Catelyn III

They were a day south of the Twins when Lord Walder's riders overtook Catelyn and her children.

The less said of their night guesting under his roof, the better. A prickly man, and proud, was Walder Frey. Prouder still these days. His granddaughter was betrothed to Domeric Bolton himself, and that was all they talked of for half the night.

"Lady Stark," the knight began, "we have word of a battle."

Cat's breath caught. A battle? So soon? Ned's men were hardly down from the Neck when Cat and the children split from the host. Jaime Lannister should've been a hundred leagues away. Sansa looked concerned. Bran and Arya looked excited. Rickon was a baby.

"What news, Ser?" she asked as politely as she could.

"There were two battles, in point of fact, my lady. The Lannisters are undone. Both the Kingslayer and the Old Lion himself are dead, and the boy king Joffrey is fled across the sea. His Grace, King Stannis, sits the Iron Throne."

She allowed herself to breathe a bit easier. That couldn't have been Ned. "Is there word of my uncle, Ser Brynden?"

The knight shrugged in his stirrups. "Nay, my lady. It was Lord Horton Redfort and his Valemen what done for the Lannisters. Domeric Scalp-Taker led the van, I understand. He went through them like a razor blade through ripe cheese. Aye, I'd say he returns north with many a scalp."

With a great effort of will, Catelyn schooled her features. The bloody name of Bolton was not enough for that one. Young Domeric must needs earn himself an even more evil moniker. "Is that all?" she asked.

"One more matter, my lady. My lord grandfather bid me see you safe back across the Green Fork. Lord Stark said you might wish to attend your son's wedding. Matters in Riverrun will keep, he said. Those were his words, his very words."

Cat sighed. He was not wrong. Brynden could handle demobilizing the men. Wait for me a little longer, Father.

***

Winterfell was not so full of Dornishmen as Barrowton had been, to hear her children tell it. On that occasion, Robb dishonored Lady Blackmont's daughter and got a child on her. The first time she heard, Cat was scandalized, but Lady Larra was not overly wroth. Quite diplomatically, the Dornish lady suggested a hasty marriage, which she and Ned agreed to with a minimum of dickering. It was what was best for everyone. If Robb was so lusty he was bedding highborn girls, it was best he wed right away.

Her husband's bannermen were still on hand, having dismissed their levies with disappointment. Karstark and Umber bickered. Roose Bolton held a small court in shaded corners, speaking softly. Fat Lord Manderly promised rich gifts of food for the wedding feast. Wagons of provisions, meant for the army, were already following the White Knife. None had seen Prince Oberyn in a fortnight, but no doubt he'd turn up when his proud wife did.

The Blackmonts came to the North by ship, sailing the Sunset Sea and up the Barrow River. From there, they made the journey by land to Torrhen's Square and onward to Winterfell. Lady Larra Blackmont seemed pleased enough, and why not? It was a good match. She, her young son, and pregnant daughter had just arrived. The girl, the mother of Cat's first grandchild, and wasn't that a queer thing to say, was pretty enough. She had olive skin dusted with freckles, raven hair, and eyes of sea green. Her belly was only slightly rounded. She and Robb embraced, sharing a chaste kiss.

"Why not wait for Ser Domeric?" Lady Larra suggested at the meal that night. "He wrote to his aunt at Barrowton of his intention to return after the great sacrifice at Raventree. He is a fair singer, and would make my daughter's wedding a merrier one."

Cat wished to refuse immediately, but young Bolton's reputation was far-famed. The lords, deprived of war, would at least have sweet songs and a wedding to amuse them. As the wronged party, they could hardly refuse the Blackmonts anything.

"Great sacrifice?" Greatjon Umber asked in interest.

"Oh, yes," Lady Larra explained. "Ser Domeric loves the old gods well, as all know. He wrote to his aunt that he'd taken one thousand prisoners among the sellswords the Lannisters brought over. The lad means to put them all to the sword and feed their blood to the dead weirwood at Raventree Hall. He claims it will wake the god."

There was much muttering at that, mutterings of approval.

"I do justice before the heart tree at the Dreadfort, at my son's suggestion," Roose Bolton interjected. "I tell you, the weirwood grows larger every day. I could not fail to notice. It must be some secret, lost to our ancestors, that my son discovered. He was always pious, even as a boy. If I could find him nowhere else, I'd find him in the godswood."

"That sounds like a good idea!" Umber rumbled. He and Karstark forgot their quarrel and started talking excitedly about it. There were grunts and nods all about the hall, hemming Catelyn in from every angle. Even the Blackmonts, a Dornish family, who supposedly held to the Seven, seemed interested.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I'm looking forward to wedding before a heart tree," young Jynessa said. She took Robb's hand in hers. "It was a beautiful thing to see Prince Oberyn and Lady Barbrey join together under the open sky. A marriage in a sept is a tedious thing, let me tell you."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that nonsense anymore!" Umber japed, and everyone laughed, laughed at the Faith of her fathers. Ned looked uncomfortable, but kept his silence.

***

"The Great God woke!" Ser Domeric reported, and all the Northmen cheered. "Raventree Hall is shaded in red leaves once again, after a thousand years." He turned to Prince Oberyn, who arrived shortly before Domeric, with his wife, Lady Barbrey. "Oh, and Sarella means to accompany Jon Snow to Dorne, along with Hoster Blackwood. They will be planting weirwoods at every castle in that land."

Prince Oberyn shrugged. "My daughter goes where she wills. No doubt she will write a stirring account of her adventure." They shared a secret look, those two, which Catelyn liked not at all. Did the Dornish mean to turn from the Seven? Was that the fruit of the Prince's wedding?

Well, at least the bastard was gone at last. He was to be the plaything of a Dornish lady, and had sired a bastard of his own. It should have pleased her, but there was something ominous about these deepening connections. Dornish people did not trouble themselves overmuch about marriage and maidens. Cat did not dare ask if Jynessa Blackmont was a maiden when Robb bedded her the first time, for fear of the answer, or worse, offending. Aye, and Northern lords bedded peasant girls at will. Mayhaps there was more commonality than she imagined.

They held the wedding the very next day after Ser Domeric arrived. Guests and food were ready, had been ready, all that was needed was song. Before he plucked a string of his harp, Ser Domeric presented Jynessa with a new handbag in Stark colors, like unto the ones Cat and her daughters carried. The girl was thrilled. She was a Stark at last.

Her children laughed and danced and listened, heedless of ought amiss. Even Arya danced with boys her own age, Perros Blackmont and Bradamar Frey, in chief. Bradamar was Ser Domeric's new squire, brother to the knighted Alesander and his betrothed, Alyx. Cat thanked the Mother that her girls were too young to lose their maidenhead to a Dornish boy and get shipped off to the far side of Westeros. Such things had happened, she knew. This was not the only hasty wedding between their two kingdoms.

"He knighted you!" Arya shouted, carrying even over the music. After taking a break from dancing, her wild daughter had taken to following Elia Sand, or Frey now, Cat supposed, who, absurdly, Ser Domeric had taken as a squire.

"He did," the skinny girl confirmed. "We fought in great battles, and Ser Domeric said I did well."

"Lady Lance. Lady Knight." It was all Arya could talk about from then on. Cat lost sight of her for a time. The lords were in their cups by now, and the dancing had taken on a wilder character.

Robb's wolf Grey Wind, as big as a hunting hound, was licking grease off Jynessa's fingers, making the girl laugh uproariously. They kenneled the other wolves for the wedding feast, but since it was Robb's wedding day, that let him have his. That, at least, was a comfort. Catelyn would not wish for Robb to wed any girl that wolf misliked.

"Father, I want to be a knight!" Arya said breathlessly after running up to their place on the dais.

Cat was about to tell her how absurd the notion was when Elia Frey came up behind. "Lord Stark, Ser Domeric would be willing to take her on. He trained me at arms, and I've fought in half a hundred battles with him." She smiled shyly. "It didn't harm my marriage prospects, either. But it will be hard; I will not deny it. Ser Domeric lives in the saddle and is ever on the move. To tell it true, he only has the one squire right now, and would welcome another. A great knight like him has quite a lot of horses and armor to care for."

There were stars in Arya's eyes. "Will you ride with us?"

"Aye," the girl knight answered. "For a while, at least, until Al and I decide to settle down, most like when winter comes."

Catelyn glanced at Ned, and to her horror, he looked like he was considering it. "My lord..."

"We'll visit Winterfell often enough," Elia interrupted her, "a few times a year at least. Any knight can make a knight, and Ser Domeric made me. Might be your daughter Arya has it in her."

"Please, Father!" Arya begged.

Thank the Seven, Bran was Seven, or he'd be begging too.

"I'll speak to Ser Domeric," Lord Eddard promised, but Catelyn knew her man. He would let it happen, Seven save them all.