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“One more! Please!”
Brynden pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve heard five already, lad. Wouldn’t you like to go swimming for awhile instead? Lysa is a very good swimmer. All of us Tullys are, but she’s something special. You two can race each other.”
“No! One more story.” Jaime thumped his palm on the table of the great hall several times. “I’m going to be a knight. The more stories I hear, the better prepared I’ll be.”
Brynden chuckled before he could help it. He regretted it when he turned his head and saw Jaime’s crestfallen face, his mouth open in distress. He'd looked down at his knees.
Brynden cringed and waved a hand gently at the boy. “I wasn’t laughing at you, lad. But you’ll need years of training to become a knight. Stories alone won’t do it. You know that, surely?”
Jaime kept his face downcast. “Yes. Of course I know that. I’ve already been training for months. I just. They’re my favorite part of the day. Your stories, I mean.”
Brynden patted his shoulder. “You’re a good lad. I’ll tell you another tonight at dinner, how’s that?”
Jaime whipped his face up, grinning, a golden lock of hair sticking across his eyes. Brynden laughed, inwardly this time. The boy was enthusiastic about being a knight. If Brynden and Hoster could instill the same enthusiasm for marrying Lysa in Jaime, they’d be well rewarded. Brynden had a vision of Tywin Lannister dumping a pile of gold coins at their feet, Hoster bending his knee and bowing his head. The only payment we require is the knowledge that we’ve done well by you, my Lord, he imagined Hoster saying.
Brynden would step forward. I’ll take the coins then, brother. I’ll pray to the Seven for the Lannisters’ good health when I give all that money to an armorer. I’ll even come to Casterly Rock and show you the beautiful new suit of mail I’ve had made for myself. Black as my fish sigil. Would anyone like to give me a bag for the coins, now?
Brynden almost put a hand over his mouth to hide his mirth when he realized Jaime was facing fully away from him. The boy had his neck hunched forward and his ear turned, as if trying to discern some distant noise.
Brynden heard it a second after. Not one, not two, but three sets of feet banging down the stairs. Three voices, two male and angry, and one female and desperate.
“She’s my bride, not yours, now if you don’t retract your challenge-”
“You’re no better than me, fight me and I’ll show you-”
“Brandon, this is madness! Both of you! Stop this now!”
“Catelyn, go back to your room, my dear, this will be over-”
“It won’t be over until I’ve beaten you, Stark!”
Brynden shoved back his chair. “Lysa!” he called. She was at his side within seconds, having closed the gap between them from where she’d been standing with her handmaiden in three leaping strides. Brynden gently but quickly angled her towards Jaime. “I have to settle a spat. You two go to the river. It’s a beautiful day. Go. Now.”
Lysa touched her braid and grinned at Jaime, who had dropped his grin and was eyeing Brynden stonily. “Now,” Brynden repeated, dragging Jaime from his chair by the upper arm and pushing him towards Lysa. Lysa grabbed Jaime’s hand and the two stumbled out of the great hall in one direction just as the noisy party entered it from the other side.
It was typical to see Brandon Stark in full armor. He wore it even when walking arm-in-arm with Cat by the river. He’d only been at Riverrun for a few days, to be present for the official announcement of his engagement to Cat, but Brynden had begun to wonder if he even slept in his armor. The direwolf etched onto his breastplate was fearsome looking and he always had his chest puffed out when he walked. Brynden had occasionally seen the young man looking distastefully at the Tully banners hanging in the hall. No doubt he imagines his wolf eating our fish. His pride was etched in his voice as much as his sigil was on his armor, but he was tender with Cat. Brynden had eavesdropped on their talk at dinner, feeling not the slightest bit of shame about it. No suitor will be allowed to say an unkind word to my little Cat. But Brandon had talked in a gentle quiet voice to Cat, assuring her that she’d be happy at Winterfell, that he’d buy her all the fur cloaks she needed to stay warm and that they’d walk in the fields and hills every day. He praised her carvings and her prayer wreaths, telling her that her carving skills were admirable. He touched the back of her hand softly instead of gripping it possessively, as Brynden had seen a few of Cat’s other suitors do. All in all, Brynden couldn’t complain about him.
Until he saw him striding through the great hall with an unsheathed sword, away from a half-shouting Cat and toward a near-hysterical Petyr Baelish.
“Is he bothering you?” Brynden had taken Cat aside more than once since the Baelish boy had become Hoster’s ward.
Cat had always frowned, gesturing vaguely. “He’s a decent enough boy but he follows me from room to room, even after our conversations seem finished.”
Brynden had put his hands on Cat’s shoulders. “Do you want me to talk to him? Because I will, Cat. I won’t tolerate him being a nuisance to you. Does your father know he does this?”
“Yes. He does it in front of Father, but Father doesn’t seem bothered by it.”
“Cat, I care more about whether you’re bothered by it.”
“I just…he’s lonely, I think. Edmure used to play with him when we were younger, we all played with him, but now…I don’t know. Lysa tries to talk to him but he likes me the most, it seems. He’s always looking at me.”
But it was Brandon that Petyr Baelish had his eyes set on as he cantered backwards through the hall, jerking a sword around wildly. Brandon was taking long steps toward him, his chainmail swaying as he kept his sword pointed at Petyr’s throat.
“I won’t hurt you if you leave Catelyn alone.”
“I’m formally challenging you! You can’t refuse me!”
“Please, both of you, please, I’m begging-” Tears were dropping down from Cat’s eyes. Her braid was untied and fraying apart as she held her dress up with one hand and ran to keep up with Brandon’s strides, reaching her other arm out to him. As Brynden nearly knocked over his chair to get to her, Edmure came through a side door and caught her arm first.
“Cat, I heard the noise, what’s all this?”
“Brandon! Petyr! Stop! Don’t do this!”
“We’re dueling,” Brandon said shortly, lifting his chin up at Petyr. “He’s challenged me for Catelyn, and I’m ending this. Now.”
Petyr was still running backwards and trying to keep his sword level at Brandon’s chest. “He thinks I can’t win,” he hissed, his own chainmail clinking against an ill-fitting breastplate. “He thinks I can’t fight. But I’m showing him. He’s going to regret this.”
“I’ll squire you, Bran.” Edmure raced past Cat and kept a steady pace next to Brandon. Cat was a fast runner but her breath was huffing and her eyes were glazed with tears and she was starting to trip over her hem. Brynden took a thundering run across the hall and reached Cat just as the others had opened the door to the lower chambers and slammed it shut. Brynden had his hand on the doorknob to follow when Cat’s ankle twisted and she lost her balance. With his soldier’s instincts running high, Brynden whipped around and caught her before she hit the stone floor. Holding her body, shaking with sobs, against his chest, he yelled, “HOSTER!”
Come on, come on, come on, he thought frantically as he heard the three boys pounding down the stairs and still shouting over each other. “HOSTER!” he tried again as Cat touched her ankle and cried out in pain. “Shh, shh little Cat,” Brynden whispered as Hoster finally appeared and locked eyes on the two of them.
“What in the world-”
“The lower bailey. Stark and Baelish. They’re going to duel. Go quickly.”
Hoster cursed loudly. As he stormed past the two of them to the door, he slowed as Cat wailed in pain. “Catelyn, what did-”
“Hoster, GO! I’ll take care of her!”
Hoster cursed again and threw the door open, then banged it shut. Cat jerked at the noise and looked up frantically into Brynden’s face. “What if they kill each other?” she choked out. “What if Brandon kills him? I couldn’t stand it! I couldn’t-”
Servants were starting to wander cautiously into the hall. Brynden snapped his fingers at an approaching handmaiden. “Put ice in a cloth, then meet us in Lady Catelyn’s room. Cat, I’m going to pick you up now. Hold on to me tightly.” He gathered her to him as gingerly as possible and lifted her up. Her body wracked with a gasp as her foot dangled and he walked as fast as he dared up the stairs. He kicked the door to her room open and placed her down on the bed. He lifted her leg with the twisted ankle and put a pillow under her foot. The maid was at his side with the ice and Brynden knelt and helped Cat place it against the spot on her ankle that she pointed to. “I’ve got her,” he said to the maid, who bowed her head and closed the door behind her.
Cat lay on the bed with her eyes fixed blearily on the ceiling. Tears had wet her hair and matted it and she was still breathing heavily. Brynden kept the ice against her ankle with one hand and reached for her own hand with the other. She took it and grasped it with surprising strength. Not so surprising, Brynden thought. She’s always been strong in every way. Her heart is so strong with love that she’s as worried about Baelish as she is about her groom.
“This is the first time he hasn’t listened to me.” Her voice started as a whisper and then wobbled into a higher pitch. “I asked him not to duel Petyr. He didn’t even look at me, he just stood up with his sword and walked across the room and Petyr picked up his own sword and asked for my favor but I wouldn’t give it to him because he’s not my betrothed and Brandon took my arm and asked if he could have it and I gave it to him because I thought that would settle the matter because I thought Petyr was unarmed and I don’t even remember seeing him with a sword until Brandon walked toward him and then they were out the door and Petyr got mail from somewhere and I don’t even know where and then I had to run and-”
“Little Cat, little Cat.”
“Uncle, they could kill each other! Why are they so-”
“Cat, lay back, don’t lean up, keep your foot still, keep your-”
“WHY ARE THEY SO STUPID?” she yelled, slamming her palms down on the blanket and hissing a sharp intake of breath as her ankle bounced up slightly. Brynden steadied it against the ice, then remembered what she’d said, and chuckled with surprise. Cat darted her teary eyes to him but gave him a shaky smile. He returned it and soon he was covering his mouth with his other hand, shaking silently in laughter, and Cat was hiccupping a giggle.
“Men are stupid indeed, little Cat. Brandon has a unmarried sister still at Winterfell, yes? Make friends with her. Make as many female friends as you can and keep them around you. You’ll still have to suffer men, but you’ll have your friends to call them ‘stupid’ to behind their backs.”
Cat unstuck her matted hair from her face, grinning. Brynden winked at her and her laughter picked up again. They were both smiling when a knock came at the door. Brynden kept his hand on the ice but straightened his back. He felt Cat freeze and he reached for her hand again. News of the duel? “Come in.”
A servant poked his head around the door. “A raven, Ser.”
Brynden nodded his chin at Cat, who had relaxed only slightly. “I’m taking care of her. You can leave it in my brother’s study.”
“It’s alright, Uncle. It might be important.” Cat’s eyes were beginning to widen with worry again and she beckoned the servant in.
He placed the letter on the bed. “Be well again soon, Lady Catelyn.”
When he’d left, Brynden sighed and picked up the letter. To his shock, it wasn’t addressed to Hoster, only to “House Tully.” He looked at the seal. There was a stag’s head imprinted on it.
“Will you open it, Uncle? Please? Read it to me. I need to think about something other than…oh the Seven, oh gods…”
Brynden forgot to offer a comforting word to her as he swallowed hard and cradled the letter in his hands. Steffon Baratheon had written this letter, sealed this letter, touched this letter. It was the closest to touching Steffon that he’d come to in decades.
The night before the soldiers of the War of the Ninepenny Kings had dispersed back to their homes, the last battle won, Brynden had let his squire Steffon remove all of his armor and run a warm wet cloth over his skin, removing the sweat and dried blood from the minor cuts Brynden had received during the last stand. Steffon had salved the cuts and they’d waited for the salve to dry, saying little, both in a post-battle haze of exhaustion. After an hour or so had passed, Steffon had asked Brynden if he was feeling better. Brynden had barely nodded before Stef was on top of him, palms against his cheeks, kissing him from forehead, lips, chest, waist, and lower. He kissed all of Brynden’s scars and Brynden had rolled him onto his back, kissing Stef's faded wounds before they spent the rest of the night moving together in sweet joy.
In the morning, Stef had said nothing as Brynden had dressed and collected his belongings. When he was finished and had loaded his supplies on his horse, Stef had beckoned him into the tent one more time. He had handed Brynden a small cloth parcel. Brynden had untied it and found a beautiful carving inside. It was a fish, its body curved in mid-leap, so accurately rendered that Brynden could picture it flinging itself out of the waters at Riverrun before smoothly landing into the deep again.
I made it after you fell asleep last night.
It’s beautiful.
Will you treasure it?
Of course.
I know you’re not in love with me. Stef had looked him full in the face. It was one of his traits that had endeared him to Brynden. He always looked a person in the eyes when he spoke about his feelings, didn’t fidget or gaze down at his boots. I know I can never replace him in your heart. But I’ve had the best time of my life with you. I want you to know that.
Brynden had felt a lump in his throat. He’d been happy to be lovers with Stef, had been enamored with Stef’s frankness when he’d been assigned his squire. So I’m squiring you? Stef had looked Brynden up and down. Good. I was praying you’d be a gorgeous man. I’m always pleased when I’m right. It wasn’t long before they were fastening the tent laces as tightly as possible at night and moaning together on a bed of furs, Stef’s hands frantically touching every inch of Brynden’s body and Brynden holding Stef desperately against him, relishing the feel of another naked, warm-bodied man in his arms after years of wanting. They’d made love until neither of them could walk straight when they stood up.
But he’d never heard the words “in love” out of Stef’s mouth before.
You’ve been in love with me?
What do you mean “been”? I am right now.
Stef, my gods, why didn’t you tell me?
I was afraid you’d leave me. I should have told you. I’m sorry.
Stef had glanced at the carving and back up at Brynden. Forgive me. And just don’t forget me. It’s all I ask.
Brynden had taken Stef in his arms one last time and stroked the back of his black hair. I’ll never forget you. Or anything you’ve given me. I wish I’d known but I’m not angry. I’m sorry I couldn’t feel the same.
It’s not your fault.
The stag on the seal was moving up and down and Brynden realized his hands were shaking. “Can you…can you hold the ice on your ankle for a moment?” he asked vaguely.
Cat sat up and held the cloth. “Uncle,” she said very softly, “will you open it?”
Brynden thought of the leaping fish carving. He realized he didn’t know where it was, where he’d put it when he’d arrived back at Riverrun. The first thing he’d done upon returning home was to kneel by his window, the starlight illuminating his face, and reach out to Qhorin in his mind. I made it, Qhorin. I’m alive. I’m looking at the night sky. Did you look at it tonight too? So we could be together in spirit? I’m here. I’m calling for you. Can you hear me? I’m alive. I love you.
“Uncle?”
“Yes.” Brynden cleared his throat and his mind and cracked the seal on the parchment. He started reading the letter aloud before he could let any more memories flit ghost-like through his mind.
“To the Lord of Riverrun, Hoster Tully, and all of his kin and bannermen. Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End sends his prayers to the Seven for your health and long lives. It is with deepest sorrow that he must relate the news of the death of his father, Steffon Baratheon, and his mother, Cassana Baratheon, from shipwreck on ill seas. Though grieving, Robert Baratheon sends official word that he is now the head of House Baratheon and that all future correspondence to his House should be addressed to him. All prayers to the Seven are deeply treasured during this time of tragedy.”
Brynden held the parchment with both hands and looked numbly at the words “death” and “Steffon.” Death. Steffon. Died. Shipwreck. Dead. He waited until his mind was able to form the thought Steffon has died and is no longer in the same world as me before his heart kicked and a cry jumped from his throat. Steffon, his black hair hanging over Brynden’s face as he pinned Brynden’s hands above his head while he kissed his way down his body. Steffon galloping beside him into the horrific clanging of swords of men battling to kill each other. Steffon carving away at a block of wood to make symbols of the Seven for Brynden to wear under his armor. Steffon leaning against a pole of their tent and watching with tears held back as Brynden rode away from him one last time, out of his life forever.
“I will make a wreath in their honor,” Cat said solemnly from behind him. Brynden hadn’t realized that he’d turned fully away from her. He tried to speak but only managed to mouth the word yes. He nodded, let the parchment flutter to the floor, and then he was leaning with his hands against the windowsill before he remembered rising and walking to it. He didn’t remember biting his bottom lip until the pain jolted him and he reflexively touched his fingers to his mouth. Small traces of blood came away.
“Uncle,” he heard in a voice hardly above a whisper.
Still holding his hand up near his mouth, he turned and gazed at her. Her face was a mask of concern, and he could see in her eyes that she was worried about more than the pain in her ankle.
“Please sit.” She patted the side of the bed next to her. Brynden sat, only half-facing her. It only took her a moment to reach her hand over and lay it on his shoulder. He unexpectedly stiffened and she quickly withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” Brynden’s voice was tense but steadier than he’d imagined it would be. “No,” he repeated. “I’m just…”
“Bereaved?” Cat whispered.
Brynden turned back to the window. “I…it’s a lot to take in. He was…a good friend. He was my squire in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He was a good man.”
“I’m so sorry,” Cat said, her voice shot through with earnestness.
Brynden coughed softly. “Yes. Thank you, little Cat. I’m sure he’ll be missed by his sons and his bannermen.”
“No. Uncle. Look at me? Please?”
Brynden turned fully to her. “Yes, little Cat?”
She reached for his hand and gripped his fingers tightly. “Uncle, I am so sorry for your loss.”
Such a strong grip, he mused vaguely before his stomach dropped as she continued to squeeze his fingers and he saw the knowledge in her eyes as plain as the never-changing rush of the river. His mind tipped upside down as his heart kicked and kicked and kicked and oh gods she knows she knows she knows and he tried to pry his fingers away but she grabbed them with both her hands, her ankle rolling on the pillow. She cringed but didn’t loosen her grip, her eyes fighting to keep his gaze. She tried to pull him further onto the bed and he felt sick and weak, suddenly, weak as though he were weightless, and the river was shoving him under and rushing him towards the end of the world.
Brynden remembered how Steffon had always looked in his eyes. You’re a dream, Brynden Tully. Be my lover? He squeezed his eyes shut until his stomach settled slightly, then swallowed and looked into her green eyes, the exact same shade as his. “Little Cat, I…”
“Loved him,” she whispered, her earnestness now mingled with tenderness.
He shook his head quickly. “No. I wasn’t in love with him. But we were…”
“Lovers.”
He breathed out, a sound between a gasp and a sob. “Yes.”
She laced her fingers through his and shook them gently. “I am so sorry he’s gone.”
Brynden pulled one hand away and put it over his mouth. Tears felt hot in the corners of his eyes and they landed on the back of his hand. He let them fall until Cat had shifted her upper body towards him and put her chin on his shoulder. “I’m here,” she said quietly in his ear.
As he cried silently, some blocked chamber of his heart crumbled open and he realized he was crying for both Steffon and himself. In a way that he had never cried before.
He mourned Steffon, but a rush of relief was running through all his veins at the same time. He’d never spoken about his love of men to anyone but Hoster, and then only because Hoster had approached him first. You and that Qhorin boy. You spend a lot of time together.
Perhaps. What of it?
You think I don’t know.
I don’t know what you know.
It’s obvious. But I won’t tell Father and Mother.
Tell them what?
Stop playing, Brynden. I won’t tell them. Just be a bit more subtle, alright? A look over his shoulder as he walked away. I wish you weren’t made this way. It’ll cause you a lot of grief in life. I’m sorry about it.
What was that about? Another fight? Qhorin at his side.
A swallow. He knows about me. About us. We have to be careful.
Careful. With Cat’s chin a reassuring weight on his shoulder, he knew he didn’t have to be careful with her. What was I thinking about her heart earlier? Strong with love? She’s in a position to judge me if she wants. She would be within her rights to speak with her father and have him send me away. If she asked, if she told him I made her uncomfortable, he would do it in a heartbeat. Then the whispers would only get louder and surer and I might have to hide. This isn’t Dorne. I could be stoned in the street.
But she won’t tell. My little Cat. Look at her with her chin on my shoulder. She’s not going to tell. She’s a gift to me. I need never doubt her.
He breathed out loudly. “How long have you known?”
Cat resettled her chin and leaned her cheek against his. “Awhile. I’m not sure. But it wasn’t only because you refused those twenty-five marriage proposals, I promise.” Brynden choked a small laugh out and he felt Cat smile against his cheek briefly. “It was just a sense for awhile, and then the way I listened to you talk about your brothers-in-arms. How your face would become so fond and your eyes so full of love. Father’s face never looks like that when he talks about the soldiers he knew. There’s respect in his voice but not love. This love of men just seemed to shine from you. And the feeling just grew deeper and I knew. But I didn’t want to say anything unless you said it first. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Oh my little Cat.” He reached up and put his hand on her cheek. “I don’t think you could make me uncomfortable if you tried.”
“I hope not. I’d not forgive myself if I did.”
He took in a ragged, tear-shaken breath. “I didn’t tell you because I don’t tell anyone. It was never because I didn’t love you.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Uncle. I don’t care that you never said anything. You’re still my best friend.”
The tears threatened to slip out of his eyes again. How could I ever doubt her love? “And you’re mine. And now I feel as though I should have told you.”
“No, please.”
“It’s just been so ingrained in my mind. In my whole soul. Not to tell anyone. But I should have known you’d not judge me.”
“I’m not upset.” She kissed his cheek and the tears dropped before he could wipe them away. “Do you want me to take the letter? So you don’t have to look at it?” She leaned away and angled herself over the bed, trying to reach for the parchment. Brynden was on his feet in a moment.
“Don’t move, Cat. I’ll get it. And you’re a darling girl for offering. But no, I can look at it. I don’t need it to remind me of Steffon.” He settled on the side of the bed and pressed the ice against her ankle again, the cold feeling good beneath his hot, tear-splashed hand. He sighed, gazing upwards. “Oh gods. He was so in love with me. He wanted me to return to Storm’s End with him after the War. He wanted to pretend that I was training him to be a better knight. I couldn’t go with him. It would have been a lie and I can hide things, but I can’t lie about them. But I didn’t have to hide the fact that I wasn’t in love with him. He knew. It broke his heart and I felt guilty that I couldn’t return his feelings, even though I knew it wasn’t something I could change within myself. I couldn’t lie.” He had his palm over his eyes before he realized he’d made the gesture. “I loved someone else.”
Cat reached in a pocket of her dress and pulled out a handkerchief. Brynden took it and held it to his eyes for a moment. “You don’t have to talk about it, Uncle. I don’t want to make you upset.”
“No. It’s alright. It actually feels good in its way. Freeing. Hoster has always said what he thinks is right but we don’t speak of this. Only when proposals to me are made. And even then we don’t speak. He just looks at me, irritated and a little sad, and tears the letter up. He says nothing.”
Cat cringed. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could change that.”
“I’ve learned to weather it. Your father is set in his ways, in his beliefs. The only thing I can do is remind myself that I’ve been fortunate enough, by some powerful grace, to have had love in my life. I imagine some men like me never do.”
“Was he another soldier in the War?”
“Who now?”
“The man you loved. Really loved.”
Qhorin appeared in his mind, crashing his sword into Brynden’s with all of his might when the blade teacher was watching them. Waiting for them to be alone so they could run to the stable and he could pull Brynden on top of him and push his fingers into Brynden’s arched shoulder blades. The only blades I care about, he’d whisper with his warm mouth on Brynden’s neck.
Brynden touched his neck. “Ah. Qhorin my love. We weren’t even men. Just boys. And for just a few months one summer. But he was the one. The first and the only one who has my heart. Even now. We belonged together. We still do,” he whispered.
Cat put her hand on top of his. “Where is he now?”
“The Wall.” Brynden swallowed. “I’ve not heard a word of him since his father sent him away. Right before he had to leave he told me to look at the stars every night and that he’d do the same and that’s how we’d stay together.”
Cat paused, then knowledge dawned on her face. “The star I carved. When I was a little girl. That’s why you kept it.”
Brynden managed a small smile, turning to her. “You remember.”
“Of course I do. And that’s why I’ve seen you at your window so many nights over the years, when I’ve knocked on your door.”
“Yes.”
“I wish I’d known him.”
“I wish you had too. He was very good with children. He’d have adored you.”
“Uncle, come here.” Cat patted the opposite side of the bed. “Come lie next to me. I want to tell you something. My ankle is feeling better. You can let go, it will be alright.”
Brynden settled the ice against her once more and then laid down gently next to her. She turned her upper body toward him. “As we’re being very honest right now, I want your advice on something. You were in love. You still are. How do you know you’re in love with someone?”
Brynden widened his eyes for a moment. She’s not sure she loves Brandon. My gods. What do I tell her? He cleared his throat. “That’s quite a question, little Cat. I can only tell you my own story.”
“Please. If it won’t hurt too much.”
Brynden shook his head slightly. “I’ve been living with all my soul in pain every day since he left. I’m still breathing. I can talk about him. I didn’t talk about him much even to Steffon. Stef only had to hear that my heart was someone else’s before he stopped asking questions. But Qhorin. Well, I was only sixteen. Some would say that’s too young to know what love is. But I know what I felt. It was far, far more than his beautiful face or the way he moved. Those didn’t hurt, of course. But it was the meeting of our minds. I was an insufferable talker back then, even worse than I am now. But he didn’t find me insufferable. He asked me questions about what I said, he listened, he answered back, then thought of his own questions for me. Some of our talk was what people would have considered normal for our age: sword training, future knighthood, the Targaryens, politics in general. But then he’d ask me other, deeper, more beautiful questions. ‘Do you think one soul can call to another and they can hear each other? Do you think we can know things about life based on our instincts alone? Should we govern ourselves by our instincts instead of society? Can we entwine our whole beings with someone else’s?’ We talked for hours by the river about these questions, talking endlessly, seeing every sunset. It didn’t take long to dawn on me that he was trying to tell me he loved me, that it was my own soul he wanted to entwine with his. And so we became lovers and he told me that he did feel our spirits entwined, that he thought we had the power to call to each other when we were apart. That even when we’d gone home for the day, we both felt an ache so strong to be together that we could hear each other, feel each other, almost see each other across a distance. He was the most intense boy I’d ever met and I was weak for his passion for what he loved. His desire to enjoy life in huge gulps, with no fear, with no shame.
“And so that’s how I knew. I was never happier than when I was in his presence, in all senses of the word.” Brynden stared up at the canopy of Cat’s bed. “It happened quickly with us. But it doesn’t happen so fast for everyone. Your father and mother, bless her, took awhile to form a bond. But they did, and it was strong. It won’t happen quickly for everyone. But when you know, you’ll be so certain. Life will make sense to you for the first time.”
He glanced over at Cat, who was clasping her hands and wringing them slightly. He placed a hand on top of her interlocked fingers. “That’s all I know, little Cat. It’s up to you, in the end.”
Cat rolled her face towards his. “I think you know exactly why I asked you this, Uncle.”
Brynden met her gaze and patted her hands gently. “It might take time. See how he acts when he’s back at home, in his own environment. Trust your instincts, as Qhorin always told me. Open your heart but don’t tolerate it being taken for granted. You said he’s listened to you up until now.”
She nodded, silent, but there was worry in her gaze.
“But this isn’t about that, is it? Not entirely?”
“No…you probably knew that as well.”
“Well, I thought you should say it first.”
She gave him a little smile before her face fell and she grabbed his hands with that steely grip. Her nails poked into his flesh and he fought not to flinch as she started to shake again.
“What if I never love him enough? What if I’m trapped in that winter place and I can never come home again? I’m so selfish, I know. My maids, they all call me lucky, that I’m so fortunate he’s the eldest and not Eddard because Brandon’s better looking, more knightly, more gallant. But he’s in the lower bailey right now dueling Petyr! It’s so foolish! He didn’t have to accept the challenge! What if he does it again? Oh gods. Come with me, Uncle. Come with me up North.”
Brynden rolled on his side and put a hand on her cheek. “Cat. You know-”
“I know.” She closed her eyes and gave a dry sob. “I know you can’t. I’m the one being foolish now. I like him. I do. I’m just so worried-”
Cat’s voice had escalated and they didn’t hear the door open. To Brynden’s surprise, it wasn’t a servant. It was Hoster.
Cat sat up faster than a cross-bow being shot. Brynden lunged to keep the ice on her ankle. “Father! What’s happened? Where are they?”
Hoster’s eyes were drooping and he looked ready to lay down for the day, but it wasn’t yet evening. “Little Cat,” he said wearily. “Be calm. All will be well.”
“But what happened?” Cat’s hair had stuck to her face again and she swiped it away furiously, her eyes pleading.
“They’re both resting. It will be fine.”
“But what-”
“Hoster,” Brynden said in a low voice. “You had better tell her. She can’t go anywhere right now. She hurt her ankle running after those foolish boys. I’m caring for her. Tell her.”
Hoster spared an irritated look at Brynden before kneeling by Cat’s side of the bed. “Brandon is unharmed. Petyr is wounded and is resting.”
Cat choked. “How badly hurt?”
Hoster patted her arm. “He’ll need some care. Brandon offered him many chances to yield, but Petyr insisted his honor wouldn’t let him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hoster.” Brynden stood up and faced his brother. “Will he heal?”
Hoster held Brynden’s gaze but he was blinking more than usual. “Bryn,” he said softly. “Now isn’t the time.”
“Brandon wounded him. He’s going to die,” Cat said in a voice almost lower than a whisper. “Brandon’s killed him.”
“Cat. No, little Cat, no-” Hoster was trying to make room on the edge of the bed for himself but Cat flung her arms out to Brynden, who moved opposite her and gathered her to his shoulder. She didn’t cry so much as make those gasping noises, the skin of her throat moving in and out.
Cat’s handmaiden appeared in the open doorway. “Apologies for the intrusion my Lords, Lady Catelyn. Lord Brandon would like to speak with Lady Catelyn alone.”
Brynden stroked Cat’s hair. “Do you want to see him?”
“Brynden.” Hoster was looking at him with more than annoyance in his face. There was a cast of anger shadowing his eyes. “She is my daughter. I will ask her what she wants.”
Brynden held his gaze for a moment, working to keep his eyes clear of frustration. Then he kissed the top of Cat’s head and she held his arms as he gently lowered her back against her pillow. “How’s your ankle?” he whispered. She nodded. The ice had mostly melted so he took the wet cloth with him as he left the room. He heard the thud of feet and Brandon Stark entered the hall. He was wearing his boots but none of his armor. His hands looked raw and pink, as if they’d just been washed. There wasn’t a spot of blood on him. A grim feeling crept into Brynden’s heart. Brandon’s clothes might be clean, but his armor and his sword might still be dripping a sobering shade of red.
Brandon bowed his head to Hoster and Brynden and knocked on Cat’s door. She called in an even voice for him to enter and the door shut with a click.
Hoster made it down the stairs to the hall before Brynden. As Brynden moved to pass him, Hoster shifted sideways to block his way. “She’s my daughter,” he repeated. “I am her father. It’s not your place to ask her what she does or does not want.”
Brynden clenched the wet cloth in his hand. “So we’re having this talk now. Alright. It needed to be said. So do you know why she might favor speaking to me over you, brother? Because she needs someone to confide in, someone who isn’t controlling her destiny. You arranged this match with the Stark boy. She had no hand in the matter. You took in the Baelish boy. She had no say in it. You’ve been moving the pieces of her life around a cyvasse board, except that her hands have been bound and there is no second player in the game. Don’t interrupt me,” he said with a touch of thunder rumble in his voice as Hoster tried to cut in. “I know you’re her father. I know what your duties are. But she’s at your mercy. Do you think she feels safe talking to you about how she feels about the choices you’ve made for her? You are trying to do right by her. I will never deny that. But she’s tired, Hoster. She wants to live through her marriage ceremony and survive in the wasteland of cold you’ve decided to send her to. She’s leaving the only home she’s ever known because you’ve decided that is what’s right for her. So you cannot truthfully tell me that I have no right to ask her what she wants or does not want because I cannot give it to her. I can only listen. You can’t, and you won’t.”
He braced himself for Hoster’s counterattack, for him to jab his finger into Brynden’s chest, shout so loud that the servants would hide. He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening when Hoster merely turned away from him and sat down in a chair at the table, one hand covering his eyes, as if he had a headache. Brynden stood, feeling unmoored from reality for a moment, before he carefully took the seat across from his brother. He still had the wet cloth in his hand and he folded and re-folded it in his lap before sighing and placing it on the table. “Hoster,” he began.
“No.” Hoster said the word simply, not without feeling, but without rage. If anything, Brynden thought he heard an undertone of misery in it. “You’re not wrong in the least, Bryn. All her life, she’s been more of a daughter to you than to me. I see the gleam in her eye when you walk toward her. You two have a special understanding that I’ve never had with her. That I never will, at this rate. And don’t interrupt me.” He waved a hand as Brynden opened his mouth. “I’m not sorry for myself. It’s been my lot as a father. As soon as she was born I was already thinking of the decisions I’d have to make for her someday. I have tried to do well by her because I am not allowed to let her use her own mind. It is not a winning or a losing game. It’s just my lot in life. In her life. You can talk now, if you want.”
“I appreciate your permission.” Brynden almost crossed his arms, but Hoster looked nearly ready to be ill. Without thinking, Brynden reached over the table and placed his hand on his brother’s. “She loves you,” he said quietly. “I’ve never doubted that. She loves her father. She knows you have a set of rules to play by. She’ll miss you when she’s gone. She’ll remember you as much as me.”
To Brynden’s further shock, Hoster interlocked his fingers with Brynden’s. “My daughter little Cat and my brother the Blackfish.”
Brynden huffed a small laugh. The feeling of touching his brother affectionately was making his head feel light. Blackfish. Honesty. He might as well go as far as he could. “Do you know something, Hoster. While Cat and I were sitting together, I told her about myself.”
He didn’t have to say any more than that. He knew that Hoster would know his meaning exactly. Hoster’s eyes widened but he kept his fingers in his brother’s. “You told her? My gods. You’ve never told anyone. Have you?”
“No.”
“How did she…no, what a silly question. Of course she took it fine. If I had to guess, she took it with only love for you.”
“You see? You know your daughter very well.”
“How do you feel?”
Brynden breathed out. “At first I felt like I’d swum ten miles. But then, the more she spoke, it was easy to reach the bank of the river. She helped me up, and now I’m safe there.”
Hoster gently shook their hands side to side. “Bryn. I’m glad for you. I haven’t supported you enough through the years. But if you’re happy, then I’ll rest easy too.”
“I am happy. I’m…wait…”
The stag on the seal.
He felt like someone had slapped a palm over his heart and his breathing quickened for a moment. “The whole reason I told her to begin with. A raven came, while you were away. Steffon Baratheon is dead.”
Hoster made a shocked noise in his throat. “Steffon? Your Steffon?”
“He was never really mine, but yes, Steffon.”
“But he was only our age, so young!”
“He wasn’t ill. It was a shipwreck. His wife died with him.”
“By the Seven.” Hoster looked towards the ceiling and mouthed a prayer. Brynden cleared his throat and looked down at their locked hands. “Bryn.” Hoster was shaking their hands faster. “I’m so sorry. This is a blow.”
Brynden blinked his eyes a few times, the tears a burn behind them again. “I might take some time alone in my room.”
“I’ll have dinner brought up to you.”
“No no, I’ll be with you all. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Hoster unlocked their fingers and Brynden headed for the stairs when he felt Hoster’s hand softly touch his shoulder. Brynden hadn’t even turned fully around before Hoster had his arms around him, patting his back softly. The embrace was brief and Hoster didn’t look behind him as he walked away. Brynden touched a hand to his throat, words failing him and then his chance to call out was lost as Hoster closed a door behind him.
When in his room, he laid down on the bed, closed his eyes, and put a finger in the hollow of his throat. It was easy to feel the hard, desperate press of Steffon’s lips in it. He said his own prayers to the Seven: that Stef had found happiness in his marriage to Cassana, in his sons (Brynden seemed to remember that he had two younger ones than Robert), in his life at Storm’s End with his own bannermen, finally, after years of squiring. I’m sorry, Stef. Sorry that you’re gone before your time. Sorry I couldn’t love you the way you loved me. I’ll see you again someday. In a different, quieter world.
A knock at the door. “Uncle?”
Brynden sat up. “Cat?”
Cat slowly pushed the door open with her shoulder. She was on crutches with her ankle above the floor and in one arm she carried two bulky objects around her elbow. Brynden would have recognized them a mile from sea.
Prayer wreaths.
He stood up but Cat gestured with her chin for him to stay seated. She angled herself down onto the bed beside him and put one of the wreaths in his lap.
Cat loved carving, took relaxation and solace in smoothing and bending branches into wreaths. She made them for every occasion, from birthdays, holidays, the advents of the seasons, and for fun, leaving ones decked with flowers in Lysa’s room and ones laced through with arrow stems in Edmure’s. The one in Brynden’s lap now was small but perfectly crafted with branches she had cut herself. Throughout the wreath there were woven yellow and black ribbons.
The Baratheon house colors.
“I’m sorry it’s so small,” she said. “Those were the only branches in my drawer. I made Brandon take them out for me. I’ll make a bigger one later, but this was all I had time for today and I wanted it to be made today. For you to have. And here’s the other.” She gently laid the second wreath next to the first one. It was similar to Steffon’s at first glance, but as Brynden looked closer, he realized she’d only used two types of wood to craft it. The two pieces intertwined all the way around the circle and a navy ribbon, the color of the night sky, was wound through it. At the bottom, she’d tied it into the shape of a letter.
Q.
“Oh Cat,” Brynden breathed more than said. He stroked the ribbon and then took her face in his hands and kissed both her cheeks. “My little Cat. This is a treasure. I can hold it when I look at the stars at night.”
Cat leaned her head against his shoulder and he patted her hair. “I only have one request.”
“What’s that?”
“Will you carve me something before I go North? Brandon is leaving in the morning but he’ll be coming back for me soon. Petyr has to stay here until he recovers and then I hope I won’t see him again. Brandon and I had a talk and we’re doing well, but I’m still frustrated with both of them. I need something to take with me when I finally leave with Brandon. Something small that I can fit in my dress pocket and fiddle with when all the men are being stupid.”
Brynden huffed a laugh into her hair. “Yes little Cat. I’ll carve you a little wreath of your own. I’ll etch a ‘B’ and a ‘C’ on it so that we’ll always be together. How does that sound?”
She leaned back and smiled, her eyes so fond that Brynden’s heart constricted and the love that ran through his veins was a pure sensation, a healing tonic at the end of a very, very long day. But as long as he lived, he knew this love was only a thought away. He’d think of his little Cat and the love would wrap itself around him warmer than furs, stronger than steel, a way to touch eternity.
“I’ll ride up when I can. To Winterfell. I won’t wait for an invitation. I’ll invite myself.”
Cat grinned and kissed his cheek as she gathered her crutches. “I told Brandon you’d say something like that. He didn’t believe me. But he will soon.”
After Cat left to wash for dinner, Brynden laid Qhorin’s wreath on his pillow and leaned Steffon’s against his window. So you can look down and see that I haven’t forgotten you, Stef. I never did. I never will. May the water only ever be smooth as you sail on from here. He put his jacket back on and was closing the door to his room when Brandon walked past. He stopped in front of Brynden and reached a tentative hand out to him.
“Ser, what happened earlier-”
“Won’t ever happen again.”
“No, it won’t. I promise.”
“You don’t need to. I’m telling you. It will never happen again. You will never worry my Catelyn like that again. You will never, ever make her cry. She’s like a daughter to me and I’ll ride breakneck and hellbent up to your frozen castle if I get a raven from her telling me she’s unhappy with you. Understood?”
Brandon swallowed. “Ser. As you say.”
“Good.” Brynden patted his shoulder. “You had still better lay yourself at her feet every night and ask for forgiveness for what happened today. I’ll know if you don’t. Catelyn and I have an understanding. It is stronger than your armor and the wolf etched on it can’t even chew through it.” He didn’t wait to see the expression on Brandon’s face as he walked away, but it was several moments before he heard Brandon hesitantly follow him down the hallway.
The Lannister boy immediately began hovering at Brynden’s elbow when Brynden reached the table. “It’s time for a story! You promised.”
“Oh gods,” Brynden said under his breath. But he smiled and patted the chair next to him. Jaime nearly jumped in it. So the day was ending how it’d begun. The prayer wreaths and life both sing their circular songs. And I go around and around, but my little Cat holds my hand and so my head always breaks the surface of the water and I breathe and I live.
And I love.