AN: Trigger Warning – Maiming and Dismemberment

Riverrun…

Moon of the Trout, 281 After Aegon's Conquest…

"Seven Hells, father! The tourney was an unmitigated disaster and now we're here!? For the sake of the old gods, I understand why I must marry but why must I marry her!?" Brandon demanded as he, Rickard, Eddard, Lyanna, Dacey, and I sat around a table in the guest quarters we had been given at Riverrun – specifically in Lord Stark's chamber. After the, er, 'unmitigated disaster,' (as Brandon so aptly put it) that was the end of the Tourney at Harrenhal – with King Scab himself arriving, naming Tywin's eldest son to the bloody Kingsguard at fifteen (during the welcoming speech no less), Lyanna doing that stupid stunt as the Knight of the Laughing Tree to punish the squires, and finally, Rhaegar naming Lyanna his Queen of Love and Beauty (not that she was very receptive of the gift but she could not down a prince) – Hoster Tully himself had sought us out. He had asked if we would welcome the hospitality of Riverrun. I wanted to refuse but then he had also told us that Lord Rickard was already enjoying his hospitality, so there wasn't much of a choice to be had.

"Because Tully is a right bastard who'd stop selling his crop for half what we pay the Reach. We are not yet ready to sever ourselves from the South, Brandon, we cannot risk it. We cannot risk our people." I growled as Brandon snorted and threw his hands in the air.

"Then why have we not delayed this farce? Why are we here?"

"Aye, I too wish to know that, Lord Stark, though I do appreciate being with my husband again. The boys and Arsa also." Dacey said as she squeezed my hand, rocking little Arsa while I held Cregan and Leo.

"Riverrun is closer to Harrenhal than the Moat. That and Hoster all but waylaid me to see this marriage finished." Rickard growled unhappily. "I am a prisoner here in truth if not in name. If I leave, our people will suffer most terribly. I would not see them starve."

"But we have more coin thanks to the coin Ben has produced with his whisky. Could we not seek grain elsewhere?"

"No. Even with the coin Ben has produced with his whisky, Hoster offers the best deal we could hope for." Rickard pinched the bridge of his nose at the thought. "The Tyrells would scalp us if we went to them and, as of now, the Braavosi are not ready to part with their grain. I am in discussions with their Sealord to negotiate a trade alliance but with Buln being our only point of contact… Well. Anyway. Lord Agonstark, how go the rail lines?"

"The Goblins finished what they call The Winter Line and are digging underground gardens even now but it will be a year, if not more, before those are finished."

"Westwatch?" Brandon asked.

"Completed with the Fang," I said as the Brandon and Rickard nodded.

"When Lord Hightower returns to Oldtown," Rickard said, "he intends to send his daughter and a retinue of guards and servants to Winterfell, where she and Benjen will wed. Though Lord Leyton also asks they be married in a Sept."

"A Sept, in Winterfell? Bah! We'd have to make for White Harbor for them to be married in the light of the seven." Brandon snarked, rolling his eyes but nodding all the same. "But, aye, I can see why Lord Leyton would want that – even if the Starry Sept would be more appropriate for a Hightower. Though, loathe as I am to say it, the same can go for Hoster. Father, if I am to be wed in the Light of the Seven, then I only ask to also be wed under the shade of a Heart Tree."

"And you shall be," Rickard nodded . "As will Benjen. As will Lyanna. As will Eddard, should he wish it so."

"Aye, father, I have not forgotten my gods."

"Good," Rickard said with a smile on his lips. "'Tis a shame Ashara did not wish to wed."

"Father, you claimed her as an unworthy match for me. I… I thought she to be a fair choice."

"Aye, I did, I do not deny it. The rumors of her exploits are… Fantastical." Rickard frowned as he looked at his son. "She was unworthy of you, Ned."

"Hah! Dornish indeed!"

"Brandon!"

"Sorry, father," Brandon grinned, crossing his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. Rickard just shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Perhaps Lord Baratheon could find a match for you, one of his bannermen perhaps has a daughter?"

"Perhaps…" Ned said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I remember Robert mentioning a cousin of his, Lord Wensington, had a daughter. His keep is sworn to Storm's End."

"It could be a good match." Rickard nodded as Brandon snorted.

"Better than the Trout." He shrugged.

"Why's that?"

"Oh, don't worry, brother dear, I'm sure she'd like you well enough but she didn't seem to approve my… Appreciation of the serving maids at Harrenhal." Brandon grinned as Ned rolled his eyes, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. Brandon's eyes lit up as he leaned across the table. "Oh ho! Tell me, little brother, are you still a maid?" Ned's ears turned scarlet as he hesitated.

"I…" Ned swallowed hard before he shoved a ramrod down his spine and sat up straight. "I am."

"Well, well… Even with a friend like Baratheon?" Brandon asked, smirking at Ned as I glanced at Dacey. She smirked back at me as we watched the brothers go back and forth.

"Aye, I am. I may have visited many a brothel, but that was only to drag Robert back to the keep. I did not partake. Though…" Ned stopped, hesitating before he swallowed and started again. "Between you and Robert, the pair of you forced me to drink too much wine at the feast."

"Hah!" Brandon barked. "Didn't we all?"

"I didn't." I smirked as Brandon rolled his eyes.

"You never drink enough, cousin."

"True, but at least I could remember the night before. Ned, I know you did dance with Ashara a few times but I don't remember you leaving with her… It's possible, I suppose, but I don't know. Though I also remember Brandon having more than a few dances with her too."

"A small comfort," Ned sighed, shaking his head.

"But if you are…" Brandon trailed off before his eyes widened and he snapped around to face Rickard. "Father–"

"No, Brandon." Rickard cut his eldest son off before he could even start, though I didn't quite follow yet.

"But he would be a better match than I!" I blinked in surprise as Rickard nodded.

"In temperament? Perhaps. But you are my eldest son. The deal was an eldest son for an eldest daughter. That Hoster's grandchildren would reign over the North."

"And they can!" Brandon barked, leaning forward in his seat. "I have no interest in ruling, father, should you ask it of me I would do so but it is not what I wish. Ned was the one taught politics and ruling, not I."

"Then were those lessons the maester taught you for naught? The ones I taught you simply wind? You are a Stark."

"Aye, I am a Stark. I am a Wolf. I will battle and I will defend the North but not at the cost of my hand. Catelyn would not take to my children either, and you know it!"

"Brandon Stark–"

"My Lord." I cut in as Rickard began to rise to his feet. Rickard stopped, turning to glare at me. Once our eyes locked, he stopped, breathing heavily as he leaned back in his chair.

"Aye, Lord Agonstark?"

"The Legions are in need of commanders. As your Lord Marshall, I can place Brandon in command of one of the Legions. He would be married to his duty as if he was a man of the Night's Watch."

"Without the vows?"

"Aye."

"Why would I do this?"

"The North would have a Stark in command of the Legions and a Stark in Winterfell. Legion duty may not be as comfortable as a Lordship but Lord General Brandon Stark would be my right hand under you. There will come a time when I will pass on the title Lord Marshall. I have no love of military things, my Lord, and I am content as a gatekeep. Brandon could be the Lord of your armies and Eddard the Lord of Winterfell."

"Would one brother be higher than another?"

"That is for you to decide, my Lord, but there must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"Benjen is going to be Lord of Westwatch soon, father, and Eddard wishes to return home," Brandon said, laying his hands on the table. "I do not wish to spend my life behind Winterfell's walls."

"You may change your mind one day, my son."

"Gods willing, you will live long enough that it is naught, father. That we will be cut from the South and no longer reliant on Hoster for our grain. Why should we be bonded to House Tully when we plan to sever ourselves from the rest of the kingdoms?"

"Because the deal has been made!"

"Aye, it's been made… But the things are different now. The deal could be renegotiated, my Lord," I said. "Especially seeing as Benjen is to marry a Hightower. And, as you said, Buln can negotiate favorable terms with the Sealord."

"Aye…" Brandon's eyes were brimming with hope as he caught the thread instantly. "House Hightower would not be keen to see their kin starve."

"And the Buln's service to the Sealord means we have an ally there. I'll ask him to send an envoy to Braavos to negotiate an alliance or treaty or something to make sure we can get food. But what has Hoster offered you, my Lord?"

"Not near enough for the hand of my firstborn son with the deals we could make with Lord Hightower and Braavos." Rickard smirked as he rose to his feet. "Benjamin, shadow me. Brandon, Eddard, walk with me." Lord Stark commanded, and the three of us stood.

"I'll be back, Dacey." I said, sitting the two boys down before kneeling in front of them. "Be good for Mama?"

"Yes papa!" The two said in unison, giggling as I tickled their chins. I kissed Dacey on the cheek as the two bounced beside one another. I stood, nodding to Lord Stark as I took my wand and tapped it to the top of my head, the distinct feeling of eggs washing down my body accompanying the disillusionment charm. Dacey sighed and shook her head as the four of us walked out of the room. Seeing as it was between the evening meal and midday's, this was perhaps the best time for Rickard to meet with Lord Tully, Lord Paramount to Lord Paramount, to discuss a change of their bargain. I felt my lips curve into a smirk as my hand fell onto Winter's pommel. This was going to be an interesting meeting.

"Lord Stark?" One of the two guards standing at Lord Tully's solar asked as he looked between Brandon and Eddard before finding Rickard's face again. "Is something amiss?"

"Not at all, Ser, though something has come to my attention. Is Lord Tully available?"

"Nay, my Lord. He has no meetings scheduled but his attention has been on planning the wedding."

"Ah, then we have come at a most opportune time. It is in regards to that for which I come." Rickard said easily. The guard hesitated, glancing at his fellow, who nodded. The second knocked on the door, opened it, and stepped inside. After a few beats, the second guard returned.

"Lord Tully will see you now." He said. Rickard, Brandon, and Ned all nodded to the two as they entered with me hot on their heels. I just barely managed to slip inside before the door was shut behind me.

"My Lord Stark." The redheaded man stood from his desk, his already graying eyebrows raised as he looked over Rickard.

"Lord Tully."

"Is something amiss?"

"No, no, not at all, my Lord. I have received word that Lord Hightower has sent a contingent to Winterfell." He said. I raised my eyebrow at the bluff. Lord Leyton hadn't done a damn thing yet, not that Hoster needed to know…

"And what concern of that is mine, my Lord?"

"He sends his daughter, Alyssane, to marry my youngest son, Benjen."

"Congratulations, my Lord. When was the last union between the Hightower and Winterfell?"

"Before the Dragons, long before the Dragons, Lord Tully. It very well may have been before the Andals came to these shores." Rickard said as he gestured to the seat in front of the desk. Lord Tully nodded.

"Please, my Lord, be seated. However, I am afraid I cannot accommodate your sons."

"Standing will not harm them, but I find my bones protesting more with each moon."

"You and I both, my Lord." Hoster sighed, pushing a hand through his curly red hair. "So Lord Leyton has agreed to marry his daughter to your son? This is quite unusual, Lord Stark."

"Aye, indeed it is, Lord Tully. But with the connections house Hightower shares with House Tyrell, I will be able to buy grain at a much reduced price from my future kin. Something you have yet to offer." Rickard said as Hoster's eyes narrowed.

"You would have me reduce the price?"

"Or accept a lesser payment."

"I had one condition, my Lord, that one day my grandchild would be Lord Paramount of the North as another would be of the Riverlands."

"And yet we pay a ransom for pittance grain. Buckwheat and rye with the occasional hint of barley, my Lord? I know for true that the Riverlands produces an abundance almost to the variety of the Reach itself in her bounty. We are to be kin, Lord Tully."

"I cannot offer you more, my Lord."

"Then, in light of the budding alliance between House Hightower and House Stark, I am afraid I cannot offer you my heir." Hoster narrowed his eyes.

"What of Winterfell?"

"That would be Ned's keep." Brandon said, crossing his arms over his chest as the old lord glared up at him.

"You would give up the claim to Winterfell?"

"Aye. But Father still has the power to decide who becomes Warden after him."

"Why?" The Trout snarled. "Why give it up?"

"I have no wish to be tied to a castle, not yet anyway."

"And bed every whore this side of the Trident, methinks." Hoster growled, laying his palms on the desk. "Aye, do not think I have not heard the whispers, boy! You have fathered bastards already, do you deny it?"

"I cannot."

"Bastards that would one day seek to lay claim to Winterfell over my blood!"

"Bastards that are blood of House Stark." Rickard snapped with all the cold of the Lands of Always Winter. Hoster Tully froze where he sat, his blue eyes snapping from Brandon to the furious gray in Rickard's. "Your girl has not wed my son yet. You have no claim to the North, Tully. Forget that not. I gave you my word that your daughter would wed my son, I said not which son. You assumed it would be Brandon, I now offer Eddard. Would you make me a liar?"

"No, my Lord."

"Excellent. As you said, Brandon has fathered bastards. Eddard has not."

"You know this for certain?"

"My son is no liar. He has told me he has not fathered sons or daughters, I believe him. Your daughter would need not worry."

"Save for worry that the elder brother would come to reclaim that which is his by birthright," Hoster spat.

"I'd vow before a Heart tree that as long as I have a bed in her walls, I'd give up my claim to command Winterfell to Ned – as long as he or his sons live." Brandon said with his arms crossed over his chest.

"A vow made to a tree means nothing to me."

"But it means everything to us," Ned said icily, surprising everyone in Tully's solar. Even I blinked as he carried on. "A vow taken before the Heart tree is not one taken lightly."

"As you say," Hoster grunted before he turned to Brandon. "Take the oath before the Seven and I shall be satisfied. Say it before your tree again should you wish it, it matters not."

"You'd have me swear to gods I do not believe in?"

"Aye."

"Very well. Take me to your sept."

"Calm yourself, Brandon." Rickard said, not even looking at his hotheaded son. "You accept this, then?"

"I do, my Lord. You could have called this marriage off entirely as House Hightower alone could provide what all the Riverlands combined can offer you… Yet you have chosen not to renege on our deal. For that I thank you. Though I am afraid Catelyn will not be happy with this turn of events."

"That matters little to me, Lord Tully."

"Aye, my Lord, as you say. Gerold!" Lord Hoster barked. The first guard opened the door with his hand on his sword, relaxing as he saw his Lord and Rickard both still seated. "Send for Catelyn."

"It will be done, my Lord," The guard said, bowing his head as he pulled the door shut behind him.

"She will join us here shortly."

"Do you wish to speak to your daughter privately, my Lord?"

"Aye, that would be for the best, my lords. Will you be in need of an escort?"

"No, my Lord, I believe we can find our way back without trouble."

"Very well. I will see you at the evening feast. Good day."

"Good day, Lord Tully." Rickard said, nodding to the man as he rose to his feet. I folded my arms over my chest, my back still against the wall, as I watched the trout get to his feet. His face was scarlet red as he paced the space in front of his desk until the door was pulled open again.

"Father? Is something the matter?" The blue-eyed, auburn-haired, seventeen-year-old Catelyn Tully asked. Her father's face softened slightly as he looked over his daughter before it hardened again.

"Sit, girl. You will not like this news." Catelyn, obviously confused, did as she was bid while Hoster sat opposite her – his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, touching the bridge of his nose as he worked through his thoughts.

"Father…"

"You are no longer to marry Brandon Stark."

"What!? But, father–"

"This is out of my hands, daughter."

"How!? We give them food–"

"Our services are no longer key to their survival, it seems. Rickard's youngest son is due to marry a Hightower, gods only know how that happened." The Trout growled, clenching his fist. Catelyn blinked a few times as she processed that.

"They would get their grain through the Reach…"

"A much larger quantity and of much higher quality than what we offer them."

"But we offer them the best we can!"

"Aye, we do… Now my charity is my downfall."

"Then the wedding's off?"

"No, daughter, it is not. We will still send the North our grain, and you shall still be wed soon enough."

"To whom?"

"Eddard Stark."

"The younger brother?"

"Aye."

"Then I shall not be the wife of a lord Paramount?"

"There was never any guarantee of that, my daughter. Lord Rickard is strong and either Brandon or Eddard could still fall in battle. It would be your blood to reign over the North, assuming either put a babe in you before their potential ends. Either way, Rickard will name who is to become Warden after him but you would be lady of Winterfell. Brandon has renounced his claim to the castle."

"Why?"

"He claims he does not wish to be tied down." Catelyn's face darkened considerably at that.

"He has lain with other women, then? Sired bastards?"

"Aye."

"And plans to sire more?"

"Perhaps."

"I see. As to Eddard?"

"The boy claims to be a maid."

"Truly?" Catelyn asked, blushing slightly.

"Not in so many words. But he was raised by Lord Arryn–"

"As was Robert Baratheon." Catelyn said quietly, but the poison in her tone said everything I needed to know.

"Unlike his brother or his foster-brother, you would need not worry about Eddard having bastards. The boy has all the honor of an Arryn." Tully said as the girl nodded.

"I spoke to the seamstresses today, my dress and maiden cloak are both finished."

"When do you wish to be wed, daughter?"

"As soon as possible."

"Hm… The guests have all arrived, it should not be too much trouble to advance the ceremony. Shall I announce the wedding be tonight?" Catelyn looked at the floor before shaking her head.

"No, father. Tomorrow or the day after would be acceptable."

"Then tomorrow it shall be." Hoster nodded, standing from his desk. "Go. There are preparations to make and you have a new betrothed to meet."

"Yes, father." Catelyn said, standing and dipping into a curtsey before she turned for the door, closing the door behind her with authority.

"Damn you, Stark…" Tully growled after a few moments and then stood. He stomped over to his cabinet and pulled out a very familiar glass bottle with a matching glass. "And you, Agonstark… To think I shill out more silver for this than damned Arbor gold." The man hissed, pouring a few fingers and knocking them back. "And damn you for making me like it…"

I smirked, casting a bubble of silence around me before turning on my heel and disappearing from the room – leaving the brooding lord to some of my finest whiskey made from the worst of his rye.

"Stark!" A high-pitched, broken voice rang through the courtyard as Brandon and I escorted Ned to meet Catelyn. Rickard wasn't particularly interested in anything Catelyn or Hoster had said, but honestly? None of it was that interesting anyhow. He was interested to note, however, that the wedding had been pushed to what was now today. It was supposed to be in a fortnight. But right now, it was still rather early in the day with the sun having just risen over the walls of Riverrun. We had just finished breaking our fast and left the great hall with Brandon, Ned, and I going to the courtyard. Lyanna, though, had decided that this would be the perfect morning for a ride. I would have joined her had Catelyn herself not requested that Ned meet her in the Courtyard to… 'Get to know each other,' before the wedding, seeing as it was now they who were to be wed. Ned asked me to join them, something about the appearance of propriety?

Granted, that didn't explain the titchy little teenager (full of righteous angst) storming into the Courtyard wearing a set of full (if horrifically ill-fitted) plate. The armor banged off of him loosely (and, worse, sloppily) as he stormed toward our group. He had a sword much too large for him belted to his waist while he dragged a shield that looked to be as heavy, if not heavier, than him at his heels. All in all, it was a rather comedic sight to watch the boy huff and puff and clang and bang away as he tried to march up to our group while Ned himself just raised an irritated eyebrow.

"I challenge you for the hand of Lady Catelyn!" The kid barked, pointing at- Er, Brandon?

"Uh…" Brandon shook his head, chuckling as he looked at the infuriated dark-haired, green-eyed boy. "I'm not marrying Cat."

"The wedding's off?" The challenger asked, hope dancing in his eyes only to be crushed when Brandon shook his head.

"Nay, my brother is not to marry Lady Catelyn. I am." Eddard, solemn as always, said as he narrowed his eyes at the teen. "As my father, the Lord Stark, commands."

"Then I challenge you to Lady Catelyn's hand!" He demanded, pointing directly at Eddard – who simply shook his head.

"I cannot accept."

"You can and you will!" The teen roared – and it would have been much more impressive had his voice not broken halfway through. Eddard just sighed.

"I cannot accept because what you seek is not mine to give," Eddard growled. "If you want this duel, all you accomplish is the murder of the son of Lord Stark. With me dead, Brandon would take my place at lady Catelyn's side. As was intended. But if it is a fight you want, I will give you one. I will need time to fetch my sword. I do not need armor but, at this moment, I am unarmed."

"No, you're not." I said, drawing Winter's Bane. Lord Tully didn't like that I went around his keep armed but considering the blade was as valuable as Valyrian Steel, he allowed me to carry it. I flipped the blade around, offering it to Ned hilt first. Brandon's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets when I did, and Ned's were wider than normal as they met mine – Brandon obviously having filled him in on the blade's significance.

"Ben…"

"Take it, Ned. You're a Stark and I'm letting you use it, I'm sure it understands." I said lowly, locking eyes with him and nodding. He swallowed once, looking down at the blade and back up at me to make sure this wasn't some kind of joke. Then he wrapped his fingers around Winter's hilt, shivering slightly as he did.

"Who are you!?" The titch demanded, glaring across the yard at me.

"Benjamin Agonstark, their cousin." I grunted, crossing my arms over my chest as I finally turned to glare at the kid. "And who are you?"

"Petyr, of House Baelish!"

"Never heard of you." Brandon and I said in unison. I felt my eyebrow arch as I glanced over at Brandon, who just shrugged.

"When you are lying on the ground, injured and infirm, remember, Petyr of the House Baelish, that it was you who demanded this fight. Remember that it was you who was armored, that it was you who had a shield. Remember that I had naught but a borrowed sword." Eddard growled as he stepped forward with the sword raised in front of him. He finished his quick inspection of the blade and allowed it to fall loosely to his side. "Brandon?"

"Aye." Bran snorted as he stepped between the two and reached into his pocket.

"My Lady Catelyn!?" Baelish called, turning to the girl in question who was sporting a rictus of a grin that she was trying to pass off as a gentle smile. "Will you honor me with thy favor?"

"No, Petyr, I cannot…" Catelyn said, glancing over to Eddard, who was already wearing it around his wrist – her having given it to him at breakfast. Petyr flushed scarlet, following her eyes to the scrap of ribbon tied around Eddard's wrist. His nostrils flared as glared at Eddard. "Ned?"

"Aye, my lady?"

"I beg of you, do not kill him… He is like a brother to me."

"Of course, my lady." The quiet wolf growled flatly. Winter's Bane's tip dipped down, swaying slightly as Eddard fell into a low guard – his eyes never leaving Petyr.

"On my mark." Brandon said, pulling a kerchief from one of his pockets and showing it to the combatants as the two drew within five paces of Brandon each. "When this," he dangled the kercheif, "hits the dirt, the fight begins. Ready?" Eddard nodded once while Petyr was a bit more… emphatic.

"Drop it, damn you!" He barked, rearing and ready for the fight to come as he slammed his visor down. I sighed, shaking my head as he drew the battered longsword that looked like it had been plucked straight from a battlefield (heavily rusted and notched along its blade) while Winter's Bane looked to be death incarnate as it gleamed in the morning light.

"Alright." Brandon said, tossing up the kerchief and stepping back. Baelish's eyes never left the scrap of gray fabric, while Eddard's never left Baelish's breastplate.

This fight was over before it ever really began.

Ned was moving toward Baelish the instant the kerchief hit the ground while Baelish took a half second to look from the cloth back to the advancing Stark. He yelped behind the visor, whipping his shield up and around as fast as he could – right into his line of sight and dragging him off balance.

It was a rookie mistake, and one Eddard made him pay for dearly. Eddard didn't even have to drop to his knee to strike at Baelish's knee as the weight of Baelish's shield spun him off balance, leaving his legs completely exposed.

Eddard swung once, violently. Winter's Bane edge made contact with Baelish's kneepad with a screech of metal rending metal. Had it been almost any other blade in Eddard's hand today, it would have been a horribly painful strike for the boy - if not crippling - but with Winter's Bane? The knee didn't buckle to the side…

Oh no, that would have been much kinder.

Baelish yelped, having felt something, but when he tried to regain his balance in an attempt to escape, he immediately realized something was horribly wrong. Especially when his left leg was unable to hold any of his weight.

Because it wasn't there anymore.

The boy hit the ground with a look of pure confusion on his face. Then he looked down. Horror blossomed in his eyes, and then?

Then the screaming began.

I rushed forward, kicking away the teen's fallen sword and dragging away his shield as I drew a dagger – cutting the leather cords from the hastily secured armor at his thigh.

"Bring me a cloth! Something long and strong! Hurry!" I demanded loudly. "And a hot axe! Glowing hot!"

The once enamored spectators, some who hadn't realized the battle was even over yet, looked around wildly. But it was Catelyn, Ned, and Brandon who were the first to action. Brandon – gods bless him – removed his leather belt and passed it to me. I nodded to him, tying it above the kid's new stump. He screamed louder, but somehow (gods only know how) another even louder scream joined the fray.

"Petyr!? Oh my sweet, sweet Petyr! What did you do to him!? What have you done to him!?"

"Lysa! He is saving his life!" I heard Catelyn's voice in the background, but Petyr's scream had finally died away into a low moaning. 'Huh… That was about to change.' I thought darkly as I saw a man coming forward with a brilliantly glowing axe. I cut away the rest of the kid's pant leg before I looked up at the man holding the axe.

"Here, m'lord." The man said, passing the axe to me. I nodded, looking down at the severed leg and swallowing once, working my fingers around the haft.

"Hey, kid?" I said, looking the boy in the eyes. "You might want to pass out now."

"W-why?" He managed to grit out.

"Well, have you ever heard the story of the outhouse and the bear? It's a long story but I assure-" I picked up the kid's leg as his eyebrows scrunched but I kept spewing the nonsense story all the same, desperately trying to distract him - then I pressed the axe against the stump. His eyes widened in sheer agony as his back arched against the flagstones, howling louder than anything I'd ever heard as I cauterized the wound shut. 'Hopefully it won't get infected…' I caught myself thinking as I glanced behind me at the rest of the leg and then up at Ned. "You know she asked you not to kill him, right?"

"Aye, and he'll live. Your blade is sharper than I thought, far sharper. I meant not to cripple him, only end the fight."

"And you certainly did that." I sighed, looking down at the poor bastard lying in a puddle of his own making (and it wasn't just blood, though it was hard to smell anything over the overwhelming, stomach-turning scent of burning flesh) as another redhead charged forward and knelt beside him.

"Petyr, my sweet Petyr, wake up… Wake up!" The girl demanded, but the green eyed kid didn't so much as twitch. I frowned, pressing my fingers to his jugular. "What are you doing!?" The redhead – Lysa, I thought – screeched as I counted out the time.

"Checking his heart. He's alive but he's lost a lot of blood, he may even be in shock." I grunted in annoyance. "Do you have a maester here? Any sort of healer?"

"We have a new-" Catelyn tried to say but was cut off rather quickly.

"Here, my Lord!" A new man in a gray cloak cried as he ran through the crowd as fast as he could. "I am here. I came as quickly as I could when I heard the scre- screaming… Oh, oh dear…" he wasn't an old man but he wasn't young either. Dark brown hair was fading to salt and pepper quickly, but his brown eyes screamed of intelligence – and pity – as he examined the young man. "Oh yes, this is quite severe… Did you apply the tourniquet, my Lord?"

"I did."

"Excellent, excellent… You may have saved his life. And though the cauterization is quite crude, it appears to have been effective. The cut appears to have been clean, yes, that is good. Guards!? I will need assistance carrying the lad to my quarters. I will do what I can for him there." A few men at arms nodded, leaning down and picking Baelish up by his armpits as the maester led them away.

"Ned?"

"Here, Ben." He said, pressing Winter's hilt into my hands. I nodded, closing my fingers around the grip and resheathing the blade as I watched the small group march away.

"My lady…" Ned said, looking over at Catelyn who was determinedly looking anywhere but at the severed limb lying in the courtyard.

"Fear not, Ned." The girl said quietly. "I know you did not mean him this level of harm. Is that sword Valyrian?"

"No, my lady." I said, resting my hand on Winter's pommel as she narrowed her eyes.

"I know it is no normal sword, my Lord Agonstark," Catelyn said, tilting her head to the side slightly, "but if it is not of old Valyria, what is it?"

"Have you heard of Dawn, my lady?"

"The Sword of the Morning's blade?"

"Aye."

"I have indeed."

"We believe Winter's Bane is similar to it." I shrugged as her eyes widened. "Of course, that is simply speculation. But, as you could see, it is quite sharp."

"That it is." Catelyn swallowed, her eyes glancing down to the blade on my hip. "Will you be chaperoning, my Lord?"

"Ned?"

"If you would be so kind, Ben."

"Then yes, my lady. I shall. Who will be yours?"

"My Septa, Mordane." She waved her hand behind her, indicating the severe young nun - sorry, septa - behind her. The septa dipped into a curtsey and nodded – I returned the nod and gave a short bow.

"Shall we, my lady?" Ned asked, offering Catelyn his arm. She blushed but nodded all the same.

"Yes, we shall."

'Merlin, was my wedding so boring? No. It wasn't. First of all, it was much faster than… Than whatever this was.' I sighed, shaking my head as my eyes drifted to the Stark contingent beside me. 'Seven Hells, even Lyanna looks bored with this.' I wanted to pinch the bridge of my nose but had to settle for drumming my fingers against my thigh gently. Is it bad that I wish Ned had dragged that fight out longer? At least I would have had something entertaining to think about while we waited.

Rickard and Ned were standing at the front of the room, a sword belted to Lord Stark's hip and a cloak over his shoulder as he stood to his son's right while the septon stood to Ned's left and just behind him.

Then Dacey elbowed me. I winced slightly, looking at her questioningly. She just lifted an eyebrow, looked at the hand on my thigh, and then back up at me with a smirk. I sighed, shaking my head slightly as she slipped her fingers into mine. I squeezed her hand in return, and nodded at Ned who nodded back.

Then the doors slammed open.

I blinked, turning with the rest of the hall toward the doors to watch as Hoster led Catelyn Tully into the room.

Okay, I had to give it to Riverrun's seamstresses; they knew exactly what they were doing. Catelyn may not have been wearing a white gown like the bride's back home, but it was flowing, ornate, and the veil was a nice touch.

The father/daughter duo marched up the aisle until they were at the dais.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The Septon said, looking at Ned and then over to the veiled Catelyn. Ned turned to his father who had already shifted the heavy white cloak of house Stark off his shoulder. Ned took it, his nerves obvious as he draped the cloak from Catelyn's shoulders. "My lords, my ladies. We stand here today, in sight of the gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul… Now and forever! Eddard of the House Stark, Catelyn of the House Tully, your hands?" Ned looked at Catelyn, who looked back at him. Then Ned reached out his hand, and Cat laid hers on top of his. "In the sight of the seven: I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words." The Septon said after he wound a length of ribbon around their joined hands. Ned turned to Cat, swallowed once, and nodded.

"Father, Smith, Warrior. Mother, Maiden, Crone. Stranger."

"I am hers…"

"And he is mine…"

"From this day, 'til the end of my days."

"You may now kiss the bride." The septon said, smiling gently as Ned lifted Catelyn's veil. I smirked as the room erupted into applause while Ned sealed the bond with his lady.

"I need some air!" Brandon slurred as he leaned against me.

"No, you need a privy and then your bed." I sighed, dragging the Stark Heir from the hall as well as I could. The party had been going on for some time – Ned and Cat were still at the high table, smiling at each other while the band played and the guests made merry.

"But I-"

"My Lords!" Rickard barked from his place beside Ned. "We will dispense with the bedding ceremony." I nearly sighed in relief for Ned as he visibly relaxed – and so did Catelyn. "But it is time the bride and groom retired. Eddard?"

"Aye, we thank you for coming, and we invite you to enjoy the festivities as long as they last. I know I was not the groom you expected but we thank you all the same. Goodnight." Ned said to polite applause. Already standing, he offered his hand to Catelyn who took it and stood alongside him. Ned bowed once to the hall and turned to the servant posted to lead them to their new quarters.

But there was something missing…

I frowned, glancing around the great hall as I searched for what it possibly could have been.

"Bran?"

"Yeah, Ben?" Brandon slurred. I shook my head, palming my wand and silently casting sobrios over him. "Seven Hells!?" Bran snapped, looking around. "What did you do to me? I was right pissed!"

"Sorry, I need you sober. You're no good to me drunk." I growled, still scanning the hall. "Where's Lya?"

"I-" Brandon blinked, looking around the room himself. His eyes widened as he couldn't find her either. He looked up at the high table and moved through the throng of people as quickly as he could toward his father. The two of them spoke in a hushed whisper, looking around quickly as they could but the She-wolf was nowhere to be found. Soon enough, the father-son duo joined me as we ducked out of the hall.

"I'm sure my daughter is fine, Lord Agonstark, perhaps she is in her rooms?"

"Maybe…" I said quietly but I wasn't convinced as we mounted the stairs toward the wing the Stark contingent was given. "Something doesn't feel right… You two check her rooms, I'll see if Dacey knows anything."

"Aye, that's for the best." We broke off once we reached the wing, me going for my rooms and the two of them going for Lyanna's. I pushed the door open, finding Dacey nursing Arsa while the boys were already down.

"Husband."

"Wife." I smiled gently, looking down at the babe before cupping her cheek.

"What's the matter?"

"We don't know where Lyanna is." I said quietly as Dacey frowned. "Did she say anything to you?"

"She said she needed air but she did not tell me the specifics." My frown deepened at that.

"When?"

"At the start of the feast…"

"Four hours ago?" I gaped, staring at Dacey with dread pooling in my stomach.

"Near five now. Ben, what's wrong?"

"Lyanna wouldn't go far but she would want to ride…"

"She would have had to leave the- no… No, Ben you don't think-"

"I don't think anything, Dacey. She could be in her rooms and this could all be for nothing."

"Then let us pray it is so." She said. I nodded, kissing the top of her head before I belted on Winter's Bane.

"Aye… I'll be back, my love."

"You will, I know you will. But Ben?"

"Yes, Dacey?"

"Find her."

"I will."

"I know. I love you."

"And I love you." I said quietly, smiling back at her before I pushed open the door. I turned to look down the hall just in time to see Brandon and Rickard marching back - alone.

"Did Dacey know anything?"

"Lyanna said she needed air at the start of the feast."

"Old gods help us…" Rickard growled. "She'll have gone riding."

"Aye, let's check the stables, then."

"And pray she's there."