This Chapter was edited by Gladiusx
21st Day of the 9th Moon (Two days before the Battle outside Harrenhal)
A few miles from Torrhen's Square
Rodrik
"Ser Rodrik, are we certain of the Ironborn's strength?"
Rodrik Cassel closed his eyes and prayed to the Warrior for patience as the young lord of Castle Cerwyn asked the same question for the tenth time since they sallied out from Winterfell.
"Yes, Lord Cerwyn. Theon the Turncloak was seen with nearly two thousand men sieging Torrhen's Square. It matches the number of Ironborn we believe to have been raiding the Stony Shore."
"Yes, yes, but I still don't understand why we are rushing instead of waiting for Glover's troops and the rest of the houses of the Wolfswood?"
"Because we cannot afford to wait for them to meet us. They do not have any lancers and are all woodsmen from the forest clans. If we delay any longer, we run the risk of the Ironborn discovering us and having them retreat to their boats. This is our best chance to capture the Turncloak and secure our western shores once and for all."
Young Cley still did not look convinced, and Rodrik understood his hesitance. He had brought three hundred riders with him to join Rodrik's six hundred lancers as they rode hard for Torrhen's Square. The young lad had done well harassing Victarion Greyjoy's reavers when they raided close to their lands for supplies and was loath to leave his lands undefended. Unfortunately, needs must, and Rodrik was forced to take nearly all of Winterfell's garrison for this venture.
It had been an unpleasant surprise when they received a raven from Torrhen's Square seeking aid. That it singled out Theon Greyjoy and the number of his troops had galvanized Rodrik to convince Prince Bran to have him ride out and wipe the squids out. Unlike the massive army at Barrowton, which had still not managed to breach the walls even after a month of siege, the paltry numbers that Theon led would be easy to defeat. Young Bran had sent a thousand men-at-arms, all of them footmen, along with thrice that number in workers and camp followers to the Mountain Clans with Prince Rickon, where they were mustering the full force of the clansmen to support the Night's Watch against the impending Wildling attack. While the Glovers and Mormonts mustered in Deepwood Motte, they were not in a position to ride out for Torrhen's Square due to their lack of horses.
Thus, it was up to Rodrik and his heavy lancers to ride to their aid. Rodrik had taken all of the castle's lancers, leaving three hundred footmen as the last line of defense. It was still a significant garrison but hardly enough to cover the massive walls of Winterfell, but needs must.
Granted, they were outnumbered by over a thousand men, yet those were still Ironborn and on land. Torrhen's Square should have a garrison of five hundred led by Leobald Tallhart. His nephew, the foolhardy Benfred Tallhart, fancied himself a great knight with his Wild Hares that were no more than fifty riders. Even less than that, considering they had been the first to clash with the Ironborn near the Stony Shore when they aided Ryswell's Barrow Knights - Benfred had been wounded and was staying in the Ryswell Castle to recuperate, leaving his uncle to lead the defense as Castellan.
Presently, Rodrik was waiting for his outriders to return with a report on the situation in the Tallhart seat. The weather was gloomy, with heavy clouds looming overhead and threatening rain. A storm was coming, and Rodrik prayed to the Old Gods it would be to their fortune; if it rained, it would counter the Ironborn's archers, allowing his lancers to crash into their lines easily as few of his horses had full barding.
Not even Winterfell had the capability of fashioning so much steel in such a short period of time no matter how much gold Prince Bran threw at the problem. Lord–King Robb had taken the vast majority of the Stark heavy lancers with him, and to forge a full barding and plate armor simply required time; time that they did not have, and thus, Rodrik had prioritized his men for armor rather than the mounts.
The sound of horses galloping approached them, and Rodrik looked at the hill that hid their approach, finding his three riders returning with two more additions he did not recognize. "Jeor, what have you found?"
His serjeant, the elderly Edwyle Mollen's second son, opened his visor in a salute, "The squids have camped outside the main gate. They seem to be building rams and ladders, but there is a queer mist in the lake."
"What do you mean, queer?"
"It was like a wall of fog that reached higher than the castle's walls. I couldn't see the water, though I noticed none of the Ironborn approached it either." Jeor Mollen then motioned for the two other riders dressed in lesser armor than their own but still clearly men-at-arms. "These two are leal men of Torrhen's Square who were trapped outside the castle while on patrol. Tell them what you saw."
The Tallhart man removed his visor with a salute, "It was a queer sight, alright. We were returning from patrolling the lands towards the Twin Lakes, and the castle was within sight when that mist came out of nowhere. We didn't want to risk the horses, so we camped for the night, but the next morn, the castle was already under siege. How the squids managed to disembark their men in the mist, in the darkness of night, and then build their siege camp, I do not know. Witchcraft or some other devilry from their Drowned God."
Rodrik groaned inwardly; he was tired of all this talk of magic and sorcery he had to endure in Winterfell. While he would admit that young Rickon's visions were useful, Prince Bran's skinchanging was eerie and unnatural. If there's the possibility the Ironborn also had access to their brand of magic…
"And you were the only patrols around?"
"No Ser, Castellan Leobald had sent men to the Ryswell lands to join his nephew. There are still more near Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore." The man-at-arms frowned, "We knew the squids had attacked moons ago but had seemingly disappeared all of a sudden. The Castellan wanted them found and had sent most of his riders everywhere in search of them. Turns out, they were waiting for this moment."
"But where are their ships? The squids would not leave them far when they're on land, especially when sieging a castle." Cley asked from beside him, and Rodrik looked at the Tallhart man questioningly.
"I do not know. The damned mist had not dispersed once since the Ironborn began their attack over a sennight ago. I tell you, it's unnatural."
Rodrik was done with the talk of magic and whatnot. Their goal was right in front of them, whether there was magic at hand or not, the Ironborn were still flesh and blood and were waiting for them to crush them.
"How many did you count, Jeor?"
"More than 1500 but definitely less than 2000. While I could not get close to the lake to make sure, I'm certain the Ironmen had beached their ships before making their way to the castle."
"Very well. I have heard enough." Rodrik turned to his men; all nine hundred heavy lancers were eager for battle. "Men, our enemy is at Torrhen's Square. We shall mow down the Ironmen before they even have a chance to retreat to their boats."
The men cheered as everyone mounted their steeds and listened to his battle plan. Within moments, Rodrik was leading his army over the hill and to the steadily approaching castle where the Ironmen had spotted them and were hastily forming a shield wall.
Rodrik was intimately familiar with the lands surrounding the Tallhart seat. Torrhen's Square had a strong keep and thirty feet tall walls with square towers on each corner with a single gate facing east. Yet the castle was not built on the shore of Whitehart Lake but on a hill a short distance away. Despite access to a lake and river that led to the Saltspear, they did not have a town nor even a port owing to some ancient pact with the Dustins; politics in the North were messy, and the Dustins of Barrowton did not want competition as the only city on the western coast of the North.
Regardless, that meant the castle had many hamlets and villages in its hinterlands instead of towns, but that did not matter. For the Ironborn to attack, they would need to beach their boats to disembark, a terrible choice for if they needed to retreat after facing a surprise attack, such as now, it would take them too long to get on their boats and flee. As they rode at a steady trot to the distant castle, still too early for a canter, let alone a gallop, Rodrik could see what Jeor meant. The lake and its shore were wholly hidden by fog, though it was not rare for such a fog to form in colder moons.
Rodrik steadied his lance as he led his horse from the front, searching the crowd of Ironborn for the traitor he had taught since he was a lad, yet not finding him. Instead, his eyes landed on a certain reaver with a jaw nearly split in half, giving him four lips. Rodrik grinned under his visor, even as Dagmer Cleftjaw hid behind the shieldwall; he may not have found Theon, but the old reaver was as good as a leader of this motley band of pirates as any.
There were no words spoken nor shouts of battle as his horses galloped. The Ironmen may have good armor as they were not afraid of wearing heavy plate on their boats; the gods knew their islands were so full of coal and iron that the squids were known for it. Yet, none of them had spears, for no tree longer than a sapling could grow in those barren lands, only swords, maces, and axes. Curiously, however, none of the Ironborn forming a shieldwall were armored in anything better than boiled leather or the occasional chainmail. Were they suicidal or perhaps this band was the poorest of the lot?
Rodrik ignored such idle thoughts as his troops crashed into the hastily formed shield wall. His lance pierced through a reaver's shield to nail him through his leather armor and out through another reaver standing behind him, their victory was already decided.
"Fall back!"
The call came earlier than he expected. Rodrik had barely wheeled his troop around to allow their second line of lancers to crash into the shield wall and was preparing to follow their third line into one final charge that would surely shatter them when the reavers broke rank and fled towards the lake shore. He glanced at the castle and learned why, as he saw Leobald's garrison sallying out to join his army to wipe the squids out.
"Victory! Victory is ours! Run them down!"
The time for tactics and plans was over. The Ironmen were on the retreat, but they could not be allowed to reach their boats, or else they would escape and live to reave another day. A part of him was wary of leading his horsemen to the eerie mist where the Ironmen were retreating, yet he pushed it aside. They must maintain the initiative, if they allowed the reavers a chance to recover, they could very well prepare for their next charge.
"Let none escape!" Cley Cerwyn roared from nearby, and even if Rodrik wanted to stop, he could not.
As Rodrik charged after the retreating squids, his men followed him, and he cut down several of the fleeing reavers before the mist suddenly thickened even more. All of Rodrik's instincts screamed at him that something was very wrong.
"Halt! To me! To–"
Suddenly, Rodrik heard an ominous whistling sound and found himself toppling from his horse and crashing into the ground. Feeling like the entire world was spinning, Rodrik Cassel groaned as he struggled to stand, only to wince heavily as his leg buckled; It was not broken, thank the gods, yet it was definitely going to bruise. A miracle considering how many men had died from a similar fall. He looked to his horse only to sigh at the sheer bad luck he suffered; an arrow through the slit of the eye, a million in one shot considering Rodrik's horse was one of the few with full barding, and he felt a chill crawling up his back.
Luck… or sorcery.
The sound of men screaming and horses neighing was all around him, yet it was the endless whistling sound of arrows striking metal and flesh that caused him to force himself to stand despite the pain.
"Cley? Jeor? Leobald? Anyone hear me?!"
No answer came except for more screams and the constant hail of arrows, and Rodrik was forced to grab a fallen shield to hide behind when an arrow shattered on his plate. It was so foggy and misty that Rodrik did not even know which way was back and which way was forward. For what felt like hours but was most likely only minutes, the sound of constant arrows striking at him and his men continued until it finally stopped. No other sound came aside from the occasional groan of pain from one of his men, and Rodrik felt his heart sink.
He gritted his teeth as he grabbed his fallen sword, his entire body had arrows sticking out of his armor like a pincushion; he had led his men to a trap. No matter, if he were to die regardless, he would die with a sword in hand. Shadows roamed through the mist, and Rodrik roared as he sliced at them; the shadowy fucks had heads with tentacles coming out of their chins, yet they still died to his castle-forged steel easily enough. Suddenly, many such shadows were charging at him and fighting among themselves, and Rodrik wondered what kind of devilry had summoned these ghosts and what fool could not control them and allowed them to fight among themselves.
It did not matter to Rodrik as they continued to approach him, and he slayed them all, idly wondering if the Drowned God's devils were truly such weaklings. One final ghost approached him, and Rodrik stabbed it in the throat before pushing it to the ground and roaring at the fog.
"Enough of this mummery! Come out and fight you craven warlocks!"
Suddenly, the mist parted in front of him, and Rodrik could finally see the disaster he found himself in. All around him were corpses of his men! His jaw dropped as his eyes fell on young Cley Cerwyn, his neck pierced by a sword; his sword! The young lord of Cerwyn stared at him with eyes full of disbelief, and Rodrik stumbled back in horror.
What devilry was this?!
Men gasped and cursed, and Rodrik slowly turned around to find several of his men in a similar position to his own, slaying their friends and kin while they were in the wretched mist. Then, the sound of jeering came, and Rodrik turned around to face the Whitehart Lake… which was teaming with longships full of Ironborn. These were different from the previous shieldwall; they were all well armed and armored, the contrast even more evident as they hauled their fleeing brethren into the ships. Hundreds of them lined the decks of the ships, nearly all of them holding longbows.
One among them he could never mistake even through his lobstered armor for he had forgone a helmet; he had taught Theon Greyjoy how to wield the blade for nearly ten years, and the young man at the prow of the ship aiming his bow at him was unmistakable.
Rodrik did not have the chance to raise his shield before the Turncloak loosed his arrow, and the last thing he saw was it piercing through his left eye, and he knew no more.
Asha
"Quickly, gather the horses and strip the dead of their armor." Her brother demanded a lot from their men, yet none dared to question him after he had led them to victory. He turned to her when he noticed her presence. "Asha, have you secured the castle?"
"Aye, with the garrison lost in your mist and the castellan and his eldest dead, they surrendered once I guaranteed their safety."
"Safety?" Theon turned to her then, his now familiar dark eyes with barely any whites looked at her askance. "No matter, you can hold them for ransom or do whatever you wish. Have you already sent the raven to Winterfell?"
"Yes, but I still don't understand. What's the point of all this? Telling Winterfell that Rodrik Cassel won a great victory and will deliver you in chains? Why even bother gathering the horses and stripping the dead of their armor?"
"Why, my dear sister, naturally, because the valiant 'Ser Rodrik Cassel' will indeed lead me back to his home." Theon grinned widely as he pointed a thumb at the elderly Dagmer Cleftjaw, who was stripping the Winterfell master-at-arms of his armor and putting it on. "Uncle Dag has a passing resemblance to the late Rodrik. He needs only keep his helmet visor closed, and the Drowned God shall do the rest."
Asha dearly wanted to smack her brother; when he first suggested this mad scheme, he had assured her of a secret entrance to the ancient fortress. Something about gathering twenty of their best swimmers, then diving through an underground stream that ended in the Castle's Godswood. It was an utterly mad plan, yet no Ironborn feared drowning, and the risk was worth the rewards. But her brother had proven to be wily and willing to adapt when the cold moons arrived, and the men wondered if they would be able to swim in such cold.
Thus, this even madder scheme of baiting the Winterfell garrison, waiting for the Drowned God to tell him the best moment when they were at their weakest. Something that no one could have ever known unless they had spies inside the Heart of the North; Thereby, faking the attack on Torrhen's Square. The trick with the mist caused many of the men to shiver yet even more to firmly believe in Theon's powers as the Champion of the Drowned God. It was still a very risky plan, as it relied completely upon that none of the Stark men would survive, necessitating sacrificing a portion of their host. Of their four thousand men, nearly an eighth died in the shield wall, with another eighth wounded, yet it was worth it, for it encouraged the Northern host to fully commit, even dragging out Tallhart's garrison.
Thankfully, those on the shieldwall were all thralls or sons of thralls; the lowest caste in Ironborn society, eager to go through the seven hells themselves for a chance to rise in the ranks. They barely had an axe and shield to protect themselves against the devastating charge that would have broken even the hardiest Ironborn, let alone the ill-equipped thralls.
Taking Torrhen's Square was a major victory, as it would allow Asha a base of operations to attack the Wolfswood and their rich timber mills. She was already greatly satisfied with this, but if Theon still wanted more, he and the rest of their fleet were free to march on Winterfell. She had 1500 men at her disposal, and Theon had 2000, though Asha was confident she would be able to convince at least half of those to remain under her command, especially the thralls. Many of them were wounded, and there were only so many horses for Theon and his men.
The raven was already on the way; all that was needed for Asha was to keep a low profile until Theon arrived near Winterfell, and she could begin her attacks on the Wolfswood.
A*H*M
28th Day of the 9th Moon
A small grove near the God's Eye
"I will not ask again." Catelyn uttered coldly, ignoring the sound of men groaning in pain as they were dragged in front of her, yet her eyes were focused on the only knight among them. "Who sent you?"
"H-How?! How the fuck did you know we were coming? Ugh!" The tall man with a black kettle on his surcoat grunted as Hallis Mollen punched him, his mailed fist cutting open his cheek and knocking out a couple of teeth.
"Answer Lady Stark, or I promise you, your death will be slow and miserable." The muscular Captain of the Guards grinned sadistically as two of his men held the knight down by a Weirwood, his surviving men bound beside him. "I haven't seen a man given to the Old Gods since Ol' Rick ruled in Winterfell and I was but a wee lad, so don't tempt me."
Normally, Catelyn would never allow such a barbaric threat, but right now, she was all out of mercy, and the knight claiming to be Ser Osney Kettleblack did not seem to take them seriously. As the man refused to answer and Hallin turned to her questioningly, Catelyn signaled to another of her guards, Shadd. The Wintertown man nodded grimly as he approached one of their captives and sliced his throat with his dagger in one smooth motion, causing blood to flow freely on the ground. If it ended up flowing to the weirwood's roots, then so be it; Mother have mercy on her soul, but she would know that Catelyn Stark had lost any shred of mercy in the past few moons.
"A quick and clean death, far more than befits his station, considering he ought to have been hung like the brigand he was." Catelyn's blue eyes bored into the terrified brown of the knight as he stared at the bleeding corpse. "Now, will you answer my questions, or will you suffer?"
Catelyn's gaze roved over the four other survivors of the group of twelve that tried to sneak into their camp in the middle of the night. They were dressed in a messy assortment of armor; catspaws, and sellswords. Cowardly rogues who would never have the stomach for a fair fight. Each of them had two of her men pressing on their shoulders with their knees, forcing them to the ground; the rest of her guards finished off those too wounded, secured the camp, or stood like statues nearby awaiting orders.
"The same goes for all of you. Will you answer?"
As they hesitated and remained silent, Catelyn nodded to, Tom, who unhesitantly pulled out his knife and used the pommel to crush one of the men's fingers. A squeal of pain erupted from the man's mouth, only to turn into an unholy screech as another of her guards, Dick, did the same to his other hand.
"I would rather not waste time as dawn approaches, but I will get my answers." Catelyn gazed at the other captives as they shivered in fear as her men continued crushing their companion's fingers before moving onto his knuckles, then wrist, and just as they were bending his arm to rip his elbow off its socket, one of them finally broke.
"I-It w-was the L-Lannisters!" The young rogue blurted out, and Catelyn noted he was not even a man; he was barely her son's age. "Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell have placed a bounty on your head to be brought alive to them."
"Dirk, you fucking fool, shut–" Another punch from Hallis crushed Kettleblack's nose.
"A bounty, you say? Must be quite the prize to risk traveling through the wartorn Crownlands for me."
"A-Aye, half a hundred thousand Dragons!"
The campground went silent at the absurd amount of gold so easily thrown by Tywin Lannister to capture her. Such a bounty would have terrified anyone, but Catelyn felt nothing but relief as she smiled coldly. "My, my. I suppose the Lions truly have lost both of my daughters if they are in such desperate need of a hostage."
"Quite the large sum as well, My Lady. Did they not place a similar bounty on the Princess?" Ser Lucas Blackwood chortled as he stroked the feathers of one of his ravens - the second son of Tytos Blackwood was no knight, and disdained the practice, yet Catelyn still called him Ser in respect. The young man was better than most knights in conduct and competence, and many a Northerner followed the Old Gods and were still knights.
"On the contrary, my dear friend." Ser Robin Flint chuckled as he approached after finishing off the last of their assailants. "It is an insult that the Queen Dowager's bounty is less than the princess."
As the men chuckled, the boy who spoke, Dirk, looked at her imploringly from the ground, "That's all I know, I swear! We were never going to harm you, just capture you. Will you let me go now?"
"I'm sure you also sneaked into our camp with weapons drawn to join us for dinner. Do not take me for a fool, boy." The sellsword's eyes widened in horror as she approached and glared down at him. "Tywin Lannister has his own dogs to capture people like me, bounties be damned. Now, whom do you serve?"
"I-I don't know," Kettleblack tried to moan something, only for Hallis to place his knee over the back of his neck while the boy stuttered. "I don't remember what he looked like."
The boy shivered uncontrollably, not saying more, and Catelyn sighed inwardly, steeled her heart, and signaled to Shadd, who had gagged their victim once the boy started talking and ceased their torture. Understanding her without any need for her to speak, he unsheathed his dagger and gutted the bound man. Then the rest of the men tied a noose around his neck and hanged him on the weirwood's branch.
Catelyn ignored the queasy feeling in her belly as she watched the man struggle feebly for a few moments before expiring - she must not falter here; she had already hardened her heart. "Perhaps this will refresh your memory?"
"I-It was the Mockingbird!" Another of the men blurted out. "No one knows his name, but he's simply known as the Mockingbird in our circles. He wanted you brought alive and unharmed to him at any costs, even willing to outbid Tywin Lannister!"
Catelyn frowned as she tried to recall anyone with a mockingbird sigil, yet her mind faltered for once. No House in Westeros had a mockingbird for a coat of arms that she knew of, and she had long learned all the noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms by heart.
"How did you even know our location?"
"They say the Mockingbird has eyes and ears everywhere. Now, please, let us go, and we vow never to speak of this meeting or go after you again!"
"And trust that you did not already lead another group here? We already have men in your camp and they reported several of the horses are missing."
The scoundrel spluttered incoherently, and Catelyn sighed inwardly; she supposed that was expected from catspaws and sellswords. A bounty and a man known as the Mockingbird. Still, it tickled her memory; Catelyn felt like she should recognize the mockingbird, as if she had seen someone with such a sigil, or mark, yet like trying to catch smoke, it slipped from her mind.
Gurgled laughter came from the ground, and Catelyn turned to the restrained knight. She nodded at Hallis, who grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head enough to speak.
"You fools are already dead. Tywin Lannister will send his best to hunt for you, and he's not known for mercy. If you had allowed us to capture you, we would have taken you to our boss, but you stupid whore shall now suffer–"
Hallis Mollen stabbed his dagger into the man's temple, piercing through to the other side, turning his drivel into a bloody gurgle as the smell of shit permeated the air. The knight had soiled himself. Catelyn frowned, but her retinue's serjeant just smiled apologetically.
"Begging your pardon, My Lady, but no one dares question your honor and lives."
She sighed as the rest of her men echoed an aye before turning to Lucas Blackwood. "You know what to do."
The second son of Lord Tytos Blackwood nodded as he sat on a rock and closed his eyes. Ravens quickly flew from tree branches and scattered all around them.
"Lady Stark? What shall be done with them?"
"That will depend on Ser Lucas. If he discovers reinforcements, then their lives are forfeit. Tie them up and break the camp."
Her men hurried to obey her orders while she walked back to the campfire and sat on a log, Brienne sullenly joining her as they accepted a cup of tea from Shadd.
It felt like it had been years since that cursed day under the walls of Storm's End when Renly Baratheon was slain by a shade with Stannis Baratheon's face. Her retinue of twenty, along with their new companion Brienne, had managed to leave Renly's camp, yet they did not dare loiter in case Stannis or the Reachmen decided to take them captive.
For an entire moon, they had carefully dodged patrols and outriders from both camps, gathering information and supplies as they traveled through the Kingswood, hoping to follow the Gold Road to the Riverlands. They were forced to detour north to the Crownlands when they found the Stormlands army blocking their path, and it was then that strange things began to happen.
Catelyn could feel something was different in the land, from the water she drank and the food she ate to the very air that she breathed. Even her prayers to the Seven felt… different. She could almost feel something when she prayed to the Maiden to watch over her daughters, the Mother to give her strength to endure her hardships, and the Crone to give her wisdom on dealing with the madness that began to happen around them.
It started with Lucas Blackwood. Lord Tytos' second son had fallen ill one day, possibly at the worst time possible, as they desperately searched for a method to cross the Blackwater Rush. The Golden Crossing was too far and dangerous, with the roads teaming with Stormlanders and Reachmen. Then, Ser Lucas suddenly got better and led them to a ferryman willing to take them across for some silver.
"How did you know about him, Lucas?" Robin Flint had asked as they led their horses on the ferry.
"I didn't. I saw him hide the boat and pretend to be a simple fisherman." Lucas shrugged, and before any of them could ask how he had seen such a thing, a raven landed on his shoulder. "Father always said the Old Gods watch over us through the Weirwoods, but ravens were their heralds. I suppose my prayers were answered."
While Catelyn, Brienne, and Perwyn Frey, the only Seven worshipers in the retinue, had been apprehensive about the blatant use of magic, none of the Northmen blinked an eye, even giving a nod of respect at the Blackwood warrior. Then again, who was she to complain about a noble using the animal on his banner as a companion when her children did the same?
Still, traveling through the Crownlands had become dangerous. Bandits, outriders, foragers, sellswords, and even wild clansmen from the Vale have infested the lands, especially as they were forced to keep off the roads. Lucas' ability to scout ahead with his ravens had proven to be a superb boon; even Perwyn Frey had overcome his earlier fear of the sudden flock of ravens that seemed to be everywhere.
Yet Blackwood's powers were not omnipotent, as sometimes they were simply forced to fight. More than once, Catelyn had been forced to watch helplessly with her new companion while the men fought off any brigands.
Brienne the Blue had abandoned her battered plate and horse at Storm's End yet retained her sword and rainbow cloak. She had already proven herself capable as she fought off several assailants and claimed a horse and a messy assortment of armor from their foes.
For a few weeks, they thought they had managed to get away from most of the fighting as they steadily rode west and away from any patrols from King's Landing. Then, Tywin Lannister had blocked their path to the Riverlands just south of the God's Eye. Catelyn had decided to risk it then and sent Ser Lucas, accompanied by Ser Perwyn Frey and some of her men, to a nearby village owing allegiance to House Mallery to learn more. A few days later, the men returned with news of Tywin Lannister riding to Bitterbridge with his horse, leaving his foot behind.
Catelyn did not need to be a genius to learn that the Roses had laid in bed with the Lions.
Then, news trickled in from the many refugees and travelers on the road - those who were willing to talk or trade with them at least. News that Catelyn could barely hope to be true but after hearing the many tales, each more absurd than the next, yet all ending in the same result, she finally allowed herself to feel relief.
Sansa, her beautiful daughter, had managed to escape the Lannisters' clutches!
Catelyn was unsure which tale to believe, whether Renly Baratheon truly came back from the dead to save her daughter, which she seriously doubted as she had seen what the prancing stag was worth - no matter what protests Brienne made. Or perhaps it was the louder tale of a foreign sorcerer spiriting her away, slaying hundreds in his wake, calling a flood from the same river they had followed to this ancient lake, and causing the River Gate to explode somehow.
It did not matter which tale it was; all that mattered to Catelyn Stark was the safety of her daughter. While it was not known what happened to Sansa after she and her savior absconded from King's Landing aboard one of the Royal Fleet's ships, Catelyn could thank Cersei for giving her all the information she needed. The bounties that had been placed on their heads, as well as the prize for returning Myrcella Baratheon, gave her as good a hint as she could get.
To many, this Perseus might be a sorcerer, but to Catelyn, he must be a savior sent by the gods who finally answered her prayers. Sansa could even be in the North by now, for all she knew. Oh, how she longed to return to Riverrun, call for Robb to end this senseless war, and return home!
Only Arya remained unaccounted for, and Catelyn would not rest until she found her daughter alive or dead. If only they could learn more about what was happening in the land… sadly, most inns or villages they came upon in their travels were far too crowded to serve them, and no one trusted travelers. It was easy to find news spread by the authorities, but the smallfolk shared little with their group, as they were clearly nobles, no matter how much they tried to hide it.
Gone were their sigils, banners, and anything hinting at them being from the North - everything was packed away or discarded. The men kept their armor under a cloak at all times, and even Brienne was forced to stow away her rainbow cloak. For weeks, they had been forced to live off the land as they steadily traveled north, hugging the eastern shore of the God's Eye River while keeping close to the woods that seemed to have sprung overnight.
Whenever they came upon a gathering of men, they would be tempted to question them for news, yet the men's northern looks and brogue would immediately set off alarms, so they stopped after the third time - and Ser Perwyn refused to go alone after he was set upon by the hungry refugees aiming to steal his armor. The roads were full of refugees chased out of King's Landing by the dastardly Imp. Such broken and desperate men were dangerous, especially in numbers.
And so, Catelyn and her band of twenty-one toughened it out as they slowly but surely made their way north, hoping to reach the God's Eye Lake where Ser Lucas assured there was a walled town at the river's headwaters. They hoped to take a boat from there to the western shore of the lake, possibly even to Harrenhal if the Northern Army had managed to take it.
Until Ser Lucas had learned as he listened on the town's inhabitants through his ravens of a great battle near the horrid castle. Jaime Lannister escaping from Riverrun was an unpleasant surprise, yet him leading his uncle's army on a surprise attack that decimated the Northern army sieging Harrenhal had sent them reeling.
Catelyn's nerves were already frayed as it was, after moons of roughing it out with no opportunity for her to change her riding garments, tame her now wild waist-length hair, or even soak in a hot tub. To learn that their route was now blocked by a Lannister army to the north, another to the west, and the Tyrells to the south?
She could see it in the eyes of the men. Perwyn Frey had held himself well in their journey, yet he was still a son of the wily Lord Frey and could see the shift in the balance of power in the war. Such a defeat could easily tilt the still neutral houses to one side, especially those in the Vale. The less Catelyn thought about her deranged sister, the better, yet she highly doubted Lysa would join the Lannisters after claiming they murdered her husband!
Still, she couldn't help the worry forming in her stomach.
Her Northmen always grumbled about one thing or the other, yet it was when they were struck silent following the news that truly worried her. Even Shadd stopped whining about stiffness in his back and sullenly searched for nettles to make tea to keep himself busy.
Nonetheless, the men looked to her for direction then, and Catelyn had known all of them by heart. From Shadd, Tom, Dick, Harmond, Hugo, Jorah, Osric, and so on, and their families to the nobles; she listened to Robin Flint as he spoke of his sister and wondered whether his mother had given birth yet. Oft, she found herself assuaging the young Knight's worries about Lady Lyessa's health. She listened to Perwyn Frey as he wondered how his brother was doing as Robb's squire and how he looked forward to marrying a Vypren girl he was sweet on.
"We will continue," she had declared. "To the town of Godsmouth, where we will take a boat to the western coast."
It was still their only option, and the men nodded as they set up camp for the night, though not before meeting a traveling merchant who tried to sell them casks of ale. It was such a random meeting that Catelyn had forbidden the men from drinking when the merchant offered free mugs to taste it and hurried the grumbling men to this grove. Perhaps her paranoia was unfounded, but her instincts had warned her that accepting casks of ale from an unknown source in the middle of a war-torn land was a terrible idea. At least, they managed to learn an interesting bit of information; Stannis Baratheon was besieging King's Landing.
Thankfully, Lucas did not object when she asked him to keep watch with his Ravens. It was how he discovered those catspaws approaching.
"Will you truly kill them, My Lady?" Catelyn turned to the frowning Brienne. "There's little chance they don't have more groups of their kind nearby."
"You did not seem to have trouble killing them when they attacked."
"That was different! They are helpless now, and… your men tortured them!"
Catelyn gazed sadly at the young girl who, despite her martial prowess, was just that: a girl still in her teens. "I have lived for so long in the North that I had forgotten my father's teachings. Family Duty Honor. Those are House Tully's words. Was it honorable of me to treat them like that? Perhaps not, but I had a duty to the men following me and to my family to do what was necessary. My only regret is I am unable to do the deed myself, for I do not have your strength in arms."
Brienne still looked sullen, but as the rest of the men joined them, she refrained from speaking any longer. Catelyn gazed at the dancing flames and the dark smoke climbing to the slowly brightening sky. She lacked the strength the strongest knights could boast, yet Catelyn Stark still held far more power than many believed.
Clearly, Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell also understood the crux of the matter, if they wanted her captured so badly.
"We must leave." They turned to Lucas Blackwood as he jumped from his seat, his face wary. "A warband approaches from the south. Two of the catspaws are leading them here."
Catelyn immediately sprang to her feet as the men saddled the horses; they had already broken their camp. "How many, and how much time do we have?"
"Over a hundred but less than two hundred," The numbers caused Catelyn's mouth to go dry, "is the main party heading this way from the south, but they are part of a much larger group spread all along the God's Eye River. One of them is even patrolling near Godsmouth town, even larger than the one closest to us."
"How did they come so close without our knowledge?" Hallis groaned as he held the reins of her horse as Catelyn mounted it.
"I am unsure, but I reckon they sailed up the river from the Golden Crossing. It is possible if they split into several smaller forces to bypass Stannis' blockade." They were all mounted on their horses now, "But that is not what worries me so. Their banner… it's three running dogs set on a yellow field."
"So… Tywin sends his monster after me." Every noblewoman knew the fate of Princess Elia Martell, and she was no different. "This is not the man to send to capture someone alive. You know what this means."
Catelyn glared at the men bound to the weirwood, who heard everything that Lucas said.
"M-My Lady, ples–"
A stab to the throat from Ser Robin Flint's lance silenced Dirk while Ser Perwyn Frey did the same for the other catspaws - a quick and relatively clean deaths compared to what she threatened and they should be thankful. After finishing off their captives, Catelyn watched in morbid fascination as the tree immediately started drinking their blood. She shook her head before leading her horse into a canter out of the grove, the rest of her party following her wordlessly.
A few minutes later, they were clear of the small forest; Catelyn then urged her horse into a gallop. It irked her how she had been so close to returning home, only for that chance to be taken away from her. Now, they had no choice but to head in the only direction the Lannisters or their flowery allies didn't control.
"Lucas! Keep your ravens abreast, but I want you to scout to the east as far as you can go. Hallis, stay close to his horse in case he needs to rest."
"Yes, My Lady!"
As they galloped like the very hounds of hell were after them, Catelyn's mind built up scenarios of what would happen should they be captured by the Mountain That Rides. Immediately, her hand trailed to the long and thin dagger by her belt; there was no way she would allow herself to be captured even if it wasn't Gregor Clegane after her. She could not allow herself to become another hostage that would weaken her House further.
If needs must, then Catelyn Stark was prepared to do what was necessary.
I was torn between having this chapter about Percy and Sansa, Catelyn dodging patrols and bandits, Jon whacking Wildlings, or Robb facepalming about the foolishness of his commanders (That's two of his major commanders dead since we last saw him).
In the end, I settled for something I frankly forgot about; Theon on his way to do his god's work.
Catelyn here had been hardened by months of hardship in the wild. I have no idea how she made it back to Riverrun in the books so quickly and safely, considering she had to cross three war-torn kingdoms. Here, it was much worse, as Tyrion had emptied King's Landing of anyone who could not afford to survive a siege (Basically, anyone who couldn't buy enough grain to live for a few years). That's about 200k vagrants roaming the Crownlands.
Now, when Tywin said he would send his best after Catelyn, you better believe he meant his best!
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