Chapter 23:
Catelyn Stark watched with increasing worry at the state of her eldest son. Robb Stark had coming storming back to their camp in the middle of the night, having found Isabel Arryn at the edge of death's door on King's Road in the Riverlands. The moment he had dismounted his horse, he had called for their healer to tend to the Arryn girl.
He did not eat, did not sleep and did not leave her side since his return. Though Catelyn could only admire the undeniably devotion her son showed towards Jon Arryn's daughter, she was thoroughly concerned at what consequences of Isabel Arryn's presence could have.
The Northern Lords had made it known early that they did not trust her and their pre-judgment had resulted in a less than warm welcoming towards the Valemen when they had finally decided to provide aide and support to Robb's army. To add further complications, Catelyn Stark had forged an alliance to House Frey with the agreement that Robb be betrothed to either a daughter or grand-daughter of Lord Walder Frey.
Catelyn Stark had every reason to be concerned about the future of her son. She had nothing against Isabel Arryn, but Catelyn knew that she would be a distraction, and cause Robb to neglect his responsibilities as Lord of Winterfell.
Perhaps if things were different, she would have been elated that Isabel and Robb had rekindled their romance. But times had now changed and greater things were now at stake. Her husband was dead, her daughters were missing, Bran was a cripple and Robb was leading the Northern army into war.
Her life had been turned upside down, and all her fears were slowly becoming a reality.
She walked into the tent and the image that bore in front of her looked like a frozen moment within time. Isabel had not woken and remained perfectly still underneath a pile of warm furs and blanket, while Robb sat beside her bed, his position unchanged since she last spoke to him.
He looked extremely tired, but he dared not sleep should anything happen to Isabel.
"You need rest," Catelyn said, "You cannot lead a war if you are not mentally sound."
"I cannot leave her," he challenged. "You should understand…what if this was Bran?"
It now seemed like a distant memory, but Catelyn forced herself to remember spending each day and night looking after Bran Stark after he fell from the old watch tower. The thought of her younger son made Catelyn's heart long to be home with her youngest children. She missed them so much and wanted nothing more to hold them in her arms.
"Your lords are waiting for you," she dutifully reminded him, "You cannot drop your responsibilities because of Isabel."
"You weren't there when I found her. I almost didn't recognize her…she was thin and pale as a ghost. Her clothes were torn and there was blood everywhere. I can't even begin to imagine what she went through…and it makes me even angrier to think that this is all the Lannister's fault. I'll kill them all for this…I swear it. I'll kill them all for everything they've done to our family…to father."
"And what would she want you to do?" she challenged, growing frustrated that he was not able to see reason. "Would she want you to stay by her bedside, or would she want you to fight? To lead? To rule?"
The air around them became tense. With each passing moment, Catelyn Stark began to recognize that Robb Stark had now grown up, and she could no longer control and guide him like a little lost child anymore. He was the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North; it was his time to rule in his own conscience.
She could see the inner turmoil in her son's eyes, and felt sympathy for him. He knew he saw truth in her words, yet his heart was telling him to stay and watch over Isabel.
Yet sometimes the mind and the heart never come to terms, and the inevitable choice of choosing one over the other had to be made.
"She would want me to resume my responsibilities," he hurtfully admitted to himself, "If it were me lying unconscious, she would have done the same."
"Then do not disappoint her. Win this war, and rise to be the leader I know you are," Catelyn declared.
Reluctantly, Robb Stark stood up, but not before placing one last kiss on Isabel's forehead. He seemed taller than before, as if he stood with more pride and confidence. Tears threatened to fall from Catelyn's eyes when she could see the shadows of Ned's features in Robb.
He was every bit of his father's son and she was so proud of him. She gave him a reassuring squeeze, one of a motherly support that he was doing the right thing.
"Send for me the instant she wakes up," he instructed.
"Robb," she hesitantly began. "You cannot lose focus…there is too much at stake now."
"I know what I must do."
"I worry for you my son. I am happy that you have found Isabel…but you also must remember what you agreed to Lord Walder Frey. You promised him you'd marry."
"I haven't forgotten," he said, though he did nothing to hide his displeasure.
"You must honour your promise…their loyalty is dependant on that."
"Don't you think I know that?" he suddenly snapped. "Every time I walk past a Frey I am reminded at the fact that I must marry a Frey girl. Every time they speak up in council, or raise their sigil I am reminded at the fact that I broke my promise to Isabel. Don't you think I know where my responsibilities lie? I am the Lord of Winterfell now…I know the sacrifices I have to make. Isabel knows that too."
He said the last part in a quiet sad whisper, and Catelyn Stark could do nothing but look on with pity and sadness.
"I trust you to use your judgment wisely," she said in an effort to comfort her son.
Hiding behind his mask again, the raw emotions disappeared from his face and the cold, distant warrior emerged from the shadows sending shivers into Catelyn's skin. It was a horrible game, in her opinion that haunted those who yearned for power.
There was the life that promised power, honour and duty, and the other life that promised love and happiness; and no one could choose both.
Sacrifices must be made, the voice whispered.
And she would ensure that her son would choose the right path to take – even if it meant robbing him of his own happiness.
Petyr Baelish stood proudly by the window sill as he watched the raven carrying his letter to Lysa Arryn's supporters. As requested by the Queen Regent, he would try to broker an alliance with Lysa and her son. It was an easy solution to all their worries and he wondered to himself why he didn't think of this any sooner.
In his opinion, the high lords gave Isabel Arryn too much credit. She was a strong figure for those around her, and her father had raised her well, yet Petyr Baelish knew that whatever power she desired, she simply did not have enough malice in her heart to hold it.
"Am I interrupting?" a voice broke out.
Petyr Baelish turned around, surprised to see the recently appointed Hand of the King standing before him with a look of suspicion. Tyrion Lannister has returned shortly after Ned Stark's execution, and in his light hearted humour, had angered the Queen by taking place as Hand of the King.
"Not at all," he amusingly said. "What can I do for you, my Lord?"
He looked at his smaller counterpart with an ample amount of suspicion and wonder.
"I hear my sister has put you up to sing a certain little song into Lysa Arryn's ears. I wonder…what trouble are you brewing, Lord Baelish?"
Petyr Baelish smiled as his smaller counterpart, and placed his hands behind in back and motion for the Lannister to walk alongside him. "I'm simply following the Queen's order, your Grace…helping to keep Joffrey's throne, forming alliances, and trying to keep this city from drowning in debt."
Tyrion Lannister pursed his lips. "Alliances are best made not with threats. If we want to bind our enemies to us, there is something else we must do."
"I'm not sure I quite follow."
"I was there when Isabel Arryn claimed her father's seat…they adore her; most of them anyways. They won't easily be persuaded in switching sides – not when she actually is the better Arryn heir to rule. I know what you do best…you'll most likely wave a few pouches of gold and women and hope they'll sway to your side. My lord, that will be the most foolish thing to assume."
"So what do you suggest?" he asked suspiciously. Tyrion Lannister was not a friend of his, and an uneasy feeling pricked him like a thorn at his side.
"We all know that marriage is the most secure form of friendship. We have a young princess that is not yet betrothed, and Lysa has a young son that will one day marry and continue the Arryn line. Isn't it most obvious? Of course, the Queen must not know. I wouldn't want my poor dear sister to worry about this…she already has enough trouble controlling her other children."
"And why would I want to do this for you?"
Tyrion Lannister smiled. He loved this game; the game of wits. It was his strength and his pride. He had longed for this day and now he was amongst some of the most brilliant minds of the realm.
"Why…for the good of the kingdom, of course! Stannis Baratheon is on the verge of attacking King's Landing by the sea. My father is losing men in the Riverlands, and King's Landing is left defenseless from all sides should we be attacked. The Vale has ships and could launch a surprise counter attack against Stannis buying us time to strengthen our city defenses. Should we fail to broker an alliance, I'd imagine Isabel Arryn joining Robb Stark's war, outnumbering my father's troops and we'll face now not only one army, but two armies; one by sea and one by land. I don't know about you, my lord…but I like where my head is – attached to my body."
"I serve the throne, not your family's house. I care not who sits on the Iron throne. What do I get out of this?"
"Harrenhal," Tyrion replied wistfully.
Petyr Baelish laughed bitterly. "I've been promised that cursed castle more than enough times. You'll have to do better than that."
"Then what about Lord Regent of the Vale?"
He looked at the Hand of the King disbelievingly, and narrowed his eyes at him. "Do not play me for a fool!"
"I never mistook you for one, my lord. It's what you always wanted, am I not correct? Young Robert needs a father figure, and a strong mind if he wants to rule his lands. I'd say…you are the perfect man for the job."
The frown on Petyr's lips slowly turned into a devilish smile, though he was quick to mask his true feelings from Tyrion. This was his chance, he thought to himself. This was his chance to prove to the realm just how dangerous Petyr Baelish of the Fingers was.
Let the games begin.
Her eyes flickered opened at the howl of the cold winds. She was engulfed in a blanket of soft furs, but Isabel could still feel the cold air prickling her skin. Her body was sore, and told her to go back asleep, but her mind was now sharp and alert, suddenly aware of the peaceful surroundings.
It was nighttime, and there were many candles that illuminated the tent was resting in. She panicked for a passing moment, thinking she was in a Lannister camp, but a huge sense of relief quickly washed over her when she suddenly remembered his face emerging from the horizon line. She had almost refused to believe that she was fully awake, but instead in a dream.
The flap of the tent opened, revealing a young woman dressed in a blue dress and white apron carrying a basin of water. Isabel took her to be a field nurse, or healer and noted the dark skin the women had – an unusual feature for natives of Westoros.
The nurse smiled at the sight of Isabel's conscious state and quickly set down the basin and rushed over to her.
"Thank the gods you've woken up!" she said in a slightly accented tongue.
Isabel opened her mouth to speak, but noted it was raspy and rough. The nurse quickly went to go fetch a cup of water and slowly motioned for Isabel to drink some.
The water felt cold, yet invigorating down her throat and she almost choked causing her to cough and spilling some down her neck.
"You were out for nearly a week," the girl explained. "A thin and pale as a ghost….cold to touch, and your wounds had begun to fester. They say it was a miracle that King Robb found you…they said his direwolf could sense you…"
'K-King Robb?" Isabel managed to sputter out.
The nurse smiled warmly, "I suppose a lot has happened since. The lords have declared him as King of the North…and they've captured a Lannister of some importance whom they call, Kingslayer. You must forgive, my Lady…I am not from these lands…I am unfamiliar with the houses."
"No apologies are needed," Isabel assured her.
True enough, the faint shouts of the Northern army could be heard beyond the tent. They were shouting for their King, over and over again. They were celebrating at the victories their King had won for them.
Isabel pulled herself up and proceeded to move her body off from her bed, much to the nurses' objection.
"You should still be resting, my Lady. I will send word to his Grace that you've woken...but you're still weak, and you need to regain your strength."
"I've rested long enough," Isabel protested. "I need to see him."
With the reluctant help of the nurse, Isabel slowly but surely stood up. Her body wobbled at the sudden movement, and threatened to collapse, if it wasn't for the help of the young girl that was holding nearly half her weight. The nurse draped a cloak of fur over Isabel's frail and weakened body to protect her from the cold winds that emerged under the moonlight.
Together, they hobbled rather awkwardly out of Isabel's tent, where the cold winds hit her face, and whipped her hair out of her loose braid. Her body slightly shivered at the change in temperature, but Isabel welcomed it.
It meant she was still alive, and the welcome of the chills and the cold air that flowed into her lungs. The chants and laughter of the men now grew louder and she smiled when she saw the sigil of her own house flying proudly alongside the Stark's flag and their bannermen.
The Vale had not forgotten her, she thought and quickened her pace, anxious to meet her men and give them a moral boost.
As she approached the crowds of the army, she could see his smiling face in the far distance. He was amongst his lords, and laughing with his men in good gesture. Many of the knights approached him as if he were a brother, and one by one, Robb Stark took the time to shake each man's hand.
And as if he knew she was present, he looked up sending a jolt of excitement through her heart. She held his gaze, and for a while, they merely stared at one another from a distance, neither daring to move from their spots like a pair of old lovers. His smiled grew and his eyes lit and in that moment, he had forgotten that there were a slew of Northern lords and knights all waiting to speak with him.
One by one, the entire army turned their heads to see what had distracted their newly anointed king and quiet murmurs between the knights emerged.
Isabel motioned for the nurse to help her walk towards Robb, and she slowly limped into the midst of hardened veteran knights. Some of had recognized her immediately bowed their heads, while others just followed suit. The Valemen were quick to bow and thank the Seven for their ladies' recovery and shouted in happiness and relief.
Ser Harrold Hardyng emerged from the crowd and gave a low bow in front of her. "It brings much relief to me that you're safe, my Lady. "
Isabel smiled and gave a small nod, "I can only offer my humble humility and gratefulness, my dear cousin. I hear your efforts have been most courageous. I thank you, a thousand times over."
"Your safety was our utmost priority. We will make sure the Lannisters will pay for their treachery."
"And they will," Isabel declared, "Let us talk in private later. We have much to discuss…I wish to know what news the Eyrie brings."
Ser Harrold bowed his head and consent before retreating back into the crowd. As the men cleared a path for her, Robb Stark, their new king was quick to run and meet Isabel, who now stood only inches away from her.
His smile never left his face, and he was unsure of how to react. Isabel, still weak from her injuries had tears that were forming near the edges of eyes, in disbelief that he was now standing in front of her.
At that moment, all she wanted to do was to kiss him.
"I-Isa-Isabel," he sputtered out, unable to find words.
Isabel slowly gave a curtsey and bowed her head, "Your Grace."
He proceeded to reach out to touch her cheek, but a cough from behind brought him out of his reverie, and his hand went back by his side, momentarily confusing Isabel though she remained silent.
"We've prayed every day to the new gods and old for your recovery," he said almost automatically.
"And I thank you, your Grace…I thank every single lord and knight standing here. I pray for the lives that were lost in my name. They will not be forgotten by me, nor my people," she dutifully replied.
"We are relieved that you are safe, my Lady." shouted Ser Bryden Tully from the crowd. "Make no mistake, the Lannisters will get their justice."
Isabel's gaze never left his face, and she noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes, and slight frown that appeared on his lips. He wasn't the boy she knew that lived in Winterfell anymore, nor the boy yearning for love. The man in front of her was now a king, and the dark voice began to whisper in her head, and she felt the dark shadow lingering behind her.
Catelyn Stark emerged from behind her son, whose concerned look could not be hidden behind the warm smile she gave. "Isabel, how wonderful to see you! We were very worried about you," she commented.
Isabel hadn't seen Catelyn Stark since her visit to the Eyrie. She too, looked tired and could only assume that the war had begun to take a toll on both mother and son. Isabel soon wondered what her own appearance looked like. She couldn't remember the last time she ate, and could only wonder what scars would be left behind from all the injuries she had received.
Catelyn Stark nodded to the nurse, a silent demand that Isabel was to be brought back to the tent to rest, despite Isabel's insistence to stay.
"You'll have plenty of time to talk later," Catelyn whispered quietly into Isabel's ear. "But for now, you need to regain your strength. Go now, rest."
Their eyes flickered to each other for another moment, only to be torn apart as the lords began to call for their king, and as Isabel was being led back to her tent.
Ser Harrold Hardyng's mood soured for the remainder of the night, and he found himself unable to replace the frown on his face with a smile. The men among him continued to laugh and drink, but he no longer found enjoyment in their company.
The sight of his cousin amongst the Northern army made him uncomfortable. He was relieved that she was alive, but there was a voice in his head that told him otherwise.
"You must be relieved that your lady has returned to safety," a voice broke out.
Ser Harrold turned around, and his frown grew deeper at older man. It was known throughout the realm that House Frey had questionable intentions and loyalty. No man ever completely trusted a Frey, and always knew they were vying to strengthen their families' position in the Seven Kingdoms.
Black Walder Frey was taller than Ser Harrold, with a thick black beard, and thick black hair. He had a reputation that was feared among the younger knights, and was hated by most of his family, despite being third in line for the seat at the Twins.
Ser Harrold had no reason to speak to Lord Frey, and was immediately suspicious why he chose to strike a conversation with him at all.
"Relieved is an understatement," Ser Harrold vaguely replied.
"You don't seem happy about it though," Lord Frey observed.
The Vale knight remained silent, hoping that his unwillingness to talk would make the Frey leave him alone. On the contrary, however, Black Walder Frey remained persistent.
"You're not the only one who's not happy about it," he muttered, before taking a swig of ale from his cup. "We all know the rumours between your lady and his Grace. We all know they were betrothed…you saw the look on their faces. They looked like a pair of sick lovebirds, it makes me want to hurl! You'd think that Robb Stark forgotten his promise to my father."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ser Harrold replied, not wanting to listen to the man talk.
"Of course you do!" Lord Frey yelled, and nudged the younger knight in the shoulder. "The Stark boy and my father have an agreement! And I'll not your little whore of a lady ruin that alliance. Robb is to marry a Frey, not an Arryn."
"If you come here to insult my cousin's name, then insult her…but not without a sword in your hand," Ser Harrold quietly threatened.
"I saw the look on your face when she was just standing there. You bear no love towards your lady," Lord Frey continued, ignoring Ser Harrold's threats. "I know you have a claim to the Eyrie. You and I…we're not so different. So close to our thrones, yet just slightly out of our grasp."
"What are you implying?" he asked suspiciously.
Black Walder Frey roughly put his arm around the knight's shoulders and brought him closer so they were now huddled together like drunk brother-in-arms.
"If you watch out our interests….we'll watch out for yours," he slyly suggested.
A/N: Enjoy! What new schemes are brewing now?! Also, I've decided to use Talisa's character, following the tv series slightly. -xoxo