Martin, George R. R. - Song of Ice and Fire 01 - A Game of Thrones

by Game of Thrones (lit)

  Below the Wheel Tower, they made a wide turn and knifed through the churning water. The men put their backs into it. The wide arch of the Water Gate came into view, and she heard the creak of heavy

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  chains as the great iron portcullis was winched upward. It rose slowly as they approached, and Catelyn saw that the lower half of it was red with rust. The bottom foot dripped brown mud on them as they passed underneath, the barbed spikes mere inches above their heads. Catelyn gazed up at the bars and wondered how deep the rust went and how well the portcullis would stand up to a ram and whether it ought to be replaced. Thoughts like that were seldom far from her mind these days.

  They passed beneath the arch and under the walls, moving from sunlight to shadow and back into sunlight. Boats large and small were tied up all around them, secured to iron rings set in the stone. Her father's guards waited on the water stair with her brother. Ser Edmure Tully was a stocky young man with a shaggy head of auburn hair and a fiery beard. His breastplate was scratched and dented from battle, his blue-and-red cloak stained by blood and smoke. At his side stood the Lord `I~tos Blackwood, a hard pike of a man with close-cropped saltand-pepper whiskers and a hook nose. His bright yellow armor was inlaid with jet in elaborate vine-and-leaf patterns, and a cloak sewn from raven feathers draped his thin shoulders. It had been Lord `J~tos who led the sortie that plucked her brother from the Lannister camp.

  "Bring them in," Ser Edmure commanded. Three men scrambled down the stairs knee-deep in the water and pulled the boat close with long hooks. When Grey Wind bounded out, one of them dropped his pole and lurched back, stumbling and sitting down abruptly in the river. The others laughed, and the man got a sheepish look on his face. Theon Greyjoy vaulted over the side of the boat and lifted Catelyn by the waist, setting her on a dry step above him as water lapped around his boots.

  Edmure came down the steps to embrace her. "Sweet sister," he murmured hoarsely. He had deep blue eyes and a mouth made for smiles, but he was not smiling now. He looked worn and tired, battered by battle and haggard from strain. His neck was bandaged where he had taken a wound. Catelyn hugged him fiercely.

  "Your grief is mine, Cat," he said when they broke apart. "When we heard about Lord Eddard . . . the Lannisters will pay, I swear it, you will have your vengeance."

  "Will that bring Ned back to me?" she said sharply. The wound was still too fresh for softer words. She could not think about Ned now. She would not. It would not do. She had to be strong. "All that will keep. I must see Father."

  "He awaits you in his solar," Edmure said.

  "Lord Hoster is bedridden, my lady," her father's steward ex

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  plained. When had that good man grown so old and grey? "He instructed me to bring you to him at once."

  "I'll take her." Edmure escorted her up the water stair and across the lower bailey, where Petyr Baelish and Brandon Stark had once crossed swords for her favor. The: massive sandstone walls of the keep loomed above them. As they pushed through a door between two guardsmen in fish-crest helms, she asked, "How bad is he?" dreading the answer even as she said the words.

  Edmure's look was somber. "He will not be with us long, the maesters say. The pain is . . . constant, and grievous."

  A blind rage filled her, a rage at all the world; at her brother Edmure and her sister Lysa, at the Lannisters, at the maesters, at Ned and her father and the monstrous gods who would take them both away from her. "You should have told me," she said. "You should have sent word as soon as you knew."

  "He forbade it. He did not want his enemies to know that he was dying. With the realm so troubled, he feared that if the Lannisters suspected how frail he was . . . 9'

  ". . . they might attack?" Catelyn finished, hard. It was your doing, yours, a voice whispered inside her. Ifyou had not taken it upon yourself to seize the dwarf . . .

  They climbed the spiral stair in silence.

  The keep was three-sided, like Riverrun itself, and Lord Hoster's solar was triangular as well, with a stone balcony that jutted out to the east like the prow of some great sandstone ship. From there the lord of the castle could look down on his walls and battlements, and beyond, to where the waters met. They had moved her father's bed out onto the balcony. "He likes to sit in the sun and watch the rivers," Edmure explained. "Father, see who I've brought. Cat has come to see you . . .

  Hoster Tully had always been a big man; tall and broad in his youth, portly as he grew older. Now he seemed shrunken, the muscle and meat melted off his bones. Even his face sagged. The last time Catelyn had seen him, his hair and beard had been brown, well streaked with grey. Now they had gone white as snow.

  His eyes opened to the sound of Edmure's voice. "Little cat," he murmured in a voice thin and wispy and wracked by pain. "My little cat." A tremulous smile touched his face as his hand groped for hers. "I watched for you . . ."

  "I shall leave you to talk," her brother said, kissing their lord father gently on the brow before he withdrew.

  Catelyn knelt and took her father's hand in hers. It was a big hand,

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  but fleshless now, the bones moving loosely under the skin, all the strength gone from it. "You should have told me," she said. "A rider, a raven . . ."

  "Riders are taken, questioned," he answered. "Ravens are brought down . . ." A spasm of pain took him, and his fingers clutched hers hard. "The crabs are in my belly . . . pinching, always pinching. Day and night. They have fierce claws, the crabs. Maester Vyman makes me dreamwine, milk of the poppy . . . I sleep a lot . . . but I wanted to be awake to see you, when you came. I was afraid . . . when the Lannisters took your brother, the camps all around us . . . was afraid I would go, before I could see you again . . . I was afraid . ."

  "I'm here, Father," she said. "With Robb, my son. He'll want to see you too."

  "Your boy," he whispered. "He had my eyes, I remember

  "He did, and does. And we've brought you Jaime Lannister, in irons. Riverrun is free again, Father."

  Lord Hoster smiled. "I saw. Last night, when it began, I told them . . . had to see. They carried me to the gatehouse . . . watched from the battlements. Ah, that was beautiful . . . the torches came in a wave, I could hear the cries floating across the river . .'. sweet cries . . . when that siege tower went up, gods . . . would have died then, and glad, if only I could have seen you children first. Was it your boy who did it? Was it your Robb?"

  "Yes," Catelyn said, fiercely proud. "It was Robb . . . and Brynden. Your brother is here as well, my lord."

  "Him." Her father's voice was a faint whisper. "The Blackfish . . . came back? From the Vale?"

  "Yes.,,

  "And Lysa?" A cool wind moved through his thin white hair. "Gods be good, your sister . . . did she come as well?"

  He sounded so full of hope and yearning that it was hard to tell the truth. "No. I'm sorry . . ."

  "Oh." His face fell, and some light went out of his eyes. "I'd hoped I would have liked to see her, before

  "She's with her son, in the Eyrie."

  Lord Hoster gave a weary nod. "Lord Robert now, poor Arryn's gone . . . I remember . . . why did she not come with you?"

  "She is frightened, my lord. In the Eyrie she feels safe." She kissed his wrinkled brow. "Robb will be waiting. Will you see him? And Brynden?"

  "Your son," he whispered. "Yes. Cat's child . . . he had my eyes, I remember. When he was born. Bring him . . . yes."

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  "And your brother?"

  Her father glanced out over the rivers. "Blackfish," he said. "Has he wed yet? Taken some . . . girl to wife?"

  Even on his deathbed, Catelyn thought sadly. "He has not wed. You know that, Father. Nor will he ever."

  "I told him . . . commanded him. Marry! I was his lord. He knows. My right, to make his match. A good match. A Redwyne. Old House. Sweet girl, pretty . . . freckles . . . Bethany, yes. Poor child. Still waiting.
Yes. Still . . ."

  "Bethany Redwyne wed Lord Rowan years ago," Catelyn reminded him. "She has three children by him."

  "Even so," Lord Hoster muttered. "Even so. Spit on the girl. The Redwynes. Spit on me. His lord, his brother . . . that Blackfish. I had other offers. Lord Bracken's girl. Walder Frey . . . any of three, he said . . . Has he wed? Anyone? Anyone?"

  "No one," Catelyn said, "yet he has come many leagues to see you, fighting his way back to Riverrun. I would not be here now, if Ser Brynden had not helped us."

  "He was ever a warrior," her father husked. "That he could do. Knight of the Gate, yes." He leaned back and closed his eyes, inutterably weary. "Send him. Later. I'll sleep now. Too sick to fight. Send him up later, the Blackfish . . ."

  Catelyn kissed him gently, smoothed his hair, and left him there in the shade of his keep, with his rivers flowing beneath. He was asleep before she left the solar.

  When she returned to the lower bailey, Ser Brynden Tully stood on the water stairs with wet boots, talking with the captain of Riverrun's guards. He came to her at once. "Is he-T'

  "Dying," she said. "As we feared."

  Her uncle's craggy face showed his pain plain. He ran his fingers through his thick grey hair. "Will he see me?"

  She nodded. "He says he is too sick to fight."

  Brynden Blackfish chuckled. "I am too old a soldier to believe that. Hoster will be chiding me about the Redwyne girl even as we light his funeral pyre, damn his bones."

  Catelyn smiled, knowing it was true. "I do not see Robb."

  "He went with Greyjoy to the hall, I believe."

  Theon Greyjoy was seated on a bench in Riverrun's Great Hall, enjoying a horn of ale and regaling her father's garrison with an account of the slaughter in the Whispering Wood. "Some tried to flee, but we'd pinched the valley shut at both ends, and we rode out of the darkness with sword and lance. The Lannisters must have thought the

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  Others themselves were on them when that wolf of Robb's got in among them. I saw him tear one man's arm from his shoulder, and their horses went mad at the scent of him. I couldn't tell you how many men were thrown-"

  "Theon," she interrupted, "where might I find my son?"

  "Lord Robb went to visit the godswood, MY lady.,,

  It was what Ned would have done. He is his father's son as much as mine, I must remember. Oh, gods, Ned . . .

  She found Robb beneath the green canopy of leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and great old elms, kneeling before the heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face more sad than fierce. His longsword was before him, the point thrust in the earth, his gloved hands clasped around the hilt. Around him others knelt: Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, and more. Even Tytos Blackwood was among them, the great raven cloak fanned out behind him. These are the ones who keep the old gods, she realized. She asked herself what gods she kept these days, and could not find an answer.

  It would not do to disturb them at their prayers. The gods must have their due . . . even cruel gods who would take Ned from her, and her lord father as well. So Catelyn waited. The river wind moved through the high branches, and she could see the Wheel Tower to her right, ivy crawling up its side. As she stood there, all the memories came flooding back to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm that Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.

  She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been-she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. It came back to her so vividly she could almost feel his sweaty fingers on her shoulders and taste the mint on his breath. There was always mint growing in the godswood, and Petyr had liked to chew it. He had been such a bold little boy, always in trouble. "He tried to put his tongue in my mouth," Catelyn had confessed to her sister afterward, when they were alone. "He did with me too," Lysa had whispered, shy and breathless. "I liked it."

  Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have. She had seen Jeyne Poole giving him moist-eyed glances, and some of the serving girls, even ones as old as eighteen . . . he had ridden in battle and killed men with a sword,

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  surely he had been kissed. There were tears in her eyes. She wiped them away angrily.

  "Mother," Robb said when he saw her standing there. "We must call a council. There are things to be decided."

  "Your grandfather would like to see you," she said. "Robb, he's very sick."

  "Ser Edmure told me. I am sorry, Mother . . . for Lord Hoster and for you. Yet first we must meet. We've had word from the south. Renly Baratheon has claimed his brother's crown."

  "Renly?" she said, shocked. "I had thought, surely it would be Lord Stannis . . ."

  "So did we all, my lady," Galbart Glover said.

  The war council convened in the Great Hall, at four long trestle tables arranged in a broken square. Lord Hoster was too weak to attend, asleep on his balcony, dreaming of the sun on the rivers of his youth. Edmure sat in the high seat of the Tullys, with Brynden Blackfish at his side, and his father's bannermen arrayed to right and left and along the side tables. Word of the victory at Riverrun had spread to the fugitive lords of the Trident, drawing them back. Karyl Vance came in, a lord now, his father dead beneath the Golden Tooth. Ser Marq Piper was with him, and they brought a Darry, Ser Raymun's son, a lad no older than Bran. Lord Jonos Bracken arrived from the ruins of Stone Hedge, glowering and blustering, and took a seat as far from Tytos Blackwood as the tables would permit.

  The northern lords sat opposite, with Catelyn and Robb facing her brother across the tables. They were fewer. The Greatjon sat at Robb's left hand, and then Theon Greyjoy; Galbart Glover and Lady Mormont were to the right of Catelyn. Lord Rickard Karstark, gaunt and hollow-eyed in his grief, took his seat like a man in a nightmare, his long beard uncombed and unwashed. He had left two sons dead in the Whispering Wood, and there was no word of the third, his eldest, who had led the Karstark spears against Tywin Lannister on the Green Fork.

  The arguing raged on late into the night. Each lord had a right to speak, and speak they did . . . and shout, and curse, and reason, and cajole, and jest, and bargain, and slam tankards on the table, and threaten, and walk out, and return sullen or smiling. Catelyn sat and listened to it all.

  Roose Bolton had re-formed the battered remnants of their other host at the mouth of the causeway. Ser Helman Tallhart and Walder Frey still held the Twins. Lord Tywin's army had crossed the Trident,

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  and was making for Harrenhal. And there were two kings in the realm. Two kings, and no agreement.

  Many of the lords bannermen wanted to march on Harrenhal at once, to meet Lord Tywin and end Lannister power for all time. Young, hot-tempered Marq Piper urged a strike west at Casterly Rock instead. Still others counseled patience. Riverrun sat athwart the Lannister supply lines, Jason Mallister pointed out; let them bide their time, denying Lord Tywin fresh levies and provisions while they strengthened their defenses and rested their weary troops. Lord Blackwood would have none of it. They should finish the work they began in the Whispering Wood. March to Harrenhal and bring Roose Bolton's army down as well. What Blackwood urged, Bracken opposed, as ever; Lord Jonos Bracken rose to insist they ought pledge their fealty to King Renly, and move south to join their might to his.

  "Renly is not the king," Robb said. It was the first time her son had spoken. Like his father, he knew how to listen.

  "You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord," Galbart Glover said. "He put your father to death."

  "That makes him evil," Robb replied. "I do not know that it makes Renly king. Joffrey is still Robert's eldest trueborn son, so the throne is
rightfully his by all the laws of the realm. Were he to die, and I mean to see that he does, he has a younger brother. Tommen is next in line after Joffrey."

  "Tommen is no less a Lannister," Ser Marq Piper snapped.

  "As you say," said Robb, troubled. "Yet if neither one is king, still, how could it be Lord Renly? He's Robert's younger brother. Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, and Renly can't be king before Lord Stannis."

  Lady Mormont agreed. "Lord Stannis has the better claim."

  "Renly is crowned," said Marq Piper. "Highgarden and Storm's End support his claim, and the Dornishmen will not be laggardly. If Winterfell and Riverrun add their strength to his, he will have five of the seven great houses behind him. Six, if the Arryns bestir themselves! Six against the Rock! My lords, within the year, we will have all their heads on pikes, the queen and the boy king, Lord Tywin, the Imp, the Kingslayer, Ser Kevan, all of them! That is what we shall win if we join with King Renly. What does Lord Stannis have against that, that we should cast it all aside?"