Family, Duty, Honour

Harry had dreamed of kisses like this one.

Kisses like fire, kisses like wine, kisses that burned, kisses that were sweet. He had dreamed of kisses like this, but in his waking, in his life, in all his life as Harry Arryn, heir to the Eyrie and the Vale, he had never had anything that could compare to this kiss.

And he never would again.

They did not speak to one another, they could not speak, entangled as they were, unless they were speaking with their tongues in a rather different fashion than most people had in mind, but by a kind of unspoken consent they stepped back from one another; Harry released Catelyn from the arms that had embraced her and they each backed away a pace.

They were both breathing more heavily. Harry found himself rather aware of the stiffening of his penis in his britches, and hoped that it was not noticeable to Catelyn.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Beautiful and betrothed to another man, to the brother of one of his best friends – not that it would have been excusable if she'd been betrothed to someone wholly unconnected with him… but Harry might have felt a little less guilty about it.

Because Seven, she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to do far more than that. He wanted to carry her off to the Eyrie and make her his wife.

But he would not. He could not. He did not think that she would either.

"That…" he murmured, his chest rising and falling as he got his breath back, "that was…"

"Very pleasant," Catelyn said, a blush upon her fair cheeks.

"You are very kind, my lady, but I meant to say it was a mistake," Harry replied, his voice a soft whisper which nevertheless carried in the quiet of the Godswood.

"A mistake?" Catelyn repeated. "Do you regret it so soon, Ser Harry?"

"Regret?" Harry murmured. "My lady, we have… I have-"

"Have what?" Catelyn asked him. "What does this mean, that it should be a mistake?"

Harry blinked rapidly. "Mean, my lady?"

Catelyn walked towards him. "Family, Duty, Honour," she said.

"The Tully words," Harry said.

"Indeed," Catelyn replied. "And so, for duty, and for the honour of my family, I will wed Brandon Stark, as my father wishes. I will wed Brandon Stark, and one day my son shall rule all the North from Winterfell. That is my father's will, that is his hope, that is my duty, and as it is my duty I shall do it." She smiled. "But I do not regret this, and I do not hold it as a mistake."

Harry found himself smiling also. "I regret it not, either, my lady-"

"Cat."

"My lady?"

"You may call me Cat," Catelyn said. "At least here, in this place, where we are alone."

"Cat," Harry said quietly. The word rolled off his tongue quite easily. "Sweet Cat, fair Cat, gentle Cat." Cat, my beloved. Cat, whom I desire; Cat, whom I cannot possess. "Cat, I think you are as fair in your virtues as in your looks."

Catelyn chuckled. "You flatter me, in every respect." She paused for a moment. "And you, Ser Hal?"

"If I may call you Cat, then surely you may drop the Ser, and I shall be Hal only to you, in this place at least, where we are alone."

Catelyn nodded. "Of course, Hal. Sweet Hal, kind Hal, brave Hal, strong Hal." She paused, hesitant. "What will you do?"

"What have we done?" Harry asked her in turn.

Catelyn paused. "Are you a good man, Hal?"

"I… only the gods can say," Harry said, "but I hope they would say I am."

"Will you protect me?" Catelyn asked him. "If I send for you, if I am in need, if I… if I require your aid, will you come to it. Will you come to me?"

"As swiftly as my horse may be saddled," Harry said hoarsely. "Whatever your need is, however so great the peril or how little." He smiled. "No matter the monster, I shall strike it down."

"Indeed, my veritable Aemon the Dragonknight you shall be," Catelyn murmured. "Then… that being so, our kiss was but the sealing of a vow, the binding of your oath and solemn word. It was… duty, in a way."

That kiss was far from dutiful. A dutiful would not have seemed to go on for so many years. But she was offering him an honourable way out, and a way out for herself as well, and so Harry said, "Duty, to be sure."

"And so, Hal, I ask again," Catelyn said. "What will you do?"

Now it was Harry's turn to hesitate a moment. "As High as Honour," he said.

"The Arryn words."

"Indeed," Harry acknowledged. "Nothing about Duty there but… honour. Honour above all. And so, for the honour of my father, for the honour of the Arryn name… I will do as our father's will and wed the Lady Lysa, if she will have me. If you will allow it."

"Allow it?"

"As dutiful as our kiss may have been," Harry said, allowing a touch of amusement to enter his voice, "some might think it… I know not how to say it, but it does not trouble you?"

Catelyn looked at him a moment. "Have you known women, Hal?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry replied gruffly. "I have… I have known women." He did not mention that he had a bastard son by one woman he had known; it… this hardly seemed the time and place.

"Then why should a kiss make you unfit for Lysa?" Catelyn asked. "You seem a kind man, Hal."

"I am," Harry said. "At least I try to be."

"And will you be kind to Lysa?" Catelyn asked. "Will you make her happy?"

"I will be kind," Harry said. "I will defend her and honour her and be kind. And… I know not, Cat, if I can make her happy, but I will try, with all that is in me."

"I cannot ask for more," Catelyn said softly. "Lysa will be lucky to have you."

"I am sure, in time, I will grow to feel as fortunate," Harry replied. He waited a moment. "Brandon Stark is equally fortunate in you, moreso in fact."

Catelyn smiled, but this time there was a touch of sadness in her smile, a frost covering the rose that bloomed so beautifully. "I should go," she said, turning away from him.

Harry bowed his head. "Of course. Goodnight, my lady Cat, the Mother and the Maiden sing thee to thy sleep."

"Goodnight, fair-tongued Hal," Catelyn said. "And thank you, for everything." She threw the hood of her cloak up over her head, covering her face as she walked away, her cloak swirling and billowing out behind her as she stole from the Godswood.

Harry lingered. He would let her go, he would let her return to the castle, with its corridors and twists and turns and passages, he would not walk beside her and invite the two of them to be seen, he would…

He would let her go.

Lucky, lucky Brandon Stark.

And so he lingered in the Godswood, under the eaves of the great Heart Tree, under the face that the First Men had carved into the wood, the face of one of Ned's Old Gods, watching him.

Harry had never understood how Ned could stand to worship a god like that. A god with a tangled face, a hard, carved face, a face that seemed to be wailing out curses and imprecations at him.

He deserved them tonight, for he had come close to dishonouring himself and Cat, but nevertheless… nevertheless he found them hard to look upon.

And yet he lingered in the Godswood nonetheless.

Nought but the sealing of a vow.

A vow to keep her safe, even to defend her against her husband.

An oath she might have need of if he finds out about this.

But he would not. How could he? How would he? None had seen them.

None but the face of that tree.

No one knew but Harry, Cat, and the Old Gods.

But Harry knew, and Harry would remember. He would not forget, though he lived a hundred years afterwards he would not forget.

For though he lived a hundred years afterwards he had a feeling that nothing would compare to that kiss.

Catelyn's footfalls were light as she climbed the tower steps up to her bedchamber.

She could still feel his lips upon hers.

She paused for a moment, gathering her cloak about her.

Family, Duty, Honour.

She was a Tully, a daughter of Lord Hoster Tully, and she would do as he commanded and wed Brandon Stark. That was her life. That would be her life.

But how she wished… how a part of her wished… that it need not be so.

He had… Hal had… the most beautiful eyes.

The brightest green eyes that she had ever seen.

But it was not to be. In all truth, it was likely but a passing fancy anyway. The fancy of a foolish girl and a young knight. When she was wed to Brandon Stark, when she was in Winterfell, when she was a married woman with a babe at breast, all this would seem too ridiculous, too fanciful. Nothing but singers nonsense.

But all the same, she would be glad to have his promise.

She climbed the rest of the stairs, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

Candles had been lit within the chamber; Catelyn stepped inside and was greeted with light.

With light… and with Lysa, seated upon Catelyn's bed.

"Where have you been?" Lysa asked. "I've been waiting for you."

"I… I have been in the sept," Catelyn lied smoothly. "Praying to the Mother and the Maiden, giving thanks that you were unharmed."

Lysa smiled. "You should give thanks to Ser Harry, for rescuing me," she said.

"I will be sure to do so," Catelyn replied. "What are you doing here, Lysa?"

"I told you," Lysa replied. "I wanted to talk to you."

Catelyn smiled at her younger sister as she sat down on the bed beside her. "About what?"

Lysa hesitated for a moment. "He's quite handsome, isn't he?"

"Ser Harry?" Catelyn guessed.

Lysa nodded eagerly. "He's not as pretty as Petyr, obviously, but still… he's quite handsome, don't you think?"

Very much so, Catelyn thought. Especially his eyes. "I… he is a goodly, comely sort of man, I suppose."

"He's not as big and strong as Brandon Stark, I know," Lysa said. "But… I don't like that. Brandon Stark scares me."

He scared Catelyn too, as he had confessed to Hal. There was something… there was something that she could sense lurking in Brandon Stark, a vicious animal lying just below the surface, waiting to come out. Nevertheless, Catelyn said, "Brandon Stark is the son of the Lord of Winterfell, and his heir. There is nothing to fear from the likes of him, he knows the lordly courtesies as well as anyone."

"Not as well as Ser Harry does," Lysa pointed out. "He is always so very courteous, and understanding too. And if he isn't as pretty as Petyr he is, all the same, quite handsome."

"You like him better now than you did when first he came to Riverrun," Catelyn pointed out.

"I know him better now than I did when first he came to Riverrun," Lysa said.

Catelyn reached out, and took Lysa's hands inside her own, feeling the warmth of her sister's hands upon her palms, squeezing them gently.

"Do you… do you love him?" she asked, fearing and yet desiring to know the answer at the same time.

Lysa laughed, a merry giggling laugh like peeling bells. "Cat!" she cried. "No, of course not."

Catelyn could not keep her eyebrows from rising. "Of course not?"

"That's what I said," Lysa replied. "I don't love him, but… but I think that I could be his wife." She paused once more. "It might be rather grand," she added, "to be the Lady of the Eyrie."

In days past, when he had dined with Lord Hoster at the high table, Harry had found his attention and his conversation drifting towards Catelyn Tully, to whom he could speak in a way that he could not speak to Lady Lysa – not least because Cat would actually reply to him. Lord Hoster had made it clear to him, and Harry himself felt it quite strongly after what had happened between them last night, that that would neither be welcome now nor proper, and so – like Jaime Lannister, irritatingly – he found his attention drifting towards Ser Brynden Tully, otherwise known as the Blackfish, Lord Hoster's younger brother and a most renowned knight, a hero of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, a doer of great deeds and, all told, a most puissant warrior.

"Ser Brynden," Harry said. "May I ask you something?"

Ser Brynden shrugged. "You may ask as you like, Ser Harry, I will not bind your tongue."

"Do you…" Harry hesitated for a moment. "Do you ever grow weary of this peace under which the kingdoms, for the most part, sit?"

The Blackfish looked at him; even seated he was taller than Harry, if only by a little, and so in looking at Harry he also managed to look down at Harry. "Are you asking me if I am bored, Ser?"

"I… suppose I am, Ser, aye."

Ser Brynden chuckled. "Was it not you, Ser Harry, who sat at this very table and told Jaime Lannister that he should not wish for war and bloodshed, nor celebrate it overmuch when it came?"

"You are Ser Brynden who sat at this table and said nothing as to which of us was right," Harry replied.

"You touch me with the point," the Blackfish acknowledged. "Do you doubt your own convictions?"

"I do not doubt that I have a mere twenty years," Harry said. "I would know what a true knight and a seasoned man has to say upon the matter."

Ser Brynden was quiet for a moment. "And if I told you that a true knight and a true man thirsts for war like some poor bastard in the Dornish sands might thirst for water, what then? Would you leave here a changed man, and grin and laugh at slaughter, or would you think less of the Blackfish, for all his valour in the Stepstones?"

"It is not my place to think ill of you, Ser, and I doubt that you care for the good opinion of a young knight of no reputation."

"And yet you would think less of me."

"I would give your words careful thought," Harry vowed.

"And disregard them," the Blackfish insisted. He grinned. "As you should. War… War is where all the words that came galloping out of Jaime Lannister's mouth so gallantly and so light, so… so easily, war is where all the words like that go to die. Perhaps I spoke such words once, although I hope to all the gods that I did not, but if I did… those words are buried in the soil of the Stepstones, along with a good many brave souls. Yes, I won great glory there, and so did many others too, young Petyr's father among them, Ser Barristan Selmy, you know the names. As I'm sure you know the names of those who did not return."

"Robert's grandfather, Lord Ormund," Harry murmured. "He was the Hand of the King, and led-"

"And led the King's host out onto the Stepstones, yes, I know," Ser Brynden said. "I was there."

Harry coughed. "Forgive me, Ser, I-"

"There's nothing to forgive," the Blackfish said. "The point is… since the war, it is true, my life has been… quieter. I sit, I spar, I partake in a tourney or two, I quarrel with my brother… but what of that? Was my glory worth Lord Ormund's life? If my life is quiet now, so are the lives of all the smallfolk who dwell under Hoster's rule, and I am content that it should be so." He smiled. "And besides, the children keep me occupied as often as not." He sighed. "I shall miss the girls, when they are gone."

"Ser Harry, what is the Eyrie like?"

Harry looked at Lysa, surprised. In all the days that he had guested with Lord Hoster, and sat at his table, this was the first time that Lysa had spoken to him without him first speaking to her.

He did not think he was the only one who found it surprising, for the rest of the conversation at the table quieted a little, as if everyone wished to hear his answer.

Not only was that ridiculous – surely they all know what the Eyrie was – but it also made Harry feel… well it made him feel self conscious, to say the least.

Nevertheless, with Lysa's eyes upon him, Harry did his best to control that feeling. He focussed only upon Lysa, and ignored Cat and Lord Hoster and the Blackfish and anyone else who might be paying attention.

If it is to be her home one day she might as well know what she's in for, after all.

"The Eyrie," he began, "the Eyrie would seem very small, I fear, compared to this great seat of your Lord Father's, I think that it is not much larger than the central keep-"

"Why?" Lysa asked. "Why is it so small?"

"Because the Eyrie sits atop a mountain," Harry explained, "called the Giant's Lance." He grabbed a pear, and set it down upon the table between Lysa and himself. "If this pear is the mountain then the stalk is the Eyrie itself, set upon the very peak, rising up above the mountain, let alone the valley below." He smiled. "As you can imagine there isn't a lot of room to spread out."

"But it is tall?" Lysa asked. "As the stem is tall?"

"Yes," Harry said. "My ancestors did build up a fair distance. It is… the Eyrie is not quite like any other castle in the Seven Kingdoms, but it is, to my mind the safest, safer even that the Red Keep, more secure than Casterly Rock-"

"What about Riverrun?" Lysa asked. "We're very safe, the rivers protect us-"

"Rivers can be crossed," Harry said.

"And mountains can be climbed," the Blackfish pointed out.

Harry risked a glanced away from Lysa over his shoulder at Ser Brynden. "Yes, Ser, but the road up the Giant's Lance can only be climbed single file in places. Since the dragons died out it is the most inaccessible place in the Seven Kingdoms."

"And yet, in the end, Riverrun and the Eyrie both are made safe and secure by the same thing," Lord Hoster declared. "By the swords that their lords command, by the loyalty of our Lords Bannermen which we maintain, and by the friendships that we make that keep our houses and our positions strong." He raised his cup. "To ties of friendship."

Harry raised his own goblet in turn. "To peace, and the strength that maintains it." He drank of the arbor gold within the cup.

"But what is it like?" Lysa pressed. "It sounds terribly remote. Is it very cold? Is there enough to eat? Is it lonely?"

"We are well supplied, my lady, it would hardly do for the Lord of the Vale to be otherwise," Harry replied. "Food is brought up the mountain from the valley below, and wine, and all else; and lords and knights climb the path also, and ladies too, for much the same reasons that I suppose they come to Riverrun. It is true that the situation of the Eyrie means that we hold no tourneys, but there are plenty elsewhere in the Vale if that is your pleasure, as it is mine from time to time. As for cold… it is chilly, I admit, and we do see the occasional summer snow, but in the winter we retreat down the mountain and impose ourselves upon my cousin Denys at the Gates of the Moon."

"Where are they?" Lysa asked.

"At the foot of the Giant's Lance, guarding the road up to the Eyrie," Harry said. "It sounds like a gatehouse, but it is more than that, it is the original seat of the Arryns, and a castle in its own right. The mountains rise up on either side, and so in order for any foe to attack us in the Eyrie they would have to first take the Gates of the Moon. As I say, during the summer my cousin, Ser Denys Arryn, keeps the Gates in my father's name, but during winter my father descends to rule from the Gates. If we hold a tourney, as we did for my last naming day, it will be at the Gates of the Moon, there is more room there."

"And… is it safe?" Lysa asked. "I think… I heard you say something about savages? Is it safe?"

"The clans the dwell in the high places are a menace," Harry allowed. "One of my father's cousins was carried off by Burned Men on her way to her wedding to a Bracken… or was it a Blackwood?" He noticed that Lysa's eyes had widened with anxiety to hear this, so he added, "But have no fear, my lady, my father's knights patrol the valley road, and if you ever came to… to visit us in the Eyrie, then a hundred Arryn knights would escort you safely to our door. The clans are opportunists, bandits really, they will not stand against steel in steady hands, not in numbers."

Lysa smiled tremulously. "And… and you would protect me, wouldn't you, Ser Harry?"

Harry bowed his head. "It would be my honour, my lady."

On the morrow after, Lord Hoster invited Harry to his solar once again, to break his fast in the company of the Lord of Riverrun.

They breakfasted upon blood sausage and fatty bacon, a silence that was not uncomfortable passing between them, broken only by the sound of chewing, and of forks and knives scraping against plates.

Eventually, his meal almost consumed, Lord Hoster Tully rose to his feet and strode towards the window, looking out at the Trident that surrounded the castle, and at the wide lands of the Riverlands beyond.

"I owe you thanks, Ser Hal," he said. "A double thanks, for my daughter's life and for her affections."

"You, and your daughters, are all too kind upon this matter of the hunt, my lord," Harry said. "Any knight who happened to be in such a place at such a time would have done as I did."

"And to any knight who did as you did I would give thanks," Lord Hoster replied. "But, as you are the one who did the deed, I give thanks to you."

"Very well, my lord," Harry said, not pressing the point further. "As for my lady Lysa's affections… I regret that it was necessary for me to go to her aid in such a way before she looked on me with greater charity."

"However it was done, she looks more fondly on you now," Lord Hoster said, turning back from his window to face Harry once more. "And for that, also, I thank you." He paused for a moment. "I know that Lysa is not the beauty my Cat is, and I recall sufficiently what it is to be a young man that I do not begrudge you where your eyes went. But Catelyn is for another man, a good man, and the son of a dear friend."

"And the brother of a dear friend of my own," Harry added. "Believe me, my lord, I never intended anything dishonourable."

"I never suggested that you did," Lord Hoster replied. "But Lysa is a sweet girl, kind and caring, she will make a good wife, I've no doubt. A good wife to a good man. I think… I think that you are a good man, Ser Hal."

"That is not for me to say, my lord, but I will endeavour to be a good husband to Lady Lysa."

"I delight to hear it so," Lord Hoster declared. He smiled. "The time is ripe for the lords Bracken and Blackwood to make their way hence again, demanding further judgement on their rivalry; and hither, too, comes Brandon Stark, hot foot from Winterfell, for the formalising of his betrothal to my Catelyn. And at the feast, once the arguments and arcane claims have been discussed to death, we shall put quarrels to the side and announced that Lysa, too, shall be a bride. Let the Falcon stand beside the Wolf, and let the Riverlands esteem you in their estimations. Let the word ring out tonight."

"Tonight, my lord," Harry agreed. "Indeed, my lord, each hour will drag like days… until tonight."