Robb looked away with guilt from Jeyne Westerling's confused and tearful face. He may be a King now, but he has no idea how to handle situations with the fairer sex. He should not have used Jeyne so terribly or accidentally given her a notion that he was intending to marry her instead of the Frey girl. Jeyne Westerling was very pretty and had been very kind to him despite being the invader of her home. In another time or place, perhaps he would have asked for her hand. As a king, particularly a king at war, Robb needed to choose wisely as he had been reminded, almost chastised by his loyal men. A letter from his lady mother had jolted him to reality with a marriage to Lord Renly's widow. So the North would have the might of the Reach on their side and not that of their enemies, the Lannisters.

"Take the tea, my lady," repeated Robb gently despite his awkwardness and his unwavering guilt.

"I thought you did not want to marry a Frey," sobbed Jeyne. He didn't and he wasn't going to marry a Frey.

"I am marrying someone else." Jeyne had brushed a ringlet behind her ear and stared at him questioningly.

"If not a Frey, then who?"

"Margaery Tyrell," answered Robb testing out the name of his future bride and queen. Robb did not remember Jeyne's reaction as he had been interrupted by the low growls by Grey Wind. Robb found himself missing Jeyne Westerling's gentle smiles and comforting manner. Jeyne had not made Robb feel like a boy playing at lord and king like his new intended did. When Robb could tear his all-too often distracted gaze from the immodest neckline of Margaery Tyrell's gowns, he found her terribly infuriating with her southron ploys and opinions.

The gems of golden roses that entwined the bronze diadem glittered in the pale morning sun. The Queen was a dainty young woman of six and ten in a warm gray dress unlike her usual choice of colourful southron styled dresses. Margaery's pretty face was etched with grief and anger. Her usual courtier smile was replaced with a vengeful grimace as she gazed upon her two prisoners who had caused her grief, anger, and worry. A tall blonde woman in blue armor bowed to the little Queen and handed her a sword. The uninjured Northern bannermen of her husband King Robb, the bannermen of Lord Tully, and the men of the Reach that had been sent following her marriage to Robb Stark stood watching and waiting for the justice to be served. I cannot do this. I'm not a northerner I cannot wield a sword. I'm not Brienne or Dacey Mormont whose sword and axe where like extensions of their arms. She had practiced diligently in wielding a sword to perform an execution with Brienne of Tarth yet the fear of failure and doubt crept into her weary mind. What would Mother say if she were here? Had any northern lady before done what she was about to do?

The beady-eyed weasel of an old man and the pale colourless eyes of the other stared at her mockingly and unrepentantly. Her practiced restraint of keeping her anger in check was weakening. This was atypical for a Tyrell who were not impulsive and were always in control of their emotions. She thought of her good-mother Lady Catelyn Stark murdered, and Robb lying inside the Riverrun wounded with Grey Wind at his side. Loras all bandaged and bloody was languishing with all his wounds. 'He will most likely die, Your Grace,' the maester had told her during one of her bedside vigils. Loras, my beautiful brave brother. She choked back a sob and the tears. I am a Tyrell too and the Queen in the North I can be brave as well. The blind rage and grief that spurred the impulsive demand of dispensing justice to the Lord Walder Frey and Lord Roose Bolton in the northern manner had raised some eyebrows and grumblings of the men who wanted the traitors' heads themselves. I do not care I want to see that old lion's face when he finds out that Robb and I lived through his Rains of Castamere. She smiled at that bittersweet thought.

"I, Margaery of Houses Stark and Tyrell, Queen in the North and the Trident in the name of my husband Robb of House Stark, King in the North and the Trident sentence Lord Walder Frey of the Twins and Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort to death as traitors against their King Robb Stark of Winterfell." Her sweet soprano voice rang loudly and with the queenly authority that she had practiced as a little girl under her grandmother's tutelage. Old Walder Frey was first on the executioner's block. She asked for any last words as per the custom. He cackled and spat in the direction of her feet.

"If the Young Wolf had not broken his word to marry one of mine his Tully bitch of a mother would alive." She swung the sword and ended the lecherous old man's japes and treachery. She thought of the imprisoned Frey women bunched up like rabbits including the pale tearful Roslin married to Lord Edmure Tully. No, you should have been happy you achieved your original ambition of being the grandfather of the future Tully heirs. Your daughters are not fit to be a Queen. The men cheered. She wiped the blade quickly with the dead lord's shirt before the body was removed for the next traitor as Brienne had advised her to do. Roose Bolton's betrayal at the wedding at the Twins in attempting to kill Robb and his loyal noblemen and make himself the new Warden of the North with the backing of the Lannisters made her want to hack him to bits. The knife he almost plunged into my baby. Oh sweet Loras. The memory of watching her brother defend her and her unborn child, every wound he received, every Frey or Bolton's men he killed. How his once beautiful and flawless face was now scarred and bloody. He was the most beautiful of the four Tyrell children. What is a Rose Queen without her Knight of Flowers? What is a sister without her closest brother?

Roose Bolton knelt his head over the block. She asked the Lord of the Dreadfort for his last words. He looked up at her with his pale colourless eyes but remained silent. Margaery felt a shiver go down her spine she almost wished for an insult or curse yet she remained smiling coldly. She swung the steel sword down. His final "leeching". The Queen watched the Leech Lord's head rolled away. Bolton's spotted pink cape was flecked with his own blood. She turned to Brienne who gave her a proud smile as she handed the bloodied sword to the towering lady of Tarth. The cries of "The Queen in the North!" broke out. Robb would have shouted "The North Remembers!" but she opted to smile and wave at the men before instructing a servant to collect the heads of Frey and Bolton. She headed back inside the castle with Brienne following behind.

Margaery had summoned a messenger to her solar after the executions. Days ago, she had made the order to have all the elder Frey men be killed and the younger Frey boys the choice to take the black or die. The northern noblemen had swiftly killed the remainder of Bolton's men. Any sons would be sent to the Wall. She thought of Robb's brother Jon Snow who was at the Wall. As she walked up the stairs to her solar, she wondered, would they try to kill Jon in revenge for me killing their father or grandfather? Her husband had now lost his father and mother. He does not need his wife to send young assassins to kill yet another family member bastard or not. How she wished her grandmother or Willas was here to guide her or alleviate her doubts!

Margaery felt the weight of her sleep depravity over the week. She had stayed up late at night keeping vigils over Robb and Loras with Grey Wind at her feet. When she did sleep she was plagued with nightmares of Robb struck to the ground by an arrow, the Rains of Castamere playing mixed with the swords, shouting, and the snarls of Grey Wind, holding Loras' bloody body and looking up seeing a scrawny dark haired boy with a long face staring at her in the shadows. She still sometimes felt ill in the mornings spending them bending over a chamber pot. Her experience thus far of being with child was not how she ever imagined. The aversion to certain smells, particularly the smell of blood could not have come to her more ill timed. The Queen walked daily through the tents of the wounded men giving her thanks for their bravery and loyalty to their king and her and prayers for their recovery. She spent hours with Ser Brynden Tully the Blackfish and other selected noblemen discussing what needed to be done while the King was still wounded.

Margaery's solar did not have a large war council table with maps and strategy plans littered about. It had a desk with papers and letters and a sitting area where she and Lady Catelyn sat waiting for Robb to come back from battle. Serving maids had left a tray of food and drink for her sip and nibble on while she conducted her duties. Margaery had just sat down in her chair, when the messenger with the Tyrell emblem arrived bowing.

"Your Grace, I offer my prayers to New Gods for the loss of Lady Stark and pray for your brother Ser Loras's good health."

"Thank you," she said smiling. "Any news from King's Landing?"

"King Joffrey and the court believe King Robb is dead. He believes he has won the war."

She laughed lightly. "I have a message for you bring to King's Landing." Margaery held out a letter. "I want to you deliver this during court or at a feast when Joffrey Waters, the Queen, the Hand, all of the members of the Small Council, the lords and ladies are all present. I want you to say what really happened at the Twins and to present Lord Tywin with the heads of Walder Frey and Roose Bolton. I have instructed a lovely singer to sing "The Wolf in the North." Tell Lord Tywin, the King and I demand Princess Sansa and Arya to be returned back to us. We will free Jaime Lannister in their safe return." We won't have to if my raven has reached Highgarden. Grandmother will have something planned or Father and his army will have begun its march on King's Landing. Robb's sisters will come home sooner perhaps. "Tell them that Winter is Coming and it is Growing Strong." She placed her hand on the swell of her stomach. Martin nodded and tucked the letter inside his cloak.

"Yes, Your Grace." He bowed as he left the solar. Margaery was eating some cheese and bread silently with Brienne when a guard came in. Brienne stood up. The guard bowed to Margaery.

"Your Grace, there is a man at the gate claiming to be Sandor Clegane. He says he has Arya Stark." A look of surprise and confusion appeared on both women. The Hound? Arya? Was she not in King's Landing? Was he not Joffery's dog?

"Brienne, have Lord Theon Greyjoy or one of the northern lords who knows Princess Arya be brought to the Great Hall to verify if this girl is who the Hound claims she is. Ser, have the Hound disarmed and have them escorted to the Great Hall."

After both nodded and left, Margaery headed to Robb's and her chamber that had become heavily guarded since Twins. He appeared to be sleeping when she walked in. Grey Wind lay curled at the foot of the bed staring up at her with his yellow eyes. She kissed his forehead and ran her fingers through his auburn hair. She held his large callused hand and squeezed it gently. He was a handsome man with his Tully looks. Not the most handsome man but neither was she the greatest beauty of all of Westeros. Margaery in all honesty, was not sure whether she loved him or if he loved her. But she was thankful he was no Robert or Joffery and that he wanted to bed her unlike her first husband. Robb was good at war but he sorely lacked any political acumen. He had not heeded her misgivings of going to the Twins but he had at least relented in her demands of the men remaining armed and Grey Wind being at his side at all times. Margaery had not seen the treachery of Roose Bolton coming, which made her both wary and frightened. What if the child is not who they say she is? She kissed him on the corner of his mouth and whispered,

"Wake up soon, husband." She turned to the giant direwolf and stroked its fur."Come Grey Wind, someone says Arya is here." Margaery was not sure if Grey Wind would ever leave Robb's side. But to her surprise, Grey Wind followed her out of their quarters and down to the Great Hall.