Cate shoved guards and servants out of her way as she raced through the Tower. Somewhere behind her Septa Mordane was calling for her to slow down, but Cate didn't listen. Instead, she pushed her way into her father's room.
There wasn't much blood, thank the Gods. The spear they said went through his leg had been removed, and the wound bandaged.
But Father's face was milky and damp, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged.
"I gave him milk of the poppy," someone said, "for the pain."
Startled, Cate looked up to see the Grand Maester on the other side of the bed.
"Is his leg broken?" Arya, suddenly next to her, asked. Sansa, opposite of Arya, watched silently, a delicate hand covering her mouth.
"No, child," the Grand Maester said. "The spear missed his bone. He will have to use a cane, but he'll heal quickly."
The Stark sisters set up camp by their father's bed, taking their meals by his side, reading their lessons aloud to each other throughout the day, helping to wash and dress his leg, and watching him in shifts through the nights.
They received their fair share of visitors. The queen was one of the first, angrily barging down the door ready to hurl her words. However, upon seeing the three girls frozen around the unconscious Hand, she halted, frowned, and left abruptly.
The king was next, and his entrance was blessedly much less dramatic. He poked his head through the door, glanced around the room sheepishly, and asked if their father had awoken.
"No," Arya scowled.
"No, your Grace," said Sansa.
"Not yet." Cate added.
Robert left without a second word.
Then, Joffrey. Gallant and gleaming as ever. He bowed, offered condolences, kissed Sansa's hand and charmed her as quickly as he'd repelled Cate. She watched him and tried not to imagine kicking in his head.
There were a slew of other nobles, all coming to stare or ask after Father's health.
And then, there was Myrcella. Trailed after by a kingsguard and a maid, but she was there with a seven-pointed star in hand.
"Could I hang this over his bed?" She asked.
"We're Starks of Winterfell," Arya said before Cate or Sansa could stop her. "We keep to the Old Gods."
"Arya!" Sansa snapped. "A lady doesn't refuse a gift!"
"That's kind of you to think of him," Cate spoke up. "Arya, help get us a chair."
Arya huffed, but the four of them working together hung the star on a nail meant for a tapestry. When they were done, Myrcella thanked them, and looked around at the sisters.
"I've been meaning to talk to his Grace," she said. "I'd like for the three of you to be my companions, as a show of goodwill between our houses."
"I'm not sure the queen would approve," Cate responded, "considering all that's happened." Not that Cate knew for certain what'd happened, but she'd heard rumors - Mother had kidnapped the Imp, Father had attacked the Kingslayer or the other way around - "We admired you" indeed, Cate thought at that - and fled King's Landing.
However, a look crossed Myrcella's face, similar to the one from the disastrous day they were supposed to go hawking. "Her Grace has nothing to say in the matter. It's not hers to approve."
The look vanished, and Myrcella smiled at the three of them before focusing on Cate herself. "Lady Cate, I hope we can hawk again soon."
Something in her stomach plucked like a lute string at hearing her name said. Cate offered her a wan smile. "I think we can manage."
Five nights passed before Father came to. Sansa was taking a lesson with Septa Mordane and Arya was with her dancing instructor, so it was just Cate. Grand Maester Pycelle dismissed her so he could examine him, and as she left, she ran into Cersei and Robert on their way in.
"Your Grace," she greeted quietly as she brushed past.
"I'm sorry for this," was all he responded before disappearing into the room.
Cate paused, turning back with a look of confusion. Cersei smiled sweetly at her.
"You haven't heard?" She asked. "I'm surprised, knowing how much time you and your sisters have spent together the past few days."
Cate knew somewhere in the back of her head she was being baited, but didn't care. "Haven't heard what?"
"His Grace and I discussed Joffrey's marriage. Joffrey has talked to Sansa yesterday, and he's agreed to wed her in place of you."
No.
No.
Father would never allow it.
… Would he?
Cate turned and fled to the balcony, where she knew Sansa sat for her lessons. Sansa wore the same blue gown from that day at the Trident.
Cate was planning on being calm, rational, but that flew out the window when she saw the dress. She clasped Sansa by the shoulders, pulled her up, and shook her.
"What did he say to you?!" She shouted. "You know what happened that day at the Trident, you know he's responsible for what happened to Lady and Moondancer!"
Septa Mordane was there in an instant, pulling Cate off her sister and admonishing her. "Cate Stark!"
Sansa blinked at her, fixing her hair, straightening the neckline of her dress -
Cate saw the gold lion pendant around Sansa's throat. A lump formed in her own.
"Joffrey explained everything," Sansa said. "He confessed he behaved monstrously. He also admitted he'd been drinking that day. And so had you." Sansa sniffed delicately. "At least he didn't lie to anyone."
"I never lied!"
"You didn't admit it, either," Sansa pointed out. "Besides, Father was the one who didn't contest the king's orders. He killed Lady. The Lannister guard killed Moondancer. And Arya's as much at fault, too. She should've stayed at the inn instead of running off and spoiling things like she always does!"
"At least she's not stupid!"
Sansa paled, but jutted her chin out. "You could've been queen, Cate," she said quietly. "So really, who's the stupid one?"
Cate could have told her about what she saw Joffrey doing to Myrcella. She could have said something then and there, and stop this madness before it began, but she'd promised.
She'd be damned if she forswore herself now.
She could only stare sadly at her little sister. A million ideas of what she could say ran through her head, but in the end, nothing came out.
