Of White Trees and Blue Roses
I own nothing. This all belongs to GRRM, and I'm just playing with the story he gave us.
~X~
Chapter Nineteen – A Year in Westeros, Part 1 – The Riverlands
Catelyn allowed herself to be helped up into the saddle, and as she took the reins she looked around frantically.
"Where's Lysa?"
"She's going in the wagon, m'lady. Your father says she weren't feeling up to the ride," the stable hand replied, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, before rubbing it on his pants.
Poor Lysa, Catelyn thought. She'd missed nearly the entire tourney, and Cat was beginning to feel very concerned for her sister's health. She'd tried to visit numerous times but her father wouldn't allow it. He said that it might be contagious, and that we couldn't have the Starks thinking they were joining with a sickly house.
Lysa not being there felt very alien, and it was hard to swallow the fact that it would be something Cat would have to become accustomed to once she was married and living in Winterfell.
Winterfell...what was it like? Cat dreamed up a picture of a courtyard filled with snow, a tree in the centre with icicles hanging from its branches, and beneath it stood her husband to be. Ser Brandon Stark was wearing a pristine white surcoat, revealing an ornate patterned grey shirt underneath. Dream Cat made footprints in the untouched snow as she walked toward her dream knight, her Tully blue and red velvet cloak making the reds in her hair burn even brighter.
Once she drew close enough for him to take her hand, she looked up and her betrothed give her one of those knowing smiles that were so perfectly him. His eyes...there was something about the way they creased when they pointed in your direction—half as if he found you amusing, half as if he really was a wolf and wanted to eat you.
The sudden movement of her horse as those around her took the first step on their journey home was the only thing that stopped Cat melting, falling to the floor in a puddle of warm, sticky goo. Still, the daydream didn't quite disappear from her mind.
My betrothed, Cat reminded herself, and wished so hard that she'd had the chance to wave goodbye as the Starks passed under this same gate. Just for her own piece of mind, she wanted to see that he wasn't badly hurt from his joust against the prince. Though he had seemed healthy enough towards the end of the tourney...
Brandon, his lord father, and his youngest siblings had been one of the first to leave Harrenhal, and probably not just because the road north was a long one.
Catelyn had been there when they'd accused little Benjen Stark of being the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Even her sister-in-law to be, Lyanna, had been bandied about as a possible suspect, but defended herself well. But then there was the matter of her flowery crown...
Lyanna Stark had turned puce as Prince Rhaegar handed her the circlet of blue roses. It was quite the scandal of the tourney—possibly the only thing to eclipse the mystery of the unknown jouster.
Cat had thought long and hard about it, given that her future family were so involved. That the female half of the crowd wished they were the northern girl during that moment went without saying, and half of the aspersions that had been cast had been done out of jealousy. But Cat had imagined herself as Princess Elia, and wondered how she would have felt had it been Brandon presenting another girl with that same crown.
It was an ugly business, and the Starks had rightly kept a low profile after that. Well, as low profile as they could.
"Wild," her father had called them. "It's a good thing I need to have at least one daughter wed, otherwise I might reconsider after this. Only ones that have any kind of sense in them are the father and that middle son—Ed, Ned, whatever you call him."
Eddard, Cat recalled. His name is Eddard. Though she couldn't quite remember his face, only that he was the ward of Lord Arryn of the Vale, and close friends with Lord Robert Baratheon—who despite being young had done so very well in the seven-sided melee.
Lysa would have loved to have watched the melee, those strong men fighting pitting themselves against one another in the name of honour and glory, Cat mused.
Her own father hadn't been himself lately; Cat strongly suspected it was out of concern for Lysa, too, and she couldn't blame him for that. Things weren't the same without her younger sister.
Harrenhal had been a spectacle, and she missed being able to sneak into her sister's room to talk about the events of the day in great detail. Who had embarrassed themselves today? Who wore the most beautiful gown? Who was the most dashing knight?
Cat began to feel lonely. Was this what the future would hold for her?
By the time she arrived at Winterfell, Lyanna Stark might already be married and settled at Storm's End. Who would she turn to for female companionship? No matter how handsome their husband, a woman needed a friend to gossip with and confide in.
For a moment Cat felt conflicted. Part of her wanted to be a married lady as soon as possible, while part of her already pined for home, Riverrun.
Once they'd returned to the familiar castle of her birth, it didn't take Cat long to realise that even there, things had changed.
Lysa finally emerged from her sickroom, though the colour still hadn't returned to her cheeks. She was not the girl she'd once been, full of life and excitement. Instead, she listened quietly to Cat's hopes, dreams, and fears, but offered very little in the way of opinions or stories of her own. It was as if she'd become an empty shell.
With Littlefinger sent away after his failed duel with Brandon Stark, and Edmure, Cat's younger brother, too young to do anything but play silly, childish games, Riverrun seemed too quiet. Still furious with her childhood companion for his foolish behaviour, and for leaving her so alone, Cat burned the one and only letter that Littlefinger wrote her.
Then came the snows. Everyone had been so certain that winter had been and gone that the blanket of white that covered the new leaves and grass seemed to subdue lord, knight, and servant alike. Hardly a smile was to be seen.
Winterfell had suffered the snows worse, and Lord Stark had written to say that the planned date for the joining of their houses would have to be postponed. Brandon had been snowed in at the house of Lord Ryswell of The Rills whilst taking their crannogman on a tour of the sights of the North.
But eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, a raven finally arrived telling her father that the wedding party was readying themselves to leave, and to expect them before the next new moon.
Cat felt so excited yet apprehensive, it was entirely possible that she might just explode.
~X~
Another three parts of A Year in Westeros to come, each a different location/POV(s), or at least, that's the plan.