Chapter 17:
Catelyn Stark:
‘The nest is empty’ Old Nan had said just hours after the Royal party and half her family had left for the south. Catelyn had dismissed the words; but here, now, just days later, Catelyn understood them emphatically.
Ned was gone, Bran was gone, Sansa was gone, Jory, Poole, many of the familiar guards and castle staff were gone.
Even the Bastard was gone.
Winterfell felt empty in a way she’d never experienced before.
And now, even Marianne and Bernadetta were leaving.
“I wish you could stay.” She smiled at the still ever so frightful Arryn girl.
She’d written to her sister to let them keep Bernadetta here, keep her away from the prince. But her sister had written back, politely but with an unequivocal no. Bernadetta was to be returned to the Eerie immediately.
At the very least, Catelyn was able to arrange for her to get away from the Royal family's clutches by negotiating a swift return through White Harbor; she would arrive in Gulltown at a fraction of the time it would take the Royal family to even cross the neck.
She was even able to mask it with Marianne’s own return home. To visit family before continuing towards the capital.
Bernadetta almost whimpered, looking miserable- “Yeah-” Was her quiet mumble.
The more Catelyn looked at the girl the more her heart broke for her; Bernadetta seemed like she truly did not want to go south, either to the Capital or her own mother.
At the very least she could get her away from her jailors in the royal family and send her back to Lysa.
She looked over the carriage; their finest. And the stablemaster had procured four of his finest horses to pull it. Even now she could see him checking the fittings on the beasts, fiddling with the bindings and once again looking at the hoof guards. He was almost more emotional than she was. He would miss Marianne.
Speaking of, Catelyn looked towards the girl that had been her family’s ward for nearly a decade now, already a woman grown for all of her sombre nature she was proud of the Manderly girl with the hair dyed blue.
“You’ll take good care of her won't you?” She asked and as always, dutiful, good Marianne answered with a nod and nary a protest.
“Of course.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, she feared the trip would be one of near sepulchral silence between the two girls from here to white harbor and Gulltown, one too frightened to speak, the other too solemn to initiate conversation.
But still, Bernadetta was heading home, and silent companionship or not that could only be a good thing.
She leaned forward, offering both girls kisses upon their foreheads. Such signs of affection were unbecoming, but it might be years before she saw either girl again.
“Gods be with you.” She tried to control the warble in her voice and for once, Marianne offered the faintest hint of a barely there smile, a ghost of gratitude lingering there
“You’ll always be welcome in Winterfell.” Robb finally added from where he stood just a few paces behind her. As the Stark in Winterfell it was now his place.
Just behind him, Hubert Bolton stood like a watchful shadow and Catelyn was glad of his presence; he seemed a smart lad, and Robb who in spite of her efforts would miss the Bastard and wish for him to stand where Bolton stood now, would need a dependable advisor and ally when he became Lord of Winterfell, the Boltons were one of the three strongest bannermen the Starks could call upon.
At the very least; he could counterbalance Theon’s illbegotten influence.
“Thank you Robb.” Marianne nodded back at him, that faint hint of a smile vanishing like a thin veil of smoke.
Felix wasn’t here, she hoped he would be. He’d always been closer to Marianne than many of his own siblings. But alas, her third child’s moods were always a mystery to her. Marianne offred a shallow, polite bow, before turning to Bernadetta. “Shall we miss Arynn?”
Little Bernie nodded with non existent confidence, turning and climbing into the carriage.
Before she marched into the carriage after Bernadetta, Marianne offered the Stable Master a bow. “Please, take care of Dorte for me.”
“She’ll want for nothing milady.” The man all but blubbered, sniffing as he took off the cap from his balding head.
Again, another tiny smile. Two in one day.
And then she climbed into the carriage. With the crack of reigns the horses began to move, pulling the whole contraption behind them, off now to white Harbor.
And so the last of them left, the nest much much emptier than Catelyn remembered it ever being.
Catelyn Stark felt herself sigh ever so softly, her shoulders falling.
For years she’d wondered at Ned’s insistence at keeping his children in winterfel. No fosterings, no distant betrothals… She’d thought him so odd for the longest time.
Stuid ot her. Her husband had always been so very thoughtful in his own way.
—
Dimitri Baratheon:
"Your Grace; If you’ll allow my humble opinion to sway you- I believe that it truly is a wonderful opportunity for the young prince and you would be serving his future prospects very well if you would allow him to Foster here in the North.”
The words bounced around in the crown prince’s skull even though he’d heard them nearly three days ago.
It just… didn’t make sense.
His mother, as he and his father expected, had been wroth at the notion of leaving Tommen behind in Winterfell with his betrothed. She’d all but forbidden any such thing, he’d hoped that broaching the subject with her, publicly in the grand hall would curb her vehemence against it and at the absolute least she had worded her disagreement in fairly polite terms… but she had been firm.
And then, Lord Bolton of all people stepped forward, with a swagger and a devil may care smile, the young lord of the Dreadfort had voiced his opinion on the matter, and his mother, just like that; relented.
At the time, Dimitri genuinely had just been grateful that the whole argument had been settled, and that Tommen had seemed genuinely excited at the notion that he’d stay with his betrothed and Foster like father had.
But he thought it over, and he thought it over. Again and again, rolling it around in his head; it… just didn’t make sense. His mother had looked at Bolton as little more than dirt to scrape off her boot just days earlier;
Why would his input suddenly sway her?
Riding behind his father and ser Jeralt Dimitri couldn’t make sense of it.
The Lord Bolton was miles behind them now, still in Winterfell, and he was hesitant to confront his mother, lest she be reminded of her ire at her youngest being left behind.
“Is something wrong my Prince?”
Ashe’s voice brought Dimitri’s attention to him, forcing a smile onto his face as he shook his head. “No it’s… it’s nothing.” He promised- then, pivoted to change the subject. “Honestly, I feel as though I should apologize-”
“Apologize?” Ashe blinked.
“I declared you my squire months ago, and yet I’ve hardly done anything to help you become a knight as of yet.” He said, still casting his eyes up and down the length of the caravan. They were surrounded by Lannister, Baratheon and now Stark men at arms. He knew he wouldn’t see any of Jeralt’s mercenaries, not this close to the head of the column, they were likely taking up the rear; and yet he try to catch a glimpse of that red furred monster that would show him where the lady Byleth was.
“Oh, there’s no need for an apology my prince, I know its been a busy time. A new Hand to be declared; betrothals. I would not presume to add more to your responsibilities.”
“Admirable of you.” Lorenz suddenly cantered up beside them, nodding in Dimitri’s direction. “Your show of patience does you credit- but even so Cousin, I’m afraid I must bring something to your attention.”
His cousin sounded serious and it immediately made Lorenz focus on him. “What’s the matter?”
Lorenz features scrunched up, as if he were swallowing a lemon. “It’s in regards to Connington.”
The son of Stannis Baratheon, for all that he had not inherited one iota of Stannis’ lack of charm; was still a man who valued honesty above nearly all things, and he’d made no secret of the fact that he did not trust Connington as far as he could throw him.
But even so, Claude had so far done nothing to warrant that mistrust. “Lorenz-” Dimitri found himself groaning.
“No, listen please.” Lorenz held up his hand, the level of impropriety, interrupting the prince, coming from him of all people did more to make Dimitri hold his tongue than any particular belief that his cousin would change Dimitri’s opinion. “While in Winterfell, we of course enjoyed our hosts hospitality, we interacted with the Starks and the Northern bannermen, but never once did I see Claude interact with anyone other than Robb Stark- and yet suddenly, just before we leave I see him talking with Lord Bolton-”
And just like that, the crown Prince’s mouth clicked shut.
“W-well-” Ashe stuttered. “Lord Bolton recently came to be the lord of the dreadfort after losing his father and brother, perhaps Lord Connington, having shared similar tragic experiences tried to simply offer advice or encouragement?”
“Please.” Lorenz scoffed. “Bolton was being investigated by Lord Stark. I know Connington is scheming something; and whatever it is I don't like it; much less if it involves someone being investigated for potential kinslaying..”
His Cousin looked at him dead in the eye. “I know you wish to think the best of people, and I do not have proof but I implore you; do not trust Claude Connington.”
“I will be on my guard.” He promised. “But… he has done nothing to earn our enmity and until then I will not treat him as such.”
Lorenz didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t protest either.
But even so- Hubert Bolton. His name emerges yet again in something that doesn’t seem to fit properly.
Perhaps he should confront his mother- do something to settle his own doubts and thoughts. He was certain he was just… being paranoid…
Paranoia was a common sign of madness…
—
By the time the sun began to set and camp was being set up once again; he was finally able to dismount, sure that he’d be feeling soreness in the morning. The weeks-long stay at Winterfell had let his body lose the memory of riding for hours on end every day. Getting used to it again would be… irritating.
“There is always someone better.”
“You dont understand; I can accept better but this wasn’t that it was… she was barely even human. It was like she’d already seen the fight a thousand times beforehand and knew exactly where to strike, how to move.”
“As I said, there’s always someone better.”
The conversation drew his attention to his left, where the Kingsguard were stabling their horses besides a great pine tree, tying the reigns to the massive trunk. Ser Barristan and uncle Jamie.
They didn’t notice him yet and he did not interrupt, curious as to what exactly they were discussing.
“There is always someone better.” Barristan repeated. “Still-” He paused, beginning to undo the saddle from his horse, other Kingsguards had squires to assist, Barristan had none. “-it is surprising that a woman can be as skilled as you claim. Perhaps her father is as good as they say.”
“Dont tell me you believe it suddenly-” Jamie protested. “That he and he alone killed Arthur-”
“Not alone.” Barristan interrupted with a sigh. “But he did kill them. They did not fall on their swords. Arthur was the finest blade I ever saw, Velaryon not far behind, but Arthur himself always said ‘there’s always someone better’ ser Jamie. Your enmity towards Ser Jeralt for taking lives in a war- it does you no credit.”
His uncle’s face was neutral, but his voice was practically doing the job of sneering all on its own. “Do you not want to avenge them?”
“I am a Kingsguard; we foreswore such things along with heirs and families of our own.” Barristan answered. “We have no right to vengeance.”
His uncle scoffed. “Speak for yourself.”
And Barristan turned to look at his younger colleague, staring him dead in the eye, as he answered this too. “I’m trying to speak for Arthur.”
At that, his uncle fell silent.
Impulsively, the prince stepped forward, entering Barristan’s field of view, who straightened. “Prince Dimitri.” The older man said, half in greeting and half in announcement.
The other white shields who heard, paused what they were doing, standing straight and offering their courtesy bows as Dimitri waved them off.
“As you were-” He nodded. “Uncle, might I borrow you for a moment?”
His Uncle smiled that devil may care smile, the one that said he was troubled but hiding it; he’d been seeing too much of that smile these last few days. “But of course.”
They walked away, gaining some semblance of privacy through physical distance between themselves and those around them.
“What can I help you with, oh nephew of mine?”
Nothing for it. Dimitri took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you might speak to mother.”
That made his uncle raise an eyebrow. “Oh, about what?”“Tommen.” Dimitri nodded. “She was very much against the idea but then Lord Bolton voiced his support and she dropped the matter. It’s… unlike her.”
His uncle laughed suddenly. “It is isn’t it- still, I’ll speak with her, I’m sure she had a decent reason.”
Dimitri hoped so.
Suddenly however, there was a commotion nearby, a noticeable uptick in raised voices beyond what was normal;
Then he heard a shout-
“Lord Stark! Where is Lord Stark!”
The urgency in the man’s voice immediately made Dimitri concerned, and with a shared look between himself and his uncle the two of them turned and began making their way over at a brisk pace.
A crowd had already begun gathering around the man; a man dressed in Stark colours, a guard from Winterfell.
“Please! I must speak with Lord Stark.” The man was frantic, a horse that was breathing heavily, clearly winded just a few paces behind him as he accosted a Lannister guardsman.
“Calm down and unhand me!” The Lannister protested.
“What’s wrong!?” Dimitri demanded as he came forward, Uncle Jamie right behind him.
“Prince!” The man gasped, and let go of the Lannister man, looking to close the distance before his uncle intercepted him.
“Speak!” Jamie demanded, hand grasping the man’s breastplate.
“My prince!” The man stammered. “I-it- the ladies! The ladies Arryn and Manderly-”
Immediately, Dimitri’s heart fell into his stomach; and he knew nothing good was about to be said by the panicking guards.
“Wildlings!” The man finally gasped. “They were attacked by wildlings!”
There was a roaring bellow, a horse neighing loudly and the crown prince turned his head to see that monstrous Blood steed stamping its foot as though ready to charge out into the fray.
Byleth sat atop it, and her eyes were as cold as the glacial winds of the north.
(X)(X)(X)
So I apologize for the delay but I'm gonna keep it real with you guys. The reason this chapter took so much longer to write than intended was because me and the boys/girls got sucked back into a game that decided to get its shit together.
Yeah, after so many years, me and my group of gaming buddies got back into Overwatch last week; and boy did it hook us. I havent touched 5v5 and probably never will but we got back into the grind in 6v6 and stadium game modes.
I used to be Masters/GM.
I placed in Plat xD
I'm either washed, or rusty as hell, probably both.
But either way; sorry for the delay, I'll try and make sure it doesn't happen again.
Next update, back to Frieren. :)