CATELYN

A chill wind blew from the northwest. Catelyn felt it bite despite her clothes and dig its icy teeth into her skin. The walls of Riverrun behind her did not shield her from it. She stood nonetheless in one of her finest gowns, far from the warmest, and the men arrayed behind her had had their armour polished till it glinted. They all stood rigidly at attention, their eyes fixed westward.

The standards on the riverroad drew closer, snapping in the wind, too unsteady to see anything but the colours. Something that seemed dark on a field of red, doubtless the giant of Umber; white on greenish blue, for House Manderly; silver on red for the Glovers; white on black for the Karstarks; the brown on orange of Hornwood; the black on green of Mormont; many more; and, manifold, flying higher than the others, everywhere the grey on white of Stark.

Facing that forest, above the men at Riverrun flew only the silver trout standards of Tully, and they were not many. As far as delegations went, this one was skeletal. Catelyn had with her Ser Robin Ryger the captain of guards, Ser Desmond Grell the master-at-arms and Utherydes Wayn the steward of Riverrun, all of them elderly men long in her lord father's service. Here were no lords bannermen or great knights of the Trident. Many had not been in Riverrun at all, and those who had been had ridden away to war. Her brother Edmure had stripped Riverrun bare, leaving behind three-hundred men-at-arms: more than sufficient for the task of holding the castle, but not for aught else.

Riding up to them were the lords and masters of the northern host. Rickard Karstark, Lady Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, the Greatjon… they surveyed the delegation waiting outside Riverrun with cold eyes. Behind them, their lowborn men, less accustomed to social graces, were grumbling and muttering to each other aloud. The northmen knew, clearly, of Edmure's march, and they were not best pleased.

There were rivermen among them, though not many. When Robb had granted the riverlords leave to protect or reclaim their own lands after the Battle of the Camps, most of them had dispersed. Only her uncle Brynden had stayed with Robb, him and the Freys of the Crossing, the most powerful of House Tully's vassals, who had contributed a thousand men ahorse to Robb's host, as well as near three-thousand foot that Robb had placed under Lord Bolton. And yet the trout of Tully was the only standard of the riverlands that fluttered above the army riding on the riverroad. The blue bridge banner of Frey was nowhere to be seen.

Catelyn's eyes noted all of this in passing. There was only one whom they sought. When she saw him she at first did not perceive it, for the one she was looking for was not this thin-faced northern lord, a man taller than her, with a mane of auburn hair down to his shoulders. It took her a moment ere she knew.

"Your Grace." She curtsied to her son. "It is pleasing to see you well."

Catelyn took care to maintain her composure. Robb was the only child she had remaining to her, she who had had five, for her others were dead or captive, and she and he had been apart for many turns of the moon. She had been afraid indeed when she had heard Robb had been wounded in the westerlands. Yet she could not allow the King in the North to appear weak before his bannermen by the sight of his mother's concern.

"I was well cared for, Mother."

Robb looked apprehensive. There was a pretty woman riding at his side. Catelyn knew who the woman was, and her son knew she knew, for he had sent the raven to Riverrun to tell her. Nevertheless, certain formalities had to be observed.

He said, "Permit me to present to you my lady wife, the Lady Jeyne, of the Crag, elder daughter of Lord Gawen Westerling."

Catelyn curtsied and smiled. She greeted Jeyne Westerling as "Daughter" in a voice that sounded convincingly sincere.

The westerwoman smiled, and said, "My lady mother," and Robb's shoulders relaxed with relief. Catelyn wondered what her son had expected of her. Had he truly thought her tactless enough that she might make a fuss of it? However displeased she was by his choice, she would not be such a fool. Unless all went awry, she would have to live with this woman for years.

"Your Graces, my lords," Catelyn said, "be welcome to Riverrun, and rest from the toil of the road by my lord father's hearth." She beckoned behind her, and a servant boy came running, bearing a platter of bread and salt.

Robb swung down from his horse in the smooth easy motion of a man accustomed to the saddle. His wife and his bannermen followed suit. Catelyn turned; the men of Riverrun gave way before her, allowing her and her son to pass and to be first of all to cross the drawbridge that spanned the great moat of Riverrun. In times of threat, the moat could be filled, and then it and the rivers Red Fork and Tumblestone would render the castle like an island, nigh impossible to besiege. Now, however, the sluice gates were closed. The Lannisters had not dared to come close to Riverrun since the first two of Robb's great victories.

Catelyn and her son parted swiftly from the others and came to her lord father's solar. Jeyne Westerling and a cluster of other strangers came with them. There was an older woman who greatly resembled Jeyne and a little girl of an age with Sansa, probably a mother and a younger sister of Robb's bride. There were also a boy, a young man, and an older man with a resemblance. Catelyn might have thought them brothers and a father to her son's bride, if not for the fact that she knew Lord Gawen Westerling had been held captive by House Mallister ever since he fought against House Stark in the Battle in the Whispering Wood.

Robb introduced them each in turn. The older man, it transpired, was a maternal uncle, Ser Rolph Spicer. Fortunately, once this was done, the mother had the sense to ask to be excused and to be found chambers in Riverrun to rest in, allowing Catelyn and her son to speak privily.

She had been furious when she first heard the news. She was calmer now; she had had plenty of time to cool, and she doubted her son would react well to open wrath. Too often, men would respond to reproach by shouting reflexively to defend their deeds, no matter what those deeds were, or by retreating into themselves, and either way they would refuse to heed whatever was said, no matter the sense in it. There was more sadness than anger in her voice when she asked him, "How many swords does your new bride bring with her?"

"Sixty, a dozen of them mounted. But Jeyne is a good woman, Mother, as kind and clever as she is lovely. She will be a good wife."

His tone was defensive. Perhaps hers had still been too sharp. She softened it further. "I don't doubt that, Robb. May I ask how this happened?"

"I already told you a wound festered when I took the Crag, and Jeyne nursed me back to health. You see… it was Bran and Rickon. When I heard… you know." He choked on the words. "She… she… she was kind to me, Mother. And so I wed her. I couldn't not. I wouldn't leave her with a bastard in her belly."

Like Father did. The words, unspoken, nonetheless rested heavy between them in the air.

Catelyn kept her voice gentle, allowing no trace of her anger to inflect it. Her son did not need that from her now. She did not tell him he had made a poor choice, though he surely had; it would offend him, and the marriage could not be undone, so it would serve no purpose. Nor did she tell him how much greater the Freys' strength which he had lost was than the Westerlings' strength which he had gained. Surely he knew that and his thoughts had dwelt on it already. All that she said was a soft "I see."

"I thought you would be angry." Robb's tone was wondering. "I doubt you agree… Why are you not?"

"I was," Catelyn admitted, "but yours is not the only raven I received. There was another, more recent. It doesn't surprise me that the scouts around Riverrun who first saw your host approaching didn't know of it; it arrived only the day before yesterday. Maester Vyman assures me that the bird came from King's Landing. It bore this."

She pushed a letter from her side of the table to Robb's, and he looked down at it. Its wax seal was broken, but the shape was still plain to see: simply the crowned stag of Baratheon, standing on its hind legs high and proud, without any rampant lion opposing it.

Robb spent a moment staring at the seal, then he pounded both fists on the table. "Yes!"

Catelyn was unsmiling.

"Why are you grim?" her son demanded of her. His eyes were bright with excitement. "This is excellent news. We may yet make peace with Lord Renly, by the offer he gave you. The true enemy is the Lannisters. Of them, Joffrey and the queen are likely dead, or will be soon enough. Ser Kevan and the Imp too. Only Lord Tywin remains in the field. These are the best tidings I've heard from afar at any time in this whole godsdamned war."

Catelyn said, "Look within."

He did. She watched him open the letter she had read half a hundred times. She knew its words almost by heart. She watched him as he read: the initial haughty proclamation; the description of the battle; the disappearance of Joffrey and the Imp, likely to Dragonstone, with a mere remnant of Lannister strength, soon to be crushed; the impending execution of Queen Cersei (she saw Robb's smile widen at that); and…

Robb swore loudly.

"Yes," said Catelyn. Her voice trembled. It was hard to say the name. All she could say was, "I have only two children now."

"Could he be lying?" Robb looked up from the letter, up at her. "Not that Arya's alive. I'm not a fool. He wouldn't say Sansa was his only hostage from our family if he had Arya too; there'd be no sense in that. But mayhaps it wasn't the Lannisters who killed her. He says they never had Arya in the first place… but what if she didn't die when they took the city and imprisoned Father? What if she died in the Battle of King's Landing, in the chaos when Lord Renly took the city?"

"Possibly," Catelyn conceded, "but I think not. If that were so, this letter would be too easily shown to be a lie. There's no reason the queen would have kept the girls utterly isolated from one another, if she truly had them both. They would have seen each other in Lannister custody at least once, and as soon as we spoke to Sansa we would know that Lord Renly was lying, and, hence, that his men slew your sister. If he truly were to blame, it would be more sensible for him to use a different lie, half true: that she was indeed slain in the battle, but by House Lannister's men, not his. The westermen would be dead and his men wouldn't tell, so we would never know, one way or the other. The truth would go with him to the grave. This lie, if it be a lie, is too easily exposed for good use. And also, I spoke… ere your return I spoke with Ser Cleos Frey, who told me that he saw Sansa at court but had no word of… he had no word of… he had not seen…" She could not say it. "Truth be told, I suspected it even then, but I hoped… foolishly I dared to hope… well, I was wrong. So no, kinslayer though Lord Renly is, I do not think he lies in this."

"Damn it." Robb was shaking. "Gods damn it. And gods damn the queen, too, may the Others take her soul once Renly takes her head. She was lying to us all along. When she proclaimed her terms from the Iron Throne, the terms you told me of by raven, she meant all along to pay us with false coin. She caused my sister's death, then sought to buy back her wicked brother with a hostage she never even had."

"Are you surprised?" Catelyn asked her son. "Her name is Cersei Lannister. She murdered my Ned and likely her own husband too, and lay with her own brother. Of other Lannisters, perhaps, there may be some in that House who may keep their word, who could give terms and be trustworthy to hold to them… but I'd sooner trust a pit viper than a woman such as her."

"I shouldn't have been," said Robb, "but I was. Well, the bite of a headsman's sword will end the matter soon enough. Good riddance."

"Good riddance indeed," Catelyn said, thinking of the daughter she would never see again. I should never have let you go to King's Landing. My little girl… Arya, forgive me.

"Still, surely you don't believe that nonsense about her and the Kingslayer? It's transparently self-serving. Lord Stannis has no proof, and never made mention of it while King Robert lived. It's naught but a figleaf over his naked ambition for the crown."

"If it were only for power, why did the queen poison Lord Arryn when she did, and not a decade earlier to get her lord father in the position? And why kill Ned, instead of sending him to take the black or even letting him go back home, in return for you ceasing to go to war against them? That choice made them have to fight against you and Lord Renly at once, a war they would surely have been better-served to avoid. And why try to kill Bran, twice? What could that deed possibly gain them? You may recall, your father and the king were hunting on the day Bran fell from the broken tower, but the queen and the Kingslayer stayed in Winterfell. He's a good climber, he never fell before—until he saw something he shouldn't have seen. Why commit all of those enormities, if not that all three discovered a truth the queen could not allow to escape?"

"Good gods." Robb looked ill. "Good gods. You think the Kingslayer pushed Bran because he'd seen him fucking the queen?"

"I'd stake my life on it," she said.

Robb's hand closed tight, too tight. She saw her son's nails digging into his skin. "They'll pay for that. I swear it."

"The Lannisters cannot be our first concern," Catelyn warned. "They are nearly defeated. Lord Tywin commands the only host of theirs that remains, and Lord Renly will undoubtedly destroy him. Our first concern must be the ironmen, who are by no means defeated. As long as the traitor who murdered both your brothers sits in Winterfell and you leave him unmolested, you are no king, not even a lord. Theon Greyjoy needs killing."

"Not yet. The Greyjoys have too much strength at Moat Cailin," said Robb. "I need an army to displace them. Only three and a half thousand men rode into Riverrun behind me—men ahorse, I grant you, but that does not suffice. To win back the Moat, I need the men your brother is leading in the wrong direction."

Catelyn winced.

"What was he thinking?" Robb demanded. "Was he thinking at all? This business of riding out against Lord Tywin… What in the name of the gods old and new possessed him?"

"He had many reasons, not all of them wise," Catelyn said wearily. "I counselled him against it, but he made his mind despite my counsel, and I had not the power to gainsay him. Principally, I believe, he thought you should have come east, and meant to force your hand. He thinks it was folly to stay in the west once it became clear that Lord Tywin would not go."

"There was folly, yes," said her kingly son, "but not mine. Does he think it mere coincidence that Lord Tywin remained in his position? If I hadn't remained in the west, Lord Tywin would have rushed south at once and prevented the fall of King's Landing."

"Why?"

"If Lord Tywin were to reinforce the capital, thus leaving the siege that he has laid against Robett Glover's men, that would free them to join with your brother's host," Robb said briskly. "If Lord Tywin were then to lose the Battle of King's Landing, well, that would be the end for him. And even if he were to win, grinding down the near limitless numbers of Lord Renly's southerners against the high city walls, this combined host of Glover's northmen and the men of the Trident would be more than strong enough to hold the Red Fork and keep Lord Tywin out of the westerlands, while I would remain ravaging his lands. He couldn't defeat such a host unless he gained a great deal more men, some grand new host of allies from the south. And where could he possibly get them? Nowhere. Dorne is too far away, the ironmen have no great strength to spare from their campaign against the north, and the power of Highgarden and Storm's End belongs to Lord Renly. That strategy might win him Joffrey's throne, but it wouldn't protect the westerlands. And the westerlords are no fools; they knew that. Lord Tywin has two purposes that matter to him near equally: keeping his grandson on the Iron Throne and protecting the westerlands. But to his bannermen the second purpose matters more, by far, than the first. They need to protect their lands. They care much less about achieving a dynastic victory for their liege."

"So you say Lord Tywin couldn't march to defend the capital," Catelyn said, pondering it, "else the westerlords would turn against him."

"Yes. To keep the westerlords loyal to him, Lord Tywin had to pursue some stratagem to remove my host from the westerlands: either march against me and thus play into my hands, or attempt to lure me out by raiding the riverlands. So that is what he did. He could send parts of his strength to the capital in drips and drabs—first his brother Ser Kevan, then Leo Lefford the Lord of the Golden Tooth—but not enough of it to stop the triumph of the southerners. He had to keep the greater part of his host in a position where they were not abandoning the west. Not all went exactly as I pleased, but my plan worked well enough. I would have preferred him to march west. I had a trap planned for him there, a place where the ground was greatly in our favour, where I could lure him to his doom. But for him to stay in the riverlands, out of King's Landing, was an acceptable second choice. If I left the westerlands, the Lannisters would have won the Battle of King's Landing. Doing as I did kept the main strength of House Lannister hundreds of miles from the place it desperately needed to be."

"It worked," said Catelyn. "House Lannister has fallen."

"It would have worked," Robb corrected, in a voice thick with frustration, "if not for your brother. The Lannisters have suffered a devastating blow, yes. That part of it went according to plan. But I hoped that after the southerners took King's Landing I'd be able to let them fight Lord Tywin, crushing him and weakening them, while I went to throw the ironmen from the Moat. Then the north and south would be able to forge an accord against the iron islands over the ashes of the west. That can't be done now. He has committed himself to fighting the westermen, and thus myself too, for I can't afford to let his army be lost; and if I am to acquire Glover's men or his to fight the Greyjoys, I must defeat the westermen first. My uncle's folly has turned the plan backwards. It's us who will be weakened against the Lannisters now, not King Renly's host of southerners."

Catelyn closed her eyes. Oh Brother, you should have trusted your king. It sounded like a good plan. It sounded like it would have worked. It nearly had done.

"And you cannot use the southerners to fight the ironmen," she said, "because of the conditions of the peace."

"Yes. If we treat with the king on the Iron Throne now, as a battered beaten people who claim two of the Seven Kingdoms but have enemy hosts—westermen and ironmen—occupying large parts of both of them, as feeble petitioners begging for his help to save us…" Robb trailed off. "With the Vale we would not be. The Vale, the Trident and the north together could stand against anyone in Westeros, even Renly. I've sent raven after raven to your sister. Tell me, Mother, surely one of them has found her?"

His voice was plaintive. He wanted reassurance. Instead she gave him truth. "I expect they have. Lysa never had much courage, Robb. Even when we were girls, if ever she made our lord father upset she would run away and hide, as though he'd forget to be angry with her. She's doing the same thing now. She won't lift a finger to help anyone; she's ignoring the war and hoping it will go away."

Robb absorbed that with a scowl. "From her inaction I expected little, but I hoped… Well, it matters naught. Without the Vale, if we seek terms from King Renly now, we will be at his mercy. Unbearably high taxes to fund the rebuilding of the rest of the realm and pay off the crown's debts, greater royal interference in northern affairs, hostages to ensure our obedience, mayhaps even his choice of lords for northern castles to replace lines ended by the war, filling the north with his own cronies… he'll have whichever terms he chooses. We and the Lannisters have lost too many men. Even if somehow the Lannisters fought on our side, it would still be madness to fight King Renly's armies on an open field. Might be his offer will be generous, but I doubt it. I don't think highly of a kinslayer. In that case, if his terms are harsh, my lords bannermen will despise them and despise me for agreeing to them when I have to, and resentment and fermenting revolt will cripple House Stark for generations. That can't be allowed. But if we treat with him later, after throwing the ironmen out of the north, as a powerful sovereign people who can choose to defy him from behind the Moat, forcing the southerners to throw themselves in vain against the barrier that's stopped every invader for thousands of years, then King Renly will have to treat us with respect corresponding to our strength. So in that case, if Renly offers terms that are fair and reasonable, and can be accepted, I'll bend the knee, and if he offers terms that cannot be accepted… if his proposed terms are ruinous to the north, I'll have the option to recognise that. My name will be cursed in the north for generations if I treat with him as the 'King Who Lost the North'." He said it with disgust. "I must treat with him instead as the King in the North, victorious."

"You say much of the north," said Catelyn cautiously. "What of the Trident?" What of my lord father's people?

Robb sighed. "If my uncle had stayed in Riverrun, we'd crush the ironmen and the southerners would defeat the westermen. The southerners would lose men in the process and they'd have a weaker hand to play against us, and there would be good terms for both the north and the lands of the Trident֫—mayhaps full independence and not bending the knee at all, if the southerners were weakened enough. But now? I have to march many miles eastward to the Trident to defeat the westermen first, then embark on another long march northward, then retake the Moat. By the time I've done all that, most of the lands of the Trident will have been overrun by King Renly's hosts, and my hosts will have suffered attrition while his power is undiminished. Under those circumstances I can't help the riverlords; they'll have no choice but to submit to him. They'll bend the knee soon, no matter what I do. If my uncle accepts that, he'll survive; if he doesn't, the Baratheons will destroy him. I can't stop that. All I can do is do the best I can for the north."

Catelyn thought on what her son had said, and on what he had left unsaid. "So all of us are leaving Riverrun."

"Yes," said Robb. "I'm sorry, Mother, I know you have a love for this place and you were born here, but we cannot stay. This castle will belong to Renly in half a year or less. You, and I, and Jeyne, and all the men and women of the north will be leaving the riverlands. The war is drawing to a close; its deciding blow was struck four days ago. The Lannisters must be beaten, then the Greyjoys, and then… and then we're going to Winterfell, Mother. We're going home."