Early August, 299 AC
"He escaped?" Catelyn's voice betrayed her, a shriek creeping into her words. "How?"
"False envoys," Edmure said grimly, his eyes upon the swollen bodies that dangled from the walls of Riverrun. Their cloaks were soaked from the morning rain, the crimson turned the color of blood.
"Ser Cleos arrived a few days ago, with a hundred redcloaks to guard him. Cleos said that the Imp insisted, claiming he was worried by all the disorder in the riverlands." Edmure snorted. How like the Imp to claim fear of chaos sown by his father's own men.
"They pledged me their peace and surrendered their weapons, so I allowed them freedom of the castle. Then, when the moon was dark-" Edmure clenched his hand into a fist, fury bristling beneath his beard.
"That skinny one-" Edmure pointed "-opened Jaime's cell with a bit of wire. The big fellow had already killed the guards. The one in the middle was some sort of damned mummer, used my own voice to order the portcullis raised on the River Gate."
"Where were you?" Catelyn asked, her voice sharp as valyrian steel. Edmure glared.
"I was abed. The mummer told the guards that I- ah-" Catelyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"That you would be leaving the castle to wench?" Edmure flushed deep pink.
"As it happened, I was going to leave the castle that night. I heard someone barking orders in my own voice, and when Long Lew saw me he realized something was amiss. He raised the cry, and we caught all of them-"
"Except the only one who mattered." Catelyn's voice sounded strange in her ears, as cold and flat as stone.
"The Kingslayer had gotten hold of a sword. He killed six of my men and slipped under the portcullis as they were lowering it. I fought him myself, Cat, until one of the redcloaks grabbed me from behind. I nicked his sword hand-"
The wind roared in Catelyn's ears. They will kill Sansa. Cersei Lannister was not a reasonable woman, one who would obey the laws of war. If Sansa were to fall in her clutches after Jaime was restored to her...
"How many men are searching for the Kingslayer?" Brienne asked quietly. Edmure gave the girl a curious look.
"This is Brienne of Tarth, the daughter of Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, who served in Renly's Rainbow Guard," Catelyn told them. Edmure and his men greeted her courteously as Brienne blushed, embarrassed.
"How many men?" Catelyn repeated. Edmure sighed.
"As many as I can spare. They're combing along the river, and each direction he might have gone. But with Tywin on the march, I'll need to call most of them back soon."
"Jaime will wander straight into his father's host," Catelyn observed, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Edmure shrugged unhappily.
"He may. But capturing the Kingslayer will do us no good if Tywin defeats us."
Defeats you , Catelyn thought bitterly, cursing her brother's pride as they trotted over the drawbridge and into the bustling upper bailey. Losing the Kingslayer would only make Edmure more determined to prove himself.
Though truth be told, it was not fair to blame Edmure for the escape. The laws governing envoys were ancient and sacred. Envoys must be treated with respect, housed and fed according to their station. No envoy might be killed, nor tortured. Envoys were sworn to deliver their lord's terms in peace, their oath bound by the old gods and the new. Catelyn could not recall a single example of envoys betraying that trust, not even during the conquest of Dorne-
The child came out of nowhere, a barelegged urchin in a grey tunic. Catelyn's heart leapt into her throat as she yanked her horse's reins. The mare gave a whinny of surprise and dismay, her hooves kicking up mud as she stopped.
"Pate!" A woman shrieked, darting out from the throng of smallfolk that ringed the upper bailey. She grabbed the toddler's hand, her eyes fearful in her hollow face. "M'lady, I'm so sorry-"
Catelyn sighed, and the woman went silent. Her wide eyes examined Catelyn's face, a flicker of recognition dawning.
"M'lady Stark." The mother curtsied deeply, one hand still holding tightly onto the child. The child stared up at Catelyn, his mouth open. There was a small red blotch at the hem of his tunic.
"What's this?" Edmure asked, reining up beside Catelyn.
"Wolf lady," the child babbled, pointing at her. His mother shushed him as Edmure laughed.
He must have seen the Stark banner. Catelyn looked around. Hal Mollen was only now riding up. The standard he bore flapped in the breeze, the grey direwolf racing across the field of snow. When Catelyn looked back for the mother and child they were gone.
"Is there any fresh word from Robb?" Catelyn asked, gently nudging her mare into a trot.
"There was a raven a week past. The Greatjon has seized the gold mines at Castamere, Nunn's Deep, and the Pendric Hills, and Lady Mormont is driving thousands of cattle back to us." Edmure frowned, his face troubled. "Robb ordered that every preparation be made for a hard winter, and bade Maester Vyman send ravens across the Riverlands and the North."
"A prudent measure," Ser Perwyn said. "We've so many at the Twins that my lord father always keeps the larders full."
She could barely hear him over the cacophony of the upper bailey. There were hundreds of smallfolk, women and children and old men in ragged clothes. The walls echoed with the lowing of their cows, the bleating of their sheep, and the clucking of their chickens.
"Edmure, why are all these folk here?" Edmure tilted his head, perplexed.
"They are my people," her brother said. "They were afraid."
As am I, but these walls are not the cure. Riverrun might soon be under siege, and they would starve all the faster with so many mouths.
Thinking of food made Catelyn's belly growl. She had not eaten since breaking her fast this morning with Martyn Rivers and his scouts. The Frey bastard had regaled her men with tales of Robb's victory at Oxcross while Catelyn and her new sworn shield ate in silence. The girl was as solemn as Ned, and as honorable.
"Brienne," Catelyn said, as she handed her reins over to a stableboy. "I must see to my father. Take what time you need to refresh yourself, and then wait for me in my solar." Brienne nodded, her brows furrowed over her bright blue eyes.
It was hours before Catelyn left her father, her steady feet and straight back disguising the sorrow that weighed upon her. Hoster Tully was as haggard as she'd left him, clammy and delirious. He'd thought she was Lysa... I must send her a raven, Cat thought as she climbed the steps. Someone must tell her Petyr is dead . A featherbed and a warm hearth might soothe her tired body, but it would do naught for her weary soul.
It seemed strange how many she knew had died in so short a time. Was it only eighteen months since Jon Arryn was laid in the cold ground? The old man would have wept to see the boys he loved follow him to the grave so soon. Death found Robert Baratheon not ten months later, and Ned, dear sweet Ned... the moon had turned only twice more before they slew him, her light a dull echo of Ned's grey eyes.
Then it was Petyr's turn to die. May he burn in the seven hells. For a foster brother to show such treachery… Ned only trusted him because of her word, more fool she. Had there been signs of Littlefinger's true nature when she was a girl? She wished she could ask her father, but Hoster Tully was half in the grave himself. It would be a mercy when he was released from his agony.
After Catelyn spoke to Brienne, she would go to the sept. She would pray to the Father Above to keep Robb safe in his battles, and beg the gentle Mother to lead Sansa and Arya to safety. I always knew I would bury my father, but not my children, please, never my children. She could not shake the thought that her girls were near, foolish though it was. If Arya were close she would have come with Nymeria. And as for the red wolf... no. I am grown desperate indeed, to think of sorcery. It was but a wolf, a wolf that chanced to have Sansa's look. Yet the way the wolf had gazed at her...
As she neared the chambers she had once shared with Lysa, Catelyn paused. Brienne stood beside the chamber door, towering in her mismatched armor over the aged steward of Riverrun, Utherydes Wayn. Two women waited beside them, clad in grey, their faces cowled save for their eyes.
"Ned?" Catelyn asked. The silent sisters lowered their gaze.
"Ser Cleos brought him from King's Landing, my lady," Utherydes said.
Cat hesitated. A part of her wanted to run to Ned, to see the man she'd loved so well. Somewhere in this castle lay the hands that stroked her hair, the arms that held her close, the eyes that laughed at their children. But her duty to the living must come before her duty to the dead.
"I will be with you presently," Catelyn said, putting her grief aside. "Please await me in the sept." The silent sisters bowed their heads, and followed Utherydes down the passage.
"My lady, I can wait-" Brienne swallowed her words as Catelyn swept past her into the solar. She is but one, and a maid for all her strength and valor. This quest is more like to lead her to death than glory. Yet what other choice did Catelyn have?
"Should I send for something hot to drink? Mulled wine, perhaps?" Ser Perwyn Frey asked.
Catelyn shook her head, her eyes fixed on the fighting below. It was the middle of the night. Nearly the entire keep was abed. But Catelyn could not sleep during battle. From the watchtower one could see for miles, even in the dim light of the moon. The Lannisters were trying to cross the ford again, and again Ser Jason Mallister was thrashing them.
Much had happened in the months she'd been on the road. The riverlords had cleared the westermen from north of the Red Fork, and over half the levies had been released to plant the fields before winter came. The rest were here now, swelling Edmure's host.
Robett Glover had taken the Ruby Ford and the Crossroads, but he had not sat idly once that was done. He had taken his host east to Maidenpool and then south, chasing the lions toward Harrenhal. Glover's host was smaller now, with men left behind to help rebuild for winter. Why was Robb so certain the winter would be terrible?
As soon as Lord Tywin abandoned Harrenhal, Glover had charged Roose Bolton with securing it. The Green Fork had gone ill for Bolton, leaving him with only 500 horse and 1,500 foot once the Lannisters returned him and the other captives. Still, it was enough men to hold the cursed place. Any more men and they might starve. Lannister men had stripped the land around Harrenhal bare, though the smallfolk claimed Beric Dondarrion was raiding the raiders.
Glover had pursued Tywin, driving him toward Edmure's host near Riverrun. Edmure hoped to catch Tywin between the two hosts, denying him the crossings and utterly destroying his might. It was a sensible plan, so sensible that Blackwood and Bracken agreed upon it. And yet...
"Is there any news of Lady Brienne?" Ser Perwyn asked hesitantly, interrupting Catelyn's thoughts.
"No."
Truth be told she expected no word. It was two weeks since she'd sent Brienne out, and she'd emphasized that she was to avoid being seen. Warrior, guide her in her journey, and Maiden, keep her safe. Awkward as the girl was, Catelyn missed her company.
With Brienne gone, and almost all the men fighting beside Edmure, Cat had asked that Perwyn remain as her guard. Perwyn chafed to be in the field, she knew, but if he wondered why she had asked for him, he was too polite to ask.
"It is kind of you to think of her," Catelyn replied. "I cannot imagine awaiting news of so many brothers in the field." Her worry for her brother and her son was awful enough. Lord Walder Frey had twenty or so sons, and almost all of them were fighting for Robb.
"I fear for Olyvar most," Perwyn confessed softly. "He is young, and loves his king. He would not hesitate to throw himself into danger to defend King Robb."
"He does his house credit, as do you, ser."
"He reminds me of our mother," Perwyn said, so quiet she could barely hear.
"What was she like?" Bethany Rosby had been Lord Walder's sixth wife, but Catelyn knew little of the lady.
"Brave," Perwyn said. "She gave my father as good as he gave her, and took no impudence from my half-brothers. Olyvar has her knack for jesting."
Likely the poor woman had no choice in marrying Lord Walder; to stand up to the old vulture and his brood showed spirit.
"How old were you when she died?"
"Nine." Perwyn stared across the river, not seeing.
"She gave my father a child every year. No matter that he had a dozen sons when they wed. Eight times she was brought to childbed, and I am the eldest of the five who lived. Benfrey and Roslin are with my father at the Twins. Willamen forged a maester's chain; he serves House Hunter in the Vale."
"Eight babes in eight years?"
Catelyn could not disguise her horror. Even the most dull-witted maester knew so many births so close together was risky at best and a death sentence at worst. No loving husband would submit his wife to such. Her stomach roiled at the thought that Bethany Rosby had no say in the matter.
"Aye." Perwyn's jaw was tight. "She would be about your age, my lady, if she had lived. But the sixth and seventh were stillborn, and the eighth came too early. She lost the babe along with her life's blood."
For a long while there was no sound but the splashing of horses in the river and the whirring of arrows.
"I suppose you've wondered why I asked for you to serve as my guard." The clang of steel echoed dimly, the screams of men and horses faint as ghosts in the night.
"I am glad to serve you, my lady. It is my duty."
"Duty." Catelyn gazed at the men dying for their lords down below, so far from hearth and home.
"I have a duty to my children. Yet how can I protect them all? My son is a king, and so I serve him, but what of my missing daughters? What of my boys all alone?"
"I'm sure they understand," Perwyn said. Catelyn laughed, for it was either that or sob.
"Did you understand when you lost your mother? Bran is but eight, Rickon four. They cannot understand. They need me, and I cannot help but feel that I have abandoned them. That is why I could not bear for a northman to be my guard. They remind me too much of what I left behind."
Perwyn hesitated.
"My lady, may I-" Perwyn stepped back. Catelyn stared at him, bewildered.
"I- if my mother were in your place, my lady, I would want someone to offer her comfort," he said awkwardly, studying his boots.
"Your mother would be proud of you."
Perwyn looked up, and she saw that his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Catelyn could not embrace her children, nor replace Perwyn's mother, but she could accept this small kindness. She stepped into the warmth of his open arms, the clamor of battle fading away.
"Winterfell is the safest place for them, my lady," Perwyn said gently. "You will return home soon enough."