Chapter Text
Catelyn
Catelyn walked across the courtyard towards the grove where she knew her husband would be. She looked down at the scroll that was no larger than the palm of her hand, but it weighed her down like an anvil sinking into the bed of the great rivers of Riverrun. The death of the direwolf bitch, killed by a stag, her five pups left to fend for themselves before they were found. Signs aplenty and heavily dark.
“All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here,” she admitted once she stood before her husband and the weirwood. No greetings needed, for both knew who it was that spoke. She looked upon the face carved upon the bark of the weirwood. Its eyes followed her, she knew.
“You have five Northern children,” her husband Ned appeased. His greatsword Ice sat across his lap. He continued to clean it as he spoke to her. “You’re not an outsider.”
“I wonder if the old gods agree,” she said.
“It’s your gods with all the rules,” he replied. He looked up to her, his smile disappearing as his eyes scan about her body.
“I am so sorry, my love,” she said, clutching the scroll in her hand.
“Tell me.”
“There was a raven from King’s Landing,” there was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. “Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him. I know he was like a father to you.”
She could see grief on his face, but even then he thought first of her. “Your sister,” he said. “The boy.”
“They both have their health,” she replied quickly. “The gods be good.” She sat upon a smaller stone to that of her husband’s, her back to the weirwood. She looked at her hazy reflection on the dark pool and allowed a moment for the news to sink in. “The raven brought more news,” her husband looked up from his contemplation. “The king rides for Winterfell. With the Queen and all the rest of them.” He grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the queen’s family, Catelyn knew. The younger brother rose a little in Ned’s esteem and that was only due to his wife and the vow they took in rescuing her darling eldest. But for the rest, well she hoped Ned will keep a civil tongue on him.
“He’s coming this far north, there is only one thing he is after,” he said grimly.
“You can always say no Ned,” she said. A chill ran up her spine, a sense of foreboding near-swallowing her whole. She knew her husband well, and his honour. He kept his silence.
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The next few days were chaotic. The entirety of Winterfell was swept clean, from top to bottom. More game were hunted, twice that was normal and more that could be spared. The best sheets were brought out of their cupboards, dusted and aired out. Catelyn watched as the servants busily did their service and paid their dues, like bumblebees within their hives. All in the service of a king that might take her husband away. Catelyn tried to keep these grim thoughts away, so she thought of the brighter aspect of this visit. Another raven brought news which gave Catelyn a reason to smile about. The Lord and Lady of Tarth and their children would also be coming, probably in the same time as the king.
Catelyn cannot wait to see them, particularly the Lady. Correspondence between their Houses were as frequent as they could. Catelyn often thought of her as another daughter even though she was much older than her firstborn. Robb was particularly excited with this bit of news and she often found him in the practice yards. Sword in hand, he practiced his poses and his swing, lessons long-remembered mumbled under his breath. Her other children were excited as well, more so of Arya and Bran for they were interested with the stories about the Lord and Lady. Arya would watch her brother and learn the lessons he learned from the Lady, a real Lady Knight! The gods give her patience for her youngest daughter.
“We need plenty of candles, particularly in Lord Tyrion’s chambers,” she ordered, as she walked around the tables, the servants busily setting garlands of Winterfell’s finest shrubs and flowers. She woke early this morning, her husband still asleep beside her. Lists upon lists of what needed to be done went through her mind like a continuous loop. She could not go back to sleep, so she risen from her bed and began the preparations. “I’m told he reads all night.”
“I’m told he drinks all night,” answered Maester Luwin who followed her in a speed other men his own age would have difficulty with.
“How much can he possible drink…of a man of his stature?”
“We brought up the best ale from the cellar, so we will find out,” he replied wryly.
“In any case, candles.”
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Bran
Bran Stark tried to stand still as he stood beside his sister. But his limbs twitched in excitement as he watched the visitors come into the keep like a river of gold and silver and fiery red. He gives thanks that the heavy cloak he wore hid his twitching arms. He looked up as knights with shining armour held atop on great steeds positioned themselves on the outer part of the courtyard surrounding them. Each held over their heads golden banners emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.
Bran recognised some of the riders, more from Robb’s stories than anything else. There was Sandor Clegane, or aptly called ‘The Hound” and not because of his black helm. There riding next to him is a tall boy around Sansa’ age, if a little older. He had gold hair and a smug smile that he sometimes found on Theon’s face when talking to Jon and could only think that this was the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. “A royal prick” Robb had described him. He was disappointed that he couldn’t find the queen’s brothers, for Robb had great stories about the older one, but he didn’t worry. His mother said that they will come and she had never been wrong before.
A giant wheelhouse of red and gold and metal pulled by several horses came into the courtyard, so big that the carriage almost touched the sides of the castle gate. He believed this must be where the rest of the royal family are housed.
Then a huge man came into view, flanked by two knights that must be of the Kingsguard judging by the white cloaks on their shoulders. His father kneeled down close to the ground and automatically Bran and the rest of them followed. He waited until a signal by his father to stand up and found the huge man with a huge gut standing in front of his father. To Bran’s rising disappointment, if they are the Kingsguard and his father and all of them are kneeling for him, than that huge man must be…
“Your Grace,” his father greeted.
… the king.
He watched as the king was silent, gazing and observing his father like those painters that looked at their pictures trying to find any flaws.
“You got fat,” the king growled. He is one to talk he thought, looking at his fat stomach. Suddenly the king boomed out a laugh before giving his father a hug that looked to crush bone and then gave his mother a hug like she was a long-lost sister.
Bran watched as a lady with golden hair and wearing a golden cloak stepped out of the carriage - Cersei Lannister if he remembered his lessons correctly- and a girl and a boy which would be her two younger children. The queen looked around the castle with the same look when Sansa bit into a particularly sour part of her favoured lemoncake.
It is the same look she is giving Arya now when she asked where The Imp was. Bran watched as the king greeted each of his siblings in turn and had to smile as the king happily told him that he would be a soldier. Then the queen stepped forward. There was no smile on her face, she looked like she did not even want to be here. Her green eyes were hard when she looked upon his family, as though they were lower than the humus that covered the grounds in the godswood.
Before anything could be said and done, Bran could hear the sound of galloping horses coming closer. They all watched as another set of riders came into the courtyard, this time wearing armour of blue and silver and holding banners of rose and azure and the suns and crescent moons and the golden lion of the Houses Lannister and Tarth. He watched excitedly as the man at the head of the column came to a stop in front of them. He peered down at them with a small smile before giving them all a nod, his golden hair atop his head.
“That is Jaime Lannister, the queen’s twin brother,” Arya whispered before being told to shut up by Sansa.
“Well,” the king growled impatiently. “Are you going to get off your high horse and greet our hosts or what?!” Then the most unexpected happened. Lord Jaime held out a hand and out appeared another in answer before a smaller person vaulted off the warhorse. Bran would have thought it was a boy, as the head was covered by a helmet, if he didn’t see the blue dress…then the girl face that appeared when the helmet was removed. She had hair that was almost the colour of white snow that was pulled back tight from her face and green eyes. He could hear Arya muttering about how the girl got to wear a helmet and why did she get to have a sword? Bran saw that the girl did have a small sword in its scabbard, wrapped around her waist and just peeking out from underneath her cloak.
Ser Jaime just stepped off from the back of his horse as four other people came forward to stand beside the girl. There stood the elder twin sons Galladon and Tyson Lannister. Identical but the colour of their eyes, the lightness of their hair and where Galladon was built like Robb, Tyson looked to have bulkier arms and shoulders. They looked to be the same height as their father only Bran knew they were younger than Prince Joffrey. The smallest of the lot was the youngest boy who ran up to stand next to Galladon and stood the height just above his brother’s waist, Korvin Lannister. Then the girl must be Josephine Lannister who is Arya’s age and came up to her brother’s chest, but it was the last person that held most of Bran’s attention. The tallest of all of them came to stand next to Ser Jaime, who looked at her like father would look at mother many a times and held her hand like his parents as well.
This must be the most spoken about Lady Brienne Lannister of Evanfall Hall. She didn’t look like any lady Bran has ever seen, not like his mother or the queen, nor like his sister Sansa who always called herself a lady. No Lady would wear what men wore, even if they do look new and the leather polished. She had light freckles that covered her face, big lips and a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once and was not put back properly. Her hair – the same colour as Tyson and Josephine – was cut so short he could see her neck which was surprisingly delicate. She could be someone that could be called ugly. But out of everything about her he could say he liked was her eyes. They were the same colour as the sky on a nice day and just as soft like the warm breeze that blew in his face when he laid down to rest under the weirwood before it turned cold. The Maiden’s Tears was a particularly favoured if sad story in the Stark Household, Bran was happy to see the descriptions of her eyes were real.
As one they bowed and curtsied, and unison they stood up, but the way they did it Bran couldn’t tell if it was for the king, or for his father or for both or for neither.
Ser Jaime stepped forward into the last corner of the triangle of the Lords of their House. “Apologies for the late arrival your grace, my Lord Stark,” he said nodding to each of them. “My children have not been outside of Tarth for many years, they tend to lose concentration when the surroundings are exciting and explorable.” They turned around to watch as Korvin Lannister whispered quietly to his sister, pointing to various parts of the castle.
“Lord Jaime,” father greeted, not as with great affection as with the king but amiable just the same. “Winterfell cannot be comparable to Evenfall Hall I’m sure.”
“Well Winterfell has its own quirks and holds many memories still, staring at the same stones day by day can grow quite dull. Why do you think Brienne and I bring out the children to make camp in the surrounding forests as many times as we can?”
As though being summoned, the Lady Brienne stepped up beside her husband. Closer up, her eyes looked like the blue stones he had seen some Ladies wear. She greeted the king before turning to his father. “Lord Stark.”
Unlike with the queen, his father’s greeting to the Lady was infused with so much warmth his father not only kissed her hand but gave her a great hug, something she was not expecting judging by the expression on her face. His mother’s greeting was no less warm and she hugged her like a mother would give to a child who had flown the nest.
No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, I would like to pay my respects.”
The queen began to protest that they have been riding for a month, surely the dead can wait. Nothing else was said; the king turned without another look to his queen towards the family crypt with his father following, leaving the queen to stand alone.
“Where’s the Imp?” Arya asked almost desperately. The queen gave his sister an icy look before going to stand by her twin brother, who stood closely by his wife near their family.
“Where is our little brother?” she asked him quietly, never realising her voice could be clearly heard where Bran stood she continued to demand her brother. “Go and find the little beast.”
“Will he be in the house where ladies sing and dance?” Korvin piped up helpfully, looking up at the adults innocently. Every adult tried to hold in their laughter, save for the queen who didn’t find it at all amusing, as Lady Brienne asked her youngest where did he hear such things.
Korvin turned to his brothers. “Well Gal and Ty said -” the rest was smothered when Tyson pulled his brother to his body and covered his little brother’s mouth. At once the twin brothers smiled innocently to their mother who gave them a familiar look all mothers save for her troublesome children.