Catelyn VI

The folk of House Tully drew their strength from the river, and to the river they returned in death.

She watched the burning boat drift down the placid Red Fork, gently rocking with the current. Autumn rains, which Cat had been expecting, failed to materialize; the waters of the Trident ran low in this unseasonable heat. As for Catelyn Stark herself, she was sweating, though this was the lightest gown she owned that was dark enough for the occasion. Her life in Winterfell meant she spent but little on airy summer dresses.

Her daughter Sansa wept softly at her side. Even in mourning black, the girl was a blossoming flower, and would in time grow to be a more beautiful woman than Cat had ever been. Bran, meanwhile, was trying to look brave and stern. He was heir to Riverrun now, and that meant responsibility. Family. Duty. Honor. The Tully words must be writ upon his heart. Catelyn vowed to do right by her babes, though they weren't babes anymore, as she could plainly see.

Edmure's old friends, Karl Vance and Marq Piper, had come sniffing after Sansa, and they were far from the worst, though she knew very well they were drinkers and wenchers both. Patrek Mallister would be visiting in a fortnight with his father, Lord Jason. Cat could easily guess their purpose. Old Lord Walder had made overtures, and other houses had indicated at least a passing interest. The proud Freys had grown prouder still. The lady of the Dreadfort was born a Frey, and the trade going up and down the Neck was much increased of late. Lord Walder received his portion, fattening and puffing himself up beyond all sufferance.

Blood of his would have Arya! It made Cat want to scream. Oh, the letter had been polite enough. Gentle, trusting Ned said giants were going to build Arya a castle. Giants! If her husband had not sworn he'd seen them himself, Cat would think she'd gone mad. It was not enough that Bolton would make of her wild child an absurd lady knight, but she would swear to the Dreadfort and hold lands in his name. The worst part was the longing look in Sansa's eyes.

"Oh, Mother, isn't it a pity Lord Domeric is already wed?" she'd said to her little sewing circle of highborn maidens. Thank the Mother he was. Bradamar Frey was Alyx Bolton's little brother, and their mother was the daughter of a Braavosi merchant. With such doubtful blood...

Catelyn sighed. There was nothing she could do. Well, it could be worse. Arya would be mistress of a castle by the sea, and her sons would be first cousins with the Boltons. There was a measure of safety in that. Hearing of Arya's match set Sansa's eyes to shining. "When will it be my turn?" they said.

Soon enough, Cat thought. Her hold on the Riverlands was not what it might be. Overmighty bannermen at times even defied the puissant Hoster Tully. What might they do with a woman for an overlord? It pained her more than she could say, but Catelyn absolutely had to make matches to secure her family's position. She did not like thinking of her children as bargaining chips to forge alliances, but that was the bitter reality of the world.

Mayhaps a Frey for Bran? Roslin Frey was pretty, but her hips were much too small. That skinny thing would never serve. Alyx Bolton, if she were younger, might have been worth considering. From what Catelyn remembered, she was tall, with broad shoulders, wide hips, and heavy breasts. There was no doubting her fertility, as she was already pregnant. If she bore a son...

Gods!

Catelyn shuddered. Robb! She just remembered! Robb and Jynessa had a little girl! If Alyx Bolton bore a son, the likeliest match of all would be a daughter of Winterfell. Ned would never refuse. Men's queer admiration for knights who won battles would mean Bolton would get anything he asked for. When did he ever not?

When the last boat her father would ever ride in passed out of sight, Catelyn turned away from the river. "I will be in my chambers." Her father's chambers, she meant.

Sansa nodded through her tears, and Bran ran off. Rickon wasn't quite up to being quiet at a funeral. Cat would have to remember to look in on him later.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Uncle Brynden fell in behind her. The Blackfish always knew when she needed help, and now she needed it desperately.

"Hoster would've been proud of you, you know," he said when they were alone. "You and the children. Bran looks a bit like him when he was a boy."

An unladylike snort escaped Catelyn. She couldn't quite picture her father as a child. "I'm sure you're just saying that, Uncle." Gods, she loved him. This would be so much harder without him around.

It was almost like her girlhood, with Lysa and Petyr. The happy thought curdled almost immediately. Lysa was miserable in the Vale, separated from her son, and Petyr was dead, murdered by Domeric Bolton. Hardly anyone remembered, of course. Petyr wasn't important enough to remember. He loved her once, a foolish, impossible love, but pure and honorable for all that. The boy who dared to dream too high, cut down thoughtlessly by a butcher knight, one of hundreds of victims. How was that for a song?

Who was she japing with? Domeric Bolton had killed thousands by now. How many more loved ones of hers would run afoul of him before the end?

"Do you want to be alone, Cat? Truly alone?" Uncle Brynden asked kindly. "Your countenance has darkened yet again. I would not wish to intrude upon your grief."

"And yours, Uncle?"

"Hoster forgave me before the end. There is nothing to grieve. My brother was a good lord, and a good father. The gods took Edmure from us, but you live still. Bran will make a fine knight and lord after you."

The gods? No, Uncle, that was Bolton, she thought bitterly, but said, "I have seen him in the yard."

"He's utterly fearless, a fierce little wolf pup. Might be his technique is a little raw, but that will come in time. You would be surprised. Many boys haven't got much fight in them. Your Bran has the opposite problem: too brave, if anything."

Despite everything, Catelyn laughed. "You have no idea how many times I tried to forbid him climbing the towers of Winterfell."

Brynden laughed alongside her. "It's hopeless. He's stubborn, just like a Tully should be. I've talked to him about scaling walls and storming castles, which is something he might do for true one day. Aye, and that wolf of his is smarter than any dog. They're all getting so big. At least the horses aren't so terrified lately."

"Thank the gods for that," she agreed. Cat supposed there was no point in delaying the inevitable. "A knight must have a lady." Uncle Brynden had the grace to blush, making her laugh again. "Well, mayhaps not you, but Bran must have a bride. We need to start considering likely maidens around his age."

The Blackfish raised a bushy eyebrow, gone all to grey. "Not Sansa first? Arya is already promised, I'm told."

Cat shook her head. "Not formally, but I think we can safely assume it will happen. My daughter asked Ned, and he is not like to refuse. Sansa is a maiden flowered, and could wed at any time. I'd like to keep her close to me for a little longer. With Bran, it would be some years before he has grown to manhood. Might be we could foster a girl here, let them grow close." No doubt the way Arya and Bradamar Frey got close, she did not say aloud.

Her uncle listened. The Blackfish was always a good listener, whether her troubles were large or small. "I'll think on it, but I must remind you that I have been Knight of the Gate for quite a while. I'm not sure which families have girls of the right age."

"We will have to think on it together, but mayhaps some lessons in knightly courtesy would not go amiss. I would hate to bring a girl here and have some unkind comment from Bran reduce her to tears."

He nodded gravely. "I'll do just that, Cat. He's not quite old enough to notice girls, but oft I see that fierce fighters grow into lusty lads. Passion is passion, after all."

It wasn't with you, though, was it? Well, he likely knew better about boys than she did. For Catelyn, it was always about duty. Love came after. If the gods were good, Bran would come to love the girl they picked, and she him. Riverrun's future depended upon it.