It had been a fairly straightforward battle.

At least, that is what the Blackfish had said, before grinning ruefully and adding as well as a battle could be. Edmure had seemed less confident, but their uncle was splattered in still-damp blood and hadn't yet found time to fetch his dagger from Lord Walder's throat. Edmure had been one of the few to take a wound, having been set upon by Black Walder and Lothar Frey at the start of the battle. Both were dead, one killed by Edmure himself, the other by Lord Norbert Vance. Edmure had assured Cat that it was the only upset to the battle before being carted off to a safer place, although before he left Brynden had been sure to mention that it was also the most dangerous thing that could have happened.

He had not finished the thought, likely had not even realized, but Cat's mind did it for him. Had Bran and Rickon and Arya been alive, the situation would not have been so dire. Robb had no children yet, and Brynden was an old man, and unmarried. She had thought of her sons every day since she was parted from them, although now she prayed to the Stranger for two of them; she found herself seeking the Mother of late, on Robb's behalf. She had sought her mercy for Edmure too, sitting on her horse far from the Twins. Jeyne did not watch, and Catelyn did not know if she was afraid of seeing the battle, although they were too far from it, or if she wished to pray for Robb in peace, for she owed no loyalty to Edmure or Riverrun. The girl is now settled in one of the safer rooms, well guarded, and Cat does not know if she should be angry with the girl for causing this or angry because she is refusing to help. It does not matter. Catelyn is too tired to be angry.

Now Edmure was safe with her, a maester looking after his injury, and the Blackfish was leading the search of the castle. Catelyn had been left with the most important job: finding the male heir to the Twins. Little Walda was a girl of eight, she could neither act on her claim nor fight to reclaim the Twins, and so the Blackfish thought her important only in that she be kept under guard. So Cat stood in the main hall of the Twins, parchment in hand, surrounded by guards bearing Riverrun's sigil, watching what remained of House Frey be paraded before her. Even though she was the only woman in the room, dressed in long skirts and bearing no weapons, the Freys could not quite look her in the face.

She had found Ryman and Edwyn and Petyr already, had added their bodies to that of Black Walder, and still searched. Most of those still alive were young boys and old men, and some cowards that had surrendered when they saw how the battle went. She had found Cleos Frey in the mess of men, his armor surprisingly clean, and had ordered him taken to the dungeons. If Tywin had traded for his brother, he would want him as well. She was brought Jared Frey and Arwood Frey and Whalen Frey, and too many Walders to count. Even Aegon Frey was dragged forward in his strange clothing, but Cat dismissed him too. A jester would not lead House Frey, not with so many uncles and cousins waiting in the wings.

In the end, it was not she who found him, but the Blackfish. He sent all the men he found in the upper levels down to her, hands bound and under guard, and among the first of these Cat found Walton Frey. A man of three-and-twenty, with a bloody face and a scowl. He glared at the guards surrounding him, and when he was led to Cat he stared her in the face.

"Your name?" She did not recognize at first, eyes flickering upward to see yet another Frey man, and then down to her list of the members of their house. Many were scratched out – more as the men brought bodies down from her uncle's patrols – and fewer were marked to be alive and found, but it was still too many. He gave no answer, as many of them had, and Cat looked to the girl beside her.

She had been a maid in the Twins, and although Cat did not know what she had been promised, she had identified each Frey correctly so far. When Cat doubted her, a man from the Riverlands always stood to agree with her judgement. She looked at Cat now, not the man, as she pronounced, "that is who you are looking for, m'lady. That is Walton Frey."

Cat looked at him properly now, the quill paused over the parchment, "so it is. Take him to a private room, and set guards. He is not to leave without permission from Lord Tully." And she went back to her marking. It took many hours, but by the time Edmure had been bandaged and allowed back into the castle, the last of the surviving Freys had been accounted for. By now the Blackfish had joined her, with a list of the women and children upstairs. Few were missing, only daughters and their children married outside of the House and the occasional younger member who squired outside of the Twins.

"Did we find all of Perra Royce's children?"

"Yes," Cat had already compared the lists, "we have them all here. I separated them from the rest of the Freys, hopefully it will keep them from plotting until we have decided what to do with them."

"It's more likely that those in the dungeons will simply kill them once they've overrun us," the Blackfish grumbled, "but barring that, we have some time. Did you think about what I said, Edmure?"

Edmure frowned, reaching one hand up to fuss at his bandages, "I have. Walda Frey is heir to the Twins, but I don't know who I would marry her too."

"Not that," Brynden waved him off, "about the men."

"If I were in your place, I would have them beheaded for their betrayal of their leige lord," Catelyn felt little sympathy for the Freys after Lord Walder's demands, and even less after what Lord Tywin's last letter had implied.

"I mean to have them take the Black," Edmure admitted, startled by Cat's words.

"And what will you do with those that refuse to take the Black?" Cat retorted, "if you tell them that you will execute them if they do not – perhaps even if you do not – then those who intend to retake their lands will simply agree, then abandon their oaths on the road North."

Her brother stared at her now, as if he saw her for the first time, "Cat, I cannot execute every member of House Frey. Many are children, others wives and sons to other Houses. If I kill all their uncles and brothers, many will be displeased. I do not need more strife, after all this, and I am not Tywin Lannister. Isn't this Northern justice, Cat?"

"Even in the best of times, the road to the Wall is hard," she warned, remembering the last traitor that had fled the Wall, and the cold road to Winterfell that awaited her. Her hands formed into fists in her skirts, remembering what awaited at Winterfell. The fabric was too soft, to thin, and she let go just as quickly. It was another reminder that she was not in Winterfell, not with her sons, "it would be easy to lose men on that trip."

"How far could they make it? If the road is as hard as you say, they will die coming back."

"There are many Frey men still alive. If you send them all North, you will have to send them with guards. Those guards will need supplies. If they manage to overtake their captors, then they can simply take the supplies and return South." Cat's tone was more condescending than she had meant it to be, and Edmure began to bristle.

"Will Robb take them?" The siblings' argument stuttered to a halt as their uncle spoke. He leaned back in his seat – Lord Walder's seat, in truth, as it was his solar just that morning – and stared past them both, deep in thought.

"Robb still has to retake Winterfell. He cannot spare part of his army to watch prisoners while he fights."

"He will need supplies to go North," Brynden asked mildly, "we will give him those supplies, and men to watch any prisoners during a battle. Those men can watch his camp and his wife as well, and he would have more men to retake his lands. All we would ask is that they travel with him to Winterfell, and be given supplies to return. You can do what you like with the Freys then, Cat. Keep them until the snows clear or send them North to the Wall before our men leave."

"But not kill them," Edmure clarified quickly, "they'll say it was our idea."

"We can do that," Cat agreed, "but any who refuse to take the Black must be executed. Why leave them in the dungeons to await rescue?"

"It is settled, then. The Wall or the sword, except for the ones Tywin wants to trade for."

"And any too dangerous to give to Tywin," Brynden agreed. "For the girls, it is my advice to marry them into Houses that are loyal to Riverrun. Houses that you might give the Twins too. For Edwyn's daughter, take her with us. She can serve your lady wife as a maid until your son is of age to marry."

"I should marry him to a Frey?" For all Edmure's words of caution, he sounded appalled at the idea. "Make a Frey the Lady of Riverrun? Even if they were still a noble house..."

"Perhaps your secondborn," Bryden agreed, after a moment's pause, "or you could marry the girl yourself, when she comes of age."

"Perhaps my secondborn," Edmure echoed, "or I might marry her to a lord. The Twins is a strong castle, many lords would be glad to rule them."

"That would do," the Blackfish rose from his seat, brushing one hand absent-mindedly over his blood-stained armor. "if that is settled, I will find a room. It's been long since we've had maids available, and I would like a bath."

Cat followed him, placing the parchment in her hands on the desk as she rose. She had said nothing, but she had long wanted a bath as well, although it almost felt like betraying Robb to relax while he was still in the field. Her thoughts ventured further, before she could catch herself, and then it felt like betraying Bran and Rickon to clean the sweat and dirt from her skin when their heads were on pikes above Winterfell's walls, bloody and defiled. The feeling wormed it's way deeper. She had betrayed Bran already, by abandoning him to come South when he couldn't even walk. Ned had asked her to care for the North when he had a son of five-and-ten to leave behind. Instead, she had abandoned a child of eight to keep it. To be the Stark in Winterfell.

A hand caught her shoulder, tugging gently, and Edmure was looking at her with sad eyes, "come, sweet sister," he took her arm to usher her toward the door, "I will have the maids draw you a bath too."

She allowed herself to be led.

Edmure took her to chambers that had belonged to a Frey lady that morning. She sat and watched the maid fill the bath numbly, until a soft knock came at the door. The woman who entered was familiar, vaguely, and she helped Cat with her clothes, guided her into the bath, scrubbed her skin clean, and offered a nightgown when Cat had had enough of the water. She sank into the bed – free of furs for once – gratefully, mummering a quiet, "thank you, Bess," as she drifted into sleep. At the edge of consciousness, she thought she heard a reply of, "of course, my lady," but she was already too sleep to process that, much less make a reply.

Her awakening is not so gentle.

"Cat! Cat, get up, quickly!" She sits bolt upright, lifting the blankets to cover her chest, clad only in a nightgown, before she even registers that it is her uncle there, shaking her harshly. She opens her mouth to say something, she doesn't know what, probably about impropriety, when the Blackfish deems her awake and finishes the thought. "We've found Arya! She's escaped the Lannisters, she's here!"

All thoughts of propriety fly out the window. She throws the blankets back and leaps from the bed with an energy she had never thought to regain. Mother be praised, her prayers had been answered. She darted for the door, barefoot still, and her uncle realized his mistake too late. "Cat, get dressed, quickly, I'll take you to them."

She ignores him. There is only one place that Arya would have been brought, if not her rooms, and she rushes past the startled maids left in the Blackfish's wake. If she had been thinking, she would have been grateful that Edmure brought her to the rooms of a highborn Frey lady, near Lord Walder's own – perhaps they had belonged to Lady Frey herself, yesterday, although by rights those rooms should be Jeyne's – and so it is not far for her to go. She bursts into what was yesterday Lord Walder's solar, and stops dead.

Edmure stands behind the desk, but she barely registers his presence. He says something, but she is too busy looking at the others in the room. Aside from three embarrassed guards, there is a a man and a boy. The man she knows by his scarred face, the Hound, the Lannisters called him, and she wonders if Arya truly escaped or if Tywin had sent her here for some plan, as she looks at the boy. His squire, she had assumed, although the boy is dirty and has ragged hair and a strange, small sword. Then the boy turns and she sees his face, sees the long face and grey eyes - Ned's eyes, Ned's face – and that is not a boy.

She rushes forward to meet her daughter – her wild daughter with a boy's hair and sword – half way across the room. She drops to her knees and Arya clings to her as she rarely did in Winterfell. She is sobbing, and Arya is talking, and Cat is not listening. She pulls back, framing her daughter's face with her hands and looking at her again, as if, in the moments that had passed, she had changed. Gone back to the squire she had thought she was. It is still Arya, still Ned's eyes looking back at her, and Cat crushes her to her again.

Some time later, somewhere, she hears Edmure's voice as if through a wall, "he wants a reward, uncle, for bringing Arya back to us. Says he saved her from the Lannisters and worse and is owed payment."

"Give it to him!" Cat pulls away from her daughter, not letting go of her, only drawing far enough back to look over her shoulder, to where the Blackfish stands in the door, looking at his bewildered nephew and crying niece. "Uncle, give him whatever he wants."

At her pleading, Brynden looks at Arya, still crushed into her mother, and nods, "Arya's life is worth much, if what you say is true, but we cannot give anything to you yet. He will wait until Arya has told us what happened, and then we will reward him for any efforts."

He directs the guards to see the man out of the room, and goes to Cat. Gently, he pries her off Arya and brings her to her feet. Arya herself has not quite let go, but he manages to shuffle them over to a chair, Cat's hands never leaving her daughter, and Arya nearly sitting in her mother's lap. He takes a seat himself, and looks to Arya, still a mess and clinging to her mother. Nevertheless, she meets his eyes.

"Arya, are you injured? Would you rather have a bath and a meal before we talk?"

"I'm fine," Cat is listening this time, and she nearly cries again at Arya's voice. Later, she will be ashamed, for she ran through the halls in a nightgown, her hair wild and her feet bare, but right now she cannot stop staring at her daughter. If she lets go, she fears Arya will vanish. How many times has she had dreamed of Rickon or Bran, only to wake up from them? How many times has she touched Ned in her dreams, but been robbed of him when she woke? Her hands tighten on Arya's shoulders. "The Hound brought me here, but my swordsmanship teacher died to help me escape the Red Keep and a man of the Night's Watch smuggled me out of King's Landing after I watched father die. He didn't save me from anyone. He just wanted to be rewarded."

The Blackfish stared at her. She was filthy and tired, but she was not afraid. Even after all she had been through she met his gaze and spoke honestly. He nodded slowly, considering.

"Tell us everything."