CATELYN VII
...
As they made their way south, staying well clear of villages, they had seen smoke on the western horizon more than once, but noone had come forth so far. She hoped that the wolves would still be enough to scare any potential pursuers away.
Catelyn had never wanted this. She had tried to tell Benjen at Winterfell how she felt, to try and make him understand how scared she was, to see some of his brother's understanding and mercy inside him, but he was not the same man, and his lioness of a wife had her firm grip around him, muddling his honourable thoughts and making him blind to whatever wrongs she had done to protect her vile secret.
The Kingslayer... Catelyn remembered Bran's words for the hundredth time, what he had told her, what he had seen in the old broken tower. Sister and brother... She shuddered.
But they were safe now, she hoped. They would only be another three or four days away from reaching the outskirts of White Harbor and the coast of the Bite, she hoped. From there on, if Lord Wyman would allow them safe passage instead of seizing them for his lord and lady paramount, they could take a ship down to King's Landing and be home within the fortnight. She hoped, and she believed, that it would be so, but she could not be sure of course.
The Manderlys were theirs, and theirs only, at court. Little Wylla and her older sister Wynafryd were ladies-in-waiting to Sansa and Arya, and their father Lord Wylis was among King Eddard's most loyal men, and a northerner as he himself was, at that. But as a northerner, they also held their allegiance to Winterfell itself... If only Ned had not taken the throne, they might have lived a secluded life up North, even though it was a cold and grim place. As it was, however, her husband's younger brother was the one who was in command here. She could not say to whom of the two Stark brothers that the old, fat Lord Wyman would take his orders, his king or his lord. She had met him before, when he had come to court, though. He was a mostly honourable man, she thought, even though in truth his enormous size had held her from thinking too hard on any of his other qualities each time she met him. Still, She believed that she could trust him. But she could not be entirely certain, not up here.
...If he had been aware of their escape, of course. But regardless, it would seem suspicious. They were a small, ragged party. It would be obvious to anyone seeing them that they had come befallen on trouble on their way. Perhaps they could claim to have been attacked by wildlings? It was no lie. Osha still trailed alongside them, reminding Catelyn of her brothers and sisters in arms, the wildling raiders and their spearwives, as they were called here up north, who had watered the ground three days' ride east of Winterfell with their tainted blood. She only hoped the wildling woman would not betray them. She had grown strangely fond of her during their travels, so far, even though she was as far away from a proper lady acquaintance as any woman could be. Her hair was long, black and seemed somehow tousled from moss still, her face wrinkled and leathery, her face moody and scowling, often scowling, as she disapproved of their new companions the Reeds.
...
They could see the smoke from miles away. The smell and sounds began to increase ever louder as well, with each step, every trodding pace of the horses as they rode closer and closer.
There were less deer for every mile they went on, and also less wolves, so the few people who heard them must surely have wondered about her sons' two beasts howling in the night. Instead, they had chanced upon the outskirts of a small hage, where Summer and Shaggydog had taken sheep from. Wolves were wont to kill as many sheep that they could get their paws on. Somehow, though, her sons had made them only stop at a handful, just as many as they would need for the remainder of their journey. Catelyn felt sorry for the farmer, and reminded herself that she would see to it that they were compensated when they reached White Harbor.
...
The next day, Rickon grew restless again, asking when they would be there and tugging at her dress, over and over again. Senelle had no power to stop him. Not even the Reeds could sway her little red-haired rowdy babe.
"Rickon, you must keep silent now", she warned.
"I want home to Robb!" He complained, swaying his head back and forth. "I want home to Robb!"
"We are on our way, sweetling. But we must be quiet now. We do not know if these people would wish our best. They might try and hurt us. Hush now."
"We have the wolves, my queen", Osha said. "Any lot you find down here won't be more dangerous than such."
"All the same, I do not wish to call unneccessary attention to us until we have found a ship."
...
They chanced upon a lone woodcutter by the stream. The man was sawing through an elm tree as he saw them approaching.
"M'lady! Seven blessings", he shouted out, and bowed. Then he saw the wolves padding silently behind them, and fell deathly silent, his face pale.
"Seven blessings to you", Catelyn replied. "Do not worry about our wolves. They are great and fierce, yes, but they follow our commands as steadfast as any soldier."
The man did not seem an inch convinced by the explanation. Instead, he took up his axe and held it steady in his hand, all the while standing his ground, or perhaps backing away slowly. It was hard to see from so far away.
Does he know who we are? She thought not. Though the rumour of the king and queen's stay at Winterfell would have surely spread as far as White Harbor long ago, they were still several miles north of the city, and the old lonesome woodcutterman did not seem like the type who listened to tavern gossip.
They simply waved at him, taking no note to further explain their situation, as Bran did his best to direct Summer's gaze and steps away from the left of the track where the man stood some feet away from his large wooden cart and sturdy brown work horse. The beast of burden frusted nervously, tramping with its great shaggy hooves into the ground, but the man went to his horse and stroked it across the mule, telling it to be still.
They were out of sight of the man and his horse soon enough, leaving him to keep cutting down timber and wondering if he had recognized who they were. For her part, she might only have been some other Northern highborn lady, as she did not wear her crown. But the Kingsguard, on the other hand... They were impossible to mistake for any other knights in the realm in their snowy white armour and cloaks, even though Mandon's had been tattered by one of the Winterfell hounds.
...
Over the next two days, they began to finally see and hear some small villages and collections of houses springing up to their sides, though they did their best to not approach them. They rode past as silent as they could, hoping that they would not come after them or the wolves with pitchforks, arrows and else in the night.
The thick forests of the North gave way to sparser groves of trees as they rode, and then to swampy marshlands, heaths, moors and fields of wheat and barley. The harvests would be underway in another three or four moons, from the look of it, Catelyn thought to herself, though Northern grains grew slower than they did in The Riverlands or The Crownlands so perhaps it would be longer. As of now, she saw few and less farmers tilling the soil, only the smoke of them in the distance. She was thankful for it.
…
As the day turned into early noon, they suddenly saw yet another passer-by, this time a young woman carrying two heavy pails of water, as well as a huge basket of leeks, beets, roots, turnips, apples, onions and else. Her young child, a babe of around Rickon's age, trudded along to the side of her, too small to be left alone and yet too heavy to be carried in his mother's arms if she did not get paid to do so.
She stared white-eyed at them, as she ground to a halt, putting down her pails of water on the ground next to her and leaning against one of the many pale white birch trees which surrounded them at both their sides.
"M'lady... My high lady...", she mumbled, as she did her best to bow down and curtsy, all the while still holding fast of the great basket of vegetables. "My high knights."
She did not seem to have seen the wolves as of yet, and a good thing too it was. Since their last encounter, Bran and Rickon had been instructed to keep the beasts at a further bay, and they now loped some fifty or a hundred feet back, behind the horses. It would be best for everyone, she had decided. The two huge wolves did not seem to mind particulary. They knew they would not leave them behind, in any rate.
"Do you know who we are?" Catelyn asked, as she peered down on the common woman.
She beheld her for a moment, as she waited for the reply.
She was of average height, or perhaps a little taller, with a long neck and face, making her look almost goose-like, her long hair kept in pigtails back to the sides of her shoulders and underneath a long white hair-cloth shawl [ ]. Her bosom was average, and she was clad in a white [dress[ , her hips were seeming broad, but perhaps that was merely the shape of her large dark brown skirt and apron, and she wore red wooden shoes, Catelyn saw. She is definitely from a richer place.
"No, my high lady, I am sorry. If not... If not... Your high knights might not by any chance be from Lord Stark at Winterfell, be they not?"
"We are not", Ser Erryk said.
"Then are you the high make of the king's, then?" She asked. "Good King Ned?"
Catelyn decided to answer truthfully, as she saw the look on the scared but respectful woman's face.
"We are", she confirmed. "They are." She gave a nod to Mandon, at her backside.
"You stand in the presence of Her Grace Queen Catelyn Tully, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms", he declared, all in pomp in the forest court of the birch pillars and green moss carpets, where tiny red-and-white prickled mushrooms grew, and even tinier ants and bugs were carrying away small pieces of them to their nests.
Why are we here? She asked herself, inside her weary mind, as she heard Mandon's stalwart voice echoing in the green of the Northern woods, instead of in its usual hall of red and white marble and old Targaryen tapestries. How did it ever come to all this?
"Your high queen", the woman said, as her breath came out from beneath her. "I follow you. I serve you."
"Thankyou", Catelyn said, managing a morose smile on her dry lips. "You are most kind, my lady."
"Are you on your way to see Lord Stark, then? He is the king's brother, is he not?"
"He is", Catelyn confirmed. "We have just come from there."
The woman looked confused, as if something was refusing to click inside of her head. Her eyes were scanning the party up and down still, or again, as her rabbit-like teeth peered over the top of her lips, betraying a sense of discomforted confusion.
"Their Graces Prince Brandon and Prince Rickon are also accompanying their Royal Mother on Her journey", Mandon continued, heralding the sight of little Bran and Rickon, currently in the lap of Senelle behind her.
The commonwoman's little son began to slowly walk towards Rickon's horse at the moment, but his mother stopped him, with a terrified motion, dropping her basket and all of its contents in the act. She slapped the child, making it cry, and then hushed it as hard as anyone had surely hushed a child before, Catelyn thought to herself.
"I beg your forgiveness, my high queen", the woman said. "Is there anything I can serve you of?"
She extended her basket of vegetables, as well as the pails of water, which were only half full for some reason. Mandon walked forward, took a small apple out of the basket and bit into it.
"Fine enough", he grumbled, as he put it right back into the basket without a second thought. "But we shall not require more food now, I think. It would have sufficed a fortnight ago, though. Your lands north of here are not very well-tilled. Not many apple trees or turnip fields where we have just traveled through."
Catelyn decided to stop the conversation short before any more information was spilled by her guards, unbiddenly.
"What lies beyond those hills?" She asked to the woman, pointing to the crest of the hill behind her, where the path took a slight turn down and on towards a gradual sparsening of the forest. "It's a large town, is it not?"
"It is, m'lady, my queen", the woman bowed. "'Tis the city of White Harbour."
I knew it, Catelyn thought. We have made it. We have finally arrived."