Authors Note: I cannot apologise enough for this delay, but I have been so extremely busy that I've had to write this chapter in tiny spare moments. As such I only hope the typos are few and I hope this chapter makes up for the long delay and that you are all still with me, reading this story! I love you all!

As their horses rode into King's Landing, stepping through the iron gates heavily guarded by those in cloaks of white and gold, the hooves of the stallions and mares marching loudly upon the streets, Catelyn felt a storm brewing over her. Though the sun beat down heavily, despite the Autumn winds and the oncoming Winter cold that threatened, but it felt to Catelyn as though it's rays were hidden behind a dark cloud.

Her dress was lined with the fur of wolves as always, and though the wolf pelt she lovingly kept with her was locked away in some casket carried on one of the mares, she still felt too warm. She was dressed as a Northerner, grey wool dress, dark blue cloak, tully pin, wolf fur. It had been advised she change into a more Southron attire for her journey to King's Landing, but she had refused. They may force her here, they may drag her to this pit of spies, but she would not be one of them. As much as she had clung to the South when she had first married Ned, she now clung to the North.

As they rode along the streets, she could not help but recall the last time she had entered the capital. She had ridden freely then, upon her own horse and through her own will, the Valyrian steel with her, the very steel which had been intended to cut Bran's throat. She had spoken to Ned, visited him, sat with him, held him, kissed him and said farewell to him. They had parted ways upon that street, as mounrful lovers who wished for nothing more than to be by one another's side once again. They had not known that it would be the last time they would ever look upon one another in this life. Though she tried to fight it, tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes, and her vision blurred as the tears fell down her cheeks. He was the rock her life had been built upon, the other half of her, the man who gave her her children, the husband who had made her love the North. He was a good man, honourable and just, fair. Though stoic and sombre, and frightfully solemn to those who did not truly know him, in truth he had been loving and gentle. And they had taken him. Branded him a traitor and taken his head, sent her his bones in a chest as some grand gesture. Tyrion had sent them if she recalled; not even the King himself, or the Queen regent, or even the mighty Tywin Lannister had deigned to give her all that remained of her husband. Such a cold comfort had been left to the Imp.

As she saw Tywin glance at her, she sat up straight and raised her chin, the tears instantly drying and fading away to nothingness as though they had never been. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her weep, of seeing the pain she felt. She continued to glare at him long after he had turned around.

She looked down at those wandering the streets around her, the commonfolk, the poor folk, the beggars. She had never seen such sights in Winterfell. Though it was true there was the common folk and the poor, they did not live in such poverty as this. The Starks would never turn a blind eye to such pain and suffering, but the Lannisters were more than willing. They lived in opulence and decadence, making decisions of the whims of another mad king, an abomination born of incest, while their people suffered for it, crying in the streets. She had never trusted King's Landing, and had always found it to be no more than a glorified rats' nest, but it had sunk even deeper into it's pit since the death of King Robert.

"Lady Stark" A male voice called out, weak and quiet, and she turned around on her horse to look for the source. Her eyes fell upon a man, thin and frail, his clothes tattered, his beard dirty and most of the hair gone from his head, but she still recognised him. He had been one of the swordsmen at Winterfell and she had often seen him teaching Robb or allowing Arya a few supposedly secret lessons. He had been a kind man, but firm, and had never failed in his work or his duty.

"Jonas" She whispered, bringing her horse to a halt, causing a few of the Lannister horses to abruptly stop behind her. Ignoring the complaints and orders, she lifted herself from the horse, dismounting and walked over to the poor man. She had presumed him dead with all of the rest of Ned's men, and yet here he stood. Not well, but alive.

"Lady Catelyn" One of the Lannister men called to her, but she ignored him as she spoke to Jonas.

"I thought you dead with the rest of the men," She told him, "We held no hope for any surviving"

"I thought I was dead as well, milady," The man admitted and showed a large scar across his shoulder blade, "A sword went right through. If not for a man of the seven and a good Maester, I would be as dead as the rest" He looked sad and hollow as he added, "Perhaps it would be better if I was"

"Lady Catelyn, come with us," Another Lannister ordered and Catelyn turned to him, looking up at where he sat upon his grand stallion, adorned in red and gold.

"Or you will strike me down?" She challenged, "I believe I am your hostage, not your prisoner, and I am of greater worth to your Lord and your King when I am alive and unharmed. I will speak with this man and you will wait until I am finished, ser"

She was aware of Tywin's green eyes watching her, though she feared to think what thoughts currently moved through his mind. He was a man always calculating, always thinking on how to use every moment to his advantage and manipulation and she worried on what he thought of such a display. She had no doubt they would not strike her, not here on the streets, before the people and before the holy sept, but she knew there were many ways to hurt a person. She looked at Tywin, forcing herself to meet his eye defiantly, and found him to be looking upon her with an expression she could only describe as mild interest, and this concerned her more than any threat. She held her glare a moment more, before she returned her attention to Jonas, vowing to return to him the moment she was able.

When she had mounted her horse once more, leaving Jonas with greater hope and better thoughts than he had felt in the longest time, long before he had been speared upon a sword of the Kingsguard, long before Eddard Stark head had been struck upon his head, the Lannisters moved onwards, all of them surrounded Catelyn now as though they feared she would leap from her horse once more and deign to speak to more of the beggars which roamed these dirty streets.

She continued to keep her back straight and proud; she may be a hostage but she would not give them the satisfaction of appearing beaten. She was captured, not won, and as she thought on the freedom and life it had granted Robb, that he still yet lived, that he may return to his wife, Jeyne, to live at Winterfell, to have many sons and daughters, she felt perhaps the Lannisters had not won at all. Though she was a hostage, it was through her own agreement; she had made this offer for her son's life and she paid the price willingly.

As they came into the sight of the Red Keep and the castle loomed above them, she saw the collection of servants and nobles stood around the steps, and some of the common folk gathered in crowds, peering curiously around. But there was one person which stood out like a flame amongst them all. In a gold southron dress of intricate brocade, with delicate pale arms not yet tanned by the sun, and glittering copper hair which hung down her bag and glowed in the sun like fire.

"Sansa" Catelyn spoke loudly, and it was all she could do not leap from her horse and push her through the guards and their blades and run the rest of the way to reach her daughter. "Sansa"

The moment they were within reasonable distance of the stairs, Catelyn brought her horse to an abrupt halt, and with surprising agility for one weighed down by skirts and furs, she dismounted with remarkable speed and ignoring the protests, ignoring the blades which glinted in the guardsmans' hands, she pushed through them all, making her way towards her daughter, and as soon as she was free of the guards, she ran the rest of the way, her skirts billowing about her feet as she reached her daughter.

"Mother," Sansa cried out, the tears already pouring down her cheeks as Catelyn reached her, pulling her close and holding her tightly. She held her as though she would never let her go again. To let her go was to risk never holding her once more. She had let Ned go and never seen him again, she would not suffer the same fate with Sansa, she wouldn't.

"My girl, my darling girl," Catelyn whispered, holding her daughter all the tighter and felt Sansa hold her back with the same strength, copper hair intermingling with auburn.

"I've been so frightened," Sansa wept, "He made me look at Father's head, and then they beat me, and they kept me here and I thought I wouldn't see any of you ever again and then they made me marry the Imp, even though I was meant to marry Margarey's brother..." Sansa was spilling information and stories like water, everything coming out in a tear-filled rush as she held her Mother tightly and buried her head into her hair as though she were a little girl of five once again.

"I know, I know," Catelyn said soothingly, hushing her daughter and stroking her hair. There was much more she wanted to say, and with each tale a new anger grew afresh in her heart, but now was not the time for challenges or confrontations. Now she needed to be a Mother and to hold her daughter and comfort her. The rest could wait. She could wait a hundred for everything if she could stay and comfort Sansa, be the Mother she had needed since she had left for King's Landing.

"Come with me Lady Stark," A voice commanded, but Catelyn ignored it. She did not care if it was Tywin Lannister himself; she would not heed the command. "Lady Stark" The man repeated, but she ignored it further.

Then she felt the hand on her arm, forcefully prying her away from her daughter and she snapped around, turning to glare at the guard in his cloak of white and gold.

"Do not lay your hand on me, ser"

"The Lady is quite right, Ser Garron," Tywin said, a curious amusement to his voice, "We treat our hostages well. She is not a common prisoner of the docks, and she does not need your clumsy hands pulling at her" He was impatient, his eyes sharp and glaring, a dangerous look which the guard clearly knew well for he quickly bowed his head and stepped away from Catelyn.

Tywin turned to look at Catelyn, a knowing look upon his face, but she only glared silently in return. If he expected her to thank him for the supposed courtesy he would wait until he was dead in ground.

"Take her to the High Room of the Keep, ensure her door is watched by three guards at all times," He commanded.

"No," Sansa protested weakly, "Please. You can't take her"

"She is a hostage of this family, my Lady, and while I will not have her in the dungeons she must be imprisoned nonetheless," He turned his attention to the guards and repeated his commands, "Take her to the room"

"I want to see her, please" Sansa begged and Catelyn tried her best to hush her, holding her close, hugging her and trying her best to calm her but her daughter would not be appeased, "When she is in her room, I wish to see her"

"Prisoners are not permitted visitors as if they were a guest, have some sense," Tywin replied, all but rolling his eyes in impatience.

"Am I not a member of this family, my Lord?" Sansa challenged, and though her voice was still quiet there was a new steel to it, and the guards fell deathly silent as they listened, "I am the wife of your son, does that not make me a Lannister? And does a Lannister not have the right to visit her own prisoner?"

Catelyn felt immense pride rise within her and were it not for the tragedy of the circumstance she would have smiled, kissed her daughter upon the head and praised her. Tywin Lannister was a fearsome man and it took a person of great strength and bravery to face him so directly. She knew her children were strong, they were all as hard as the North in which they were born, but to see the ice in Sansa's words, the cold glare in her eyes, was to see her belief realised, and she stood beside her daughter strongly. If Tywin Lannister saw fit to punish her daughter for such an outburst they would have to strike her down dead before they would reach Sansa.

However, Tywin issued no challenge but merely looked between Mother and daughter before nodding slight, the curious look in his eyes once more, which made the same cold uncomfortable shivers rush across Catelyn's skin.

"I will see you soon, I promise," Catelyn vowed, whispering in her daughter's ear as they held each other one last time, "You are strong Sansa, do not let them make you think otherwise" You must be as fierce as the wolf my girl.

"An interesting arrival" Tywin commented to Catelyn as she was led through the castle and she glared at him from the corner of her eye.
"Was it?" She replied simply with no interest or curiosity; only cold disinterest.

"You have a great command, Lady Stark, and an infuriating defiance," Tywin commented with an effected casual air, as he looked back in the direction of Sansa and the others, "Which seems to inspire the same defiance in others" He stopped, and let the guards carry on alone with her, and as she looked back she saw that he was watching her still, and his unnerving words rang in her ears.