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Fangs and Claws [Closed]

       Maege listened carefully to what the boy in front of her had to say, and nodded to each of his instructions carefully. In spite of her talkative mouth, as she had been told many times by Catelyn, she decided not to interrupt, nor to leave her own imprint on the orders. 


     Afterall, he wasn't asking for the impossible. The girl had to be cleaned and treated, if needed, and in the state that she last saw her, she needed that imminently.


      Before Catelyn could say a word, she stepped ahead and closed her eyes for a brief moment, as a sign of approval.


      "Lenore's schedule is extremely tight. Ser Jaime could wake up in any moment, and her regulatory requirements are quite the time consuming job." Maege peeked at the tent with the corner of her eyes, and caught the sigh of a dark honey-blonde hair hanging over the edge of the low bed. "I will see what I can do to help the girl, and I will ask Lenore for some ointments from her bag. I am sure she will give me anything necessary to take care of the wound in her shoulder."


       With that, she made her way quietly to her tent, the long fur coat draping over her silver armor that she always wore. 


       Catelyn's eyes caught her son's, and she placed a warm hand on the back of his neck, underneath his auburn curls. She felt his muscles tense, and his cheeks were unusually pale. 


      "I do not trust this girl, as frail as she seems," she said, slowly placing her hand back in the folds of her fur. "A hostage should not be given such a treatment, one that very few of our warriors and soliders get."


       She was, indeed, affected by the way Robb was handling the situation, and she couldn't help but see Caireann as a threat to his temper. 


       The way he had brought her the previous night, she seemed fragile, vulnerable, but she very well knew the truthful heart of a Lannister, the blood that ran in the veins of the man that beheaded her husband. She was not to believe a word that she spoke, not until Jaime Lannister would wake up, and not even then. 


       She sensed that the fate of her son was endangered by the weight on his shoulders and the venom on the lips of the Lannisters.


      "You cannot hold a council in this state, Robb," she whispered quietly. "I can tell you didn't rest well last night. You should sit down in your quarters, maybe close your eyes for a while."
 
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‘And what if Jaime does?’ Robb did not see how that would much affect Lenore’s schedule if Jaime woke. Unless that involved more treatment for Jaime in some way – if so, Robb was not informed. He was curious how Maege knew so much, wondered when she had been taken into Lenore’s confidence.


A question for the council, no doubt. Apparently Maege was confident in whatever she knew of Lenore, that she expected to receive medicine from her stash, too.


His gaze followed Lady Mormont until he felt the hand on the back of his neck, turning his head back to the bright eyes of his mother. “Mother, she’s our way of getting Sansa and Arya back,” Robb told her, wondering what she saw. Yes, the girl was a Lannister, and a prisoner, but she was also a woman who didn’t belong on the battlefield.


Certainly, that was worth the two Stark girls.


He didn’t trust her either, of course.


He frowned at her words. Rolled his shoulders and brushed her hand away, “The council cannot wait. We have two high-value hostages here. We must proceed with meeting to determine the next steps,” perhaps his temper would get the best of him, but that was why it was a council and not just him. Men and women he trusted would speak to him and advise him on the proper steps.


He’d listen.


He might overreact, he knew, but he would eventually cool. He was still his father’s son, still steady. Sense always returned to him.


But they needed to meet and decide what was to be done with these hostages. “I need to see Lady Reyne. Do you know her tight schedule, or should I just find out if she is available?” He inquired, wondering if his mother also knew more of the Westerland woman than he did – if he trusted her.


Actually, that was a good inquiry, “And what do you think of her?” It was obvious that he shouldn’t trust the Lannister.


How ought he to treat the Red Lion, who wielded poisons and deceptions?
 
       Catelyn followed the words of her son closely, her eyes locked on his. He seemed distracted, vulnerable- two characteristics that were unusual to Robb, or at least not in the situation that they found themselves in.


       The boy spoke with such concern that she felt she was no longer a mother to him. She was a listener, a provider of advice, and that hurt her immensely.


       Of course, Catelyn loved her son, and would never wish for him to follow the wrong path, but the way his words left his mouth brought a sense of worry in her heart. For a brief moment, she wished she could take his place and do his work for him, but he never allowed her to help in any circumstance. 


       Robb believed in getting his own work done before putting his mind at rest.


       "Lenore is in Ser Jaime's tent, possibly with Ser Hill," she advised, stepping away from her son and holding her cold fingers over the edge of the steaming cup of ale. "I suggest you see her now if you have any questions, before the council begins. She is a busy woman, as you've seen, and cannot be bothered in her focused state."


       His following inquiry threw her mind back into the storm of thoughts. She had known Lenore for no longer that he did, yet she felt a certain contact between them, as women and as head ladies of a honorable houses. But Lady Reyne had always kept herself closed up, her soul and mind away from the sight of the ones surrounding her. 


       Catelyn looked down to her feet buried in the frozen grass and contemplated for a moment, before turning her eyes back to him.


       "I understand that you want to get under her skin, but it will not be an easy thing to do," she spoke. "Lenore's thoughts and mannerism have always been an undecipherable puzzle, even for me. All I can tell you, is that the woman has her own ways, unknown to any of us, and as honorable as she os thought yo be, I cannot believe her words entirely. I suggest you do the same."


       With that, she gave Robb's cheek a quick, soft stroke, before turning around and returning to her tent in silence.


~***~


       The fourth pail was enough to fill the tub for a short bath. As she poured the water in, she followed Caireann's movements, as she slowly began removing her garments.


       In the dim light of a few candles, her young, freckled cheeks were flushed lightly, and her skin gleamed with a certain youth that reminded her of her own self, such a long time ago. The child lifted up her frail arms to undo her braid, then placed the dark onyx pins on the edge of the bucket, her dark, golden hair falling over her speckled shoulders, then turned her back around towards Maege.


       As she untied the lace of her corset, Cairann's curves sprung back, revealing a small waist and wide hips. She let the corset fall down and she tucked her undergarments underneath it. Then, the poured a few drops of jasmine oil into the bathing water, letting the undressed girl step into vat.


       "It's hot," she whispered, curling her toes as her skin made contact with the water, but she beared the temperature and slid in slowly, her hands and shoulders oustide the surface.


       "I will have to clean your wounds," Maege whispered, and soaked a clean cloth into the water. "Otherwise, they will get infected, and I cannot


apply the ointments."


       She moved her eyes to the girl's shoulder, where the arrow had penetrated her skin. The wound was red and irritated, much like her wrists; Lord Robb hadn't bothered with the physical health of his second hostage, but she never expected him to.


       As she ran the wet piece of material over her body, Caireann remained silent, gradually letting the skin on her wrists touch the water. Flinching she placed her palms on the bottom of the tub and closed her eyes.


       It only took Maege a few minutes to bathe the girl and clean her wounds. In spite of the visible pain in her eyes, Caireann chose not to complain. Afterall, Lady Mormont was doing what was necessary to mainain her well-being, and it was more than enough for her. When she stepped out of the bathtub, she felt herself wrapped in a warm material , and Lady Mormont began preparing her clothes.


       "I will have you dress up, then I will escort you to your tent safely so I can bring the ointments and medicine from Lenore. Understood?"


       Her words seemed piercing, but soft and warm. Caireann nodded slowly and unfolded the pale rose dress, hemmed with fur around the neckline and the long, hanging sleeves. Lady Mormont tied her corsed back up and helped her dress up in her new gown, then had her sit down on a low, wooden chair.


       Her hands worked quickly in her wet hair, drying out each of the blonde locks and carefully brushing it into place. In the deep silence, she could hear the Lady behind her humming to herself quietly, as her fingers moved rythmically. 


                                                                                "Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair,
                                                                                The maid with honey in her hair...
                                                                                The bear smelled the scent on the summer air,
                                                                                The bear, the bear and the maiden fair..."


       The lyrics struck her heart, and Caireann looked up from the floor, turning around to glance at the woman that was combing her locks. For a moment, she could no loneger understand her situation, her feelings, the pain in her throat and the rising beat in her chest. 


       She turned the soft touches of Lady Mormont into those of her uncle, her high but silent voice into the deeper notes of Jaime Lannister, and the scent of warm water into that of a blooming garden in the middle of spring.


       'And the fair maiden in his big arms smiled brightly, as the bear spun her in the thick air of the forest,' he once spoke, holding a much younger Caireann, a child that was obliviant to the harm and dangers of the world she was to grow in. 'Did the bear kiss the maiden?' she asked, a large smile spreading her berty-stained lips, and the man in front of her laughed. 'How could a beast steal the heart of such a beautiful lady?' 'But she would love the bear,' she would murmur, and her cheeks caught the bright colour of ripe apples. 


       But, instead of the smile of innocence, her eyes flooded with tears, and she fell into the woman's arms, sobbing quietly in the dent of her shoulder.


                                                                                                           *


      As Maege stepped out of the tent, she still held the shuddering body of Caireann in her arms, with a thick fur wrapped around her shoulders. In the cold wind of the morning, her still wet strands of hair stuck to her heated forehead, the girl blicking quickly to wash away the embarrassing tears.


       But Lady Mormont did not care for the others, as the guards and soliders gave the girl long glances on the path down to her tent. And, as soon as Caireann was back on her bed, Maege pinched her chin and left her there, making her way to Lenore Reyne's quarters for medicine.


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Catelyn knew him too well sometimes, a mother’s skill. He saw the deep worry in her eyes, and it only made him want to do even more – to make it seem like he could carry the weight of the world and she had nothing to worry about. He would not break under this weight. He’d do all that was right.


Bring his sisters home.


Avenge his father.


End this war, separate the North from the South for good.


Lenore was where he expected to find her, and he accepted the information. Yes, he wanted to get under her skin – see if her colors were more crimson or silver. “I will take your words to heart,” not to trust her fully, either, then.


He shut his eyes for a second longer under the touch of his mother’s hand, then moved on to the tent. It was no longer guarded by the blonde man from last night, but a man dark of hair with quite a bit of scruff on his face. When Robb approached, he moved a hand out into Robb’s path and sized him up, hazel eyes scrutinizing, “Who are ya?” Bit of an accent to his voice, rough.


Robb straightened, “King of the North,” he did not give his name, but let his blue eyes pierce the other, waiting for the appropriate recognition.


It didn’t come from the knight, but from within: “Let him pass, Ser.”


A twitch of the lips. A click of the tongue over the roof of his mouth and then the Ser lowered his arm to let Robb pass into the tent where he found not a busy woman, but one with tea upon a table, relaxing in a chair, with a book. It was a book Robb knew of, but had never read. Maester Luwen discouraged it. Lies of the Ancients, said to be a tome of falsehoods from an older era. “You have everyone convinced you’re busy, Lady Reyne,” he noted once she lifted her gaze from the book, red nail pressed underneath a sentence.


“Wonderful, isn’t it?” She smiled easily then, but the traces of exhaustion could be seen under her eyes. “There’s no more to do for Jaime other than wait and observe,” fretting would do nothing now, so she read to stay awake, stayed near in case his situation turned.


Robb let his eyes rake over the bound man and his wrapped wounds. “You believe he will make it?”


“Yes,” eyes flickered down, “Your mother believes we should send word via clothe – I’ve plenty of torn bits from his clothing, some with the golden lion on them.”


Robb looked a touch astounded. It seemed…barbarous.


Though Lenore was not looking directly at him, his silence spoke his shock well enough, “I think it is clever. A single letter, and both of our seals, surrounding clothe that Tywin will know.”


“Oh, he’s my prisoner now, too?” Bitter.


“No. Our seals, to show our alliance.”


“You don’t think Hetherspoon or Farman will want to announce it.”


“They may want,” eyes lifted again, almost exasperated, “but they know what will hurt more.” Hit Tywin’s pride. “Roose said as much, did he not?”


“Lord Bolton,” Robb corrected.


Thin smile. He couldn’t quite read it, and watched as she let the silence stretch out by reaching for the tea and sipping it, “What do you intend to do with Jaime?” Tea cup returned to the table.


“Haven’t decided.”


“If you kill him—”


“I will not stoop so low as Tywin.” She cut him off abruptly. Closed the book and rose, as she saw another shadow outside the door. The black skirt swirled around her with the movement, her attire dark to combat the cold she was unaccustomed to. Silver highlighted the trim, the fur, but otherwise the dress was black as a Brother of the Night Watch’s cloak.


Again, the voice of the knight spoke up, “And who are you, Queen of the North?” the sneer obvious in his tone.


Robb watched the deception as the book was placed beneath the wooden chair, hidden by a dark shawl that rested upon the seat of it. The tea was left where it was, but Lenore moved to Jaime’s side, seeming to examine the wounds. Her hair was idly put up, as if to put it out of the way of her examinations. It had been loose.


Robb wasn’t certain if he ought to be impressed, or annoyed, with the deception before him as Lenore effortlessly made herself seem busy while the knight spoke to whoever was outside. Wasn’t sure what it meant, either, that she revealed it so easily.


‘She has been living a lie most of her life, this must come naturally.’


But who was here to see her if they all thought her so busy?


He remembered then that Lady Mormont had spoken of coming to get medicine, so he moved to the tent flap. Seeing her, he said, “Let her in,” with all the command he could muster.


The Knight just stepped aside, folded his arms over his chest. There would be room enough for Lady Mormont to step by him and step into the tent to join Lady Reyne and Lord Stark now, though. Robb would duck back into the tent.
 
       As Maege left the tent, Caireann's voice still resonated in her ears, like the winter winds, constantly howling outside the brick walls of Winterfell. When the girl was brought into the camp under the protective arms of Robb Stark, she seemed pained, vulnerable, but her name left a shadow of doubt over her words. As she ran the wooden comb through her hair, she held her tightly and wiped her tears, and the girl was no longer a Lannister; she was nothing but a defenseless child, who had fallen into the wrong arms.


       And yet, Caireann refused to let her know the story that brought tears into her hazel green eyes. Hiding her face under a shadow of embarrassment, she closed herself back up, with her arms kept defensively around her shoulders and her knees pressing againt her chest.


       In spite of the pain that she had gone through and the treatment she had to endure, the girl kept her lips shut, silenced, in the darkness of a cold tent. Maege could not see her through King Robb's eyes- a being with the blood of murderous nobles running through her veins, a child with the words of a trickster, a tremendous liar. 


       No. These were all words she would use to describe Jaime Lannister, Cersei and Tywin. All of them were honorless bastards in the eyes of Maege Mormont. Caireann was not.


       Lady Lenore's tent was larger than the others and crammed with shelves full of books and medicine. In the middle, in front of the entrance, had been set a cot, on which Jaime Lannister was lying almost lifelessly, with his chest moving too slowly. Maege made her way past the guard at the flaps and stepped inside, crawling past Robb Stark with only a respectful head gesture, and turned to Lenore.


      "I am here to ask for medicine or ointments for Lady Lannister, under the orders of King Robb," she muttered, her demanding words leaving her lips with ease. Then, she turned her scolding eyes to the King himself for a brief moment. "The girl's wounds are in a critical state, and I doubt the rashes will ever heal unless she is given proper treatment."


       A part of her did not expect Lady Reyne to hand her whatever was necessary for a proper care; she knew her too well. Lenore despised anything under the name of Lannister, but she still had a droplet of rationality left in her mind when it came to a young, innocent child. Afterall, Lady Caireann hadn't been brought into the world by the time her house and her loved ones were burnt down to ashes. She did not know her pain, her sorrow, nor the twisted words and orders of Tywin. 


       Maege waited in silence, her hands holding the dark fur around her body.
 
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Robb met the look of Lady Mormont as she dared suggest he wasn’t doing enough. First he gets chastised by his mother for doing too much for Caireann, then he gets chastised by Lady Mormont for not doing enough for her. “That is why I asked you to take a look at her,” he was considering the woman’s state, and did not at all appreciate the tone the woman was using, especially after just referring to him as king.


Yet while he said those words, Lenore moved from her false attention on Jaime to sort through the various vials and tins she had of balms and medicines.


She asked for no details. The rash wounds were anticipated. There was the wound from her own arrow, as well.


These things she knew how to deal with, would have to deal with them with Jaime – but not yet. Relaxed as he was in his state, he wasn’t irritating his wrists overmuch.


A tin of a soothing balm was taken, a small vial of a cleansing solution that would sting, bandages, tweezers in case the arrow had not made a clean exit and left behind splinters or other debris, and then a simple lotion to help restore the moisture of the girl’s wrists and ankles around the rope, were taken up and offered to Lady Mormont, wrapped in clothe for easy of carrying, “These should be sufficient,” Lenore spoke softly, without as much haughtiness as Robb expected. “If you require more, please let me know, Lady Mormont.”


There was no hesitation, and no indication that it bothered Lenore, for it didn’t.


The Lannister children and grandchildren should live. It was something Lenore firmly believed. They were innocent, and she would not have them killed, as Tywin had her innocent siblings killed, her cousins, and would have had her killed – if only he knew one had escaped.


And only one. She had hoped, once, that others would come out of the woodworks, but if it was true then they were just as good at hiding as she had been.


Robb said nothing. He kept his lips tight, wondering if Maege would ask for more, or if this would be sufficient. Wondering if she had more words for him about his lack of consideration in this respect. He didn’t understand it, not from her nor from Catelyn. Too much or too little. There was no winning with these women.
 
       As Lenore kindly offered to pick out the vials, ointments and instruments necessary for treating the girl, Maege couldn't help but notice the sour expression on Robb's face. And yet, he kept himself silent and he endured the words with a false sense of submission.


      There was nothing Maege despised more in the world than ignorance. As much as she loved Catelyn, she knew her words had clouded Robb's thoughts, made him believe in something that was irrational, untrue. It was much like the unconscious hate she held in her heart for Jon Snow, her bastard, and yet, Catelyn always found a way to come out to those around her as a good, respectable woman.


      And there was no doubt in that, either.


      Finally, Lenore placed the items individually in a small bag and offered it to Maege, subtly indicating that there was more to a treatment than dabbing an oil over a wound. Maege accepted, with a small nod. She knew that she was no doctor, and everything that she picked out was thanks to Lady Reyne and a few other war medics she had come in contact with.


      In Robb's silence, Maege understood. She turned her eyes to him, her glance now as calm and as soft as it had always been. 


     "In some circumstances, a man should let his heart take over his mind, my King," she muttered, almost low enough for Lenore not to hear, and left the tent with no additions.


                                  *


       "P-Please, let me do it-"


       "No," Maege answered, she she kept her arm steady on the table and her eyes fixated on the wound. With another flinch from the girl, she managed to get the last- or so she hoped- splinter from the wound in Caireann's shounder. The poor girl had pulled so desperately on the arrow that the wood broke into her, shattering pieces throughout her skin. "It's all done. You can relax now."


       Caireann scoffed and sighed, wiping a small droplet of sweat from her forehead. Her hair had finally dried, as soon as it met the warmth of a tent, and was now braided messily and brought to one side- a war braid, as Maege called it. For she was a survivor.


       Then, she felt the woman's fingers on her skin again, over the irritated wound and painfully red rashes, yet she endured the whole process without a word. 


       After it seemed like an hour had passed, Maege finally put the lid back on the perfumed ointment and closed the vials, carefully tucking them back into the bag. Then, she got up and stroked her cheek softly, subtly massaging the jasmine oil she had applied previously onto the skin. Her skin felt soft, fragile- not one of a warrior. And yet, Maege could tell that there was more to this girl than her palor and delicacy. 


       "Be respectful towards King Robert," she advised before she left. "He has enough on his mind already, and as you've seen for yourself, Catelyn is not very supportive of you. Let the man breathe until after the council."


       Caireann didn't get to say another word before Maege left. She allowed herself to relax, as much as her corset allowed for her to, and let herself fall back onto the furs, quietly humming.
 
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Robb let Maege leave them, and glanced back to Lenore. Already, the hair was loosening and falling down over her back, as she returned to her chair, to her book. He wanted to ask why, but he was not sure what sort of answer he would get from her and he was in no mood to overthink things more than he already was.



He had two Lannister hostages – one, technically, but two were captives thanks to him.


That was all he needed to focus on. They were both being treated. They would both live. He assumed they were both going to be treated with the dignity due prisoners of their status, if only because of the way Lady Reyne seemed to react to the idea she would kill Jaime, and how easily she had given over items to treat Caireann. “Do you listen to your heart?” He had to ask someone. He was feeling bitter.


“Tywin drowned it years ago.”


Somehow, that was the answer Robb expected from her – perhaps the only thing he expected. “Sweetness does aid in some respects, but there is no need to be overly sweet to the girl,” Lenore’s own thoughts, “You intend to trade her,” obviously. His own sisters were away. “Getting attached would be a terrible tragedy.”


It seemed the red-heads thought alike in regards to what Caireann was to be. A prisoner, but not one meant to stay long. He wondered, briefly, if Maege was thinking otherwise. He would need to find out. “I’ll be holding my council after sunset,” Robb indicated. After everyone had eaten. “I will expect you there, Lady Reyne.”


“Of course, your grace,” and with that, Robb left, leaving the woman to read in peace. Time and again, she would check on Jaime’s condition. It was improving.


By sunset itself, Ser Hill had returned, and with good news: “Our camp is set up. Your tent,” which meant, all of her things unpacked at last and easy access to all her tools. It also meant she finally had a place outside of Robb’s camp to be, where she would not need to worry about one of his men attempting to off the Kingslayer.


She heard whispers of a Lord Karstark who seemed to want just that. “Good,” she rose, and went to the bound man, “Will you be able to carry Jaime on your own, Ser Hill?”


Ser Hill was a large man, but no Mountain. Still, he puffed with pride and answered, “Of course. He’s a waif,” he wasn’t, but he certainly favored the tone of a lithe athlete, to one who favored strength. It made him pretty, effeminate, with his long blonde locks.


Lenore undid the bonds without questioning it further, untying them and then folding them over her arm so she would have them at the next stop. Ser Hill waited patiently for all to be undone, and smirked a bit when Lenore took a black cloak from the back of her chair and wrapped it around Jaime for the travel outside. “Shame it isn’t white,” Hill commented, reflecting on Jaime’s position with the Kingsguard.


Lenore just shook her head at the comment, and Ser Hill drew closer to Jaime as she stepped aside. “Gentle, now,” she told him as he moved to lift Jaime, bridal style rather than just over a shoulder like a bag of grain.


Lenore hesitated just a moment, thinking of the items she was leaving here to walk with Ser Hill back to their camp. She shook it off; if anyone decided to raid it while she was away, hopefully someone would notice. If not, the items were replaceable – everything was.


With that in mind, Lenore strode ahead and lifted the tent flap up for Ser Hill, who was struggling a little with Jaime’s weight. He was certainly slower, and more cautious in his movements. Once he was out in the crisp air, though, he took the lead. He knew where the tents were, and where Lenore’s was set up – the largest among the Hetherspoon camp, next to Lord Tybalt’s, the man who had for years pretended to be her father, all to bring them here.


To the moment when they had a chance to throw the Lannisters out of power.


The camp was full of the smells of food and retiring guards. Metal clinked as new ones moved to replace them for the nightshift. Fires and smoke made it seem as if night was distant, the fires necessary not only for light but for warmth.


Lenore tucked her hands into her sleeves, holding her hands in front of herself, the black bells obscuring them and the daggers tucked into the small holes sewn into them. She smiled courteously as she walked past others, but kept moving even when a few tried to engage her.


Ser Hill just blatantly ignored them, not even smiling.  
 
       Jaime could feel his body jolting with each step that Ser Hill made, his heart pounding quickly in his chest as his conciousness returned to his mind.


       Then, his thoughts were flooded with memories from the night before- the sounds of swords, griding blades, the cries of dying soliders, the stifling scent of fire burning as the flames rose past the linen tents and into the night sky. He heard his name, fragments of a voice that he could almost no longer recognise; the voice of a young girl, desperately running from the living Inferno.


       As his eyes opened slowly, he could see the ground moving beneath him in the dim light of the sunset, a armoured chest pressed to his sunken cheek, and a strand of hair trembling in the cold wind.


       The Reyne. The Stark. The war.


       "Caireann..." he murmured quietly, his lips barely parting to form the only name that he could remember, the only being that he hoped was breathing still. "Caireann," he whispered again, and dared to look up to a long, clean-shaven chin of a man that carried him in his arms.


       But nobody answered- or so he thought-, and in the silence of the evening, he could only hear blood rushing through his veins and up to his eyes and ears, clearing his vision; to his toes and fingers, allowing him to move and feel the air; to his wounds around his belly and shoulders, that shot pain throughout his weak body.


     He was no longer Jaime Lannister, the King Slayer, the powerful warrior that defied the will of the Gods and the nobles. He was the dying fire of a legal assassin, of what he used to be. And if he had lost Caireann, if he had lost his army, his dignity and power, he could no longer return home. He was the property of a phantom and the dying name of house Stark. 


       Mormont. Hill. Hetherspoon.


       His mind was again drowning in information he has unconciously accumulated in his coma. He remembered the moment they were discussing who would possess the prisoners.


       So Caireann was alive, afterall. 


       It was all that he could speak, before he felt his body being thrown onto a warm surface. Then, two quiet voices surrounded him, tingled his ears. They would speak to him; they would call his name.


       "Who?" was all he could ask, and yet, he didn't know if the words weren't still part of his mind. He couldn't think, not anymore, but he tried, and as his eyes shot to the wildfire green iris of a redheaded woman, he could only hope that he was in good hands, and he was not going to be infirm for the rest of his life, like the poor Stark boy he had thrown over a ledge. 


~***~ 


       "Impossible," Cersei muttered as her hands nervously turned the silver spoon between her fingers. "There is no failure in the vocabulary of a Lannister. Not while Jaime is the leader of the army that is to take the North."


       She was wearing her long, red gown, embellished with golden seams and glittering lions. Her hair was tied up in a complex braid that allowed for only a few strands to frame her thin face. She kept her cold, unnerved expression etched in her eyes as she spoke to Tywin, but inside of her stomach, she could feel a fire burning painfully, heating her heart and boiling her blood.


       "Jaime made his mistake before he even left King's Landing," the man replied, his brows furrowing above his eyes. "He took no precaution and let his arrogance blind him entirely. He left few men guard the gates of King's Landing and few for Lannisport, the castle remaining unguarded and his side alike. If Jaime dies, it will be the end of our reign as we know it, Cersei. We are the only capable minds left in this city."


       Cersei did not pay attention to her father's words. She kept her eyes on the etched spoon as she stirred into an empty goblet. "If Jaime dies," she repeated the only words that stained her memory. "But he won't. My brother will not die. He will win, and he will bring me the head of the King in the North, and the cold heart of his mother. It will be the end of house Stark. The end of only one of the problems that threaten our family."


     Tywin could not recognise his daughter as she spoke; not anymore. There was a shiver in her voice, a subtle tone of fear, of doubt. He could tell that she agreed with him, deeply in her heart, yet she would not put down her pride for the sake of a healthy mind. 


       He had spoken for too long, and for nothing. Tywin got up and left the room with heavy steps against the marble floor, the door closing loudly behind him.
 
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Umber. Karstark. Mormont. Glover. Tully. Bolton. These were the ones Robb had on his side with the meeting coming up, the voices that he trusted, so he went to tell them each, individually, of when it was. The Greatjon was in high spirits that day, still pleased about their victory over the Lannisters. He had been one of Robb’s greatest supporters since the day Robb showed he could wield authority.


Galbart Glover was ever a steady man, stoic and prepared for what was likely going to be a time of tempers. Roose Bolton would be like him, the calm ones in the storm of emotions.


Rickard Karstark was likely to be a cause of that storm. It seemed he had lost sons in the battle against Jaime, and was railing against keeping the Lannisters so well-protected, so nicely treated. He was bitter, as any father would be – he wanted blood. Karstark was going to be a problem.


Robb knew who would attend for the other side: Lenore Reyne, the sole representative of her house, Tybalt Hetherspoon – an old knight, Sebaston Farman – a young admiral (and already Robb could see the potential of taking Lannisport from the Fair Isles, combine his fleet with Sebaston’s), Lymond Vikary – a knight of great skill, and Gawan Westerling – another knight of an old family. The five houses added to both his fleet and his ground forces, but that was only if he kept them. That could be a difficult task with Jaime between them.


As dusk was setting in, Robb went to check on Caireann, to make sure she would eat. However, before he made it to her, he was paused by Roose. The whispery voice of the Leech Lord was firm as it called out, “Your Grace.”


Robb paused, bundling his furs closer. Something about Roose always seemed to make the temperature drop. Roose approached, heedless of the reaction, a figure or pride as clear as any Lannister. “Ser Jaime has been removed from our camp.” He reported.


Robb looked momentarily baffled, but he didn’t voice the pointless ‘what?’. He said instead, “By Lenore?”


“Yes. He is being taken to the Hetherspoon camp,” of course, “Lord Karstark is raving,” he sounded disgusted. “We should begin this meeting soon.”


Roose didn’t need to say why. Rickard needed to have the rules made clear, this new alliance made clear, to everyone. It all needed to be set in stone, now that it was established through their shared victory and capture of two significant Lannister hostages. “Gather the others, I’ll be at the tent,” Robb said.


Roose gave a slow nod, a subtle bend of the knee to make him briefly shorter than Robb, and then he was striding off like a good Hand. He was that in all but name – and sometimes, it worried Robb. Like then.


Yet, he shook it off and went towards the War Tent, passing by Caireann’s only to request that the guard make sure she had supper, before he threw open the flaps to the war tent, and began to set up the map, and the miniatures, so they could begin to discuss the situation and how to proceed.


~***~


There was a voice that was not Ser Hill’s nor Lenore’s, and the Reyne glanced to the captive in his arms to see that the situation had changed. She sucked in a breath, glanced to the face of the knight, but he remained stoic, looking ahead.


Jaime wasn’t struggling.



Good.


Hill’s steps did quicken, and soon they reached the tent of Lenore – more like three tents put together, if truth be told. There was the front, an official room with a desk and a map, her own miniatures and war preparations, not set up, but prepared to be. The Red Lion was the only one placed on the map, situated upon Casterly Rock by someone with a sense of humor.


Likely Sebaston.


Then there was her private quarters, and next to it, the medical tent.


It was there that Jaime was brought and laid upon a comfortable cot. She had none that were uncomfortable, prepared more to handle her allies rather than her enemies. Ser Hill glanced to her, the look in his eyes asking if she needed help.


She shook her head, “Find soup or a stew. He will want to eat, eventually. And water,” Jaime would be bound again when Ser Hill returned, but only his legs. Ser Hill was more than capable of watching Jaime while he was bound so. He could move if Jaime tried to untie himself and knock the Lannister out.


And Jaime seemed too disoriented to be a threat to her right then, but she allowed a dagger to slip into her hand as Ser Hill nodded, and hastened to exit, not wanting to be away long.


Jaime’s question was met with a simple answer, “Reyne,” no first name. No other name mattered between them. She assessed his condition, the fire cold in her eyes as she tried to ascertain it. “What symptoms are you experiencing currently, Jaime?” Wondered if he was in a state to answer.
 
       Catelyn was waiting in her tent for Lady Mormont to show up. As the sun hid behind the tall pine trees, she could feel droplets of sweat on her forehead and in her palms; she was as stressed as she had ever been. Robb had held important councils before, and yet, she had a rather dark feeling about the one in that evening. They were to discuss the situation of the two hostages, as well as plans for their next move, that could either assure another hand from willing houses, or a change of perspective from Robb. 


       New men meant new hopes. New lands conquered meant new promises. Each day, they were closer and closer to King's Landing, to Tywin, to Cersei and Joffrey, and that terrified Catelyn. 


       Winter was coming. She could feel that, deeply in her bones, and in spite of their road leading south, the winds of winter felt just as powerful. It was another thing to worry about, but not now. 


       Maege stepped into Catelyn's tent in her usual silver-plated armor, with a brown fur cape over her shoulders. She would never step out of that armor, not when she knew she had to radiate strength, will and power. Her curly hair was braided back, few strands framing her long jaw. Catelyn could tell her eyes were darker, more sullen, as if all the worry in the world had suddenly fallen ontop of her. 


       "The meeting is going to start in a little while," she spoke from above, her left hand on the handle of her sword. "I suggest you follow me into the main tent, my Lady, and we shall see what he has to say. The others have gathered."


       "And Lenore?" Catelyn had an unusual feeling about her that day. From Maege's words, she had been particularly willing to help treat Caireann Lannister from a simple rash caused by the rope. She could tell from her behaviour, herself, that she knew something they did not. 


      "Lenore is quite possibly already there. I heard a female voice when I passed by the tent. I doubt it was someone else. Why do you wish to know?"


      Catelyn shook her head dismissively and stood up from her chair, running her hands over her long dress to smooth it out. She couldn't give Maege any explanations, not even if she wanted to. 


       "You go first, Lady Mormont," she spoke, looking around her quarters for her cape. "I will accompany you as soon as I can. If needed, tell my son to wait for me. I do not wish to miss any information."


       The Mormont nodded quickly and walked out, leaving Catelyn alone with her own thoughts, which she very much appreciated. She didn't wish to be late for the council and anger her son more than she quite possibly already had, and yet, she couldn't attent the meeting with a clouded mind.


       After a small while, breathing in the cold air, she walked out of her tent and into Robb's, biting her lip nervously, until she could feel a metallic taste on the tip of her tongue. She blinked slowly towards her son, as a small greeting, and proceeded to take her seat next to Maege.


~***~ 


       As his vision cleared, Jaime could slightly distinguish the features of the woman standing in front of him. She was the one that put an arrow through his body, that treated him for what seemed like an eternity. The red headed woman named Reyne.


        He was a prisoner afterall; no longer the noble he used to be, and yet he was treated with a fraction of the respect he deserved, which he very much appreciated. He did not have high expectations, but again, he never considered losing a real possibility. He was so full of his own pride, that he almost forgot the sour taste of loss and the stinging smell of the Starks.


       "My condition," he muttered, his eyes shooting at the stitches that sticked up from underneath his thin shirt. "I don't know, my Lady, you tell me, as you stand there, with a perfect view of my wounds and rashes."


       He had lost his counciousness, but not his sarcasm. He could confirm that he was himself, or at least that a part of him still lived inside, under the thick layer of mud and shame. 


       But the woman had no reaction, and he shook his head, his false smile disappearing from his dry lips. "I am fine. I need water, I can barely breathe in this horse ranch odor." 
 
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The first to arrive was Sebaston Farman, and after him came the others. Robb chatted casually with some, until Lord Karstark came bustling in, Roose on his heels with a look that spoke of all the ways he’d like to see Rickard dead.


Robb turned to the older man, staring him down as Rickard’s dark eyes fell upon him. “I demand justice, Robb!” He blustered immediately, hand slamming against the table and felling miniatures. Robb tilted his head up, back straightened.


“That’s what we’re fighting this war for, Rickard!” Greatjon spoke just as casually, but it was with anger as well. Roose moved to Rickard’s left. “For justice, for our freedom, for all of that.”


“I want justice for my boys,” he said, staring down Robb as if he could make the boy quake. “That Lannister bastard killed them all.”


“I know,” Robb said, maintaining as much detachment as he could while confronted by the rage. “Your loss is our loss, Rickard, but we will not make it a larger one by senselessly killing Jaime Lannister.”


“Not to mention he’s not yours to kill,” Sebaston stated, earning the immediate glare of Rickard.


“We’re letting in these children of summer now?” He snarled, “They’re like to return Jaime, safe and warm, to his father, for a pardon for their treachery.”


Sebaston bristled. Robb interjected, “Jaime Lannister can end this war.”


“Then let’s kill the bitch.”


“No.”


“Why?” A terribly cruel laugh, “So you can trade’er for your sisters?” The rumor spread fast, “Get your family back?”


He would have raged more, but a new individual entered – Lymond Vikary. And then Maege Mormont, and Roose put a cold hand on the back of Rickard’s neck, and moved him to a seat, to wait until all were gathered. The man sat, stewing, casting dark looks to all those from the Westerlands.


Lady Catelyn was almost last – it seemed they were not waiting for her, but for Lenore, who outdid them all in tardiness.


~***~


The guard found one to hold their shift as they went to fetch food for the Lady Caireann. He was not sure what to bring, what was appropriate, so he found a bit of the deer they had cooked, bread, and water. It seemed enough - a filling meal at least thanks to the bread. With it, the guard returned to the tent and entered.


Only to look slightly embarrassed upon entering, gray eyes falling upon Caireann, "My apologies, my lady," she might be a prisoner, but she was still a lady, and he had not at all considered what state she might be in before he entered. Had not warned her or asked if it was all right to enter, "I have brought you some dinner, if you would like to eat now," he held out the plate and the cup in his hand, looking at her to forgive his intrusion from beneath brown bangs.


He was just a common soldier, but from Wiinterfell. No lord's child, just a smallfolk trained to fight, who loved Eddard Stark and joined to avenge his lord with his lord's son. He hated what had happened, but he knew this woman had not done it. 'Nor did Joffrey.' Though in Joffrey's case, it made the guard hate him all the more. The man who passed the sentence, should swing the sword.


~***~


Lenore did quirk a smirk at his answer. That his sarcasm was intact indicated that his mind was functioning. He was aware of his surroundings and could think, all good things. “Seems you are well,” she commented, then answered his demand, “I have already sent a man out to get you water and soup. You cannot eat anything more solid right now, I am afraid.”


Honesty, as if she were maester and not enemy. “By tomorrow evening you should be able to enjoy things besides liquids.”


She ignored his commentary otherwise, and Ser Hill could be heard returning, with soup and water. She gestured to Jaime, “He would like water,” and so Ser Hill offered it for Jaime to drink, setting the soup aside for the moment. There was still an anxious energy about Ser Hill that gave away his paranoia that the Kingslayer might find his strength and cut them all down, but none of that was in Lenore’s body language. “Ser,” she would address Jaime then, “I am going to bind your legs together,” clothe between them and the ropes, to make sure they didn’t chafe too bad, “Do I need to sedate you first?”


Still with that confidence, as if she could do so, so very easily.
 
       As Catelyn stepped in, the tent was left in a deep silence. Robb was standing up, next to Lord Karstark and Roose, as he tried to straighten his back into a taller figure. She could tell by their expressions that the situation had already gotten tense, or at least with the arrival of the man that demanded the death of their prisoners.


       She had heard it all from outside, before she could even step in. With her chest ahead and her eyes fixated on her son, she took her seat, shifting lightly.


       "I thought we were all gathered here to discuss our situation in a formal and academic manner," she spoke loudly enough for each pair of ears to hear her. "I haven't moved my legs through the thick fog and cold winds to hear your irrational words, Lord Karstark. I believe you are a man of a greater intellect, therefore I ask you all to sit down so we can begin and end  this council as swiftly as possible."


      Maege glanced at the woman next to her. Catelyn had barely spoken a word every since the prisoners arrived, her thoughts and worries always eating her sentences away. And yet, there she was, the Lady of house Stark of Wintefell, with her voice reverberating in the room as a blizzard. 


       Catelyn then remained quiet and looked at Robb, waiting for him to start a speech or at least break the silence. 


~***~ 


       He drank the water with a disgusted look on his face. It tasted of rock and wood, and it was as cold as Winterfell. If he didn't know, he would say he had been brought up into the far North, and yet, he had only slept for no more than a day. 


       Jaime could barely take the words of the woman in front of him, that stripped him of all his dignity through a simple yet effective tone in her seemingly innocent voice. She had something that belonged to a true Lannister, something that reminded him of Cersei, a way to stab her opponent with the power of well combined sentences. 


       And that angered him. 


       "I can keep myself calm, thank you very much, Lady Reyne," he replied, shifting his eyes from Ser Hill to her. "But I am quite amazed, that I am truly standing in front of the phantom of Castamere, if my eyes and ears are not wrong; and they rarely are, otherwise I wouldn't be called the Kingslayer." He shifted in the bed with small sighs as he tried to find a more comfortable position. His hair kept falling over his deep blue eyes, blurring his vision, but as he rose his arm to move the strands away, a lightning of pain shot through his member, up to the shoulder. "Damn, the bitch..." He groaned, rubbing the painful area. "You got me well crippled there, Lady Reyne. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from you."


~***~


       Caireann was curled up in her bed, with a thick, poorly sewn duvet draped over her back and around her body, with an old book in her hand that Maege managed to give her before leaving for the council. It was not much, but it was enough to keep her occupied for the day- an old storybook that focused mainly on the embellishment of historical acts. She had read it before, more than once, and she only found few of the chapters interesting or believable enough for her to enjoy them.


       She didn't notice the tall man entering her tent until he spoke, and she flinched, instinctively closing her book. She had been told to hide it from King Robb, for it was taken from his personal library, and she deeply respected Maege's words. 


       And yet, it was only a guard, with a small plate in his hands, which he placed on the table next to her bed. He flustered as he spoke to her, his cheeks losing the nordic palot and catching the bright colour of ripe apples. He was not as young as her, but not too old, a few years past forty. His voice was rough from the cold, and his nose was irritated and wet.


       "It is fine, Sir... I'm afraid I do not know your name," she said softly, holding a finger between the pages of the book, to quickly resume reading if he chose to leave. "Thank you for the food. It's more than enough."


       As he nodded and turned around to walk away, she felt her heart sting in her chest. She didn't want to be alone, not anymore. The cold winds in that forest and the constant silence made her anxious, afraid, lonely, feelings which reminded her of King's Landing and of her childhood.


       "Could you please stay, if it is not much to ask? Nobody has visited me since this morning, and I doubt anyone will. At least during my supper. A-And you could also eat from my plate, if you're hungry."


       Her words were simple, but she never dared to speak this way to the guards back home, or her servants. If she only tried, Cersei would lock her in her room for the rest of the day, with Septon Maulray, who would educate her for the better. 


       She would await an answer, and only hoped for his acceptance. 
 
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Just when Roose had thought the man would be quiet and calm, Catelyn had to address the tension in the room. Roose wanted to walk out. Flay them all, and go home.


However, he didn’t, as Karstark laughed bitterly at Catelyn’s words and rose from where he had been sitting – placed there by Roose, “Aye, do I need to sit on the floor for you to be satisfied, Lady Stark?” He snarled at her, “It’s easy for you to be calm now, isn’t it? You’ll be getting your girls back, but no justice done for my sons!”


“Enough!”


The command was enough to still the air this time. Robb was almost trembling with fury, but it was contained. Still, he saw the way those of the Westerlands exchanged snide looks to his left. He saw how much Karstark wanted to bite. “This is not about getting my sisters back, it is about ending the war and winning the war. If we kill Jaime Lannister or Caireann Lannister, we lose an advantage. That’s all!”


A breath.


Sebaston dared to add, “Better to trade the Lannister for the Stark. You wouldn’t want Joffrey to inherit Winterfell, should Robb die, would you?
 


“He’d never—”


“If he married Sansa, he would. And he would be your King, in King’s Landing and in the North.” Sebaston stated, making it plain that it was in their interest to move forward with Robb’s plan, even if there was a personal aspect for it. “Your sons knew what war brought. You knew the risks of war.”


“You think they’d keep Robb alive?”


“We’re not them,” Sebaston knew the answer. No. But Jaime wasn’t the ‘king’ in this game, as Robb was. “We should wait to continue, Lady Reyne is not here yet and she is the one who holds Jaime.”


“Yeah,” Karstark snorted, “Where is she, anyway?” He looked around, but in many of the faces, he saw few had any ideas.


Roose softly answered, “She was seen escorting Ser Jaime to her camp. I am sure she will be here once she has him bound.”


~***~


A simple smile, “I am pleased to hear it, Ser,” and with that, the dagger vanished into her sleeve and she took the rope and walked to where Jaime was. She pulled some clothes from a shelf nearby as he spoke, removed his boots and calmly went about wrapping his lower legs with the clothe to protect them from the chafing of the rope.


He wouldn’t be able to wear his boots anymore. Boots were thick, and one could easily slip out of boots and escape bonds that way. “Phantom of Castamere,” she mused, “Lovely title,” she decided, winding the rope around his legs to bind them together then, “You are hearing correctly, Ser. Lady Reyne, daughter of the Proud Lord,” the Red Lion. Roger Reyne.


She had finished tying him as he cursed, and she just walked to him, taking some of the spare gauzy clothe with her, and pushing the hair out of his face. She tied his hair back with that gauzy strip, as if it were a white ribbon, as if he were a child that needed help, “The pain will fade. When I return, I can give you milk of the poppy if you like, but I must be going now,” she stepped back, “Ser Hill will see to any needs you have, and your soup is there,” she gestured then to the bowl, “Please eat.”


~***~


The guard hesitated, of course, unsure what to do. He was supposed to watch her, but not watch her. Just stand outside and make sure nothing happened.



Still, he supposed this would be a good way to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t go anywhere, and it was quite dull outside, “All right. And thank you, but I’ve already eaten,” before his shift began. He rotated out to let the other go get a bite to eat. “It’s not Sir. Too formal, I ain’t no lord. Just Thom,” he offered his name, no surname.


Surnames mattered little among smallfolk.


“What were you reading?” He decided to ask. He had seen the book she thrust away quickly, and was intrigued. He wasn’t able to read, never taught – never expected to be necessary. He just knew how to sign his name for any necessary legal things, like marriage. Other than that, he had never learned his letters. Never read. All he needed to know was passed down orally to him.


Still, those books did intrigue him.
 
       Lord Karstark's words felt like a dagger through Catelyn's heart. She missed her daughters, indeed, and she only agreed to keep Caireann Lannister so she could have her little girls back, safely at Winterfell, where they truly belonged, for they were pureblooded Starks.


       She said nothing more, but Maege noticed her expression, and let her palm fall cautiously over Catelyn's arm, caressing it slowly. She was worried herself, for the situation that they were in, for the unhealthy tension that made the time go by slower and slower.


       "These fights lack reason," Lady Mormont spoke, on the behalf of Robb and Catelyn, and herself. "We will never be able to win our wars if we waste our energy on those between ourselves. We are allies, not enemies, and we are here to cooperate for the better of all of us, not for your sons, Lord Karstark, not for Lady Stark's daughters, not for Lady Reyne's pride."


       Her voice came out harsh yet firm and strong-willed, which she very much enjoyed. Maege was there for one thing- providing all the help she could for house Stark, and protecting their honour and name. Allowing Lord Karstark to disrespect Catelyn was something she was not particularly fond of, yet she chose not to attack him individually, at least not there.


       She kept her words of power for the real battles, and the true enemies. Karstark was not one of them.


~***~ 


       He didn't oppose as his legs were being tied together, but deeply inside, he felt his heart raging with fury. Jaime wanted to break through the rope, slash whatever crossed his path, and return back home; warn Cersei. 


       The woman in front of him seemed nothing but frail; a snake, in the body of a gorgeous lady, which he couldn't help but rest his eyes on for a brief moment, before he came back to his senses. The Reyne was answering his sarcasm with subtly sour words, which his nature could not refrain from taking as a direct attack to himself.


       Then, another thought came into his mind, as Ser Hill almost forced a spoon full of cold soup into his mouth. Something that he should have asked a long time before, and yet he allowed himself to turn blind to the reality surrounding him again. His fatal flaw, as stated by his father- ignorance. Pride. 


       "Where is my niece?" He demanded, blood rushing up into his cheeks. "Where is Caireann?"


~***~


       As the man sat down, Caireann took the plate and placed it on the bed, cutting small bits of steak as she let her senses drown in the smell of fresh, well-cooked meat. Then, after a small bite to calm her hunger, she opened the book again her eyes hiding behind the old, stained pages. 


       "It's historical fiction," she explained, but as she noticed the deeply confused expression on the Thom's face, she couldn't help but smile slightly. "Stories, like those you hear from bards in songs, or from adventurers at taverns. But, maybe not quite as exciting."


       She flipped the dusty pages of the book and inhaled the scent of ink and paper, closing her eyes for a moment. Then, she stopped in the middle, where she had previously placed a straw as a bookmark, and turned back to the man. 


       "Would you like me to read some of it to you? It's a story about men who dared to adventure past the Wall, to meet the Free Folk. Quite surreal, but I like this one."


       She looked up at Thom, her cheeks highlighted by the dim light of the moon above the trees and the only candle that burnt next to her bed, on the bedside. Her skin was still heated from the bath, and her hair smelled of jasmine, contrasting with the strong scent of metal and sweat from the man next to her. Yet, she didn't mind, for anything was better than reading stories to the winter wind.
       
    
 
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The smile that was still on Lenore’s lips softened to the whisper of one at Jaime’s question before she left him, “Safe, Ser. I saw to it that the ones looking after her were provided with all they needed to keep her in good health, as well.” It’d do no good to have Jaime enraged or fearful for his niece. He’d become dangerous then.


With a nod to Ser Hill, Lenore exited the tent and walked through the cold, back to the Stark camp. It was not difficult to figure out which tent was the one they were meeting in. It was well-guarded, but they moved aside for her, allowing her to walk into a room far hotter than the outside.


The tension was palpable, “Finally!” Karstark snapped when she entered, glaring daggers into her, “And how is the Kingslayer, eh?”


“Conscious enough to be sarcastic,” she answered him, stepped to where her Alliance was and besides Lord Farman, who looked tired already. “My apologies for the delay, your grace. With Ser Jaime awake, I did need to make sure he was still capable of thought and eating before I left.”


Robb nodded, though he looked a bit soured. This, from the woman who spoke of having no heart? Not that he’d seen her demeanor with Ser Jaime. That didn’t matter. “What we’re here to discuss is moving forward. Yes,” he looked to Lord Karstark, “I do intend to ransom Caireann back to the Lannisters, for both Sansa and Arya,” he would only accept both. “Ser Jaime is the matter that needs to be discussed. We will be sending a message to Lord Tywin to let him know his son is alive, and our captive,” he didn’t mention the clothe. It was…distasteful, even if he would send that message to the Golden Lion.


“But what use is he to us?” The Greatjon had to interject. “We won’t be ransoming him back.”


“He’ll be our Theon,” Leandra answered, elaborated when Robb shot her a look for daring to use that name in his presence. “Lord Stark kept Theon to keep Lord Greyjoy’s behavior in check. We are not currently in a position to make that demand of Lord Tywin, but in the future, we will be.”


“No need of that if we just kill them all,” Karstark stated.


~***~


The guard nodded his head, “Aye, I would enjoy hearing such stories,” he knew of the ‘free folk’.  He didn’t think of them that way, but how could he? He thought of them as Wildlings. The only ones he’d ever known had somehow gotten through the wall and acted like wild animals.


Raided his lands.



Killed people he knew.


He had no love for the so-called free folk, but he was still interested in the crazy people who would want to interact with that savage group of people. He wasn’t sure who would want to – was glad for the Night’s Watch that kept most of them far away from civilization.  
 
       After Lady Reyne's words, Jaime felt as if a rock had been lifted off his chest. He let out a sigh of relief and was taken aback when Ser Hill forced another spoon into his mouth. He coughed and shook his head, swallowing the thin, unsalted concoction.


       As the woman left, she turned to the man holding the bowl of soup, his fair hair casting a dark shadow over his eyes, making him look as mad as a wildling.


       "I want to see her," he demanded. "I want to see that she is healthy and well treated for myself. I do not trust the words of a ghost." 


~***~


       Maege could already feel her patience drain from her vains, as she glared at the man on the chair in front of her. He was being irration, and let his thirst for revenge blind him in front of the truth.


       "If we kill them all, Lord Kastark, we would lose any advantage we have against Tywin Lannister, as King Robb and Catelyn have previously stated. We are not to harm any of them, but only use them as a threat to the Golden Lion." She stood up from her chair, her fingers still wrapped around the handle of the sword, right under the guard. "We are to listen to King Robb's orders, for his army captured the two Lannisters, and Lady Reyne can probably confirm my statement."


       Catelyn touched her arm and Maege fell back into her chair, her eyes full of a fire she had never felt before. Cat addressed the men around her, but did not stand up.


       "Indeed, we can use Caireann Lannister to win my daughters back. She is our only hope, and as little as I like the idea of keeping that girl here, I will not allow anyone to harm her. Not Lord Kastark, not Lady Reyne, not anybody. At least not now."


       A quiet sigh left Maege's lips, as she glanced over to Robb. Catelyn's last words might have angered him, she thought, but it wouldn't be prudent to show it in front of an already raging council. With Lenore here, things could only get worse.


~***~


       The girl took another bite from the steak on the plate and, after chewing it, she began reading the short story in a soft voice, so the men outside would not hear her.


       As she read each word and sentence, she saw Thom's eyes light up with interest. It was clear that he was illiterate, otherwise he wouldn't have asked for her to read for him, but she didn't mind. It reminded her of the evenings spent with her father, as they discussed the contents of the books read that day.


       Caireann's voice was slow, as she passed through every paragraph with clear sounds, so he would grasp the names and places quicker and easier. She told him of the day two men of the Night's Watch, Jenoyah and Auspen, found themselves lost in the endless white plains from behind the wall; of how they met the Wildlings, of how they helped them fight the mythical bears, and the man in front of her listened carefully, without a word.


       "And, with his arms stained with the blood of the Undying Bear, Jenoyah raised his sword, and the men and giants alike hurried towards him, cheering his victory." As she finished, she lifted her eyes towards Thom and dared to show a faint smile, waiting for his comment. "Did you enjoy it, Thom?"
 
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Ser Hill answered Jaime’s demands with simplicity, “You’re in no position to be making demands,” perhaps Lenore was going to humor them, so long as they related to his health, “You will see her only if Lady Reyne wants you to.”


Another way of saying Ser Hill had no authority to grant Jaime a visitation with the young girl, and he was grateful for it. Put the stress of him.


His only responsibility was making sure Jaime ate and didn’t escape, and that was fine by him. He wanted nothing to do with any of the family that had determined he was worthy of them and so left him a bastard – a Hill. He’d taken queer pride in the bastard’s name, but he’d never forget from where it came.


~***~


The point was missed. Rickard Karstark didn’t want a strategic advantage over Tywin, he wanted Tywin dead. Cersei. Joffrey. They didn’t need to bother with negotiations if all the Lannisters were dead. He wanted to say as much, but he knew his voice would not sway them.


“You’re all cowards,” he said instead and fixed his eyes on Lenore, “And you disappoint me. Reyne,” he scoffed, “Roger’d never look twice at you for sparing the life of Jaime Lannister.”


There was movement, a step forward, but Sebaston reached out a hand and touched Lenore’s arm, stopping it from being more than just that. Movement. A nerve struck. “It was not Robb’s army,” was what she said instead, denying Lady Mormont’s army. It was she who strung the bow, she who brought both Jaime and Caireann down. “We have hostages. We will write to Tywin about them, and proceed from there, but we cannot just wait for his answer.”


“No,” Robb said, “We need to move. Tywin may not have word of the betrayal yet, but he will soon – so we have a momentary advantage,” Robb said, then looked to Sebaston Farman, “I want to sail to Banefort and take it.” He stated, then, “I will write to Edmure Tully to move some of our ground forces that way, as well, but I want to start carving a path into the Westerlands, down to Lannisport.”


If they could take the coast, that would weaken Tywin significantly. His trade would falter. Stannis Baratheon would then have a better chance of successfully taking King’s Landing with his next naval assault.


“I have ships for our army,” Sebaston gestured out, “And some more that could be used as transport, as well. You have your own?”


“I can write and bring some down, and I can have some from Seagard meet us, as well.”


Sebaston nodded, “Sounds fair,” he stated, calmly, glanced to the others for disagreement.


None voiced from the alliance. They wanted to take the West from Tywin, after all.


~***~


Thom did listen, practically at the edge of his seat as the story began to detail the adventure against the Undying Bear. He was a bit confused with the idea of an Undying Bear, but he just thought of the old stories that always had seemingly immortal figures, like Bran the Builder and Lann the Clever.


They all died in the end. The Ironborn were wrong about that.


“I enjoyed it. I’ve never heard that story before,” he answered, shaking his head a bit, “Only real story I know of the Wildlings is the ones of Bael the Bard,” heard some talk of others now and then, talk of a Gendel and his passage through the wall. Heard of that one whenever wildlings raided, but he knew little else of it. Not of the passage or even who Gendel was. Just that, apparently, he had found a way through the wall and other Wildlings might be using it to attack them. “Are there more stories like it in that book?” He asked her then, quite curious.


He’d always thought books were full of boring things. Genealogies and the like. Hadn’t known they contained the stories like the ones he listened to throughout his life. "More about what happened to Jenoyah?"
 
       Jaime shook his head again, trying to sit up better, leaning against the pillows. Even if he would have been allowed to see Caireann, one step would be too much for him to handle. He felt weak in the knees, and he refused to be carried around like a maiden at her wedding. 


       "At least tell the girl that I woke up," he muttered, panting at the effort. "Tell her that I am fine, and that I will see her as soon as I can."


       Jaime felt his heart heavier in his chest. The child was probably sitting down at the corner of a cold tent, chained and terrified of the cold and the scent of steel. Caireann was a strong girl, but facing such a difficult and dangerous situation, even the bravest of knights would not feel comfortable enough to hope anymore.


       "And Ser Hill..." he began, his brows frowning above his eyes, "tell her that nobody will harm her here. Lie to her if needed, at least for a while. I might have pride, but I am not a fool."


~***~


      Catelyn followed their words, holding her arms around herself tightly. She could swear that the tent was getting colder and colder, and quite possibly not because of the drizzle outside.


       "Do you have the assurance that travelling by ship will bring us closer to Lannisport without being seen?" Maege inquired, noticing Catelyn's lips, tighter than a maiden's purse. "We have many soliders we would need to transport along, and if Seagard decides to help, we could possibly get another three hundred or more. Such a big fleet would definitely bring a certain attention before we manage to reach the shore. The Southerners have eyes and ears everywhere."


       She moved her eyes to Robb, who seemed as confident in his own forces as Jaime had. It seemed to be one of his flaws, yet she considered him to be an intelligent man, no longer the young boy of Eddard Stark, may the Gods maintain his peace in the grave. 


     "But then, we cannot bet on anything else, other than Farman's ships. I have nothing to say against your decision, King Robb."


       Maege ran her fingers nervously over the material of her blouse, trying to clear her mind of the horrible battle scenarios she had created. Nobody knew the future, not even the intellectuals could predict it, and she was not intending to try it for herself. Whatever was to be, would be.


~***~ 


       "I'm afraid Jenoyah's story ends here," Caireann murmured with a tint of sadness, as she flipped through the greasy pages in search for another story. "But there are plenty more I could read to you, if you'd like. I don't believe that Lord Robb will get rid of me before I can finish this book, and who knows. Maybe I could teach you to read for yourself."


       She didn't believe her own words. As soon as Robb would come into her room and see the book, he would take it away and tie her again, tightly, hurting her wrists once more, and maybe this time Maege wouldn't be there to treat her with her gentle touch.


       In the darkness of the evening, she only hoped that the man in front of her was there to stay, or keep her company when there was nobody around; talk to her, keep her sane. He seemed kind, warm at heart, and Caireann very much appreciated it. 
 
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Ser Hill could not contain the shake of his head, the words, “You really don’t get it, do you?” Jaime was in no position to be giving orders, and they weren’t going to be followed, either. Ser Hill would not leave to tell Caireann that Jaime was awake and well – he wouldn’t be leaving at all, not until bid by Lady Reyne.


Instead, he went to fetch a few things to polish and clean his sword, then took a seat and laid the sword across his lap to begin to cleanse it from the night before.


“You are a fool if you think you can keep telling me what to do, Lannister,” the bastard said as Jaime concluded, but he didn’t look to the blonde man. Just worked at his sword.


~***~


“We’ll be seen, I have no doubts of that, but if we sail far enough away from the shore I have confidence that by the time we are seen, Tywin will not have enough time to mobilize his own men to protect Lannisport from the onslaught. Add on to that, many of the ships will look like his own,” the Fair Isles did have sails of red and gold, since those were the colors that surrounded the three ships that was their house symbol.


“We could give all the ships such a disguise. It won’t work for long, but it might slow things down further if it seems like only the Fair Isles is moving.” Sebaston offered, “I have more sails.” And he was almost positive that Tywin didn’t know as much about what he had, ship-wise. Naval combat was never the greatest concern of Tywin.


Stannis and the Ironborn? Yes.


And Sebaston had to deal with the Ironborn….


Robb nodded his consent to that. Any form of deception would help.


~***~


Thom laughed a bit at the thought of learning to read and he shook his head, “I’m too old for that, m’lady,” he stated. There’d not be the time, and the guards would be changed regularly. He might not stand guard for her again, and especially not if Robb caught wind that he wasn’t just standing outside the tent.


A guard who grew fond of a prisoner was always a risk. They could help a prisoner escape, and though Thom harbored no thoughts of betraying Robb, he knew how it could look. “Probably should not stay to hear more,” some disappointment in his voice then, as he did realize how this looked.


No one was outside, “I need to resume my post,” he said and he rose. “I’m sorry, m’lady.” At least she had a nice book to keep her occupied.  
 
       "You don't understand," Jaime stormed, but keeping his voice low enough, so that he wouldn't draw unwanted attention. "Caireann is just a child, and she does not have anything to do in this. She never hurt a fly in her whole life, and is probably terrified and in pain, in a cold tent much like myself!" He shook his head and ran a hand through his dirty hair to calm himself down. "I am not giving you any orders, Ser Hill. But you are a man of honor, I believe, and what honor is there in harming a defenceless child?"


       He kept his words simple, but powerful. He knew there would be no chance to see her, not until the Reyne woman came back, but he wanted to know that Caireann was being treated well. She never deserved to take part in this, and all of it was his fault.


       It was only him to blame.


       Jaime's heart began pounding faster in his chest. He didn't want to think of Cersei, sitting alone in her bed at night, praying to the Gods that he would come back alive, with the sweet smile of victory on his lips. He didn't want to think of Tywin, with his scalding look, as he advises the only remaining guards to keep an eye out for Jaime's soliders. He didn't want to think of Joffrey, disappointed that his... uncle... never managed to come back from a battle he was so confident he would win.


       Everything was gone, like the dragons of the ancient legends. His battle was lost, and all he cared for was the safety of his niece.


~***~


       Catelyn could not understand her son's mentality anymore. She had so many questions for him, but which she didn't dare to ask; at least not now, not in the presence of Lord Kastark and Lenore Reyne.


       "We have to have a second plan," Maege suggested. "Send a few men by foot, along with a good leader, one we could trust entirely. And send them in fragments, so that they wouldn't gather too much attention, we could say they were there to escort the said lord for family business."


       Maege knew that her idea was risky, but they needed to be sure that they had backup, in case of a


sudden attack.


       "But if your highness does not find that appealing, then we need to make sure that out disguise is enough to bring our ships safely ashore." 


       With that, she looked up through a crack in the net flaps, at the darkened night sky, and felt the tireness from that day surround her, her eyes heavier with each second. She knew that she still had to check on Lady Caireann and check on the guards, to make sure that the shifts changed done correctly. 


       She nervously awaited an answer, her hand picking at a stray piece of thread from her sleeve. 


~***~


     The man turned around and left her tent, and Caireann felt the room getting colder. She wanted to ask him to stay for longer, but that would only bring him in an unwanted situation, and she despised causing any more trouble.  He never commented on her unbound wrists, which he clearly noticed, and if Lord Stark found out, it would be the last time reading Thom a story from the old book.


         After his leave, she didn't feel like reading anymore. She felt tired and cold, her skin still heated from the bath, and with a shaky hand, she pulled the cover her body and let herself fall down, leaving the candle burning. She was too afraid to sleep in complete darkness, not in the tent of the enemy.


       The moon rose into the night sky, the sound of howling wolves echoing in the distance.
 
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This was the Kingslayer? Ser Hill would have doubted it, had he not seen the man earlier in his armor and splendor. Right now, he sounded like a spoiled brat who knew nothing of war. He seemed to think that Ser Hill would leave out of a sense of ‘honor’. ‘Where was the honor when my mother was abandoned by your ilk?’


He did not say as much. In fact, he said nothing.


He let the Young Lion rage and try to appeal to a sense of honor, while he simply cleaned his sword. ‘This is war.’ Ser Hill thought again, catching the light of candles on his blade to examine it. ‘There’s no honor in war.’ The man who stabbed the Mad King in the back should know that. The man who’s father committed genocide should know that, far better than anyone else. Ser Hill doubted Jaime even truly knew what the word meant.


It was just his way of attempting to guilt. And while there was guilt, Hill’s mantra remained: ‘Nothing I can do about it.’ He had his orders: Guard Jaime.


~***~


“We cannot predict the future,” Lenore said as Maege spoke of wanting assurance in regards to Robb’s plan. “It may fail completely if Tywin is already aware of our betrayal,” dark wings flew fast. If someone survived the massacre, they might have been able to get word to Lord Tywin. “He does not have much in the ways of fleets, but the Banefort’s land would be more prepared for us.”  


“We’d have an advantage with enough archers,” Sebaston said, always proud of his fleets and their ability.


Robb listened to both, gave a nod, “Some should go by land, though they will end up meeting us there afterward,” perhaps they wouldn’t even be there, still. “The journey by land is a bit more dangerous. They’ll have to go through a mountain pass. I don’t want to send them to the roads of the Westerlands.”


They’d be caught then.


Robb considered who he could send, decided on the obvious, “Lord Karstark, would you be willing to lead the venture by foot?”


The Lord looked up and gave Robb a withering look. “Trying to get rid of me, eh, boy?”


“No,” he shook his head, “You and the Greatjon are two of my fiercest warriors. If anything were to happen to your party, I know that you would be able to withstand it and escape the trouble.” A touch of flattery often helped.


~***~


Thom stood his guard then in relative peace, watching the camp settle around him. The wolves howled, but it did not bother Thom. Not any longer. He knew that Grey Wind’s presence seemed to keep them at bay, most wolves acknowledging the alpha direwolf when they crossed its path.


They never had any wolf attacks.


He heard nothing from within the tent any longer, and he had to resist the urge to keep looking in to make sure she was there, alive and breathing. He guessed she wasn’t reading any longer, if only because then he had imagined that one had to speak in order to read. He didn’t know yet that silent reading was something that could be done.
 
       Jaime let out a groan full of anger and hit the bed with his fist forcefully, causing his pain to grow more powerful.


       Silence was an answer, and he did not enjoy it.


       As the man stood in front of him, polishing his sword, Jaime couldn't help but think of a way to convince the Reyne woman to allow him to see Caireann. 'No,' he thought twice, to himself, his eyes wandering to the ceiling. She would laugh in his face, just like Ser Hill did, and Jaime's pride would not allow that to happen. He was the Kingslayer, afterall, and he had to keep his composure and forget of his heart's desires.


       His main concern was now surviving. 


       For Cersei.


~***~


       Maege couldn't help a smirk from appearing on her lips as Robb asked Lord Karstark to lead the fleet by foot. She never enjoyed his presence, and if tested, she felt like pushing the man off the deck wouldn't be such a tragedy.


       He desired the death of two important prisoners, and Robb was well aware of that. As his desire for revenge would grow stronger than the one to serve his King, Robb would begin to lose trust in him. And without the wisdom of Karstark- of what was left of it, the least- they would have too much to lose than gain.


       They could not afford to lose one more man.


       "Then everything is settled," Catelyn addressed, her eyes locked onto Lord Karstark for a brief moment. "We shall write the letter tonight and send it in the morning by the most reliable man or raven. We will await their response in the safety of Lord Farman's ships, if we manage to acquire aid in time."


       Catelyn's cheeks caught the palor of fresh snow, her eyes deepened in the sockets. She didn't seem to be bothered by the words of Lord Karstark anymore, and yet, her appearence was weary and vulnerable, under a thick layer of induced confidence.


       Maege understood her. The true war was just about to begin.


~***~ 


       In the light of the dripping candle, Caireann was sleeping peacefully, with Robb's book tucked under the folds of the duvet. Every now and then, she would open her eyes, only to look through the flaps of the tent at the man standing guard for her, or to listen to the quiet voices outside, blurred by the wind.


     She wanted to rise from her bed, cover herself in the thick fur of her blanket, and walk around the fire, to calm her quickly beating heart. She wanted to move, to feel the cold drizzle over her reddened wrists and the wet grass caressing her feet. 


       And, most of all, she wanted to see Jaime, to hold him in her arms and ask for forgiveness, for not being able to save him from the arrow of Lady Reyne.


       But she could not, and instead, her thoughts mixed into an ambiguous medley, nightmares crawling into her mind as she fell into a cold trance of tireness. 
       
 
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Robb did not speak to Catelyn’s timeline. He could not predict how long it would take Tywin to answer – if he would have taken the city by then or if he would still be in Seagard. He’d send the raven immediately. He trusted them more than men. Men got caught. Ravens sometimes got shot down, but he figured the message would still find its way to Tywin that way.


“Are we all in agreement?” Robb looked around the gathered then.


Nods. Some vocalized agreement. “We’ll begin to deconstruct what we can of the camp tomorrow, then. We’ll move in a couple of days.” Still had to make sure the prisoners would be able to travel, and there were many things to take down before then. “Are there any other concerns that we should address now?” He opened the floor, looking to everyone – even Lord Karstark.


That man just huffed and averted his gaze, his anger palpable.


Unlike Roose who, as ever, was unreadable. Steady gaze. Calm as a pond before a heart’s tree.


Lenore added nothing either, and he expected it would be either her or Sebaston who might. He understood from this meeting they seemed to be the leaders in some way, of the Alliance. Sebaston was clearly the one trusted to make the military decisions.


If Catelyn and Maege had nothing more to add, then he would dismiss them for the night. But, if they had something to say or to add, he would hear them out and discuss it as necessary. The King of the North wanted them to be as close to on the same page as possible.



Right now, they seemed to be.


Write to Tywin. Try to trade Caireann for Arya and Sansa. Keep Jaime. Take more lands in the Westerlands to weaken Tywin further into wanting a compromise.
 
       Nothing followed Robb's silence, surprisingly, and yet, the King in the North was met with an unequivocal gaze from a number of attendants. Whether he noticed or not, he awaited a reply, his posture as unyielding and as strong as before. 


       "Settled, then," Maege agreed, and slowly rose from her chair, closely followed by Catelyn. She could feel a certain tension in the air, which she believed was the result of Lord Karstark's wise choice to not say anything of that previous manner. At least, not in the presence of those who sought a relative peace, as opposing to a disgraceful massacre. 


       "Please go rest, Lady Mormont," Catelyn advised shortly, her eyes wandering around the walls of the tent for a moment. She had a certain look to her, a sense of unusual formality, that made Maege uneasy. Seeing Catelyn in such a state was the only thing that she felt could put a weight of fear on her heart, and yet, she said nothing. 


       Instead, she nodded calmly and, with a respectful salute to King Robb, she left silently, ready to check on the men of the night shifts.


~***~


       Pain. Concern. Fear.


       Catelyn couldn't decipher her feelings anymore, and as she ran her thin fingers through the dense material of her cape, she tried to desperately cling to the present, forcing herself to stay on the very surface of thoughts. 


       The Lannister girl was a way to get her children away from the gripping hands of Tywin, away from the evil that had been released upon their family from the cursed moment Eddard left Winterfell. In that moment, she was convinced she would never allow them to slip again, through her fingers, and slide in safety through the sharp blades of the North. 


       Everything was in a state of dangerous balance. Two prisoners for two. Jaime and Caireann Lannister for Sansa and Arya. Their chance to avenge the honor of House Stark, and their moment of gory in the shadow of past ruins. 


       With her head up and her posture steady, she made her way towards Lady Reyne, the cape on her shoulders trembling in the wintry current. Catelyn touched her shoulder gently, her cold palm against her shoulder, and fixated her with a long glance.


       "I would like to see Ser Jaime Lannister," she solicited, meeting her wildfire-green gaze. "Just for a moment, before the man goes to rest. I understand that he is awake enough to hold a conversation."


       Cat awaited her answer in silence, although she could almost predict it. She had her way with words, and yet, with Lenore Reyne, nothing was ever certain, for the woman had the claws of a lion and the fangs of a wolf. That, she knew.
 
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