298 AC
Catelyn Stark dreamed she was back home in Riverrun, swimming in the gently flowing Red Fork, as she used to in her girlhood. Lysa was there, and Petyr, and one other.
Edmure, she remembered suddenly. Her brother's name was Edmure, but why couldn't she see his face? "Edmure!" she called, trying to get him to look in her direction, but as ever, her little brother was heedless. He and Petyr made a game of diving down and coming up with rocks, pretending the smooth stones were pearls.
"Here!" Petyr swam over and offered her one. "Jewels for my lady."
She muttered a soft word of thanks. Boys and their games. Edmure dived to get a better pearl, jealous of the smile she gave Petyr, most like. Only, he didn't surface again. "Edmure! Edmure!" she cried, but not even bubbles came up to the surface. It was hard to see at any rate, for the waters of the Red Fork were muddy with the red clay soil that gave the river its name.
Neither Lysa nor Petyr seemed terribly bothered by Edmure's disappearance. When Catelyn said something was wrong, they just smiled at her placidly. Cat screamed for her father, for Uncle Brynden, someone, anyone, but the roar of the river swallowed the sound. At last, she realized it would have to be up to her.
Down down down she dived, blinking away the water that stung her eyes. She needed them open to look for Edmure. Thank the Seven, Catelyn Tully had always been a strong swimmer, with long, supple limbs. Those same limbs burned now as she skimmed the bottom, kicking up clouds of red mist that discolored the water like blood. Soon enough, her lungs were burning along with her limbs.
She was just about to kick off the riverbed and surface for a breath when her hand laid hold of an old boot. When Cat tugged at it, she discovered to her horror that the boot was attached to a man, a man with a surcoat of Tully red and blue. Had one of her father's men drowned in the river? She would have to tell someone. The shock of her discovery almost made her forget her thirsty lungs.
With grim determination, she wrenched the body free of a tangle of river weeds and examined its bloated face. Only then did she recognize the body. Staring back at her was the face of Edmure Tully, not the boy of her memories, but a man grown, and a knight. At last she could remember his face. Catelyn woke screaming.
***
Ghostly memories were the least of her cares. There had been a rider from Riverrun, for her uncle Brynden would not trust such information to a bird. Her father, Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, was ill. He'd been so strong when she was a girl. Cat would not believe any mere illness could hinder him for long, yet her uncle the Blackfish plainly stated he'd not risen from his sickbed for half a year. As heir since Edmure died, she would have to prepare for what must come. But she couldn't leave her babies! Not now. Rickon was only three. She wanted her family to stay together a little while longer. Mayhaps when Bran was old enough to squire for Brynden. Yes, that would serve.
Cat's maidservant Vera was brushing last night's tangles from her hair when Maester Luwin brought her a letter. The bird had come in the night, a companion to her nightmare, but the kindly old man let her try and sleep a few more hours before telling her of it.
Lady Dustin, she saw. That was plainly her sigil, the longaxes of Dustin quartered with the horse of Ryswell. That one was proud, and always cool to Ned. Ah, and she couldn't forget the nephew. He was the one who took Edmure from her. The tales told of him troubled her. That smug smile old Lord Roose had when last he visited Winterfell on business chilled Cat's blood. Roose Bolton being pleased could mean nothing good.
"Well, no point in delaying the inevitable." Catelyn broke the seal and speedily read the contents. Lady Dustin was wedding Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne. That surprised Cat not at all. He and Domeric Bolton were cut from the same cloth. She seemed to recall a tale of Prince Oberyn crippling the heir to Highgarden in a tourney. There was also the matter of keeping a baseborn concubine and murdering a man in a duel with poison. No doubt he and Domeric were fast friends. But why wed Barbrey Dustin? Though still handsome, she was past childbearing years, with wrinkles at her eyes and lips and hair streaked with grey. If they simply wished to lie together, why go to all the trouble?
A power play, of course. Ned had told her that Lady Dustin named her nephew as heir in her will. With the support of Dorne and several more houses besides, it would be hard for her husband to demand Barrowton pass to some distant Dustin cousin through the female line. Always grasping and ambitious, Roose Bolton had in his son a gift from the gods. Domeric charmed everyone he met with sweet song, rode like the wind, and those infernal handbags had captured the hearts of every girl in the realm. Sansa, and even Arya, would not be parted from theirs for a second. Even Cat had to admit they were lovely, and convenient to carry when you were wearing a tight dress.
Enough! She forced herself to read the rest.
Strange, there was a queer request at the end. The letter bid them reply with a list of every highborn lady in the household who would attend the wedding, so the appropriate amount of guest gifts could be prepared.
Cat snorted at the low cunning of it. They would use a wedding to curry favor and court allies. She would need to bring this up with Ned. Once Vera finished brushing her hair, Cat's maid helped her dress. The family would be breaking their fast in her husband's solar, as they often did. Even the bastard would be there, so she must needs guard her tongue and let no angry glances drift in the boy's direction.
When Catelyn entered, her sons were already talking eagerly over their fried bread and bacon.
"Ser Domeric returns in triumph!" Robb said excitedly.
"Aye, and I heard there are silver mines in the Mountain of the Moon. With the wildlings brought low, the Vale will grow stinking rich." Theon Greyjoy sounded avaricious and admiring in equal measure.
"I wonder how he did it," Jon Snow muttered into his small beer, then went quiet when he saw Cat enter. With effort, she schooled her features. Things had been touchy between them these last few years, and her husband did not always take Cat's side. Best to ignore him as best she could.
"Good morning, my love!" Ned rose and embraced her. For half a moment, Cat allowed herself to drown in his arms, but then she remembered the drowned face of Edmure in her dream, draining all the joy out of her.
"Good morning," she said thickly.
Her husband pulled away and examined her closely. "My lady, are you well?"
"Yes," she responded quickly, perhaps too quickly, for the worry was plain on Ned's long face. Mercifully, he did not press, and a servant brought her her own portion of fried bread and bacon. It tasted of muddy river water.
"He has a girl for a squire, I heard," Arya interjected. That would interest her, no doubt.
"Arya, don't be absurd," Sansa said primly. "Ser Domeric would never take a girl to squire."
"It's true!" her daughter insisted. "She's Dornish though, so mayhaps that doesn't count."
Jon looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, her son spoke up for him. "Ser Domeric has two squires," Robb explained smugly. "Alesander Frey and Elia Sand." He leaned over and whispered to Arya conspiratorially. "They call her Lady Lance."
"Lady Lance!" Arya all but shouted. No doubt all manner of visions of women warriors were dancing in her head.
"Arya, please keep your voice down at table," Cat corrected the girl, but she could tell her daughter wasn't listening at all.
"Can I squire for someone, Father?" Cat's problem child asked.
Her husband laughed off the question. "Mayhaps," he answered mysteriously. "The tales of silver are true. There was a bird from King's Landing. Old Lord Jon hardly knows what to do with his newfound fortune," Ned said fondly.
No, that would not do! Domeric Bolton could not have her husband too! "There was a bird last night as well, my lord," Catelyn said. She handed Ned the letter, which he speedily read aloud.
"Guest gifts for highborn ladies?" Sansa asked hopefully. "There's a new Bolton Bag every year, they say. The year turned only two days ago. Oh, Father, can't we go? A wedding would be wonderful!"
"I want to meet the Dornish!" Arya added. "Dornish girls can be squires!"
"Dornish girls are wantons," Theon Greyjoy said. Cat and Ned shared a frown. That kind of talk was not fit for the little ones, yet the ward continued, heedless. "Prince Oberyn shall not put aside his paramour. All three of them are going to live together under one roof. It's almost like salt wives in the Iron Islands."
"Salt wives?" Robb asked.
Cat silenced her son with a look. "Ned, you can't mean to..."
"Cat, half the lords and ladies of Dorne will be there, and many of my bannermen besides. As liege to Lord Bolton and Lady Dustin both, I can't fail to appear."
"I'll have to make a new dress," Sansa said dreamily. She did not appear to be alone. All her children looked terribly excited.
"Sansa, dear, I don't think..."
"But guest gifts, Mother! It was right there in the raven! They make Bolton Bags down in Barrowton. Oh, and I'm sure Ser Domeric will sing at the feast! He is the finest singer in the realm!"
The sweet poison to bait the trap, Cat thought. Not a one of her children seemed to remember that this man killed their uncle. Even she found it difficult to picture her brother's face. The bloated corpse of her dream had dissolved like morning mist in her mind.
It was all too perfect. Domeric Bolton returned victorious from a war in the Vale, and now his aunt was wedding a Prince of Dorne. Girls hungry for Bolton Bags and eager to hear fine singing would flood Barrowton to bursting. She did not fear for her children's position, not yet, but an overmighty and ambitious vassal was not a thing for a lord to ignore. She grasped for an excuse, any excuse.
"Rickon is too young," she said. "It is long leagues to Barrowton."
"Then why not stay, Mother?" Robb suggested. "You can remain in Winterfell with Rickon, while the rest of us go to the wedding!"
When Catelyn saw how her husband considered those words, she wanted to slap her son. She looked around the table, and, plainly, she was outmatched.
Cat nibbled on her fried bread while the rest of the table talked eagerly of going south, so she turned her thoughts to doing the same. To get to Riverrun, she would have to pass through the Twins, a prospect Catelyn didn't relish. Then she remembered that Domeric Bolton was promised to a granddaughter of Walder Frey! Even when she was Lady of Riverrun, she would not be able to escape him! The Dreadfort and Barrowton wed to the Twins would greatly complicate her life, aye, and Bran after her. She had been too long away. Her father's bannermen did not know her, or her son. There was nothing to do but sit and wait. Catelyn Tully was excellent at waiting.