Mid June, 299 AC
Catelyn sighed as she watched the Stark banner flap in the wind. Storm's End was well named. Though the sky was clear, the east wind was fierce and cold. The sea rode the wind, bringing the scent of salt and deep waters. Were the winds the same on the Fingers? Catelyn had never seen the windswept stony lands that Petyr called home. She wondered if he would be buried there.
Ser Robar Royce had told her of his death at Bitterbridge. She'd been picking at the rich food when he approached her, a slightly sheepish look on his face. Not five minutes past he'd been juggling daggers, egged on by a tipsy Lord Bryce. Catelyn had caught his eye, unable to hide her wistful disapproval. She had been young and foolish once too, thinking chivalry was only great deeds, never dreaming of the horrors of war. Even Robert's Rebellion, grim as it was, had not crushed her. But watching Bran cling to life, losing Ned, wondering if her girls still lived… could a heart shatter like glass?
"My lady," Robar had said. "I am sorry for your loss. My father held Lord Eddard in high esteem. May the Stranger receive Eddard Stark with all honor and may the Father grant justice for his death."
The Starks follow the old gods, you insolent child. No, that that was unfair. Catelyn had met the young knight two years past, when Yohn Royce visited Winterfell. Robar seemed to live for practicing in the yard, and had been happy to spar with Robb and Jon, showing them tricks Ser Rodrik didn't know. He wasn't the type of man to insult Ned by deliberately referring to the new gods, he'd just forgotten.
"I thank you," she replied. "You are far from the Vale, ser."
"A second son finds glory where he can," Robar replied with a shrug. Then why not serve Robb? Catelyn wanted to ask. Renly has no claim. But it was not meet to ask such a blunt question at a feast thrown in Renly's honor.
"My lady…" Robar hesitated. "I understand you rode south from Riverrun? We have some tidings from King's Landing that you might not have heard."
Fear gripped Catelyn's heart in an iron hold.
"My daughters?" She asked, her voice higher than she intended. Robar's eyes widened and he shook his head.
"No, no, my lady- there is no word of them that I know of."
Catelyn exhaled slowly. Thank the gods for that.
"I understand Petyr Baelish was fostered at Riverrun?" Robar said. Catelyn nodded. At least he had enough sense to not reference how Petyr's fostering had ended. "He's dead, my lady."
Cold satisfaction had dripped through her veins at Butterbridge, but now as she awaited Stannis and Renly, a hint of guilt pricked at her conscience.
Petyr was the confidant of her girlhood, practically a brother. Catelyn did not even know how he had betrayed Ned, and it was possible Sansa had made a mistake… yet somehow she knew there was no mistake. I wonder if Lysa knows Petyr's dead. When she returned to Riverrun she should send a raven, though Catelyn doubted it would receive any reply. Robb had sent four ravens already to no avail.
At last Stannis approached, a woman riding behind him carrying his banner. The banner was as unexpected as the red priestess who bore it. It was a sunny yellow, not Baratheon gold, and there was a blazing heart where the black stag should have reared.
"Lady Stark," Stannis Baratheon said with chill courtesy as he reined up.
"King Stannis," she replied. He frowned, taken aback.
"Your son claims half my kingdom," Stannis said, his jaw clenched. "What cause brings you to this field, my lady? Has House Stark decided to make amends for such treason?"
This will not do. Catelyn checked her temper and replied calmly.
"My son fights to defend the Riverlands from the Lannisters," she replied. "I have seen no Baratheon hosts defending the realm from the lions. King Robb is not a child playing at chivalry, he is the victor of several battles." Stannis snorted, and she regretted the dig at Renly. She had come to forge a peace between the brothers, not mock them behind their backs.
"Robb acknowledges the bastardy of Cersei Lannister's children, and your right to the Iron Throne." Stannis's deepset eyes glinted. "My son reigns as King in the North, by the will of our lords and people. He bends the knee to no man, but holds out the hand of friendship to all."
"Kings have no friends," Stannis said bluntly, "only subjects and enemies."
"And brothers," a cheerful voice called out behind her.
Catelyn glanced over her shoulder, a headache slowly coming on. She usually got them during her moon blood, and it had started three days ago. Renly approached, Brienne riding behind him. The Baratheon banner fluttered proudly from her lance, and her deep blue armor shone.
Beside the towering Brienne, Renly appeared as he was- a mere stripling, barely past twenty. Stannis was closer to forty than thirty, balding and grim. They looked like brothers, to be sure, with their deep blue eyes and black hair, their broad shoulders and hard muscles. But the only thing they truly had in common was their golden crowns, one wrought with flames, the other with a jade stag's head uplifted by roses.
"Lord Renly," Stannis said curtly, and the bickering began.
As they argued over Stannis's banner Catelyn tried not to despair. If I slapped the crowns off their heads, would they act like grown men? Still, she must try to make them see reason. As Renly japed about the battle to come, Catelyn saw her chance.
"Let us hope there will be no battle," she said. "We three share a common foe who would destroy us all. Cersei's bastard sits your precious Iron Throne, and Lord Tywin sits at Harrenhal with twenty thousand swords. The remnants of the Kingslayer's army have regrouped at the Golden Tooth, and another Lannister host gathers beneath the shadow of Casterly Rock. You each name yourself king, yet the kingdom bleeds, and no one lifts a sword to defend it but my son."
"Oh, yes, I've heard of his little victories," Renly said amiably. "Rumors fly about that direwolf of his, and about the peculiar behavior of the wolves of the Riverlands. A clever strategy, I'll grant you. Someday you must tell me how he persuaded wolves to slay aurochs and then lead starving villagers to them- or at least how he managed to spread such fanciful tales. Still, a few battles are not a war, and the Lannisters can await my pleasure. Of course, if Stannis bends the knee to me, I'll be able to fight the Lannisters a little sooner."
Stannis opened his mouth, his eyes blazing with fury, but Catelyn spoke first.
"Await your pleasure?" Catelyn snapped. "I have ridden through fields of ash and seen corpses lying unburied by the road. I have seen fields of grain turned to blackened deserts, and once clear streams fouled by the rotting bodies of the slain."
She took a breath, heedless in her wrath. "A true king defends the realm, and yet you hold tourneys and feast while my father's people die and starve. Winter is coming, my lords, and it will devour us all if we do not stand together."
"Such fiery words, my lady," Renly said, his easy smile unchanged. "I see why Baelish spoke so wistfully of you."
Catelyn was speechless with rage.
"You have no right to the throne," Stannis said implacably. "I am Robert's rightful heir. Tommen is a bastard born of incest, and you are a traitor and a usurper."
"What a convenient story," Renly replied. "You would be Robert's heir, if it were true. Yet what evidence have you for such an astonishing claim?"
Stannis stared, fuming. "I brought my concerns to Jon Arryn. He was investigating the matter before he died, no doubt poisoned by the queen. We visited Robert's bastards in King's Landing, and they all had his look."
"And Cersei's children don't," Renly said agreeably. "How incredible- children that resemble the mother. I've seen Catelyn's daughter Sansa- a pretty child, nearly her mother's copy. Will you accuse Lady Stark of sleeping with her brother next?"
Livid at Renly's jest, Catelyn found her voice.
" I have proof," Catelyn said sharply. "My son Bran saw Jaime and Cersei together at Winterfell. He testified before the lords of the North and they judged his word to be true." Stannis frowned at her, his eyes narrowed. "Nor is that all. Before she disappeared, Sansa was forced to write letters to her family. They contained a coded message that also accused the queen of incest."
"So we have the word of a dead man, a crippled boy, and a missing girl." Renly shrugged. "And yet I only received letters from Stannis, not Robb Stark. If what you say is true, why not announce it to the realm?"
Catelyn could have kicked herself. Robb thinks of nothing but battle, and I thought of little else but my dying father and my missing daughters, until Robb sent me here. What might happen if Robb sent his own ravens to support Stannis's letter?
"It is true, and you owe me your allegiance," Stannis said, grinding his teeth. "I am not without mercy," said the man who chopped off the fingers of the smuggler who saved his life. "If you strike your banners before dawn, I will forgive your folly. You will have Storm's End, your old council seat, I'll even name you my heir until a son is born to me."
"How generous my brother is," Renly said, turning to Brienne. "He offers me a castle that is already mine and a seat on a council he does not lead."
"Cersei Lannister is laughing herself silly," Catelyn said, appalled. "My lords, there is another way. Let us call for a Great Council, such as the realm has not seen for a hundred years. We will send to Winterfell, so Bran may tell his tale and all men may know the Lannisters for the true usurpers. Let the assembled lords of the Seven Kingdoms choose who shall rule them."
"The throne is mine by right," Stannis thundered. Renly smiled, and drew a peach from his cloak.
"This came from Highgarden. Have you ever seen a peach so perfect?" Renly took a bite, the juice running down his mouth. "The south has chosen me already, and no one chose you." Renly turned away from his seething brother and winked at Catelyn with all the easy confidence of youth. "Mark my words, Lady Stark, for you shall see it. Come dawn the chivalry of the Reach will win my claim."
Dawn came, but no amount of chivalry could win Renly's claim now. If there was any chivalry that day, it was the chivalry of Robar Royce, who'd held off Renly's men so Catelyn and Brienne could escape from the king's tent. A shadow, how could a shadow kill?
Catelyn and her escort rode hard for as long as they dared before stopping in a copse of willow trees to change horses and decide their path. They could not ride due north- the Kingswood was held by the Lannisters. No, they must go west before they could turn north, and Catelyn prayed that they wouldn't encounter any of Renly's men.
Brienne said nothing as she rode beside them, silent and stricken. Her eyes were as blue as a cloudless day, and as innocent. It's always summer in the songs, the homely girl had said at Bitterbridge. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining. A dozen times Catelyn almost asked Ser Perwyn to sing, and a dozen times she thought better of it. A song might raise Brienne's spirits, or crush them entirely, and Catelyn could not bear to take the risk of hurting the awkward girl. Still, Brienne's silence was unnerving. It was like riding with a ghost. Or a shadow. Catelyn would have almost preferred it if Brienne had wept.
Her escorts treated the girl with courtesy. Ser Wendel Manderly loaned her a few pieces of clothing. Robin Flint offered Brienne the second best piece of roasted quail after offering Catelyn the first portion. After several days of awkward glances Ser Perwyn thanked her for her help with the horses, and admitted none of his brothers was so diligent in checking their shoes for stones. Perhaps Catelyn had been unfair to the young man- Bethany Rosby must have been a good woman, for there was none of old Lord Walder in him.
They rode for days and days, and the lush green of the Reach gave way to scorched orchards. There should be apples on these trees, apples and pears and cherries. Rain had put the fires out before the trees could burn entirely, but they'd bear no fruit before winter. Catelyn thought of Renly's peach and wanted to scream.
Her scouts helped them avoid villages, but now and then she gave them permission to carefully ask for news. Each time a scout returned she waited with bated breath, hoping there would finally be some word of her girls. But there was no news of her girls, or even Robb.
There was news of Lord Beric Dondarrion. The lightning lord was everywhere and nowhere. He'd brought a flock of sheep to feed the folk of Stoney Sept. No, he was harrying Gregor Clegane. No, he was raiding Lord Tywin's camps around Harrenhal.
"They say a red she-wolf has been seen stalking the Riverlands," Hal Mollen told her one evening as they ate. "She finds lost children and howls until folk come. A fisherman swore he saw the red wolf come into Stoney Sept with a toddler on her back. There's word of a grey she-wolf too, a maneater that stalks rapers and rips out their throats."
"That sounds like Nymeria," Catelyn said wistfully.
She'd hoped the direwolf would stay with Robb and Grey Wind. Perhaps Nymeria was looking for Arya. If any highborn girl could survive alone, it would be Arya. The red wolf Catelyn could not account for. Lady was dead, and none of the others were female or red. Had the gods sent the red wolf to help Sansa? Her poor sweet girl, lost and defenseless. She would never forgive herself for sending her south.
That night they slept under the stars, too tired to bother with tents. It was near dawn when Catelyn awoke to a cold nose nuzzling her cheek. A soft gasp escaped her as she saw the great red direwolf leaning over her. It stepped back, shy as a maiden, its large blue eyes pleading. The wolf whined, and Catelyn raised a trembling hand. The she-wolf rubbed her snout against Catelyn's palm. The fur was thick and soft, somehow familiar.
"My lady!" Brienne cried out, and Catelyn heard the sound of steel as she drew her sword. The red direwolf bolted, a trail of grey ashes flying beneath her paws.
"Are you alright, my lady?" Brienne asked, resting a large hand on Catelyn's shoulder.
"I thought…" Catelyn fell silent, afraid she'd wake from this queer dream. I thought I saw my daughter.