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

Another dragon, another wolf, another stag

Chapter 20: Catelyn

"Talking"

"Thinking"

(Location: Riverrun)

Something had happened the previous night. Catelyn Stark did not know what it was but what she did know was whatever had happened, it was enough to sour relationships between the lords of the North and the Dornish lords. The previous day, she had the Pack be friendly with both men and women of Dorne, the latter being particularly paid attention to (although she was certain that untoward was happening). But now, it was like those good relations had never existed. Every time she had come across one of her husband's bannermen and one of the Dornish in the same area, the former would blatantly ignore the latter.

She went down a corridor, passing portraits of her ancestors. She had left Rickon and Bran in their lessons and now she was looking for her youngest daughter. She had heard about what Arya had been doing with that woman from the Stormlands. Quite frankly, Catelyn could not believe that it was kept from her. Now she was on her way to the grounds around the field to talk to this Brienne of Tarth.

But as she passed a door, she heard voices inside, of which one was Ashara Dayne. The other voices sounded like they belong to the young ladies here in Riverrun. She also thought she heard Princess Rhaenys. But it was the lady Dayne that made her stopped. "Come now, Lady Dayne," she heard Princess Arianne say, "Tell us what to do in regards to Jon Dualfang."

As soon as she heard the bastard's name, she both went still and got closer to the door. If they were speaking of the bastard, it could not be good. "Dualfang?" repeated Lady Dayne. "Where on earth did he get such a name?"

"My brother," Princess Rhaenys answered.

"That does sound like him."

"Come now, tell us already," said Tya Lannister. "What must we do to win him over?"

At first Catelyn did not understand what it was they were saying. But then she did. "They're playing the Women's game for Jon Snow." Now it wasn't that she had been ignorant of the game. It was just that since she had been betrothed to Brandon Stark she had no interest in playing it. That had been Lysa.

"Well, for one thing," Ashara began, "Abandon all you think about what you need to do charm a man. It will not work on a Stark."

She grew angry at those words. Jon Snow was a bastard, not a Stark. He was no child that came from her womb. "But he's not a Stark," one of the girls from the Reach protested. "He's a bastard."

She was glad to hear those words from a proper lady. But then Ashara spoke again. "He has the blood of the Starks running through him. It's enough to make him a Stark even if he's a bastard. You must remember that."

"So what must we do?" Princess Rhaenys asked.

"Do not be courteous, be honest. Do not be coy, be blunt. Do not seduce, be straight forward."

"So take the fun out of the entirety of this game?" one of the ladies asked. Catelyn could not be sure but the drawl the voice made sounded like it was from Dorne.

"If you think that, my lady, than I must think you haven't tried hard enough to win his approval." Lady Dayne's voice wasn't acidic as she spoke but it wasn't pleasant either. It was barbed. "And another thing: do not make fun of his honor, his house, and because of what he is, his bastardy."

"Why should he care about that?" that same drawling voice asked again, but this time more subdued.

"He is not of Dorne. Others will look at him and only see his name."

"As they should," thought Catelyn. Everyone knows that bastards were born on the wrong side of the sheets. They would always want they cannot have and that usually included their trueborn siblings' inheritance.

"Why are we even playing for him to begin with?" asked another lady, out of her sight. "His trueborn brother actually seems charming and able to hold a conversation. He's also the heir to Winterfell." There was a general murmur of agreement between the ladies.

But then Lady Ashara spoke again. "So you think that Robb Stark would be better for this game instead of Jon Snow?" she asked. She kept on talking. "You must be rather new to the Woman's game, my lady. It is not the charismatic Stark you want to play for, it is the quiet one. They might not have so much of the wolf's blood as others, but they have hidden depths to them."

"And how would you know that, my lady?"

"Experience and having won a game of my own, for Lord Stark," she answered with a confidence that did not belong to her.

Catelyn had heard enough. She reached out to the door and knocked obviously loud on it. "Princess Rhaenys?" she called out. "It is Lady Catelyn. I'm looking for my daughters. May I come in?"

There was a pause on the other side of the door. "Please enter, Lady Stark," the princess called back.

She opened the door and walked in, seeing many ladies sitting around Lady Dayne. "Forgive me," she apologized. "If I have interrupted something, I can leave."

"It's quite alright, Lady Stark," Ashara said to her, standing up from her seat and facing her. "Our talk is just about done."

"Your daughters aren't here," Princess Arianne told her shortly.

Her rudeness might've been upsetting if Catelyn didn't already know about the hostilities between her husband's lords and the Dornish Princess's. "I thank you, your Highness. I will look for them."

She was about to leave the room when Ashara spoke. "How is your husband, Lady Stark?" The attention in the room turned to them both. It was no secret what their relationship, or lack of, was like.

"He is well," she replied. "He rules with a firm and fair hand."

"And a profitable one as well," she replied. "Please give him my thanks and the thanks of Dorne for trading ice with us. It has provided many a cooled drink for us."

She did not say anything about it right away. When her husband had talked to Lord Manderly about trading ice to southern lands, she did not understand why he would do such a thing. The ice would melt and would not be of any use to anyone. But then the southern countries paid good gold for the ice and trade flowed through the North. That had been merely five years after Robb had been born. While she carried Bran in her womb, the Wolf Pond had been discovered, others were discovered, and the North could deal in precious gems as well.

"I will do that," she finally told Lady Dayne.

"I have heard, my lady, your firstborn son plans to enter the joust."

"That he has done. Robb has a talent for the lance. I am sure that he will progress far in the joust." She couldn't help but have a hint of pride in her voice as she spoke of her son. She might be worried that he was jousting, but she was still proud.

"Far enough to win it?" asked the Dornish woman, curiosity coloring her voice. "Would you know who he would crown his Queen of Love and Beauty if he won?"

She gave her a full look in the eyes. They were different, she knew that. But she knew who she was. "If he has someone in mind, he has not told me who it is."

"I see." A small mysterious smile played on her lips. "It's a shame that this tourney will not have the brawl, wouldn't you agree, my lady?"

She didn't say anything, not before of the ladies from the Westerlands, most likely a Lannister going by her hair and eyes, asked, "The brawl? What is that?"

"It's an old contest of the First Men, still held true in the North," she explained, her eyes never leaving Catelyn's. "The contestants would fight with their bodies, no weapons except their fists and feet."

"That sounds utterly barbaric," one lady from the Vale declared.

But she wasn't done. "Most of the men I watched fight the brawl chose to do it with no tunic or jerkin on." She left that thought hang in the air.

Catelyn could the image dawning on the faces of the ladies there. "This is hardly a subject to discuss, Lady Dayne."

She looked a little confused at those words. It was something that Catelyn knew was faked. "Why would you say that, my lady? After all, your lord husband won that brawl. I dare say that he was the perfect embodiment of the direwolf that day."

She remembered. She remembered her Ned standing victorious amongst the fallen, his chest sleek and shining with sweat. He was bruised and beaten, true. But they had seemed like well-earned. She hadn't thought of him much then but she could still see how the other ladies viewed him like they had just seen the Warrior walk amongst them. But her husband wasn't in their thoughts then. They were thinking of the bastard. "If you'll excuse me, my ladies, I will take my leave."

She left the room and the mother of her husband's bastards behind. But even when she was in the hallway, Lady Ashara wasn't far behind her. "Lady Catelyn, please wait," she called out to her.

Despite how much she wanted to keep walking, her courtesies had her stopping and turning back. "Yes?"

"Before we all leave Riverrun, I would like to have a chance to talk to you. In regards…in regards to Harrenhal," she explained.

"There is not to talk about in regards to Harrenhal, my lady," Catelyn replied. "What happened has happened."

"Yes, but I still owe you an explanation."

"…Very well," she conceded. If it was her just talking about how she danced with Ned, there was nothing to be concerned. "I will let you know if I have some time available."

The Dornishwoman smiled in relief. "Thank you." She went back the way she came and Catelyn continued down the hallway. She had to find Arya and her "teacher."

As the crowds began to settle at the sound of the trumpets, Catelyn knew that the joust was about to begin. She sat in the stands that were allocated for House Stark. Since they were married to House Tully, the two houses shared the stands. She sat next to Arya and Sansa but Brienne of Tarth to her left. She had found the woman instructing her daughter in how to properly hold a sword.

As soon as she had been seen, the training had stopped. She had sent Arya to find her brothers and she was left alone with Brienne. The conversation that had followed had not been one she had been expecting. The warrior maid was highborn, that much was obvious. But it did not occur to Catelyn was that she was the daughter of Selwyn Tarth himself. When she had admitted it, the girl (for it was a little hard to think of her as a woman, even if she towered over her) almost seemed embarrassed by it.

The joust started with five tilts apiece. She did not see many Northern heraldries amongst the heraldries that proclaimed who were jousting. The rest were of the south but surprisingly enough, the Targaryen dragon was not amongst them. It seemed that King Rhaegar or Prince Aegon would not joust. But what she could see was the direwolf amongst them. She had not wanted Robb to join the joust, thinking that he was too young. But he had wanted to try and earn his place.

There he was, at the farthest tilt away from them, facing against a knight of House Florent. His armor might've seen plain and drab to the others in the yard but she knew that it would protect him. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she watched Robb urge his horse into a charge, aiming his lance so that it would strike true. It did and the Florent knight crashed to the ground. The people either clapped politely or were focused on the other jousts.

As soon as he had reined in his horse, she watched Robb climb down from his horse and walked to his fallen opponent, holding out his hand to him. It earned him a louder round of clapping and nods of approval from the knights not participating. "Your son jousts well, my lady," Brienne told her respectfully, "And he acted with distinguished honor."

"Yes, that he has," she answered. She watched the Florent take the hand and Robb pulling him back to his feet. He might not have had the title of a proper knight, but she knew her son could act like one. "Truly, he is of the North. He is his father's son."

Even though she thought that with pride, her eyes could not help but search for Jon Snow, trying to find his heraldry amongst the others. He would most likely use the reverse of the Stark colors, a white direwolf on a field of grey, but she did not see it. A quick look around the crowds told her that he wasn't actually there. "Sansa, Arya, where are your half-brother and sister?"

Both of her daughters shared a quick look before looking back at her. "Jon's not here," Arya told her. "But Jocelyn is sitting with the princess." She pointed to the royal stand. Jocelyn Sand was sitting beside Princess Rhaenys with Mya Storm standing behind them both.

The sight of her husband's bastard daughter reminded her of her mother. But she banished those thoughts. Jocelyn was not there to curry favor with the royal family. She was just there to sit with her friend. Relations between the Iron Throne and the North had been tense. While she thought that mending those relations would be a good thing, she did not think that they needed to go further than favor needed to be curried.

Another roar of the crowd brought her attention back to the tiltyard. Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, had just knocked his opponent off his horse. The victorious lad raised his lance high and the crowd roared again. "He's so handsome," Sansa said with a sigh that almost wistful.

Arya gave her a look. "You're betrothed to Viserys," she reminded her sister with a nudge of her elbow. Catelyn's youngest had never called the prince by his proper title, only by his name. She saw him as another brother.

"I know that."

"Then shouldn't keep your eyes on him and only him? After all, that's what a proper lady should behave, am I wrong?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

"I said I know that!" Sansa snapped, trying to keep her voice from being high. Arya turned back to the joust and kept cheering for Robb.

"Arya," Catelyn said to her daughter. "Where is he?"

She looked back. "He didn't tell me. He just said that he wouldn't be watching the joust. I think that maybe he's with his friends."

She had noticed that the bastard had been amongst several people from different parts of the Seven Kingdoms. She had thought nothing of it but now she wonder what it was they did. Why would they miss the joust? It was always the highlight of any tourney. She looked at the shields that marked who was jousting. Even as some were being taking away, she saw no heraldry that belonged to any of the men Jon Snow had been talking with. But since she had only seen so few of them, she didn't know if there were more.

Still, as she took notice of the noble ladies trying to subtly look around the stands for him, perhaps it was best that he wasn't here. They were here for the tourney, not for Jon Snow. Yet even as she silently declared those words to be true, she thought she could hear Jocelyn Sand's mother laughing. But when she looked, Lady Ashara wasn't laughing.

The joust continued and Catelyn began to notice something. Whenever a Northman and a Dornishman came to meet each other, rare in that first day, the Northmen would try to strike down the Dornishmen with a viciousness that was as cold as it was brutal. The Dornishmen returned the favor. Between the two groups were more men carried off the field groaning and moaning pain. Catelyn noticed that the lady Brienne was frowning. "What has your attention?" she asked.

Arya's teacher looked surprised. Perhaps she didn't expect to be spoken to. "Forgive me, my lady," she said.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she replied. "Tell me, what has your attention."

"The Northerners and the Dornishmen, the way they joust against each other, it's brutal. It's too brutal for the tiltyard. It's almost as if…" She struggled to find the words that properly said what she meant.

But Catelyn knew what she was trying to say. "It's almost as if they are fighting a war and not just jousting."

"Yes, my lady. I do not understand. I had thought I saw the Northerners and Dornish get along well."

"I have witness the same thing myself."

She looked at her, bright blue eyes inquisitive. "Do you know what had changed?"

"I do not."

She turned her head back to the tiltyards. "Then I shall have to be careful when I go to the melee."

Catelyn was surprised by her words. "You plan to enter the melee?"

She nodded. "I do, my lady. I came here to test my sword arm against others. I wish to know how my skill would fare against others."

"But you are a lady. The melee is not a place for a lady."

"I can be barely called a lady. I am no great beauty and a lady's skills do not suit well. I sing horribly, my music teacher threw his hands in disgust at my attempts, what I sew could not be suited even for a rat, and all suitors that I've had would sooner laugh at me than wed me. In truth, armor and weapons feel more comfortable on me."

The way she talked about herself, self-deprecating and willing to bring herself lower, it did sit right with Catelyn. But she could see the truth in her words. "And if you were to go up against one of the Kingsguard?" she asked, knowing the majority of the Kingsguard would be fighting in the melee.

"I've already bested Ser Jaime, so I know I can hold my own against one," she replied. "And if I am to be truthful, Lady Catelyn, I would like to see how I fare against the others."

"You'll beat them!" Arya said confidently. "I know you will." She smiled brightly at her teacher.

Brienne smiled gladly back. "Thank you, Arya."

In that moment, Catelyn saw that her daughter and the maid of Tarth were similar. But still, she wanted to know why Arya was being trained to be a knight instead of a warrior. "Why are training Arya, Brienne?"

She didn't answer right away, choosing instead to watch the joust. It was beginning to die down. The leading men had gone off the field, leaving those who had been defeated to joust to define their place in the rankings. Robb had left the yard, along with the other victors. "For the same reason my father finally taught me," she said. "He said to me that if I was going to keep fighting, I may as well do it right." She looked at her. "Your daughter will want to keep fighting, my lady. Instead of trying to drive her away from it, it would be best to make sure that she is proficient in it."

Strange as it was, those words made sense to Catelyn. She didn't want Arya to fight, but perhaps if she learned how to wield a weapon, she would eventually leave them behind. "Thank you," she told her before shifting her gaze to Arya. "We will talk later."

"Yes, Mother," she replied, her eyes downcast. She must think that talk would make her stop learning from Brienne.

"Oh, Mya," Sansa said in half surprise.

Catelyn turned her head and saw the bastard standing at the entrance of their stand. "My ladies Stark and Tarth," she said, "the princess Rhaenys has decided to retire from the joust. She invites you to walk back to the castle."

Both of her daughters looked to her, one expectant and one irritated. "We accept," she said to the bastard.

She inclined her head. "If you would follow me?" she asked, turning around and walking off the stand. They all stood and followed. Catelyn gave word to Jory to inform Robb of where she and her daughters had gone if he asked.

Osha had been watching the joust next to the stand by Jory. As they left, so did she. "So that's jousting then, huh?" she asked bluntly.

"Yes, Osha, it was," Catelyn answered. "What did you think of it?" This would be the wilding's first time actually seeing such sport.

"Looked likes boys smashing sticks against each other while riding horses," she said back. "Sounds about the foolish thing I've ever heard, until I thought of something more foolish."

"What would that be?"

"Imagining giants doing the same thing with whole trees on the backs of mammoths," she answered with a grin. "I saw it in my head, clear as the Wall, and I damn near laughed out loud." Both Sansa and Arya giggled too. Catelyn didn't see the humor of it but she could see the picture.

The princess waited on the path to the castle with Jocelyn Sand. Once the necessary courtesies, they walked towards the castle. "Lady Catelyn, was Jon Snow sitting with you?" the princess asked her. "I did not see him."

"He wasn't there," she replied shortly. That was all she would say about it.

"I see." There was a faint note of disappointment in her voice but that was all. But as they reached the castle gate, the bastard himself appeared, holding a fat boy up with one arm and a grey-haired squire in the other. Prince Quentyn Martell held the other side of the fat boy, who she recognized as Samwell Tarly when she saw huntsman on his jerkin. From behind them appeared Tommen Lannister and the Stone Crows boy who was his back brother, holding each other up. Every one of them was bruised and beaten. Tarly even had a bloodied nose.

"Quentyn!" shouted the princess, going to his side and grabbing his free arm.

"Rhae," he said. His voice was thick with pain.

"Jon, what happened?" Arya exclaimed, running up to her half-brother. She reached out to grab hold of him, only to stop when she realized how beaten he was.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "I didn't see who it was. The fight had already started when I reached it with Ned and Tommen."

"Redwyne…twins," Samwell Tarly spoke. Like the prince, his voice was thick with pain and there were tears in his eyes. "They…tried to ambush me…Edd saw…Quentyn too."

Catelyn took charge then and there. "Go to the maester," she ordered all of them, never once looking Jon Snow in the eyes.

"I will go with them," Jocelyn Sand declared, moving forward.

"No, Joce, I will go," Princess Rhaenys said, perhaps a little too quickly. "They attacked my cousin. I want to hear this event with my own two ears. Mya, please stay with the Starks."

Both she and Catelyn looked at her as she held her cousin's arm. There was truth to her words but it wasn't hard to guess that there was something else there too. "As you say, your Highness," Catelyn finally said. She watched silently as they left, her eyes focusing on the princess and Jon Snow. She wondered if he was aware of the game that was being played. She decided that he wasn't. In that aspect, he was too much like her husband.

End

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

One of the reviewers had asked me to stop focusing on character progression and get the story rolling. I've found that character progression is what rolls the story. If the story rolls on without any character progression, it means flat characters and not a very good story at that. It's why I can't really read any story that bashes characters because the writer didn't like them.

That being said, I'm also beginning to appreciate why it's taking Mr. Martin's so long to write the next book. Sometimes it's difficult to write what should come next. I started this story with a simple idea but it's gotten a lot more than that. It might also because that out of the three stories I'm writing, this one is the casual one and comes after writing the other two.

I think bare-fist fighting would be a Northern tradition. However, I will admit that I didn't come with the idea first. That belongs with CaekDaemon and his story The Many Sons of Winter on Archive of Our Own (which is a good read, I hope he gets back to it). The selling of ice also came from another writer, RemoWilliams and his story And, The Giant Awoke (another good one and funny as hell to read too), but it does makes sense when you think about it.

I'll see you all next chapter!