The old gods and the new
Catelyn is kneeling on the sept's floor before the Crone when the door opens creakily, and Sansa steps in. Arya comes along with her holding onto Sansa's hand.
They stand in the middle. Sansa is charmed when looks around on the gods' faces. Arya, however, is a bit frightened. She draws closer to her sister.
"Mother," Sansa addresses her. "Shouldn't we pray to your gods as well?"
Catelyn always brings them to the godswood. And Robb too. Even little Bran. People must see her children as true northerners. She cannot explain it to them; they are too young to truly understand.
"I'm here to pray to them for you," she says. "But your lord father isn't here anymore. To his gods you have to pray."
"You also pray to them."
"Sometimes." But those are not proper prayers. The old gods are not expecting such a thing. It seems strange to her. Something not real. "Though I don't go to the godswood to speak to the gods but to be with your father."
Arya scowls. "Father isn't there. He died."
Catelyn nods. "That place reminds me of him."
Arya sees the sadness behind her smile. She sits in Catelyn's lap and clings to her neck. Catelyn feels her breathe as Arya buries her face in her shoulder.
Sansa kneels down beside her, and Catelyn puts an arm around her waist.
"Can we go to the wood now?" her daughter asks.
Catelyn's smile is still sad but much more honest. "Yes."
