EDDARD

Jeor Mormont lay before him, unconscious and dying. Gods, Ned thought, what a poor lord I'm proving. I lose loyal men during feasts. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Cat, looking fearful, but a fear tinged with sympathy. "You've done what you could," she whispered.

"I… thank you, my…," he began and then buried his face in his hands. "I'd hoped to rest tonight."

"We all hoped that," she murmured.

"I… I know," Ned began, then stopped. Why am I even bothering to speak? This whole night has left me a fool. He turned to his wife, only for her to wrap her arms around him and then kiss him. She pulled back suddenly, leaving Eddard with no idea what to think, as they stared at each other, in silence.

The pair were awkwardly trying to figure out what to say next when Howland Reed entered. Eddard was almost relieved, but then he saw that the crannogman was followed by Ser Jaime. The young Lannister at least had the sense to look abashed. "I… my... When I heard..." He glanced at Lord Mormont. "He was kind to me, Lord Stark."

Eddard nodded at that and moved out of the way. Ser Jaime moved swiftly to the older man's side, and then knelt beside him. The young knight's expression was pained. Eddard looked away, and saw that Cat was regarding Ser Jaime with a sort of horrified interest.

Ser Jaime coughed. "I… heard how it happened. Do… do they think he'll…?" He left the thought unfinished.

Eddard shook his head. "The maesters say…" He found himself unable to finish.

"They've given him milk of the poppy," whispered Catelyn. "So he will… go easy."

Jaime nodded at that. Eddard saw Howland shake his head. We've all of us gotten too used to death, too young, thought Ned. By the gods, if I have the power, my children will be kept safe from all this, for as long as possible. "I heard you were brave, at the Tower of Ghosts," he said at last.

"It was nothing," said Jaime hollowly. "A few frightened men, hiding in a chamber." He regarded Jeor Mormont. "Nothing of note really." His voice grew soft. "I brought them out alive. Ser Ronald slew the ones hiding in the Wailing Tower."

"That's a Vance of Atranta for you," muttered Catelyn bitterly. " 'Ours is the last' indeed." Ned found himself turning to stare at his wife, and was somewhat comforted by the fact that Howland and Ser Jaime were also looking at her. Cat responded by looking at her feet. "They're very proud, and grudging," she said at last. "Even for the Riverlands." She glanced up at them. "That green dragon, on their arms? They added it after the Dance so that everyone could see who they'd fought for." Catelyn shook her head. "So of course, the Vances of Wayfarer's Rest added a black dragon to theirs. It wouldn't do to let a quarrel between the Houses of Vance die out…"

"I'd always heard the Riverlands had an interesting history," said Howland quietly.

"My apologies," said Catelyn.

"My lady has nothing to apologize for," answered Howland. "You are perhaps the first noble of the Riverlands to tell me of it. My previous experience has generally been… more curt." He coughed politely. "Your father sent me to tell you and Ned that they are questioning Ser Jaime's captives at the Hall of a Hundred Hearths." The young knight blanched at that, and seemed about to say something, but then stopped and merely stared at Lord Mormont. "He felt the pair of you might want to hear what they have to say." Howland glanced at Ned significantly. "Lord Bolton has offered his… assistance."

Jaime glanced at them, the plea obvious on his face. "You don't have to go, if you don't care to. You could just stay here."

Ned felt an urge to do as the young knight suggested, but Catelyn stiffened at his side. "My father wouldn't call us needlessly," she said, tugging on Ned's arm.

Eddard shut his eyes. "I… I should go. Lord Bolton can… press himself at times like these."

Cat nodded eagerly at that. "Father could use your help then."

Howland glanced at Jaime and sat down by Lord Mormont. "I will stay here then," said the crannogman gently.

Jaime nodded at him, then looked at Eddard and Catelyn with a certain level of sympathy. "Fathers, eh?" he said, as they headed toward the door.

Eddard felt Cat stiffen, and then turn. "What did you mean by that?" she said, the anger bubbling in her voice.

Jaime flinched. "Just… it was nothing. I…"

"My father is an honorable man!" spat out Catelyn. "I am proud to be his daughter! Proud!"

"I've no doubt," whispered Jaime.

"Cat…" said Ned, grabbing her arm gently.

She pulled away from him. "You are in no position to cast any aspersions on my father's honor!" she said, pointing at Jaime. "He's not like your father!" She stepped towards the young Lannister, who seemed to be doing his best to curl up into something small. "And he's not like you!"

"Faith, Cat, I'm sure he meant nothing like that," muttered Ned, taking his wife by the arm again.

Catelyn seemed about to tear herself free again, but then stopped, and allowed him to guide her to the door again. Ned paused to glance back and saw Howland and Jaime keeping vigil over the dying Northern lord, then took a deep breath and headed out.

He and Cat walked in silence for a while. "The… impertinence of that… Kingslayer," she said at last, her voice seething.

"I do not think he meant any harm," said Ned quietly.

His wife ignored him. "My father has lived an honorable life in service to the Seven Kingdoms!" she snapped. "No man can find fault for him in this!"

Save for those who might fault him for turning on the Targaryens, thought Ned. Even as the thought occurred to him, a darker thought flashed in his mind, of how Hoster had all but sat out the rebellion, until Ned and Jon Arryn had married his daughters… He banished it from his mind. He was risking all-he had to wage war on some of his own bannermen… He owed much to his godfather, and would not think ill of him. Indeed, I would not have him think ill of me. Gods know what Bolton is doing right now. Hopefully nothing too gruesome.

Ned got his answer as he and Cat entered the hall. "...Simply allow me to get a knife," came Roose's soft voice, echoing strangely in that vast emptiness.

Another voice came, rasping with exertion. "And I say I need no assistance, nor any tools…"

There was a dark laugh at that-Barb Bracken, Ned realized. What is she doing here?, he thought briefly, but gave up the speculation as fruitless. "You should listen to him, Lord Bolton," she said. "The young Vance has excellent hands."

"Leave Ser Ronald be, Lord Bolton," said Lord Tully, his voice firm and just a tad exasperated.

"Thank you, my Lord," said Ser Ronald. And then Ned saw him there, at last, a man kneeling before him. Ser Ronald was holding the man's arms in an uncomfortable, unnatural position while the knight's foot pressed into the small of the man's back. Ronald's brothers were nearby, with a group of Vance and Bracken guardsmen keeping watch on a pair of bound men, while Lord Tully was seated nearby, his face a stone. Roose Bolton stood near Ned's godfather, watching the proceedings with a critical eye, while Barbara Bracken was seated to the side. She was sipping a goblet of wine and grinning, as if she were a witness to the merriest show in the world.

Hoster saw Eddard and Catelyn and his face showed a faint trace of relief. "Mistress Bracken," he said. "Would you perhaps wish to go…?"

Barb fluttered her eyelashes at Hoster. "Oh, Lord Tully, please, let me stay. My men helped restore order to Harrenhal, after all, and I'm so frighted at the thought of these brutes, why, I need to know all is well…"

Hoster suppressed a snort, then gestured for Ned and Catelyn to join him. "Lord Stark… Cat…" Hoster seemed to realize that he'd called his daughter by her nickname, but moved on as if he had not. "Ser Ronald has been questioning these men, and discovered some interesting information…"

"Interesting lies," snarled the young Vance. He lifted his captive's arms and began to press his foot in further. "Who sent you? Who sent you? The truth this time! No lies! Who sent you?"

The man screamed in agony, and Ned nearly stepped forward to make Ser Ronald stop, only for Hoster to lightly grab his arm. "Blount!" shrieked the man. "I told you, 'twas Blount hired us, Ser!"

Ser Ronald released the man's arms and gave him a slight kick so that he fell gasping to the floor. "So you keep saying!" hissed the knight. "Ser Boros Blount hadn't the wits to plot this out, even before I smashed his head open. He may have given you the coin, but who gave it to him, eh?" He watched the man squirm on the ground, with a frown, then turned to his brothers. "Kirth! Fetch me a basin of water. I need to wash." The young man nodded, then darted away.

Roose Bolton glanced at Ser Ronald again. "I tell you again, a simple flaying would reveal so much…"

Ser Ronald rolled his eyes at that. "Aye, it would show us what this man looks like beneath his skin. When I flay a man, Lord Bolton, it is because I know what he has done and I wish him to die, knowing that I know. I have served my father as justicar for the last eight years, Lord Bolton. I know mine profession" Kirth arrived back with a full basin that he placed on a table. Ser Ronald nodded and went to it, then dampened his hands. He scrubbed at them intently, then gave them a shake. Once that was over, he inspected them, nodded, and then went back to the captive, who was still gasping for air. As Ned watched, Ser Ronald grabbed the prone man and dragged him to the table, then hefted him up and plunged his face into the basin. The man thrashed about for a while, and then Ronald pulled his face from the water.

"Quite a thing, isn't it, to drown in a fingers' measure of water?" said Ser Ronald quietly. "So I am always told, afterwards. They tell me it's rather like dying, when I ask them." He regarded the man with a look that seemed almost like a dreadful mockery of tenderness. "Would you say it was like that, mmm?" The man whimpered in response. Ronald sighed. "Well, perhaps a less… weighty question. Who sent you? And do not tell me Blount."

"I… it was Blount though…" muttered the man. Ser Ronald rolled his eyes and then thrust the man's face back into the basin.

"Wrong answer," muttered the knight, quietly. "Very much the wrong answer." Eddard wanted to tell him to stop, and cast his eyes around the room for an ally. But Hoster Tully was a stone, while Roose Bolton watched with calm interest, and Barbara Bracken eyes glittered in the dark, mouth half-open, the tip of her tongue rubbing over her teeth.

"By the Gods, Ronald," muttered Ser Hugo, the balding Vance looking away in discomfort.

Ser Ronald glanced at his brother, pulling his captive from the basin. "The Gods are not here now, Hugo. Only I am." He leaned towards the man again. "Do you understand that? They are not here. Not even the Stranger. You will not die until I let you…"

"It-he's not lying, ser! Blount hired us!" said one of the captives nearby. "But there was another man, a Stormlander, who seemed to give him orders!"

Ser Ronald turned and regarded the captive who'd spoken. "Ahh. Very good." He glanced again at the prisoner. "It appears your fellows do have some affection for you after all. Though not enough to spare you what you've gone through." He tossed the man to the floor and waved for two of his guards to take the prisoner. "Now then, this Stormlander… red-haired, with a beard? Hard-faced?" Ser Ronald asked the captive who'd spoken. The man managed a nod. Ser Ronald smiled at that. "Well, the Griffin's flown across the Narrow Sea it seems. That is Connington. I saw him at the Bells. We nearly crossed swords but fate kept him from me. I did get that young Staunton brat that was squiring for him, though." He gave a satisfied chuckle.

Hoster scowled at that. "You do not need to remind me of Connington or the Battle of the Bells, Ser Ronald. I was there." He gave a fierce shake of his head. "My left side still twinges when I recall it."

"My apologies, lord," said Ser Ronald smoothly. "I only wish to convey my eagerness to avenge you, whom Connington has tried to slay twice now, first fairly on the field of battle, and now through foul subterfuge."

"How thoughtful of you," said Hoster softly.

Ser Ronald beamed and glanced around the room. "This proves it-the Dragons conspire against us from the Reach. This has the marks of a scheme begun in Oldtown."

"I would not call it proved, Ser Ronald," Lord Tully said forcefully. "Merely… probable." He sighed. "I feel we've gotten enough from these prisoners. Escort them back to their holding cells."

Ser Ronald bowed. "Of course, my lord." He gestured to his brothers to gather the prisoners, and smiled confidently as Hugo and Kirth did so.

Hoster glanced at Barb Braken. "Do you consider yourself sufficiently… calmed, Mistress Bracken?"

The woman stood, a crooked smile on her face. "Oh, most assuredly, Lord Tully." She glanced at Roose Bolton. "Lord Bolton, would you care to accompany me to my chambers? The companionship of a strong and able man such as yourself would be a comfort on this ill night."

Roose glanced at Ser Ronald. "I assumed you were going to have Ser Ronald take you back to your quarters. You did arrive with him."

"I make no exclusive claim on Mistress Bracken's company," said Ronald. "Indeed, I've no doubt the pair of you will pass some pleasant time together."

Roose seemed to Ned's imagination to look the closest to pleased that he'd ever seen the man. "Very well then," he said, offering Barbara his arm. She swiftly twined hers in it.

"I will show you the way to my rooms, Lord Bolton," she said. "The halls here are a maze. And perhaps you may ply me with tales of your home while I do so. I find I have a great interest in the North these days."

"Indeed?" said Roose, as the pair headed away. "I would not imagine it would hold such interest to you. It is a cold place."

"That is part of the charm," said Barb. "My blood so oft runs hot."

"Leechings, I find, help with that," noted Roose.

"Oh, Lord Bolton!" giggled Barb. "Do you wish to be my Maester, with all this talk of physick?"

"Have you need of one, Mistress Bracken?" came Lord Bolton's murmur, and then the pair were out of sight and perhaps best of all, out of hearing. Glancing at his wife, Ned saw an expression on her face that he suspected mirrored openly what he was thinking.

Though perhaps I hide things less well than I imagine, he thought, as Cat's face shifted into a timid expression of sympathy. Ser Ronald walked by with a smirk, as he, his brothers and his men marched the prisoners away.

Hoster Tully was silent for a moment after they left, and then let out a weary groan. "Gods be praised, that is over." He looked at his daughter and his goodson, and to Ned's surprise the expression was somewhat sheepish. "So, Lord Stark, how does our Riverland justice strike you?"

Eddard shifted uncomfortably. "It is not for me to question your methods, Lord Tully."

Hoster chuckled at that. "My, my, that is old Jon Arryn and his blessed politesse speaking through you, Ned. He taught you well-but then he always said you were a fine student."

Cat stirred at Ned's side. "Father-why did you allow Barb Bracken to…?" she began, and then gave up as if the enormity of the young woman's wrongs were too much to put into words.

"Barbara Bracken is like as not to be the next Lady of Stone Hedge, and Gods help us all, she has the stomach for it," replied Hoster, standing. "And so, when fortune puts us together, I humor her, in as much as a nature such as hers can be humored." He sighed and wandered to the nearest hearth. "The same goes for Ser Ronald, the next Lord of Atrantra who has, besides all his vices, a great desire to be of use to Riverrun." He shrugged and was quiet for a while. "Sometimes I think to be Lord Paramount of the Riverlands is to be a keeper of monsters." His goodfather glanced at Ned. "But then, we all have our own monsters, don't we, Lord Stark?"

Eddard suppressed a gulp at that and desperately tried for a response. "I… suppose so, Lord Tully," he managed at last.

Hoster nodded. "Come, keep an old man company," he said. "I fear I've much business ahead of me on this dreadful night. On top of all this bloody business, we've had ravens from the West. Lord Tarly is marauding up the Ocean Road. And the Fair Isle's been ravaged as well."

Eddard started at that. "What?" said Cat. "Has Lord Redwyne sent his fleet north?"

Hoster chuckled grimly at that. "No, that would be the sensible thing to occur, and where has there been an ounce of sense in this war? It's the ironmen, I fear."

"But Lord Quellon…" began Eddard.

"Yes, yes, I know," said Hoster. "But his opinion on this may matter less than we would think. If the ravens can be believed, the ironmen sailed under the command of Lord Balon Greyjoy." He snorted. "Or rather, King Balon Greyjoy, as he seems to have declared himself." Lord Tully shook his head. "Ahh, me. We build and build, and the Gods, they laugh at us, and knock it all down."