A Game of Thrones Chapter Twenty-eight

CatelynMy gentlewoman, you ought cover your head, Ser Rodrik terstwhile(a) her as their horses plodded northeast. You depart earn a chill.It is whole water, Ser Rodrik, Catelyn replied. Her hair hung wet and heavy, a loose strand stuck to her forehead, and she could imagine how ragged and wild she must look, warmly for once she did non care. The southern rain was soft and warm. Catelyn liked the belief of it on her face, gentle as a mothers kisses. It as wellspring ask her back to her childhood, to long color in solar days at Riverrun. She remembe ablaze(p) the godswood, drooping branches heavy with moisture, and the sound of her chum salmons laughter as he chased her through piles of damp leaves. She remembered making spoil pies with Lysa, the weight of them, the mud slick and brownness between her fingers. They had served them to Littlefinger, giggling, and hed eaten so some(prenominal) mud he was sick for a week. How young they perpetuallyy had been.Catelyn had nigh forgotten. In the north, the rain fell cold and hard, and sometimes at iniquity it turned to ice. It was as likely to kill a crop as nurture it, and it move grown workforce running for the safeest shelter. That was no rain for little girls to play in.I am soaked through, Ser Rodrik complained. evening my b aces are wet. The woods pressed close around them, and the immobile pattering of rain on leaves was accompanied by the small sucking sounds their horses rush as their hooves pulled free of the mud. We will want a discount tonight, my lady, and a hot meal would serve us both. at that place is an inn at the cross highways up ahead, Catelyn told him. She had slept many a night t here(predicate) in her youth, traveling with her exposither. Lord Hoster Tully had been a restless man in his prime, ever riding somewhere. She stock-still remembered the innkeep, a fat woman named Masha Heddle who chewed sourleaf night and day and seemed to amaze an eradicateless supply of smiles and sweet cakes for the children. The sweet cakes had been soaked with h unmatchabley, lavish and heavy on the tongue, exclusively how Catelyn had dreaded those smiles. The sourleaf had stained Mashas teeth a dark red, and do her smile a bloody horror.An inn, Ser Rodrik repeated wistfully. If lone(prenominal) . . . scarcely we dare not risk it. If we wish to remain un turn inn, I think it better(p) we seek out some small fixing . . . He broke wrap up as they perceive sounds up the road splashing water, the clink of mail, a horses whinny. Riders, he warned, his hand dropping to the hilt of his stain. eventide on the kingsroad, it never hurt to be wary.They followed the sounds around a idle bend of the road and saw them a column of armed men noisily fording a swollen stream. Catelyn reined up to let them pass. The superior in the hand of the foremost rider hung sodden and limp, however the guardsmen wore colored cloaks and on their shoulders flew the silver eag le of Seagard. Mallisters, Ser Rodrik whispered to her, as if she had not known. My lady, best pull up your hood.Catelyn made no move. Lord Ja watchword Mallister himself rode with them, surrounded by his knights, his son Patrek by his placement and their squires close behind. They were riding for Kings Landing and the Hands tourney, she knew. For the olden week, the travelers had been thick as flies upon the kingsroad knights and freeriders, singers with their harps and drums, heavy wagons laden with hops or corn or casks of honey, traders and craftsmen and whores, and all of them moving south.She studied Lord Jason boldly. The die hard time she had seen him he had been jesting with her uncle at her wedding feast the Mallisters stood bannermen to the Tullys, and his gifts had been lavish. His brown hair was salted with white now, his face chiseled gaunt by time, yet the years had not touched his pride. He rode like a man who feared nothing. Catelyn envied him that she had come t o fear so such(prenominal). As the riders passed, Lord Jason nodded a curt greeting, except it was only a high masters courtesy to strangers scene met on the road. There was no recognition in those fierce eyes, and his son did not even waste a look.He did not know you, Ser Rodrik say after, wondering.He saw a pair of mud-spattered travelers by the side of the road, wet and tired. It would never occur to him to suspect that one of them was the female child of his unwavering lord. I think we shall be safe enough at the inn, Ser Rodrik.It was near dark when they reached it, at the junction north of the nifty confluence of the Trident. Masha Heddle was fatter and greyer than Catelyn remembered, still chewing her sourleaf, precisely she gave them only the most cursory of looks, with nary a hint of her ghastly red smile. Two rooms at the summit of the stair, thats all on that point is, she tell, chewing all the eon. Theyre under the bell tower, you wont be missing meals, though theres some thinks it too noisy. Cant be helped. Were full up, or near as makes no matter. Its those rooms or the road.It was those rooms, low, dusty garrets at the top of a cramped narrow staircase. Leave your boots down here, Masha told them after shed chartern their affect. The male child will clean them. I wont require you introduce mud up my stairs. Mind the bell. Those who come late to meals dont eat. There were no smiles, and no mention of sweet cakes.When the supper bell rang, the sound was deafening. Catelyn had changed into dry clothes. She sit down by the window, watching rain run down the pane. The glass was opaque and full of bubbles, and a wet dusk was falling outside. Catelyn could unless make out the muddy crossing where the twain great roads met.The crossroads gave her pause. If they turned west from here, it was an easy ride down to Riverrun. Her father had constantly given her wise counsel when she needed it most, and she yearned to talk to him, t o warn him of the multitude storm. If Winterfell needed to brace for war, how some(prenominal) more so Riverrun, so much closer to Kings Landing, with the power of Casterly Rock looming to the west like a shadow. If only her father had been stronger, she efficiency have chanced it, but Hoster Tully had been bedridden these sometime(prenominal) two years, and Catelyn was loath to tax him now.The east road was wilder and more dangerous, upgrade through rocky foothills and thick forests into the Mountains of the Moon, past high passes and deep chasms to the valley of Arryn and the stony Fingers beyond. Above the Vale, the Eyrie stood high and impregnable, its towers reaching for the sky. There she would fall upon her sister . . . and, perhaps, some of the answers Ned sought. Surely Lysa knew more than she had dared to put in her letter. She might have the very proof that Ned needed to bring the Lannisters to ruin, and if it came to war, they would need the Arryns and the easter n lords who owed them service.Yet the muckleain road was perilous. Shadowcats prowled those passes, rock slides were common, and the mountain clans were lawless brigands, go from the heights to rob and kill and melting away like light speed whenever the knights rode out from the Vale in search of them. Even Jon Arryn, as great a lord as any the Eyrie had ever known, had ever so traveled in effectiveness when he crossed the mountains. Catelyns only strength was one elderly knight, armored in loyalty.No, she thought, Riverrun and the Eyrie would have to wait. Her thoroughfare ran north to Winterfell, where her sons and her duty were waiting for her. As soon as they were safely past the Neck, she could declare herself to one of Neds bannermen, and send riders racing ahead with orders to mount a watch on the kingsroad.The rain obscured the fields beyond the crossroads, but Catelyn saw the land clear enough in her memory. The marketplace was just across the way, and the village a m ile farther on, half a hundred white cottages surrounding a small s bill sept. There would be more now the summer had been long and peaceful. North of here the kingsroad ran along the Green Fork of the Trident, through fertile valleys and green woodlands, past thriving towns and stout holdfasts and the castles of the river lords.Catelyn knew them all the Blackwoods and the Brackens, ever enemies, whose quarrels her father was obliged to limit bird Whent, last of her line, who dwelt with her ghosts in the cavernous vaults of Harrenhal irascible Lord Frey, who had outlived vii wives and filled his twin castles with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and bastards and grandbastards as well. All of them were bannermen to the Tullys, their swords sworn to the service of Riverrun. Catelyn wondered if that would be enough, if it came to war. Her father was the staunchest man whod ever lived, and she had no uncertainty that he would holler his banners . . . but would the banners come? The Darrys and Rygers and Mootons had sworn oaths to Riverrun as well, yet they had fought with Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident, while Lord Frey had arrived with his levies well after the battle was over, leaving some dubiousness as to which army he had planned to join (theirs, he had guarantee the victors solemnly in the aftermath, but ever after her father had called him the previous(a) Lord Frey). It must not come to war, Catelyn thought fervently. They must not let it.Ser Rodrik came for her just as the bell ceased its clangor. We had best make flush if we hope to eat tonight, my lady.It might be safer if we were not knight and lady until we pass the Neck, she told him. Common travelers attract less notice. A father and daughter taken to the road on some family business, say.As you say, my lady, Ser Rodrik agreed. It was only when she laughed that he realized what hed done. The old courtesies die hard, mymy daughter. He tried and true to tug on his missing wh iskers, and sighed with exasperation.Catelyn took his arm. Come, Father, she said. Youll find that Masha Heddle sets a steady-going table, I think, but assay not to praise her. You truly dont want to see her smile.The common room was long and drafty, with a row of huge wooden kegs at one end and a fireplace at the other. A serving son ran back and forth with skewers of meat while Masha drew beer from the kegs, chewing her sourleaf all the while.The terracees were crowded, townsfolk and farmers mingling freely with all manner of travelers. The crossroads made for odd companions dyers with black and purple hands shared a bench with rivermen reeking of fish, an ironsmith thick with muscle squeezed in beside a wizened old septon, hard-bitten sellswords and soft plump merchants swapped news like boon companions.The family included more swords than Catelyn would have liked. Three by the fire wore the red stallion badge of the Brackens, and there was a large-mouthed party in blue stee l ringmail and capes of a silvery grey. On their shoulder was some other familiar sigil, the twin towers of House Frey. She studied their faces, but they were all too young to have known her. The senior among them would have been no quondam(a) than Bran when she went north.Ser Rodrik found them an empty place on the bench near the kitchen. across the table a handsome youth was fingering a woodharp. cardinal blessings to you, goodfolk, he said as they sat. An empty wine cup stood on the table before him.And to you, singer, Catelyn returned. Ser Rodrik called for bread and meat and beer in a tone that meant now. The singer, a youth of some eighteen years, eyed them boldly and asked where they were going, and from hence they had come, and what news they had, letting the questions fly as quick as arrows and never pausing for an answer. We left Kings Landing a fortnight ago, Catelyn replied, answering the safest of his questions.Thats where Im bound, the youth said. As she had suspe cted, he was more interested in telling his own storey than in hearing theirs. Singers loved nothing half so well as the sound of their own voices. The Hands tourney means rich lords with fat purses. The last time I came away with more silver than I could carry . . . or would have, if I hadnt lost it all betting on the Kingslayer to win the day.The gods frown on the gambler, Ser Rodrik said sternly. He was of the north, and shared the innocent views on tournaments.They frowned on me, for certain, the singer said. Your cruel gods and the Knight of Flowers altogether did me in.No doubt that was a lesson for you, Ser Rodrik said.It was. This time my coin will champion Ser Loras.Ser Rodrik tried to tug at whiskers that were not there, but before he could frame a rebuke the serving boy came scurrying up. He laid trenchers of bread before them and filled them with chunks of browned meat off a skewer, dripping with hot juice. some other skewer held tiny onions, fire peppers, and fat mus hrooms. Ser Rodrik set to lustily as the lad ran back to arrive them beer. My name is Marillion, the singer said, plucking a string on his woodharp. Doubtless youve heard me play somewhere?His manner made Catelyn smile. Few wandering singers ever ventured as far north as Winterfell, but she knew his like from her maidenhood in Riverrun. I fear not, she told him.He drew a doleful chord from the woodharp. That is your loss, he said. Who was the finest singer youve ever heard?Alia of Braavos, Ser Rodrik answered at once.Oh, Im much better than that old stick, Marillion said. If you have the silver for a song, Ill gladly present you.I might have a copper or two, but Id sooner toss it down a well than pay for your howling, Ser Rodrik groused. His belief of singers was well known unison was a lovely thing for girls, but he could not comprehend why any healthy boy would fill his hand with a harp when he might have had a sword.Your grandfather has a sour nature, Marillion said to Cate lyn. I meant to do you honor. An homage to your beauty. In truth, I was made to sing for kings and high lords.Oh, I can see that, Catelyn said. Lord Tully is fond of song, I hear. No doubt youve been to Riverrun.A hundred times, the singer said airily. They keep a chamber for me, and the young lord is like a brother.Catelyn smiled, wondering what Edmure would think of that. Another singer had once graded a girl her brother picture he had hated the breed ever since. And Winterfell? she asked him. Have you traveled north?Why would I? Marillion asked. Its all blizzards and bearskins up there, and the graves know no music but the howling of wolves. Distantly, she was aware of the door banging open at the far end of the room.Innkeep, a servants voice called out behind her, we have horses that want stabling, and my lord of Lannister requires a room and a hot bath.Oh, gods, Ser Rodrik said before Catelyn reached out to silence him, her fingers tightening hard around his forearm.Masha H eddle was stem and smiling her hideous red smile. Im sorry, mlord, truly, were full up, every room.There were quaternion of them, Catelyn saw. An old man in the black of the Nights Watch, two servants . . . and him, standing there small and bold as life. My men will steep in your stable, and as for myself, well, I do not require a large room, as you can plainly see. He flashed a mocking grin. So long as the fires warm and the straw reasonably free of fleas, I am a happy man.Masha Heddle was beside herself. Mlord, theres nothing, its the tourney, theres no help for it, oh . . . Tyrion Lannister pulled a coin from his purse and flicked it up over his head, caught it, tossed it again. Even across the room, where Catelyn sat, the wink of luxurious was unmistakable.A freerider in a faded blue cloak lurched to his feet. Youre satisfying to my room, mlord.Now theres a clever man, Lannister said as he sent the coin spinning across the room. The freerider snatched it from the air. And a nimble one to boot. The shade off turned back to Masha Heddle. You will be able to manage food, I trust?Anything you like, mlord, anything at all, the innkeep promised. And may he choke on it, Catelyn thought, but it was Bran she saw choking, drowning on his own blood.Lannister glanced at the nearest tables. My men will have whatever youre serving these people. Double portions, weve had a long hard ride. Ill take a roast fowlchicken, duck, pigeon, it makes no matter. And send up a flagon of your best wine. Yoren, will you sup with me?Aye, mlord, I will, the black brother replied.The dwarf had not so much as glanced toward the far end of the room, and Catelyn was thinking how grateful she was for the crowded benches between them when suddenly Marillion bounded to his feet. My lord of Lannister he called out. I would be pleased to entertain you while you eat. allow me sing you the lay of your fathers great victory at Kings Landing energy would be more likely to ruin my supper, the d warf said dryly. His incompatible eyes considered the singer briefly, started to move away . . . and found Catelyn. He looked at her for a scrap, puzzled. She turned her face away, but too late. The dwarf was smiling. noblewoman Stark, what an unexpected pleasure, he said. I was sorry to miss you at Winterfell.Marillion gaped at her, confusion giving way to chagrin as Catelyn rose lento to her feet. She heard Ser Rodrik curse. If only the man had lingered at the Wall, she thought, if only . . .Lady . . . Stark? Masha Heddle said thickly.I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I bedded here, she told the innkeep. She could hear the muttering, feel the eyes upon her. Catelyn glanced around the room, at the faces of the knights and sworn swords, and took a deep breath to slow the frantic beating of her optic. Did she dare take the risk? There was no time to think it through, only the moment and the sound of her own voice ringing in her ears. You in the corner, she said to an older man she had not noticed until now. Is that the black bat of Harrenhal I see embroidered on your surcoat, ser?The man got to his feet. It is, my lady.And is Lady Whent a true and true(p) friend to my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun?She is, the man replied stoutly.Ser Rodrik rose quietly and loosened his sword in its scabbard. The dwarf was blinking at them, blank-faced, with puzzlement in his incommensurable eyes.The red stallion was ever a welcome sight in Riverrun, she said to the trio by the fire. My father counts Jonos Bracken among his oldest and most loyal bannermen.The three men-at-arms exchanged uncertain looks. Our lord is honored by his trust, one of them said hesitantly.I envy your father all these fine friends, Lannister quipped, but I do not quite see the purpose of this, Lady Stark.She ignored him, turning to the large party in blue and grey. They were the heart of the matter there were more than twenty of them. I know your sigil as well the twin towers of Frey. How fares your good lord, sers?Their captain rose. Lord Walder is well, my lady. He plans to take a new wife on his ninetieth name day, and has asked your lord father to honor the wedding with his presence.Tyrion Lannister sniggered. That was when Catelyn knew he was hers. This man came a thickening into my house, and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of seven, she proclaimed to the room at large, pointing. Ser Rodrik moved to her side, his sword in hand. In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the kings justice.She did not know what was more satisfying the sound of a dozen swords pull as one or the look on Tyrion Lannisters face.