Another dragon, another wolf, another stag Chapter 7, an a song of ice and fire fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Another dragon, another wolf, another stag

Chapter 7: Catelyn

"Talking"

"Thinking"

(Location: Riverrun)

The feast in the evening was no less spectacular then the one her family had walked into. Only this time they were there from the start. They had followed in after the royal family, House Martell, and her father's house. The other houses followed them in and the feast then began.

Catelyn sat at the high table, sitting next all of her children. She cast a look at her eldest daughter. Even though she acted like nothing happened, Catelyn could still see the tears on Sansa's face as she came back to her room with two other girls. She was given the story quickly and was angry. The elder of the two girls had offered to take a message to the Tyrells demanding an apology for the insult and she had accepted. It was to her horror that she learned the girl had been the bastard of Robert Baratheon himself.

She had not known the man personally, only meeting him once at Harrenhal during its tourney. He had been a man who seemed to enjoy life and its pleasures, with muscles that made maidens watch him intently when he moved, along with his black hair, clean shaven face, and blue eyes. She knew that Ned was his closest friend but that was the extent of it. Her lord husband did not like to talk about him or the Rebellion. She granted him that but it left her unaware of Robert's bastard daughter.

Her cousin, Lady Shireen Baratheon, had told her a little about her. What was truly shocking to Catelyn was that the bastard of the Usurper was the personal handmaiden to Princess Rhaenys. Why would the king do such a thing? It would've been best to leave her where she had been, out of sight and out of mind. But now, her father's shadow hung over her wherever she went.

But what truly made her nervous was how in the short time that they seemed to be together, Sansa had been close to the bastard. Catelyn had been glad when she had left but the nervousness didn't disappear. It stayed when she saw the slightly saddened look on her daughter's face as the door to her rooms had closed.

She did not know what to do. Should she let this potential friendship bloom? "It would be Ned and Robert come again," a part of her whispered in her mind. That much was true and she was certain that Ned knew of her, so he would not be too surprised. But then there was the fact that she was a bastard. That fact alone should exempt her from being a friend of Sansa. There were ladies of better pedigree to fill that role.

The thoughts of Robert's bastard made her turned to look down the rest of the high table to see if she was there. She could not see her and so turned her attention to the tables below. She found the Baratheon table but did not find her there. She did find her cousin sitting there. Shireen had been a bright child curious about Winterfell, having read about it. Catelyn was only too glad to tell her about it.

Her eyes also found Shireen's father. Stannis was a stern man, one could tell just by looking at his expression. Catelyn did not think he had rarely smiled before the rebellion and did not afterwards. His younger brother was different and she had heard people say that Renly looked like Robert when he was still alive. Whereas his brother did not laugh, Renly did. He did so gaily and loudly with the lords of the Stormlands, although his gaze kept slipping over to the Tyrell table.

She followed his gaze and found Margaery Tyrell sitting beside her brother. "Is he in love with her?" she asked herself. She hoped that wasn't it. Margaery was to marry the crown prince. If Renly tried to claim her, there could be another rebellion. If there was one, the Riverlands would be devastated from attacks on both sides. The North would most likely stay out of it but her homeland would suffer.

She tore herself away from such thoughts and continued to look for Robert's bastard. Still, she could not find her. Her gaze paused as she looked at the Martell table, close to the high table. Arianne Martell was there representing her father along with her brother Quentyn. They sat as far apart, which seemed odd since they were sitting next to one another. But she kept looking up at the high table, for what Catelyn didn't know.

Their uncle was there too, with his lover and his bastard children, all eight of them. Even in the North, they had heard some tales of the Sand Snakes. She had thought them to be just that, tales. But they were not and she found that the elder Snakes were condescending and rude to all whom they did not like. What made it worse was that their father did nothing to curb them.

But they were not the reason she had looked upon them. She did not see one bastard in particular. "Where is she?" she asked herself.

She kept looking around for Jocelyn Sand and found her on the other side of the high table, right beside the princess. Catelyn froze for a second, just staring at the two of them talking with one another like she and Lysa had once talked. She had thought she made herself clear to Jocelyn to not embarrass her father's house anymore and yet, she was talking to Princess Rhaenys and sitting at the high table like she belong there.

"Is something amiss, Lady Stark?" the dowager queen asked her. They were sitting beside one another. One might've said that they were the dividing line between the royal family and her own.

"Nothing, your Grace," she replied politely. "I am just surprised to find Jocelyn up here at the high table." She hadn't been there when they sat down.

"That is not surprising. She and Rhaenys had been the closet of friends when they were children."

"I…see." That was all she could say as she stared at Jocelyn and saw Ashara Dayne. She had thought that one bastard in Winterfell was enough to deal with. But riders carrying the banners of Starfall approached the castle, bringing Jocelyn to them. Ned had met them in the courtyard, looked at her once, and brought her into the Great Hall so that she could have something warm to eat. That was where she and her children had met her.

Catelyn had known about her husband and Ashara meeting in Harrenhal but had thought nothing of it. She had been betrothed to his brother, Brandon, then and did not give him much thought. The next time they had met was when she had sailed to White Harbor. They had married and consummated the marriage before he sailed away for Dorne. He came back to her half a year later with a bastard while she carried his child.

She always had her suspicions about Jon Snow, about where he came from and who his mother was. They had all but been confirmed when Jocelyn Sand had come to Winterfell. She had not said anything to her husband, figuring that she knew enough of the answers. In silence she watched Jocelyn grow from girl to woman. She was every bit the perfect southern lady, if not for her temper and attitude, treating herself as if she was above her own station. That would be the Dornish in her.

Thinking about one bastard made her think on the other, which in turn made her search for him. "Who are you looking for, Lady Stark?" the dowager queen asked her.

"My husband's other bastard," she replied, still looking throughout the hall. But she could not see him. She hoped that he would stay away from the feast. He might've come to Riverrun but that did not mean she would tolerate his presence any less. She did not find him easily. It took her a good couple of minutes to find him sitting with the squares at their tables.

It seemed that Queen Rhaella saw him too. "Why does he sit amongst them? Is he a squire?" she asked her.

"Perhaps he could not find a better table to sit at," she replied shortly. It was not like there would be a table for bastards alone at a feast, let alone a royal one.

"At least, he seems to be enjoying the feast. I cannot say the same for your husband's ward," she remarked before taking a sip from her goblet.

Catelyn turned her eyes to Theon and where he sat. Since it was revealed that his sister was here and would be attending the feast, she had told him to sit with her as was his place. While Jon Snow looked to be enjoying the feast, Theon looked miserable. He sat beside his sister but she was more interested in talking to her crew then her own blood.

Personally, Catelyn did not think highly of Asha Greyjoy. She found her loud, rude, and unable to act like a lady. A heartbeat later and she realized that she had once said the same thing about Osha and now, she would trust the wilding woman with the lives of her children. But excuses could be made for Osha. She was a wilding from beyond the Wall. She did not know how women were to act. Asha did and she did not. She dressed in men's clothing and behaved so.

But what was the worst was that she was ignoring her own blood. She talked to her own men then Theon. Whenever he tried to speak, the rest of the ironmen did not reply. He was an outcast amidst his own people. It was not right. "These are ironmen," she reminded herself. "They are pirates at best and savages fouler than the wildings at worse."

A loud roar of laughter came from the ironmen's table. When she looked again, it seemed to be directed at the Tyrell table and silence reigned in the hall for a moment. Lord Mace's youngest son stood up with anger in his eyes. If he had a sword at his side, he might've drawn it then and there. But then his eldest brother reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. "Loras, sit down," he said quietly, yet his voice could be heard throughout.

"Brother, you heard them," Loras replied, anger coursing through his voice.

"I did. Sit down."

"I cannot. Not after the insult they've given us." He tried to move around the table.

But his brother's grip kept him. "What will you do, Loras? We are in the middle of a feast where there are no weapons. Do you intend to strike Lady Greyjoy with your hands? Sit down. The insult was done to me, not to our house."

"You would dare to let this go, Willas?" he demanded, his anger still hot. "I will not let this pass. I cannot, not for—"

"Loras, you will sit down and be silent or I will send you back to Highgarden this very night." He did not raise his voice anymore then he already had and yet, all eyes widened at his threat. Catelyn was certain she had heard more than a few ladies gasp. This was not surprising. The Knight of Flowers was a favorite in the tourney events. To have him dismissed before the tourney actually began would be madness. The only time she had seen it done was when the Mad King ordered Ser Jaime Lannister to King's Landing from Harrenhal.

Ser Loras looked at his eldest brother with shock and outrage, but he eventually sat down. As he did, Willas stood. He leaned on his cane as he stood and faced the ironmen. "My lady," he said politely to Asha Greyjoy, "I cannot honestly tell you if there are limp flowers in the Reach. All I have seen have stood tall. I also must thank you."

"For what?" she asked him, arrogance bleeding out from her voice and her posture.

"You've managed to answer a question of mine I have long pondered. You see, I have wondered if bitches could adapt to the sea."

The hall was still silent as he sat back down. Then Queen Rhaella's sworn shield threw his head back and laughed loudly. It was a loud bark of a laugh that echoed in her father's hall and was soon picked up by the rest of the hall. Everyone laughed at the ironmen, even her own children. While she did not laugh, there was a slight smile on her lips at the insult the Tyrell heir delivered.

Out of all those who had laughed, the Dornish had laughed the hardest. And out of all the Dornish, the Red Viper and his daughters had laughed the hardest. The ironmen looked enraged as they stared at the entire hall. But Theon was watching the Dornish group. When the laughter finally died once more, he spoke out. "I do not see what is so humorous. We ironborn have always known that dogs and bitches can adapt to the seas. What I find to be humorous is that snakes that tried to be fearsome and threatening can't hold their stomachs once they're on a ship. They seemed content to be either emptying their stomachs over the side or resting in their bunks, acting like they are going to die." He looked at the eldest of the Sand Snakes. "Wouldn't you agree, Lady Bilge Rat?"

This time, it was Viserys who laughed the loudest. He threw his head back and howled his laughter to the ceiling. The rest of the hall laughed again, this time with the laughter directed at the Dornish and at the Red Viper's eldest. Even the ironmen laughed but they still ignored Theon, whose hopeful smile died quickly away.

"Ned taught you better than that, Theon," Catelyn thought to herself. "One does not endear themselves to others by making sport of people."

"What gives my son cause to laugh?" the dowager queen asked aloud. "Until now, he has never met Obara."

Catelyn found herself obligated to answer. "He might've when he and Theon had gone out to sea."

She turned her head to look at her, surprise clear on her face. "What did you say, Lady Stark?"

"Theon had been telling the prince about the sea and what little sailing he had done. It was enough for Prince Viserys to ride out to White Harbor with him and get aboard a ship. By the time Lord Manderly had sent us a raven, they were on a ship set for Dorne. When they returned to Winterfell six months later, they did not speak of what happened during their adventures. But we have been informed that they did not have positions on the ship as befitting their rank."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I have been told that they pretended to be common boys who wished to be on the ship and were treated as such. But I think they had preferred it like that. Prince Viserys seemed to be enchanted by the sea because of his trip. He will most likely try to set sail when he comes of age."

"And have you and your husband made plans for that?" Queen Rhaella asked her as the laughter finally died down. The Martells, or at least most of them, looked outraged in their seats.

Edmure stood up from his chair. "My lords and ladies, I feel that we have had much laughter and not enough music. We should correct this." A hearty cheer came from the tables, showing the approval of the idea.

"My lord uncle," Robb said, "allow me to begin correcting this oversight with a good Northern song."

"Oh no," Catelyn thought. She had a feeling about what song he would want to play. She wasn't the only one. Sansa already looked partially horrified and Arya was leaning forward eagerly.

"Of course, Robb," her brother said grandly. "Tell our bards what the song is, I am sure they can play it."

"Thank you, uncle. But I believe that we will be able to play the song better than the bards." He looked down at the Northern tables. "Dom?" he called out the Bolton heir.

Young Domeric simply sighed with a resignation. "Very well," he conceded. He stood up from the bench and the rest of the Pack (excluding Prince Viserys and Theon) stood with him. They all walked over to the bards with Robb joining them. Everyone who did not know them watched in fasciation as they took the instruments they required and began checking them. They were even more surprised when Torrhen and Morgan brought out the bagpipes. She had been too, the first time she had heard it. The south never did consider it a proper instrument.

A minute of checking their instruments passed before they started the beat. It began as a simple drum beat but soon swell into something more. When the bagpipes joined in, it truly blossomed into a song. Everyone watched as the Pack played and then begin to sing.

Axes flash, broadsword swing,
Shining armour's piercing ring
Horses run with polished shield,
Fight Those Bastards till They Yield
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

Follow orders as you're told,
Make Their Yellow Blood Run Cold
Fight until you die or drop,
A Force Like Ours is Hard to Stop
Close your mind to stress and pain,
Fight till You're No Longer Sane
Let not one damn cur pass by,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

Guard your women and children well,
Send These Bastards Back to Hell
We'll teach them the ways of war,
They Won't Come Here Any More
Use your shield and use your head,
Fight till Every One is Dead
Raise the flag up to the sky,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

Dawn has broke, the time has come,
Move Your Feet to a Marching Drum
We'll win the war and pay the toll,
We'll Fight as One in Heart and Soul
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

The song ended with one last resounding beat of the drum. When it was done, the northern lords, who had been pounding away on their tables as the song began, burst into loud applause. There were roars and cheers of approval too. Even Prince Viserys and her children joined in (Sansa more quietly and courteously then the rest). The rest of the hall just stared at them.

Catelyn could not blame them for their reactions. The first time she had that song and its like, she had been stunned and horrified. It had been no song sung by a bard about knights of honor, gentle maidens, or no great tale. It had been a song that was basic and honest, of what they would do to their enemies in battle.

She had been horrified at first and wished to never hear it again. But she did and as the years passed, she found that she actually like the Northern songs. They were no great song of the south but there was a feeling to them that made her want to listen and clap along. Only her dignity of her being the lord's sister stopped her from doing so when the Pack played.

"Um, thank you, Robb," Edmure said to her son. He was unsure of what to say or how to say it. But he continued on. "That was quite the song that we have all heard. I believe that I can speak for the entirety of the south when I say that is a new song to our ears."

"Then it's time you lot some good songs for once!" yelled out Smalljon Umber. The men of the North roared in approval of his words.

Possibly to the surprise of everyone, Prince Viserys stood up and spoke. "While I heartily agree with you, Jon, I am quite certain that 'the Bear and the Maiden Fair' came from the south! Besides, your blowing on that horn can't really be called music! More like the braying of a dying mule!" Again, the men of the North laughed, Smalljon and his father loudest among them.

But as the laughter died away, the Pack was convinced to put aside the instruments and let the bards and singers take their proper place again. The music started again and it was songs that were well known in the south and the North too. Lords and ladies began to stand up from their chairs, eager to dance.

Prince Viserys was one of the people who stood. The Martells looked eager when he did but it turned to surprise when he walked to Sansa and held out his hand. "My lady, would you honor me with this dance?" he asked her.

Sansa blushed prettily but accepted. She took his hand and stood up from the table. Prince Aegon looked around the hall, obviously looking for something or someone. Catelyn thought that he did not find it when he finally stood and offered his betrothed the same offer his uncle had offer her daughter. He had said the same words with a charm that came easily, but Catelyn thought that there was something in his eyes. It was something hollow, as if he was saying those words because it was expected of him and nothing else.

As Catelyn watched the lords and ladies stand for the dance, she saw that they were the older ones, men and women who were married to one another or could be close friends. The younger men were all moving around and asking the young ladies if they wished to dance but they were all politely refused. They were all looking around the room for something, she didn't know what.

"What are they waiting for?" she asked herself. They have a room of young men wanting their hands in this dance. If she had been their age, she would not refuse the offers. It was puzzling as to why they were doing this.

But then Jon Snow stood from his seat and all their eyes found him. And when their eyes found him, so did the rest of the hall. Catelyn frowned when she saw this happen. "What has he done to earn this?" she asked silently. She watched him as he looked around the hall, seeing all the eyes on him. Would he gloat and relish on the attention? Bastards rarely did.

He surprised her, though. He hunched his shoulders, lowered his head, and began to leave the hall at a quick pace. He did not meet any eyes as he walked. She approved of that. He knew his place. "Where are you going, Jon Snow?" Princess Rhaenys asked him, standing up from her seat.

He stopped when she spoke. He turned slowly to look at her but kept his gaze to the floor. "I…I was going to practice my swordplay, your Highness," he said quietly.

Catelyn heard some of the lords and ladies snigger and chuckle at his words. She did nothing about it but she did feel a slight surge of anger at their hidden implications. Jon Snow was not what they thought. He was honest, so much that he reminded her of Ned.

The princess walked from her chair and down through the middle of the hall. The way she walked seemed brazen to Catelyn but no others felt the same way. All the men watched as she sauntered down to the bastard. "There will be time for practicing your skills with the blade later," she told him as she came to a stop before him. "For now, come and dance with me." She held her hand her to him.

He looked at the hand and then at her again. "Your Highness, there are men of better birth that should dance with you," he said to her.

"Are you telling me what to do, Jon Snow?" she asked, cracking her voice like a whip.

"No, your Highness," he replied, looking away from her.

"Good. Now I will tell you want I want you to do: I want you to dance with me." She still held out the hand to him.

He looked at it again and started to step back. Catelyn though that he would refuse, that he would turn away from the princess and walk out of the hall like he had meant to do. But then one of the squares he had been sitting with reached out with his hand and stopped Jon Snow. That same hand gave him a firm push to the princess. He stumbled stepping forward and almost fell to the floor, making the squires laugh at him.

But he regained his balance and stood before the princess. They were completely contrasted to one another, it showed in how they stood and faced each other. She had the olive skin of Dorne whilst he had the pale skin of the North. She looked like a true Martell, despite being a dragon's daughter, and he looked like a Stark, despite being born on the wrong side of the sheets.

It was only after he took her hand and they began to dance, leading the hall, Catelyn stood up from her chair. "Is something the matter, Lady Catelyn?" Rhaella asked her.

"Nothing, I've just noticed that my youngest is becoming tired." It was a partial lie. She picked up Rickon and held him against her. He protested slightly and yet, placed his head against her shoulder almost instantly. She swept out of her father's hall, refusing to glance at the bastard dancing with the princess or notice the anger in the eyes of the young ladies there.

End

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

The son is called the March of Cambreadth and it is a hell of a song to listen. It is again played by Heather Alexander and I would suggest it to anyone who wants to hear a good Celtic song.

Going on that, I think it's a safe analogue to compare the First Men to the Celts and the Andals to the Romans and/or the Anglos. One got there first; the other got there second and proceeded to conquer the first, but was unable to do so fully. It's why I had the bagpipes be a Northern instrument.

I'll see you all next chapter!