Disclaimer: I don't own the A Song of Ice and Fire series.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who read the last chapter. I'd especially like to thank those who followed, favourited, or reviewed, it means a lot. I'd also like to say to ATP, no death is certain in this story, and Domeric's most definitely isn't inevitable. I hope that you all enjoy the chapter, and please feel free to review.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Preparations

It was three days after his father's letter had arrived, and the preparations for Artys's journey to Winterfell were all complete. He had managed to receive all of his bannermen, who had thankfully all been travelling to the Eyrie before the letter had come, in the Gates of the Moon and had accepted their oaths of loyalty. He'd feasted with them for only a night however, explaining that he had business to carry out in the North. It was lucky, he had mused to Ysilla, that his lords weren't a prickly lot. If they had been, then his leaving so suddenly would not have been taken as well as it had been.

He'd decided to go by ship from Gulltown to White Harbour, and then to ride to Winterfell from there. He'd ordered Nestor Royce, who his father had appointed his High Steward of the Vale many years ago,, to assist Ysilla in running things in the Eyrie while he was gone. Robert, he'd decided, would also remain behind, which he couldn't help feeling guilty about. His little brother had cried when he'd told him, and only Ysilla's intervention had helped calm him down.

Now, standing in the courtyard of the Gates of the Moon, he once again cursed the Lannisters. They had put the Seven Kingdoms into a precarious position, and he sorely wished them all dead for their actions. It was not the most honourable of thoughts, he knew, but he was grieving, and he found it very hard to care.

"Are you ready to go?" Artys turned, and saw his wife coming towards him. She'd insisted on coming to see him off, and he'd been quietly glad of it.

"Yes, everything is ready," He said. "Are you certain that you'll be all right here?"

"Of course," Ysilla assured him, smiling softly. "Just hurry back, if you can. The Eyrie will be lonely without you."

"I'll do my best," He said, and he smiled, kissing her cheek before mounting his horse. He'd assembled a guard of twenty men to take with him, and as they rode through the gates of the castle, he quietly hoped that he'd see his home again soon.

Winterfell was a veritable hive of activity. Servants had already started rushing about, gathering food supplies and preparing chambers for the royal visit. Catelyn Stark found herself right in the centre of it, giving countless orders and ensuring that the whole keep was in readiness for the King's arrival.

She had just finished briefing Vayon Poole on the amounts of food that they were likely to need, when she saw Ned approaching her, a perplexed look on his face and a letter in his hand.

"What is it, Ned?" Catelyn asked, looking at the letter curiously. "Is that another letter from the king?"

"No," Ned said, frowning slightly. "It's from Artys Arryn."

"But didn't he already reply to your letter?" Catelyn asked, confused.

"That he did," Ned replied. "But this came in this morning, it seems that Artys is coming to Winterfell. The letter says that he brings urgent news."

"He is coming here? What news could he possibly have that would warrant that?"

"I don't know, Cat, and that's the worrying thing." Ned answered, tucking away the letter. "In any case, I suppose we will have to prepare extra rooms for Artys and his escort."

"I will see it done," Catelyn replied. "Will his siblings be coming too?" She was a little hopeful that they would be, in truth. Robert Arryn was her nephew, and she would like to meet the boy.

"I'm afraid not, Cat. Or at least, Artys did not mention them."

"Very well then," Catelyn sighed. "I will inform the servants to prepare the extra rooms. I only hope that the new lord Arryn keeps his escort small."

"I'm sure he will," Ned said, sighing. "I will leave you to it, Cat. I have to get back to work, another disturbing report came in this morning, I'll have to send men to investigate."

Catelyn frowned at that. Over the past few weeks, there had been several reports of young women disappearing. Rumours claimed that things like this had been happening on the Boltons' lands for some time, but now...whoever was causing them was getting bolder, as though asking to be noticed. Just the other week, the daughter of lord Cerwyn's steward had gone missing, only to be found in the woods two days ago in a horrific state. The girl was dead, and not only that, she seemed to have been ravaged by animals, possibly dogs.

"Another girl has gone missing?" Catelyn asked, looking worriedly at Ned.

"Aye," He answered gravely. "The miller's wife, you know the one."

Catelyn grimaced. She'd heard Theon boasting once, when he didn't know she was there, about the tumble he'd had with the woman. Catelyn had scolded him then, and now...now that same woman was gone.

"And there are no leads on who this person or people are who are doing these awful things?" Catelyn asked.

"Actually, some of our men may have a lead on them. A bit of fabric was found caught on a tree branch near where the last girl was found. It looked like it could have been from a cloak, maybe. We're going to see if the hounds can pick up a scent from there."

"Well, that is something, I suppose." Cat said, hoping that the hounds would find whoever was responsible for this. "I will let you get back to it, then. I will see you at supper, Ned."

"Aye, see you at supper." Ned replied, and he walked off towards his solar. Catelyn left too, and wait to have rooms prepared for their extra guests.

"We can't do that, grandmother, that is cruel." Willas protested, frowning at his grandmother. They were once again having lunch in the gardens, and Willas didn't bother keeping the indignation out of his tone as he spoke. Riders had told them that the lady Alyssa Arryn would be arriving in about a day's time, and he was feeling a little apprehensive. He should not, he knew that, but since his leg injury...well, ladies rarely gave him a second look despite his status as the heir to Highgarden. His grandmother had told him that Alyssa was supposed to be kind, and he hoped that that was true. He had no illusions about having a loving marriage of course, but a cordial marriage was what he hoped for.

"And why not?" His grandmother was saying, eating a piece of her favourite cheese. "She is here so that you can get to know her, I see no need to ruin our plans quite yet."

Willas was appalled. His grandmother was ambitious, that he knew, and she wanted this match to work, but to keep knowledge of the lady's father dying from her was too far. "I will not lie to her, grandmother, the girl's father is dead!"

"So he is," Olenna replied. "And she is oblivious. I am not suggesting that we keep it from her entirely, my dear, but nor do I think she should be greeted with the knowledge the moment she walks through our gates."

Willas considered that for a moment. He did not like it, not at all, but there was some sense in it. Lady Alyssa would no doubt be tired from her journey, he reasoned, they could give her the night to rest before telling her the news. Surely, that was not so bad, was it?

"We will tell her the day after she arrives, and no later." He decided at last. "I will not keep her here under false pretenses, grandmother. There would be no chance of a match between us if I did, you know that."

"Indeed I do," Olenna nodded. "Very well, then. Spend time with the girl when she arrives, and sit with her at the feast. And then you can tell her the news as well."

"Grandmother, I can't do that." Willas protested, shaking his head. "Perhaps mother should, or Margaery even but not me."

Olenna frowned for a minute, but then she nodded slowly. "All right, as you wish. Now come, the apples have arrived to join your celebrations."

"The Fossoways are loyal, grandmother, you need not scorn them so." Willas sighed, rolling his eyes.

"They are, and they are silly enough to put apples on their banners. It's almost as stupid as our own sigil."

Willas gripped his cane and stood, sighing once more. "Come on then, we'd best greet them." He said, deciding not to respond to his grandmother's comment on their sigil. "And please, don't tell them that their sigil is stupid to their faces."

"I'll make no promise of that." Olenna told him, and after another roll of his eyes, they set up to meet their newest guests.