Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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ERAC CLEABER CAME into the castle's Great Hall with a man in tow who looked to be nothing more than a peasant. Though upon closer inspection Anya could see that his leathers were practically new and one of his gloves was half concealing a golden hand. "Intercepted this one on the Kingsroad, m'lady," he announced, shoving the Kingslayer forward. Sandor Clegane turned away from the fire, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.

Anya stood from her place by the hearth and turned toward the queen's brother, masking her soured expression with one more becoming of a lady. "Jaime Lannister," she greeted with perfunctory courtesy.

"Anya Stark," he mockingly bowed, "or shall I call you Lady Whent now?" Her secret had gotten out, kept under wraps for nigh three decades but now all of Westeros knew that she was not a Stark. Not by birth, anyway.

She lifted her chin, unwilling to look small or timid. "Why are you not in King's Landing gathering your armies?" Anya had expected to see an army marching past Harrenhal in the coming days, but instead, the only Southron to venture north was the Kingslayer.

Jaime took in a deep breath, he supposed the truth would have to come out eventually and perhaps it was better to tell of Cersei's betrayal sooner rather than later. He'd prefer living enemies over dead ones. "I'm riding North," he stated, "I gave my word to fight against the enemy."

"Your word means nothing to me, Kingslayer," she spat. And though the Hound was one of the fiercest fighters in Westeros, it was not him that Jaime feared at the moment. She took a step toward him, recalling when she tended to Ned's wounds in the Hand's Tower. "You put a spear through my brother's leg," Anya continued, thinking about Lord Rickard and her sweet Brandon, burned alive and Jaime Lannister did nothing, "you-"

"-and not a day goes by that I don't think about the things I've done." He countered in the same venomous tone. "You don't have to remind me." No, he thought often about the things he had done in his lifetime and the reasons behind them. Given a second chance, he would do most of them again.

Anya bit down on her tongue. "The North Remembers, Jaime." Those monotonous words sent cold chills crawling down in spine. "They'll string you up as an oathbreaker and murderer."

He heaved a deep sigh and took a step closer to where she stood. "Then I suppose that's justice." Jaime Lannister met her steel gaze for only a second before looking down to the cracked stone floor.

This was a true Stark he stood before, not some meager little bat that would fly by the night. "Cersei will not uphold the truce." Anya had already known that though, so did Jon and Daenerys. Trusting Cersei's word was like trusting that a threatened snake would not bite. He raised his chin, standing like a proud lion, "but I will."

That told her all she needed to know about the man Jaime had become.

The men that she had surrounded herself with looked on, unsure and awaiting her command. Anya clasped her hands together and looked down into her palms at the callouses and scars. She had but a small amount of time to make a decision that could impact the direction of the coming storm. Decided, she lifted her chin back up. "Stay here for the night," she announced, "I'll send a raven ahead of you with a letter to Sansa, she's Lady of Winterfell now."

The Kingslayer looked shocked at that bit of information, but it quickly faded into a confident smirk. "You're going to great lengths to assure my safety, Lady Anya." There was still a mocking tone in his voice that she chose to overlook.

"You're living," she noted, "that means we're on the same side of this war now." Anya had already noticed his thin leathers and unlined cloak, had her men not stopped him on the road, he would have likely been dead before he could even reach Winterfell. "Besides, dressed like that you won't make it out of the Riverlands."