CATELYN V

"The wolves were silent for once, but Catelyn Tully still lay tossing and turning in the bedchamber.

What Bran had told her still echoed inside her, making sleep impossible. There was more than that, however. When she had gone out to investigate around the Broken Old Tower, only days ago, she had found one single long golden strand of hair.

She had proof. Cersei. It was her, just as Bran had said and she had known it in her heart for almost as long.

Her friend, her sister-in-law, her confidante here during all of those sleepless nights and days of praying for her little Bran, and it was she who had done this awful thing to him. Well, she and her brother... the Kingslayer. Catelyn shuddered at the thought once more, as she could still not quite fathom it. Her husband had sentenced him to the Wall all those years ago, but clearly he still managed to wreak terror even up here.

A man without honour did not deserve to be First Ranger of the Night's Watch, nor to take the black at all, when he was still allowed to visit Winterfell. Ned should have taken his head when he could.

Shaggydog, her little Rickon's black wolf, came up to her and sniffed her, trying to calm her down, she supposed. … Or perhaps no. It was telling her something. We must away from here. We must go, out into the forest, the wolf seemed to say, as it tugged on her nightdress.

She could not agree more, and now, thank the gods, she finally knew how.

Mankan had showed her the way into the forest, into the edges around the Wolfswood and further out as well, to the small forest to the east of the Kingsroad, where Brandon's old riding trail still lay, being apparently used by woodcutters and hunters of the castle and surrounding villages from time to time. She hoped noone would interfere.

The black wolf looked up at her. Shaggydog. Her little Rickon's name for the wolf reminded her.

"Yes", she told the wolf, "we will leave. We will leave and go away from here soon. I promise."

And so she stroked its thick black shaggy fur, and the rufsy red hair of her little Rickon who lay beside them both on his bed.

She looked up towards Ser Mandon. His eyes were on her, as if he had read her thoughts.

He gave a silent nod at her, as if confirming her plan. She had not told them outright, but knew that both he and Ser Erryk would go along as soon as she did. They did not wish to dwell at Winterfell for any considerable amount of time longer either.

Even Bran was getting better. It seemed more and more clear now that he would never walk again, but the rest was good, as she once again thanked the gods. He was sound of mind, and hale of body once more.

During the past two moons he had gotten back some well-needed strength in him, as his thin stickly arms grew fuller again, and she had cut his hair once more. He was not as pale now either, even though they had barely seen the summer sun or gone outside the castle for the past fortnight.

Benjen would have no reason to make them stay, but she was sure that Cersei would not let them leave if she asked. She suspected something. She somehow knew something, Catelyn was sure. She would make up some reason to force them to stay, so that she could try and get to Bran again.

Shaggydog began to bark at her thoughts, startling her.

No, no, hush, now, sweet beast... Don't rouse your brothers.

She stroked the wolf along its mane again, and looked into its golden eyes to tell it silence.

Sleep came to both of them slowly, as Shaggydog rested his muzzle on top of her, and closed his eyes. The night became dark all of a sudden, and Catelyn sunk into a sentry-like watchful sleep.

...

The next morning was much as usual, as they broke their fast as early as the sun arose in the bedchamber and Bran read from some of the books that they had been given from the library.

By the early noon, however, Bran turned to her to ask that they go outside.

She had not told him about her plan, but she had a feeling that her son knew. He was changed these days, and saw things inside his dreams which he sometimes told of, and sometimes hid from her.

My sweet little boy only slept for two moons, but he has aged twenty years in his sleep, she thought.

Perhaps because she felt it too, or perhaps because her son had become so wise and strange to her of late, she relented. Bran said that he wanted to meet with Myrcella, to thank her for her gift.

Yes, very well... Catelyn thought. Thank her if you must, my sweet. It is not she, however, but her mother, who wants to give you the worst gift of all. But she said nothing, and let her little boy dream for another while that there needed not be blood between him and his newfound playmate.

Perhaps Bran even had a little fancy for the girl. They were the same age, and Myrcelle certainly had showed a large interest in Bran, often asking if she could go see him, to which Catelyn had almost always had to offer a solemn excuse, or say "Perhaps on the morrow, or in a few days' time...".

She did seem far sweeter than her mother, at least, all gentle smiles and those forest green eyes, seemingly not an ill bone inside her, but just the same had Cersei seemed to her an each day more increasing eternity ago. I must not let them fool me. I can trust noone here. We must go home.

But, as Bran had bid her, first they were to go downstairs, and play the trevére and trally with Myrcella – and Cersei and the septa too, she suspected. She prayed to the Mother, and to the Warrior, and even to the old gods, to her husband's strange old northern gods, for strength.

…

Ser Mandon went ahead of them all, clearing the way of any suspicious-looking servants. "They could all be wearing hidden daggers, Your Grace", he had told her before they retreated down the stairs, but Catelyn tried her best to hope that the girl had been her only true threat amongst the servants – at least for now.

"We go see cousy Melessa? Cousin Melessa? Cousin Melessa?" Rickon asked her, tugging at her dress over and over again as they tread the steps across the strangely warm stone floors of Winterfell. He still could not entirely pronounce the girl's name.

Here, in the corridor leading up to the Common Hall, the hot springs beneath the enormous castle lended their warmth in pipes in the stone. Catelyn was grateful for that much comfort, at least. She missed the warm weather and bright summer sights of King's Landing more than she could say.

"Your Grace!"

Cersei's voice was posion to her ears now, but Catelyn did her best to hide it, as she saw the Lady of Winterfell's golden locks shining in the light of the braziers. Cersei sat close by her golden little daughter, watching over her, like a lioness in a grey cave while Septa Arbane sat beside with her disapproving eyebrows wrinkled like an old gargoyle.

She was not altogether too old, Catelyn reflected, perhaps around forty. She could have been pretty, but in her pale and joyless eyes, coldly calculating and plotting along with her mistress, she was not.

"My ladies. Septa", Catelyn said, doing her best to not sound caught off guard.

"We did not know you would be joining us today", Cersei said in a surprisingly calm and put-together voice, as she carefully rearranged her knitting things and caressed Myrcella's cheek.

"Brandon wanted to give his thanks to Myrcella for her beautiful gift", Catelyn explained.

"Our children truly are sweet, are they not?", Cersei smiled her best false smile as she moved away their things on the ancient stone bench for them to be able to sit.

"Myssa! Melyssa! Mesylla!" Rickon cried out in excitement as he saw the golden shape of his little cousin, although she might as well have been an adult to his mind. To his three, soon four years, her double eight were as a mountain imperceiveable that he would one day climb towards.

But her youngest truly did his best to make himself taller, as he ran towards the bench, hopped up and gave the surprised Myrcella an excited hug and began tugging at her golden curls right away.

"Rickon!" Catelyn chastised him, hurrying up to take his hands off the girl before she cried. But Myrcella was as sweet and silent as ever, merely smiling in an oblique and gentle way back.

"Hello, Rickon. I am glad to see you."

"Hello Mysylla!" Rickon replied, as his wolf soon followed him. Only now did the girl show some small sense of foreboding, as the great shaggy black beast modded forth on already giant paws, panting with his absurdly long tongue and coming up to sniff both daugther and mother Lannister.

"Shaggydog! Shaggydog, no!" Rickon called, doing his best to nudge the giant wolf away from the counter of the bench and table, but the wolf did not heed or listen.

Instead, it lay its head to its side, looked with a strange face on Cersei, sniffed into her hair once more, and then growled.

"Shaggydog!" Rickon said, but the wolf was deaf to the pleas of its young master. It had a mind of its own now, and Catelyn Tully knew exactly why.

She had let both wolves smell the hair that she had found outside the tower. Now he recognized the killer for what she was when he smelled her.

Shaggydog barked, a rough and echoing sound that shook the entire castle, as he tried to rip at Cersei's dress. The lady of Winterfell crouched back in terror, raising her arms and hands to protect her daugher, but it was clear that the wolf wanted only her in any case. Cersei began to scream.

No, no, gods, please, not now, not like this...

Catelyn heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed as Winterfell's captain of guards, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, came bolting to the rescue of his lady.

"Get off her, you lousy cur!" He snarled at the wolf as he drew his blade into the air, angling it at Shaggydog.

"No!" Bran cried out from her side, still resting like a baby of seven held in Ser Erryk's large arms.

Shaggydog barked, loud and thrice and then a fourth time, before making a lounge at the enormous grey knight, and the Hound sliced his sword straight through the side of his shaggy pelted back, spilling red blood.

The sight of the beast's blood was as terrifying to Catelyn as if it had been her little Rickon's own.

They were one and the same, she knew it to be so, in that exact moment.

Rickon screamed out in agonizing pain as well, if she had needed any more confirmation.

"Come here! Come here, you beast!" Ser Mandon shouted in an angry, commanding voice, as he ran forth as soon as his armour allowed him and grabbed the wolf by the scruff of its neck. Shaggydog made to bite him, and seemingly did several times, but Ser Mandon had his mailed gloves on, and he punched the wolf right in the eye with his left hand as best he could.

"No, don't hurt him!" Bran cried, and Rickon did as well.

I need to get out of here. We all need to get out of here. Let us go, away, away from this horrible place, now, now... Catelyn thought to herself, but her body and throat were both as paralyzed as a wall of ice.

Somehow, Ser Mandon and the Hound managed to coax – or perhaps frighten – both wolves out of the room and all the lingering way out into the courtyard beyond, to the fright of the servants and pike-rearing guards stationed at the doors.

Catelyn thanked all the gods she knew when she saw that her son's Shaggydog was still out there on four legs, bleeding and hurt by the fleshwound in his side, but otherwise alive. Ser Mandon had kept both wolf and hound from killing eachother by some miracle of temperament and force.

Before she could react, however, the household guard of Winterfell ran after, thirty men and more, coming along in greater numbers for each second she looked on in horror, coming from corridors to each side around them, and encircling the two wolves out in the yard.

She saw it all through the gap of the hallway, as she held Rickon by her hand and tried to calm him down as best as she could.

"They are going to kill them!" Bran cried. "Please Mother, we must save them! Save Summer!"

Ser Erryk turned to his queen in a questioning face. Catelyn thought for a while, then nodded. They both ran out, herself with Rickon by her side, and Erryk, with Bran in his arms, screaming for the guards to stop.

"Don't hurt them! Please don't hurt them!" Bran screamed, as Rickon cried, and the wolves barked at the ring of some thirty guards holding them taught within a ring of spears and pikes and shields.

"Take them!" Some men shouted. "Get him!" and "Kill the beast!", all the while Catelyn thought No, no, don't, please don't, don't take them, as you would take my sweet babes away from me...

Finally, it was the massive Ser Sandor that broke the commotion.

"Quiet!"

His thick, groaty voice rang like the force of the earth itself across the courtyard, silencing the entire guard, leaving only Rickon's crying and the barking of the wolves.

"Jekken! Get some ropes and a net!" He called out, and the guardsman soon enough appeared by his side, net and rope in hand. "Chain them up!"

"Get the monsters away to the godswood, and make bloody well sure they stay there!"

Before anyone could make a sound, ten men had thrown themselves on both of the great direwolves with net and ropes. It took another four to tie them down properly, but the deed was done, and the direwolves brought away to the godswood, as Bran and Rickon sobbingly looked on.

...

The rest of the day was quiet. Bran was grieving for the absence of the wolves, and Rickon as well.

"It's all right now. They are safe in the godswood. I promise you, my love, they are safe", Catelyn kept saying, trying her best to comfort her children.

"But they will kill them!", Bran cried. "They will kill them if they should do anything again."

Catelyn said nothing to that. She merely stroked her son's head, feeling his smooth hair, and praying that the gods would see them in their anguish and provide help.

…

The tying up of the wolves was yet another nail in the coffin of their ever leaving here, but Catelyn tried her best to remain calm. If the old gods had given them the wolves, as she had first thought when they had found them in the Wolfswood, they would not let them part with them like this. Somehow, they would get them back, she thought. Soon or late, they would get the wolves back.

There was finally time after that for them to calm down enough, so that Bran could finally give proper thanks to Myrcella for the gift, which seemed to matter less and less for each passing minute to Catelyn's heart.

But her son did as he had said, and managed to look grateful as he said the words.

"Thankyou, my lady. With this gift, and the kindness that you have shown us, I am forever grateful and glad to have such a good cousin. I hope that our families shall always be close."

Myrcella blushed slightly, as she curtsied and thanked the prince back.

"You are welcome, my prince" Myrcella replied. "I am happy to see you again, Bran", she added.

Oh, sweet gods, do not mock my hopes any more... Catelyn thought, as she felt her heart aching inside. What could once have been, the peace between their houses... She tried to not think of it.

As the children began conversing and Myrcella showed Bran some more of her needlework, Catelyn for the first time allowed herself to ask where Benjen was.

"He is out doing his usual ride around the castle", Cersei said. "If we had known beforehand that you were coming down to join us today, I am sure he would have been glad to have stayed indoors."

The spiteful remark was only ever tingeing enough that Catelyn offered a silent smile back in return. They said not much more, but instead let the children do most of the talking.

...

After another hour or two, they had their mid-day of luncheon, a light and sordid affair in the Common Hall, as the servants carried platters of venison, turnips, cheese and hardbread along with Dornish red wine to the table. Being in the close company of Cersei Stark, wine was ever close by.

An hour or two after that, however, Cersei finally decided to go out and fetch Tommen and Benjen both. The Hound accompanied her as well, to Catelyn's gratitude.

Only Myrcella and Septa Arbane remained, along with the closest servants and guards.

She at least trusts us to not try the same with her own children, Catelyn realized. Perhaps she still truly does not know that she has exposed herself. The wolves would have been the most obvious sign there could be, but beasts as they were, perhaps she had seen it as no more than that.

They retreated into the drawing room meanwhile, as Catelyn gathered her thoughts and got to her needlework.

She was working on a piece for Ned, of them and all of the children together again. She had just begun putting the red threads into place for Rickon's hair when they suddenly heard a slamming and the sound of a loud horn from out in the Common Hall.

...

It was a loud, red horn of immediate and terrifying danger to Catelyn's already weary heart.

AAAARRRRROOOOOOOOOOO! AAARRROOOOOOOOOO!

They heard a loud sprunging open of the doors some rooms away, a screaming for help and for Lord Benjen.

"WILDLINGS! Wildlings, m'lord! Wildlings attacking on the wintertown!" One of the guards of the castle called out.

Catelyn immediately tossed her knittings to the side and got up to see what the commotion was about. Could it truly be wildlings, here and now? It was the end of summer, and apparently Winterfell was prone to invasions of that precise kind, but... Today of all days? Now? She was half certain that this was yet another scheme of Cersei's, a poisonous one again.

Ser Mandon and Ser Erryk lifted their swords as one, as they held out their shield over the princes.

"Have no fear, Your Grace", Ser Mandon assured her with an iron voice. "They may have gotten the beasts from us, but the troubles end here. We stand our ground."

They stood awaiting, tensing on edge, as they heard talk and commotion coming from the Common Hall. Was that Benjen? She heard a man's voice, and then another's. Orders were shouted back and forth, and assurances of holding ground and attack.

She could hear the cackling of confused washerwomen and guards, as some of them seemed to be nearing them into the hallway, coming closer for each second.

And then, suddenly, she heard the Hound's rough voice breaking through the stone of the hallway, coming closer and closer as well. He seemed to be leading Lady Stark and the others himself.

"Come on now, up we go", the Hound said, as she saw Cersei, Myrcella and Tommen being led by the two washerwomen, the Hound and various guardsmen to their sides as well.

"Don't worry, now. Just take easy and hold fast. This will be no problem for your father", the Hound was telling Tommen and Myrcella. "Only a little commotion, and some horns sounding, that is all."

Cersei suddenly stopped up, and made to turn. The Hound pushed her on for a moment, blind to her motions, until she called.

"Wait, wait! Stop!" the lady of Winterfell said.

The Hound stopped up, letting his cloak slide just a couple of inches down from Cersei's pale shoulders, as he stood there, and looked dutiful and worried for his liege lady at the same time.

"What, my lady?" His gruff voice asked.

Cersei stood still for another moment, paralyzed as if she could not quite get the words out.

"The queen..." She said. "The queen and the young princes are still down here as well. They're down in the drawing room."

Catelyn could hear every word. She had always had good hearing, when her and Lysa and Edmure would play hide-and-seek with Petyr in the hallways at Riverrun. Catelyn always heard where they were. Even when Petyr was hiding to steal a kiss from her that one time, she could hear him. The gods had granted her that talent from young years. And she heard Cersei and the others now as well.

"Aye?" the Hound said. "Perhaps the men of the Kingsguard can keep her calm enough", he suggested, before adding, "if the wildlings should get through somehow, I can't protect all of you at once."

"The wildlings, in here?" Myrcella asked, and began to cry.

"No, no, hush, my love, everything will be fine. They can't get inside the walls ", Cersei said, trying her best to comfort her little golden daughter.

The Hound made an involuntary sound, but quickly lowered his head in silence.

They were all rushed up and into the drawing room, finally, as Catelyn pretended to see and hear them for the first time.

...

"What is the meaning of this?" She stood up and asked Cersei. "What kind of a dire horn is that?"

"The meaning, Your Grace... is wildlings", Cersei replied, as she gathered together Myrcella's locks into her braid and cradled her tightly towards her chest.

Catelyn still did not fully believe her. She was as much of a liar now as ever before, and yet... the horn of the castle had blown. Would truly the guardsmen be in on it as well? All of the castle? She did not think Benjen would let something like this happen, but she had still not seen him for days.

Had that loud man's voice been his, or perhaps Ser Rodrik or someone else, the voice of a man coming into the Common Hall only to turn back out again? She supposed so. She had been too late to go out there and speak to him, if so.

Wildlings, Cersei had said. The lioness of Winterfell looked scared herself, but icy cold, disdainful in her tone as well.

...

"What? Inside the castle?" Catelyn asked.

"In the wintertown", Cersei said, sounding upset but holding back her fright for the sake of the children. "Benjen will sort it. I am sure of it."

Cersei sounded more insecure than she let on, as Catelyn felt her heart go into a thrumming rutter.

"I must speak to him then", she decided. Before you try and kill him as well...

"Not now, Your Grace, unless you and the princes can hop up on a horse as fast as Sprinter", the loathsome Hound said in his gruff voice from across the hall. He looked more a monster than ever before, with his burned face, his enormous frame and his angry mouth that twisted with every word he spoke.

"I must speak to him", she said, in a tone that brokered no argument. "I must speak to Benjen."

"I would not go out there", the Hound told her again, his voice rough and decided. "With or without children, or your monster wolves".

No, of course not, she thought bitterly, her mind as black as soot towards the ugly brute of a man. You already took care of them, tried to kill them as well, chained them up just in time, and took away our greatest defence from us.

She could not allow herself to listen, to be shut inside once again. She was certain that there was more to this than what they were telling her.

They are trying to trap us in here, once again, she knew. We are prisoners here inside the castle. They just await tying the noose together. And then they will come for Brandon again...

Summer would protect him. Summer would protect them all.

But Summer was chained up outside now, thanks to the Hellhound. Ned should have taken his head along with his monstrous brother all those years ago, she suddenly found the thought to herself, even though Mordane would never have preached for such a thing or thought of illdom to ever fester inside her heart, she knew.

But it was true what men had said of the man already after the war. The Clegane boy was only thirteen, younger even than Robb was now, yet he had killed grown men already in his youth of manhood.

What he was now, what he had been allowed to grow into, all these years, hidden up at the ancient, dreary, godforsaken keep of Winterfell, was tenfold worse.

She did her best to try and pushed past him, as she hindered herself from letting her worst fears take hold of her. Ser Mandon and Ser Erryk made it clear that the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would not be disturbed in her resolution.

Ser Sandor Clegane met their eyes with hatred loud and clear, as they hurried back into the Common Hall, with Rickon scurrying after on fast legs and Bran holding on to Ser Erryk's gold enplated chest as tightly as he could.

The guards at the door stopped them, though. Ser Mandon and Ser Erryk raised their swords.

"Make way for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!" Ser Mandon shouted as he neared the doors.

"Lord Stark is out and is not to be disturbed", one of the guards said.

"The Queen will disturb whoever she likes", Ser Mandon growled, as Catelyn felt her heart tense.

"No", she told Mandon, "wait..."

He turned his eyes towards her, wavering on the order.

"We will wait, if he truly is out riding. He should return back soon. Should he not?"

"My lord should be back within reason", one of the guards confirmed. "He is putting on his armor."

"Good", Catelyn nodded. She gathered up the children and instead made for the way all the way back to the inner drawing room. "We will simply rest and stay here in the meantime."

But she would not stay waiting for any longer amount of time in the same room as Cersei or the Hound, if she could help it. Mandon and Erryk followed after her as they passed by Lady Stark and her golden cubs.

The wait was not altogether too long, but they had time to sit down and still themselves a bit. Perhaps a quarter went by.

The older boys were out in the courtyard, she reminded herself. They will have to fetch them and take them into safety first. Or would Benjen take his oldest son with him? Willam was thirteen, and tall for his age, often sour and seeming eager to fight, but no, she could not imagine that he would, no matter the fabled harshness of the North that she had so far seen much of up here.

The ward, Theon Greyjoy, though, perhaps... He was nineteen, a man grown although unproven as of yet. The smiling youth would no doubt be certain to want to accompany his warden and foster father if Benjen would be riding out to take on the wildlings himself. Perhaps the armourer would follow them along as well...

Or perhaps the common people could even defend themselves, with their handaxes and some make-shift shields. They would be used to it, if what was said about the wildlings was true. Catelyn had little knowledge on how such things worked up here. This was not King's Landing, nor Riverrun.

The evening came and the sun began to slowly set, as she sat with her cloak around Bran's shoulders, stroking his hair and contemplating the conundrum. Rickon was sat restlessly tugging at Ser Mandon's cloak, dawdeling his words and mind with nothing else to do. So far, her red protector Mandon had his usual look of indifference about him.

She wondered what went through his mind at times. He lived for duty, and for killing, and for the loyalty to them all. Had he any other vices at all? She thought not.

Erryk shot a glance or two at the guards in the doorway from time to time, as Catelyn told him to be discreet with the sharpening of his sword by whetstone.

"It might come in use again before the day is done, Your Grace", Erryk told her. "Wildlings or Winterfell men, we will protect you and the princes against anyone who dares threaten us."

Catelyn said nothing back, as she worried, and did her best to put her mind to her needlework and for a moment at least try and not think of everything else. But his words were true. They were trapped in here, by Cersei's command, and would need to use their blades before the day was done to get out. Especially concerning the wolves, if they would ever manage to get them back...

...

As the hour had turned well into the evening, a sound was heard. The lord of Winterfell was back inside the castle again, as the slamming of the doors and calling of voices came from along the hallway.

Catelyn hurried up on her feet, as they all got up to see him come through the door.

...

Benjen came in to the hallway, sparking his boots off with a rigour, as the summer snows whirled around him.

"Hal! Keep a lookout over the castle. We're going out to catch the bastards!"

Hallis Mollen, who stood just to the side of Catelyn, nodded his head dutifully.

"Aye, m'lord. I will hold watch here."

The lord of Winterfell was wearing his armor, as she guessed he had just put it on with the help of his squire, or perhaps Theon Greyjoy who helped him with most similar things of import. The direwolf heads of Stark snarled against eachother underneath his collar, tugging his coif into place.

He put his riding boots on as quickly as he had removed his previous ones, and the spurs shone in silver and grey. Benjen Stark's long face was almost as solemn's as her husband's could be at times. He looked every inch a Stark, and in his grey icy eyes was the determination to go out and do whatever he had to do to clear his home and protect his people.

Catelyn went up to him, as her children waited behind her. She had not seen him in six, perhaps seven days. And now that she had dared to go out from her chamber and he was standing in front of her, without Cersei's interference from the other room just close by, she finally had a chance to speak to him, to ask him.

It was only that he was as hellbent as any man to run out as soon as he had fastened his riding boots and cloak properly on. Hal assisted him the best he could, draping his slender yet muscular frame with the grey direwolf of Stark on top of his armor, a dark grey plate almost black, enameled with silver linings at its edges.

"Cat", he said, surprised as he saw her. "What are you all doing down here? Go up to the bedchambers again. This is no safe place for you or the princes. The castle is under attack."

"Benjen", she pleaded, her eyes going as big and desperate as they never had before. "Please Benjen, may we leave the castle for our own safety and be granted safe passage to Moat Cailin? I cannot stay here with Bran and Rickon when it is as it is. We need to get back home to King's Landing."

She took his gloved hand in her own.

"Please, Benjen. … I need to get home to Ned."

She looked up towards him, his tall and thin but seemingly muscular frame, clad in his grey and black coif and plate mail, the proud direwolf of House Stark on his breastplate and his black silk tunic underneath.

"Don't worry, Cat", he said, taking her hand devotionally and pressing it close. "I will see that we get sketching on a plan to take you back down south again as soon as we have countered this onslaught. Meanwhile you will be safe here", he promised. "They are only in the wintertown, close by to the south. Noone will make it through our walls.

They won't harm you, or the Prince. I will see to that. This is what we Starks are made for.", he finished his speech.

And with that, he swept around with his cloak streaming and made for the portcullis of the open door. Half the nearest household guard went after with him, some two dozen men or more, leaving the hall mostly unattended, but most importantly, leaving her to her qualms and fears once more.

...

She only waited around for some short minutes longer, going back into the drawing room and staying and waiting restlessly, tossing and turning on her rings in the company of Cersei and the others, before she decided that they must retreat up. At least for the exact moment...

…

They were up in the bedchamber all over again, with Catelyn overlooking the courtyard and grounds beyond the castle walls, some couple hundred feet to the southeast, as she saw rider after rider pouring out through Winterfell's great gates and turning south to hunt after the wildlings.

The outskirts of the wintertown were only visible through a small subjunction in the castle walls, but she managed to see it clear enough, as Ser Mandon helped to lift her up above the windowsill.

There they were, some small riding shapes on horses, strapping, terrifying. Hunters. Wildlings.

So it was true then, at least. Yes.

Men, women and children were running screaming, small shadows and inklings of people in motley greys, browns, greens and blues as the wildling ambushers rode on, flinging axes and putting torches to haystraw roofs. Catelyn Tully of Riverrun had never seen such a thing before. Brandon had spoken about the wildlings many years ago, and her sweet Ned had talked of the tales as well, along with the mountain clans of the Vale, but this...

They must have ridden south of the Wall only a mere moon past, she realized, if even that. Perhaps they came down south to find loot and gold and plunder because of us.

There came another, a shaggy one on a forest garron, an archer who put a fledgling arrow into one of the Winterfell men, and then a woman as well, a spearwife, she remembered them being called distinctly from Ned's tales, when he had chosen to tell of them from time to time. In the cold harsh North, even the women fought their battles with spear and axes if they could. And the wildlings were men, but different from men as well... They did not bow down to kings or lords, nor to the words of the Seven, of father and mother and that the latter should stay with her children at home. They barely had homes. That was why they were coming down here to plunder, she thought once again.

Oh, please my sweet Ned, help me have courage in my heart, if you can hear me, she prayed.

…

Catelyn turned her back to the window for a while, as she breathed a sigh of determination, and then finally picked up her bag of clothing and other belongings, beginning to hastily pack. Ser Mandon went to hold fast on the door, as Ser Erryk put down Bran into the bed, and spoke with Rickon, doing his best to answer all of his burning questions, tuggings and worries. My summer children...

She could wait no longer. She had put her final trust in Benjen, that she could somehow make him see, perhaps make him see without telling him, for she knew that he would never believe such an act of betrayal coming from Cersei, who was his wife, his ever sweetest and dutiful wife. She had put her trust in Benjen to listen and to let her go, but now when the time came, he had not heeded her in her desperation.

She must take the matter into her own hands now.

...

One of the servants came to the doors just after sunset with a very late supper, but she turned them away, saying that they could not eat with all the commotion that was going on around the castles, and their fears. The servant listened, but left a large tray outside the doors that stayed there as the evening grew to quell of day and into the beginning of night.

...

As the evening turned into night, and the castle became silent, she finally set to it all. How she had waited for this, this moment, and now it was come... They would not get a chance like this again.

She changed clothes with Senelle while Lady Eresa and Lady Leona Woolfield stayed on in the childrens' bedchamber so that they were all in the same room. Then, they all sat waiting for the exact right moment, after the castle slept.

...

The hour of the castle was as late as the grave, almost close to morning again, as she snuck out to make her way to the godswood where the wolves were kept. Ser Erryk and Ser Mandon stood holding a close watch, as she put on her final [ ]...

...

The hour was late, and the owls outside were hooing.

This is a time for courage, Catelyn Tully thought, as she slipped into her robe, and made for the door."

Ser Mandon and Ser Erryk let their swords lead their way, as they pushed past any and all servants and guards who tried and stop them.

They would run to the lady of the castle soon, telling her what was going on, but Catelyn prayed to all the gods that Cersei still slept and did not wake in time.

...

As they got out through the back entrance, Ser Mandon put on the great grey shawl to escape notice as far as it was possible, concealing his sword and shield underneath it, and went out to meet with Senelle in the godswood.

...

They stood waiting for a long time, hiding behind the cover of lingering darkness and the great crates of firewood and else that covered the outcropping buildings and shacks by the back courtyard. Noone was out except some washerwomen further away, who took no note of the shadows hiding behind a row of thorny bushes and old food troughs for the swine of the castle propped up by the walls.

...

After perhaps half an hour of waiting in silent suspense, and doing her best to make Rickon fall asleep again at the uneven and muddy ground beneath the wood shack, Ser Mandon and Senelle came to meet them. Incredibly, they had managed to bring back the wolves. She saw the ominous shape of their long slender legs as they padded in deahtly silence across the courtyard, and for once they were as silent as they could be. No howling, barely the sound of their tongues lapping, now in the chill of night and the murkiness just before early dawn. But they are monsters... she thought, with a sense of terrified fascination, as she saw their slender figures of Summer and Shaggydog, two wolf-like phantoms, approaching in the dark.

How on earth did they manage to get them from their chaining up in the godswood? Catelyn thought, and just as soon she got her answer, as if her red loyal protector could read her mind.

"A picking of a lock, and some guards to dispose of, Your Grace. Nothing harder than that", Ser Mandon said, bowing before her.

"Thankyou, Mandon", she said gratefully.

Senelle looked slightly terrified after the ordeal, her face wet and red with numb tears from recently having seen men die, but she said nothing of it.

I am sorry for that you had to see that. I am sorry for getting us all into this mess, my loyal and forever friend. I will help you with all, Catelyn promised to her poor old handmaiden inside her heart, just as soon as we all get away from here and never come back.

...

They all got out to the stables, taking the long way around as she had done herself before. The stable key was laying on a corner behind a barrel, just a Mankan had shown her some days before.

The stables were sleeping still, but they would be up and awake soon, as soon as the call of the rooster from the henyard, or before that, she was sure. They would need to be quick and fast about it still.

...

Thankyou, Mankan, she thought, I am forever in your sacred debt, as they hurried inside the stables and took out three horses.

We will not forget your sacrifice. The North remembered, the Starks said, and so would she.

She prayed to the gods once again that Benjen would be merciful when he found out who it had been that showed her the locks to the stables and told her about the route to Brandon's old trail. And she prayed that he could still uphold that state of himself when Cersei would try to not.

Catelyn, Senelle and Lady Eresa sat herself up with Rickon on the red-brown filly at the head of the column, Ser Erryk sat with Bran and Leona Woolfield on the light grey gelding, as they veered into the middle right side and Ser Mandon rode alone on the great steed destrier behind them, leading the rear and looking back, sitting alone in the saddle of the great warhorse for the better to be able to fight off anyone who would soon try and follow after them.

...

As they rode out through Winterfell's grey gates heading south by east, they could hear the commotion of the castle waking up behind them, and the loud and ill-foreboding baying of hounds, as Catelyn put her heels into her mount and galloped as fast as she could for the cover of the trees towards Brandon's old trail. They will never catch us, she prayed. We are going home now.

To White Harbour, and then on to King's Landing. Home. To Ned and Mordane and the children. We are already gone."