CATELYN
The banners atop the Gatehouse Tower came into view in the distance reluctantly. The morning fog that swirled and filled the low ground of the Neck like soup in a bowl, hiding almost everything and forcing the eyes to squint with concentration to see those things that peeked out from behind the veil. Eventually, white banner with a grey smudge could be seen, joined by black flag with a white one, both smudges the same vague shape of a wolf.
Catelyn pulled the reins on her horse, forcing the riding column to a halt. Her eyes locked to the two weakly flapping pieces of cloth, as a terror crawled up through her the likes of which she had never felt before.
It's all true, she realised. When Lord Wyman had told her of what had happened in her absence, she could scarce believe it. Wildlings in force south of the Wall for the first time in almost ninety years. Peace and alliance made by her son with the same wildlings rather than perpetual war. The Others come again, captured wights on the way from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea as proof to the world. Men from another world with sorcerous powers marching with Robb's host…
…And Jon Snow breaking his oath as a brother of the Night's Watch to be called a 'Stark of Moat Cailin', and given one of the most important holdings in the kingdom.
Catelyn knew why Robb had done such a thing. Not just the politics of the decision. She knew that war with the wildlings now would mean Ned's death, she knew that the lords had daughters and nieces in King's Landing as handmaidens, that the same lords would never have accepted a wildling marriage for Robb, that the wildlings had no regard for legitimacy of their children and yet would accept only a family link to the King Beyond the Wall.
Those reasons were not truly why Robb had made his brother a lord of the North. Robb had made Jon a Stark because Robb loved his half-brother with all his heart. Catelyn also knew that Robb did not truly have the authority to do such a thing. He was not a king nor was he Lord of Winterfell yet.
But it mattered not. Catelyn was no fool to think she could convince Robb to change his mind. Nor could she see his father, her husband, revoking the title from Jon. To do so would undermine Robb's future authority as Warden of the North… and Ned loved Jon too.
As Catelyn watched the white wolf and the grey wolf float together atop the Gatehouse Tower, she wondered how long it would be before they led their packs against each other. The Blackfyres proved the threat of bastards to their trueborn siblings, the fatal attraction of high title and lordly power to those without it. Would Jon Snow and his children prove otherwise? After the way I spoke to him before? After I did not speak to him at all?
"Niece!" shouted Ser Brynden, as he moved his horse in front of hers, sword drawn. As her uncle, he would not allow any harm to come to her. Nonetheless, Catelyn snapped out of her thoughts, her ears suddenly filled with the sound of thumping.
"Riders approaching, my lady," Ser Wendel shouted as he drew up beside her, his own sword in his hand.
His words proved true, but not in an expected way. Out of the fog, a great shape emerged and slid to a halt on the muddy grass in front of Ser Brynden.
The mount was no horse. It had a head like a mix between a bull and a horse, though greater, and a great horn protruded from it. Shaggy red-brown hair covered its body, and the smell of cattle followed it like a cloud.
Riding on the beast's back in a large horned saddle was a young YiTish woman with eyes and hair as black as night. She was dressed in mottled dark green, with a helm covered in fabric of the same colour and black leather boots. She had strange tools hanging from straps and belts all over her body, and a long knife in a sheath at her hip.
The only other time Catelyn had met any YiTish person was during a visit to King's Landing in her childhood. A delegation of traders had been in port with a cargo of fine silk from the East. The sudden appearance was so strange, she found herself struck dumb. Another dozen of the beasts poured out of the fog and lined up with the first. Their riders were dressed like men-at-arms, though she did not recognise the banner that one held on a spear; a red weirwood leaf on a white stripe in a red field.
"Stay!" Ser Brynden commanded, pointing his sword at the YiTish woman, "Who are you to thunder up the road without regard?! Identify yourselves!"
The YiTish woman's black eyes opened wide and her brow creased with displeasure. She reached behind her and unslung a strange length of metal with hand-grips on its underside and what looked like a small Myrish glass on the top. Catelyn knew it was some sort of weapon from the way it was held, and somehow knew to fear it. Finally, the woman straightened her back and raised her chin.
"I am Zheng Lian, Princess of Taipei, Elector of Vancouver!" she boomed at a volume Catelyn could scarce believe was possible from a woman her size, "I'll ride where I want. Put your swords away before I decide you want to use them." Behind her, the other riders of the beasts were shifting lances as long as barge-poles into more comfortable grips, ready to lower them and charge.
Ser Brynden lowered the point of his sword, but did not put it away. The Manderlys did not even concede that much, and kept their weapons ready. They were not in a yielding mood. "Stand aside and let us pass," Ser Brynden commanded, though he did not raise his voice, "We have business at the Moat."
The YiTish woman glanced upwards, at the Manderly banners, and then shot a pointed glance to the side of the road. "Looks to me like you can go around."
"So can you," Ser Brynden countered.
The YiTish woman's eyes narrowed to black slits. "Not sure the unicorns wouldn't sink in that ground," she said deliberately, "Besides, I'm a princess, remember? Shouldn't you be the one to stand aside? Are you a king?"
Ser Brynden cursed under his breath, his head moving as he examined the opposition. Catelyn feared a fight was inevitable… but the foreigner's words finally clicked. Lord Wyman had mentioned a princess among the wildlings from the far east, and the tale of unicorns at Winterfell. He had not said anything about YiTi, so it had not occurred to her at once that this woman was the one from the story of how the Wall had been breached.
These are wildlings, she thought of the men-at-arms, And the YiTish woman is a 'Canadian'.
There was no real danger, provided the men could be prevented from provoking a battle. Quickly, Catelyn nudged her horse forward past her uncle. "I am Lady Catelyn Stark," she said, "I am going to Moat Cailin to see my son. You will not stop me from doing so, princess or no. Stand aside or risk offending your new ally gravely."
Lady Lian's lips curled back in a frustrated grimace, followed by a most unladylike sharp breath through her unnaturally white teeth. What does she eat?
"Shit," the young woman said to no one in particular. Without so much as a look at Catelyn, the Canadian stood in her saddle and gave a large wave with the entirety of her arm. The unicorn riders soon began to encourage their beasts off the road, clearing the way.
She dresses like a man, carries weapons and curses like a fisherman, Catelyn thought, before Arya came to mind, Either she is no princess, or she is the most rebellious daughter I have ever seen.
Lady Lian was the last to move her mount off the road. "Strictly speaking, we're not your ally," she said, "But a Stark is a Stark. Your son is in the gatehouse. They're in the middle of a war council, I think."
Ser Brynden and the Manderlys finally put their swords away, to Catelyn's relief. "Thank you, Lady Lian," she said, "I would like to say well met, but this has been most … unusual."
The Canadian snorted a laugh. Has she no sense of etiquette at all? "Excuse me if I don't appreciate men pointing things at me uninvited." She clicked her tongue loudly, and gave a long command in a language Catelyn vaguely recognised as the Old Tongue. Impressive that she has learned the tongue so quickly.
The woman's unicorn followed the command and began plodding away. The others soon followed, across the very ground she had said would not support the weight of the beasts.
"What in the name of the gods has happened, niece?" Ser Brynden asked, "What manner of lady was that? What manner of creatures were they riding?"
"A foreigner," Catelyn replied, watching the woman over her shoulder, "Riding a unicorn."
"She was of the Canadians," Ser Wendel explained, "I was at Winterfell when she arrived."
Ser Brynden scowled and put away his sword. "The Canadians are YiTish?"
Ser Wendel shook his head. "Only she. An exiled princess, or so I recall."
Exile explains much of her behaviour, Catelyn thought, wondering how her own girls would have grown up if Ned had lost the Rebellion. If she had been forced to Braavos or beyond, would any of her children have learned the ways of lords and ladies of Westeros? She put the thought away as meaningless, and pressed on.
"Let us go to my son. He will have more answers."
Outriders loyal to her son soon found Catelyn's party, and she was escorted over the dark moat filled with lizard-lions as the rising sun burned away the morning fog at last.
The once mighty fortress was a shadow of itself. The walls had fallen long ago, the large stones littered around the raised ground they had once protected. Only three towers still stood, the double-topped Gatehouse, the thin Children's Tower and the leaning Drunkard's Tower. The famous wooden keep in the centre was nowhere in evidence, its beams and planks long since rotted and burned away.
Ser Brynden had exclaimed his disbelief at the state of the place, but Catelyn knew it was still deadly to anyone attacking it from the south. The surviving towers all faced south, guarding the causeway surrounded by bogs. Everything from snakes, the aforementioned lizard-lions and even the ghosts of the dead were said to make their abode in the Neck. Her explanation of this to her uncle was met with amusement.
The Stark banner and … Jon's banner flew over the Gatehouse. That had been no dream or hallucination. Karstark sunburst banner flew over the Drunkard's Tower. But it was the Children's Tower that drew Catelyn's eye. It flew no banner, yet who occupied it was quite obvious.
A strange pair of carts with small wheels and boxy structures on top sat directly beside. This could only be the 'crawler' described to her by Ser Wendel. The Canadians' sorcerous carriage. It did not move or make noise, and Catelyn wondered if it was such a thing that required sleep or just had its magicks removed.
In the open space before the door of the tower, a bloc of men-at-arms were practicing movements with pikes. They were turning their formation this way and that way at the command of a tall man, dressed the same way as the Princess Lian and carrying a longer version of the strange weapon she had taken to hand. Catelyn could not see the man's countenance, as his back was turned. But his voice projected orders that seemed to echo off the stones, in a language she did not recognise.
Nearby, dozen or two young men and women were seeing to the care of numerous birds; eagles, seagulls, owls, even a snow vulture with its massive wings.
Catelyn didn't need to notice the weirwood leaf emblems sewn onto their coats-of-plate and furs to understand who these were. Wildlings.
"Impressive," Ser Brynden mused aloud, "Who are they? I don't recognise the sigil. A weirwood tree on a black field?"
Catelyn shifted in her saddle. "They're more of the Canadians' wildlings, nuncle."
Ser Brynden scoffed. "Impossible. Not even the men-at-arms of Lannisport handle pikes like that. And the coordination with the crossbows?"
"These Canadians are a different breed," Catelyn said, thinking more of Jon Snow than the pikemen.
"They must be," her uncle agreed, "To make wildlings listen to them."
"Or the wildlings are not what we believed them to be. Let us go."
Catelyn found her son within the Gatehouse Tower as promised, deep in council with his father's bannerlords in the dark, drafty hall. Robb stood with Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow to one side of a large stone table, their wolves sat beside them on the floor. He had grown a beard that made him look like her brother.
The table was strewn with papers, but dominated by a large map of the Riverlands painted on leather, with wooden tokens indicating the known positions of the various hosts. Lord Karstark, Lord Umber and Roose Bolton were close to Robb, their deliberations interrupted by something.
Catelyn wanted to run to her son, embrace him, kiss his cheeks and beg the Gods he would remain unharmed. But the lords would never appreciate such a thing. Robb led them as a man to war. Anything that would un-man him and turn him back into a boy could not be permitted.
All notice was given to the group across the table directly opposite Robb, so much so that not a man noticed her entry. By the peat burning in the blackened hearth, there were two of the council Catelyn did not know.
Her gaze was first drawn to the smaller man.
He was perhaps of an age with Theon, lean-built but with the wiry strength of a warrior. He was wearing a red hooded doublet of truly strange design, to accompany the green trousers and black boots common to his kind. The garb made him stand out the most of anyone in the room, yet he yawned and ignored the proceedings. He cradled yet another of the Canadian weapons in his arms, a much larger Myrish spyglass mounted on its top side. His look was strange too, not quite Northern or Westerosi. Brown eyes peered out from under a mop of brown hair, his face soft with youth. Perhaps a YiTish mother or grandmother?
The other man soon took back her notice. Dressed in the same green mottled pattern clothing and armour as the other Canadians Catelyn had seen. Despite being in his twenties, it was clear he was their leader; his clothes had some more ornamentation than either the Princess or the red-hooded man beside him, and he would not be there treating with the lords if he answered to another. He looked like a northerner by blood, handsome with sharp blue eyes. He leaned forward on the table on one hand, and shot a smirking smile across to Robb and Jon.
"You're proposing to divide your force in the face of a superior enemy," the man said, "Either you're Robert E Lee or this is a very bad idea."
The lords looked at each other, as confused as Catelyn was about who Robert E Lee was.
"Who said the Lannisters were superior?!" the Greatjon asked loudly.
"And what do you propose?!" the Lord Karstark complained, before Robb could speak, "With your many years of experience fighting wars." The lords laughed. The man was half the age of most of the lords present. It wasn't hard to understand why they would be contemptuous of him. What arrogance, she thought, Perhaps the Princess' manners are not unique to her.
The Canadian's smirk did not disappear. He straightened his back, undeterred. "I'm sure you've been in many more battles than I have, Lord Karstark," he said, "But I can still count. Forty thousand is still bigger than twenty. Do I need to write that down for you?"
The Greatjon rumbled a single laugh, to the Karstarks' indignation.
The Canadian continued. "Your information says your enemy has two azantyr about the same size as your single one. If you send all your infantry along the King's Road and your cavalry across this river to help your ally, both your 'hosts' will be outnumbered."
Catelyn felt her brow crease. Valyrian? Why use Valyrian words? She looked about, and found none of the lords questioned it.
The Canadian shrugged. "For the cavalry, that might not be such an issue, a smaller force that can move fast probably won't get caught out… but your foot? They're in serious danger of being annihilated."
He picked up a stick from the table and pointed at the eastern Riverlands on the map, bounded by the Green Fork of the Trident in the west and the Vale's mountains in the east.
"I don't know if this shows things as they really are, but the only place infantry could face bigger numbers would be the ford way down here in the south, after these rivers all join up. There's not a chance in hell you march everyone on foot that far south before you're discovered and the enemy brings his force north of that point to fight you."
He threw down the stick. "That means a battle, in the open, against an enemy that has cavalry and more troops."
Catelyn felt a chill. She had to admit to herself that did not sound like a good prospect for victory, though her instinct was to trust the lords of the north over the foreigner.
Lord Karstark shook his head. "It'll be hard fighting, but once Tywin Lannister sees that the cavalry is not present, that Lord Robb is not present, he will know his son's host will be under threat from our cavalry joining up with Lord Edmure at Riverrun. He won't pursue our foot, he shall withdraw, leave a garrison at Harrenhal and go to his son's aid."
The Canadian spread his hands in front of him. "You're assuming your ally's force will remain intact long enough for you reinforce them. The Lannisters clearly have the initiative here. They already occupy your ally's lands, so it's a good assumption that the Tullys are outnumbered by the single azantyr being sent against Riverrun. If your ally loses and this Jaime Lannister sends a message by raven to his father, there's no reason to let your eastern host get away."
The lords made more disapproving noise. "The line between wise words and craven words is as thin as parchment," Lord Glover said, "It's clear you like not our plan as you wish to get to the God's Eye as quickly as possible. And you say you will not fight alongside us. Why should we listen to you?"
Catelyn had heard that tale too. The foreigners wanted to go to the Isle of Faces, to contact their own realm by some unknown means. More sorcery.
The smirk returned to the Canadian's face. "I won't deny I have a motive to get to the lake," he said, "And I didn't say I wouldn't fight the Lannisters, I said there's an unlikely scenario where our laws do not permit me to fight them. If they block my way or if I found they've committed atrocities, then I'm free to fight them. And you should listen to me because your main objective is not somewhere in the west, it's down south in the capital. Lord Stark is not in Riverrun."
There were murmurs of assent from some of the lords at that. The Greatjon was grinning like a loon at Lord Karstark. The Canadian's words must have supported his own notions, and it was not hard to guess the aggressive plan Lord Umber would have suggested. Catelyn's chill turned to a red hot heat. They're going to abandon my father and brother, she thought. She was soothed for a moment by Robb's own own intervention.
"And what would your plan be, Lord Duquesne?" Robb asked, "Abandon the riverlords to their fate? We have obligations, Canadian, ties of blood and friendship with these men. My own grandfather rules in Riverrun. We cannot simply ignore them to march south and attack King's Landing."
'Lord Duquesne' held up his hands in protest. "I'm not suggesting you do, I'm suggesting that the best way to help your allies is to smash the enemy in the way." He picked up the stick again, and traced along the line of the Kingsroad.
"The Laughing Tree can find Tywin's scouts with the skinchangers' birds, then your riders can blind him by killing them. It's possible to stop him sending ravens and keep surveillance on him with the same birds. You confront him with the full host, cavalry and infantry. The numbers still won't be exactly equal… But without scouts and with our eyes on Tywin at all times, you can choose the ground, you have the advantage. The chance of victory is much better like that. You win the first time, and then keep chasing the survivors until they're almost all dead or captured."
"Which still leaves Riverrun and Lord Edmure in danger," Jon Snow said, "We need their banners."
He speaks well, Catelyn thought, Better than I thought possible. The fear about Jon in her heart lessened for a moment, until her mind reminded her of the reason for her fear. He broke with the Watch. He or his line could break with Robb or his children.
Lord Duquesne tilted his head. "From what you've all told me about how your enemy is organised, if you capture Tywin and destroy his host, the war is pretty much over. But if he's killed or gets away despite the destruction of his army, you can move into here."
He pointed at a place west of the God's Eye. "You'd control the central position between King's Landing and the remaining 'host', while liberating your ally's lands and freeing up lords trapped in their castles. That should increase your strength enough to let you turn and attack the capital or the other host at your leisure. Jaime Lannister would have to choose to either confront you with inferior numbers or run if you decide to attack him. Or if you go south, chase you while being hounded the whole way."
Catelyn's chill turned to red hot anger. They will the chance my father and brother will remain free and alive, she thought, They are betting on the Kingslayer's mercy and ill luck, at the behest of this foreigner who knows nothing.
The thought of losing her family and losing the war at the same time was too much to bear. Ned was safe as long as Cersei Lannister knew there was a chance her house could lose the war. But he wouldn't be if Hoster and Edmure were captured or killed. And the riverlords' support was needed to win this war. Riverrun had to be secured first.
"We can't let this happen," Ser Brynden whispered urgently.
Catelyn gave him a single nod, and stepped up to the table, finally making herself known.
Jon Snow was the first to notice. "Lady Stark!" Every lord in the room turned their heads to her.
It was Robb and Jon's direwolves that made the first move to greet her, tails wagging. The creatures had grown even larger since the last time she had seen them, larger than any wolves ought to be. They both nipped at her fingers, encouraging her to pet them.
A cacophony of greetings and movement began. The lords followed the wolves to her, lining up to kneel before her and take her hand. All except the Canadians, who stood and waited quietly.
Roose Bolton enquired of Catelyn about Tyrion Lannister, and the lords were much aggrieved to hear the dwarf son of Tywin had been let go, courtesy of her sister Lysa in the Vale. The capture of the dwarf on the Kingsroad had been a piece of great fortune, but the gods had seen fit to release him
Jon Snow did his duty and knelt before her, his mouth a thin line. It was awkward, but Catelyn could not fault his manner, showing proper obeisance to the wife of his lord and father.
Robb was greatly glad that Ser Brynden had joined Catelyn from the Vale, calling him 'The Blackfish', as he was known throughout the realm. Her son gave a formal thanks on hearing he had abandoned his post in the Vale to fight for Ned's freedom.
Once everyone was settled once more, Catelyn turned to the Canadians. "Lord Duquesne? Of where? And who is your bannerman beside you?"
The Canadian made a strange salute with his hand to the side of his head. "Lieutenant Michael Duquesne, Elector of Calgary," the Canadian replied, "This is Private Louis Sayer, Elector of Yellowknife." Lord Sayer gave the same salute as Lord Duquesne, though with less effort.
"I am Lady Catelyn Stark, wife to Lord Eddard Stark and mother to Robb. It is good to meet you."
Lord Duquesne exchanged a glance with Lord Sayer for a moment, unsure of why he was receiving this attention. All in good time. "It is good to meet you too."
Well mannered when he has to be, Catelyn thought, Or with women. "I listened to you speak before. It is clear to me that you are very wise in the ways of war."
Lord Duquesne crossed his arms. He doubts the compliment is genuine. "I wouldn't say wise. Well studied, maybe."
"As you say," Catelyn smiled, pleasantly surprised by the sudden display of modesty, "But I must criticise you on another matter. I know little of war myself, but I do know our laws and traditions as well as any man here. How the ties of noble obligation in Westeros bind us is opaque to you, you were not born here or raised in our ways."
Lord Duquesne inclined his head forwards slightly. "I would have to concede that. Though I would say victory in the field has a way of overcoming problems that come from those issues."
Catelyn shook her head. "Not so. You say if we defeat Tywin's host, we can move into the central Riverlands and gather strength. This is not true. By abandoning my brother, Lord Edmure, you risk him being captured or killed. That would greatly offend the riverlords or even convince many that the war cannot be won. Not in a way that leaves their fiefs and families intact. If we do not care for my brother or Riverrun, why should they care for my husband or daughters? We need their support to take King's Landing, especially as we have heard nothing from Lord Stannis, Lord Renly or any other lords of the realms about their position in this war." Save my sister.
Regretting that her mind had reminded her of Sansa and Arya, Catelyn took a breath to steady herself. "You say if we defeat Tywin, capture him or kill him, this war is over. That is also not true. Without killing or capturing the Kingslayer too, this war will continue. The Lannister bannermen will look to him to lead. We cannot simply march on King's Landing until he is dealt with."
Lord Duquesne scratched his chin, considering the problem. "I have been meaning to ask," he said, after a minute, "Who is the Kingslayer?"
"It is the name that Jaime Lannister is known by," Robb answered, "He murdered the last Targaryen king, a man he swore to protect. He's been called Kingslayer ever since."
"The Mad King, sir," Lord Sayer clarified, "End of the last war. From the book."
Lord Duquesne nodded to himself. "Now I remember. I see your point, Lady Stark. Though my plan requires the 'Kingslayer' to retreat or face a battle at worse odds."
"Yet it still risks my uncle and grandfather," Robb intervened, "And my mother speaks true when she says the riverlords would be offended, even disillusioned. Some may join our enemies in hopes of being raised above others."
"The Freys come to mind," Ser Brynden added. The lords made appreciative noises there. Many remembered the tardiness of the Frey banners in the last war, and how many northern lives were spent as a result.
Talk not of the Freys, we may need their bridge. "I suggest you leave planning this war to those who understand this realm, Lord Duquesne," Catelyn continued, "It is not to say you are incapable of understanding, in time. We are simply more mindful of these matters, by virtue of experience."
Lord Duquesne's eyes looked up at the ceiling for a moment, before his smirk returned. "It appears I'm beaten," he said in good humour, before turning to Robb, "Regardless of what you decide, my azantyr will be going south to the Isle of Faces. I see no practical reason to be indirect about it, and we have no orders to help you fight your war."
"Yet," Lord Sayer added.
Catelyn decided Lord Duquesne's smirk was simply the way he smiled. He has that in common with the Kingslayer, mayhaps. Or mayhaps they are both killers.
"A pity," Robb said, "We could certainly use you. But I'm sure many northern lives will be saved by your presence with the host of foot."
Clenching her fists beneath her cloak, Catelyn felt they had occupied Robb long enough. "My lords, if would forgive me, I would speak to my son alone."
"Of course, Lady Stark," Lord Karstark agreed, with a tug of his beard. The room began to empty, each lord giving a nod or glance to her as they passed. Only Theon made no move to leave. "You too, Theon." The Greyjoy left with good grace.
Lord Duquesne took a step to go, but stopped himself. He once more leaned over the table towards Robb and Jon. "We'll discuss who commands the infantry coming with me," he said. With that, the Canadians joined Jon Snow and were the last to leave the room.
Catelyn found some cheese and ale at a corner of the table, and helped herself to some of the latter. She took a sip. "You look like your uncle," she said, "When he was young."
"No doubt," Robb laughed, "Do not say that too loudly. I know not if the lords would appreciate the comparison."
"The lords seem to tolerate these foreigners, they will not baulk at your Tully blood," Catelyn replied, "I know not why such grace is extended to these Canadians. Lord Duquesne is arrogant, and I have never known a northern lord to respect that in a foreigner."
Robb's face fell, becoming as hard as stone. "Mother, that man is called 'Wallbreaker' by the wildlings. He breached the Wall and took Castle Black without losing a single man. Lord-Commander Mormont wrote and reported that the four Canadians seized the armoury. When Ser Alliser Thorne led an attack to try and take it back, Lord Duquesne and the others killed him and as many as one hundred and fifty brothers. And would have killed more, but their wildling allies used the distraction to enter the castle and force the Watch to yield."
Catelyn's throat closed in fear. "Gods," she rasped, sipping more ale.
"The other Canadian is called Otherbane," Robb continued, "He's famous among the Free Folk for killing White Walkers." A wan smile spread over his face. "In fact, he's so famous that wildling women follow him around wherever he goes."
Catelyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes, settling on an amusing breath. "Lord Manderly told me of the Others' return, of the dead walking again," she said, "I can scarce believe such a tale."
Robb swallowed a breath. "There are wights in Moat Cailin as we speak, Mother. The Canadians have a number tied up on their crawler, packed in ice from the Wall itself. The box carriages outside. They gifted two to me, I have them tied up and locked at the top of this tower, away from the damp. I plan to send them to White Harbour with some of the escort that brought you here."
"To show the world," Catelyn thought aloud, her voice quavering slightly with fear, "Good. Every trader must be shown them."
"You must be shown them," Robb said, "Believing they exist is quite different from seeing them, Mother. The lords agreed to the Canadian peace with the wildlings because they saw the things snarling at them, as far away as you are from me. And because they wish to rescue Father, Sansa, Arya and their own kin, of course. But I would be marching north not south today if the wights had not been brought to Winterfell, I am sure of it."
"Why did the wildlings make peace?" Catelyn asked, "Surely they would fight to get as far south as possible."
"They fear us almost as much as the Others, I think," Robb frowned, "Or fear that they would be caught between. But it was the Canadians that brought them to negotiate. Hence why the lords have called the treaty between us the Canadian Peace."
Seven preserve us, Catelyn thought, Mayhaps we have had great luck that the Canadians made peace. But she knew there was much on which her son needed guidance. "You must tell me all."