Catelyn VIII

"I thank you for your kind hospitality, my lady," said Euron Greyjoy, pleasantly enough. Pleasant for a murderer. Her uncle Brynden was dead, and hundreds of other good men besides, knights and lords and yeomen who served her father their whole lives. Greyjoy shattered her host on the Red Fork, and now she must needs play the host, a prisoner in her own castle. When his slave soldiers invested Riverrun from three sides, and the terrible pale dragon flew overhead, there was nothing she could do but dip her banners and open her gates. "I pride myself on maintaining the courtesy of my hall, my lord," she replied. "Your Grace!" the one-eyed man corrected sharply. Sansa flinched beside Cat, but Bran didn't react at all. He had a split lip and a black eye, and couldn't seem to look up from the rushes in her solar. Bran, her sweet boy, was taken defending the fallen body of his great-uncle. His wolf, Charger, likewise perished in the battle. Euron returned her son as a kindness, he said, but there was no kindness in that man. "Your Grace," Catelyn repeated agreeably. She must tread softly here. "I take that to mean you have claimed the Iron Throne?" "The Iron Throne is no more," he scoffed. "So much slag now, I wager. Though it was a trifle amusing. I had only meant to burn the Red Keep itself, but the whole city went up like a green candle." His single eye glimmered in amusement. "The Baratheons are no more, and I'll reckon with the last Targaryen soon enough. My claim is conquest, like Aegon of old, and likewise backed by dragonfire, but a king must have a queen." He looked at Sansa hungrily. Thank the gods, the girl had composure enough to still a shudder. "You would make a queen of my daughter." It wasn't a question. "Aye," he answered with relish. "Dragons and Unsullied spearmen and archers of the Summer Islands I have, but lovely little Sansa has blood ties with three of the Seven Kingdoms. Wedding her will solidify my reign with the great houses. Ah, and I had heard my blood has wed the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. A lucky stroke, don't you think? With the Reach ravaged by plague, there are not many swords left to oppose me, and with Sansa Stark's hand I will make those recalcitrants my friends." He reclined lazily in his chair. "The Others come again troubled the realm less than I supposed they would, so I don't doubt Domeric Bolton comes for me with the power of the North at his back. I shall require you to treat with him and send him away. There is no need for one such as he to oppose a new dynasty, especially since I intend to treat his liege lord's family so well." Cat would not wish Euron Greyjoy's good treatment on her worst enemy, but instead she said, "Let it be as Your Grace wishes. I trust you will confirm me as Lady Paramount of the Riverlands, and my son after me?" "Your trust is well-placed. Soon, all this unpleasantness will be behind us, and you will be the mother of the most beautiful queen since Rhaenys Targaryen!" She was about to offer him refreshment when they heard the blast of a horn from one of the new sentries walking her walls. A man entered her solar without knocking, foreign by his appearance, and whispered urgently in Greyjoy's ear. The careless smile upon his face curdled into a sneer. "Bolton banners, and Stark, and more. Daenerys Targaryen rides with them on her dragon. It seems I shall have to prepare the ritual sooner than I had planned." She did not inquire after this "ritual," assuming it was nothing good. "Bolton moved faster than I supposed he could. Surprising. I hate surprises," he continued. "Saddle my Pale Mare," Greyjoy ordered. He rose from his seat, looking eager. "Today the dragons dance, my lady. You have my leave to watch from the walls, you and your children." Greyjoy left them alone then. Sansa wept, and Bran said nothing. She was not especially eager to watch events unfold. Half a turn of the glass later, a man with a red sword and sodden clothes burst through her chamber door. Cat was forced to cover Sansa's mouth to prevent her from screaming. "Where is he?" Domeric Bolton demanded in hushed tones. There was murder in his eyes, but for once she was glad of it. "Gone to his Pale Mare, my lord," Lady Stark answered. "That dragon of his is in my courtyard."Arya was right on Bolton's heels, and her wolf as well. The great direwolf Nymeria shook the water out of her coat, drenching everyone in the room. Only then did Bran look up. "Sister?""Bran!" Arya put aside her black sword and embraced her brother. Sansa started weeping again and rushed into her sister's arms as well. "Did Greyjoy say anything about a ritual?" Bolton asked, ending the sweet moment. "He did," Catelyn answered. "Shit, it's just like your dream, Arya. We've got to put a stop to it.""Right," her daughter agreed, then she took Bran by the shoulder and made him look at her. "You know I felt it when Charger died, brother. Do you remember what it felt like?"The boy's voice was hollow. "How could I ever forget? He died protecting me. I was useless in the battle. Uncle Brynden is dead, and so many others.""Did you feel it? When Charger died, a little bit of him came back into you. He's still there. You know when you would go into him?"Bran gasped. "You know about that?" "I dreamed about that. There is something you must do. When the pale dragon flies overhead, try to go into him. Push that little bit of Charger into the dragon. It's our only chance. Can you do it, Bran?" Her son looked unsure, but Arya's words seemed to touch something deep inside him. "I can," Bran said stoutly. "Will you tell me when?" "I will," Bolton said. "We'll find you a sword, and raise what remains of the Tully garrison. We've got to stop that ritual!" He was about to leave. "Wait!" cried Catelyn. "How did you even get into my castle?" "The water gate, Mother," Arya answered for him. "The iron portcullis below the waterline is all rusted. Valyrian steel can cut a hole big enough for a direwolf. Greyjoy is arrogant and lax. He didn't even have the river watched. Everyone is focused on Robb's army coming out of the Whispering Wood." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.Robb was here too? "What army?" "The bait," Bolton explained. "Robb will have all eyes on him while we deal with Euron. Don't worry, he is out of bowshot, and that dragon won't get close. I promise." Cat didn't have much trust in Bolton's promises, but he was all she had. "As you say, my lord. The castle armory is guarded, but not heavily." Lord Domeric hefted his red sword and smiled. "Lead the way." They made their way down a passageway, and there was a short, sharp struggle where Lord Domeric, Arya, and the wolf Nymeria made short work of a dozen slave soldiers. Their armor and shields did nothing against Valyrian steel. Bran armed himself speedily, and Catelyn sent a serving man off to discreetly rally her disarmed guards and bring them. With Greyjoy's slave soldiers marching outside the walls, there were few to hinder such men as remained to her. "We've tarried long enough," Bolton said. With twenty Tully swords, old men and green boys, but swords nonetheless, he led an assault on a queer concert taking place in Riverrun's castle bailey. "Kill them all!" Foreign men were drumming and chanting in a language she didn't know. There were bound captives at their feet, and a monstrous great horn at the ready. They died, all, save the captives, who revealed themselves to be foreigners as well when their gags were removed. Bolton could speak bastard Valyrian, and found that they were all priests of queer foreign gods. Arya let out a long breath when it was over. She wiped off her bloody sword on her breeches. "At least Dany doesn't have to worry about that anymore." Some of the slave soldiers walking the walls had noticed the commotion and came pouring down the stairs. Bolton tried to talk to them, but they wouldn't listen. Some of her men died, but just like before, Domeric and Arya cut them down easily enough. "Poor bastards. I tried to tell them slavery was illegal in Westeros, and they were free." "It'll be time soon, my lord," Arya pointed out. How in the world did her daughter know that? There was something Cat did not understand at play here. "When the dragon flies overhead, Bran," Bolton said. Her son planted his feet. Catelyn noticed his sword was bloody as well. When a winged shadow passed overhead, Bran reached out as if he were trying to touch something, then went limp and collapsed. Greyjoy's "pale mare" went mad. The beast lost control of its wings and rapidly began falling. With a great crash, it hurtled into Riverrun's south tower, the one with the view of the gently flowing Red Fork. Catelyn started coughing as a cloud of red dust blinded her. Once it cleared, she could see the tower was half collapsed. Random gouts of dragonfire spurted up from the place where the dragon struggled out of the rubble. For a single, terrible instant, she thought the dragon had come to burn them to cinders, but it just wandered off, riderless, to a deserted corner of her courtyard. "Watch for him," Domeric Bolton said. Only Arya and her wolf seemed to know what he meant, tensing and studying the pile of red sandstone with suspicious eyes. With a terrible shriek, Euron Greyjoy came striding forward out of the dust cloud, swinging a black steel cutlass in wide arcs. The blade parted mail like ripe cheese, and two of her men fell like wheat before the scythe; then Bolton was on him. Red steel kissed black, ringing loud and high. Arya tried to get behind Greyjoy, but another wild swing of his cutlass forced her back.

Kill him, kill him, Catelyn prayed. If Greyjoy fell, her Sansa was saved. All the realm was saved. But when Bolton's red sword scratched Greyjoy's armor, the blade turned.

"His armor is Valyrian steel!" Bolton warned. Time and again, Lord Domeric was able to score a hit, but to no effect. The lord of the Dreadfort was only lightly armored in ringmail and boiled leather. That cutlass looked to be Valyrian steel as well. One touch would finish him. Again, Arya and her wolf tried to take Greyjoy in the rear, but it was almost like the man had another eye in the back of his head. No one could get close. He drove Bolton back, and it looked like victory was his. "No!" Arya cried, rushing into the fray. She parried a wild slash with Dark Sister, only barely escaping getting gutted. Not her daughter! Not Arya! Did no one else have the courage to join the battle? Greyjoy was concentrating on the girl now, his sword cleaving the air audibly and moving faster than she could follow."Hey, Jack Sparrow, over here!" Bolton yelled absurdly. It was so unexpected that Euron Greyjoy stopped trying to open up Arya and looked at him. "Who in Seven Hells is Jack Sparrow?" "I guess you haven't heard of him," Lord Domeric said. He shifted his weight queerly, then his arm snapped like a whip. Half a blink later, there was a sharp clang. He'd unscrewed his sword pommel and thrown it at Greyjoy! From the way the pirate was staggering, Bolton must've hit him right between the eyes. Greyjoy raised an arm to feel his forehead, and like a striking viper, Arya drove Dark Sister into his armpit, right into the vulnerable gap. The mail under his breastplate wasn't Valyrian steel! Euron went stiff, then crumpled. Black blood rapidly spread from the place Arya pierced him. The man was not long in dying. To make sure, they took his head. Catelyn tried not to retch when Arya scalped him. Once it was done, Lord Domeric blew three blasts on his warhorn, and within a minute, a great black dragon landed in the courtyard. "Greyjoy is dead, and your dragon is alive, Dany. Can you take him in hand?" "Easily," said a staggeringly beautiful woman with silver-gold hair. Arya helped her down from the saddle, and the Targaryen princess went to the corner where the pale wyrm had coiled up. While that was happening, Bran regained his senses. When he rose and saw the ruin of the south tower, he sobbed. "No! Cat Bracken's bedchamber was in there!"