There are very few secrets in the realm of the departed. There is no shock upon Catelyn Tully's face. Lyanna herself has not expected any. She supposes she could choose to be angry, to feel resentment, to weep and scream.
"Had I know," the redhead says. There is no remorse, or shame.
"It would have made a difference?" Lyanna questions. This is not a bad woman, the one that stands before her. She can be kind and compassionate. But equally cruel. Lyanna liked her. She smiles. "It is past."
"It is past," Catelyn repeats the statement. "Were it so easy to close wounds and righten wrongs." It never is.
Lyanna nods her head. "I think we understand one another," she tells her good-sister. Perhaps not as well as they might, nor as they should. But there is an understanding, as imperfect as they are though it might be. For that, Lyanna is glad. "The wait is nearly over," she promises.
"I am glad of it," Catelyn speaks, "for I have waited a lifetime. So much waiting."
Waiting is maddening for those who are not yet at peace. But, living with the promise of soon, soon, Lyanna has learned that some form of madness is acceptable after all. A temporary thing. "It rather tends to cut and wound, does it not?"
"So it does," her good-sister agrees. The fall into oblivion will be all the sweeter for it. Lyanna smiles once again and this time Catelyn returns the gesture. "I always wondered," she discloses.
