Chapter 14: ...everyone gets their happy ending?

When Sansa was reintroduced to her mother, who hadn't seen her in years, the poor Catelyn nearly fainted from joy and disbelief.

It felt as though the gods had decided to give back everything they had taken from her, all at once.

Inside the tent they entered, there were enough tears to fill a lake, but no one could blame them; even Robb was moved.

Catelyn Tully, widow Stark, went so far as to leave the tent and seek out Baelish to thank him in person, sincerely (although she whispered to him privately that they would discuss things later), which left him somewhat puzzled, considering how they had parted the last time, in Renly Baratheon's camp.

Moreover, she had asked him about Lysa, and he could only respond, regretfully, that her sister was a very emotional woman who had never fully recovered from her grief… Catelyn gave him a strange look, pretended to believe him, and walked away.

Then it was her son's turn. Robb Stark—seeing him in person for the first time—approached Littlefinger and, publicly and in the presence of the surrounding lords, thanked him for his intervention.

As a result, Baelish knelt and pledged the Vale's allegiance to him, amidst the cheers of the lords and knights loyal to him. Even the Young Wolf didn't seem entirely convinced, but in the worst-case scenario, he must have decided to play along.

Petyr Baelish paced nervously through the camp. He couldn't say he was satisfied, as none of his plans had fully succeeded. Still, he could take comfort in the fact that he had landed on his feet.

He was the Lord Paramount of the Vale until young Robert came of age, without having to share power with that millstone around his neck, Lysa. In fact, he was now one of the most eligible bachelors in the Seven Kingdoms, attracting prominent maidens with rich dowries.

Most importantly, the lords of the Vale, who had viewed him with disdain just a week earlier, were suddenly convinced by Sansa's account that it had always been his intention to aid the Starks. His position as their Lord Paramount had never been more secure.

Furthermore, although Sansa knew many things about him—and had heard one too many from Lysa's loose lips before he permanently silenced her—the girl could no longer retract her statements or tell the high lords that he had killed Lysa Arryn or that she had poisoned her husband Jon at his command (and luckily, Lysa hadn't mentioned that part openly in Sansa's presence).

Even if she did, they wouldn't believe her, wondering why she hadn't said so immediately.

Yet Petyr Baelish still faced threats. The girl might reveal the truth to her mother and brother, the latter incidentally being the new King of the Seven Kingdoms—both of whom already disliked him for his role in Eddard Stark's capture at King's Landing.

Granted, Robb was married to Margaery Tyrell, but he didn't worry too much about that. The girl was shrewd and had even less interest in revealing to her husband their alliance agreement with the Lannisters.

Still, he couldn't feel at ease.

Would the Young Wolf decide to have his head on a spike? He hadn't done so yet… but if he chose to in the future, this time, the lords of the Vale would oppose him, wouldn't they? They trusted him now…

There were too many "ifs" and "maybes" in this situation, and Petyr Baelish didn't like leaving anything to chance.

The real question was: what had Sansa told her family?

To reveal the truth about him, she would also have to admit that Lysa was mad, that she had tried to kill her even after discovering she was her niece, that Lysa was the true murderer of Jon Arryn… and that he had killed Lysa to save her life, after which Sansa had lied to the lords of the Vale to deceive them and secure their support.

If she had shared all this, they would all have to lie to Lord Royce and the others forever.

No, he decided. Sansa, the girl who had managed to deceive even him, was smarter than that. She had learned to dirty those delicate white hands of hers and would never tell her sweet mother the truth. She would never break her heart that way.

But her brother? What had she told the King?

It wasn't easy.

Sansa seemed to spend every minute of the day with them. She had talked at length with her mother all afternoon, while Catelyn wept rivers of tears, and with Robb all evening as they shared a meal—their first since Winterfell.

But during the night, as a new, large camp was being set up where prisoners, having surrendered their weapons, were being arranged under the watch of the victors, Petyr Baelish finally managed to speak with her in private—a moment he hadn't had for the entire past week.

The girl had been practically commandeered by Yohn Royce and had participated in every step of transforming the knights gathered by the Declarant Lords into an army, bolstered by a contingent of Corbrays and a couple of other houses.

He found her holding her mother's hand while she slept in the tent, exhausted from the day's emotions and still weakened from her long captivity. It was late at night.

Lord Baelish gave her a nod from the entrance, and Sansa, though reluctant, released her mother's hand, stood, and exited.

"How is she?"

"Well. She's just tired and overwhelmed by too many emotions at once. One of the maesters gave her a sleeping potion. I don't blame her. Even I can't sleep. Too much happening all at once."

"She must have been happy to see her daughter again."

"Yes, one of her daughters. I had to update her on everything that's happened over these years."

"I imagine, though, you didn't tell her everything..."

"A tamed version of the truth… close enough to what the lords of the Vale know. Anyway, why did you want to see me?"

"I needed to speak with you in private."

"Well, then, do it."

"I… well, I don't know where to start. First of all… my compliments. The student has surpassed the teacher. You've done exceptionally well, and no matter how many lessons I gave you… I never imagined you'd learn so quickly. I'm impressed."

Sansa shot him a look somewhere between bored and reproachful.

Do you think flattery will convince me to underestimate you?

Petyr Baelish looked at her again, as if seeing her for the first time.

"I... I was right about you. Too much, even. But… just answer this for me. I need to know. WHY did you save me, that time?

You could have... told the truth, and they... they would have cut off my head. Isn't that what you wanted? Maybe... you would have gotten their help anyway."

Sansa stared at him for a while before answering.

"There are TWO main reasons.

The FIRST is that… well, I truly am grateful to you. Whatever else you've done, it doesn't change the fact that you actually saved my life.

Twice: once in King's Landing, and once at the Moon Door.

Moreover, if in the first case you did it to possess me and use me, in the second case you put yourself in a difficult situation and risked losing everything you had for me. I hadn't forgotten that a week ago, and I won't forget it in the future."

Baelish seemed to glimpse a shred of hope.

"And… the second reason?"

"The second reason is that… what you taught me… I really learned it.

I played out every possible scenario in my head of what I could have said. Would they have believed me? Would they have believed I was truly Sansa Stark? And that Lysa Arryn wanted to kill me, even knowing I was her niece?

Would they have bought the story that I had been hiding there without her knowing all that time? And if I let slip… that you were interested in me, maybe they would have thought you killed Lysa to marry me? Would they have believed I was your accomplice?

If instead I said… that I was your hostage at the Eyrie and asked for their help to escape… would they have trusted me? Or maybe you would have convinced them I was a poor, crazy, liar?

Would you have claimed I was the one who killed Lysa Arryn for who-knows-what reason? Would they have cut off my head?

And then… even if those Lords did cut off your head—and I say IF, because you had already started buying off some of them, and you could have bought others without telling me—would they have been willing to raise their banners for Robb?

Maybe they would have wanted to stay neutral anyway. Stannis was Robert Baratheon's brother, after all... if the Vale had stayed neutral and Robb had lost, having your head roll would have been small consolation to me… I'd rather have saved my mother's and brother's heads.

And then I thought: what is it? What is, among all the possible combinations of what I'm thinking of doing… the best version? The one where I don't just have the chance… but have the certainty of getting everything I want?

And I concluded that the only option was this: to make it look like we were all in agreement from the beginning. To make them believe that YOU, someone they didn't trust, were actually trustworthy… eager to help the Starks, like them… but unable to do so before because of Lysa.

This way, both those hostile to you and those you had bought would willingly follow you. And then… with your life in my hands… the threat of the blade on your neck… you'd be forced to confirm my story… to confirm to them that I was indeed Sansa Stark."

Petyr remained silent for a long time.

"But you couldn't have known anyway… how I would act in that situation. I could have denied everything."

Sansa looked at him, almost pityingly.

"You're wrong. I KNEW how you'd act. You see, I didn't know the Lords of the Vale well enough to bet on what they would do. I don't gamble with my family's lives at stake. But I know YOU. And I knew what you would do."

"You think you know me?" the man asked, with the shadow of a smirk on his face.

"I know what you really want."

Arya Stark and the Hound had been traveling toward the High Road, leading into the mountains of the Vale of Arryn… only to see, from afar, an immense cavalry force riding out at full speed.

"Look! Those are the Knights of the Vale! They're going to war!"

"Seven Hells! So your aunt finally made up her mind?"

"Let's go, Sandor! My brother Robb must be down there!"

"Are you out of your damned mind, girl? There's a battle down there! Like the first time I grabbed you! Do you think you're still that lucky? We could get ourselves killed, war isn't a game. And there's no guarantee your brother will win."

"Let's go! If he loses, we'll still have time to head back up the High Road, right? But I know… he won't lose."

Sandor Clegane couldn't say why he let himself be convinced to follow her.

Maybe he was just curious.

The fact is, as they continued, they did witness the battle, but from a great distance: they had to watch for a long time to be sure, but the banners of Stark, Arryn, and Tyrell flew victorious… Arya, after literally going wild with joy, told the Hound they could enter the camp, and he would have his reward.

However, to avoid being captured as deserters, they had to take precautions… so they waited until dawn the next day.

They approached the resting troops, slowly and making themselves visible.
When they brought her to her brother, Arya started running like crazy, shouting his name, and then jumped on him, throwing her arms around his neck.

Robb Stark didn't recognize the young girl strangling him in an embrace at first, but then he managed to pull her off to look at her face.

"Arya? Is that… is it really you?

Oh, thank the gods, we hadn't heard anything about you since—"

"I KNOW! I'M SORRY!"

Many hugs and tears later, Robb asked how she had made it back and was directed to the tent entrance.

"The Hound?"

"Hey there, boy," the giant addressed him, "what the hell have you all been up to here?"

Robb remembered one of their first encounters, back at Winterfell, when he was sparring with Joffrey, who had come to visit.

"Well, Clegane… we've definitely NOT been playing with wooden swords."

Later, Arya met Sansa and her mother, and this time Lady Tully nearly did collapse from the shock. It was as if the gods, after taking everything from them, had decided to make amends, giving her back what she had lost, all at once.

As for Sansa, she hadn't truly believed her sister could still be alive, and both girls, who had hated each other for most of their lives, were both moved to tears at reuniting—Arya hadn't thought she'd get emotional, but she did—and for once they realized how much they had missed each other.

They were Starks, bound by blood. Always and forever.

Robb and Catelyn thought that Ned would have been happy to see them like that.

Of course, this was followed by a long phase of recounting the perils they had endured, which made Catelyn shudder again at the thought of the horrible dangers her little girl had faced and managed to overcome without too much harm, as she had neither been raped nor mutilated, unlike many other civilians.

Arya was utterly shocked to discover that Sansa, her whiny and feminine sister, had just contributed to Robb's victory by convincing the Vale of Arryn to join the battle. She would have been less surprised if they had told her they had ridden the Sun on a unicorn. She felt somewhat cheated, as though all her dreams of great adventurous deeds paled in comparison to what her sister had accomplished.

Sansa, for her part, could hardly believe that her troublemaking pest of a sister was training with a sword and had actually survived so many absurd ordeals.

Moreover, it was an incredible coincidence that, of all people, the one who had saved her was Sandor Clegane—the man who had protected her many times, offered to take her away, and whom she had refused.

But by going with Petyr Baelish, did I really trust a monster so different? In truth, one far worse...just better dressed.

Arya also told Robb many other things about the Brotherhood Without Banners and how the Red Woman had taken Gendry, pleading with him to do everything possible to save him.

Robb was astonished by these revelations and had Arya provide details on the bandits' hideouts, whom they had long been hunting. He reflected on the implications of what he had heard.

Magic was cropping up far too often in the stories of many people, but since he trusted them, he tended to believe it: his mother had told him that a Shadow had killed Renly, his sister had now told him about a man capable of changing faces… and Melisandre, who was undoubtedly responsible for several strange occurrences, seemed to have vanished into thin air, according to the prisoners.

The next day, both girls managed to slip away from their mother—who was so incredulous to have found them both that she would never have let them go—and Arya was ecstatic to take a tour of the camp and see a real army up close, not as a prisoner.

She was delighted to discover not one, but two women warriors: Dacey and Brienne (both of whom were equally thrilled that the King's other sister had been found alive), and that the latter had just become a Knight—the first woman ever to achieve such a feat.

She spent nearly the rest of the day training with them, playfully sparring with them to practice with Needle (of course, the two women went very easy on her, but even so, Arya began to understand the difference between theory and practice in combat).

Meanwhile, Sansa went to speak with the Hound. She found him sitting on a rock, with a bag of money King Robb had given him on one side and a large flask of wine in hand, from which he drank in great gulps.

When he saw the young woman stop a few meters away, he stopped drinking and stared at her for a while.

"I've heard the stories," he began, "about the Vale and all the rest. You've grown, little bird. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Time passes for everyone," she replied simply.

"Why are you here?"

"To thank you in person," she answered with a bow. "You brought my sister back safe and sound. I no longer dared to hope I'd ever see her again."

"TSK! I didn't do it FOR YOU. Or FOR HER. I did it for the money. She's such a pain…"

Sansa let out a half-laugh. "True, I've always thought so too… but there's nothing like being apart for nearly two years and living through tragic experiences to strengthen family bonds.

I realized so often how much I missed her… we should have tried to get along earlier… our father was right… I wish he could see us now…

…But whatever your reason for doing it, I thank you all the same."

Sandor stared at her for a while, then sighed. "You know, I meant it. In King's Landing, that night. About taking you away with me."

She looked at him seriously, directly in the face, despite the scars.

She had never done so before, and it had hurt him, though he often misunderstood the reason.

"I know," she said simply.

"And I thank you," she continued, "for everything you did for me. I… I'm not the same girl I used to be. But in King's Landing, you were the one who protected me… if I'd died there, I'd never have become anything."

"You should've come with me, little bird," he repeated. His eyes were sad.

She waited a moment before answering him.

"I want to tell you something, Sandor, and I want you to know it's the truth: I think I should've gone with you too. Maybe I would've been happier that way.

And yet, it's still better that things turned out this way."

"And why is that?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"For two good reasons:

The first is that if you had taken me with you, you'd never have been able to save Arya.

The second is that… if I had gone with you… I would never have grown up. I'd have remained a little bird forever."

Robb had spent much of his time holding council with his Lords and commanders after the victory, at least when he wasn't with his family, now that he had reunited with them.

The Lords themselves took it as an auspicious sign from the gods that their King had been able to embrace his sisters again, just in time for the decisive battle. A kind of acknowledgment from the gods (old and new—no one argued this time) of Robb's right to rule, proof of their support.

Minstrels, bards, and singers were already beginning to compose songs and ballads about the events of those times, which provided plenty of material for the imagination: a father to avenge, five kings at war, illegitimate children, incest, the rightful King enslaved by a witch devoted to a foreign god, a young commander fighting alongside his direwolf, a fragile maiden miraculously reappearing to help her brother win the war, a little girl dreaming of becoming a Knight, and a young woman who actually achieves it; finally, a fierce killer redeemed by saving a child (or at least, that's how the storytellers chose to spin it). Whether they liked it or not, within a few years, they would all be as famous as Florian and Jonquil.

Edmure had the chance to embrace his nieces, whom he hadn't seen since they were little, and so did Brynden.

The Northern Lords were ecstatic that Ned's girls were safe, having demonstrated through their actions that they, too, had Stark blood (though Catelyn hadn't forgotten that none of them would ever have traded Jaime Lannister to save them). Meanwhile, Garlan and Loras were courteous and amiable to their new sisters-in-law, as was Mace.

When he had some space, Robb spoke privately with Sansa.

"You know…it's strange. It's almost unbelievable to see you again and…to think of what you've become. We haven't seen each other for so long…"

"Time that was stolen from us," she replied. "And indeed, the same goes for you: I never would have imagined you as King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Don't remind me."

"Anyway, it's obvious I seem strange to you: no one is more aware than me…of how much of a foolish little girl I was. But I had to grow up. Life forced me to. I quickly realized…all the illusions and fairytales that filled my head.

Oh, and then," she continued after a moment, as if struck by a sudden idea, "there's one thing…one thing I need to apologize for…" she said, tears welling in her eyes again.

"What are you talking about?"

"I…when I wrote to you…that letter…saying Father was a traitor…and that you had to come and swear loyalty to Joffrey."

"SANSA!" Robb grasped her shoulders. "I'm the one who should apologize! I was…so angry…and then Mother had to explain to me…that you were practically a hostage and that the Queen had forced you to write that letter. I…should have understood that on my own."

They embraced for a long time.

"They must have promised Father…to spare our lives if he confessed…and let him take the Black. By now, he'd be with Jon…but instead, that damned Joffrey…changed his mind and took his head. Not even Cersei wanted that… And then he…he made me watch.

You know, it's funny," she continued. "Joffrey told me he'd make sure his men brought me your head as well…and I told him that maybe, instead, you'd bring me his."

"Well…sorry I couldn't grant your wish, little sister. In the end, Joffrey paid anyway…but things never go as we want."

"No…but perhaps we must make do with the victories we achieve."

When the massive column of soldiers and prisoners set out, they headed toward Harrenhal: a place with a space large enough to organize the necessary operations to send the surrendered soldiers back to their lands after they collectively swore loyalty to the new King.

The defeated Lords and Knights, however, remained prisoners, to swear fealty at the coronation, which would be attended by every Lord, great and small, from all corners of the realm.

Ravens carrying invitations were sent from Harrenhal and Riverrun, reached by swift riders; naturally, the message sent to Highgarden would bring Margaery and the rest of her family as well.

"I've written to Maester Luwin to send Bran and Rickon to White Harbor and then have them come to King's Landing by ship," announced Robb, now always wearing his iron crown with sword-shaped spikes.

"In truth, there should still be some loyalist ships of Stannis around, but with him dead, it won't be a major problem, I think. The prisoners also told us that many of his men deserted after Hayford—a grim tale, that one—and we need them to submit to me as well."

"It'll be strange to see Bran again," Arya said, "but I can't wait."

"It's also strange that your brother managed to save the North," said Catelyn. "I'm so proud of him. I've been away far too long."

Arya, truth be told, was a bit sulky: it seemed that everyone, even Bran, had accomplished great deeds except her.

What had she done, after all? Killed Chiswyck and finished off Polliver? Would she ever be as great…as Dacey and Brienne?

Robb, meanwhile, had darker thoughts.

The Faith Militant…did they rebel because of what Margaery, the High Septon, and I did to delegitimize Stannis? Is it our fault that little Shireen…no, the blame lies with those who did this to her…but still…how did they arm themselves without anyone knowing? Who could have helped them?

The only prisoners who continued to follow the victorious army, aside from the soldiers of the Crownlands who had surrendered en masse and were heading home, were the most die-hard supporters of every faction or the defeated Lords—all of whom would be sent to the Night's Watch. Frey, Bolton, Ryswell, Bracken, Florent, and a few Stormland men still loyal to the Red God. Soon, Riverrun would also send the prisoners from the West, including Kevan and Daven Lannister.

The Hound followed the column, pretending to have no particular interest, as if he were simply heading the same way by chance now that he could go wherever he pleased.

Robb asked Sansa, "You've got a dog following you, sister."

"He's not a dog! He's a monster!" Arya huffed.

"I thought you liked him. You traveled together; he saved your life…"

"Well, yes, in a way. But he's still a killer! He killed Mycah, the miller's son. It was right there at the Trident when we were heading to King's Landing."

The same place where he returned you to us…what irony.

And also where my father had to kill Lady—Sansa thought—because of the Queen…Sandor's right…we're all killers.

"Whatever he's done, he brought you back to us, Arya," said the elder sister.

"And whatever his reason for doing so, even if it was wrong, a man with his skills could be useful…our brother Robb will need all the help he can get…even from questionable people with particular talents."

But as she said this, she also glanced at Littlefinger, who, as Lord of the Vale, rode in the column but farther behind.

Her mother didn't miss this.

"You want me to convince him to stay in my service? At different times, he saved both of you, so I'm fine with it…despite my dislike for him…but how do you plan to convince him? What does that man want?"

Me, Sansa thought. But before that, Joffrey wanted me. And then Petyr Baelish wanted me. I'm starting to think my beauty is a curse. I only attract monsters, one way or another. All that was missing was for me to marry Tyrion Lannister…but he, at least, was a gentle person

Arya thought for a moment. "I heard men of the Mountain say…it was him, his brother Gregor, who gave him those scars…pushed him into the fire. That's why he hates him."

"Really?" Robb asked, intrigued. "Then maybe there's a chance."

Dismounted from their horses, while others prepared the camp, Robb led his sisters into Harrenhal with a solid escort that included Dacey, Brienne, Smalljon, and Grey Wind, and they convinced Sandor Clegane to follow.

"Where are we going, Your Majesty?" the Hound asked sarcastically, earning glares from the others.

In a large circular hall, resembling a combat pit with many spectator tiers and a ground of packed dirt and sand, there stood none other than Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, chained with shackles so massive they seemed fit for a ship.

When Sandor saw him, he froze in shock, clawing at the railing and leaning forward to get a better look.

Robb savored his advantage for a moment before explaining, "He was captured shortly after Stannis's troops abandoned the siege… Seems he had been hiding in the woods for a long time with some of his men. But recently, he had to flee.

A massive wolf pack is ravaging the area, and the peasants say it's led by a giant she-wolf. His men were torn apart, and he was forced into the open, where we captured him. He killed four wolves and just as many men, but we got him. We're feeding him, but let's just say we're not wasting our supplies on him."

Arya's eyes widened. He was really there—another name on her list. And the one who had driven him out was...

"Nymeria…"

Most of the other names on her list had been struck off by others. A couple, to her admiration, had even been dealt with by Brienne herself. But now…

What did Robb plan to do?

The Hound grabbed the King by his collar.

"Name your price, Stark. What do you want me to do? What will it take to let me kill him?"

In an instant, three swords surrounded his face, and Grey Wind bared his teeth inches from his leg.

Robb stared into his eyes, calm as ever, and said, "Well, you know, Clegane, I'm not sure… This man has committed many crimes against the Riverlands. He deserves to be executed, as my father had ordered when he was Hand of the King… Or I could send him down to Dorne to the Martells. They still bear a grudge for Elia, Rhaegar's wife, and her children. They might… enjoy themselves quite a bit with him. And I'd gain their favor in return…"

"YOUR PRICE, STARK!"

Dacey and Smalljon stepped closer, thin rivulets of blood trickling from his neck. Brienne spoke firmly: "Step away from the King, beast!"

"Woman, if I were you, I'd move aside unless you want to get hurt."

"If you're so eager to die, I'll gladly oblige."

"ENOUGH!" Robb shouted. "Everyone, stand down. That's an order. As for you, Sandor Clegane…get your filthy hands off me."

To Sansa and Arya's amazement—both of whom had their hearts in their throats—everyone obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

"Let's talk business," Robb resumed, his gaze fiercer than Grey Wind's. "In the North, we say, 'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.'

So I could name you his judge and let you execute him. But that wouldn't truly satisfy you, would it? You followers of the Seven… You could face him in a Trial by Combat."

Sansa was horrified, while Arya cheered inwardly, hoping they'd kill each other.

The Hound snorted. "Well played… Your Majesty," he said sarcastically, but he said it. "I'm fine with that. I can fight him fairly, right now… I'll take off my armor, and you can give him his sword back."

"However," Robb continued, "there's always the chance you could lose, Clegane… And in that case, on my honor, I'd have to let that beast go free. You see, to do you a favor I have no reason to grant, I'm taking a great risk. What will you give me in return?"

Sandor gritted his teeth.

"All I know how to do is kill people. Who else do you want me to kill for you?"

"You do that very well, it's true. But no matter how well you do it, it's a common talent. Plenty of people can kill, more or less.

No, I want something else from you. If you win, Sandor Clegane… I want you to protect people for me—not kill them. You'll swear your sword to me and protect my family for the rest of your life, giving up all claims to the lands and castle of House Clegane. Your line will die with you."

A ripple of shock spread through the crowd.

Sansa: Well played, Robb.

Arya: Oh, what does a Sworn Sword mean? That he'll be around forever? Then again, if the Mountain wins… But Mycah…

Sandor Clegane threw his head back and laughed—a grating, terrifying sound.

"Fine. I'll fall for this trap. After all, I was Joffrey's protector… It'll be amusing to do the same for his worst enemy."

Once he had stripped off his armor, Sandor entered the pit, focused like never before. Gregor's chains were removed slowly, requiring eight men to handle them. His sword, as large as a small tree, lay three meters away on the ground.

The lords—especially those from the Riverlands, eager to see Gregor dead—crowded the tiers, praying, unable to look away.

As soon as he was free, Gregor, bare-chested, let out a feral roar and lunged for his sword, lifting it with one hand and raising it against Sandor, who rushed forward, attempting to anticipate him but stopping just short of being cleaved in two. A massive cloud of sand rose into the air. Everyone held their breath.

Then Sandor counterattacked. He darted to his left—Gregor's right—aiming for his side. But as he swung, the Mountain, sensing the danger, threw his full weight in that direction, slamming Sandor with a shoulder charge and sending him sprawling to the ground.

The monstrous man lifted his weapon overhead with both hands and grunted as he brought it down once, twice, three times. Each time, Sandor rolled out of the way just in time.

He got back to his knees and, as Gregor raised the weapon for a fourth blow, let out a feral cry and charged, tackling him and sending him crashing to the ground, forcing him to drop the sword. Sandor climbed on top of him, pressing his full weight down.

Holding his own sword like a dagger, he pressed it against Gregor's throat, ready to slit it, but… the Mountain showed his inhuman strength.

Gregor grabbed his younger brother by the throat with one hand and the wrist holding the blade with the other. Slowly, with sheer force, he bent Sandor's arm back, forcing the sword away from his neck.

Meanwhile, he got back on his feet, holding his brother nearly off the ground with one arm. After a look of utter contempt, he slammed his head into Sandor's face, sending him sprawling to the ground and losing his sword in the process.

Then he turned quickly to retrieve his own. But as soon as he turned around, Sandor threw a handful of sand into his eyes. Gregor cursed, swung blindly, but hesitated for a moment, and Sandor quickly rolled, grabbed his sword, and got back to his feet at a safe distance.

Turning his back on Gregor, he spun on his heel, swinging his sword in a horizontal arc that slashed across Gregor's chest—not deeply, but enough to mark the giant across the pectorals as his weapon hung low.

With a growl, the giant raised his weapon, and the two unnatural brothers began an incredible exchange of blows.

The two massive swords clashed with astonishing speed, swung at each other like mere twigs but colliding with deafening CLANGS! and showers of sparks at every strike, neither gaining the upper hand.

At one point, they locked into a test of strength. Gregor pushed his younger brother back—until Sandor sidestepped, allowing his brother's momentum to carry him forward, causing Gregor's blade to hit the ground.

But Gregor adjusted quickly, changing position and sweeping his blade's flat side at Sandor's legs, knocking him heavily to the ground.

In an instant, Gregor was upon him, steel pressing against steel, lowering inexorably. Drool dripped from Gregor's snarling mouth as he pushed harder in triumph.

Sandor delivered a kick upward, landing it squarely between Gregor's legs. The giant doubled over, loosening his grip, allowing Sandor to scramble to his feet and slash him across the left side, leaving a gaping wound.

Gregor roared in pain. That one hurt. But in response, he spun and swung wildly, his monstrous reach managing to cut deeply into Sandor's left shoulder, drawing a scream from him.

The brothers, to the horror and fascination of the spectators, circled each other slowly, bleeding and glaring into one another's eyes, their breaths ragged.

Both struggled to keep their swords raised, Sandor more so.

Gregor seized the moment. He lunged forward, aiming a thrust at Sandor's weakened side, confident he wouldn't block it.

And Sandor didn't even try. Lowering his sword, he gripped it in his right hand with a reverse grip and sidestepped the strike, raising his weapon to grievously wound Gregor's left arm.

With a cry of agony, Gregor dropped his massive sword, but then spun around and delivered a backhanded blow with his right hand, sending Sandor sprawling to the ground, blood spraying from his mouth. He lay flat on his back, seemingly dazed.

The giant, now tired of the contest, used his good arm—unable to wield his enormous blade with one hand—to grab a large stone and approached Sandor, intent on crushing his head.

But even with blurred vision, Sandor sensed the danger. Instinct took over as he groped and scrambled for his sword nearby. Grabbing it, he thrust it upward with all his might, driving it into Gregor's massive torso and out through his back.

Gregor groaned in pain and fell to his knees, though his arm with the stone wavered in the air. Sandor got to his feet, glaring down at his brother. Disdain etched into his face, he smashed his forehead into Gregor's nose, shattering it along with several teeth. For the first time, he looked at his brother from above.

Gregor, still defiant and hateful, spat blood—and perhaps a tooth—into Sandor's eyes and struck him on the temple with the stone.

Sandor staggered backward, dazed, while Gregor tried to rise on unsteady legs, the sword still lodged in his chest. He seemed like a creature from a twisted fairy tale—but after a moment, he collapsed to his knees again, head bowed.

Sandor Clegane decided to end it. He lifted Gregor's massive sword with both hands, struggling under its weight and his injuries.

Stepping closer to his brother, he raised the blade high and, with a roar of fury, brought it down in a final, decisive strike.

Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, lost his head. It rolled three meters away.

From the gaping neck, a torrent of blood drenched Sandor from head to toe. Exhausted and emotionally drained, he dropped the weapon and fell to his knees.

The stands, frozen for several seconds as if the spectacle might somehow resume, finally exhaled collectively.

Then came the cheers and applause.

Sansa beamed, Robb looked relieved, the Riverlords were jubilant—and Arya?

Arya wasn't sure what she felt. She was happy, but at the same time, she felt an odd pang of sadness.

The column continued its journey toward King's Landing along the Kingsroad, skirting the eastern edge of the Gods Eye and soon passing through the forest near Brindlewood, halfway to Hayford.

Emerging from the woods, scouts hurried back to inform King Robb that a sizable group of men—sixteen thousand strong—were approaching to surrender and swear fealty: all those who had deserted Stannis after he burned the Septons alive.

Robb advanced to meet them and was greeted by an incredible sight: thousands of men who, at the announcement of his arrival, knelt simultaneously.

Leading the group was a contingent of lords and knights, some unrelated to the deserters but belonging to the remaining nobility of the Crownlands, whose troops were returning home.

Robb spoke with them separately, assuring them that since they were involved against their will, they would not be punished, though they were required to cede all abandoned or uncultivated lands in their fiefs to the Crown—him. They agreed, recognizing the King had a plan in mind.

However, the lords and knights of the Reach—and a few from the Stormlands—who had first supported Renly, then Stannis, rebelling against the Tyrells, were promised their lives but were required to swear renewed loyalty first to Mace Tyrell, then to Robb as their new king, and finally await their punishments at his coronation.

The most important meeting, however, was with the man who waited to see the King last. According to the others, he had been responsible for rallying and convincing them to surrender rather than scatter and await their fates under the next victor.

He was a man all those men knew and respected: Davos Seaworth.

"Well, well. Look who it is. The former Hand of Stannis Baratheon. Seaworth, is that right?"

"Correct, Your Grace. Like the others, I place myself at your mercy. If you have none for me, I beg you to spare my family. I have four sons and a daughter still alive."

"Raise your head, Ser. No one will take it. I have punished traitors more severely than those who fought me believing they were in the right. In any case, I have never punished the children or families of those who have wronged me."

"That's what I was told and what I imagined, Your Grace. Glad to have judged you correctly."

"I judged you well too; during the diplomatic meeting, you were the only one seeking a compromise and working for peace. It's a pity your king didn't listen to you. That said, it's surprising to find you among the deserters. You seemed very loyal to him."

"I..."—the old sailor almost choked up; he had been informed of Stannis's death, whose body had been sent back to Storm's End in a separate convoy—"I followed Stannis Baratheon for twenty years. I was just a smuggler when I met him; it's true that I saved his life, but then he changed mine and that of my family forever. I served him because I believed him to be a just man, someone who could truly rule the Seven Kingdoms.

But recently... the influence of that woman... Melisandre... made him do things that... at a certain point, I just couldn't take anymore... I couldn't be complicit, whether you believe me or not... even though... I left before hearing the news about his daughter... and I will regret it forever... I should have been there for him in that terrible moment... As for the reason... well, it's a long story."

At that moment, Arya sped up the conversation. She had recognized a young man kneeling a few meters behind Davos, staring at the ground, embarrassed, as if he didn't want to be noticed.

"GENDRY?" she exclaimed, incredulous, jumping down from her horse and drawing everyone's attention. She then approached him slowly on foot, and the boy raised his face, unsure of what to say.

"I... I thought... that the Red Woman had..."

"No, thankfully," he said, "thanks to Davos. He saved me. So... it's true what you said. You're Arya Stark of Winterfell."

Arya leaped at him and hugged him for the first time. He hesitated to reciprocate. Many around them were scandalized, including Catelyn. Sansa smiled.

"YOU'RE ALIVE! I didn't dare hope anymore..."

"Seems like a story worth telling around a hearth, Ser Davos," said Robb, in good spirits.

"I will, Your Grace. A story of sorcery that... was ultimately averted."

"In that case, Ser Davos, you may have saved my son's life," Catelyn said. "Know that you have my eternal gratitude for this."

Meanwhile, Arya pulled the bull-shaped helmet out of her bag and returned it to Gendry.

Indeed, Davos had done a lot, and he continued to do so. Convinced there was no reason to spill more blood in a lost war, he arranged for a small garrison guarding King's Landing to be contacted and asked to surrender.

Then, with Robb's permission, he approached the royal fleet anchored in Blackwater Bay to secure their surrender and sent a ship to Storm's End to demand the garrison there stand down. Another ship was sent to Dragonstone, ordering all forces to disband and come ashore.

Sallador Sahan's pirates, meanwhile, had vanished overnight upon hearing of Stannis's death, likely returning to the eastern continent. Davos wasn't surprised at all.

From the Red Keep, a few long-time hostages of one king or another, who had forgotten what freedom felt like, finally emerged: the Redwyne twins, Horas and Hobber (whom Sansa remembered from her days in the city as Ser Horror and Ser Slobber, and captivity hadn't improved them), the sons of Lord Paxter, admiral of the second-largest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms.

"We must immediately send a raven to the Arbor," Mace Tyrell hurried to say, "to inform Lord Paxter that his sons are safe and sound. He is no longer bound to hold his ships idle, even if there are no enemies left to fight."

"That's not entirely true, Lord Tyrell," Robb interjected. "In fact, there are still some remaining enemies, of a sort that only Paxter Redwyne can confront: the Iron Islands are still in open rebellion against the Crown... that is, against me."

"Indeed," Brynden Tully commented, "though since Balon Greyjoy's death, it seems there's a succession struggle... perhaps even a civil war."

Theon lowered his gaze. The thought of allied ships ravaging his homeland, despite everything, didn't sit well with him.

[ SOME WEEKS PRIOR

When the news had reached them shortly after the swift disbanding of their enemies from the Riverlands, he hadn't known what to feel. He was sad, but at the same time, he no longer felt tied to the old man.

Perhaps he just wished Balon had lived long enough to realize he'd been wrong about him. Robb had tried to console him, but it wasn't easy when the person being comforted didn't even know how they felt.

Still, ever cheeky, he had said to Robb: "You know, it's strange... come to think of it... I've always been your hostage... When Balon attacked the North... you should have cut off my head, Robb... your father would have... why didn't you?"

Robb hadn't known what to say. ]

"Exactly," Robb said. "And it's the perfect moment to strike quickly and bring them back to obedience... to restore the King's Peace.

I envision a different future for the Iron Islands, one where they no longer turn to raiding and piracy...

But they wouldn't accept a foreign ruler, and if I were to choose one of the lords now competing, the others would slit his throat within a month.

I need someone I can trust to lead the Islands.

That's why I will send you, Theon Greyjoy. You're Balon's rightful heir and a veteran of a long war. You will swear fealty to Edmure as your liege lord and to me as your king... and after my coronation, you'll return home."

For the first time in his life, Theon Greyjoy was left speechless.

An important meeting took place in Robb's tent. Present were only Robb, Sansa, Arya, Brienne, and their mother, Catelyn.

A few hours earlier, Brienne of Tarth had requested a private audience with the King. She hadn't had the opportunity before but swore it was a matter of utmost importance.

So, Brienne recounted to Robb every detail of what she had learned, playing the role of "confessor" to two figures like Stannis Baratheon and Jaime Lannister in their final moments.

Strangely, Robb wasn't too shocked by Stannis's revelation that the White Walkers were on the brink of invading the North. As a Stark, he said he had taken the warnings from the Night's Watch very seriously, and during their encounter, he had sensed that his enemy wasn't telling him everything and that there was another reason behind his obsession with the Throne.

But he was shocked to discover the truth about Jaime Lannister. The knight had pushed his brother Bran out of a window, fathered bastards through incest with his sister, and ravaged the Riverlands, but apparently, he had killed Aerys Targaryen for an excellent reason.

And according to him, the wildfire was still all there in the city.

He called Sansa for confirmation: she had told them she had been transported out of King's Landing through underground tunnels and, once questioned, confirmed she had also seen barrels of green liquid…

And since she had also seen a fat, bald man in a robe crossing those passages in the opposite direction, Arya chimed in this time, saying it might have been the same man, in almost the same place, that she had seen talking to another, conspiring, as she thought at the time, against her father.

After a while, she managed to repeat the words she had heard coherently, and it became clear she had misunderstood them the first time. Above all, Catelyn put two and two together about the identity of the bald man both her daughters had seen.

"It's VARYS, I'm sure of it! When I came to King's Landing… the Spider, the Master of Whisperers… he always knew everything. It doesn't surprise me he worked secretly against Ned and Robert Baratheon."

"And it seems he escaped Stannis's wrath," Robb added. "And now who knows where he is and what he's doing. To be honest, it doesn't reassure me to know that, even before sitting on the damn Iron Throne, there are so many intrigues and secrets that everyone knows except me.

I'm not comfortable entering the Red Keep knowing that enemies can come and go through secret passages whenever they want… or that the entire city is at risk of blowing up."

"Your Grace, the wildfire must be removed from beneath the city, that's obvious," Brienne suggested.

"But aside from being difficult, destroying it would be a waste. Apparently, the Imp used it to destroy part of Stannis Baratheon's fleet. At least, that's what Davos says." Brienne lowered her gaze, as Seaworth didn't know she was the one who had killed his king. "So, it might be very useful in the future."

"Even before that," Catelyn interjected, "don't you realize the difficulties we'll face trying to move THOUSANDS of barrels from beneath the city without anyone noticing? Otherwise, panic will break out. The city would rebel again. Who else knows about the tunnels?"

"Well… I think Littlefinger, for sure," Sansa said. "Since he gave Ser Dontos precise instructions on how to use them to save me."

"Fantastic," groaned Catelyn. "So if we try to remove them, he'll notice."

"Before even that," Arya asked, "do you really want to remove them in secret?"

"If such a weapon exists, I'd rather have it at my disposal without anyone knowing," Robb said. "We're already too tied to the Tyrells… even though… Margaery has proven capable—" At this, the women gave him a sidelong glance, wondering how much influence she already had over him. "—as have her brothers. But her father already has too much of a tendency to meddle in everything, and I'd prefer to have some cards to play, if necessary, without him knowing. And Mother is right: the citizens of the capital mustn't know they're sitting on a powder keg, or another revolt will break out. The problem is how to do it."

"Maybe I have an idea," Sansa exclaimed after a moment. "We could use the men you've brought as prisoners, those bound for the Night's Watch. Even if they see what they're doing, once they're sent to the Wall, they won't be able to tell anyone, don't you think?"

"To… move all the barrels, you mean? It could work, but then… they'll have to be taken away by ship. And taken where?

And how do we justify the fact that those men are working in the tunnels… and that the new king will spend weeks camped outside the city without entering the capital?" Robb asked.

"Mace Tyrell said we should wait for Margaery's arrival so you can enter the city together…" Catelyn began to suggest.

"And from a public relations standpoint, given that you opposed the Red God Stannis believed in… it would be wise to wait for the arrival of the High Septon, so he can give sermons to the people, countering the influence of the High Sparrow… who, even though he's dead, has poisoned many minds.

Waiting for his arrival and his work could be a good pretext."

"Yes, and when I told you," Arya intervened, "when I asked you to do something for the citizens who were starving, and who'll be even worse off now that the city's been sacked twice by Stannis—" She darkened here, as she had lived in those alleys as a stray for weeks after her father had been arrested. "Didn't you tell me…"

"…that Margaery wrote to me, suggesting we wait for their arrival to enter the city, so food supplies from Highgarden could be distributed to the people,"

Robb confirmed. "She… well, my wife suggested waiting a few days before entering, to first stabilize the population… so they'd be more inclined to welcome us favorably."

Clever girl, Sansa thought. Winning over the people's favor with food. Stannis's wars aside, it was her family that enforced the embargo on King's Landing when they sided with Renly. I remember that well… I was there. Now she wants to play the savior of the orphans.

"But even if you want to tell Mace Tyrell you agree," Catelyn specified, "that will only serve as an excuse with the populace. We still have to decide what to tell your Lords, our allies…"

"We could do this," Sansa said again. "We'll mix a bit of truth into the lie, and it will be more believable. We'll tell the other Lords we don't want to leave the secret passages and tunnels as they are, which is plausible.

We'll carry out TWO operations: one to map the secret passages of the Red Keep, and one for the tunnels beneath the city.

We'll send Maesters to explore the royal palace so they can uncover all its secrets…"

"But then they'll know them, too…"

"Yes, but imagine sending many different Maesters, only from houses loyal to us, and assigning each one a single zone of the castle or tunnels: they'll map that area and only know it… then they'll give you, the King, all the maps they've made, and you alone will have the complete picture… like a finished puzzle."

"Very clever, my lady," Brienne praised her.

"Alright, it can be done… and for the tunnels?"

"As we said, we'll use the prisoners to move the barrels of wildfire, but also to block some of the tunnels with heavy rocks, modifying the existing paths. This will prevent those who knew them before from using them again; instead, if necessary, only we will be able to, knowing the new routes…"

"We'll need to bring rocks there somehow…"

"Exactly, and that will be our cover for why so many ships are going back and forth. They'll arrive loaded with rocks and rubble and leave, instead of empty, full of barrels of wildfire… to be unloaded in the same place where they get the rocks."

"Brilliant!"

Robb and Arya were astonished.

Since when was Sansa so clever?

Catelyn was proud. "But where will we take them?"

Sansa looked at the military map on the table for a long time.

"Dragonstone. It's perfect: the island has just been abandoned, it's close enough, it has vast underground halls where dragons once were, it's a volcanic island with plenty of rock available… and it's the King's personal domain, assignable to whomever he wishes… so no one can stick their nose in without your consent."

"Yes... it would be ideal..." Robb pondered.

"But the whole operation must be carried out with great skill," Catelyn worried, "to ensure not a single word leaks to the wrong ears."

"I'll assign Robett Glover to coordinate the work," Robb said. "He's a trusted and sensible man. The ships from the North will arrive soon with Wyman Manderly and our brothers.

We can use our fleet to execute everything—the men of the North would take any Stark secret to their graves."

"But we still need someone experienced with ships to oversee it all..."

"Basically," Arya chuckled, "we need to find a smuggler."

Robb was in a meeting with Edmure and Mace Tyrell.

"Your Grace, I heard you've ordered all the Lannisters' gold to be transported to the capital under heavy guard... May I ask the reason?"

"Of course, Lord Uncle. I've realized that gold is cursed... It was one of the reasons the Freys and other houses betrayed us. Leaving it there would have only stirred further greed, envy, and jealousy.

There's no right way to manage it, so, to avoid disputes, the Crown will take charge of it directly."

"Well... fine," Edmure replied, somewhat relieved. "But it had been said that it would be used to repair the war damages caused to the Riverlands. Two wars were fought on our lands... and my people are starving. And as you Northerners say: Winter Is Coming."

"That's true, and I promise I'll do everything I can to help the people. To be honest, my sister Arya has told me stories that... keep me awake at night, even after fighting two wars.

But we have a problem, Uncle: it's still Autumn. Winter will arrive in a year or two, and after such a long Summer, we're facing an equally long Winter. All seven kingdoms will need food—likely bought from abroad, in the continent of Essos."

"Is that your plan, Your Grace? Is that how you'll use the gold?" Mace Tyrell inquired.

"Among other things, yes," Robb confirmed.

"And I'll use part of it as Stannis Baratheon intended. Those talks about debts owed to the Iron Bank need to be addressed. The Lannisters ruined the realm, holding Robert Baratheon by the throat. But no one will hold me by the throat, I assure you.

And if there's truly a Targaryen girl across the sea with three dragons... I'd rather the Iron Bank not choose to fund her out of spite. Not to mention that the same city hosts the Guild of Faceless Men..."

Arya had told him much about them—but he didn't say that aloud.

"Wise, Your Grace. Wiser than I expected, if I may say so," Mace Tyrell praised him. "But you'll need assistance with such complex operations. And, naturally, other houses had credits with the Throne as well..."

"All debts will be paid, Lord Mace, including yours," Robb assured him.

"And who will aid my people in the meantime?" Edmure asked, polite yet firm. He was discouraged by the talk but determined to insist and not leave without a satisfactory answer.

"The richest house in the Seven Kingdoms, of course," Robb declared with dramatic flair, "the Tyrells, whose daughter I have the honor of marrying."

Mace widened his eyes. "Pardon, Your Grace? Do you intend to... immediately become indebted to us again?"

"I intend not to become indebted to anyone. But I know the Reach produces enough food to endure two Winters and supply half the realm. You've wisely stockpiled significant reserves... Margaery is arriving here with many provisions to donate to the poor of King's Landing, correct?

Then you can prepare a second, even larger shipment to bring food, seeds, livestock, and forage to the people of the Riverlands... along with tools and materials to rebuild their homes."

Edmure brightened.

"And... on what terms?" Mace asked.

"It's simple. I understand you planned to grant me a massive dowry for marrying Margaery. Well, that's unnecessary.

I'll gladly forgo what I'm owed—my dowry will be seeing the people of the Riverlands, my mother's people, recover from this horrific war. And if you insist, you may also cover the costs of the wedding feast and my coronation banquet."

Thus, it was announced that the King would not enter the capital for his coronation until the High Septon took his rightful place in the Great Sept of Baelor—symbolizing his support for the New Gods, unlike Stannis—and the population had recovered with the food supplies brought by his Lady wife.

The population and Lords who were not his allies took this decision as a sign of great magnanimity and humility from the new King, and the news spread across all Seven Kingdoms.

Margaery arrived with exaggerated pomp and an enormous retinue, seemingly delighted—some would say even sincerely—to meet her new husband's family.

Sansa raised an eyebrow when she tried to call her "sister." The new Queen had apparently arrived with the rest of her family, including her formidable grandmother Olenna, the so-called "Queen of Thorns," who proposed a double union, marrying Sansa—whose beauty would be wasted in the North, according to her—to Wyllas Tyrell, Mace's eldest son. However, the proposal remained undecided.

To be fair, Wyllas seemed sensible and kind-hearted, as well as resourceful: upon hearing of Bran's tragedy, he had brought an invention of his—a wooden chair on wheels that could be pushed to allow a disabled person to move freely.

He had also been clever enough as a diplomat to keep the Reach united, even as its Lords split between Robb and Stannis, and had stationed troops along the borders to prevent attacks from the Lannisters, Stannis, or Dorne.

For about a month, the prisoners descended into the dark tunnels to move barrels of wildfire and seal certain passages with rocks, while Davos used the first-arrived Northern ships to transport rocks to the capital and wildfire to Dragonstone—a location he knew better than anyone else.

Many people came to speak with Robb during that month, both publicly and privately: Davos several times, then the King privately questioned Gendry about Melisandre (discovering that Tobho Mott, the boy's former master, was one of the few who could work Valyrian steel and, having barely escaped the war's devastation, still worked in his shop).

Robb also frequently consulted his allied Lords and commanders. Notably, he spoke with Greatjon about a plan he had for the Wall, given its proximity to the Gift.

It was a magnificent sight for all when, on a bright morning, the bulk of the Northern fleet arrived under Wyman Manderly: but it was especially joyous for the Starks, as it marked the arrival of Bran and Rickon.

For a couple of days, the two boys were almost exclusively in Catelyn's care—the poor woman had not seen them in so long.

But soon everyone spoke with them; in particular, Robb praised his younger brother's skill and asked for further details about everything that had happened.

Then came the moment when Robb held a private meeting with Bran himself, joined by Howland Reed and his two children, Meera and Jojen, who had been with him since the assault on the Twins.

Author's Note

This is the chapter where many things that happened separately will come around. I hope you can appreciate it.

Lots of seeds were planted and now they sprout.

The war is won, but the story is not finished. There's a lot of clean-up to do.

Littlefinger is in a strange spot: he came out clean, but knows that his secret aren't such. Someone might wonder why not to get rid of him: right now they can't.

If you noticed, in the previous chapters many people were directed in the same spots, so now it's only natural that they all meet, but there's also a feeling of closure.

The Hound WAS bringing Arya to the Vale, so they simply stumble into the battle.

Catelyn DID deserve to meet all his children again, safe and sound

Cleganebowl was an intense moment to write, hope you had fun. It's the key to keeping Sandor around

We needed to bring peace once again, and as we know, 16k people had deserted Stannis, and Davos fleed to save Gendry, so everything that you see is perfectly on point.

Both the taming of the Iron Islands and the managing of the gold will have repercussions later.

Now, about the WildFire: since Brienne spoke with Jaime, it's only natural she would advise her new King of the peril: and the Stark family trying to figure out how to solve the problem is a moment i quite liked.

Robb was smart also in canon, but i tend to write realistically: nobody becomes TOO smart, all of a sudden. This collective effort makes more sense.

Again, this WildFire stacked at Dragonstone will turn useful much later.

Robb is now in a position to hear from everyone we've encountered so far and check their stories, trying to make a full picture; which would influence his decisions as a King.

Next chapter: the Coronation, with Robb's first political decisions. And after that...a surprise, in chapter 16