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Bathed in colors of the setting sun Highgarden seemed more a dream than a castle. Immense and intricate. White walls glistered against cloudless sky and here and there appeared even a glimpse of gardens. It was a lovely sight, yet Catelyn would not mind cold rain and fog. A long hard winter had almost frozen them all to death and then summer came quickly, no less strong or merciless. It had been months since anyone felt a drop of rain cooling their skin. The heat was rising with each passing day. Few more months like these and the whole Westeros would turn to a desert like Dorne. At least the dragons were gone from the lands. It was horrible to even think what creatures breathing fire could cause to kingdom no better off than a huge pile of well-prepared kindling.

“They have seen us. Outriders are leaving the gate.” Alyn Blackwood pointed. Unlike the country they had been riding through the whole day – a mosaic of well-handled farms and villages, vast orchards and opulent mansions, here the ground remained bare. Fields and meadows allowed to see, and to be seen, leagues ahead. It would be some time before the outriders reached them. Time enough to speak with my daughter before we have to face what lies ahead of us.

Catelyn halted the retinue and looked for Arya. The girl rode to the left, at the head of the group. Keeping out of her mother’s sight as she had since they had left Riverrun. Still wroth with me.  

“Arya.”

Despite their quarrel, no more was needed to be said. Both dismounted and walked out of earshot of their company. Rickon might had been wilder, but had he lived and grown, or had Cat been blessed with a dozen more children, she still felt certain that none of them would have been half as difficult as her second daughter.

“You have agreed to this.” Catelyn reminded the girl as they looked at the castle before them. The prolonging silence made her turn back. Arya was watching the setting sun and Catelyn watched her. Cat’s second girl had been a plain child. A fate kinder to a son than a daughter. It was not until they reemerged from their hiding at Greywater Watch that Catelyn realized in a sudden bolt that the girl did not grow up to be a plain maiden. Long face, grey eyes, brown hair, none of it should have promised great appeal, and yet...

“I might have agreed more readily if you didn’t make arrangements behind my back.” The words were expected.

“You are Robb’s heir by his own will, any northman would call you queen, but you are still five and ten and I am your mother. The raven was addressed to me and I was the one who answered.” Arya had been independent in many ways for years. Despite her own words, Cat felt that the day when Arya would not allow her will to be questioned in any way was growing near. 

“So, it’s just my age. If I was older and Sansa younger you would feel just as inclined to plot her betrothal with me. And not once you have wished it was Sansa standing here now.”

Were it, that the betrothal was settled. In truth, there had been no such agreement. Only hints and promises of promises. “I had to know where the Vale stands. Sansa would know the mind of her husband.” Catelyn had not even known Arya had learned about the raven to Sansa. But then, she should not have been surprised. Arya always had a way of learning secrets. And keeping them. “You don’t tell me everything either.”

Her own daughter, still not even six and ten did not tell her how she made a group of outlaws their allies. Or why a Braavosi merchants agreed with trade just for a quiet word. Not even all of what happened after she escaped King’s Landing.

More needed to be said, but by then the men from Highgarden were almost by their side. She had agreed to this. Or at least, she didn’t disagree, Catelyn tried to quench her disquiet.

They were given chambers in one of the newer wings, separated from the main body of the castle. Catelyn did not even try to remember the way. They must have turned at least dozen times to reach the place. Before she retired for the night she attempted to speak with Arya once more, but her daughter’s guard informed her that the queen was already asleep. Knowing the girl, it was likely a lie. Cat sighed. At least there was not much chance that the Tyrells would learn about any mischief. Not even being called queen could turn her wild daughter into a proper lady, but one thing Cat had to grant her. When it came to moving around unnoticed, few could match Arya’s skill.  

In the morning Catelyn had to acknowledge that she overslept. By the time her handmaiden came to wake her there was barely time to make herself presentable. “The queen lets you know she will be prepared in time, m’lady,” the woman told her.

Arya was right, Catelyn thought as the maid deftly brushed her hair. Cat would not have been half so worried if it were Sansa here at Highgarden. Sansa had been born for the task which lain ahead of them. Alas, Robb removed his sister from the succession in one of the last acts of his too short life. And Sansa had been married twice already. Tyrion Lannister was dead by all accounts, thank the gods. Sansa’s second marriage to Harrold Arryn took place even before Catelyn learned about her whereabouts. But at least the union seemed harmonious during Cat’s brief visit in Vale, even if still childless.  

Arya though… the girl who got to know the streets of King’s Landing as a child, who traveled with recruits for the Wall and killed one of Gregor Clegane’s men, who took to the ways of crannogmen as easily as if she was born one. That was not a bride Lord of Highgarden could have ever expected to wed. How much does Willas Tyrell know? A lot, Catelyn did not doubt. The man was not half a fool his father had been, he would have made his inquires.  Is that why he arranged a meeting but not a betrothal?

As a Tyrell steward let their company to one of the many castle’s gardens, Catelyn gave her daughter a considering look. She had to acknowledge that there was little she could reproach when it came to Arya’s appearance. The girl’s gown was simple but made of fine silvery silk. Open sleeves reached to her elbows and the straight neckline revealed collar bones. It was a modest piece, but the flowing fabric did Arya’s slight curves justice.

The Lord of Highgarden did not greet them alone. Aside of guards and servants standing at their posts two women were seated in an arbor by a pool. One was young and bright, in a bold purple silken dress with red hair and pretty face spiced with freckles. The other was not much older or plainer, but the dark-dyed linen marked her for a widow. By the lord’s chair lazed two grey hunting dogs. A small pup of the same breed with bright blue eyes chewed at a piece of leather.

The lord of the castle himself did not draw much attention at first glance. He had passed his thirtieth nameday and was closer in age to Catelyn than to her daughter. His face was pleasant enough, though not truly handsome, his eyes watchful but not unkind. When he spoke, his voice was serene.

“Lady Stark, Princess Arya, I am honored to meet you. Forgive me if I don’t stand as propriety would demand.” Willas Tyrell motioned to cane by his chair. “Instead, let me introduce you to my companions. Lady Desmera is my dear cousin. Lady Leonette is my good-sister, the widow of my late brother Garlan.” Both women in question stood up and curtsied gracefully. As an answer Arya introduced her own companions. Young men and women chosen to represent houses which stood behind her claim.

“I am graced by your presence.” Lord Tyrell turned to them. “Allow my cousin and good-sister to become your hostesses, I have refreshment prepared for you in the Ivy Garden.”

Before they were left alone, servants brought cheese, fresh bread and fruit and poured them cool watered wine.

“What do you want from us, my lord?” Arya asked bluntly without much care for a preamble.

“In a way, nothing.” Catelyn’s second daughter was not an easy one to surprise, but even Arya seemed taken aback by the man’s words. Willas Tyrell’s mouth quirked, threatening to form a smile for a moment, but his eyes remained serious. “The Reach lacks for nothing, but half of Westeros is lordless and lawless. What will happen when you perish too, or worse? Could the Reach prosper as an island surrounded by chaos? The point is not what I might gain, but what I might offer.”

Arya recovered from her surprise quickly. “You seem to think I will fail,” she objected not too warmly. “And even if I did, despite my brother’s will, I am certain my bannermen are prepared to follow my sister in my stead.”

“Princess,” Here it was again, not ‘lady’ but not ‘queen’ either, “it’s not hard to guess where your way will lead now that winter passed and both lions and dragons are gone. The Bastard of Bolton still holds your home. From all I heard, you are not the one to stay behind when you send your men to war. What would happen if the Bolton got hold of you? The man has as much cunning as he has cruelty and his atrocities are unmatched.”

“Then one of us would be dead soon.” It might have sounded as a naïve boast, but Catelyn knew her daughter. The words were true. Only Cat doubted this was what any lord wished to hear from the mouth of his future wife.

“We are touched by your consideration, Lord Tyrell,” Catelyn began carefully, “but I doubt it’s as simple as you make it sound. If you agree to alliance, your bannermen and their men will fight and die in distant lands they care little about. Won’t they expect any recompense? And it’s not truly nothing you will get from us. If you marry Arya, you will get control of North and Riverlands and friendship of the Vale. It’s more than enough power to crown yourself a king.”

Willas Tyrell’s look shimmered across the vast beautiful garden surrounding then. His hand reached for the pup who was standing at its hinders starching at his chair. “I have no wish to be a king, Lady Catelyn. I have no wish to ever meet another king or queen. Be the gods merciful, I will never step in King’s Landing. The place laid claim at the lives of too many of my kin. But there was wisdom in what first Aegon did, Westeros should be united. Alling we will have enough power to form a council to rule it. You are not the only one whom I approached. Doran Martell’s line is dead. His distant nephew Mors Martell married Lady Sarella Sand, the oldest surviving daughter of his brother Oberyn. Mors is a cautious one, but Sarella is more than open to the idea. So is Lady Asha from the Islands. By your word I might have alliance of Vale too. My bannermen don’t care about the North. Those lands are too wild, too vast, too distant. But if I help you reclaim them, in time our strength will grow. It might take years, but in the end, we will be strong enough to control Westerlands. Those are the lands I mean to give my lords.”      

Westerlands. At the nonce ruled by quarrelsome Lannisters of Lannisport. Lord Tywin was dead. The Kingslayer and the Imp were dead too as were Cersei’s children. And no one had heard of Cersei in years. Catelyn would not mind if the whole name Lannister turned into dust. If this was what Willas Tyrell meant to do, she would be the first one to support him. She looked at Arya. Her daughter was watching the Lord of Highgarden thoughtfully.

“I have no quarrel with your plan, my lord.” Arya spoke at last, “but why hint on marriage and offer only a meeting. Was it just a ruse to lure us here?”

“No ruse, princess. We are both unmarried, it had to be considered. It’s that simple, but I wanted to get to know you first.”

***

A Labyrinth. Highgarden is a huge, beautifully built and exquisitely decorated labyrinth, Catelyn thought as a Tyrell footman led her to their wig. That was the only part of the castle she could navigate by herself. Two airy and pleasantly cool chambers were ceded to her and her daughter, connected by. Corridor they led to a small private garden. Though Cat despised the feeling of being lost, as far as comfort and splendor went, Highgarden had a lot to offer.

The dusk had yet to fall and up in the Great Hall the welcome feast still run its course. The heat and the journey of previous days had tired Catelyn more than she had expected. She had asked to be pardoned early and left Arya to the company of reachmen and her own lords and ladies. It had not been an entirely unpleasant day. After their first short meeting with the Lord of Highgarden they were given a tour through the largest of the gardens and enough time to rest and prepare for the feast. If only there was not that growing worry that the marriage between Arya and Willas Tyrell was slipping out of reach. There would be alliance either way, Willas Tyrell had made that clear, but Catelyn wished for more. She wanted to see her second daughter wed. And how much easier that would be if Arya agreed with the notion?

In the Great Hall Catelyn had been seated between her own daughter and Lady Desmera. It was like stepping between bright noon and midnight. Lord Redwyne’s daughter was cheerful and quick-witted, managing a light talk with effortless ease through all evening. Arya sat silently, watchful and solemn as only a Stark could be. At least Lord Tyrell next to her had barely any time to notice with host’s duties and his own bannermen pressing on his attention the whole time. Yet, more than once Catelyn wondered if there could be more than just a fondness between the Lord of Highgarden and his pretty freckled cousin.

But if he loved the other lady so, surely, he would have never even considered marriage to my daughter. We need him more that he needs us, he must know we would have agreed to the alliance even without betrothal, Cat assured herself as she unbraided her hair and changed her dress.

Despite her body wishing for rest, Cat’s mind was too preoccupied. Sighing she reached for her embroidery. There was something calming in this little act of creation. A simple move of needle and thread repeated again and again slowly formed into something more. There had been times, shortly after her arrival at Winterfell, when she spent many evenings like this. To calm her uneasiness of the place which had seemed so strange to her then and to forget about that other child sleeping by her son in the nursery.

Her work was meant to be a gift for Sansa, but before Cat knew how, the first rose appeared at the handkerchief. 

The light grew too weak to work, but her mind was still restless. Hesitant to torment her eyes with shimmering light of lamp, Catelyn put her work aside. She would not have minded speaking with her daughter, but Arya was surely still at feast. I should visit a sept, she though after a moment. It had been long since she had time to pray.

No footman or guard was in sight in the corridor, but Catelyn decided to proceed anyway. They had been passing the sept on the way from the feast. It should not have been so hard to find it. I did not take long, however, and she was utterly lost.

The castle was far from deserted. At every turn new sight of life could be found – neighing of horses from the stables, someone shouting in a cellar to take care how pork was salted, soft steps and hushed voices of maids and heavy walk of guards just around the corner. At one moment Cat even glimpsed the windows of the Great Hall, lit and bright as gems in setting sun. A footman and two scullions had passed her early on, but by the time she decided to ask for help, there was no one in sight. And damn her pride, she would not just start knocking at closed doors.

I should return. Descending a marble staircase Catelyn walked back through an open ambient. Turning left and right and left again, suddenly, she was less than sure she had chosen the right way. The corridor was dark and the walls grey rather than white. Surely, she had not been there before. Or did it just look different as the sun descended further? Cat would have turned back, but she glimpsed someone at the end of the corridor.

The person was no more than a silhouette outlined by the last of day’s light. The stranger moved towards her slowly. Catelyn strained her eyes as the other passed deep black shadows. There was something queer about that walk. It was uneven and unbalanced. Briefly Catelyn thought of Lord Willas with his injured leg, but he never moved without his cane and she could not hear its soft knocking now.

“Forgive me- “ She began when she was not fifteen feet away, but the sentence never got finished. A door to her right opened casting light at the other person. Cat’s mouth dropped open, but she was too shocked to scream. The face barely resembled a human. There was not an inch that was not covered by twisting burling scars. The mouth was puffed and misshapen, the nose sunken in, one eye was half-covered by a scarred eyelid, the other blind. The man’s right hand, for it had to be a man judging by the clothing, was just as scarred as his face. The left arm was missing below the elbow.

“Lady Catelyn.” A voice spoke to her right and she almost screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulder. With a start she turned and came face to face with Willas Tyrell. There was a lamp in his hand. “Wait for me at the entrance of the corridor, if you will.” His voice was calm, yet the order in it was impossible to miss. Wordlessly, she obeyed.

Only when she was away and the wild beating of her heart calmed, it came to her who the burned man must be. Loras Tyrell, Willas’ younger brother. Of course, she had heard stories about his injuries, but none, she realized, came even close to truth.

Behind her back Willas Tyrell’s voice echoed softly. A door opened and closed. Two pairs of steps changed to one accompanied by cane. Patiently, Cat waited.

“My lady, I trust you will keep what you witnessed to yourself.” Willas Tyrell finally reached her. The Lord of Highgarden walked slowly putting more weight on a cane than his right leg. His injured limb seemed unable to straighten in full length. “He is the last sibling remaining to me, I won’t have tales spread for amusement of others.”  

“Of course, you have my word.” She answered. Any attempt to comfort, Catelyn felt, would do nothing but hurt more.

“Judging by your venture, you are not yet too tired. Would you mind a word?”

Accompanied by ever present knocking of his cane, Willas Tyrell led her to a large open top of one of the many towers. Ahead shimmered weak, distant lights of other buildings. Below, not so far from them one of the countless fountains plopped and the bushes were alive with birds. The view must be astonishing in the day, Catelyn realised. Or at night, she added, when she looked up and saw the vastness of the sky. Soon the stars would appear there.  

Willas Tyrell put a lamp at a stool and walked towards the stone parapet. He looked ahead, away from her.

“I am sorry, I caused you trouble, my lord.” Catelyn felt obliged to excuse her actions. “I meant to visit a sept and I got lost.”

“That I can believe easily. Highgarden is immense, and centuries of building and rebuilding didn’t make for a simple design. When they were children, my little brother and sister used to play pranks at newcomers. They hid the door with tapestries and have hollow armors in the halls misplaced. I came across more than one maid or even a knight utterly lost and half in tears.”         

Catelyn could not help but think of her own children. Had her sons ever caused such a mischief behind her back? Rickon had been too young, Bran too sweet, but Robb… Their faces came up in her mind, young and full of life. A wave of sudden longing took over her heart, threatening to break it once again.

“Does your daughter wish to marry me?” Willas Tyrell asked and turned abruptly from the parapet. A move surprisingly smooth for a man with his injury.

“Arya?” Catelyn answered still half lost in her own thoughts. “She is interested in what you have to offer.” An army wouldn’t have been able to drag her here if she wasn’t. Much less me. Even before they left Lord Reeds hospitality, Catelyn came to understand that Arya would not just meekly accept a betrothal arranged for her. “You, my lord, however tempted her with a suggestion of alliance without this particular commitment.” Catelyn did not entirely manage to keep accusation from her tone. It would have been so much simpler if he demanded a betrothal.

“Is there another man she fancies? There couldn’t have been a better offer,” he stated frankly, what both knew to be true.

“No man that I am aware off.” That would have been Cat’s answer in either case. As it happened, it was also the truth. “But if she marries one of her bannermen she keeps more of her freedom. Being Lady of Highgarden, my daughter might spend most of her life away from her own lands.”

“And yet there is no hint of such a union.” In the light of the lamp, a surprising half smile appeared at Willas Tyrell’s lips. “I dare to guess that she does not wish to marry a lesser man. Somewhere in her heart she yearns for an equal. Not so uncommon malady of heart.” There was something odd about his voice as he said it, but Catelyn could not grasp at the nonce.

“Why all of this, my lord?” She still did not understand. “I know you had been promised at least once already to a girl you have never met.”

“To your elder daughter, Sansa. A lovely woman by all accounts. Later, there was even talk between my father and Lord Tywin about Cersei Lannister. But those were actions of my elders, not my own.”

Cersei Lannister. Catelyn was baffled. The former queen had been Cat’s own age, eight years older that the Lord of Highgarden and with children of her own. For a moment Cat could not help but look at the man in front of her in a different light. What would she think, if it was her and not her daughter whom he considered to marry? The green girl she had been before Robert’s Rebellion would have found him plain, maybe even boring. But she would have been glad to become the Lady of Highgarden all the same. The woman she was… He was not as stern as Lord Hoster, not as wild and lustful as Brandon, not as stiff with strangers as her Ned. What are you, my lord?

“If I had a choice then,” Willas continued unaware of her thoughts, “I might have tried to get to know them just as much. Besides there were other concerns. I might confess them now, when they were discarded. No one had seen your younger daughter for more than a year after Lord Stark’s arrest, before she so conveniently appeared hundreds leagues away in Riverrun of all places. Just after your sons died and your other daughter disappeared. And the first thing you did was to flee to the swamps of the Neck, where no one but crannogmen saw the girl for four more years. One might have wondered, there is so little resemblance between you two.”   

“How dare you?!” Catelyn’s anger flared. “To even suggest I would ever pass a pretender for my own dead child?!”

“Wouldn’t you?” Willas Tyrell answered her anger with calmness. “Even if it was for the good of another of your children. For a daughter whose standing was made uncertain due to actions of your own son? But as I said,” he spared her the answer, “I no longer have any doubts about the princess’s identity. Two of the men still in my service accompanied Loras in King’s Landing while Lord Eddard served as the Hand. Your daughter has much of your late husband’s looks. Besides, I was given an unexpected aid some days ago. Young Lord Dayne passed by on his return to Starfall. He confirmed meeting your daughter during her stay with the Brotherhood. I saw, what I had wanted to see. I have every intention to marry Princess Arya.”

“You have a very strange way of going about it.”

Willas Tyrell laughed. “You think I should have demanded a betrothal? There was one thing I suspected even before our meeting, which I know for certain now –  giving your daughter choice is a better way.” His eyes sparkled. “If I was brave enough, I might have even pretended a rebuff.”

With a start Catelyn realized that he was right. Arya was always drawn the most to the things out of her reach.

***

Two days from the fortnight Willas Tyrell asked from them passed in vain. A brook marking the border between Old Oak and Goldengrove had changed its course. There was even talk of ditches being dug to make it so. The Lord of Highgarden had no choice but to ride out and sort the dispute.

Catelyn spent the time embroidering in the small garden adjoined to her bedchamber. The place had a wild feeling about it. Ivy covered high walls and elderberries and wildflowers scented the air. In this one place there were no roses in sight, but a weirwood sapling no higher than Cat herself grew by empty marble pedestal. Might be the tree was an offspring of the famous Three Singers, she had yet to see. In an odd way, the place reminded her of Winterfell, more than any other garden south the Neck.

Of Arya there was little trace, a sign well-known to her mother. There was no use in trying to find her. At least the ladies from their retinue added to Cat’s company. Shy charming Bethany Blackwood played high harp well. Stout Aregelle Flint with fair hair and broad friendly face could not play or sing, but she knew as many tales as the Old Nan. Catelyn found herself truly enjoying the company of other highborn women. She had little of it in recent years. The crannogmen were folk with ways strange to her and at Riverrun there were no other highborn women but her and her daughter. Jeyne Westerling and her kin had returned to Crag years ago and that cursed girl Roslin Frey had birthed before death was still a child. As for Arya herself, what little time the girl did not devout to her kingdom she gave to riding, archery and even swordplay.

On the second day, their small company even gained unexpected addition of Lady Leonette. The young widow was pleasant enough, but Catelyn’s hopes to learn more about Willas Tyrell from her ended unfulfilled. When the day grew late Cat ordered Arya’s maid to inform her about her daughter’s arrival as soon as she saw the queen. But in the next morning, it was Arya herself who woke her.

Cat’s daughter was already dressed for the day in a gown not dissimilar to the one she had worn for her first meeting with Lord Willas. Only the blue color and intricate pattern on the hem were different. Arya held a tray with food and fresh water in her hands. “I brought you these straight from the kitchens. The bread is fresh, and the eggs are still warm. There is even some strange green vegetable they eat here. I don’t know the proper name yet, but it’s good.”

“You are the queen, you should not be stealing to kitchens and serving food.” Cat reproached her daughter, even before she had time to think about the rest of girl’s words. Straight from the kitchens? She mused a moment later, when she remembered how lost she herself had been, when she tried to find the sept and the horrible meeting with Loras Tyrell.

Arya shrugged and helped herself to a piece of bread. “I won’t be a queen for much longer. Lord Tyrell seems to mislike the title. Queen, princess, lady… I don’t care what they call me. All I want is to see Ramsay Bolton’s head roll away from his body and lie father’s bones to rest in the crypts of Winterfell.”

“A lady does not serve food either. You should take more care how you act, we are not in Riverrun anymore. Lord Willas should come back soon.”

“He has returned already. Sometime after midnight. Today there is to be a mummer’s show and a hunt.” Arya’s nose wrinkled. “I should be in the Riverlands preparing for war and helping with a draught. Not wasting time here with mummers. Why we had to be here for a fortnight? The agreement could have been talked through more quickly.”

“Military alliance is not all we came here for.”

“He doesn’t want to marry me and I have no wish to wed at all.” A stray lock of hair escaped Arya’s braid. The girl took it thoughtfully between her fingers. Catelyn still couldn’t figure out how her half-wildling babe grew up into the pretty maiden in front of her, but it seemed, that some things never changed.

Cat stood up and headed for a small chest decorated with mother of pearls. She took out her own brush and walked behind her daughter. With a gentle hand she loosened the braid and began to brush brown tresses. Arya seemed surprised but did not stop her. Catelyn had done this for Sansa thousand times, but never for Arya. There was never time to battle chaos that was Arya’s hair when she was a girl. And later, there never seemed to be a right occasion. Not when they quarrel more often than not. And I might just add more salt to the wound by my next words. Yet Cat did not stop. “You need heirs.”  

Arya, however, did not argue. “I know,” she answered in a heavy voice. “But I thought that Sansa wouldn’t mind if her children gained Winterfell.”

“It would be unwise. Sansa is older than you. Robb made more trouble than he could have expected with his will. The lords might think that if they disagree with your choices, they are free to seek your sister and see if she would allow them more. There must be no doubt who rules. Besides, it had been three years, since Sansa has married, and she has yet to birth a babe. There might not be any children at all.” As much as Catelyn had once refused to even think that her older daughter could face such fate, it would do no good to keep her eyes closed forever. “And you are wrong, Lord Willas is not against marriage. Give him a chance.”

“Shouldn’t he be courting me or something, if it was true? I don’t know how to woo a man. And I hate that it was all planned without me.”

“I’m sorry, Arya. I should not have done that.” Her daughter jumped from her place, just before her braid was finished, ruining the whole effort. But when she embraced her fiercely, Cat could not find it in herself to complain.

“Just don’t do that again.” Arya pleaded. A girl of five and ten, not ten days away from her next nameday, Catelyn knew her age better than anyone, yet seldom her daughter appeared so young. Or so vulnerable. Cat thought of secrets small and large she had yet to reveal. Of the arrangement she had made with Walder Frey so long ago. Of Lord Reed’s strange refusal to talk about the end of the Robert’s Rebellion. Even of the night meeting with Willas Tyrell. She had not shared any of them with her daughter. But they were in the past, in the future, she could keep her word.

“I promise. Now, sit down, I have to do that braid again.”

The day was growing warm even in the morning. They were seated in a shade under a large canopy, yet Catelyn could not help but think that there were cooler places around the castle. The small garden by her chamber for one. The first of the three short plays they had to see was not bad. It was an episode of the Dance of Dragons, an epic fight above the waters of the Gods Eye. It was played by puppets skillfully and even puppeteers’ Dornish accents strangely added to the charm. Though seeing the bright beast made of cloths and poles, Catelyn couldn’t help but to think about the true dragons. The last one was far away in the East. Daenerys Targaryen declared never to return as she was leaving with her beast, but if she ever did… No, it made no good to think about that. We could not live our lives in fear, just waiting for what might never happen.  

The second play was played by mummers themselves, and that was no kindness. Catelyn sat close enough to see the sweat dropping from under heavy wigs, all the more visible by powder on their faces. To add to injury, the role of Jonquil was played by boy instead of a woman and he was growing too old for the part, his voice cracking more than once. But maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am the one too old for tales of Florian and Jonquil. She looked around. Lady Desmera and Bethany Blackwood watched the play with hushed breaths, even Aregelle Flint, who was as down to earth as young girls went, seemed absorbed. And so did, Catelyn noted with some amusement, Artos Umber. A sturdy Northman few years younger that Willas Tyrell, but with a beard as long as many woman’s hair. Lady Leonette had a fond little smile at her lips too, but after a moment, Catelyn saw her turn her face from the stage. She followed the gaze.

Lord Willas appeared calm as he sat silently. Arya, just as quiet, had no expression at all. It was not visible at a fleeting glance, but as she looked at them longer, Catelyn came to see that they were in truth watching each other. Just a side glances, head turned briefly as little as it could be. By some strange happenstance, those looks never crossed. That silent game of cat and mouse continued well onto the third play, a piece presented by a company from Braavos. Quick and loud it was, rich in jest and absurd scenes. Catelyn could not tell if the absent-minded Sealord and the fat courtesan were meant as taut of living people, or if they were made up by a playwright’s wicked mind, but it did not seem to matter. The audience rewarder the mummers with numerous rounds of laughter. Even the hardened northmen who would have sworn that mummer shows were just a southern nonsense, could not contain themselves. It must have been all that noise and uproar that hid the moment when the silence between Arya and Willas Tyrell broke.

Their words were too quiet to be heard. Might be not to disturb those around them, might be to keep their privacy. Catelyn tried to read their faces, but she did not wish to make her interest too obvious. Even later, she restrained herself from asking Arya. It was too soon. But when the evening came Catelyn found herself preparing for the hunt, she had not meant to attend at first.

The party which departed from Highgarden counted two and twenty riders and half as many dogs. Aside of Arya, Catelyn was the only woman present. The road led pass gardens and fields before the first group of tries became visible. Gradually they turned into bright, open forest of oaks and lime trees. Despite numerous signs of drought, the soft low hills weaving before them were beautiful.

Catelyn enjoyed the ride, though she had to focus not to hinder others. As any highborn woman she was used to saddle, but traveling on the road and trotting through meadows were not the same. Arya, in contrast, was in her element. The girl clad in well-made riding leathers seemed to fly across the country. She kept her men in hand with ease, managing them as a small army.

As the hunt itself started Catelyn stopped on top of the slope at the place with good overview. Lord Willas joined her. “I miss it,” he confessed as he watched dogs followed by riders. “I was never fond of quintains, but I loved to ride through the lands so quickly that even my brothers had trouble to keep up.”

“You still ride well, my lord.”

“Thank you for the kind lie, my lady. I ride well considering my injury. I can trot if my leg is helped by a special cast, but not too often and not for long. And gallop is as possible for me as flying. Well, if nothing else, it taught me patience and value of keeping still. Though there seems to be other ways about that.” He nodded towards the person which had separated from the group.

Arya kept so motionless and so well-hidden by bushes and patched shadows, that Catelyn would have never spotted her on her own. The calm, however, lasted only until a deer appeared followed by hounds and beaters. Arya spurred her horse and as soon as she shortened the distance to hundred feet, she drew her short, curved bow. The girl released two arrows. The first hit the hinders, the second penetrated the lugs. The wounded animal staggered and fell to the ground. It made one last desperate attempt to stand but did not find the strength. The dogs began to bark wildly but kept their distance. Arya reached her pray and unhorsed. With one efficient move of her dagger she ended the animal’s life.

Suddenly, a different howling from far distance added to the barks of hounds. “Wolves,” Willas Tyrell frowned. “They seldom wander here, and this must be a large pack.”

“They seem numerous in Riverlands of late.”

“Maybe they followed you.” Willas Tyrell jested before he headed his horse toward the fallen game. “Excellent shot, princess,” he declared with sincere appreciation.

“Thank you,” Catelyn’s daughter answered almost shyly.

On the way back Willas Tyrell and Arya rode slowly side by side. Catelyn watched them from afar hoping for the best.

***

The waters of the Mander were calm. Gentle breeze moved the hem of her gown. Catelyn took a hand of Dickon Tarly and the young Lord of Horn Hill helped her to board a flat-bellied pleasure barge. There were to be eight people aboard. Two polemen and captain managed the boat. A serving girl was to take care of their drink and a black-haired woman from Lorath played harp. Catelyn joined Arya and Lord Willas. Their other companions and guards were to sail on other vessels.

Despite the warmth, the day was pleasant, with neat gardens passing on both shores. But they were not here just to enjoy themselves. “Lord Tyrell, what do you know of the situation in the North?” Catelyn asked while the castle was still well in sight.  

“The White Harbor stands by you, so do the Glowers, the Reeds and the houses from the mountains. The rest of the land is either lawless or ruled by the Bastard of Bolton.” Willas Tyrell did not hesitate with an answer. “Some of the wildlings now reside in the New Gift. The Watch is in ruins, not even twenty black brothers remain. You declared them pardoned and free of their wows. That was because of Jon Snow, wasn’t it?”

“The Watch was too broken to be repaired.” Arya answered. “But yes, it was for Jon too. No one had heard of him for years. I know it’s stupid, but I hope that one day he might reappear.” 

Catelyn had fought tooth and nail with her daughter over her decision to end the Watch, but Arya would not back an inch. No matter how great threat would Jon Snow pose in an unlikely event that he returned.  If Willas Tyrel shared Cat’s sentiment he did not show it. He covered Arya’s hand with his own, “I know what it is to miss a sibling. Wishing desperately that there was just one more moment you could have spent together.”

Instead of refusing his touch, Arya gave him a grateful smile.

By noon the campaign in the North was planned in rough, though no word of marriage was mentioned. Yet Catelyn could not miss that Arya had warmed towards the Lord of Highgarden. When the business was concluded the two had taken into watching for fish in the Mander. Catelyn was somehow left out, but she could not complain. There was enough to look at and the music the Lorathi woman was playing was beautiful.

“There are clouds in the sky.” Arya pointed as they were passing through a thick, wet forest. There was just the barest hint of white shapes over the treetops. As the boat moved through another of gentle meanders, they disappeared from their sight only to emerge again, bigger and darker.   

“The heat might bring storms.” Willas Tyrell commented. He approached the captain and they talked quietly for a while. “It might be better if we change our plan. There is a hunting lodge not half of an hour downriver.” Yet in no time the wind rose up, the sky darkened, and the waters of the river became wild.

“We should land now, my lord.” The captain’s voice was calm, but Catelyn could see the worries of the two polemen.

“Eye, do that.” The order was shouted to the other boats and with some effort they began to draw towards the flat gravel shore. Half of the passengers were already at the solid ground, when Catelyn felt a strong shove as one of the other vessels became uncontrollable and crashed into them. There was a heavy splash.

“Lord Willas!” someone shouted.

Another splash followed. Instinctively Catelyn turned to Arya. Her daughter was not at her place. Arya was in water, half-swimming, half being carried by the rising current. The girl was trying to reach the Tyrell.

“Follow them on the shore!” one of the Highgarden men called and the northmen joined the effort. Catelyn tried to follow, but soon the small beach in grazing land ended. The shore changed to thick bushes, rock and fallen trees. Despite her desperate efforts she could not keep up.

“Arya!” she screamed even though her daughter could not hear.

A bolt flashed above, and a thunder followed almost in an instant. The sky opened and it began to pour. The fall was so heavy, that Catelyn felt as if she herself was drowning. Yet she could not stop, if she did, she might have time to think about Arya never returning from that river.

Drenched and out of breath she finally saw guards standing on the bank formed in half-circle. They were shading whatever was happening from her view. The sky lighted again and again and the thunders outshouted even the deep rumble of the river. Cat paid it no mind. Her lugs pinched with each step, but she ran barely feeling it.

Silently she showed two men apart to have a look. She is alive! Arya, on hands and knees, was hovering over Willas Tyrell. The Lord of Highgarden was coughing quietly. Cat would have rushed to her daughter, but then she glimpsed the lord’s face. There was not a fear of relief, what she saw was lust. Maybe he was still too shaken to guard his feelings. Maybe it was the indecency of Arya’s grab. Torn and drenched the light white gown displayed as much as it hid. The sight disquieted Catelyn more than she could put into words. No matter all the alliances for a mad moment she could have attacked the man to make him stop looking at her child like that.

Just then one of the guards finally spurred into action and offered Arya his cloak. It was no drier then the girl’s own clothes, but at least not as transparent.

The hunting lodge was only a league from where they had left the river, but with Willas Tyrell moving even slower than usually, the storm had ended before they even reached it. The steward had warm baths prepared for them and thick stew was ordered from kitchens. By the evening the event that might have ended in tragedy seemed just an interesting tale to tell. In the modest dining hall Arya sat at the head of the table and laughed with her men openly. Willas Tyrell though, not as mirthful, seemed never far from her side. 

The return to Highgarden was mercifully uneventful. There was no other storm only a light rain caught them twice or trice. On the following day Catelyn found Arya in the small garden sitting in front of the weirwood tree.

“The Singers are magnificent, but I like this one better. I have never seen such a young weirwood in the North.”

“Lady Leonette thinks this garden desolate. They repaired this wing only year past and plan to rearrange the garden when the heats pass.”

“They can’t! I’ve never thought there could be a place like this in the south.” Arya opposed hotly. “I must tell Willas.”

Catelyn was glad for an opening. “You have warmed towards the man.”

Arya shrugged, but her mother did not miss a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “He’s not bad, but I don’t want to be the Lady of Highgarden. If I marry Willas, everyone will expect that his will and his choices will come first.”

She is not wrong in that, Catelyn knew. When she herself married and came to Winterfell, she had little doubts about her place. Her mother and later her septa had engraved that knowledge into her heart. Cat had helped her father and later Ned to run their castle, but it was as a daughter and wife. Arya was different. Both by her own nature and the shadow of a crown Robb’s choices casted over her head.

Suddenly Catelyn felt as if she knew just the words to say. She wished nothing more than for Arya to marry well, but her talk with Willas Tyrell at the tower’s roof and the look in his eyes as he lied at the banks of the Mander disquieted her. Yet he is not truly a bad man. And Arya never seemed to warm to any of the others. If she doesn’t marry this one than whom? “Lord Willas is fond of you. He set the rules of the alliance, but you can set the rules for your marriage.”

Her daughter looked at her surprised before she bit her lip. “Is there some special way I should dress. Should I wait, or speak to him soon? I would feel better if we were still talking war.”

“It’s not that different. Think about what you will demand and what you will offer. You can’t wait till the last day, but you still have some time.” Considering the other question, Catelyn gave her daughter more throughfall look. Since the rains began, the air had cooled and Arya had exchanged silk for linen, yet the girl wore it with same ease. “You look pretty, this will do.”

If her daughter had been surprised before, now she seemed astonished. I don’t tell her that often, do I? Catelyn could not recall.  But surely, she must have called her pretty at least when Arya was a child.

“Your grace, my lady, Lord Willas is about,” a guard called from outside.

Willas Tyrell looked his usual self, but he smiled openly when he saw Arya. “Princess, my lady, I am sorry to interrupt your time together. I hoped to show Princess Arya her gift. I was thinking about it for your nameday, but I discern that saving my life so bravely deserves a reward.”

“You should think of another gift for my nameday then.” Arya’s own smile was unusually impish.

“I sure will.”

Catelyn suspected that the invitation included her only by a necessary courtesy, but she followed them anyway. Though not missing his cane, there was new vigor to Lord Willas’ movement. He guided them to the largest yard. Catelyn was more than glad to be shown the way, but Arya took the lead as soon as she learned the destination. The girl never needed long to become familiar with any place, be it swamp or huge sprawling castle.

Outside, three of the ever-present dogs lazed near the stables, but of men there was only Willas’ huntsman waiting for them. On his hand perched the most beautiful hawk Catelyn had ever seen. The day was overcast, still, the bird’s feathers shone. The wings, even folded, gave away the hidden power.

“You will need this.” Willas Tyrell helped to fasten a thick leather glove on Arya’s hand, and seated the bird on it. “She’s my best.” In a quiet voice he gave the girl the last instructions and Arya freed the bird to flight.

Strong wings flapped. The hawk circled above the yard and disappeared beyond the castle walls. For a while, they could not see the bird and Catelyn began to wonder if it could have fled, but Willas Tyrell seemed unconcerned. Arya’s face was even calmer, her eyes strangely dreamy. 

“Beautiful,” the girl whispered, when the hawk finally reappeared.

“Yes, she is.” It was in the voice. Catelyn knew even before she turned that the Lord of Highgarden was not looking at the bird. His left hand held his cane, the right came to rest on Arya’s arm.

I have to leave them. If this marriage is to take place, they need to sort the matters between themselves. There’s no other way. Yet, something was stopping her. Catelyn was torn between the instinct to protect and her own wish to see her daughter wed. Arya was apt with bow and knife and fearless in the face of danger, yet still so young. Much younger than the man standing next to her.

Before she could decide another person entered. Lady Desmera did not seem as cheerful as Catelyn came to know her. There was a hint of sadness and resignation as she watched Lord Willas and Arya, his hand still at Arya’s arm. Whenever Willas Tyrell ever loved lord Redwyne’s daughter or not, she had clearly loved him. Maybe there could be another marriage arranged for her. It would do no good for old loves to haunt the castle. And it’s well past time Edmure married again and had other children aside of that half-Frey daughter.

The redhead handed her cousin a sealed message. “There was a raven from Brightwater keep.” Whenever the Redwyne girl had known how urgent the news was, or if she just fished for a pretense to seek Lord Willas, Catelyn could only guess, but within two hours he was away. It took more time before she learned that Arya went with him.

***

The prayers had ended, and Catelyn was leaving the sept with other women, when she heard the disquiet outside. At first, she thought that maybe Arya and Lord Willas had returned, but the voices sounded angry.

“I better have a look at that,” Lady Leonette declared. Catelyn followed her to a side entrance towards a smaller yard.

Aside of Tyrell guards and onlookers from castle, there was a group of five strange men. Their clothes must had counted every fabric known to man. Linen and silk, brocade and velvet. Bright and faded, but mostly tattered and stained by wine and blood. Each of the wearers displayed a well-used weapon and a share of broken teeth or scars. Sellswords by the first glance, and not a good kind.

Their leader, a short bald man spoke with Essosi accent so thick Cat hardly understood half of the words. “Lord, lord of castle. Man wants see lord.”

“Lord Willas, is not here,” answered Ser Igon Vyrwel, who had been appointed as castellan. His tone suggested that if Lord Willas was here, the answer would be that the lord did not have time for the likes of this.

“Man wants see lord,” the sellsword insisted.

“Tell me what you want and I might let the lord know.” The castellan retorted none too patiently.

The sellsword captain contemplated the suggestion for a moment before he beckoned one of his companions. A carved ebony box was brought out. It might have been a beautiful once, but it had seen better decades. The man opened the box and an odd mix of rum and decay filled the air.

Ser Igon looked inside and took a step back in disgust. Lady Leonette almost fainted and had to be helped by her handmaiden to keep her feet. Tentatively, Catelyn approached the box herself. She gasped breathing a handful of that foul air. Inside was stocked a severed woman’s head. That did not shock Cat. She had seen her share of death in her life, it was something else.

“I know her.” She said faintly. The dead woman’s hair was cut short and soaked in rum. Age or death had added weigh to her cheeks, but yet… Catelyn still knew her, even if it had been years. We remember those we love well, and those we hate even better. “This is… was Cersei Lannister.”

Lady Leonette gathered the courage to look at the head again. “Yes, it looks like her.”

“What do you want with that? Why didn’t you bring her alive?” Ser Igon demanded to know from the sellsword captain.

The other man just shrugged. “Bad water on ship. Dies before man come. That one trouble for you, trouble for man too. Bitch does not pay what she promises. Man wants gold. Five thousand dragons.”

“We must wait for the return of Lord Willas. In the meantime, you are allowed to stay in our hospitality.” Igon Vyrwel did not seem happy with his own choice.

 The word spread through the castle like a fire. Maids with heads bent close, a page running with an errand to a knight, gardeners in the shade of a peach tree – none talked about anything else but Cersei Lannister. Catelyn felt lightheaded. She had hated the Lannister woman, but she found that she did not feel any happier seeing her head in a box. It would not bring Ned back, or the boys. She thought about her daughters. Sansa would wish to know, I should write to her. Catelyn’s elder daughter had suffered much in King’s Landing. As for Arya… Cat remembered the angry child Sandor Clegane had brought to Riverrun. Some of that had subdued over the years, but Arya had never forgot or forgiven. Walder Frey had died of old age, but Arya had taken the head of Black Walder herself. Will she be happy another of our enemies is dead, will she wish she had killed the woman herself, or feel as little as I? Where is she even now? Catelyn still felt uneasy about the absence of her daughter.  

It did not take long to pen a short message about Cersei to Sansa. At the end Catelyn hesitated. There was still enough place. Her quill hovered idly over the parchment. She took it aside before she made a blot. Sansa would wish to know how things were progressing with their alliance and Arya’s marriage. But Catelyn did not know what to write. Arya warmed towards Willas Tyrell, but nothing was certain. In the end Cat only added few words about the weather and gardens.

There was no raven able to fly straight to the Eyrie. The bird was sent to Riverrun. Catelyn trusted maester Vyman to send it forth. She was still at the foot of the rookery when Aregelle Flint met her.

“They threw the head to a pigpen!” The girl told her out of breath.

“The head?”

“Cersei Lannister’s head.” Added Dickon Tarly. As he spoke, Catelyn noticed how close he was standing to the girl. Aregelle Flint was of age with Arya, more flashy than willowy, but with generous curves. Though, for what was worth, she seemed to pay the handsome young lord next to her no mind.

“I saw it from the window,” the girl added excitedly. “It rolled back and forth in filth and one pig even chewed on it a little. The swineherd wanted to get rid of it, but they didn’t allow him at first. The kitchen maid told me they threw it over walls after. Some urchin fished it from the moat and run away.”

There was little doubt wild tales would spread, but if the girl saw it herself, it was likely truth. Catelyn frowned. She could not help but think that something was amiss. Ser Igon surely meant to keep the head for Lord Willas’ arrival.  

The castellan of Highgarden was not alone when she found him. Loras Tyrell sat in a high chair by a paned window. His scarred face did not look any less hideous in bright daylight. When the former Kingsguard saw her, he dismissed the castellan by a gesture of hand.

“Lady Catelyn,” the youngest Tyrell greeted her in a weak, wheezy voice, “you came to complain about the head too?”

A suspicion came upon her. “It was you who had it thrown to pigs.”

“As was my right. I am still my brother’s heir even if the rest of the world finds it easier to pretend that they have buried me already.”

You are the heir, at least until your brother marries Arya and she gives him another. One much more fitting. And how much resentment do you feel over that, ser?  “She was already dead,” Catelyn reminded him.

“A shame. I would have preferred her alive. To see eye to eye.” The eyelid over his own remaining good eye descended even further making it just a narrow dark slit. “I have been waiting for this for years. So have your daughter.”

“Arya would have taken Cersei’s life herself, if she could.” Catelyn allowed.

Loras’ hissing laugh ended with a cough. “She told me as much. Despite the different looks, you two are rather alike. Both frank and neither knows how to keep of the castle’s corridors you are not welcome to. Your daughter is young and able as I’ve once been, but hopefully not so stupid. I wish for my brother to be happy.”

That night Catelyn did not sleep well. In her dreams he saw Robb’s severed and rolling in the pig dung. It had been a relief when a soft touch woken her. It was Arya. The girl was still in her traveling clothes and her braid was damp. Outside, rain was falling.

“You are back.” Catelyn embraced her. “You shouldn’t have left, and without guards too.”

“Willas had enough of his men with him. If I am to ever marry him, I have to trust him. How were you?” Cat’s daughter barely paid the reproach any mind. It was not the first time Arya had heard this from her mother. It was not the first time the girl had left her guards behind. It was stranger that she let herself to be surrounded by Tyrell men. Do you trust their lord? Do I?

“I was well. There have been some tidings. Cersei Lannister is dead. Some sellswords brought us her head. I saw it myself.”

“I know.” Arya bit her lip. “Loras Tyrell is dead too.”

“How?” Catelyn had not expected that.  

“He took his own life with a dagger. Willas is distraught. I happened shortly before we returned. There is to be a funeral on the morrow. Willas asked if I wanted it a day later, but I saw no reason. There will be no one coming from afar.”

I have been waiting for this for years, Ser Loras had told her, his ruined mouth barely fit to form the words. Might be it was the last thing which tied him to life. Catelyn wondered if she could have been the last one to speak with him. Briefly, she thought about asking why Willas wanted to postpone the ceremony, but she remembered just in time. The morrow was Arya’s sixteenth nameday. 

Most houses in Westeros followed the Seven. They sang the same hymns, celebrated the same holy days, lit candles at the same altars. But when it came to death they differed. The Lannisters lied their dead into tombs in the heart of their rock. Tullys burned them above the waters of the river. And it was even said about the old Arryn kings that their dead bodies were left at the top of towers to be returned to the sky by vultures. It was fitting that in the Reach where wealth came from soil a grave was simply dug into the ground.

It was raining. It was far from the heats which had ruled the land not so long ago, yet the assembled company reminded Catelyn of that blazing day, when she had met Willas Tyrell for the first time. There was her and Arya, Lady Leonette and Lady Desmera – for once dressed alike in black. But aside of the septon, a young man with dull face and four footmen helping with the coffin, there was no one else.  

The lichyard like so much else in Highgarden was overgrown with roses. Catelyn took note of some of the newer graves. A beautiful marble statue of a young maiden stood where Lady Margaery was buried, and even sadder was the place by Garlan Tyrell’s grave waiting for his wife.  

“This is not how I imagined your nameday,” Catelyn told Arya once they were back in their chambers. “You deserved a celebration.”

“I don’t mind. I wouldn’t be a celebration anyway, no matter if it was before or after the funeral. And I bet that there would be feasts in the North and Riverlands today. If for nothing else, it gives my bannermen good pretense to drink.”

“In that, I’m afraid, you are right.” Catelyn could very well imagine her brother Edmure making toast to his niece’s health, but barely being able to remember her name by the end of the night. And the Umbers were likely to drink trice as much in their halls, though even that might not be enough to get them too drunk. “I have something for you.” Catelyn put out a small item wrapped in a piece of fabric from her chest.

It was a bracelet of gold and silver, wrought in intricate pattern. “There was a war and your father was never a man to pay much mind to jewelry, but he bought me this from White Harbor, when he learned we were to wed. Your Aunt Lysa bended it by mishap, and I have half forgotten about it once I left for Winterfell, but I found it some moons ago and had it repaired.”

“Father gave it to you?”

“He did.” It felt like a lifetime, since she had seen it for the first time. A hint of expectation had loomed behind Eddard’s stern mask when he held it for her. Catelyn hoped he had never learned how plain she thought the piece then. But she knew where the value lied for her daughter. Arya would not have cared if it was gold of copper. It was something her father once held in his hands.

“Thank you, mother. Willas has a lot to arrange, but I have sent all my ravens already, I have time. I can show you the gardens, if you wish. The rain has stopped.”       

They were already walking on a gravel path among neatly cut bushes, when Catelyn asked, “Had you decided about the marriage?”

Arya shook her head. “Not today. Give three more days and I will tell you, both of you.”

***

Cat would have never known if it had been another chamber. But neither of the two, it seemed, saw a reason to be that careful. So it happened, that when she walked into Arya’s chamber that early morning, she found her sharing bed with Willas Tyrell. The Lord of Highgarden remained silent and his face betrayed even less. Before Catelyn could have done anything, Arya slipped from under the blankets. The girl dressed unhurriedly in the shift which lied at nearby at the chair. “We can talk, if you wish,” Cat’s daughter offered calmly.

Wordlessly, they exited the room. Cat did not trust herself to look at the man behind. “That was most foolish of you,” she erupted once they were out of earshot. She fought not to raise her voice too much. “If anyone learned of this, he loses almost nothing, but you would be ruined!”

“No,” Arya answered unfazed “the men who want me for Robb’s crown would not care as long as there is no bastard in my belly. And even then, some might think it as good enough bargain.”

“Why?” Was the mild Lord of Highgarden in the end no better than wandering singers who lured milkmaids behind stables for few sweet words? Was it Arya’s naivety, or her wildness?

“I was curious,” Cat’s daughter answered as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Even you have to agree it’s better to be him than some sweaty lad from docks.”

Catelyn would have given much for a belief, that Arya would never do such a thing. “I hope you have the faintest idea what you are doing. He is twice your age, he knows it damn well. You have lived through much more than I would have wished, but when it comes to men, don’t think you know any more than the next village girl.”

Arya’s grey eyes darkened. “And yet you were prepared to sell me to him even before you met him.”    

“What else I could do? The world is what it is, I didn’t make the rules.”

The words did nothing to calm Cat’s daughter. “Do not worry, mother. There would be a marriage you so wished for,” she retorted still angry and left.

The weather finally allowed it and after lunch a large company rode out to have a look at the Reach’s true wealth – its fertile fields and orchards. Were her mind not so preoccupied Catelyn might have found interest in it. The wheat had been already harvested, but there was still much to admire. Rows of garlic, parsley and melons, even Dornish burning peppers and apple trees which bore more apples than leaves. Yet her eyes kept shifting to the pair at the head.

Arya exchanged her gown for riding leathers. She was hard to overlook as she rode upon the top of a magnificent grey mare. Lord Willas kept close, for once seemingly unbothered by his bad leg. Catelyn wished she could simply despise him for seducing her daughter, but Arya had been right. No one had wished for that marriage more than Catelyn herself.

“It seems there will be no long betrothal,” Lady Leonette commented softly. Catelyn turned to the other woman startled. Could she know, she wondered. But there was no mockery at Lady Leonette’s gentle face, or in her next words. “I didn’t think they would take to each other so well. Your daughter is quite unusual, but maybe that is just what was needed. My Garlan once said, that Willas was not the one to get attached easily, but steadier that stars once his heart was roused. He will be a loyal husband.”

“That is good to hear.” Because there seems to be nothing that could stop that marriage now.     

“What about you, my lady? Will you move to Highgarden with your daughter? I heard there is to be a war in the North, but surely, once it’s won Willas and Princess Arya will return here.”

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Catelyn answered honestly. All was so uncertain when they were riding to the Reach. It seemed foolish to make any plans for the future then. Arya will need me during campaign in the North, she told herself, but was it true? And Cat felt so weary of war. Briefly she imagined returning to Riverrun, to her childhood home. But with Arya away, Edmure would be the true ruler of the castle. And then there was the child. Catelyn could barely look at her, she could not forget who the girl’s mother had been. Maybe I could stay with Sansa. Cat’s older daughter was easy to come along, Catelyn had never quarreled with her tenth as much as with Arya. Yet the Eyrie itself, so high and remote, held little appeal. Maybe, one day I could even return to Winterfell and spent the rest of my day with its ghosts.   

The feast that night was a cheerful affair. Willas Tyrell wore dark grey and black, but aside of that there was little to show that he had buried his last brother just few days past. How many even know, how many care? For most of the world, Loras Tyrell had been as good as dead for years.

Unlike more somber appearance of the lord of the castle Arya shone that evening. Her gown was rich green with bodice embroidered by golden thread. The colors of house Tyrell. It must have been a gift from Lord Willas. Briefly, Catelyn wondered when it had been sown. She couldn’t imagine any woman fitting it as much as her daughter. It was not the only gift Arya wore, on her wrist Catelyn noticed the bracelet she had given her for her nameday.

The announcement of betrothal between Arya Stark and the Lord of Highgarden came as no surprise to anyone with eyes. The toasts were drunk, and the plans were announced. Catelyn’s daughter was to return to Riverrun where Willas would soon follow her. The wedding was to take place in the moon turn. And then, as soon as the rest of the Reach’s army arrived, they were to continue North. Indeed, no long betrothal. I will need to write to Sansa again.

There was the best food and best singers and dancing. Neither Arya, nor Willas joined, but little Lady Bethany barely let her feet rest and more than once Catelyn glimpsed Aregelle Flint with Lord Dickon among the crowd. Artos Umber danced every dance with different lady with nary a misstep. It would have been a pleasant evening, yet Catelyn still felt lingering disquiet.

Upon the return to her chamber, she ordered a bath to be prepared. Soon they would hit the roads again and there would be little of such luxuries. She was still it the water scented by sop and oils, when Arya came to seek her.

The girl was already dressed for the bed in her night robe, her hair flowing free. Catelyn’s daughter seated herself by the large copper tube. “Are you still angry?” she asked.

“Don’t except my approval when you take a man to your bed just for a fancy. Even if he is to be your husband.”

“Have you ever regretted you got me back all those years ago at Riverrun?” Arya asked in a small voice.

Even in the warm bath, Catelyn felt herself tense. She looked at her daughter’s face. The question was no guile to quench their argument. For all Arya could summon smile or from on command when dealing with her bannermen she held her heart open, when it came to family.

Few drops from the bath splashed on the floor as Catelyn reached for her daughter’s hand. “How can you ask that? You are my daughter, I thank the gods every day I got you back. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I didn’t.”

“You have Sansa too. Will you go to the Vale after I marry?”

“I was thinking about it.” Catelyn saw that was not what Arya wished to hear. “It has been years and I barely spent time with your sister. You will have your own family soon.”

Arya made a face. “I like Willas, but he is not the family.”

“He will be.” Catelyn promised. “You’ll see.”

At the day of their departure Catelyn did not expect to be awoken even before dawn. The Tyrell maid led her through the quiet dark corridors towards the lord’s solar. The woman’s face was full of apology and she all but fled once they reached the door.

Willas Tyrell sat alone in front of a small fire kindled in the heart. There had been a storm in the night and the corridors grew chilly, but the room was pleasantly warm. Though Catelyn knew well that whatever she was about to hear, would not be pleasant. When was anyone woken in the dark of night for good tidings?

“My lady, forgive me this most unusual summons, but I had to know before you left. There was a raven, it came shortly before dusk. I have been thinking about it ever since, I couldn’t sleep.” He did look the part with disheveled hair and dark circles under his eyes. Without further explanation Lord Willas handed her a small, tattered piece of parchment.

It was written in a flowing, quick hand of a scribe or a scholar. Yet the words took her far from small shops filled with scrolls or dusty shelves of libraries.

The rumor I wrote about the last time proved to hold truth. We found traces of man and direwolf in a cave in the Frostfangs. Jon Snow was there. If what the spearwife told us is true, he passed the place not two years past heading northwest. One of my companions died of bad bely, two disappeared, likely fled. Five remain. There is still a game to be found here, this is the last raven, but I will continue as far as I can.

Samwell Tarly

“Who is that man?” Could it be true? For years Catelyn had slept more lightly believing her husband’s bastard rested in some frozen grave.

“Sam is Dickon Tarly’s older brother. Honest to a bone and the last man I would expect to be heading to the lands unmarked in any map. He is the opposite of his late father and that would be why lord Tarly forced him to take the black. But not even the Wall could change him into fighter. Instead they sent him to Oldtown to become their maester. He didn’t take the wow though, at least not the master’s one. Some could argue that with Watch gone he is the true heir of Horn Hill, but he never wished for his brother’s place. I granted him the little gold he requested to return to the Wall. He did not stop there. Apparently, Jon Snow had been his friend.”

“Have you told my daughter?” 

“No. At first, I didn’t want to give her false hopes. I lived through enough of those. It was just a rumor and by the time you arrived I hadn’t heard from Sam in months. I wasn’t certain I will ever again. But now…” Fire reflected in Willas Tyrell’s brown eyes. His mouth was set tight. “From what Arya told me, she was very close to her half-brother. What would happen if I told her now?”

“She would never let it rest. She couldn’t,” Catelyn answered honestly. “It took her long to accept he is likely dead, if she even did. I suspect that one of the reasons she wants to gain the North so quickly is to be able to travel to the Wall and learn what happened to the bastard.”

“And if I show her this and she never finds him?”

“She’ll never stop searching.”

Willas Tyrell gave the piece of parchment hard look. For once, Catelyn could guess what was going through his head. Why now? Why it has to happen when everything was almost settled. Will Arya even proceed with the marriage, or will she throw the consequences into wind and hurry north?

Before Catelyn could gather what was happening, the Lord of Highgarden snatched the message from the table and threw it into fire. Within few moments the parchment burned and fell apart.

“My daughter will never forgive you, if she learns you kept this from her!” Catelyn warned him, aghast.

“Then all I can do is hope that she never will.” There was something queer about Willas Tyrell’s face. It took Cat a moment to realize it was the light. Dawn broke behind the window.