Her hands were shivering while she held the reins as tight as she could. Still she felt as if she was not holding them at all. The nauseated feeling in her stomach made her sweat. She felt weak, tired and numb.
"Everything alright, Mylady?", Ser Rodrik asked.
She barely managed a nod. Without waiting for any other reaction, he called their party to a halt: "We've been riding long enough. Let us rest for now."
Catelyn slid from the back of her horse, as if there was neither bone nor muscle left in her body, and she would have sunk to the ground if Ser Rodrik had not been there to hold her.
"Thank you", she whispered and finally managed to get onto her feet.
"You're looking pale, Mylady. You should sit down and drink."
He guided her to a rock planted in the ground, where she sat down, and handed her her bottle of water. Tyrion was watching them from a distance with a strange mix of suspicion and bewilderment.
"Don't worry", Ser Rodrik said, "We will have reached the Eyrie soon. There we will find a medic to take care of you."
But she shook her head, softly but decisively, without looking at him.
"There's no need for that, Ser. I am not ill. It's something different…"