Chapter 9: What Path to Take

Catelyn

They came rowing in the dark, amidst the bitter smell of smoke. Balon Greyjoy and his shields drifted in through the Water Gate, as the Lannister camp lit the night behind them. His kinsmen, Aeron and Urrigon, followed in the next boat, all oars wrapped in black rags to disguise their coming, though after the battle of this night, it was hardly necessary anymore.

Catelyn leaned forward in the chair her father's guards had placed here, on the water stair. "Bring them in," she said. Edmure sat beside her, nodding quickly. She patted him on the back, and watched five men wade down the water stair, bearing long iron hooks in the torchlight. Her only brother was only ten namedays old, but days of learning for a lord never began nor ended, and this meeting was not one he could miss. No crown glinted on the Iron King's brow, for in its place a mere circlet of pale driftwood rested, tied together with blackened twine.

The King of Pyke was not a man to wait, and leapt into the water waist-deep, waving the hook-men aside as his men followed close behind. He climbed the water stair, still dripping. His men pulled the rowboat to a rest in the shallows, as their fellows from the other boats began filing from their own.

"Welcome, King Balon," Catelyn said. Balon stopped on the steps just below her, and bowed his head. "Your aid is most welcome."

Balon cocked his head. "I imagine that is an understatement, My Lady." His men knelt for a moment.

"You saved what remains to us. And for that, we are eternally grateful," she reassured him. "My father's men have rooms prepared for you and your bannermen." Balon's eyes lit up. "And a feast," she added. "In honor of your victory. I apologize now if our fare is humble. The war has emptied many a table in these lands, and the winter our stores."

Balon waved her off. "I take no issue. Warm food and a warm hearth after a battle are fare enough for any warrior of the Isles."

"Then come," she said, rising from her seat and beckoning little Edmure to do the same. She beckoned the King to follow and began the climb to the keep, quashing that feeling in her legs that screamed at her to stop. She could not afford to show weakness now.

She was still weary from the birth of her son two nights ago. She'd avoided stairs whenever she could, but being the only Tully of age in Riverrun demanded that she use them constantly, even in her current exhausted state. But as she reached the doors with Edmure hurrying at her side, she could breath a sigh of relief, as only a few corridors remained between her and the Great Hall itself.

Maester Luwin refused still to let her name her son. Eddard's son. She'd barely known the young Lord Stark when he departed again to battle after they were wedded. Out of duty she'd told the maester she wanted to name the child after her husband. But news had arrived of Eddard's death only days before, and he'd decided that naming the heir after a slain rebel leader was too great a risk. She still sometimes thought of perhaps naming him Brandon, but Luwin had convinced her that it was best to wait. If any name would arouse the murderous fury of the King, the name of any Stark was one of them.

A sharp turn in the hallway pointing left marked the northwards corner of Riverrun. The doors of the Great Hall came a few steps after, already held open by her father's guards, who had heard their footsteps. She nudged Edmure ahead to his seat, and let Balon come to her side at the threshold, where she let him take her hand.

The servants had arranged the four largest trestle tables in a broken square as customary in war, already laden with warm platters of bread, poultry, and cheese, and whatever else of feastworthy fare could be scrounged from the pantries.

Catelyn led the guests forward and made her way around the tables, Balon in tow. She took Hoster's seat by the hearth, gesturing Balon into the chair at her right-hand side, with little Edmure at her left. When all were seated, including the few lords and knights who remained of the host her father had sent south to fight, she pushed herself up again to stand.

"Welcome to Riverrun, guests," she said, going through the words her father had drilled into her year after year. "Take bread and salt, and enjoy our hospitality." Balon's men and his younger brothers paid only token attention to the bread and salt, taking a nip or so each before going straight for the bread, butter, cheese, and whatever red they could get their hands on. Edmure, likewise, reached immediately for the best on hand.

The King restrained himself though, taking merely a modest plate of bread and butter, before he tapped the table beside her. Catelyn looked up from her brother and raised her eyebrows.

King Balon smiled wryly. "My Lady, you should know we took some prisoners. An important one in particular, I think."

She nodded slowly, not daring to hope. If only it would be one that could be traded for her father and uncle? "Who?"

"A certain warden's brother," he said, toying with a rusted ring on his finger. "Kevan Lannister."

"Where is he kept?" Catelyn's heart began to race, weighing the possibilities. "Is he badly wounded?" It would be ill indeed for this hostage to die now. With Tywin Lannister, there was no knowing how far he would go in turn.

Balon laughed. "My men have him held in our camp north of the river, in chains but unscathed." He softened his tone and returned to his meal. "But if you do prefer him in the dungeons, that can be arranged, as long as it is my men that guard him."

"That would put me at rest, Your Grace," she said. She could scarcely believe it. Kevan Lannister, their prisoner? "Would you allow my men to trade him for my father?"

Balon stopped for a moment. "My priests considered giving him to the Drowned God..." Catelyn shivered. "But we decided he was more valuable to the faith alive."

Edmure looked up at her. "What about Father?"

Balon laughed, a little kinder. "You may trade the prisoner for him, but tell me first. The wind may blow a way that requires me to keep him."

So there was no time to lose. "I will send envoys on the morrow," she stated, waiting for a challenge.

Balon narrowed his eyes, then shrugged and joined his men to the feast. Catelyn permitted herself a quiet sigh of relief. Perhaps this luck would hold. Hope for continuing the war against the Targaryen King were not long for this world, and she was well aware of it. Judging by the dispositions of the Ironborn before her, merrily mingling with the highborn Riverlanders, they had not considered how ill things were. Or they were pretending not to. Peace was the only way out of this predicament alive, for all the rebels and the Ironborn who'd joined them, and the best way to assure clemency would be to betray the other. The question was, who would realize and act on that first? She quivered. What was she thinking? To betray the very men who saved Riverrun and now feasted at her father's tables?

Mother forgive me. There was no choice, though. If King Balon made no sign of making peace, he would have to be betrayed. His violent provocation against the Crown meant he could not make peace easily. Amends would be required.

And if he was less honorable than he acted, the simplest way to make them was betraying most of their remaining strongholds, which he was conveniently well-positioned to do. He had sent his brother with additional soldiers to Moat Cailin, and reinforced several castle garrisons. Handing the North and the Riverlands over to the Iron Throne would be Balon's best chance to receive mercy, and it would be mere child's play for him to do it. Catelyn looked at the ironborn arrayed at the tables, but could discern nothing below the surface.

There was no honorable way to make peace in the absence of Balon's approval without risking his retribution, she noted. Regardless of whether Balon was honorable or treacherous, betrayal was the surest path to mercy for her family. Catelyn ran butter over her bread and made a show of eating, though inside her appetite had died.

She found her hand on her brother's shoulder. He kept working away at his food, silent. Father was gone, and with him gone it fell to her to find a way to save the family. Family, duty, honor. Though there was no way to follow all three, Catelyn knew what she would choose.

"Winterfell is the safest place for Edmure and your son, Lady Catelyn," Luwin said. "And yourself." He glanced nervously at the door and windows of his dim quarters. "Riverrun is no place for you, not while the Lannisters continue to prepare their siege engines. It would be best for you to leave now, before Ser Barristan and the Freys can block the way, before King Balon can betray you."

Catelyn shook her head. "I cannot negotiate my father's release from Winterfell. Nor that of my uncle."

Luwin threw down his arms in exasperation. "Then appoint someone else to do it. I have to be honest, My Lady, the last time a leading rebel lord was captured, his hall was burned to the ground and his wife killed. I will not risk your life on this, when, say, Rodrik Mallister would have as much hope for success as you."

"I am not Ellyn Tarbeck," Catelyn said. "I know the stories. How she vainly taunted Lord Lannister, from atop a castle ready to collapse under its own weight. I would try no such thing, nor are Riverrun's walls so poorly kept."

"That changes nothing. He would not respect you any more than Rodrik Mallister. And you are still not safe here. Winterfell is deep in Stark lands, surrounded by loyal houses. Think of Edmure! And your son? He needs to be there, and you need to be there for him."

"A wet nurse would do just the same."

"Sooner or later, the floodgates at the Twins will open, and then there will be no way out, whether you trade Kevan Lannister for your father or not. There is no safety here, not with the Ironborn, nor while King Aerys reigns on his twisted throne. If he decides on a whim to treat at Riverrun as he did at Duskendale, you will die. Is that what you want? Your son, as if losing his father was not enough, to lose his mother as well, pointlessly at that?"

"I don't know." Catelyn looked out the window at the siege towers. They were only slightly shorter than the walls, and even now carpenters could be heard pounding away with their mallets. Lord Roland Crakehall, though unwilling to attempt an assault after she'd told him Kevan was their prisoner, was not afraid of finishing preparations to bolster his position during the ongoing negotiations.

"Perhaps... perhaps you are right. But can I trust a man in my place to do his utmost to secure my father's release?"

"Your father has loyal men here still," Luwin pleaded. "Would you have their sacrifices, the living and dead, diminished so vainly? What would your father say? Think of the words of your house. Remain here, and you would abandon them all. Your greatest honor-bound duty is to your son and brother. They need you more than your father, so please, please take them to Winterfell where you will all be safe."

Catelyn nodded slowly, thinking of them both. The more she thought of it, traveling to Winterfell was the wisest course. Father forgive me. "I do not believe I have any choice, then."

Luwin nodded gravely. "No, you do not."