have been taken…
As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, two Tyrell men stepped into his path, their lances crossed. "You've no business here, dwarf," one of them said. "Go back to your quarters where you're allowed."
"Oh, he's allowed," Varys said from the other side, gesturing at them to let Tyrion through. "Very much allowed, as I've only a single day to find out what I can before the North does something incredibly rash." Reluctantly, the soldiers parted.
"Thank you," Tyrion said spitefully, walking to join Varys as he examined a pile of bones. "What's this? You had the same thought as me?"
"Great minds, and all…" Varys said, wiping off his hands. He pointed with his chin down at the remains of the stag. "Milk of the poppy, far as I can tell. I'd ask the Red Viper to verify, if Casterly Rock's maester hadn't already admitted to… misplacing a rather large store of it."
Tyrion shot a disbelieving look at Varys. Varys shrugged in agreement.
"A woman's weapon," Tyrion said.
"Or a craven man," Varys corrected. Clearly he knew more, and at Tyrion's prodding look, Varys added, "My little birds saw our dear friend Littlefinger sending any number of messages before he was exiled – and on naught but Sansa's word. I do so wonder what his letters said? And how he managed to offend the Red Wolf so?"
Tyrion grimaced. Baelish was indeed a likely suspect; whatever Sansa had caught him doing had to have been severe, in order for the Starks not to name the crime. "I have even worse news."
"My favorite kind," Varys said, leading Tyrion deeper into the disused section of the kitchen and farther from the guards' ears.
Brushing the flour off of a table, Tyrion pulled a wrinkled old map out of his pocket: Casterly Rock. He'd had to sneak into his old bedroom and smuggle it out, but he'd known exactly where he'd always hidden it as a boy.
Varys sucked in a breath. "You knew? This whole time, and you…"
Tyrion didn't appreciate the accusation. "Of course I knew," he said. "The Starks took my home. But look here."
He tapped a finger on the map – one showing a series of black lines lacing the depths of Casterly… with a few trailing out into the surrounding hillsides. Tunnels. "This one leads into my father's chambers. I expect the Starks have followed the tunnel back through this path…" His finger traced a black line leading out to the sea by Lannisport. "But I suspect whoever snuck in may have used… this one." Tyrion's finger traced a different, shorter line. One that ended on a spot well-within the quartered troops' presence on the surrounding mountains.
"Fascinating," Varys said. "Even if Littlefinger got the poison for the stag, someone still in the camp had to deliver that stag to Lord Tyrell. If we already know there's a traitor in the camp, why assume there has to be more than one?"
"Right," Tyrion replied. "I can't imagine a dozen ships sneaking past the Tyrell and Harlaw fleets in order for hundreds of troops to enter through the Lannisport tunnel." He tapped the nearby entrance to the tunnel again. "Someone had to steal the armor from all the camps. Someone had to wear that armor. And someone had to have been camped here last night to keep prying eyes away."
But instead of studying the map, Varys turned to study his friend. "Why now? You knew about this tunnel all along and said nothing. Did the sight of your father's esteem for you so warm your heart towards your Stark captors?"
Tyrion looked away. "You're sure it was him?"
"Of course not," Varys replied. "But who other than your father would care enough to send assassins after you?"
Tyrion's head lowered further, incapable of a response.
"A poor joke, I'm afraid," Varys continued in a softer tone. "You'll have to forgive me. Everyone's a bit on edge, after… well."
"Quite," Tyrion replied. He cleared his throat. "And with only a day before the North does something stupid, we've not much time to find the Red Wolf's traitor."
Varys raised an eyebrow. "We?"
Tyrion fought to keep his face calm, betraying nothing. Jaime. Alive, and in this castle, and… hopefully still alive, after last night. But he couldn't even ask.
He forced a smile. "We."
...
Hesitantly, Sansa knocked on a door. She'd never before felt so ill at ease in her own skin. Her deepest fear was that he would say no… and her gut clenched into a knot at the idea that he might say yes.
The door opened. Loras stared in confusion back at her. "Can I help you?"
"Yes," Sansa said, and tried for her most polite smile, even if she fell short. "May I come in?"
Loras kicked the door open wider, heading back into the room. A trunk was open on his bed. As she watched, he folded shirts, placing them inside. "What do you want?"
She couldn't blame him for being in a foul mood. "Well, I… that is, I wanted to know…"
Loras never paused in his packing, dropping a stack of folded trousers into the trunk, next.
Sansa swallowed. "If you'd marry me."
Loras paused. Slowly, he turned to look at her. "Come again?"
"I… well, that is, you said…" Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "House Tyrell needs an heir. We need your men, if we're to have any chance of defeating Tywin. Without you, even with everyone else combined, we barely outnumber him."
She'd run the numbers without the Tyrells over and over again; Tywin's forty thousand men against the Starks' at best forty-five. With Bolton as their only capable general, those were odds Sansa liked not at all.
With fifty thousand Tyrell men to bolster her numbers, with Randyll Tarly to command her forces, Sansa could execute Bolton tomorrow. She could make Tywin pay for everything he'd done.
Without the Tyrells… Sansa could forget about vengeance, about justice for Robb. She would struggle to even get her own men home. Against that? Her future happiness mattered not one single whit.
Sansa swallowed. "If you stayed, we would win. I'm eligible, from a good House, the right age–"
Loras snapped the lid on his trunk closed. "We offered the Starks my sister, the best of all of us. We offered you fifty thousand fighting men and enough food and gold to win your war for you."
He turned from his trunk to face Sansa fully. "You gave us back a widow and a grave. Now, I have to lead in my father's stead. Now, my sister has gone from the most eligible woman in Westeros to one of the least. No, I don't think I see any need to further entangle the Reach with the North." Loras's bow was all formality. "If you'll give me leave, I have preparations to attend to."
Sansa swept an equally formal curtsey, wishing his words hadn't stung as harshly as a slap. As if Margaery's widowing had been hardest on the Tyrells. "I wish you well, brother."
Loras's smile was tight. "Not 'brother.' Not anymore." After a moment, he sighed. "Though I am sorry for it."
As Sansa left, he closed the door gently behind her.
...
Sansa didn't know what to do. The sun was already fading on her single day and she had just as little idea where to go next as when the day had begun. She took a detour on her way back from Loras's room, hoping the extra distance would help clear her head.
There was always Theon. She could get his council on how to proceed, but as Oberyn said, he was inexperienced. She couldn't rely on it – not completely, and as she was far more inexperienced in the ways of war, she needed someone on whom she could rely.
Sansa slowed her steps as she approached her study. Two men were waiting with her guards outside of it. One, in long robes, and the other–
"Lord Tyrion?" Sansa called out, realizing. "Lord Varys?"
Both men swept bows as she approached.
"My lady," Varys said.
"Red Wolf," Tyrion greeted.
She looked between the two of them, confused. "How can I help you?"
"Might we…?" Varys gestured to the door.
Sansa swept inside and they followed. Tyrion immediately made for the wine, pouring himself a goblet.
He sighed as it touched his lips. "There's the good stuff."
"It should be." Sansa smirked, picking up her own goblet. "We took it from your cellars."
His glare held mischief behind it. Sansa's smirk widened.
"You have my deepest condolences," Varys said seriously. "On the death of your–"
Sansa set her goblet down – hard. She faced the desk, not daring to look towards either of them until she was more composed. "What is it you wanted to speak to me about?"
"A traitor in your camp," Tyrion said. Sansa turned to him in shock and he added, "Lord Bolton."
"Yes, I know," Sansa murmured.
Varys smiled. "You see, we researched the deer's poison and realized it was likely delivered by the same person who had been guarding the southwestern portion of the…" Finally, her words caught up with him. His smile fell. "Did you say you already knew?"
Sansa nodded, staring distractedly down at the surface of her desk.
She had been a fool. Thankfully, the thought had never been so relieving.
Everything she'd done today, she'd been going about backwards – and being more of a stubborn idiot than Robb ever had.
"How, in seven hells, did you already know?" Tyrion asked, squinting up at her.
Sansa ignored him. "Jorret!" she called out. Her guard entered. "Please send servants to summon my mother, Oberyn, Theon, and Margaery."
"At once, my lady." With a bow, Jorret exited.
"Are you planning on telling us how you already knew?" Tyrion asked.
"No," Sansa replied. "Do you think Baelish aided him?"
Varys and Tyrion exchanged a look. "...yes," Varys reluctantly said. "But as we do not know what got him exiled–"
"He threatened me," Sansa calmly replied. "Robb didn't take too kindly to that."
The pain hit again, just saying his name. She had to close her eyes and focus on each breath.
The door creaked open. "Sansa?" Theon called, looking confused. His confusion only grew upon spotting Varys and Tyrion. He looked even more haggard than Sansa – he hadn't gotten any more sleep than she had, and after fighting his way through the night. "You've summoned me?"
Sansa smiled. "Yes. Take a seat. I'm sure the others will be here shortly."
Sure enough, Catelyn and Oberyn joined, with varying degrees of confusion. Margaery stepped into the room after them – and Grey Wind shoved her into the doorframe as he sauntered past. She flinched, waiting until the wolf had entered before she followed him inside. The direwolf stalked around the room, sniffing all the corners, before spotting the chair Margaery had settled into in the meantime. Grey Wind walked over and lay down on her feet.
"Do you want me to…?" Sansa offered, not sure what precisely she could do.
"It's fine," Margaery tightly replied.
Sansa hoped so. She walked around Robb's desk, settling into a seat of her own in the circle with the rest of them. She opened her mouth to speak and–
"It's a small counsel," Tyrion realized. "You've summoned a small counsel."
Sansa blinked. "Well, yes. I always thought Robb should have listened to more advice, but then I had an important decision and I just…"
"Go on, Red Wolf," Oberyn said with a grin. "Tell us what you need."
Sansa took a deep breath. Listening to advice took trust. Trust that she could share even a part of her secrets, her decisions, that she could trust in the advice given by the advisors. She didn't trust half of them anywhere near as much as she'd like to (for all his 'help,' Varys could have plotted with Tywin just as easily as Baelish), but she had to start somewhere. Trusting these men and women might get everyone killed, but making all these decisions on her own certainly would.
Sansa let out the breath. "Robb and I were sending Oberyn to negotiate peace with Tywin, before all of… this."
"Peace?" Varys asked. "Peace how, exactly…?"
"Jaime," Sansa replied. "We have him. Here."
Margaery and Varys startled. Sansa was fairly sure Varys hadn't faked his surprise, but wasn't about to rely on her assessment.
She continued. "Last night, Robb and Mace Tyrell and Tyrion weren't the only ones targeted. Soldiers were also sent after Jaime."
Tyrion blanched, as pale as a ghost, and she quickly added, "He's fine. But as it was only a few men, I can't imagine it was Tywin sending a rescue party."
Varys frowned. "You think it wasn't Tywin?"
Oberyn crossed one leg atop the other. "Assassination."
Sansa nodded. "I suspect Baelish and Bolton aided Tywin." Varys looked horrified that she had just played her hand so openly, but she continued. "I have no reason to suspect Bolton knew about Jaime. But Baelish…"
"I knew," Margaery finally spoke. "Not that it was the Kingslayer, but that you and Robb had a secret and were storing it down there." She shrugged. "I would have ferreted it out by tomorrow if…" She trailed off, unwilling to complete the sentence. Margaery looked away. Grey Wind nudged her hand and she absently gave his head a scratch. "So I suspect Baelish could have found out faster," she concluded softly.
"Chaos is a ladder," Varys said.
Sansa nodded again. "As Baelish caused the conflict between the Lannisters and Starks, I expect he'd have every reason to kill Jaime to keep us from being able to end it."
Tyrion choked on his wine. "I'm sorry – Baelish did what?"
"You don't want to know," Theon said. He sent a little grin Sansa's way – the first levity she'd seen from him. Sansa sent her own little grin back.
"I very much suspect I do," Tyrion muttered into his goblet.
"The Greyjoys still control Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte," Sansa added. "Tywin has his own twenty thousand troops plus twenty thousand Golden Company attacking the Riverlands – likely on his way to besieging Riverrun before we can get there. The Starks have seven thousand men, the Tullys twenty thousand, the Vale has two thousand – leaving, the Tyrells have fifty thousand – leaving, and Dorne has two thousand."
Oberyn lifted his goblet to her. "Plus another twelve thousand back in Dorne."
Theon frowned over at him. "Then why aren't they here?"
Oberyn said nothing, simply raised an eyebrow at Sansa.
Sansa turned away, staring at a spot in the distance. She couldn't bear to look Theon in the eyes. "Because I have not yet given an answer as to whether I will marry him."
Theon whipped towards her, horrified. Catelyn looked surprised. Sansa clenched her jaw. She forced words out to keep the conversation from stopping on this painful topic. "That's where we stand. If there are good options, I'm not seeing them."
"I believe it's worse than that," Varys added. "You said the Starks have seven thousand men, but as Lord Bolton pointed out, that isn't true. The North has seven thousand men. The Starks have only two thousand."
Sansa gritted her teeth. "I'm aware."
"If Bolton betrayed us, he may do so again," Catelyn said.
"If you can prove he betrayed you, why not…?" Theon drew a line across his throat.
"Because she needs him," Oberyn said. "Needs him alive and not suspecting that she knows he betrayed her. It's the only way she'll win even a single battle."
"If we're relying on the man who betrayed us and killed his king to command our forces, he won't have us win any battles that matter," Catelyn said. "He could easily get all the Stark men killed or any number of horrible things." She looked around the room. "My lords, if you have the evidence of his betrayal, that is better than we could expect. We must execute him."
Varys dipped his head. "We have evidence, my lady, but…"
"One crudely drawn map, obtained by Tyrion Lannister, showing an alternate tunnel route into the Rock," Tyrion said blithely. "A poisoned deer, brought by the Tyrells, and a few soldiers' reports on troop positioning the night of the attack, saying Bolton men held that portion of the hillside." His smile held no humor. "By all means, execute the most competent one of your lords based on that."
Varys smiled apologetically to Catelyn. "Whispers are useful for deciding, my lady. They are not so useful for convincing the public." His eyes flicked towards Sansa. "Unless the Red Wolf has found additional information…?"
Grimly, Sansa shook her head. What little Varys and Tyrion had obtained was already better than she'd expected.
Catelyn started to speak, but Margaery got there first. "Evidence doesn't matter. The Northern lords are relying on Bolton right now. They expect him to lead them through the upcoming battles. Do you think they'll willingly follow Sansa without him? Do you think they'll follow the little girl who had him killed?"
Silence fell around the room. Justice for Robb would have to wait. It would all be for nothing if killing Bolton meant she couldn't get the rest of her family or the Northerners in her care home.
She turned to Tyrion. "How likely is your father to make peace?"
"Sansa!" Catelyn burst out. "He killed Robb, you can't–!"
Sansa held up a hand. "I want Tywin ground into powder so fine that not even birds will eat it. But what I want is not as relevant as what I can achieve. I must know my options. Tyrion?"
Tyrion hesitated, turning the empty goblet in his hands. "My father wanted peace originally, but at this point, he'd trust any settlement as much as you would."
Catelyn snorted. "So, not at all."
Tyrion dipped his head towards her in agreement. "None of the other Lannisters, like Uncle Kevan, are worth two pieces of wet bread, but I suspect my father won't stop trying to kill you until he's rotting in his tomb. Not after you took the Rock and killed his favorite children – with the help of his least." He stood, walking to the table to pour himself more wine.
"I could announce that you didn't betray your family," Sansa said. "If you thought it would help–"
"It won't," Tyrion replied. He flashed her a tight smile. "But thank you."
"We never should have left the North," Catelyn said. "We need to go home. We can't afford to lose more of our family, and now you're talking about leaving one of Robb's killers alive and peace with the other." She shook her head. "You heard Tyrion. His father will never settle for peace. Show him what it feels like to lose what he loves. Kill the Kingslayer."
Horror rushed through Sansa as Tyrion recoiled. This was exactly why she'd kept Jaime a secret; this was the only bad use of him.
Varys studied Catelyn. "If you truly want to exact vengeance against Tywin with the edge of a blade, you must wait for a secure North. No northerner will follow a woman into battle with their homes in danger, no matter how much love they hold for her name. The Tyrells will lend little strength with their own home so unstable and Loras needing to marry." He glanced at Margaery, who nodded. Varys continued, "You have Edmure with the Riverlands, but trying to lead his armies through him will be as easy as riding a donkey backwards… uphill. Until you can free Riverrun, you will have to do without the Blackfish. A betrothal to a veteran military man would solve much of this for you. I believe Prince Oberyn has offered…?"
There was fire in Theon's eyes as he cut Varys off. "So secure the North. It'll take too long for Glover's troops to march all the way from White Harbor to Deepwood Motte. Let them go to Moat Cailin." He took a deep breath, steeling himself for his proposal. "Send me to Deepwood Motte. I can talk to my sister, convince her to leave Glover's home if we promise no retaliation will come to her."
"No retaliation!" Catelyn burst out. "Are you mad?"
"The Glovers are loyal Northerners," Oberyn added. "Even I know that. You cannot repay their loyalty with such injustice."
Tyrion hopped back up on his chair. "So repay them with Lannister gold. I don't believe the Lord of Casterly Rock is short of it right now."
"There have been lives lost," Catelyn replied. "It's an insult to even offer gold when–"
"I have found," Tyrion mused. "Men stop being insulted above a certain point. The trick is simply finding the point."
Theon nodded. "I'd negotiate with Lord Glover; let him set about divvying up the repayments amongst his vassals as he sees fit."
"Wise," Tyrion replied. "As it means he would also suffer any of the blame if his divvying is not to every man's liking."
"Lord Glover is an honorable man," Catelyn said. "He would not accept a bribe to turn a blind eye to injustice."
"No?" Tyrion replied. "There are two million gold dragons in the Rock, last I checked. Are you sure, Lady Stark, that no portion of that could appease Lord Glover's wounded sense of justice?"
Silence fell around the room. Not even Theon had realized before exactly what being granted Casterly Rock had meant. In the span of one day, he'd become one of the richest lords in Westeros. Likely, Robb had meant to drain those reserves to fund his war, but as the gold had not been moved before his death… It was Theon's.
Finally, Margaery raised her eyes to Sansa. "While in the South, you speak for the North. Your uncle leads the Riverlands at your side. You control the Westerlands and I speak for the Reach. A marriage to Oberyn would put you on the Iron Throne."
Gasps echoed from everyone in the room. Theon gripped the arm of his chair, his knuckles white.
Margaery just watched Sansa steadily. "But you don't want it, do you?"
Sansa let out a breath. It had truly been tempting. But no – while she had felt the rightness of her northern crown deep in the marrow of her bones, it had come through pain and suffering and fighting to earn the respect of the North. And she had earned it… last time.
This time, she had been a child playing at war, more confident than she had any right, and Robb had died. By his own doing, by hers– it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was dead and all the scheming in the world hadn't saved him.
"No," Sansa softly said. "I don't. And we might have far reaching alliances, but we control more on paper than reality – as Robb's death showed. The Freys will supplant Edmure the first moment they get a chance – as will the Boltons, with us."
More gasps came from all but Theon – which Margaery and Tyrion noticed.
"So, what do you want?" Varys asked.
To keep my family safe. And the Long Night is yet to come.
Sansa straightened. "Tywin has to die and warfare has not been efficient at doing it so far. Assassination? Faceless Men?"
Varys recoiled at the latter. "That's dark magic, my lady. Using one is asking for more in reply. And as for regular assassinations, Tywin has been dealing with them for most of his life."
Tyrion shrugged. "Send Jaime back to him with assassins for guards. My father will be sure to approach and–"
Sansa cut in, "I will not make Jaime complicit in his father's death."
Tyrion fell silent. Sansa wasn't sure what to make of it, but didn't have the chance to sort it through.
"Why in seven hells not?" Catelyn replied. "Do you think Tywin would care about making any of us complicit in yours? In Arya's? Why not do Tyrion's plan – except kill both father and son at the same time?"
Tyrion flinched.
"Assassinations fail all the time," Varys said. "It may not be worth the gamble of a valuable prisoner."
Sansa nodded.
"If your base of support is weak, make it strong," Margaery spoke again. "Tywin will still be around to be killed later. Riverrun might not be – and the Riverlanders won't forget your defending them."
It was the piece of advice Sansa had been missing. She turned to the group. "We will strengthen our alliances: in the North, the Riverlands, and the Iron Islands."
Scoffs came at the third. "The Iron Islands?" Varys said, filled with disbelief. "Surely there are better…?"
Ignoring him, she turned to Theon. "Bring your terms to Yara. Repay the Glovers from Casterly's vaults and you have my word we will not seek retaliation against your sister. If she or her men murder, or pillage, or loot after your terms, I guarantee that we will take no quarter."
Theon gave a serious nod. "It will be done."
She gave an equally serious nod in reply and turned to the rest of the group. "We will not be long for Casterly. I will have to leave men in charge while we are gone. Who–"
"It's my castle," Theon cut in. "My uncle can hold it for me."
"You have not seen your uncle in a decade, Theon!" Catelyn snapped. "If we trust him with an entire castle on his own, we're bigger fools than those who would take it from us!"
"Karstark seems a loyal sort," Varys said, but Sansa shook her head.
"I will need his men to keep Bolton outnumbered," she replied. "I have too few 'loyal sorts.'"
"Hornwood," Margaery said. Sansa looked at her, but Margaery's face betrayed nothing. "He was the only one who didn't cheer the North declaring for the Iron Throne. Nurture him into a 'loyal sort.'"
Sansa thought on it – and then nodded. "Harlaw and Hornwood. Any objections?"
"Several," Catelyn said sourly. But as she voiced nothing further, Sansa assumed it a more general sort of objection.
Oberyn studied her. "And what of Dorne?"
"And the Riverlands," Catelyn said, watching her daughter. "They await their army's return and your protection."
Sansa took a deep breath. This was the hard part. "With the Tully 20,000, the North's 7,000, and even with the Vale's 2,000, our armies come up at 29,000, against Tywin's 40,000."
Catelyn frowned. "We fought Tywin frequently with fewer numbers and–"
"I am not Robb," Sansa slowly replied. "The only one here that can take Robb's place is Lord Bolton – who was never as good as Robb, either. Do you honestly think Bolton has been talking about going to battle with Tywin because he wants vengeance so badly? Against the man with whom he partnered to betray our house? No. He wants the power I'll be forced to give him in a war with Tywin."
Oberyn nodded. "And none of that changes, not even if you add all of Dorne to turn your numbers into 43,000 against Tywin's 40,000. It is still not enough men to keep from relying on Lord Bolton."
"Exactly," Sansa said. "And he will betray us. If it's in the middle of a battle, that betrayal will be devastating."
Oberyn smiled. "Then when you leave Casterly, I will take my men back to Dorne. Though I am sad to see our friendship with the North come to its end."
"I would hope…" Sansa paused, gathering her words. Oberyn watched her curiously. "I would hope the North could still make some small gesture of friendship."
"I am listening," Oberyn said.
Sansa clenched her jaw. "As I must leave the one who murdered Robb alive, and hope we catch his next betrayal before he murders us all, I do not expect my camp to be… safe. I ask that you take my sister, Arya, as your ward."
"Done," Oberyn said, before anyone else could reply. "My daughters will be overjoyed to continue training with her."
"So far from Winterfell." Catelyn sounded broken. Sansa started to reply, but her mother held up a hand. "I understand, Sansa. It is a good decision. I am just…"
"You are a mother, first," Oberyn said easily. "Of course it is not easy to part with one's children. Not so soon after…"
"Yes," Catelyn replied.
"What of the Riverlands?" Tyrion asked, with a growing insistence. "What of my father? What do you propose to do with them?"
With Tyrion staring her in the face, demanding an answer, there was nothing Sansa could do but stare straight back – and give it. "Jaime. I'll have to… leverage him."
Tyrion gripped his goblet tighter. "How?"
Catelyn stood. "Tyrion should not even be hearing this! We are at war with his family, and–"
"And his family is at war with him," Sansa concluded, never lifting her gaze from Tyrion. "But heloves his brother. Isn't that right?"
Tyrion said nothing, glaring straight back at her.
Sansa set her goblet down. "I do not want to be at war with you. I do not want to be at war with your brother. I do not even want to be at war with your family."
Tyrion snorted, about to say something, but Sansa continued.
"I have let you into my counsel, shared my strategies, named my enemies before you." She leaned forward. "I do not want to be at war with your family. But I will."
Tyrion continued glaring at her. "Go on."
"Your father values one thing – and we have it sitting in a cell." Sansa leaned back. "So. I tell him that we won't harm Jaime – if Tywin withdraws from the Riverlands."
Varys shook his head. "It is sentiment to think Lord Tywin would consider retreating from his main conquered territory, simply for–"
"I didn't ask your opinion," Sansa calmly replied. "I'm asking Tyrion's."
The dwarf raised his eyebrows. He pointed to himself in an exaggerated, Me? Sansa gave a nod. Tyrion turned towards the table, refilling his goblet to buy time – and to hide his reaction.
"What of Jaime?" Tyrion tried to sound unaffected as he spoke to the table. "It certainly sounds like you're going to war with my brother by threatening him if Father chooses not to join your political joust."
"Will he?" Sansa replied. "Will your father choose to joust?"
Tyrion turned to face her. "What. Of. Jaime?"
Sansa clenched her fists under her skirts, hiding how much she didn't want to say this. But now was not the time for weakness. "If your father chooses to reject my terms," she slowly began. "Then we are still at war, and Jaime is the leading general of my enemies. I will be forced to do regrettable things."
It had been a mistake to look at her mother, watching Sansa as if her daughter had turned into a beast before her own eyes. Sansa looked back at Tyrion and his straightforward wariness. She didn't dare look at Theon.
"I will do everything in my power to keep from having to do those things to your brother," Sansa continued. "And if your father agrees to my terms, then I will instead be forced to use every drop of my ability to protect your brother – as the most sacred guest of my house."
Tyrion studied Sansa, nothing in his expression letting on whether he liked what he saw.
Theon snorted. "Tywin would be a fool to agree. Give up his best advantage, just because–"
"He'd do it," Tyrion finally spoke. He gave Sansa a slow nod. "My father will joust with you. Make sure your lance doesn't miss your target and skitter past to hit my brother."
"I will," Sansa solemnly replied. Even though it wasn't as if Tyrion had any say in the matter, not as if he could stop her plan, she appreciated his approval. "Thank you."
"Oh, don't thank me yet," Tyrion said, taking a drink of his wine. Behind the glibness in his eyes, Sansa could see his threat.
Tyrion was a Lannister. And if Sansa got Jaime hurt – or worse –
Tyrion would pay that debt.
...
With the last rays of sunlight casting through the golden great hall, the lords of most of Westeros gathered inside, Sansa flung open the doors as she strode through, her small council trailing in behind her. She'd made only a brief stop in the bowels of the castle, first.
Bolton stood from where he'd been talking with Karstark and Umber. "My lady. Have you come to a decision?"
"I have," Sansa said. She took her time, surveying the many faces watching this strange fifteen year old girl. Lord Royce, men of the Reach, Martells, Edmure, and all the rest stared back at her.
Sansa raised her voice, addressing the crowd. "Robb's death does not unmake the Stark King in the North – nor his vowed protection of the Riverlands that swore to him!"
Cheers went up from the Riverlanders at that and Sansa smiled.
"My brother, Bran, is now King in the North and I am his proxy. We begin preparations for the march home – through the Riverlands, and to independence."
"But my lady," Umber said. "Tywin and his armies–"
Sansa gestured at Brienne. The lady warrior shoved Jaime forward and to his knees before Sansa. Jaime could only stare at his younger brother, shocked and glad to see him alive. Tension crackled through Tyrion as he watched helplessly.
"This is the Kingslayer," Sansa raised her voice to announce to the crowd. Gasps echoed, and she continued. "If Tywin attacks any part of my army – the Kingslayer dies! If Tywin does not break off his attack on the Riverlands before seven days hence – I will send Tywin pieces of his son until he does!"
Even more recoiled at that. Tyrion closed his eyes.
Sansa looked around the room, her gaze as fierce and cutting as a steel blade. "If Tywin behaves, no harm will come to his son. Which means that if any of you plot to harm the Kingslayer, against my direct command, it will be treason."
Bolton's smile didn't reach his eyes. "My lady, surely–"
Sansa ignored him, her voice carrying across the hall. "Any man who plots to kill or free the Kingslayer will be tried for treason and executed. Any man who knows of a plot to kill or free the Kingslayer and does not report it directly to me – will be tried as an accomplice in treason – and executed."
She looked at the many faces watching her, at the shock and horror writ universally across them. Tyrion hadn't liked her plan – but even he had admitted it could work. It was Sansa's job to earn his trust by keeping his brother safe.
"There is much to be done," Sansa said. "Get to it."
She strode from the hall as quickly as she'd entered, hoping against all hope that perhaps finally, she could get some sleep.
It wasn't likely.
A/N: I will likely not have another update for a month. These chapters are long and I don't have as much free time to write as I'd like. Hope to see you then! :)