The Stranger's Road
Title: The Stranger's Road - part 1
Author:
oparu
Artist: staringiscaring
Genre: mostly het with hints of femslash
Pairings/Characters: Catelyn/Ned, Catelyn/Brandon, Catelyn/Lyanna if you squint.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: none, AU
Summary:Matriarchal AU set during Lyanna Stark's rebellion against Queen Rhaella on Iron Throne. At the Tournament of Harrenhal, Brandon Stark is crowned King of Love and Beauty and disappears with the champion, Princess Rhaegara Targaryen. Lady Stark, the warden of the North, rides south to ask for the return of her son and is killed, along with her son, Brandon Stark, Catelyn's betrothed. When the queen asks Lady Arryn for the heads of Catelyn and Lyanna, Lady Arryn refuses, tearing the queendom apart.
Notes: This was terribly hard and great fun at the same time. I loved making up the words for a matriarchy, and wondering what that kind of society would be like. This story kept getting more complicated, so I made it two parts.
Many thanks to Eena for being so patient and staringiscaring for the mix! I'm sure it'll be fantastic.
Link to art: pending!
set 282 years after Visenya and Rhaenys' landing, when the Targaryen queens came to rule the Queendoms of Westeros.
"The Lady Wolf has her eyes on you," Lyanna said, dragging her fingers lazily through her wild brown hair. She settled down on the grass next to Catelyn Tully, staring up at the lazy spring stars overhead. The lights seem so much closer when winter has left.
"Surely your mother has better things to do than eye the future wife of her son like an elk she wants to take down for the kill."
"She loves Brandon, almost as if he were a daughter. She won't give him up to anyone," Lyanna said, laughing again. She was always laughing, as if she hadn't been born of House Stark, a family known for their chill winters and cooler demeanours. Lyanna was full of songs, smiles, and the kind of mirth that belong far more in Highgarden than Winterfell, yet, someday she would rule the great old castle in the North and all the lands of the wild queens of old.
Catelyn stopped playing with the blade in her hand and sat up, throwing it neatly into the tree in front of her. It sunk deep with a satisfying thud. "Do you think I'll love him?"
"Brandon?" Lyanna ran her hand through her hair, teasing the curls so they bounced on her shoulders. "How could you fail to love Brandon? He's beautiful, charming, good at farming and ruling a house. He's of study Northern stock and he'll sire a litter of Tullys on you so you can round them up for sword-practice."
"Or dancing."
Lyanna sat up and looks at the dagger in the tree in front of them. "Aren't they the same?"
"I've yet to cut anyone I was dancing with."
"Well, we've found yet another occasion in which you are a true lady and I am but a wolf-girl."
Reaching up slowly, Catelyn grabbed a curl of Lyanna's hair and tugged it hard. "That you are." She scampers out of the way, darting behind the sturdy pines of the Vale as she tries to stay ahead of Lyanna.
She failed, utterly, and was tackled to the dewy grass by Lyanna. They lay there, entwined and giggling like little girls again. Lyanna stroked Catelyn's hair.
"Brandon will be blessed by the Old Gods if mother chooses you."
"Do you think she will? She puts no stock in tourneys."
"She can hardly start a war to see what you are like with a sword in your hand. Just because she does not fight in tourneys does not mean she doesn't understand them."
Catelyn sighed, smiling up at Lyanna's confident face. "How fortunate you are that Robert has no mother to impress."
'Oh Robert..." Lyanna shook her head. "He's almost too easy, isn't he?"
"You mean the way he follows your every move like a precious puppy, waiting to be awarded a pat of the lady's hand?"
"I can think of a great many dogs I'd rather take to my bed." Shutting her eyes, Lyanna wrinkled her nose. "All he thinks of is drink and laughter."
"And you hate both of those," Catelyn said, her face still and wooden.
Lyanna smacked her shoulder. "How well will he run the North? It's not an easy place to be the lord of. He's soft and southern. They'll eat him alive when I bring him home!"
Robert was tall and strong, with kindness in his eyes; Catelyn found Lyanna's constant refusal of him puzzling. Robert was no Brandon, but he was no Frey either. Jamie Lannister was another possible match, or the artistic Willas Tyrell, but neither of them had the temperament for Lyanna. "I hear he keeps a good table. Perhaps he will win your northern ladies by seducing their bellies."
"Perhaps." Lyanna rolled over, facing Catelyn. "Too bad I can't marry you."
Laughing, Catelyn tossed flowers at Lyanna. "The High Septas would spin in their graves enough for the oldest ones to turn themselves to dust."
Lyanna tucked the flowers in her hair, smiling up at the sky. "In the North we worship the Old Gods. Not even the High Septas hold much sway there. I doubt the Old Gods would mind if I wed my destrier, as long as I was good to him."
"I doubt the sempsters would enjoy making a groom's cloak for a destrier."
"You are full of doubts, Lady Tully."
"We are small minded in the south, Lady Stark. It's the lack of space, you see. We're penned in by villages and smallfolk and can't help ourselves."
Lyanna dragged herself to her feet and reached down for Catelyn. "The leagues of fields and trees around Winterfell should clear your head."
"You'd think the mountains would be enough." Catelyn said, staring out over the Vale beneath them. The Mountains of the Moon stretched off in the distance, reaching for the sky, dark and foreboding. It was a far different place from the green Riverlands and even the emptiness here was nothing compared to the North. There were many occasions she was glad Brandon would come south with her. Riverrun was a far more welcoming place than the Eyrie or Winterfell. She would did not envy Lyanna her lands in the slightest and was certain Lyanna felt the same.
This was good, her mother would say. The Lady of a land ought to have the land in her blood to defend it. None of the Greathouses had been attacked in her lifetime. The last winter had been peaceful and the summer before plentiful. Perhaps the Gods, old and ew, were allowing them respite.
Lyanna handed Catelyn her dagger and they returned to the Eyrie and their training for wars that all of Westeros prayed would never come.
Lady Stark was always simply the ladywolf, or the Lady of Winterfell, for no one used her name. Lyanna joked that her mother had been born in a wolf pack and had never found use for a name other than that of her house. Lady Stark was every bit what Catelyn expected in a queen when she met her. Lady Stark was tall, with a long stern face and icy grey eyes that seemed to have brought winter down with her. She'd never rode a tourney, but her daughter, Lyanna ruled the lists with smile as wild as the mares she rode.
In sharp contrast, Queen Rhaella, ruler of all the Seven Kingdoms, was small and slight on her wooden chair. Scabs from the Iron Throne covered her wrists and Catelyn had heard tales that the queen was slowly going mad. If she was losing her mind, Rhaella had been all smiles today and her beautiful daughter, Rhaegara, had been charming all the spectators. Everyone thought her prince, Elan Martell, would be King of Love and Beauty, but Rhaegara had looked more than once at Brandon Stark and Robert Baratheon, both strapping tough men, builders more than harpers.
That was what men were good for, after all, building, farming and music, keeping house and hall warm and snug until the women came home from war. Women gave life and women brought death, men were for the in between, trading and singing; raising children while the women fought and died.
Elan was a good father and little Rhaenys, the future queen, played at his feet. Catelyn glanced again at her mother, Minisa, Lady of Riverrun, and tightened her thighs on the horse beneath her. Lady Stark, the ladywolf, would have her eye on her.
Catelyn still could hear her mother's commands in her ears. Show well in the tourney and Brandon Stark, Lyanna's dear brother, with the hands that were so found of the blacksmith's hammer, might be hers. If the ladywolf found her worthy. She lowered the mask of her helmet.
To be Lyanna's sister, she'd win. Brandon, the great gentle wolf, would be hers.
Catelyn preferred the strategy tent to the tilts. Rushing at each other, lances outstretched, was a playground for strutting knights and their squires. Counting on Lady Stark to be impressed by her showing in a tournament made little sense. Lady Stark shunned the tilts and only seemed to have a passing interest in the games. Logical or not, Minisa asked that Catelyn place high in the tournament, and as Lyanna was fond of reminding her, Catelyn was exceedingly dutiful.
Her first opponent went down in a mess of splinters, and the second demanded a little more skill but also fell to the sand. Catelyn's hand throbbed and her armour clung to her like a steel cookpot trying to roast her within. Beating the heir to Whent would put her securely in the final four jousts, something that her mother would find respectable.
Lyanna had defeated her opponents with what seemed to be effortless skill. Young Cersei Lannister made a good showing, but she was still a squire, not yet knighted and couldn't compete for the Champion's Purse. Catelyn suspected Lyanna would again claim it, but she begrudged her little. Lyanna was free with her winnings and often in the best of moods when she had done well. Catelyn had no trouble relating to the hedge knights and the bannerwomen of her house, but they didn't love her the way Lyanna's did.
Young Robert Baratheon kept an eye on Lyanna from the sidelines, a great bear of a man reduced to a puppy waiting for his mistress. Lyanna had that effect on many men. The young lords of the noble houses were all smitten with her, tossing their flowers at the feet of her courser. Lyanna laughed it off, always. Acclaim meant less to her than the challenge of the joust, the thrill of victory and the promise of anything new.
High above her, the dragon Princess watched, her violet eyes distant and cold. Catelyn had been introduced to the princess properly when she'd been presented at court, and had thought little of the reserve heir. She was reputed to be less crazed than her mother, a bookish, intellectual princess who had few friends. The Red Keep must have been a lonely place, full of more scraping courtiers than true friends. Catelyn had her sister, and Lyanna, who was more than sister. Rhaegara, for what was whispered, had no one. The people cheered her, but the smallfolk loved anyone who distracted them from their worries and promised them a better life.
Lyanna handed Catelyn's lance up to her on her mount for her last joust of the day, surprising her out of her thoughts. "Wave to my brother, he's watching carefully. I told him you're going to take him home as the king of love and beauty."
The Princess or Lyanna was likely to take the title, but it was kind of Lyanna to jest. Catelyn lifted her hand to Brandon, catching his eye as he returned her wave with a smile. He had a strong smile, one of which she grew ever more fond the more she saw it.
She tightened her knees on her courser, guiding the steed into position as she pulled down her visor. She had to ride against the Princess, which was better than facing Lyanna. Lyanna saw through her, but occasionally let her win, just for the lark of seeing her face when she did. Lyanna was unpredicatable, a menance on the sand, but Rhaegara might be more reasonable.
The Princess took the sand surrounded by cries of elation from the crowd. Lyanna was popular with the smallfolk, but Princess Rhaegara was beloved. Her silver-white armour gleamed in the late sun, still unmarred from the jousts of the day. No one had touched her. Catelyn's blood throbbed in her ears, drowning out the crowd. Beneath her, her mount hesitated, as if sensing her unease.
At the signal, they rode each other down, the sun starting to set in the distance. With it to the west and the range north to south, nether was at disadvantage. Rhaegara neatly caught Catelyn's lance with her shield, ruining the wood. Her own lance slammed into Catelyn's shoulder. For a moment she held her position, then sand rushed up to crash into her helmet.
She lay still, trapped in the metal cocoon of her armour before she stood and ripped off her dented helmet. Blood ran hot on her forehead, catching the sand and holding it to her face. Above her, Princess Rhaegara lowered a hand with a handkerchief.
"You ride well."
Catelyn had to hold to her horse, using the animal to keep her balance as she wiped blood from her face. The crowd cheered around them, exploding in ethusiasm for their beloved princess. "For a riverlander, your highness?"
"You ride well," Rhaegara said again, this time with a ghost of a smile. "I doubt the lands of anyone's birth dictates how well they joust."
"I hear the trainers available to them does." Catelyn shook her hair from the tight binder holding it still beneath her helmet. Sweat clung to her skin and hair as if she'd been covered in a layer of muck.
"Hopefully yours were kinder than mine." Rhaegara left Catelyn with a nod, taking her place in front of the dais as the crowd recognised her victory. The smallfolk loved their silver princess, cheering her until she waved them quiet in a way they have never loved her mother.
The Queen cackled her approval, echoing the ravens on the far wall. It was not the dirt that made Catelyn's flesh crawl as if she was covered with bloodsuckers. Lyanna would face the princess in the final joust. Catelyn returned to her tent, wishing to be free of her armour and the dust caking her skin. Ducking into the canvas, she dropped her helmet to the dirt, waiting for her ladies-in-waiting to strip her armour.
"Would that I were home, Sophya, where there's a bath to wash the sand away."
Pulling her hair aside because much had slipped from the auburn braid, Catelyn sighed as her ladies stripped her breastplate away.
"I'm sure a bath could be procured here in Harrenhal, my lady." The voice that came with the hands removing her armour was not that of Sophya, Catelyn's most trusted lady, but deeper, roughened with age. Turning, surprised, she found the Ladywolf herself removing her armour.
"Lady Stark--"
"I did not announce myself, your apologies are unnecessary."
"Then accept my gratitude. My armour seems to be full of half the sands of Dorne."
"The tilts are a filthy business."
"Not compared to battle." Catelyn was only too aware that she lacked the experience of combat the Lady Stark had.
"After a battle, no one expects you to look the lady of your house and impress future mothers." Lady Stark handed Catelyn a damp cloth to wipe her face. "Fear not, I am suitably impressed. I would make a match for you with my son. He is strong and kind; like his father he should give you many strong children. Northern children might be a little wild for the green hills of the Riverlands, but I trust you will find a way of taming them."
Catelyn smiled, then blushed at the thought of Brandon in her bed. Lysa whispered tales unending of how Petyr's touch had inflamed her senses, teasing her greater knowledge of the bedchamber. Her daughter was healthy, and would be raised well in one of the lesser houses. Catelyn would not risk creating her own bastard, only to lose the child to honour, never to be seen by her eyes so that she could raise the trueborn daughters of her husband, as Lysa would someday do.
"I would ask Brandon to attend you at the feast, that you might share words. At least you'll have had that before you are to share a bed."
"Thank you."
"I will confirm the match with your mother. I assume the Lady of the Riverlands will not object."
Catelyn's mother was fond of the Lannister boy, Jamie, and had offered him to Catelyn as a potential husband, if she wanted him, but the Lannisters were not the family Catelyn would join. Jamie was too beautiful, too golden, and his mother too harsh. The ladywolf was brusque, but Lady Lannister had gone cold after the death of her husband and not even seeing her golden daughter, Cersei, join the Queensguard at fifteen had made her smile. Marrying Jamie would bring the Lannisters to Casterly Rock, while Brandon made Lyanna even more her sister.
Perhaps with the North bound to the Riverlands she could finally exert some pressure on the dreadful Lady Frey and her ever increasing list of husbands.
This is what you want." Minisa said, without making it a question. Catelyn lifted her eyes from her mother's neat boots, forcing herself to look at her evenly. Her father had always been easier to speak with. Holster was kind and soft-spoken. He was devoted to Lysa, who was both of her parent's favourite for her bright wit and easy smile. Catelyn was too serious. If she had not been first from her mother's womb, she had no doubts they would both be pleased to leave Riverrun to her sister.
"House Stark will make strong allies," Catelyn said.
"Are you planning a war, Catelyn?"
"The philosophers in the east say we should always plan for war, so it does not occur."
Minisa nodded, resting her hands against her stomach. She was still beautiful, her hair elegantly grey instead of the Lady Wolf's steel and white. Catelyn's mother carried the weight of the Riverlands like a mantle draped over her slim shoulders.
"And the man?"
"Brandon is kind, well trained in the courtly arts-"
"Well trained by Northern standards-"
Catelyn ignored her mother. "He has talent in building and farming. Our lands need renewal. Riverrun is ancient and strong, but our villages are small and haphazard. Brandon and I could help make them strong, with better roofs for the rains. He has greatly improved the lives of the Northern smallfolk by teaching them to use stone and wood, and how to seal the wood so it does not absorb water."
"So you and your husband would travel amongst the peasants, teaching them to build?"
"It would improve our holdings, wouldn't it?"
Minisa smiled then, nodding with pride in her eyes. "That it would." She settled back in her chair. "Brandon has kind eyes."
"I think he does."
"Your father has kind eyes. He's been a good husband."
"I take it you approve?"
"I approve. I will inform Lady Stark and we can begin preparations. Spring is the season for weddings, after all. Lysa will be so happy for you."
Lysa would be even more interested in her potential match after Catelyn was married. Catelyn wondered if the Lannisters would send Jamie again. He was beautiful, and he was quick to laugh. They were reasonably well suited, better than Lyanna and the Stag, Robert Baratheon.
Catelyn left her mother's tent, heading for the white-and-grey banners of House Stark. The smallfolk moved around the tent, whispering about Brandon being crowned King of Love and Beauty by Princess Rhaegara. The Princess ought to have crowned her husband, rewarding Elan Martell for his loyalty. The Prince was a good father, a quiet man, but handsome. Crowning him would have been more traditional, less of scandal, but the Princess didn't seem to mind the whispers.
Brandon wasn't in his mother's tent, nor was he with his sister and the rest of the knights. He didn't appear for the evening meal, nor afterwards. When the princess too was missing, the cries rang through Harrenhal. Princess Rhaegara, who had crowned him with a circlet of blue winter roses, and Brandon had disappeared, and all the whispers said they were together.
Lady Stark, Lady Tully, Lady Whent of Harrenhal, and Lady Arryn met at the tourney grounds, their fine gowns brushing the sand with their daughters in tow. Brands lit them through the darkness, making an eiree, trembling light. Lyanna was half in armour, ready to ride after the royal guards and tear down the Red Keep with her bare hands.
"The Queen is silent," Lady Arryn said, folding her hands over her chest. She was a woman of peace, who thought of the realm before herself, and even her eyes were sharp and cold.
Lady Whent nodded. "The entire Royal party has headed out, stakes and all. Their horses make dust of the QueensRoad."
"The Princess has my son," Lady Stark said, resting her hand on her sword.
Lady Arryn kept her hands at her sides, patient. "She'll head south."
"Surely not to Dorne?"
"I'd head as far south as south goes, were I her. When I find her, I'll part her silver head from her body," Lady Stark said, daring anyone to remind her that such words were treason.
Catelyn's mother took a step back. "You need proof, Lady Stark. We can hardly call ourselves better than the Mad Queen if we call our banners on the suspicions of a few stable hands."
"Stable hands loyal to my house and yours, Lady Tully, hands who saw your daughter's betrothed ride off with the Princess, sullying your house and mine."
"The stain on your gown, Lady Tully, will come out with less scrubbing than Lady Stark's," Lady Arryn reminded them both, keeping her position between them.
"When you have proof, I trust it will find my daughter?"
Lady Stark crossed the sand to meet Minisa Tully, eye to eye. "I will find your proof and the Northern Banners will race south and bring the kidnapper to justice, even if she hides beneath that Iron Throne."
"I have little doubt of that, Lady Stark. Though I wonder if it would not be better to wait, I will share my curiosity with the gods and perhaps they will answer me."
"The Old Gods would seek vengeance."
"Lady Stark, I do not blame them." Catelyn's mother left the sand, silk whispering as she went.
Catelyn's eyes followed her mother, but her feet would not. She belonged with Lyanna and Lady Stark, with Brandon's family until he returned to her. Catelyn's mother would have to understand.
Lady Stark left Lyanna at the Trident and rode ahead to the Red Keep. Catelyn could still picture her heading down the Queensroad, straight and proud on her mount, the Stark banner flying behind her.
Days passed without word, in a kind of desperate deadness that was never in any of the songs. Catelyn and Lyanna had returned to the Eyrie, under Lady Arryn's protection which Lyanna bore like a bridle. This morning, the horses stamped and pawed at the dust, as impatient as their riders in the unusual spring heat. Lyanna kept her gaze on the south, watching for ravens. She had no words, but none were needed. The Queen was mad, the whispers said. She had summoned Lady Stark not to apologise for taking her son, but to punish her for calling her banners and speaking of treason.
Catelyn's mother had taken Lysa and returned to Riverrun. She was reluctant to war, even for Catelyn's betrothed. Catelyn understood her mother's position, but it left a knot in her stomach. If Brandon could not be recovered, or if he was unable to wed, another match could be made, most likely to Jamie Lannister, sealing her family to the realm with a marriage to the son of the Queen's Hand. Lady Joanna would approve, for the Riverlands were fertile and Catelyn was to lead them. Jamie could do scarcely better, considering he'd missed his chance at the princess herself.
"If your thoughts are on the princess, I wouldn't worry. You're much prettier. Brandon's never liked southron girls. He thinks Targaryens look like violet-eyed ghosts."
Catelyn smiled at the joke, weak as it was. She'd spoken to Brandon only briefly. He'd smiled at her more shyly than she'd expected, but his eyes were kind. Riverrun was a green place, one where she hoped he'd be happy. It lacked the rustic beauty of the North, but was far from the bustling cities of the Westerlands, or the rocky Stormlands. The Riverlands were welcoming, as her people would be. Brandon would be a good lord.
Her lord.
She was less than romantic. Love, the kind in songs, was for Lysa and Petyr, who dallied with each other until their tryst bore a natural daughter, little Alianne. Lysa had spoken of wedding Petyr, but he was a man of a poor house, little more than a holdfast, and she could not wed so far below her station. Lysa would have to accept one of the Baratheon boys, laughing Robert would be a good match, or the golden Jamie Lannister. She had a duty and that came before love.
Love could follow duty, as it had for her parents, and Catelyn's flare of hope that Brandon might love her had been shaken with his disappearance. If he did not willing go with the Princess, she would rescue him, but if he had, she did not want to contemplate what she'd be asking of him. Would he resent her for not being the violet-eyed princess? Would he have already given his seed to the Targaryens? A future baby dragon with the Stark eyes would be a scandal Catelyn's mother would frown upon, the Lannisters would surely talk, and the gossip would reach all the way to Dorne.
The raven came with the smoke. Lyanna tossed the scrap of paper to the ground and eyed the bird that brought it with such hatred the Maester intervened, saving the raven from its untimely death. Hand shaking with fury, Lyanna pointed to the note.
"Lies," she spat, storming out of the tent.
Catelyn picked up the message, unrolling the creases. Lady Stark had been declared traitor to the Iron Throne and had been burned for the treason of calling the princess a kidnapper. The noble Northern ladies who had accompanied her had also been executed. Her son Brandon was dead, joined with his mother's treason. He'd bewitched the princess with old magic, and then he'd failed to defeat the Targaryen champion when given the chance to prove his innocence.
The blind fury on Lyanna's fate knew only the justice of steel and death.
"The Queen has Ice," Lyanna said, without turning to Catelyn. "My grandmothers have wielded that sword since the beginning of record keeping."
"We'll get it back."
"I'll cut it out of the Queen's scabby hands myself," Lyanna said, her voice gruff and deep in her chest, as if choked by smoke. "My mother went on a flag of truce."
"The Queen has broken all rules of honour."
"The Queen has no honour."
Catelyn reached for Lyanna's shoulder, steadying her. "Then perhaps she can no longer be queen."
"Treasonous, aren't you?" Lyanna turned that to a grim joke, smiling without mirth, her teeth a skull's grimace.
"A queen cannot kill the head of a great house without cause."
"That's the way, isn't it, Cat? Take refuge in what is right and proper." Lyanna sank down, resting on the earth as if that could give her strength. "The Northern banners will rise, I am their lady now. Will you call the Riverlands?"
"Brandon was my betrothed--"
"It's not enough," Lady Arryn said, emerging from the tent behind them. "The Queen sends ravens to the Eyrie, demanding I give her your heads. You, Lyanna, cannot be trusted not to follow your mother's example and you, Catelyn, must also be touched by Brandon the witch. The Queen demands I send her your heads, as her leal lady of the Vale.
Lyanna looked up, then returned to dragging her fingers through the new grass. "You did not bring a sword, my lady."
"My sword has other flesh than yours to bite, wolfing." Lady Arryn hadn't called Lyanna wolfing since she'd been young enough for wooden practice swords. Now the endearment only served to bring reminder that Lyanna was grown and the lady of her house, and the North. Lady Arryn sighed, the peace was gone from her face now. "I've called my banners. You shall call yours and Catelyn must marry Ned," Lady Arryn finished.
Catelyn startled, unable to reconcile a queen who wanted her dead with what she knew of law and order. She fixed on the idea of Eddard Stark and held to that. "Brandon's bones are not even in Winterfell and you want me to marry the other brother?"
"If you will go to war--"
"The Queen must pay," Lyanna said, returning to her feet. "If she loves fire so, perhaps I'll burn her too." A cold fire burned in her, something Catelyn had never seen before, that sent cool fingers up her spine.
Lady Arryn, who had been almost as mother to them both, turned to Catelyn, looking for reason. "Unite your houses, marry Eddard. Ask for Robert Baratheon for Lysa's if Lyanna will not take him. The North cannot take the Red Keep alone, but with Baratheon, Tully, Arryn and Stark united, you stand a chance. We all might escape this realm's tyranny and madness."
Lyanna nodded, smiling though her eyes were stones. "Lysa can have Robert. He'll like her tits more than mine and I have no mind for a husband."
"My mother may not allow her banners to fight, even with me wed to Eddard. She may try to appease the Queen, or hope that Rhaegara may return and be more sensible." Her mother had no mind for war. She was a peacemaker and negotiator, one who ruled through mind and heart rather than steel.
Catelyn knew so little of Eddard. She remembered him as a serious boy, one more dark than Brandon, with his mother's grey eyes. Would he be too serious? Would he feel he was being traded as chattel to make an alliance?
"Then we promise her another. Your sister's natural child can be fostered at the Eyrie, your brother as well. Gods know I have enough daughters, if one of them takes a fancy to him, they can be promised to each other and we'll bind the sparrow to the rivers in the light of the gods. That should please Minisa Tully."
Catelyn glanced down to hide her tiny smile. Allying with House Arryn would please her mother, the ties of blood were deeper than words. Westeros was not known for its stability, and with the Mad Queen in power, only the Gods knew what could happen.
Lyanna would accept no comfort but battle plans, and Catelyn went to her with maps and ink. Their combined forces would be enough to challenge to crown, and all her banners. Dorne would rise, even though their betrayed prince had been betrayed. Joanna Lannister was hand to the Queen, her daughter now part of the Queensgard, the Lions would defend the Dragons until it no longer brought them wealth, but they were unpredictable. The Tyrells would be loyal and the Greyjoys would wait to pick clean the bones of the realm.
Lyanna's candles had burned low enough to sputter when Lady Arryn returned, wiping her hands free of sword oil.
"Your mother has accepted Eddard for you, Catelyn. Lady Cassana Baratheon will send Robert for Lysa and you will be wed here, in the light of the Seven. My own banners will come, though some few stay loyal to the Iron Throne."
"We will tear the realm asunder," Catelyn said, staring at the map covered with markings of each lady's forces.
"We will," Lady Arryn agreed. A dark smile crept over her face and she touched Lyanna's shoulder. "Robert Baratheon has a grandfather of the Targaryens and could, if we needed, carry a claim to the Iron Throne. It would be weak, but it would be just."
"You would have Lysa be queen?" Catelyn nearly laughed. Her sister would love the glamour and ritual of the court and realise she hated ruling the first morning she sat on the Iron Throne.
"I would not," Lady Arryn said, turning Lyanna's face to hers. "I will ask you, Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell to be Queen."
"I will wed no Targaryen brat," Lyanna said, wrapping her disgust around her tongue so her words snarled.
"You will not need to."
"Queen in the North," Catelyn realised, pulling her hand from the map. "She asks you to pick up the crown Torhha Stark cast down at the Red Fork. If this queen will give us no justice, you must, Lyanna."
"There hasn't been a queen of winter for three hundred years."
"I would name her again," Lady Arryn said, lifting her skirts to kneel at Lyanna's feet. "Queen Lyanna, of the First Women, of Winterfell and the North, the Vale would join you, all my banners and lands, I give to your protection."
Catelyn stared, then lifted her own skirts high enough to kneel. Beneath her knees, the floor was cool and cold. "On behalf of my mother, the lady of Riverrun, the Riverlands join your dominion, Queen of Winter, and would serve until the gods take us."
Lyanna watched them both as if waiting for the joke to be explained. "The Old Gods will have you in my lands, Cat, can you pledge yourself to them?"
"As you've so often said, it's my gods with all the rules. If you would have my wedding said before a heart tree, I will wed your bother there." The Mother forgive her.
"The soil here is too rough for a weirwood. Your daughters can be given to the Old Gods at Winterfell, and a weirwood can be sent to Riverrun and take root there," Lady Arryn said, ever practical. "When you call your banners, call them as their queen, Lyanna. Queen of Winter."
"The Umbers will roar when that raven finds them," Lyanna said, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she reached for both ladies at her feet and brought them up. "I will be queen, but only because this queen cannot be trusted. If Queen Rhaella will not see reason, her lands will end at Riverrun."
Lady Arryn kissed each cheek when she rose and Catelyn followed suit.
"Now, if you're finished with this foolishness, we have a battle to plan, and I doubt my wearing a crown will be enough to win it on my own," Lyanna said, drawing all of their eyes back to the map before them.
Catelyn met Eddard three days later, when he'd smuggled himself through the Fingers. He was dusty and smelt of the sea when she met him at the Gates of the Moon. He slipped from his horse, bowing his head to her. "Lady Catelyn, forgive me, I did not think you would ride out to meet me."
"It seemed the least I could do," she said, sliding from her own saddle. "Your travels were uneventful?"
"The Fingers provided better welcome than Gulltown, my lady."
She patted her horse then smiled at him. "Perhaps you ought to call me Catelyn."
"Ned," he said, looking up from his boots. "My mother call- she called me Ned."
"Your mother was a good woman. A great lady."
"That she was." He took his horse's reins and walked up to meet her, finding her side. "Lyanna will make Queen Rhaella pay."
"She's a queen of her own now."
"Queen of Winter," he said, grinning. Unlike his sister, whose smiles never reached her eyes after her mother had died, Ned's did. "It suits her, doesn't it?"
He followed her up to the Eyrie, asking about Riverrun and her house's banners. Were they as unruly as the North? What was the wierwood like in Riverrun? Would she let him keep the Old Gods after they were wed?
Catelyn stopped, turning to him as their horses waited to move again. "Surely my gods are the ones out of place if the North will be free."
"I would not ask you to relinquish the Seven."
"Nor would I ask you to give up your Old Gods. The wierwood in Riverrun is a bright garden, I hope you will be happy. I played in the godswood often as a child."
"When you were happy," Ned said, rubbing his horse's neck.
"We'll be happy again. When the fighting has stopped and all the swords are quiet."
He looked up the winding path to the Eyrie, staring up at the ornate castle perched on the rock. "Has there ever been a time where all the swords were quiet?"
"Moments," she said, watching him instead of the castle. His face was longer than Brandon's, less square, but strong. Catelyn hadn't yet decided if his eyes were kind, because they were secretive. Ned's grey eyes kept their own counsel, unlike Brandon's which had been laughing and open, if a little wild. Now was not the time for rashness. The Targaryen queen was mad, the princess had vanished and the realm needed stability.
"If we are favoured, perhaps we shall see more of them in our lives. I'd like my children-" Catelyn paused, blood rushing hot into her face. "Our children, if the gods are good, to have moments of peace. Long ones, if they can."
He returned her smile, his soft and sincere. They walked in silence, more comfortable now as they reached the stables and the last leg of their journey.
"I know I'm not Brandon--" he began as they reached the narrow path.
Catelyn shook her head. "Nor should you be. I knew your brother for a few days and I would have married him because he was a good man. You are a good man, aren't you, Eddard Stark?"
"You'll have to ask the gods, I doubt it's my place to say."
Reaching for his hand, Catelyn took it and squeezed his fingers. "I think we'll find out together."
Lysa took Robert's cape from his shoulders and replaced the golden stag with the red and blue of House Tully. Robert grinned at her all the while. Idle chatter already insisted they'd known each other on the road, but it mattered little. The gods could hardly punish them for being ahead of things. Lysa already had her daughter, the gods would likely give her more within the year. Catelyn smiled at the kiss Lysa gave her husband and turned her attention to Lady Arryn and the septa in front of them. The Holy Sept was already decrying the North and beginning the people to return to the faith. Some septas and septons had remained in the rebel lands, but more had fled, returning south. The smallfolk in the north were happy to return to the Old Gods, the blood of the First Women ran hot there.
It was weaker in the Riverlands and Catelyn had to make a good example. The Old Gods were merciful, patient and without judgement. They would accept her people and her, she reminded herself as she took Ned's cloak from his shoulders. Setting the white and grey aside, she made them one as she hung her cloak over his back. He bowed his head, accepting her colours as he would accept her house.
Behind them, Lyanna was the first to clap, cheering and toasting her brother's union. The assembled ladies and lords also voiced their approval, ending the ceremony with calls for a feast. Catelyn barely had time to kiss Ned's cheek before he was pulled from her to be congratulated by the Northern Houses. Lysa and Robert shared a long kiss, then toasted each other with wine. Catelyn watched them, then her eyes fell on her mother, who nodded and smiled but her lips were thin. She hated the war, even if it put her house in a place of power. Catelyn had dragged her in, made her and all the Riverlands part of this war, but they'd be better for it. Better a queen in the North than a queen on the Iron Throne who had no respect for her people.
Lyanna might insist on beheading deserters with her own hands, but she would hear their words and not ask for the heads of wards. Lyanna would be just and Catelyn would do whatever she could to keep her on the path of the gods, the old or the new, whomever would listen.
Ned returned to her, reaching for her hands. He leaned in, touching her cheek with his. His beard was softer than she thought and she smiled. There was hope, even with the armies amassing to the South and the blacksmiths working through the night, she'd face the uncertain future with Ned. Perhaps she'd even grow to love him. When she kissed him, stealing the moment before the feast and the bedding, Catelyn wanted it to be.
tbc...
Posted in the mirror verse at http://oparu.dreamwidth.org/310538.html with
comments.
Author:
oparu
Artist: staringiscaring
Genre: mostly het with hints of femslash
Pairings/Characters: Catelyn/Ned, Catelyn/Brandon, Catelyn/Lyanna if you squint.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: none, AU
Summary:Matriarchal AU set during Lyanna Stark's rebellion against Queen Rhaella on Iron Throne. At the Tournament of Harrenhal, Brandon Stark is crowned King of Love and Beauty and disappears with the champion, Princess Rhaegara Targaryen. Lady Stark, the warden of the North, rides south to ask for the return of her son and is killed, along with her son, Brandon Stark, Catelyn's betrothed. When the queen asks Lady Arryn for the heads of Catelyn and Lyanna, Lady Arryn refuses, tearing the queendom apart.
Notes: This was terribly hard and great fun at the same time. I loved making up the words for a matriarchy, and wondering what that kind of society would be like. This story kept getting more complicated, so I made it two parts.
Many thanks to Eena for being so patient and staringiscaring for the mix! I'm sure it'll be fantastic.
Link to art: pending!
set 282 years after Visenya and Rhaenys' landing, when the Targaryen queens came to rule the Queendoms of Westeros.
"The Lady Wolf has her eyes on you," Lyanna said, dragging her fingers lazily through her wild brown hair. She settled down on the grass next to Catelyn Tully, staring up at the lazy spring stars overhead. The lights seem so much closer when winter has left.
"Surely your mother has better things to do than eye the future wife of her son like an elk she wants to take down for the kill."
"She loves Brandon, almost as if he were a daughter. She won't give him up to anyone," Lyanna said, laughing again. She was always laughing, as if she hadn't been born of House Stark, a family known for their chill winters and cooler demeanours. Lyanna was full of songs, smiles, and the kind of mirth that belong far more in Highgarden than Winterfell, yet, someday she would rule the great old castle in the North and all the lands of the wild queens of old.
Catelyn stopped playing with the blade in her hand and sat up, throwing it neatly into the tree in front of her. It sunk deep with a satisfying thud. "Do you think I'll love him?"
"Brandon?" Lyanna ran her hand through her hair, teasing the curls so they bounced on her shoulders. "How could you fail to love Brandon? He's beautiful, charming, good at farming and ruling a house. He's of study Northern stock and he'll sire a litter of Tullys on you so you can round them up for sword-practice."
"Or dancing."
Lyanna sat up and looks at the dagger in the tree in front of them. "Aren't they the same?"
"I've yet to cut anyone I was dancing with."
"Well, we've found yet another occasion in which you are a true lady and I am but a wolf-girl."
Reaching up slowly, Catelyn grabbed a curl of Lyanna's hair and tugged it hard. "That you are." She scampers out of the way, darting behind the sturdy pines of the Vale as she tries to stay ahead of Lyanna.
She failed, utterly, and was tackled to the dewy grass by Lyanna. They lay there, entwined and giggling like little girls again. Lyanna stroked Catelyn's hair.
"Brandon will be blessed by the Old Gods if mother chooses you."
"Do you think she will? She puts no stock in tourneys."
"She can hardly start a war to see what you are like with a sword in your hand. Just because she does not fight in tourneys does not mean she doesn't understand them."
Catelyn sighed, smiling up at Lyanna's confident face. "How fortunate you are that Robert has no mother to impress."
'Oh Robert..." Lyanna shook her head. "He's almost too easy, isn't he?"
"You mean the way he follows your every move like a precious puppy, waiting to be awarded a pat of the lady's hand?"
"I can think of a great many dogs I'd rather take to my bed." Shutting her eyes, Lyanna wrinkled her nose. "All he thinks of is drink and laughter."
"And you hate both of those," Catelyn said, her face still and wooden.
Lyanna smacked her shoulder. "How well will he run the North? It's not an easy place to be the lord of. He's soft and southern. They'll eat him alive when I bring him home!"
Robert was tall and strong, with kindness in his eyes; Catelyn found Lyanna's constant refusal of him puzzling. Robert was no Brandon, but he was no Frey either. Jamie Lannister was another possible match, or the artistic Willas Tyrell, but neither of them had the temperament for Lyanna. "I hear he keeps a good table. Perhaps he will win your northern ladies by seducing their bellies."
"Perhaps." Lyanna rolled over, facing Catelyn. "Too bad I can't marry you."
Laughing, Catelyn tossed flowers at Lyanna. "The High Septas would spin in their graves enough for the oldest ones to turn themselves to dust."
Lyanna tucked the flowers in her hair, smiling up at the sky. "In the North we worship the Old Gods. Not even the High Septas hold much sway there. I doubt the Old Gods would mind if I wed my destrier, as long as I was good to him."
"I doubt the sempsters would enjoy making a groom's cloak for a destrier."
"You are full of doubts, Lady Tully."
"We are small minded in the south, Lady Stark. It's the lack of space, you see. We're penned in by villages and smallfolk and can't help ourselves."
Lyanna dragged herself to her feet and reached down for Catelyn. "The leagues of fields and trees around Winterfell should clear your head."
"You'd think the mountains would be enough." Catelyn said, staring out over the Vale beneath them. The Mountains of the Moon stretched off in the distance, reaching for the sky, dark and foreboding. It was a far different place from the green Riverlands and even the emptiness here was nothing compared to the North. There were many occasions she was glad Brandon would come south with her. Riverrun was a far more welcoming place than the Eyrie or Winterfell. She would did not envy Lyanna her lands in the slightest and was certain Lyanna felt the same.
This was good, her mother would say. The Lady of a land ought to have the land in her blood to defend it. None of the Greathouses had been attacked in her lifetime. The last winter had been peaceful and the summer before plentiful. Perhaps the Gods, old and ew, were allowing them respite.
Lyanna handed Catelyn her dagger and they returned to the Eyrie and their training for wars that all of Westeros prayed would never come.
Lady Stark was always simply the ladywolf, or the Lady of Winterfell, for no one used her name. Lyanna joked that her mother had been born in a wolf pack and had never found use for a name other than that of her house. Lady Stark was every bit what Catelyn expected in a queen when she met her. Lady Stark was tall, with a long stern face and icy grey eyes that seemed to have brought winter down with her. She'd never rode a tourney, but her daughter, Lyanna ruled the lists with smile as wild as the mares she rode.
In sharp contrast, Queen Rhaella, ruler of all the Seven Kingdoms, was small and slight on her wooden chair. Scabs from the Iron Throne covered her wrists and Catelyn had heard tales that the queen was slowly going mad. If she was losing her mind, Rhaella had been all smiles today and her beautiful daughter, Rhaegara, had been charming all the spectators. Everyone thought her prince, Elan Martell, would be King of Love and Beauty, but Rhaegara had looked more than once at Brandon Stark and Robert Baratheon, both strapping tough men, builders more than harpers.
That was what men were good for, after all, building, farming and music, keeping house and hall warm and snug until the women came home from war. Women gave life and women brought death, men were for the in between, trading and singing; raising children while the women fought and died.
Elan was a good father and little Rhaenys, the future queen, played at his feet. Catelyn glanced again at her mother, Minisa, Lady of Riverrun, and tightened her thighs on the horse beneath her. Lady Stark, the ladywolf, would have her eye on her.
Catelyn still could hear her mother's commands in her ears. Show well in the tourney and Brandon Stark, Lyanna's dear brother, with the hands that were so found of the blacksmith's hammer, might be hers. If the ladywolf found her worthy. She lowered the mask of her helmet.
To be Lyanna's sister, she'd win. Brandon, the great gentle wolf, would be hers.
Catelyn preferred the strategy tent to the tilts. Rushing at each other, lances outstretched, was a playground for strutting knights and their squires. Counting on Lady Stark to be impressed by her showing in a tournament made little sense. Lady Stark shunned the tilts and only seemed to have a passing interest in the games. Logical or not, Minisa asked that Catelyn place high in the tournament, and as Lyanna was fond of reminding her, Catelyn was exceedingly dutiful.
Her first opponent went down in a mess of splinters, and the second demanded a little more skill but also fell to the sand. Catelyn's hand throbbed and her armour clung to her like a steel cookpot trying to roast her within. Beating the heir to Whent would put her securely in the final four jousts, something that her mother would find respectable.
Lyanna had defeated her opponents with what seemed to be effortless skill. Young Cersei Lannister made a good showing, but she was still a squire, not yet knighted and couldn't compete for the Champion's Purse. Catelyn suspected Lyanna would again claim it, but she begrudged her little. Lyanna was free with her winnings and often in the best of moods when she had done well. Catelyn had no trouble relating to the hedge knights and the bannerwomen of her house, but they didn't love her the way Lyanna's did.
Young Robert Baratheon kept an eye on Lyanna from the sidelines, a great bear of a man reduced to a puppy waiting for his mistress. Lyanna had that effect on many men. The young lords of the noble houses were all smitten with her, tossing their flowers at the feet of her courser. Lyanna laughed it off, always. Acclaim meant less to her than the challenge of the joust, the thrill of victory and the promise of anything new.
High above her, the dragon Princess watched, her violet eyes distant and cold. Catelyn had been introduced to the princess properly when she'd been presented at court, and had thought little of the reserve heir. She was reputed to be less crazed than her mother, a bookish, intellectual princess who had few friends. The Red Keep must have been a lonely place, full of more scraping courtiers than true friends. Catelyn had her sister, and Lyanna, who was more than sister. Rhaegara, for what was whispered, had no one. The people cheered her, but the smallfolk loved anyone who distracted them from their worries and promised them a better life.
Lyanna handed Catelyn's lance up to her on her mount for her last joust of the day, surprising her out of her thoughts. "Wave to my brother, he's watching carefully. I told him you're going to take him home as the king of love and beauty."
The Princess or Lyanna was likely to take the title, but it was kind of Lyanna to jest. Catelyn lifted her hand to Brandon, catching his eye as he returned her wave with a smile. He had a strong smile, one of which she grew ever more fond the more she saw it.
She tightened her knees on her courser, guiding the steed into position as she pulled down her visor. She had to ride against the Princess, which was better than facing Lyanna. Lyanna saw through her, but occasionally let her win, just for the lark of seeing her face when she did. Lyanna was unpredicatable, a menance on the sand, but Rhaegara might be more reasonable.
The Princess took the sand surrounded by cries of elation from the crowd. Lyanna was popular with the smallfolk, but Princess Rhaegara was beloved. Her silver-white armour gleamed in the late sun, still unmarred from the jousts of the day. No one had touched her. Catelyn's blood throbbed in her ears, drowning out the crowd. Beneath her, her mount hesitated, as if sensing her unease.
At the signal, they rode each other down, the sun starting to set in the distance. With it to the west and the range north to south, nether was at disadvantage. Rhaegara neatly caught Catelyn's lance with her shield, ruining the wood. Her own lance slammed into Catelyn's shoulder. For a moment she held her position, then sand rushed up to crash into her helmet.
She lay still, trapped in the metal cocoon of her armour before she stood and ripped off her dented helmet. Blood ran hot on her forehead, catching the sand and holding it to her face. Above her, Princess Rhaegara lowered a hand with a handkerchief.
"You ride well."
Catelyn had to hold to her horse, using the animal to keep her balance as she wiped blood from her face. The crowd cheered around them, exploding in ethusiasm for their beloved princess. "For a riverlander, your highness?"
"You ride well," Rhaegara said again, this time with a ghost of a smile. "I doubt the lands of anyone's birth dictates how well they joust."
"I hear the trainers available to them does." Catelyn shook her hair from the tight binder holding it still beneath her helmet. Sweat clung to her skin and hair as if she'd been covered in a layer of muck.
"Hopefully yours were kinder than mine." Rhaegara left Catelyn with a nod, taking her place in front of the dais as the crowd recognised her victory. The smallfolk loved their silver princess, cheering her until she waved them quiet in a way they have never loved her mother.
The Queen cackled her approval, echoing the ravens on the far wall. It was not the dirt that made Catelyn's flesh crawl as if she was covered with bloodsuckers. Lyanna would face the princess in the final joust. Catelyn returned to her tent, wishing to be free of her armour and the dust caking her skin. Ducking into the canvas, she dropped her helmet to the dirt, waiting for her ladies-in-waiting to strip her armour.
"Would that I were home, Sophya, where there's a bath to wash the sand away."
Pulling her hair aside because much had slipped from the auburn braid, Catelyn sighed as her ladies stripped her breastplate away.
"I'm sure a bath could be procured here in Harrenhal, my lady." The voice that came with the hands removing her armour was not that of Sophya, Catelyn's most trusted lady, but deeper, roughened with age. Turning, surprised, she found the Ladywolf herself removing her armour.
"Lady Stark--"
"I did not announce myself, your apologies are unnecessary."
"Then accept my gratitude. My armour seems to be full of half the sands of Dorne."
"The tilts are a filthy business."
"Not compared to battle." Catelyn was only too aware that she lacked the experience of combat the Lady Stark had.
"After a battle, no one expects you to look the lady of your house and impress future mothers." Lady Stark handed Catelyn a damp cloth to wipe her face. "Fear not, I am suitably impressed. I would make a match for you with my son. He is strong and kind; like his father he should give you many strong children. Northern children might be a little wild for the green hills of the Riverlands, but I trust you will find a way of taming them."
Catelyn smiled, then blushed at the thought of Brandon in her bed. Lysa whispered tales unending of how Petyr's touch had inflamed her senses, teasing her greater knowledge of the bedchamber. Her daughter was healthy, and would be raised well in one of the lesser houses. Catelyn would not risk creating her own bastard, only to lose the child to honour, never to be seen by her eyes so that she could raise the trueborn daughters of her husband, as Lysa would someday do.
"I would ask Brandon to attend you at the feast, that you might share words. At least you'll have had that before you are to share a bed."
"Thank you."
"I will confirm the match with your mother. I assume the Lady of the Riverlands will not object."
Catelyn's mother was fond of the Lannister boy, Jamie, and had offered him to Catelyn as a potential husband, if she wanted him, but the Lannisters were not the family Catelyn would join. Jamie was too beautiful, too golden, and his mother too harsh. The ladywolf was brusque, but Lady Lannister had gone cold after the death of her husband and not even seeing her golden daughter, Cersei, join the Queensguard at fifteen had made her smile. Marrying Jamie would bring the Lannisters to Casterly Rock, while Brandon made Lyanna even more her sister.
Perhaps with the North bound to the Riverlands she could finally exert some pressure on the dreadful Lady Frey and her ever increasing list of husbands.
This is what you want." Minisa said, without making it a question. Catelyn lifted her eyes from her mother's neat boots, forcing herself to look at her evenly. Her father had always been easier to speak with. Holster was kind and soft-spoken. He was devoted to Lysa, who was both of her parent's favourite for her bright wit and easy smile. Catelyn was too serious. If she had not been first from her mother's womb, she had no doubts they would both be pleased to leave Riverrun to her sister.
"House Stark will make strong allies," Catelyn said.
"Are you planning a war, Catelyn?"
"The philosophers in the east say we should always plan for war, so it does not occur."
Minisa nodded, resting her hands against her stomach. She was still beautiful, her hair elegantly grey instead of the Lady Wolf's steel and white. Catelyn's mother carried the weight of the Riverlands like a mantle draped over her slim shoulders.
"And the man?"
"Brandon is kind, well trained in the courtly arts-"
"Well trained by Northern standards-"
Catelyn ignored her mother. "He has talent in building and farming. Our lands need renewal. Riverrun is ancient and strong, but our villages are small and haphazard. Brandon and I could help make them strong, with better roofs for the rains. He has greatly improved the lives of the Northern smallfolk by teaching them to use stone and wood, and how to seal the wood so it does not absorb water."
"So you and your husband would travel amongst the peasants, teaching them to build?"
"It would improve our holdings, wouldn't it?"
Minisa smiled then, nodding with pride in her eyes. "That it would." She settled back in her chair. "Brandon has kind eyes."
"I think he does."
"Your father has kind eyes. He's been a good husband."
"I take it you approve?"
"I approve. I will inform Lady Stark and we can begin preparations. Spring is the season for weddings, after all. Lysa will be so happy for you."
Lysa would be even more interested in her potential match after Catelyn was married. Catelyn wondered if the Lannisters would send Jamie again. He was beautiful, and he was quick to laugh. They were reasonably well suited, better than Lyanna and the Stag, Robert Baratheon.
Catelyn left her mother's tent, heading for the white-and-grey banners of House Stark. The smallfolk moved around the tent, whispering about Brandon being crowned King of Love and Beauty by Princess Rhaegara. The Princess ought to have crowned her husband, rewarding Elan Martell for his loyalty. The Prince was a good father, a quiet man, but handsome. Crowning him would have been more traditional, less of scandal, but the Princess didn't seem to mind the whispers.
Brandon wasn't in his mother's tent, nor was he with his sister and the rest of the knights. He didn't appear for the evening meal, nor afterwards. When the princess too was missing, the cries rang through Harrenhal. Princess Rhaegara, who had crowned him with a circlet of blue winter roses, and Brandon had disappeared, and all the whispers said they were together.
Lady Stark, Lady Tully, Lady Whent of Harrenhal, and Lady Arryn met at the tourney grounds, their fine gowns brushing the sand with their daughters in tow. Brands lit them through the darkness, making an eiree, trembling light. Lyanna was half in armour, ready to ride after the royal guards and tear down the Red Keep with her bare hands.
"The Queen is silent," Lady Arryn said, folding her hands over her chest. She was a woman of peace, who thought of the realm before herself, and even her eyes were sharp and cold.
Lady Whent nodded. "The entire Royal party has headed out, stakes and all. Their horses make dust of the QueensRoad."
"The Princess has my son," Lady Stark said, resting her hand on her sword.
Lady Arryn kept her hands at her sides, patient. "She'll head south."
"Surely not to Dorne?"
"I'd head as far south as south goes, were I her. When I find her, I'll part her silver head from her body," Lady Stark said, daring anyone to remind her that such words were treason.
Catelyn's mother took a step back. "You need proof, Lady Stark. We can hardly call ourselves better than the Mad Queen if we call our banners on the suspicions of a few stable hands."
"Stable hands loyal to my house and yours, Lady Tully, hands who saw your daughter's betrothed ride off with the Princess, sullying your house and mine."
"The stain on your gown, Lady Tully, will come out with less scrubbing than Lady Stark's," Lady Arryn reminded them both, keeping her position between them.
"When you have proof, I trust it will find my daughter?"
Lady Stark crossed the sand to meet Minisa Tully, eye to eye. "I will find your proof and the Northern Banners will race south and bring the kidnapper to justice, even if she hides beneath that Iron Throne."
"I have little doubt of that, Lady Stark. Though I wonder if it would not be better to wait, I will share my curiosity with the gods and perhaps they will answer me."
"The Old Gods would seek vengeance."
"Lady Stark, I do not blame them." Catelyn's mother left the sand, silk whispering as she went.
Catelyn's eyes followed her mother, but her feet would not. She belonged with Lyanna and Lady Stark, with Brandon's family until he returned to her. Catelyn's mother would have to understand.
Lady Stark left Lyanna at the Trident and rode ahead to the Red Keep. Catelyn could still picture her heading down the Queensroad, straight and proud on her mount, the Stark banner flying behind her.
Days passed without word, in a kind of desperate deadness that was never in any of the songs. Catelyn and Lyanna had returned to the Eyrie, under Lady Arryn's protection which Lyanna bore like a bridle. This morning, the horses stamped and pawed at the dust, as impatient as their riders in the unusual spring heat. Lyanna kept her gaze on the south, watching for ravens. She had no words, but none were needed. The Queen was mad, the whispers said. She had summoned Lady Stark not to apologise for taking her son, but to punish her for calling her banners and speaking of treason.
Catelyn's mother had taken Lysa and returned to Riverrun. She was reluctant to war, even for Catelyn's betrothed. Catelyn understood her mother's position, but it left a knot in her stomach. If Brandon could not be recovered, or if he was unable to wed, another match could be made, most likely to Jamie Lannister, sealing her family to the realm with a marriage to the son of the Queen's Hand. Lady Joanna would approve, for the Riverlands were fertile and Catelyn was to lead them. Jamie could do scarcely better, considering he'd missed his chance at the princess herself.
"If your thoughts are on the princess, I wouldn't worry. You're much prettier. Brandon's never liked southron girls. He thinks Targaryens look like violet-eyed ghosts."
Catelyn smiled at the joke, weak as it was. She'd spoken to Brandon only briefly. He'd smiled at her more shyly than she'd expected, but his eyes were kind. Riverrun was a green place, one where she hoped he'd be happy. It lacked the rustic beauty of the North, but was far from the bustling cities of the Westerlands, or the rocky Stormlands. The Riverlands were welcoming, as her people would be. Brandon would be a good lord.
Her lord.
She was less than romantic. Love, the kind in songs, was for Lysa and Petyr, who dallied with each other until their tryst bore a natural daughter, little Alianne. Lysa had spoken of wedding Petyr, but he was a man of a poor house, little more than a holdfast, and she could not wed so far below her station. Lysa would have to accept one of the Baratheon boys, laughing Robert would be a good match, or the golden Jamie Lannister. She had a duty and that came before love.
Love could follow duty, as it had for her parents, and Catelyn's flare of hope that Brandon might love her had been shaken with his disappearance. If he did not willing go with the Princess, she would rescue him, but if he had, she did not want to contemplate what she'd be asking of him. Would he resent her for not being the violet-eyed princess? Would he have already given his seed to the Targaryens? A future baby dragon with the Stark eyes would be a scandal Catelyn's mother would frown upon, the Lannisters would surely talk, and the gossip would reach all the way to Dorne.
The raven came with the smoke. Lyanna tossed the scrap of paper to the ground and eyed the bird that brought it with such hatred the Maester intervened, saving the raven from its untimely death. Hand shaking with fury, Lyanna pointed to the note.
"Lies," she spat, storming out of the tent.
Catelyn picked up the message, unrolling the creases. Lady Stark had been declared traitor to the Iron Throne and had been burned for the treason of calling the princess a kidnapper. The noble Northern ladies who had accompanied her had also been executed. Her son Brandon was dead, joined with his mother's treason. He'd bewitched the princess with old magic, and then he'd failed to defeat the Targaryen champion when given the chance to prove his innocence.
The blind fury on Lyanna's fate knew only the justice of steel and death.
"The Queen has Ice," Lyanna said, without turning to Catelyn. "My grandmothers have wielded that sword since the beginning of record keeping."
"We'll get it back."
"I'll cut it out of the Queen's scabby hands myself," Lyanna said, her voice gruff and deep in her chest, as if choked by smoke. "My mother went on a flag of truce."
"The Queen has broken all rules of honour."
"The Queen has no honour."
Catelyn reached for Lyanna's shoulder, steadying her. "Then perhaps she can no longer be queen."
"Treasonous, aren't you?" Lyanna turned that to a grim joke, smiling without mirth, her teeth a skull's grimace.
"A queen cannot kill the head of a great house without cause."
"That's the way, isn't it, Cat? Take refuge in what is right and proper." Lyanna sank down, resting on the earth as if that could give her strength. "The Northern banners will rise, I am their lady now. Will you call the Riverlands?"
"Brandon was my betrothed--"
"It's not enough," Lady Arryn said, emerging from the tent behind them. "The Queen sends ravens to the Eyrie, demanding I give her your heads. You, Lyanna, cannot be trusted not to follow your mother's example and you, Catelyn, must also be touched by Brandon the witch. The Queen demands I send her your heads, as her leal lady of the Vale.
Lyanna looked up, then returned to dragging her fingers through the new grass. "You did not bring a sword, my lady."
"My sword has other flesh than yours to bite, wolfing." Lady Arryn hadn't called Lyanna wolfing since she'd been young enough for wooden practice swords. Now the endearment only served to bring reminder that Lyanna was grown and the lady of her house, and the North. Lady Arryn sighed, the peace was gone from her face now. "I've called my banners. You shall call yours and Catelyn must marry Ned," Lady Arryn finished.
Catelyn startled, unable to reconcile a queen who wanted her dead with what she knew of law and order. She fixed on the idea of Eddard Stark and held to that. "Brandon's bones are not even in Winterfell and you want me to marry the other brother?"
"If you will go to war--"
"The Queen must pay," Lyanna said, returning to her feet. "If she loves fire so, perhaps I'll burn her too." A cold fire burned in her, something Catelyn had never seen before, that sent cool fingers up her spine.
Lady Arryn, who had been almost as mother to them both, turned to Catelyn, looking for reason. "Unite your houses, marry Eddard. Ask for Robert Baratheon for Lysa's if Lyanna will not take him. The North cannot take the Red Keep alone, but with Baratheon, Tully, Arryn and Stark united, you stand a chance. We all might escape this realm's tyranny and madness."
Lyanna nodded, smiling though her eyes were stones. "Lysa can have Robert. He'll like her tits more than mine and I have no mind for a husband."
"My mother may not allow her banners to fight, even with me wed to Eddard. She may try to appease the Queen, or hope that Rhaegara may return and be more sensible." Her mother had no mind for war. She was a peacemaker and negotiator, one who ruled through mind and heart rather than steel.
Catelyn knew so little of Eddard. She remembered him as a serious boy, one more dark than Brandon, with his mother's grey eyes. Would he be too serious? Would he feel he was being traded as chattel to make an alliance?
"Then we promise her another. Your sister's natural child can be fostered at the Eyrie, your brother as well. Gods know I have enough daughters, if one of them takes a fancy to him, they can be promised to each other and we'll bind the sparrow to the rivers in the light of the gods. That should please Minisa Tully."
Catelyn glanced down to hide her tiny smile. Allying with House Arryn would please her mother, the ties of blood were deeper than words. Westeros was not known for its stability, and with the Mad Queen in power, only the Gods knew what could happen.
Lyanna would accept no comfort but battle plans, and Catelyn went to her with maps and ink. Their combined forces would be enough to challenge to crown, and all her banners. Dorne would rise, even though their betrayed prince had been betrayed. Joanna Lannister was hand to the Queen, her daughter now part of the Queensgard, the Lions would defend the Dragons until it no longer brought them wealth, but they were unpredictable. The Tyrells would be loyal and the Greyjoys would wait to pick clean the bones of the realm.
Lyanna's candles had burned low enough to sputter when Lady Arryn returned, wiping her hands free of sword oil.
"Your mother has accepted Eddard for you, Catelyn. Lady Cassana Baratheon will send Robert for Lysa and you will be wed here, in the light of the Seven. My own banners will come, though some few stay loyal to the Iron Throne."
"We will tear the realm asunder," Catelyn said, staring at the map covered with markings of each lady's forces.
"We will," Lady Arryn agreed. A dark smile crept over her face and she touched Lyanna's shoulder. "Robert Baratheon has a grandfather of the Targaryens and could, if we needed, carry a claim to the Iron Throne. It would be weak, but it would be just."
"You would have Lysa be queen?" Catelyn nearly laughed. Her sister would love the glamour and ritual of the court and realise she hated ruling the first morning she sat on the Iron Throne.
"I would not," Lady Arryn said, turning Lyanna's face to hers. "I will ask you, Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell to be Queen."
"I will wed no Targaryen brat," Lyanna said, wrapping her disgust around her tongue so her words snarled.
"You will not need to."
"Queen in the North," Catelyn realised, pulling her hand from the map. "She asks you to pick up the crown Torhha Stark cast down at the Red Fork. If this queen will give us no justice, you must, Lyanna."
"There hasn't been a queen of winter for three hundred years."
"I would name her again," Lady Arryn said, lifting her skirts to kneel at Lyanna's feet. "Queen Lyanna, of the First Women, of Winterfell and the North, the Vale would join you, all my banners and lands, I give to your protection."
Catelyn stared, then lifted her own skirts high enough to kneel. Beneath her knees, the floor was cool and cold. "On behalf of my mother, the lady of Riverrun, the Riverlands join your dominion, Queen of Winter, and would serve until the gods take us."
Lyanna watched them both as if waiting for the joke to be explained. "The Old Gods will have you in my lands, Cat, can you pledge yourself to them?"
"As you've so often said, it's my gods with all the rules. If you would have my wedding said before a heart tree, I will wed your bother there." The Mother forgive her.
"The soil here is too rough for a weirwood. Your daughters can be given to the Old Gods at Winterfell, and a weirwood can be sent to Riverrun and take root there," Lady Arryn said, ever practical. "When you call your banners, call them as their queen, Lyanna. Queen of Winter."
"The Umbers will roar when that raven finds them," Lyanna said, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she reached for both ladies at her feet and brought them up. "I will be queen, but only because this queen cannot be trusted. If Queen Rhaella will not see reason, her lands will end at Riverrun."
Lady Arryn kissed each cheek when she rose and Catelyn followed suit.
"Now, if you're finished with this foolishness, we have a battle to plan, and I doubt my wearing a crown will be enough to win it on my own," Lyanna said, drawing all of their eyes back to the map before them.
Catelyn met Eddard three days later, when he'd smuggled himself through the Fingers. He was dusty and smelt of the sea when she met him at the Gates of the Moon. He slipped from his horse, bowing his head to her. "Lady Catelyn, forgive me, I did not think you would ride out to meet me."
"It seemed the least I could do," she said, sliding from her own saddle. "Your travels were uneventful?"
"The Fingers provided better welcome than Gulltown, my lady."
She patted her horse then smiled at him. "Perhaps you ought to call me Catelyn."
"Ned," he said, looking up from his boots. "My mother call- she called me Ned."
"Your mother was a good woman. A great lady."
"That she was." He took his horse's reins and walked up to meet her, finding her side. "Lyanna will make Queen Rhaella pay."
"She's a queen of her own now."
"Queen of Winter," he said, grinning. Unlike his sister, whose smiles never reached her eyes after her mother had died, Ned's did. "It suits her, doesn't it?"
He followed her up to the Eyrie, asking about Riverrun and her house's banners. Were they as unruly as the North? What was the wierwood like in Riverrun? Would she let him keep the Old Gods after they were wed?
Catelyn stopped, turning to him as their horses waited to move again. "Surely my gods are the ones out of place if the North will be free."
"I would not ask you to relinquish the Seven."
"Nor would I ask you to give up your Old Gods. The wierwood in Riverrun is a bright garden, I hope you will be happy. I played in the godswood often as a child."
"When you were happy," Ned said, rubbing his horse's neck.
"We'll be happy again. When the fighting has stopped and all the swords are quiet."
He looked up the winding path to the Eyrie, staring up at the ornate castle perched on the rock. "Has there ever been a time where all the swords were quiet?"
"Moments," she said, watching him instead of the castle. His face was longer than Brandon's, less square, but strong. Catelyn hadn't yet decided if his eyes were kind, because they were secretive. Ned's grey eyes kept their own counsel, unlike Brandon's which had been laughing and open, if a little wild. Now was not the time for rashness. The Targaryen queen was mad, the princess had vanished and the realm needed stability.
"If we are favoured, perhaps we shall see more of them in our lives. I'd like my children-" Catelyn paused, blood rushing hot into her face. "Our children, if the gods are good, to have moments of peace. Long ones, if they can."
He returned her smile, his soft and sincere. They walked in silence, more comfortable now as they reached the stables and the last leg of their journey.
"I know I'm not Brandon--" he began as they reached the narrow path.
Catelyn shook her head. "Nor should you be. I knew your brother for a few days and I would have married him because he was a good man. You are a good man, aren't you, Eddard Stark?"
"You'll have to ask the gods, I doubt it's my place to say."
Reaching for his hand, Catelyn took it and squeezed his fingers. "I think we'll find out together."
Lysa took Robert's cape from his shoulders and replaced the golden stag with the red and blue of House Tully. Robert grinned at her all the while. Idle chatter already insisted they'd known each other on the road, but it mattered little. The gods could hardly punish them for being ahead of things. Lysa already had her daughter, the gods would likely give her more within the year. Catelyn smiled at the kiss Lysa gave her husband and turned her attention to Lady Arryn and the septa in front of them. The Holy Sept was already decrying the North and beginning the people to return to the faith. Some septas and septons had remained in the rebel lands, but more had fled, returning south. The smallfolk in the north were happy to return to the Old Gods, the blood of the First Women ran hot there.
It was weaker in the Riverlands and Catelyn had to make a good example. The Old Gods were merciful, patient and without judgement. They would accept her people and her, she reminded herself as she took Ned's cloak from his shoulders. Setting the white and grey aside, she made them one as she hung her cloak over his back. He bowed his head, accepting her colours as he would accept her house.
Behind them, Lyanna was the first to clap, cheering and toasting her brother's union. The assembled ladies and lords also voiced their approval, ending the ceremony with calls for a feast. Catelyn barely had time to kiss Ned's cheek before he was pulled from her to be congratulated by the Northern Houses. Lysa and Robert shared a long kiss, then toasted each other with wine. Catelyn watched them, then her eyes fell on her mother, who nodded and smiled but her lips were thin. She hated the war, even if it put her house in a place of power. Catelyn had dragged her in, made her and all the Riverlands part of this war, but they'd be better for it. Better a queen in the North than a queen on the Iron Throne who had no respect for her people.
Lyanna might insist on beheading deserters with her own hands, but she would hear their words and not ask for the heads of wards. Lyanna would be just and Catelyn would do whatever she could to keep her on the path of the gods, the old or the new, whomever would listen.
Ned returned to her, reaching for her hands. He leaned in, touching her cheek with his. His beard was softer than she thought and she smiled. There was hope, even with the armies amassing to the South and the blacksmiths working through the night, she'd face the uncertain future with Ned. Perhaps she'd even grow to love him. When she kissed him, stealing the moment before the feast and the bedding, Catelyn wanted it to be.
tbc...
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