#v; five

She knew her brother had been thinking with good intentions when he invited all the common folk within the walls of Riverrun, that he wanted to keep them safe, reassure them, absolve them of their fears….but this was war and wives and babes were only more mouths to feed in a castle that might, soon enough, be under siege. Yet, as Catelyn walked amongst the sheltered as well as those rescued from the battle fields and the burned lands, she could not deny his actions had increased a sense of loyalty ten-fold. None here would ever side with the lions.

When she saw two boys running about her, her heart ached with thoughts of Bran and Rickon, in happier times when her sweet boy was not confined to his bed and her little babe did not feel she was a cold mother, leaving him abandoned to an empty castle. 

It was then that she saw two of Robb’s men speaking to a young girl, no older than Sansa Catelyn thought on first glance, trying to coax information from her, but none seemed to be forthcoming. She was without parents or sibling and without claim. 

“Do you have a name at least?” Catelyn asked, as she joined them. 

It was strange but Catelyn found she felt no less comfort from the presence of the man than she had from the wolf; both reassured her and both allowed her to feel more secure when she saw him at her son’s side or close to her own. 

“You cannot rush at men as recklessly in battle as a wolf might do,” She told him as she cleaned the wound on his arm. 

“When that council was begun, I did not expect it to end with a crown upon your head,” Catelyn confessed when the men had parted to their rooms and tables, wenches and ale, and she was able to speak with her son alone. Her son and now her King it would seem. “It is a heavy thing to carry, Robb”

“What will vengeance bring any of us but more bloodshed?” Catelyn asked when the council had concluded, a new King crowned, fashioned of their own desires. Her brother had not made the call for a King until his own men made clear their wish, and Lyanna’s boy had kept his silence as always; he had his Uncle’s way of few words. “Ned has not been two nights gone from this world, and already there is madness. What do they hope in making Robb a king save to put a prize upon his head? Vengeance will not save my daughters, it will not bring Ned back”  

It was a grim and grievous news she had learned, but she would not put it upon Robb’s shoulders when he had weight enough to carry with that crown upon his head. She had always known Roose’s bastard had many terrible tales to his name, but never could she think any man capable....it was said that she had been found having eaten her own fingers in her starvation.

“I know you must be weary from battle, Lord Hornwood,” For that was his title now, was it not, with both his parents lost to him? “But I fear this news cannot wait”

“You fought well, Ser Loras,” Catelyn observed as the duration of Renly’s feast found them stood within vicinity to speak. She had not talked to the knight since she had seen him bested by the woman, Lady Brienne, before their King and Queen. King and Queen. Catelyn would have laughed a little, were the matter not so serious. They were no more than children playing at war, and Margaery Tyrell was of age with Robb.....and Robb led a host to war also. They are all too young, born of summer, unaware that winter is coming. 

Catelyn had been wary of those direwolf pups when Ned had brought them home, carried in Robb and Bran’s arms. They grew too fast and were creatures of fearsome stories....but when she bore witness to Bran’s wolf tearing the throat of his attacker, the man’s blood falling on her face like warm rain, wariness had given way to acceptance. She had seen the direwolf protect her son, killing the catspaw, and she loved him for it. 

She had, therefore, found the sight of Greywind lay at her son’s feet a comforting sight as he marched on with his war. She felt a certainty in her heart that so long as her children had their wolves by their sides, that no harm would come to them, for what else could they be but gifts from the very Gods themselves? 

As consequence, she had been quick to trust the changed form of Greywind though she had not been here to beat witness to his transformation, but as she looked upon him within the room, she knew she would never cease to find it a strange sight to behold. 

“The blacksmith tells me your armour is almost finished...you shall soon have better than those made to fit men of different builds” 

When word had reached her in her chambers within the castles at Riverrun, she had thought them surely a falsehood, that the Tully guard was most certainly mistaken. None of them knew her daughter, have never before laid eyes upon her and so could easily think any child who would claim to be a daughter of House Stark had spoken the truth, though it actually be a lie. There had been no word of Arya since Ned’s arrest, and though she knew of Sansa, there was no man who had yet glimpsed her younger daughter...she was but a child, and if a man could so easily be slain in these times, what hope had a young girl of so many months alone in this bloodshed?

Catelyn walked to the hall of Riverrun with the firm intent of banishing whoever it was had hoped to make money from her grief, to send the child from this place, ashamed for their impersonation, but the moment she laid eyes on the girl awaiting her, her heart caught in her throat, her breath leaving her in a quiet gasp. Though her hair was cut short, and her clothes were that of a serving boy, and dirt hid every feature, Catelyn knew her daughter well. No Mother could forget her child’s face, no matter how it might have changed.

“Arya....” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, the hint of tears began to blur her vision and she did not step forward for fear her legs would fail her, that she would crumble to her knees with both shock and relief. “Arya”