Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ASOS: Catelyn IV (Chapter 35)
Let the kings of winter have their cold crypt under the earth, Catelyn thought. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course.
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They laid Lord Hoster in a slender wooden boat, clad in shining silver armor, plate-and-mail.
In the wooden boat is a bunch of Tully paraphernalia. It's not terribly important, but it did make me realize House Tully doesn't have a Valyrian steel sword.
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Seven were chosen to push the funereal boat to the water, in honor of the seven faces of god. Robb was one, Lord Hoster's liege lord. With him were the Lords Bracken, Blackwood, Vance, and Mallister, Ser Marq Piper . . . and Lame Lothar Frey, who had come down from the Twins with the answer they had awaited. Forty soldiers rode in his escort, commanded by Walder Rivers, the eldest of Lord Walder's bastard brood, a stern, grey-haired man with a formidable reputation as a warrior.
I've really gotten away from reminding you all I still can't keep track of any of these Freys.
The author could randomly throw in a Pope Frey, and I wouldn't notice. They're all one Frey Unit at this point.
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"Walder Frey should be flayed and quartered!" he'd shouted. "He sends a cripple and a bastard to treat with us, tell me there is no insult meant by that."
Careful Edmure, a cripple and a bastard might one day be kings of the continent.
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The seven launched Lord Hoster from the water stair, wading down the steps as the portcullis was winched upward.
[...]
Bran and Rickon will be waiting for him, Catelyn thought sadly, as once I used to wait.
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"Now," her uncle urged. Beside him, her brother Edmure—Lord Edmure now in truth, and how long would that take to grow used to?—nocked an arrow to his bowstring. His squire held a brand to its point. Edmure waited until the flame caught, then lifted the great bow, drew the string to his ear, and let fly. With a deep thrum, the arrow sped upward. Catelyn followed its flight with her eyes and heart, until it plunged into the water with a soft hiss, well astern of Lord Hoster's boat.
Edmure cursed softly. "The wind," he said, pulling a second arrow. "Again." The brand kissed the oil-soaked rag behind the arrowhead, the flames went licking up, Edmure lifted, pulled, and released. High and far the arrow flew. Too far. It vanished in the river a dozen yards beyond the boat, its fire winking out in an instant. A flush was creeping up Edmure's neck, red as his beard. "Once more," he commanded, taking a third arrow from the quiver. He is as tight as his bowstring, Catelyn thought.
"I can do it," Edmure insisted.
This is why you can't take me anywhere. I would have started wheezing if I witnessed this.
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No sooner had the burning boat vanished from their sight than Edmure walked off. Catelyn would have liked to embrace him, if only for a moment; to sit for an hour or a night or the turn of a moon to speak of the dead and mourn. Yet she knew as well as he that this was not the time; he was Lord of Riverrun now, and his knights were falling in around him, murmuring condolences and promises of fealty, walling him off from something as small as a sister's grief. Edmure listened, hearing none of the words.
Would you just mourn, please? I'm begging you.
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Their father's death had been a mercy when it came at last
God, you aren't kidding.
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He wants so much to be a good king, to be brave and honorable and clever, but the weight is too much for a boy to bear. Robb was doing all he could, yet still the blows kept falling, one after the other, relentless. When they brought him word of the battle at Duskendale, where Lord Randyll Tarly had shattered Robett Glover and Ser Helman Tallhart, he might have been expected to rage. Instead he'd stared in dumb disbelief and said, "Duskendale, on the narrow sea? Why would they go to Duskendale?" He'd shook his head, bewildered. "A third of my foot, lost for Duskendale?"
Surely Robb has to realize someone ordered this.
Too many blows. Too many distractions.
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"I should have traded the Kingslayer for Sansa when you first urged it," Robb said as they walked the gallery. "If I'd offered to wed her to the Knight of Flowers, the Tyrells might be ours instead of Joffrey's. I should have thought of that."
You're lucky the Freys got to you before I could.
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Catelyn's heart skipped a beat. This is something he hates. Something he dreads to tell me. All she could think of was Brienne and her mission. "Is it the Kingslayer?"
"No. It's Sansa."
She's dead, Catelyn thought at once. Brienne failed, Jaime is dead, and Cersei has killed my sweet girl in retribution. For a moment she could barely speak. "Is . . . is she gone, Robb?"
No, it's much worse than that. 😭
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"Gone?" He looked startled. "Dead? Oh, Mother, no, not that, they haven't harmed her, not that way, only . . . a bird came last night, but I couldn't bring myself to tell you, not until your father was sent to his rest." Robb took her hand. "They married her to Tyrion Lannister."
Catelyn's fingers clutched at his. "The Imp."
Now tell him it's all his fault.
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"He swore to trade her for his brother," she said numbly. "Sansa and Arya both. We would have them back if we returned his precious Jaime, he swore it before the whole court. How could he marry her, after saying that in sight of gods and men?"
Catelyn, it's Tyrion. TYRION. He was scheming to free Jaime immediately after that same court session.
Mom, shake it off, I need you to get your head back in the game.
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"If I could I'd take his ugly head off. Sansa would be a widow then, and free. There's no other way that I can see. They made her speak the vows before a septon and don a crimson cloak."
Oh, well, if that's the only way, we must be shit out of luck. She spoke the vows before a septon! A septon. What else can we do?
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"I should have let Lysa push him out her Moon Door. My poor sweet Sansa . . . why would anyone do this to her?"
"For Winterfell," Robb said at once. "With Bran and Rickon dead, Sansa is my heir. If anything should happen to me . . ."
Where are you going with that thought?
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She clutched tight at his hand. "Nothing will happen to you. Nothing. I could not stand it. They took Ned, and your sweet brothers. Sansa is married, Arya is lost, my father's dead . . . if anything befell you, I would go mad, Robb. You are all I have left. You are all the north has left."
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"I am not dead yet, Mother."
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Suddenly Catelyn was full of dread. "Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood." Even she could hear the desperation in her voice. "You would not be the first king to bend the knee, nor even the first Stark."
His mouth tightened. "No. Never."
"There is no shame in it. Balon Greyjoy bent the knee to Robert when his rebellion failed. Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror rather than see his army face the fires."
"Did Aegon kill King Torrhen's father?" He pulled his hand from hers. "Never, I said."
He is playing the boy now, not the king.
Playing the boy, indeed. Takes a real king to know when to bend the knee on the Trident.
He is determined to die, Catelyn. I'm sorry, it's over.
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"The Lannisters do not need the north. They will require homage and hostages, no more . . . and the Imp will keep Sansa no matter what we do
I'm sure he'll try.
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Theon's murdered Bran and Rickon, so now all they need do is kill you . . . and Jeyne, yes.
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Robb's face was cold. "Is that why you freed the Kingslayer? To make a peace with the Lannisters?"
"I freed Jaime for Sansa's sake . . . and Arya's, if she still lives. You know that. But if I nurtured some hope of buying peace as well, was that so ill?"
"Yes," he said. "The Lannisters killed my father."
"Do you think I have forgotten that?"
"I don't know. Have you?"
Catelyn had never struck her children in anger, but she almost struck Robb then.
LET ME DO IT.
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Catelyn had been so lost in grief for her own that she had almost forgotten the two Freys she had agreed to foster. No more, she thought. Mother have mercy, how many more blows can we bear? Somehow she knew the next words she heard would plunge yet another blade into her heart. "The grandsons at Winterfell?" she made herself ask. "My wards?"
"Walder and Walder, yes. But they are presently at the Dreadfort, my lady. I grieve to tell you this, but there has been a battle. Winterfell is burned."
"Burned?" Robb's voice was incredulous.
[...]
Wordless with rage, Robb slammed a fist down on the table and turned his face away, so the Freys would not see his tears.
But his mother saw them. The world grows a little darker every day.
You know what's so great about Catelyn chapters? You get to keep reliving the worst parts of the story.
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"The women and children hid, my nephews Walder and Walder among them. With Winterfell in ruins, the survivors were carried back to the Dreadfort by this son of Lord Bolton's."
"Bolton's son?" Robb's voice was strained.
[...]
All I can tell you is that my nephews claim it was this bastard son of Bolton's who saved the women of Winterfell, and the little ones. They are safe at the Dreadfort now, all those who remain.
This is hell. I'm in hell.
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"I cannot speak to that. There is much confusion in any war. Many false reports.
I'd like to leave now.
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My lord father bids me tell Your Grace that he will agree to this new marriage alliance between our houses and renew his fealty to the King in the North, upon the condition that the King's Grace apologize for the insult done to House Frey, in his royal person, face to face."
An apology was a small enough price to pay, but Catelyn misliked this petty condition of Lord Walder's at once.
There you go! She hasn't totally lost it. She's back in the game.
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As you accept these terms, I am then instructed to offer Lord Tully the hand of my sister, the Lady Roslin, a maid of sixteen years.
Nobody go look up how old Edmure Tully is.
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Edmure shifted in his seat. "Might not it be better if I first met—"
"You'll meet when you're wed," said Walder Rivers curtly. "Unless Lord Tully feels a need to count her teeth first?"
Edmure kept his temper. "I will take your word so far as her teeth are concerned, but it would be pleasant if I might gaze upon her face before I espoused her."
You're also concerned about that age gap, right? Right? Edmure?
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Lame Lothar spread his hands. "My brother has a soldier's bluntness, but what he says is true. It is my lord father's wish that this marriage take place at once."
"At once?" Edmure sounded so unhappy that Catelyn had the unworthy thought that perhaps he had been entertaining notions of breaking the betrothal after the fighting was done.
"Has Lord Walder forgotten that we are fighting a war?" Brynden Blackfish asked sharply.
Is it too much to ask that somebody figure out what's going on here?
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Catelyn was growing less and less comfortable with this arrangement. "My brother has just lost his own father. He needs time to mourn."
YES.
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Lame Lothar rose, and his bastard brother helped him hobble from the room.
Edmure was seething. "They're as much as saying that my promise is worthless. Why should I let that old weasel choose my bride? Lord Walder has other daughters besides this Roslin. Granddaughters as well. I should be offered the same choice you were. I'm his liege lord, he should be overjoyed that I'm willing to wed any of them."
See, this is hard for me.
On one hand, I feel for the guy, hate the position he's being forced into, hate this practice, and don't want this marriage to take place.
But on the other hand, I'm aware that one of his sisters was forced to marry a corpse, while the other sister he's currently sitting next to, also wasn't given the option to meet or choose her husband, and in the backdrop of all of this is a 12-year-old hostage child bride married to a demon, so I kind of want this entitled little boy to shut the fuck up right now.
I'm getting pulled in too many directions, it's so unfair to me.
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"It must happen," said Catelyn, though not gladly. "I have no more wish to suffer Walder Frey's insults and complaints than you do, Brother, but I see little choice here. Without this wedding, Robb's cause is lost. Edmure, we must accept."
NO.
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"We must accept?" he echoed peevishly. "I don't see you offering to become the ninth Lady Frey, Cat."
"The eighth Lady Frey is still alive and well, so far as I know," she replied. Thankfully. Otherwise it might well have come to that, knowing Lord Walder.
She already married a stranger for an army, you muppet. Find another argument. Any other argument.
I apologize, everyone is making me cranky.
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The Blackfish said, "I am the last man in the Seven Kingdoms to tell anyone who they must wed, Nephew. Nonetheless, you did say something of making amends for your Battle of the Fords."
"I had in mind a different sort of amends. Single combat with the Kingslayer. Seven years of penace as a begging brother. Swimming the sunset sea with my legs tied." When he saw that no one was smiling, Edmure threw up his hands. "The Others take you all! Very well, I'll wed the wench. As amends."
Final thoughts:
Okay, that's it. I've reached my limit. I'm ready to be done with this.
Catelyn & Robb Death Countdown
22 down, 3 to go.
Blame @aegor-bamfsteel.
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