"Who is she?" Arya asked her mother again, several hours later. She wouldn't deny she enjoyed the hot bath or the fresh food, though the dress that had been scrounged up left something to be desired.

"Who?" Catelyn asked, shaking her head slightly to clear her eyes as she sat in front of her daughter, gesturing to the maid pouring tea. "Olla? She's on of the serving ladies at Riverrun."

"No." Arya scoffed. "Margaery. Why is Robb leaving some twit in charge? Why not Uncle Edmure or the Blackfish?"

"Arya, don't speak of Margaery like that." Catelyn corrected gently. "She's Robb's wife and your new good-sister. I'm sorry you haven't had the opportunity to get to know her."

"Oh." Arya muttered, deflating. "I guess that makes sense." She had a hard time imagining Robb married, but then, she had a hard time putting her brother's face on any of the gossip and stories she and Gendry had heard while avoiding getting captured. "I don't remember a Margaery." She screwed up her face trying to remember all the names of the children of their bannerman. She, however, hadn't paid as much attention as she should have in lessons.

Catelyn suspected what would be coming. "That's because she's not originally from the North. She left her House in The Reach, and came up here to help us." Catelyn explained. "Your brother created a Northern House for her and her men, and now her family has joined the war on your brother's side." Catelyn knew her daughter didn't have it easy in King's Landing. She had been jumpy and distrustful of everyone she didn't immediately recognise. Catelyn held no illusions that Arya and Margaery would be fast friends. She, herself, had doubted her new good-daughter for a long time. Catelyn hadn't suspected treason, but she had thought Margaery's interest in Robb was feigned. That it was just another power-grab from the notoriously ambitious Tyrells - until the night the assassin came.

"Mother!" Arya gasped. "You can't! You don't know what they're like in the South. You don't know what the queen is like, how she turned Sansa." Arya was now more sure than ever that her brother needed her.

"I was born in the South, Arya, don't forget." Catelyn reminded her. "It's been horrible what you had to go through, what Sansa is still going through. We're all suffering. That, however, is not Margaery's fault. She renounced The Reach, and is a member of this family. You will treat her with respect. You don't have to love her, but Arya…" Catelyn reached out and put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "We are at war. If we are going to bring down the Lannisters, we have to be united. The bannerman cannot see you doubting your brother's wife and queen, especially since she has brought us Reachmen to fight this war. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother." Arya grumbled, half under her breath. The bannerman mustn't see weakness, for Robb - but after they had won, and Joffrey, Cersei, and the rest were gone….Arya wouldn't need to play nice. She wasn't going to let anyone hurt her family ever again.

The Northern men seemed to hit a boost of morale as they crossed the Kingsroad into the Neck. Robb couldn't blame the men. There was just something about crossing into the Northern territory that acted as a salve on a wounded spirit and called out 'Home.' Of course, Robb knew that it wouldn't be the same until he was in Winterfell again, for good - and even then, he would feel the loss of his father around the castle, but the boost was needed. They had been too far south for too long.

That good feeling lasted until they came across the first pillaged village, no longer even smoking, and what smallfolk remained, trying to put their lives back together and bury their dead. Mentally, Robb swore to himself that they would be repaid...somehow. He couldn't undo it, but he would have to do something. He claimed to be a king, but all too many forgot these people. He would have to remember.

"Don't let me forget, Nymeria." He whispered, as they continued their march on, speaking to his sister's wolf as he would to Arya herself, or to Grey Wind. I might just have been his imagination but Nymeria seemed to understand.

When the scouts from the blockade came with their report, Margaery wished nothing more than to go back to bed. She was tired, and had a headache behind her eyes from the stress. Still, she called yet another war council.

Before she could continue the war with the Lannisters, though, she had to go to war with her good-mother, and unlike he Lannisters, Catelyn had just got her spirit back.

She tapped politely on the door to the solarium where Catelyn was keeping Arya under heavy watch, and after seeing the look of sharp fear in Catelyn's eyes, decided maybe discretion would be the better part of valour.

"Good morning! I was hoping to borrow Arya for a few hours, if that's alright, Lady Stark."

"Catelyn, please." Catelyn reminded Margaery indulgently. "And you certainly may. Arya, why don't you put on your nice dress and go with Margaery?"

"'Cause I don't want to spend the day sewing or talking about the high harp." Arya groused, stabbing a piece of fish still on her plate.

"We won't be doing either." Margaery assured her, trying to convince her to come along. "Just give me an hour. If you hate it, you can come right back and spend the day with Catelyn."

"Go on, Arya." Catelyn said, with an encouraging nudge. "Remember what we talked about."

Grumbling, Arya rose from her chair. "Fine, but I'm not putting on a dress." The youngest Stark daughter stomped her way out of the tent, leaving Margaery to catch up with her. Margaery did, and much to Arya's surprise, and perhaps a bit impressed, didn't even look cross. "So, what ridiculous girly thing are we doing?"

"A war council." Margaery replied. "Come along, the Lords will already be gathered."

Arya stopped and stared as her good-sister, the Southern girl with fussy hair and a fussy dress walked past her. "What?"

Margaery just kept walking, unsurprised when Arya's mind and then her feet caught up. "What do you mean, a war council?"

"We've had word of a small battalion heading this way from King's Landing, mostly conscripted men. I am in charge until Robb returns, and until such a time as Robb and I are blessed with a child, you are the eldest heir to the Kingdom of the North, not held in captivity. You need to know what is happening."

Despite herself, Arya felt a small sliver of burgeoning respect for the flowery queen. That didn't mean she trusted her though. If anything, the slick way she had gotten around Catelyn, who would be horrified at the idea of Arya in a war council, made her trust Margaery Tyrell even less.

Margaery eyed the war table, clicking her tongue slightly as she placed her hands on the cool wood that depicted their positions. The plan she had devised was unusual, and she knew some were doubting it, especially with how she had arranged the responsibilities. "Rodrik," she said with a nod to one of the three commanders she had kept back after the main council had ended. "Lady Maege, Smalljon...I'm afraid I must ask more of you, in this battle."

"Whatever you ask, Your Grace, it is our duty to do." Smalljon said simply.

Margaery nodded. "I believe that if the traitors are here, they may try and turn the battle for our enemies. All commands must come from me, unless you have actually seen me fall." Margaery knew well that death was always a possibility. "In that eventuality, it will be important for you three to keep the forces together. Unless Grey Wind is with a messenger bringing word of my death, we do not yield. Anyone you believe to be a traitor, you will hold for justice."

Her seriousness seemed to bleed the last of the humour from the room.

"Aye." Maege said solemnly. "Here We Stand. We do not yield."

Margaery gave a strong nod. "Prepare your men." Her plan was sideways and convoluted, with more moving pieces than she preferred. There were a lot of risks. "We move in the morning." And hopefully, before two nights would pass, all would see the traitors laid bare.

She hoped.

"You're going to fight?" The stubborn, almost shrewish voice of her young good-sister came from behind her. "You? Aren't you afraid your skirts will get dirty?"

Margaery took a deep breath and painted a smile on her face. She was trying to be understanding, she was trying to get Arya to like her, but it was difficult. "You haven't been here, Arya, so I understand the question." Margaery said simply, hoping to get on her good side. "But I have led my men in every battle since the Whispering Wood. Now that Robb has gone north to push back the Ironborn, it falls to me to lead all of the men here."

Arya made a face at her, but nodded grudgingly. "Can I go?"

Margaery let out an unladylike snort, knowing, in part, it would amuse Arya. "You really do want me dead, don't you?" She asked, ushering the girl from the tent. "Your mother would undoubtedly have my head, and she'd do it herself. So no, you may not."

Even Arya had to admit, her brother's sneaky Southern bride wasn't stupid. But she still didn't like her.

Old Nan had always made warging seem like it happened at the will of the warg. If it did, Robb had yet to figure that part of it out. It was always in his sleep, and certainly not every time. If anything, it took a few days before he was even able to warg after leaving the camp. Perhaps it was his closeness to Nymeria that helped, or maybe it was the exhaustion those first few nights after moving north at a constant pace, but when he opened Grey Wind's eyes it was almost a surprise. He blinked twice at the interior of the room, before noting his wife, fast asleep. He took a moment to compare her expression to the first day he had met her, before forcing Grey Wind up to pad over to her, gently tapping her on the shoulder with the large direwolf paw.

Margaery grizzled into the furs, wrapping her arms tighter around one of the other pillows.

While cute, it was not what Robb needed at the moment, so he tapped a little more insistently, rocking her shoulder slightly. "Margaery, come on, wake, up," in his mind only came out as a series of yips.

This time she did wake, albeit with a start. She woke, and looked at him suspiciously. "Are you Grey Wind or Robb?"

Robb sighed, making Grey Wind let out a whuf of air, and tapped her carefully four times.

Margaery let out a breath of relief, as she had been expecting him before this. "I would be cross it took you so long, but I have too much to tell you." She sat up, releasing the deathgrip on the pillow.

Robb tilted Grey Wind's head slightly.

"Firstly, the Lannisters have sent another battalion from King's Landing. We look to meet them in the morning. Lady Maege's men are already in place, to close behind them when they are where we want them."

Robb woofed, not happy. They had not seen battle for quite a time. He hated that it was when he left, and as if picking up on the emotion, Grey Win growled lowly.

Margaery, however, seemed to understand surprisingly well. "I wasn't surprised." She told him. "It was bound to happen when they got word of your departure. They think they can retake the Riverlands while you're distracted. I won't let that happen."

I know you won't. Robb thought proudly, nuzzling her cheek as Grey Wind.

"Now…." Margaery said slowly. "Other news. Your sister, Arya...she escaped King's Landing after your father's death. She and a young blacksmith have made their way here."

Rob was startled at that, jumping to his feet, or well, Grey Wind's paws, as if planning to go run and see her at once. What did it mean that when he had found Nymeria, Margaery had found Arya?"

"Peace, love." Margaery said, gently grabbing the scruff of the wolf's neck. "She's fine. I think she hates me, but she's fine."

Robb's 'What?' came out as a brief 'Aroo?'

Margaery giggled despite herself. "She's made several comments that suggest she thinks me not unlike the vapid twits of Highgarden." She said with a shrug. "I'm trying to win her over as best I can. The young blacksmith, though...perhaps it's just me, but…"

This time, the 'What,' came out as a small yip.

Margaery didn't know how to explain her suspicions. "He's no threat to her, of that I'm sure." She said honestly. "They got here, depending on each other to escape the Goldcloaks." She paused, stroking the wolf's fur as she thought. "He doesn't know why the goldcloaks were after him, but…"

'But?' Robb pressed, blinking at the plaintive noise that it made Grey Wind make.

"I wish Loras were here." Margaery admitted. "He knew Renly better than anyone, but...he looks like a Baratheon."

Robb blinked at that information, confused for a brief moment, and then entirely unsettled, began pacing a bit.

"Robb, listen to me." Margaery aid, voice firm. "If I'm right, this is a good thing. Someone in King's Landing wanted all of Robert's bastards dead. Anything that sets the teeth of the Lannisters is a feather in our cap. More than that, though, he's just a young man. I don't believe he has any idea. If nothing else, we can save him from the Lannister sword."

Robb grumbled, unhappy. King's sons had never meant anything good for him or his family.

"I've set him to work with the Blue Rose blacksmith, for now." Margaery said, clicking her tongue. "And I may be wrong. He may just be a poor bastard and this is all a case of mistaken identities. Now come back up here, and stop pacing."

Robb didn't know if Grey Wind could roll his eyes, or if his mental 'When have you been wrong about any of our camp intrigues,' came across with the low hum of the growl in his chest, but he climbed back on the bed, and laud Grey Wind's head across her lap, allowing her to pet him. He couldn't tell her what was going on with his half of the men, and he reminded himself that he would have to do what she did while he was gone - have faith.