Chapter 30 – The 5th day of August, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest

"It is true, my lady?"

Catelyn had barely emerged from her tent, yet a small crowd stood around the entrance. It was Hal Mollen who had spoken, whom Robb had appointed as head of her guards.

"Is what true, Hal?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"About the Royal Fleet, my lady?" he asked, hesitating. "And about Theon?"

Catelyn looked around at them all. Anxious faces stared back at her. She sighed, deciding the secret could not keep much longer. "Aye, I am afraid it is." And that is just the least of it she thought.

There was grumbling, and curses against the Ironborn. Hal fell in behind her as she made her way through the camp. It was near dusk, and Robb had called another gathering of the high lords. They had tried to keep it quiet, but word of Ser Imry Florent's demise and Theon's escape had spread quickly among the army.

The Golden Tooth still defied them, as it had for the past two months. The Stark-Tully camp spread over leagues, but they dare not venture further into the Westerlands for fear of the Leffords harrying their rear. She felt a sprinkling of rain as she walked. The days had grown wet as of late, and the nights chill. Winter is coming. High above the command tent the Stark direwolf flapped in the breeze. Even higher, in one corner, rose a slender spar of copper. Catelyn did not pretend to know how it functioned, but she knew the 'antenna' was attached to the 'radio' that sat on a table in one corner, tended to now by old master Vyman, whom the flying men had instructed on its use. Even before she entered, Catelyn heard raised voices.

The Greatjon was letting out a long string of expletives. Cursing Theon and his father both. Robb sat next to him. With one hand he scratched the ear of Grey Wind and with the other nursed a flagon of ale, appearing oddly gloomy. She had thought the monstrous wolf already fully grown at the Gold Road, but its appetite had never subsided. Now it was as large as a pony. The beast's head filled up Robb's entire lap. Yellow eyes stared up at them suspiciously, and she was not entirely sure it had no more growing to do.

The other lords looked somewhere between the Greatjon's rage and her son's melancholy. Edmure was slumped in a chair at the head of the table, clutching a goblet of wine and looking like he had barely slept. Already there had been discontent from those lords with lands bordering the sunset sea. Lord Jason Mallister had quickly sought Edmure's leave to return and fortify Seaguard, which her brother saw little choice but to grant. His levees had begun to depart just that morning.

Several Freys, led by Ser Ryman (Ser Stevron's oldest son and subsequent heir to the Twins) sat opposite. Fiery hearts were pinned to their chests, above the faded surcoat bearing the twin towers. After their lord had embraced the new faith, most of his descendants had quickly followed. The Whents and now the Freys Catelyn thought, concerned. Two of the leading houses of the Riverlands had now bowed to the new faith, and Lord Beric were still said to be running riot.

Next to the Freys sat Lord Bolton, his eyes as calm and cold as ever. While Lord Umber raged, Roose had barely uttered a word since they had received news of the Ironborn's betrayal. Catelyn couldn't help but recall the argument that had ensued once the Lord of the Dreadfort had arrived with his host at Riverrun weeks earlier.

"You've shamed us all Bolton." The Greatjon had stood with arms crossed. He stood a foot taller than Roose, but the latter did not seem intimidated in the slightest.

"Pardon, my lords. It was not my intention to bring shame on any of us" he'd replied. His voice was quiet as ever, hardly carrying to the distant corners of the Great Hall. "Near all the men were not Westerosi, if that was your concern. The highborn, even the Lannister knights, I took for ransom, and offered others the Wall. These men, the Brave Companions, were mercenaries of particular ill-repute. Tywin Lannister brought them to terrify the folk of the Riverlands, and I thought the justice was deserving."

"Whether or not they were from Westeros is not our concern, Lord Bolton" Robb had said, his tone stern. Watching her son, seated beside Edmure in the high seat of the Tullys, Catelyn was reminded so strongly of Ned. He has the same voice she thought, quietly pleased. She just hoped it would carry the same authority coming from a boy of fifteen. "You flayed a hundred men living. My father banned flaying, and you know this."

"Lord Eddard banned flaying in the North, my lord" Roose had replied coolly. "We are not in the North."

"Don't take us for fools Bolton" the Greatjon barked, over the grumbles this prompted. "Your actions reflect on your liege. The king is a just man and is greatly wroth with us."

"I have asked every man I talk to, where the law is written against flaying in the south. So far none have provided it" Roose replied calmly.

"Only because there was no need for such a law" protested ser Wylis Manderly. "There is no need to ban a practice one thinks will never occur."

There was further agreement from the northern lords, though the river lords were quieter.

"If I have displeased you, my lords, consider me repentant, but I am not sure I understand your concerns. These men were rapers, murderers and thieves." His grey eyes affixed on Robb. "If you wish to be a merciful lord, you will find others much more deserving of such."

"I will decide who is deserving of my mercy, my lord" Robb had replied, looking grim.

Her brother took that moment to speak up. "I for one, am glad these men are dead. The Brave Companions rivalled the Mountain in their cruelty. I thank you for the justice you meted out, Lord Bolton…but perhaps it would have been wiser if you had simply removed their heads, or hung them from the walls. The flying men have talked to us as well and expressed their great displeasure." He looked apologetic. "They seem to think you are some kind of savage."

"A savage, my lord?" Bolton repeatedly, cocking his head slightly. He looked around the hall at the gathered nobility. "I am curious. When did we, the great lords of Westeros, collectively decide to bow before these flying men? These men who appeared one day as if out of a dream, and now seek to command us. To dictate to us on what constitutes a civilized man?" Roose looked around the room. "When did this occur?"

"The flying men have been nothing but friends to us" protested Lord Blackwood. "They helped us against the Lannisters. Even now their healers tend to our sons and brothers." There were cries of hear hear to this, though most remained silent.

"My lord, this is dangerous talk" said Ser Marq Piper. "You half sound as if you want to run off and join the Lannisters."

Bolton turned to the young knight, his expression still neutral. "The Lannisters are cruel and cunning ser, but they are of this world, this land. They are old blood, since the time of the First Men. I will confess, Tywin Lannister does not scare me half so much as these strangers, and I think you all know of what I speak." He looked around the hall again. "What if, when the time comes, they regard all of us as savages?"

No one had quite seemed to know what to say to that.

Now the disparate lords sat around another table, beneath a tented roof, listening to the patter of the autumns rains and trying to decide on their next course of action. Catelyn stood by the side of the tent, for the moment only watching on.

"My lords, the Ironborn will reave and rape as they always have" Lord Vance proclaimed. "But this changes nothing. The king will soon reach Casterly Rock and lay siege to it. Even if the Lannisters can resupply by sea, Lord Tywin will be trapped in his own keep, and the king can always build another fleet. Eventually, he must sue for peace."

"Hear hear" agreed Lord Blackwood. "Let us continue our efforts. Once the Tooth falls, we can secure the Pendric Hills and incorporate them into our realm, with royal consent." He looked around at them all. "We share the spoils, then go home and take in one last harvest before the winter."

A chorus of lords voiced their agreement, but at the table's opposite end Lord Jonos Bracken was swiftly on his feet. "And what of Lord Beric?" he demanded. "Once we are done here, I half have a mind to take my men and hunt this brigand down."

"Brigand?" cried Ser Ryman, outraged. "Be careful how you speak. Lord Beric is spreading the lord's noble word, by the grace of King Stannis and the Lady Melisandre."

"I do not need a Frey to lecture me on the Gods" Lord Bracken spat. "The king may have abandoned the faith, but House Bracken has not. I will die with a sword in my hand before I see our septs burnt."

"Aye, the man was sent to bring justice to the Mountain" Lord Lymond Goodbrook spoke up. "But we brought that justice. Now three of my septs are said to have burned. The smallfolk are terrified." He turned to Lord Edmure. "Lord Beric should be ordered back to the Marches where he belongs. Let him pray to his fire god there."

Catelyn observed her brother visibly sweating under the gaze of his bannermen. He looked from Bracken to Goodbrook and back. "What crimes do you accuse lord Beric of?"

"The man is burning septs, my liege" the former replied, in disbelief. "Half a hundred, from the Red Fork to the Blackwater. Including now at Stoney Sept. What is that, if not a crime?"

"My lord!" Ser Ryman was on his feet now. "It is no crime to root out traitors! The Faith Militant were gathering at Stoney Sept. Hundreds of them. Lord Beric fell on them not a week past, and slaughtered them like the dogs they are."

Several lords tried to speak at this point. It took a minute for Edmure to call for silence. He turned to Ser Ryman. "Cutting down traitors is one thing ser, but burning the septs of innocent villagers? What do you say to that?"

"The villagers are not victims of a brigand!" Ser Ryman protested again. "They have embraced the lord, willingly, as Lady Whent did, and my own lord grandfather. They have been tearing down the septs and lightning nightfires in their place, so they may hear the lord's true word."

There was more grumbling at this. Lord Bracken was looking at the Freys with a degree of loathing he usually reserved for the Lord of Raventree Hall. Edmure was looking from one lord to the other.

"What other crimes has he been accused of?" he asked. "Have there been reports of rapes? Or looting and murder?"

"Aye, my lord" spoke up Lord Theomar Smallwood. "A woman was raped in Tumbler's Falls, a moon past. Only…" he paused a moment. "The two perpetrators were seized by Lord Beric. He burned them alive at dusk that same night."

"There, my lords? Do you see?" said Ser Ryman. "Beric Dondarrion is bringing the king's justice even to his own men, while Thoros brings the Lord's light to all. If his men are brigands, they are well disciplined brigands."

"What of Ser Willas Wode?" Lord Bracken protested again. He looked around at them all. "A knight of the Riverlands, good and true. One who stayed in my halls more than once. Murdered, he was, by Lord Beric at Harrenhal."

"A trial by combat!" It was Black Walder, Ser Ryman's bastard son, who spoke up now. "It is not murder."

"It is when one uses foul sorcery to cheat the will of the gods!" Lord Bracken appeared highly agitated now. "I heard it from his own brother, Ser Vickon. He made it to my keep, with some loyal men. They swear Lord Beric was cut down, only for Thoros to rise him up again." He was looking around at them, wide eyed. "The red priest wields some dark power."

There was a moment's silence at this, then a bark of laughter. "I see Brackens are still easy to fool" lord Blackwood proclaimed, pouring himself another mug of ale.

There were chuckles round the table. Lord Bracken looked livid, but before he could retort the Greatjon interrupted. "I have not yet met the man who can cheat death…nor would I wish to make an enemy of him if he could." He turned back to Robb. "The Red God means nothing to me. When this siege is done, we shall march home. Winter is not far off, and my uncles write to me of wildlings climbing the Wall, more and more with every new moon."

There were cries of agreement from the Northern lords. The Riverlords looked about to start a fresh argument, but Catelyn took that moment to step forward.

"I'm afraid, my lords, there is still more news" faces swiveled to face her. Catelyn looked around at them all. "News from the Reach…it appears Brightwater Keep has fallen."

"The Queen's seat?" Ser Wylis asked, concerned. "How, my lady?"

"The Hightowers were tunnelling under the walls. They finally made a breach, and assaulted the castle just yesterday. Ser Colin Florent, the queen's uncle, is taken, as is her cousin Alekyne, and others."

The lords looked among themselves. "That is disturbing news my lady" offered Galbert Glover, Master of Deepwood Motte. "But the King has hostages of his own, as do we…Crakehalls, Baneforts, Braxes and Leffords."

"Half the highborn of the Westerlands sit in our dungeons" agreed Mark Piper. "And the king has Cersei in chains. Do not despair my lords. We are winning."

"Aye, this news changes nothing, my lady" dismissed the Greatjon. "The king will not make peace for a few wayward cousins. What do we care who holds some flowery seat in the South?"

Catelyn fixed him with a glare. "Because, my lord Umber, the Hightowers could be at Highgarden in a fortnight. If it falls, the Lannisters will once again be able to march on King's Landing. They could put Myrcella on the throne. All our efforts here will have been for nothing."

There was more grumbling at this, but Ser Ryman made himself heard the loudest. "Then the realm is yet again in peril!" he proclaimed, looking at Catelyn, almost eager. "We should march on Highgarden with all speed. The king may yet have need of us!"

Catelyn blinked her surprise. I was not expecting the support of a Frey. She observed the reactions of the others closely. The Riverlords looked uneasy, the Northern lords bordered on appalled.

"We have marched far south enough" the Greatjon insisted. "When we are done here, I intend to march my men home. Let the Southron lords defend their castles."

"I will not bow to a Lannister. Never again!" Ser Marq protested, glaring at the Greatjon. "Have you not sworn an oath to your king? I did not know Umbers were so fickle."

"Winter is coming, boy."

Other Northern lords - Glover, Tallhart and Karstark, cried their approval. Eyes turned to Robb, who for once looked indecisive. His eyes met Catelyn's. She returned a look she thought was of encouragement, giving her head a tiny shake. Robb raised a hand for silence.

"My lords…" he began, looking around at them all. "Yes, we have marched a long way south, but I have not forgotten who killed my father, who betrayed him. I would not have us return until we are sure the Lannisters are defeated for good."

His gaze fell on the Greatjon, who for once looked chastened. "My lord. Lord Tarly defends Highgarden" he said, with a rare note of caution. "Forgive me, I do not recall seeing him on the Gold Road, nor at Riverrun or the Whispering Wood. Why should we march to the aid of those who did not march to ours?"

More cries of hear hear. Robb frowned. He looked at Edmure, but the Riverlords seemed to have little more enthusiasm than their Northern counterparts. They have seen enough of war Catelyn was quick to conclude. One last harvest interests them far more than a march on Highgarden. Edmure was quick to sense this mood.

"My lords" he called, begging for silence. "I know I speak for the majority when I say the Riverlands have bled enough. With winter coming, and Ironborn on our shores. It is best we conclude the war soon."

There was a fresh chorus of agreement, but Ser Ryman was defiant. He looked around, as if taking the measure of the room, before returning his gaze to his liege lord. "House Frey will march to the relief of Highgarden, even if House Tully will not. We are loyal to our king."

Edmure looked like he'd been slapped. "House Tully is no less loyal" he said stubbornly, but he seemed to have nothing further to add.

There were more arguments, over how many men Lord Tarly could rally, whether the Dornish would get there in time, or even if the Vale would stir. Eventually though, the table littered with empty glasses and tankards, the meeting broke up. Catelyn observed Edmure being one of the last to depart and made to follow him.

His own tent was a short walk away. Night was falling now. Across the hills men tended to a thousand campfires, and she smelt the now familiar scent of cooking. In the distance a bard strummed a harp, though she did not recognize the song. She bid Hal to wait outside the entrance, as she followed her brother inside.

Edmure was pouring another glass of wine. He offered one for her, but she declined. He sank into a chair. He had only poured a small amount, a mouthful really. It looked like a deep Arbor Red. The Redwynes still had not declared for either side and their stocks were beginning to run low. He swallowed it in one gulp, then looked at her. The silence stretched on.

"That did not seem to go well" Catelyn offered.

"We are a rabble, sister" Edmure replied. He held up the empty glass, looking at it in apparent fascination.

"Then you must lead them" Catelyn said, stepping forward. "You are their Lord Paramount. Command them, to do what you think is best."

"And what is best?" he demanded of her. "Our fields have been burnt. We do not even have the men to reseed them for one last harvest." He sighed. "We cannot march anywhere. Once this siege is done, so are we."

"What of the Freys?" Catelyn asked. "Ser Ryam may have the right of it. The war is not won yet. If Highgarden falls…"

"The Freys care not for Highgarden" Edmure said, suddenly angry. "They care for Riverrun, for my titles."

Catelyn blinked her surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I have had letters from the Lady Melisandre" Edmure said, in the voice of someone making a great confession. "She urges me to embrace the Lord of Light."

This was news to Cat. "And you refused her?" she asked immediately, almost fearful of the answer.

"I have not replied" Edmure admitted. "But…whispers from the Twins have reached me as well. The king wants me to embrace the lord and take a Frey bride. Otherwise…he may very well make Walder Frey Lord Paramount instead, hand him the Riverlands."

Catelyn's shock turned to outrage. "To that…that old weasel? The late lord Frey? The King…you cannot be serious!"

"I heard it from men I trust" Edmure said.

"But how could he do this? We have been loyal to the king, to the Iron Throne. The Tullys have ruled these lands for three hundred years."

Edmure's eyes met hers. "We were never kings, Cat" he said bluntly. "The Brackens, the Blackwoods, the Mallisters…All were kings of the Trident once. We never were. It was only the Dragonlords who rose us up."

"Yes, we were never kings" Catelyn admitted. She stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm. "And nor were the Freys. Nor were the Tyrells or the Baratheons."

"Who married into the crown the first chance they got" Edmure shook his head. "Stannis sees that I have no authority. If I don't show loyalty, he may well choose another, more fit to rule. A march on Highgarden now would be madness. We are already spent, but the Freys might just attempt it anyway. If they lead the Riverlords south…perhaps the king will think them more worthy after all."

"No…no this cannot be. My son rode south for you, for father! He will not sit idly by and let the Freys play usurper."

"You are marching home" Edmure said. "Once your son leaves, what little authority I have is gone, Cat." He leaned forward in his chair, clasping her hand now. "This may be the only way."

Catelyn recoiled in horror. Now that the possibility was out in the open, she realized how appalled she was. "You would see the Sept at Riverrun burnt? The septons and septas thrown out?" She thought of all the days they have played in the Sept, or the Godswood. The festivals each year, days for maidens and mothers, warriors and fathers. The joy of a wedding, even the melancholy of a funeral. The scent of candles burning, of familiar passages from The Seven-Pointed Star. Going North, once, she had thought she was leaving it all behind, but Ned had built a sept just for her own use at Winterfell. It was one of the things she was most grateful for. She thought of their father, Lord Hoster, delirious, lying on a bed with crabs in his belly, waiting for death.

"Your own sire is on his deathbed. Is your final word to him to be that you will abandon the faith of your ancestors? The Gods that have protected us for a thousand years?"

The words were blackmail, but Catelyn was too angry to care. Edmure had his face in his hands now. For a moment he did not reply.

"What will you do?" she pressed. "Edmure?"

He looked up at her again, defeated. Her shook his head slowly. "I do not know Cat…I do not know."

Catelyn thought on this a moment. "The Northern lords want to go home yes…but they are loyal to Robb. If he goes south, most will follow, at least. Some of the Riverlords will too."

"What is there for your son in Highgarden?" Edmure asked. "Another three hundred leagues south?"

Catelyn groped for an answer. For a minute she paced back and forth. She thought of her other children. All were safely back at Winterfell. Bran was still a cripple, and Rickon half a babe, but they were safe. She had taken Robb's plane north a month past, to be with them for a few days. A luxury of the flying men for which she was now most grateful.

She had told Sansa of her possible betrothal to Edric Storm. She had not taken to the idea immediately. A bastard? She had said. Like Jon Snow? But Catelyn hoped she would warm to it in time. Arya, if anything, had seemed even more displeased with her match once the Frey wards, Little Walder and Big Walder, had arrived. I don't want to marry a Frey. They are stupid! Catelyn had been quick to chastise her. You have not even met Elmar. He squires for Lord Bolton. He would make a fine match. You may even come to love him, like I loved your father.

Her daughters were both trouble, each in their own way. It was her duty as a mother of course, but she never stopped worrying for their futures. She even recalled discussing it with the King, last time she had flown to Deep Den, weeks and weeks earlier. Still, with regards to Robb…

And then she realized, the solution so obvious she was surprised she hadn't thought of it sooner. She turned back to Edmure. She found that she was smiling. A rare thing of late.

"What?" he asked, startled.

"I can thing of one thing" she replied.