Chapter Twenty-Nine: Knights of the Vale

A/N: I'm going to be brutally honest - I don't like this chapter. I'm not fully happy with it. I don't really know what it is, but I've been working over it for so long and my feelings towards it haven't improved. This was meant to be a bit of a badass moment for Tamara, but somehow I don't feel I did it justice. That aside, I do hope you enjoy the update.

"We find ourselves in a predicament."

Tamara paced back and forth before the large table in the meeting room. The curtains fluttered despite the fact that the windows had been carefully shuttered, the winter wind whistling outside. A large map of Westeros was spread across the table, pieces placed across it. The dragon marker had been put to the side. Since Tamara had learned of Aegon's death in the Riverlands, she couldn't even look at that marker.

"Jon Snow and Sansa Stark intend to take the North back from the Boltons. They ride for Winterfell and attempt to wage war against Ramsay. I know this because Sansa has written to me, beseeching me to come to their aid."

Tamara's gaze cast over the men seated on the other side of the table. Jaime leaned back in his chair, a deep frown on his face. Gendry's hands were clasped together. Alek sat further back, still accustoming to his new role as one of Tamara's most trusted advisors in the absence of Petyr Baelish. It was not often that knights were granted such a privilege, though Tamara knew he took this role seriously.

Tamara was no tactician. She was smart when it came to the games of court, and when it came to reading people's strengths and weaknesses. When it came to the battlefield, she had no clue. She had summoned those closest to her so that she could determine the best course of action. Would the army of the Vale be enough to assist in retaking the North, or would that be too bold a move considering her most powerful ally had been killed?

"I'm not hearing a question." Jaime, of course. He wanted her to say it.

"Do we ride to the aid of the North, or do we remain in the Eyrie?"

"Do we know what's happened to Aegon's forces now that he's dead?" Gendry asked.

"They are now led by Jon Connington." Tamara raked a hand through her auburn hair. Her great-uncle Brynden was also dead, and the Freys had managed to retake Riverrun. It was certainly not the outcome she had hoped for, and it left her in a precarious position. She had now declared herself an enemy of the crown. She was no longer a neutral party, and she could not act as though she was.

Whilst her alliance with Aegon had been a certainty, things were unclear now he was dead. Jon Connington and the remains of the army could choose to side with whoever they wished. Tamara did not want to go into this decision thinking they would be on her side, when she had no word on their movements yet. She sighed deeply, leaning over the map with a terse frown as she inspected the terrain.

"What do you suggest, Lady Arryn?" Alek asked. He had trusted her since she had been just a girl, had never doubted her simply because of her youth or gender.

As a child, Tamara Arryn would never have guessed that this would be her fate. Married with children? Certainly, as the eldest daughter of a man such as Jon Arryn, that had always been her destiny. The Warden of the East, a woman planning to rally the banners and call in her army...that had always been a man's responsibility, but now it fell to her. As her husband, Jaime could have taken charge. He had certainly given her some pointers in the past, but he also trusted her to speak for herself.

"It's all been for nothing." Tamara's voice wavering, revealing her vulnerability. She cast desperately around at her audience. "I swore to Aegon Targaryen, I tried to liberate my family in the Riverlands, and I've achieved nothing."

"Then take the North back." Jaime leaned forward, eyes glimmering with urgency. "If you feel as though you need to accomplish something, help your cousin."

"There's no guarantee we would be able to defeat Ramsay Bolton," Tamara argued, planting her hands on her hips.

"Is there ever a guarantee of anything?" Jaime shrugged his shoulders, glancing at Alek and then Gendry. "You want my advice? It's to do this. With or without Connington's help. You have your cousin, whatever sort of allies Jon Snow is keeping these days, and your own army."

He was right. Tamara knew he was right.

"Very well." Tamara licked her dry lips. For the first time since Robert's Rebellion, the knights of the Vale were going to war. "Call the banners."

The Targaryen banner was sighted at the Bloody Gate in the morning, and Jon Connington's army arrived not long after. Tamara leaned over the edge of the balcony to watch them, a deep unsettlement coiling in the pit of her stomach. Were they here to condemn her? Connington was a difficult man to read, and he had lost a young man he had considered a son to him. Did he come seeking retribution?

Tamara met Connington on the front steps, Jaime lingering not far behind, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. She had to be prepared for any outcome, even if that meant open hostility. Conington had dark shadows under his eyes and lines etched across his forehead. It seemed that Aegon's death had aged him.

"Ser Jon." Tamara hoisted a smile across her lips, hoping it was convincing. "I confess, after hearing the fate of Aegon in the Riverlands, I did not expect you would return."

"At first, neither did I." Connington dismounted his horse. A quick scan of the army told Tamara they had just over half the numbers they had initially set out with. Her stomach twisted further as Connington approached. He was close to Jaime's height, although perhaps several years older.

"Do you seek retribution here?" Tamara's voice was light, but her eyes were hard. If he was a threat, she wanted to know about it upfront. Connington was not a cunning man, and she could trust him to be straightforward with her, at the very least.

"No." Connington raked his fingers through his thinning hair. "I came to acknowledge that I hold by the oath Aegon Targaryen swore."

"But...Aegon is dead." Tamara frowned. "I cannot uphold my own oath to help him reclaim his throne."

"Nonetheless, Lady Arryn, a vow is a vow." Connington drew his sword and plunged it blade-first into the dirt at the foot of the steps. "Just as you swore to Aegon, he swore to help you. My sword and my army are yours, if you would have them."

Tamara's shoulders slumped in relief. She had not wanted conflict, so she was satisfied that it hadn't come to that. She stepped forward and reached out a hand to Connington. He took it, allowing her to help him to his face. A gracious smile dawned across her face as she inspected the remnants of the Targaryen army. Perhaps it was not what she had hoped for, and perhaps she felt defeated that she had finally moved from neutrality only to have her dreams so savagely dashed. However, Connington was a good man, a military man. She would be pleased to have his support in the battle to come.

Jaime wished that Tamara would remain in the Eyrie as the army moved for Winterfell, but that was not her style. Nonetheless, they had two young children to consider, and he hoped she would see sense and remain with them in a place of safety. Many lords didn't ride out with armies, preferring their high walls and impenetrable castles. There was no shame in a lady remaining behind.

Across the room, Tamara fussed over Tybalt. Every day, the auburn-haired baby looked more and more like his mother - aside from Jaime's green eyes. He seemed to have grown so big in the past months, and Dianella certainly doted upon her baby brother. Often, Jaime would catch her trying to make him have a tea party with her, although he was still a little young for that.

"You're still adamant on coming too, I take it."

Tamara propped Tybalt on her hip, arching an eyebrow. "But of course. Sansa wrote to me, so I should be there."

"Do you intend to fight?" There was a light note of mockery in his tone. He knew Tamara knew little to nothing of weapons, let alone how to use them. She might have killed Littlefinger, but that had relied entirely on the element of surprise. Small though he was, the man had been bigger than Tamara, and could have overpowered her had he seen what was coming.

"Don't be ridiculous." Tamara scoffed. "I do not ride in armour, but I ride nonetheless."

Jaime refrained from sighing. He knew it would result in a sharp 'what?' and an insistence on him explaining exactly what the deep exhale meant. He loved his wife, but truly, she could be the biggest thorn in his side at times. How was he meant to protect the woman if she damn well wanted to come with them?

"You realise what Ramsay Bolton would do to you should we fail."

Tamara's jaw clenched. By now, they had all heard rumour of the violence that Ramsay had visited upon Sansa, and apparently she was not the first girl he had subjected to such atrocities. The thought of someone touching his wife like that...Jaime remembered hearing Rhaella Targaryen crying through the bedroom door as he stood guard outside. As long as he lived, he would never stand for such cruel violence against a woman again.

"I know what he is capable of, yes. I would sooner cut my own throat than let him have me."

"What of the children then?" Jaime asked. "What would they do without their mother?"

"I am more than simply a mother, or a wife. I am Lady of the Vale, Warden of the East."

Jaime arched an eyebrow. "Is there a reason you're citing your titles? I do remember them. You're also forgetting you're Lady of Casterly Rock and married to the Warden of the West."

"Those are your titles, not mine."

Were they his titles? Even he wasn't certain. There was every possibility that Cersei had seen fit to strip him of the inheritance that Tywin had always wanted for him, labelling him a traitor to the crown. Who would she install in the Westerlands instead, he wondered. Certainly not Tyrion, who had vanished since their father's murder.

"Alek will remain in the Vale to oversee matters and take care of the children." Tamara set Tybalt in his cot, whirling around to face Jaime. "Gendry will accompany us to Winterfell."

Jaime wondered if she had already spoken to the men, or if she simply meant to tell them of her intentions. Tamara was a strong-willed woman, something she had grown into admirably in the years since her father's death. It struck Jaime as a bit odd that his wife had taken in Robert's bastard son, but her motivation there had become apparent. Tamara was grooming him for command, to one day become Lord of Storm's End.

"Am I to come?"

"Of course." Her brow furrowed, as though she was confused why he may think otherwise. "You are still one of the most prominent knights in Westeros."

The words made him wince. He didn't think he had been a knight for some time now. He had forsaken his oath to the Kingsguard, and he had been defeated soundly in battle against the Starks. Being a knight was all Jaime had known, and all he had wanted. Now, he thought perhaps he had more than that.

"Come to bed." Tamara wriggled beneath the blankets, beckoning him with slender fingers.

Jaime would face the dawn when it came. Tonight, he would be content in his role as Lady Arryn's husband, father of their two children. Ser Jaime the knight and whether he could be resurrected was a matter for the morning.

The battle against the Bolton forces was already in motion by the time that Tamara and the knights of the Vale arrived - and just in time, too. It appeared that the Stark forces were on the verge of suffering a grave defeat. Jaime and Connington entered the fray immediately, and Tamara wondered precisely when the last time her husband saw battle had been. He would be rusty, although she'd not said as much to him.

Sansa was on horseback, watching the battle from the hill. Tamara wondered if her cousin waited there for a verdict, or if she had been insistent upon awaiting the Vale's forces. She steered her own horse over to Sansa's side, emboldened by the relief on the younger woman's face at her appearance.

"I hoped you would come. I thought perhaps...Lord Baelish..."

"Lord Baelish is dead." Tamara shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. Sansa appeared astonished, but not upset. "Of course I came. We are family, are we not? I always wanted to protect you, and when I learned what had happened…"

She slipped her gloved hand through Sansa's and squeezed tightly. Her cousin's lips curved in the hint of a smile. Tamara wondered when the last time Sansa had been genuinely happy had been. Most likely not since before her father had lost his head. She hoped that Sansa might be able to heal from what she had been through.

With the tide of the battle turning in the Starks' favour, Ramsay and his forces retreated toward the castle. Jon followed, along with a ginger-bearded man and...Tamara thought it might actually be a giant. She had only ever heard rumours of the creatures that dwelled beyond the wall. She attempted to stifle her astonishment that something out of fairytales existed, and that it was helping fight their battle.

The fight had been over the moment the knights of the Vale, along with Connington's forces, had arrived. Ramsay Bolton's men were outnumbered, and his attempt to flee told her that he knew that. She had never met Roose's bastard, and knew little of him. All she needed to know was that he had hurt Sansa, and for that, he would pay dearly.

What was truly on Tamara's mind now was what happened next. The Starks had fallen along with her cousin Robb. She couldn't see them acknowledging any authority but their own. Who, then, would rule the North? She'd heard little of Rickon. Would it be Sansa, a trueborn daughter, or Jon, a bastard son? Tamara supposed she would see the politics play out for herself, for she intended to make sure stability settled in the North before she returned home.

Tugging on the reins of her horse, she trotted toward the gates of Winterfell. When she rode in, it was to a very different place than the one she had visited more than five years ago. It was a cold, hard place now. It certainly looked as though it belonged to the Boltons. Even as Tamara watched, the banners of the flayed man were taken down around the court, and replaced with the familiar colours of House Stark.

Ramsay Bolton was on the ground, his face bloodied, Jon standing over him. Tamara approached her cousin, who was breathing heavily, dark eyes gleaming with rage. She rested a hand on his shoulder and jerked her head toward Sansa, who was watching from near the gate. This was Sansa's retribution, not his.

"Tamara." Jon examined her with a relieved expression. "Thank you for coming to our aid. If not for you…"

"Jon." She couldn't help the smile that crossed her lips, waving away his acknowledgement of her intervention. "The North is yours."