( Catelyn )
The northern party was about a day or so out of Bitterbridge, she had heard Ser Wendel say. And Catelyn would hope that they'd finally make it.
It had been less than a moon since they'd left Riverrun, her and her escort of thirty northmen and riverlanders, but it felt like years had passed.
She no longer recognized her son or her brother. Long gone were the days where both were just children. Now they had become men, and warriors in their own right, and she would have to accept it.
She had barely recognized Edmure when they had reached the Twins, but his brother had worn a stern face, and was already scarred, his arm having been bandaged. It had seemed like the Frey war had occurred at the worst possible moment.
Yet they had to press south, towards Riverrun, and the Lannisters were waiting for them. She didn't bear witness to the battle that followed, but she did see the aftermath, and it was disastrous.
Robb and Edmure had claimed victory, and Robb's bannermen had been quick to crown him king for it. But how many had died? A third of their host? Half? So many good men lost…but Riverrun had been saved. She couldn't say as much for many keeps in the Riverlands, or their lords.
The Darrys had been exterminated to the last. The Vances had been culled, Jonos Bracken lost an eye, Rickard Karstark was now lacking two sons, Halys Hornwood was missing a leg, Jason Mallister an ear. And they could count themselves lucky, for many more had not lived. Maege Mormont, Robett Glover, Roose Bolton, Robin Flint, Tytos Blackwood, Medger Cerwyn, Jared Frey, Clement Piper, Cregan Karstark, Helman Tallhart and many more.
Their enemies had been bloodied as well. Many had been captured including Quenten Banefort, Garth Greenfield, Tytos Brax, Forley Prester and a dozen other westermen.
At least they had captured the imp of Casterly Rock, but that was a meagre prize as Ser Jaime Lannister wasn't so lucky, and she was told that the kingsguard was cut down by Rickard Karstark himself after he saw his sons Eddard and Torrhen killed before him, with Gawen Westerling, Andros Brax, Steffon Swyft, Roland Crakehall, Leo Lefford, Terrence Kenning, Melwyn Sarsfield and Damon Serrett following him to the grave in the muddied fields around Riverrun.
However, the Lannister host had retreated in good order towards Harrenhal, and Tywin Lannister along with it. Even she knew that storming the cursed castle with the forces they now had was impossible. They would need an ally.
And so, she was sent south, to Renly Baratheon. To a lord she only knew when he was a boy of no more than six or seven namedays. But Robb had insisted, otherwise he'd had have sent for the Greatjon. She knew he would be ill-suited to treat with a man such as Renly, and as such, she accepted.
Yet the days felt long, and her knees and hands felt weak. The scars from the valyrian steel dagger that had tried to end her son's life hadn't completely healed, and the war raging around her had probably shattered her. She wanted to weep, to cry, to rest.
But she could not allow herself to be weak. Not when her daughters needed her. And so, she pushed forwards.
There is no one else that I could trust with this mission.
Robb's words echoed inside of her head. Not a boy, a king.
A king who had thrown her counsel away and sent the Greyjoy heir back to his father. A king who had tried to send her back to the Twins or Seagard. But a king that she could not hate. He would always be little Robb to her, and gods knew that she needed to hang on to these memories.
And when the banners of Renly's camp finally came into view, she breathed a sigh of relief.
A knight of a small house whose sigil was adorned with bluejays came to them and guided the little party to the tents, who lined up in the hundreds.
Catelyn had never seen such a sight. Hundreds of banners were floating in the air. Renly's crowned stag of course, but it was accompanied with Caron's nightingales, Penroses' quills, Estermont's turtle, Tarly's huntsman, Hightower's flaming tower, Rowan's golden tree and most peculiar of all, on the edges of camp, a few tents bearing ominous sigils surrounding a lone tent with the sun and spear of the Martells.
There had been rumours that the Dornishmen would flock to Renly's side, but only a dozen tents flying Dornish sigils had surprised her, when it was said that Dorne could call on more than fifty thousand men.
She had not seen them at the melee either. Instead meeting many of the Reachers, and of course, Renly Baratheon and his wife Margaery Tyrell.
Renly was just like Robert in his youth; handsome, fierce and charismatic, no wonder the Stormlords followed him so eagerly. His wife on the other hand, was younger than him, but no less pretty with her soft eyes and long, brown, hair. She was the one that brought the Reachers to his cause, they and their eighty-thousand men.
They had talked little, and Catelyn couldn't say that she was particularly impressed by the young would-be king. However, his hospitality was beyond what she could hope for. Her tent was located just outside of Bitterbridge's castle, and was not only spacious, but well decorated and stocked.
However, she had little time in enjoying the luxuries of such a space, for she had to quickly change into clothes more befitting for a King's feast, which would be thrown inside of Lord Caswell's walls. Accompanying her, she could see that Wendel Manderly, Lucas Blackwood, Perwyn Frey, Daryn Hornwood and the other lordlings were relieved to finally get a break from the fighting and enjoy themselves for a night.
Catelyn could understand that, but while her daughters were still captives in the capital, she could not even enjoy herself, or get her fill of the famed bounty of Highgarden, which had evidently been left untouched as course after course of meals, more extravagant than the other, poured into the dining hall.
Only conversation had distracted her from her grief. She was sat next to Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove, whom she already knew from the days of the Rebellion. A kind man, as he had inquired after the health of her kin. The other man she was sat next to was Ser Jon Fossoway. He was more jovial and traded jests with her, but she wasn't much in the mood for any of this.
It was a young man with the sigil of a dolphin that came to rescue her. House Lowther, she remembered.
"Are you alright, my lady?" he inquired, while Catelyn felt her head spin. "Do you need some air?"
"I would much like this, yes." She confessed. "I am sorry, my lords, the travels have worn me down."
The men looked at each other and shared a look of confusion. However, she had already made up her mind and left them.
"Would you like to walk with me, my lady?" the young knight asked. "You don't seem to be completely well."
"If it is not too much of a bother, ser." She replied, looking at the young man a little closer.
He was shorter than her. Not by much, but enough for Catelyn to look nearly directly into his eyes. She couldn't tell much of the man, other than he had dark hair and a large scar cutting through his face.
"It isn't, my lady." He replied courteously. "It is not every day that you get to talk to someone that isn't of the Reach around here."
Catelyn only nodded slightly, getting away from the whole commotion of the feast and stepping outside, gathering her spirits for a moment, the young man waiting beside her.
They went up the battlements, looking straight at the hundreds of tents lined up under the walls of the castle, stretching on for leagues as the fires illuminated the banks of the Mander.
"How many men does Lord Renly have here?" she finally had the courage to ask.
"Eighty, mayhaps one hundred thousand, my lady." The man replied without a second thought. "Mostly Reachmen, but many Stormlanders too."
"No Dornishmen?" she asked, recalling the banners she had seen floating in the wind earlier that day.
The man rose an eyebrow.
"No." He replied. "The Dornish have come to negotiate an alliance with King Renly, and have not committed any troops. They mostly keep to themselves after a few incidents with some Oakheart and Peake knights.
No one has died yet, thank the gods, but it might soon. An Oakheart knight already got his arm broken because he tried to take on a man twice his size and weight, and a knight of house Peake lost an ear after thinking taking on three very drunk dornishmen was a clever idea.
Add onto that, the fact that Dornishmen are what they are, flirtatious as they can be, and we've had a couple incidents with some of the Reacher ladies and servants already.
Which has not been made easier with Lord Dayne allegedly sleeping with two of Lord Rowan's daughters and Lord Rowan claiming, prideful that he is, blood recompense or marriage or gods only know what he'll invent on the morrow; or the incidents between the Yronwoods and the Costayne ladies; or four Dornish knights having reportedly spent the night with other men, which included…highborn company.
In short, they've been trying to lay low for a few days."
"I do not understand why Lord Renly needs them." Catelyn scoffed. "The Dornish are a bunch of small, short-tempered, arrogant, lying, lecherous, wanton, deceiving people, with no sense of honor."
"Well, I'd say that is true of us except the small part." the man chuckled. "You'd be surprised at how many of us are actually tall. My uncle is a head taller than both of us, for example, and a lot of my household guard are taller too."
Catelyn stood confused for a time, until the man came into the moonlight. Her face went white, then red with shame as she saw the man's skin stay dark even under the light. His skin was olive, and the sigil he bore was not the silver dolphin of house Lowther, but a blue dolphin of a house she had not recognized, and that sigil was not embroidered but painted.
"I am so sorry, ser…" she stammered.
"Prince, if you please." He smiled.
"Prince, but your…" she started, before the man cut her off.
"A doublet that was loaned to me by a man of House Isles." He confided. "My other one is still wet and drying at our tent, and unfortunately only my sword bears the colours of my house. And you know about Dornishmen and how picky the Reachers can be about carrying anything sharper than a nail to a feast…"
"Who are you?" she asked, still reeling from the shock that she had insulted this man's entire people just moments earlier.
"Prince Quentyn Martell, at your service." The man half-bowed.
Catelyn felt as she was about to faint. How could she have been so stupid? The man had olive skin and spoke with an unmistakable Dornish accent. Was she really that tired? She needed a seat.
"Do not fret, my lady." He tried to comfort her while she sat down on a small rampart's edge. "I have heard a lot worse in these recent times. And I didn't mean to cause you any distress."
"No, I am sorry, my prince." She stammered. "I should be the one apologizing. I was rude and that is unforgivable of me."
"It is understandable, my lady." He continued, sitting down next to her. "Your husband was unjustly killed recently, your son who was but a boy a few weeks ago is now a King, and your daughters are still hostages in the capital. I can understand that you are distressed."
"I…I…" she meant to speak, but no words came out. How did he know…
"Speaking of your husband, I must bring my heartfelt condolences." He said, his tone sincere. "I did not know him personally, but I did exchange a few letters with him, he did seem like a good man."
"You wrote to my husband?" she asked, surprised. Ned hadn't told her of any correspondence with the young prince.
"Yes, it was mostly trivial. Trade agreements and the like. Nothing serious." He nodded. "In Dorne…the Starks are not very well-respected since the Rebellion. In truth, not a lot of houses are. To us, they are still one of those responsible for Elia's death and those of thousands on the Trident."
"They didn't have a choice."
"I agree, my lady." He nodded. "What should your husband have done? Give his head to the Mad King? I cannot fault him for having risen in revolt. Anyone would have. My feud is with the Lannisters and their dogs, they are the only ones who need to pay."
"It seems we both have the same goal…"
"And it seems you now know the pain we felt when Elia and her children were unjustly murdered and we received no justice." He spoke softly. "I find it ironic, but you and I are not much different."
"Have you lost your wife, my prince?" she asked, defiantly, "Your father? Your mother? Are your daughters held hostage in your enemies' hands? I mean no disrespect, my prince, but you and I are very different."
"I have not lost my wife, for I do not have any, my lady." He pointed out. "I have a woman that I love, and thank the gods, I have not lost her. My father…he decided to sell me to the Yronwoods when I was a boy barely old enough to walk for a mistake his brother made, and then did not talk to me unless he needed something. My mother…"
The young prince wiped a lone tear from his face.
"My mother isn't dead, but she very well could be. I do not have any memories of her, for my father and her had their differences after I was sent to Yronwood. She left not long after my youngest brother was born, and I never saw her after my sixth nameday. She returned to the Free Cities, where she is today."
"I'm sorry." Catelyn instinctively said. "I know how it feels to grow without a mother. I lost my mother around the age when you lost yours."
"As for my siblings…well I had not seen my little brother until a few months ago. And my sister…well it's complicated." He shook his head.
"I fear our family is not as tightly knit as yours, my lady, but although I have no daughters or family members in my enemies' hands, I do have cousins whom I will never get to know, for they have been slain and butchered nearly five-and-ten years ago."
"The princess Rhaenys and little prince Aegon." She nodded sombrely. "And princess Elia. It was nightmarish. I could not believe that they would have harmed a little girl and her mother. And my husband…he was troubled by it. He would refuse to speak of it, for he saw their bodies, and I think it marked him."