Chapter 23 (The Mother of Wolves)
This chapter was edited by Gladiusx.
2nd Day of the 10th Moon (two days later)
The Swann Knight
"Ser Swann!" Balon Swann was interrupted as he spoke to a group of riders preparing to leave.
He turned to one of the lookouts swiftly approaching with a scroll in his gloved hand. "Raven."
"What?"
Balon stared incomprehensibly; they were on the field sweeping the Crownlands for any enemy forces as King Stannis besieged King's Landing. Reports have arrived of multiple warbands sneaking past their blockade at the Gold Crossing, and the king did not want any surprises striking from the flank. Balon and his men were one of several other bands searching for those outriders.
"A raven scroll, Ser." The guard repeated, adjusting his grip on his bow. "It landed on my shoulder during my watch. I had Rory keep a lookout while I came to report."
Focused on martial pursuits he might be, but Ser Balon knew well enough that ravens were supposed to only be trained to fly to keeps. While many lords and commanders kept maesters or acolytes to send ravens from the field to a castle, the reverse was supposed to be impossible.
Apparently not, but the world had long gone mad anyway.
Balon nodded and accepted the scroll from the rider, finding it tied with a string. Stranger still, the message had a hasty scribble next to the string stating 'House Stark', lacking any form of legitimate heraldry.
But something in his mind told him it wasn't fake, an almost feminine whisper urged him to trust; Balon blinked as he hurriedly read the scroll.
Catelyn Stark and her retinue request your protection. We shall be by your camp by the hour of the crane. The Mountain Rides after us.
He blinked again before quickly looking at the sky; it was the hour of the hawk when the sun was at its highest. Three more hours, then. Suddenly, all the hairs on Balon's arms stood up as the dire words truly sank in.
There was no way Catelyn Stark would willingly come for the protection of an enemy of her son unless the alternative were far worse. A small voice in the back of his head said this could be a trick, but he instantly squashed it; who in their right mind would train a raven to send a message warning of an attack?
They had already clashed with a few bands of Reachmen and Lion's men, seemingly searching the Crownlands for something. Apparently, that was the answer, and to think it would be the Mountain of all people…
Balon took a deep breath to center himself, noticing more knights and men-at-arms approaching at the disturbance. He turned to the guard, still waiting patiently for orders.
'A good knight does not panic but prepares and faces whatever obstacles the Seven place before you,' Ser Arnold Caron, his knightly master, had taught him. Even now, a decade later, the words brought him much-needed calm.
"Spread the word around the camp of an impending attack. I want everyone up and armored within the hour." He then waved over the squad of scouts about to leave, "change of plans. Call back our foragers and any outriders. Two of you will continue and link with the other warbands' patrols and warn them as well. Everyone else, prepare for battle!"
"Yes, Ser!"
It was a testament to the discipline of the Marchermen that they did not even ask him who was attacking and why. Balon went to his tent to put on his armor, a half-plate as he preferred, with no gauntlets to allow him better use of his favored weapon: the longbow.
Strapping his morning star to his belt and grabbing his heater shield, he returned to the camp, finding all of his forces armed and ready. Riders trickled in now and then, while Balon took stock of his forces.
His brother had worked tirelessly to ensure his competency and loyalty to King Stannis, and Balon was given a considerable force of four hundred men as a sign of trust. Two hundred of them were the very best that Stonehelm had to offer in men-at-arms. His men could wield the bow as well as they could hold a shield wall. Armed with a long spear, a mace, a tower shield, and a long bow, the men of Stonehelm were accustomed to fighting the mounted raiders of Dorne and pirates from the Stepstones.
Their camp was situated on a slightly elevated hill, yet it was not a defensible position by any means. Still, sharpened stakes and a few ditches were positioned on the flanks while a stream covered their rear. The easiest entrance came from the north, yet Balon had no idea where their guests would come from.
"Ser Balon," He turned to his second in command, Ser Mark Mullendore, his ever-present monkey on his shoulder, and his lips quirked into a smirk. The Reach knight was chosen to represent the Reach contingent in his force, which included many heavy knights. A fair number were light lancers, and those were the ones scouting in the field and, even now, trickled back to camp.
"Ser Mark," Balon nodded and preemptively answered the question that he and the rest of his captains and serjeants had on their lips. "A force led by Gregor Clegane approaches, chasing a vital guest of King Stannis."
"Do you think they are the ones we have been searching for?" The Reachman lost his smirk as everyone straightened their backs.
"Most likely, we did not have the chance to scout the region properly, and the two bands we found so far were sellswords and manhunters. What they are doing in the Crownlands, so far away from their armies, is a mystery, but we know Tywin Lannister employs such free riders in his army."
"Aye, so who's our important guest?"
Before Balon could answer, a horn blast sounded out from the west, and the lookout yelled, "Riders!"
They quickly moved to the line of men locking shields as they faced the coming riders - they were early. Balon could see a score of them, galloping like the very hounds of hell were behind them. Their horses were foaming at the mouth, clearly on the brink of collapsing. There was another dust cloud behind them, which Balon realized was pursuers - the summer heat had caused the ground to crack and turn dusty in recent weeks.
The figure at the front took off her hood, allowing long red hair to flow, and Balon instantly shouted, "Lock shields and preset spears. Bowmen, notch arrows, and hold for my call." He turned to Ser Mark, who was holding his horse, and said, "These are our guests. Ride to them and direct them to the northern entrance."
Mark Mullendore nodded before closing his visor and riding out, his monkey jumping away to land on a tent's pole while a dozen other riders followed him. Balon would have ridden out himself, but he was not a particularly good rider; instead, as he grabbed his warbow and approached his troops of archers, he knew where his abilities lay.
"Steady men, wait for our riders to have them veer north," as he watched, Ser Mullendore approached Catelyn Stark's party and quickly directed them northwards. The Northmen did not even slow their horses as they urged them after their guide; less than a minute later, their pursuers also turned, yet they had been blinded by their quarry's dust cloud and did not see the rows of stakes and men behind them until they were already turning away. Farther than the range of a crossbow or a hunting bow, yet well within the range of the Marcher's warbows.
"Loose!"
The twang of one hundred bows sang as a hail of arrows fell on the thirty or forty riders - his arrow nailing the leading rider in the eye. Perhaps if they had been riding south and presenting them with their kite shields, they could have survived the first volley. Yet by forcing them to ride north, they provided the archers with their right flank, where most riders held their blades or lances instead of a shield.
Horses screamed, and men fell as barbed arrows pierced through flesh and boiled leather. Even chainmail would not have lasted long against such an onslaught; only proper plate armor could shrug those arrows off. Most knights could not afford those, and those that could, rarely had any coin left to protect their warhorse with full plate barding. Being a knight was an expensive endeavor, and only those born to lords or possessing great skill could afford to clad themselves in full steel. Those riders were neither knights, men-at-arms, nor even lancers; sellswords, freeriders, and, judging by the tabard of the three running dogs on a yellow field, raiders.
Balon did not need to call for another volley, as the first one was enough to shatter the riders, the survivors galloping away, leaving a score of dead men and horses. Instead, he had a serjeant lead a squad and finish any survivors while he turned as Ser Mullendore arrived with their guests. Balon found himself face to face with an utterly exhausted Catelyn Stark and her men.
"Lady Stark, I am Ser Balon Swann. I believe you sent us a message."
The woman's haggard eyes looked like they had not seen a wink of sleep in days, yet she still managed to get off her horse with the help of one of her men, a muscular Northman easily over six feet. In fact, every member of the party was tall, hairy, and exhausted - except for two Rivermen and a woman he recognized as the heiress of Tarth, who was the tallest of them all.
"I take it you offer your protection, Ser Swann?" Lady Stark gazed at him warily.
"As long as you surrender, you shall be given guest rights." Catelyn Stark closed her eyes, while the rest of her men grumbled - even exhausted, they still looked dangerous enough that his men instinctively surrounded them and fingered their weapons. No arms were drawn, yet Balon had to nip that in the bud immediately. "I will not ask you to surrender your weapons, at least not until we repelled your pursuers. There are more, I take it?"
"Aye, I counted nearly a thousand of the Mountain's men steadily closing in on us. All of them were mounted, yet they did not waste time looting or plundering." The words that came from the dark-haired young man chilled Balon's bones - they were outnumbered, heavily so that they could not hope to escape as only a third of their numbers had horses. "I am Lucas Blackwood. The Mountain had spread his men in search of Lady Stark, yet they were converging when they learned of our location."
"How many were following you here?" Balon did not understand how the Blackwood knight knew the exact numbers of the Mountain's men, yet this was not the time to wonder.
"There were four separate warbands within twenty miles of us at all times, each at least one hundred strong. I am certain they must have grouped again and should be here within a few hours." Lucas grimaced heavily then, "Unless they are smart and wait for the Mountain and the rest of his force to group up."
The men muttered among themselves, yet Balon had eyes only on Catelyn Stark, who leaned on Brienne of Tarth's arm for support. He had never met the Lady Stark before, but he had been told she was a great beauty. He could see the signs of that even through the exhaustion and worry marring her face, yet the woman's eyes were like two blocks of ice as her face steeled in determination. This was not a weak damsel but one who was prepared for the worst outcome.
"If we surrender, you shall guarantee all of our safeties?"
"Of course, by my honor."
"And you shall take us to Stannis Baratheon afterward?" Lady Stark's words were blithe, and Balon could see Brienne's face growing stormy. He had heard of the tales of Renly's death, yet he did not know any details other than the flight of the Northmen following his former liege lord's death.
"It would be my duty to deliver you to my king," Balon said simply, and Catelyn Stark sighed as if the very weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
"Very well. Better Stannis Baratheon than Tywin Lannister."
"Excellent. Ronald!" Balon barked to his squire, the bastard of Griffin's Roost. "Bring bread and salt."
The young lad hurried to obey; Ronald Storm had barely seen eleven name-days when his father, Ronnet Connington, who had begotten him when he was only thirteen, asked him to take as a squire. Still, he was a dutiful and intelligent lad as he brought a tray of bread and salt. Catelyn Stark partook in the rite as the leader of her group, while the rest of her men nearly collapsed as they were provided with food and water.
"Now, my Lady Stark. I apologize that I shall keep you from rest, but I need to learn more about your pursuers and what to expect when they arrive."
"Understood. Ser Lucas? I would have you join us." The Blackwood knight nodded tiredly, yet Balon raised an eyebrow as he found a large raven on the man's shoulder - it was not there earlier. "Hallis, rest your men and horses, but be ready for another fight. I'm sure Ser Balon shall provide you with a spot to camp?"
"Indeed, Roland? See that they are cared for." His squire nodded as he led Lady Stark's group further into the camp. "Ser Mark!" The Mullendore knight saluted, "Gather your fastest riders and screen everything within twenty miles for our pursuers."
"Yes, Ser!"
"Everyone else, you can be assured that the survivors shall warn the rest of our position. You may rest for food or water, yet do not take off your armor. We may yet see a proper fight soon."
His men hollered as he led Lady Stark and Lucas Blackwood to his tent, which was not nearly large enough for more than two people to stand, yet it would provide them a modicum of privacy. There, he hoped to learn more about what they would face.
A few hours later
"Here they come."
Catelyn swallowed her trepidation as she watched from atop the small hill with her guard as the Mountain's small army formed up like a wave of dark steel. The first of their foes had arrived two hours ago but were swiftly driven back by Ser Mullendore and his knights. Several other bands were seen, yet they proved wiser, merely scouting their camp and riding away before Ser Swann could order a charge.
Another two hours later, the bulk of the Mountain's army arrived. Looking at them now, Catelyn could tell that while mounted, very few of them were knights or lancers. Most were mounted footmen, using any kind of equine, even stots, drays, and donkeys, no doubt stolen from the many villages and towns dotting the land, to travel quickly but not expected to fight from horseback.
Ser Balon Swann had moved the bulk of the troops to face west, yet he ordered all wagons and carriages to be moved towards the north to block the entrance to the camp. A stream covered their southern flank, which also happened to be the closest flank to them, at barely a hundred feet away. The men had managed to fell a few trees in the short time they had and dragged them to the east to form a simple barrier.
It didn't look to be enough to stop anyone serious about passing through, but just enough to prevent a cavalry charge.
"How many do you think they are?" Catelyn asked Ser Lucas, who stood with all her retinue near her, his weirwood bow strung in his hands.
"Twelve hundred men, yet they are also exhausted, just like us." Lucas frowned before stifling a yawn - they had barely got a few hours of sleep. Yet, it was better than none, and their horses had been pushed to the brink and would need at least another day before they could be of any use. "I don't understand. Why are they forming ranks as if to assault? It would be more prudent to wait until they are more rested before attacking."
"They know there are other warbands like our own." Ser Balon Swann approached with his lieutenants, "They have placed the bulk of their forces to the west, but they still have riders to the north and east. My men reported that several of them had slipped through to rush to the main force. King Stannis had sent three groups like my own to hunt for those raiders, and the other two ought to be already on their way."
"How long until they arrive?"
"At the earliest? Tomorrow morn. Ser Lucas' ravens are a gift from the gods, but even then, they would need to break camp and travel through the night to reach us." The Swann knight shook his head, but his hardy gaze did not move from the foes forming into ranks to the west. "The Mountain clearly understands this and hopes to dislodge us before reinforcements arrive. If we hold on until morning, victory will be closer, but even then, we would still be in similar numbers."
"Not if we thin the Mountain's ranks now," Ser Mullendore replied. "My horse are ready, and the fools have left a paltry defense to the north, allowing us to wheel in for charges at any time."
"Aye, but the timing will need to be perfect. We must wait for them to fully commit to the western flank before you remove the barricades and ride through." Balon Swann turned to her, "My Lady, I would advise you to retire to your tent. The battle is not a place for a woman, and even then," He raised his voice as Brienne looked ready to argue, "This battle is happening too close for comfort. Any stray arrow could reach here, and if the enemy breaks through, they would be capable of reaching you."
"Even more reason for us to remain here." Hallis Mollen shook his head before adjusting his grip on a tower shield he had borrowed from the armory wagon. "The closer we are to your men, the safer we will be. We shall protect the Lady Stark with our lives, no matter what. The Mountain's men don't have many archers with them, but if they dare shoot in the open, they would be easy pickings for you."
Catelyn merely nodded at the Swann knight's inquisitive eyes as she tried to ignore the bone-deep wariness she and her men were suffering. Nevertheless, they were all awake, armed and armored, and ready for battle. Ser Balon sighed but nodded back just as the Mountain's men began their advance.
"Looks like they won't bother with a parley." Ser Perwyn Frey jested as Ser Swann moved to his men and barked orders for them to notch their arrows.
Ser Lucas bowed to her before joining the Swann knight with his archers, both of them drawing their bows alongside the men. Catelyn was not learned in matters of war, yet she couldn't help but watch in interest as the two hundred men-at-arms of Stonehelm formed two lines. They dropped their shields and spears, notched their bows with the arrows hanging on the quiver on their hips, and then drew at Ser Swann's orders.
"Loose!"
The twang of over two hundred bows resounded as a hail of arrows flew towards the advancing footmen, who were still three hundred yards out. The first volley was a surprise as the men did not expect such an effective range from war bows, and a score was felled before they quickly hid behind their kite shields.
"ADVANCE YOU COWARDS!"
The thundering bellow came from a giant of a man seated on a massive stallion, both of them decked in so much armor that Catelyn wondered how the horse could even move, let alone carry the Mountain. Yet move it did, and as if driven by fear, the footmen jogged with their shields held high. The archers had already fired another volley, but the enemy's large kite shields protected them. Many were still felled as arrows hit exposed body parts, yet with the Mountain and his core of horsemen egging them on, the footmen dared not stop. At around a hundred yards out, their enemy began to pick up the pace, while Ser Balon ordered half the archers to switch to spear and shield. The other half was far more accurate and devastating as they continuously fired at the advancing foot, while the Mountain shrugged off the arrows aiming for him, his massive shield protecting his horse.
Fifteen volleys were fired, and Catelyn counted nearly four hundred dead or wounded on the field, yet Gregor Clegane did not seem at all fazed by the loss of nearly a third of his troops. Finally, both sides clashed, and the archers had to stop their fire to join the rest of the spear wall. Ser Mullendore had already taken his hundred lancers and rode north, aiming to hit their flanks, yet there were still eight hundred of the Mountain's men against three hundred of Ser Balon's.
Catelyn was a mere hundred yards away from the fighting, and it was brutal. Her fingers would be trembling if her gloved hands weren't balled into fists. The screams of men as they were pierced by spears or struck by arrows reverberated to her. More of Swann's men trickled in from the other flanks to join the melee, yet the advantage was clearly on the Mountain's side, as some of his men were busy ripping out the stakes while a majority fought the spearmen.
Nevertheless, after a few minutes, it became apparent that the manic charge of the enemy was losing steam as their exhaustion set in, and Swann's men remained firm in their lines. Catelyn could hear the Mountain's booming voice shouting curses and abuse at his men to keep attacking and stretching the line to surround the Stormlanders. Clegane was close enough to be peppered with arrows, and she could see Ser Balon and Ser Lucas releasing arrow after arrow at the behemoth of a man, yet the brute hid behind his shield while his horse's barding protected even its legs.
A curse from beside her had Catelyn turn to Hallis, "Looks like Mullendore will be delayed."
She followed the Stark captain of the guard's gaze to find the Reachmen and his lancers fighting another band of horsemen hiding in the woods. There were not many, and she could tell Mullendore had the upper hand, but it was clear they did not aim to defeat him, only delay him. And she did not need to be a genius to realize what they were delaying for.
"Seven fucking hells, the Mountain is charging!"
Looking back to the lines, the Stormlanders were holding solidly against the mad assault of the Mountain's men, and they would have most likely beaten their assailants in time. Only for the Mountain and a dozen of his riders, all armed and armored to the teeth, to charge in once the foot removed enough of the stakes and create a gap in the spear wall. The brute trampled over his own men who were too slow to get out of the way before crashing into the line of spearmen, a massive sword swinging left and right, not so much cutting but bashing away any in its path.
For a moment, Catelyn prayed that a spear would find its mark in the horse's belly and drop the brute to the ground, but while several of his riders were felled, the Mountain continued his charge. Soon, the gap widened, and his riders filled in, followed by the rest of his men. The Queen Dowager of the North felt her mouth go dry as Tywin's monster set his sights on her.
Only for her retinue to step in front of her protectively.
"Men! Form a shield wall." Hallis Mollen's shout was answered by a roar as the rest of the men formed up. "Ser Robin, may the gods be with you."
Robin Flint and Perwyn Frey, both on fresh horses they borrowed from the Stormlanders, grunted from their positions behind a tent. Both horses were not suitable for combat but were powerful and clumsy beasts, more suitable for farm work or dragging heavy loads. The men had asked Catelyn and Brienne several times to hide in one of the tents, yet she insisted on being outside, knowing that for that mad plan the Flint knight had come up with on the fly to work, the Mountain needed a target of focus.
What better bait than herself?
The Mountain roared like an angry bull and swung his sword at a spearman who tried to stab at his horse's ankle so hard that he bisected his tower shield and the arm holding it before urging his horse forward.
Only for an arrow shaft to sprout out of the slit of his helmet, just as another arrow struck his horse in the eye as well, causing it and its rider to collapse. It was as if the shooters were waiting for just this moment when the Mountain was so close that there was no chance of missing, and he couldn't hide behind the enormous iron-studded chunk of wood that served as a shield.
The horse died instantly, but the Mountain's earth-shaking roar as he ripped the arrow from his helmet showed he still lived as he pushed the horse's corpse off his body and stood back from his fall. Catelyn gawked, looking to the side to find both Ser Lucas and Ser Balon firing their last arrows at the monster who hid behind his shield, dropping the arrow that still had his punctured eye to the ground before ignoring them and charging straight towards her. The gap he created was closed as the Stormlanders recovered and cut down the overextended footmen, yet more than thirty of them still made it through and followed their Captain toward them.
Three of them were mounted and as they veered away from the Mountain and headed towards the tents with torches, Catelyn heard Robin Flint cursing as he urged Perwyn Frey to follow him as they engaged with the riders.
"My Lady, I would love to say that now would be a good time to retreat but considering there is no real avenue of retreat, I suggest you remain behind us." Hallis chuckled wryly before banging his warhammer against his shield and roaring louder than a horn, "WINTERFELL!"
"WINTERFELL!!" Came the shout from the rest of her men as they charged towards the steadily approaching Mountain and his men. Several of her men threw axes and javelins they requisitioned from Swann's supplies and managed to kill a handful of the Mountain's men before both sides clashed.
Gregor Clegane bull rushed into the advancing Northmen, his shield in front of him as he knocked away Hallin and two of his men to the ground before swinging his massive sword at two more Northmen who barely managed to dodge the deadly swing. The rest of his men engaged with the Northmen, yet the Mountain had not been idle as he stabbed his sword at the still recovering Jorah, piercing through his neck and severing the head.
Catelyn could do nothing but watch as her Household Guard fought and died for her. The Mountain alone kept seven of her men busy, yet the rest were losing ground against the score that made it through the gap. She could see Ser Balon rushing with half a dozen men to aid them, but he was still outnumbered.
Hallis had recovered and smashed his warhammer at the Mountain's knee, puncturing the plate with the spiked part before ripping the armor off, causing Tywin's monster to roar in rage. The captain of the guards didn't have a chance to steady himself before he got shield bashed so hard he flew a few feet and remained motionless on the ground. Before the Mountain could finish him, Ser Lucas appeared with a fresh quiver and started rapidly shooting arrows at the heavily armored knight, yet he could not find a weak point.
Two of her Northmen tried to blindside the Mountain, but he was far more agile than his size suggested and managed to swing his sword at them. Shadd managed to duck, but Osric tried to block it with his buckler, only for the shield and his arm to get crushed as the sword struck. Yet through his roar of agony, brave Osric quickly stabbed with his rondel dagger at the Mountain's mailed fist, puncturing through the wrist and managing to force him to drop his sword only to get mule kicked so hard, Catelyn could hear the sound of his ribs shattering.
The Mountain was disarmed, yet he still had his shield. He surveyed the battle, ignoring Ser Lucas' arrows and finding that he was cut off from the rest of his men.
Then, he turned to her.
Catelyn could almost imagine the beastly eye under the helmet deciding that this battle was lost, yet the man could still get away with the biggest prize.
"My Lady, stand back!"
Brienne moved forward just as Gregor Clegane sprinted for her, his massive shield bashing any in his way. The Tarth Maid tried to stop him, but even though she was taller and stronger than most of the men on the battlefield, the Mountain still pushed her aside like she was a child, her sword clanging uselessly against his armor, while the girl fell to the ground in a roll.
Catelyn idly noticed the sound of horses neighing, but she only had one thought in her mind as the Mountain That Rides continued his relentless charge at her.
Run!
She turned around and dashed as fast as her tired body could allow. Catelyn had no real destination in mind, only to escape from the monster and within a few heartbeats, she found herself at the stream near the camp. She could not afford to hesitate; Catelyn was a decent swimmer, and there was no way Gregor Clegane could swim in all that armor.
Just as she was about to jump into the water, something whistled in the air, and Catelyn instinctively dropped to the ground. The Mountain's massive shield flew just past where her back was and crashed into the stream with a massive splash. Catelyn had no chance to stand before she heard the brute breathing harshly behind her, and something dragged her by her long hair.
"Fucking bitch! You led me on this wild chase and cost me my army. Tywin won't care if I turn you into my whore as long as I deliver you alive!"
Catelyn could only groan in pain as the brute dragged her down the stream, clearly aiming to escape the battle. She could not allow herself to be captured, let alone defiled, by such a monster. Before she knew it, she found her dagger in her hand, but Catelyn hesitated.
It would be so easy. Just plunge the dagger in her throat or heart. Even if she didn't die instantly, she would bleed to death. Catelyn was prepared to end it all!
Yet, she hesitated. Even now, Catelyn Stark did not want to die. Her children… they needed her, just as she needed to see them one last time. The Mountain still dragged her by her hair, and she could barely think from the pain in her head, yet she still gave a prayer to all those who could hear her.
'Please, help me!'
A murmur in the wind, a splash in the water as a trout jumped, a chill in her back, and warmth bloomed in her belly. Catelyn Stark suddenly found the courage to do what was necessary, and before she could blink, she sliced through her hair, cutting it off in one swing. Her long hair which she took pride in, that Ned loved, was severed near the base.
The sudden loss of weight caused Gregor Clegane to lose his balance and slip on the muddy banks of the stream. Wasn't the ground dry earlier? Catelyn did not care as she scrambled to run back to camp, just as the Mountain That Rides lost his balance and fell with a thump. Riders were approaching, and Catelyn recognized Sers Robin and Perwyn in the front, bloodied but galloping towards her. In their hands were ropes tied into lassos.
"Lady Stark, get down!"
Robin Flint had not even finished his shout before Catelyn collapsed instinctively, just as Clegane's hand missed her head by inches - how he managed to recover so fast spoke of how monstrous he was. She scrambled away as the two riders arrived and threw their lassos at the Mountain. Perwyn's rope latched onto Clegane's outstretched hand while Robin's aim was far more deadly as it latched around his neck.
"Damn you!"
The Mountain pulled, and the riders nearly buckled, but they had quickly tied their ropes on their saddles. Pulling on their reins, Catelyn watched gobsmacked as Robin Flint and Perwyn Frey dragged the Mountain away from her. For a heartbeat, she watched in disbelief as Gregor Clegane managed to remain on his feet, roaring in rage as the noose around his gorget tightened and Robin urged his horse to heave one way. The Mountain's left hand was dragged the other way by Perwyn while his injured right hand clumsily tried to tear at the ropes binding him.
Then, rushing footsteps from behind her had Catelyn turn to find Brienne charging with a familiar warhammer in hand before slamming it with a roar at Clegane's knee, the same knee that Hallis had managed to rip part of the plating off. The Mountain's roar of agony was followed by him finally collapsing, and the two riders slapped their horses' rear, causing them to burst into a sudden gallop as they dragged the Monster away.
Catelyn's hold on her dagger tightened in trepidation. Surely, this was the end; Gregor Clegane was surely beaten… until she heard the sound of a rope snapping as the Mountain's gauntlet proved too tough for the cordage. She stared blankly as the Mountain was barely a few feet from her, groaning on the ground but still very much alive and dangerous. He raised his battered left arm as he tried to remove the noose around his gorget.
Something drove her, then. It was as if the world was swimming, and the part of Catelyn that was wroth at being helpless moved forth with certainty she never thought she possessed.
And used all her weight–something she had never done before but felt oddly right–to plunge all eight inches of her dagger into the narrow horizontal slit and through the brute's remaining eye. There was no doubt in her mind that she would strike true into the thin opening, and the dagger struck true with laughable ease. The Monster twitched, his arms moving to snap her neck even in his death throes, but Brienne was there to smack them away with her warhammer. Catelyn clenched her teeth as she growled, withdrew the dagger, and plunged it again and again and again until she was screaming incoherently and cursing the circumstances that brought her to this place.
The gods were cruel… yet they were also merciful, for they answered her prayers when she most needed it.
"My Lady…" Catelyn did not know when she finally calmed down, only that by the time she did, Clegane's face was a mangled mess and her dagger was badly bent. Her hands bled from something yet she could not care less; the sound of battle that had been in the background had faded away.
The Winterfell household guard protectively surrounded her, or at least what was left of them. She spied Ser Balon Swann, standing close by as she sat on Clegane's battered chest armor. The Swann knight was covered in blood and gore, his morning star still having bits of brain and an eyeball stuck in one of its spikes. "It's over now. The battle is won."
As if waiting for that declaration, the sun finally set, and the exhaustion of the past few moons seemingly caught up with Catelyn in one moment, and darkness consumed her.
Catelyn woke up to the sound of wheels moving on the road. The constant bumps told her it was a poor road, and a poorer carriage, clearly not a wheelhouse. She felt like her body was one massive bruise–everything hurt, her elbow on which she had fallen in the rocky stream most of all. She struggled to open her eyes, yet once she succeeded, the bright rays of the sun seared at her face, eliciting a pained hiss from her chapped lips.
"She's awake!" Brienne's voice came from near her, and Catelyn heard a horse snorting as it approached the cart. "My Lady, are you alright?"
After some more struggle, Catelyn managed to open her eyes to find the homely face of Brienne looming over her, her sapphire eyes full of worry and wonder. She looked around, finding she was laid on a cot in the middle of a cart, with several people seated around her. She found Hallis Mollen with a bloody bandage over his head, grinning at her. It was a gruesome sight; the man had lost three teeth, and his lip was busted - not even his thick brown beard could hide his injuries.
"Water…" Her throat was parched, and someone helped her sit up and hand her a water skin. Catelyn carefully wet her lips and tongue with the lukewarm water that tasted like the finest Arbor Gold. She thanked Shadd, who had his arm in a sling and gave him back the water skin. "Where are we?"
"We are on our way to King Stannis' camp," Came the reply from Balon Swann. The second son of Lord Gulian Swann was ahorse, his armor clean from the blood that caked it when she last saw him, yet battered from battle. "You have been asleep for nearly two days, My Lady. I have already sent riders ahead, and the King shall expect us."
"I see." Catelyn groaned as she tried to stand, only for her legs to give out on her. Thankfully, the humiliating fall was averted by Brienne's quick and steady hands. "Thank you, Brienne. You were very brave in battle."
"Not as much as you, My Lady." The Tarth maid grinned, and Catelyn realized she had never seen her smile before; it was a pretty smile despite her unfortunate features. "'Mountainfall', the men call you, for you slayed the Mountain That Rode."
Catelyn looked at the surrounding men; there were many of them, clearly, the entire force was marching alongside them - and nearly everyone of them was harmed in some way. Arms in slings, bloody bandages around heads and limbs; some were even missing their limbs or an eye.
Still, everyone stares at her with respect, yet her Household Guards looked shamed; she could guess what was on their mind; they blamed themselves for not defeating Clegane.
"What happened to the rest of the battle?"
"Mullendore came through with his lancers and crashed into their rear." Lucas Blackwood explained from atop his horse looking mostly unharmed compared to the rest of the men. "The Mountain's men were already on the brink, once we paraded their leader's massive head on a lance, they broke. After that was the cleanup, which did not take long as reinforcements arrived and took over hunting down those who fled."
Catelyn hummed as she followed the Blackwood Noble's gaze where a brutish tarred head was stuck on a lance attached to a corner of the carriage. She noted that the two horses driving the carriage were the same ones that Sers Robin and Perwyn used to hold the Mountain.
Catelyn shook her head and turned to her savior. Ser Balon Swann rode straight with his back, and his face was as readable as a block of stone. "How many men did we lose?"
"We?" The Swann knight smiled sardonically, "You lost half of your retinue, My Lady."
The blunt statement was delivered with the grace of a warhammer to the knee, and Catelyn felt a heavy weight on her shoulders. She turned to Hallis, who nodded sadly, which explained why she couldn't find all of her guards.
"What about your own, Ser?"
The Swann knight grimaced before shaking his head, "You needn't worry about that. Many died, but they held the line most admirably, not so different from your own men." Balon turned his gaze to her guards, "My father had told me tales of the Trident, how the Northmen were the bulk of the Rebel forces and held the line against the more numerous Targaryen forces. Yet, held they did, near fanatically so, especially the Stark men. I have seen the quality of your men, and believe me when I say it was an honor to fight alongside such warriors."
Her remaining household guard did not look pleased, however. Shadd spat sideways. "Fat load of good that did. The Lady still nearly died because we couldn't bring down that monster. Seven of us! Seven of us armed with warpicks and warhammers, rondels and daggers, yet we were brushed aside like tumbling weeds."
"Aye, at least Osric disarmed the fucker before dying." Hugo, one of the oldest of her retinue, grumbled. The man was nearly a greybeard, barely a few years younger than her uncle, yet he was still spry for his age. "To think the two Rivermen would be the ones to save the day."
Despite the harshness of his words, Hugo raised his arm in salute to Lucas and Perwyn, both River knights returning the gesture, while Robin Flint muttered, "What am I, chopped liver?"
The men laughed at the Flint heir's expense, though Catelyn knew it was all in jest. Moons traveling rough in the wilds had broken down any barriers between men-at-arms and the nobles.
"You buried our men, I'm sure." Catelyn looked to Hallis, who nodded solemnly. "Good. Their families will be taken care of, and tales of their bravery shall be retold to their children."
Her household guard stood straighter then, and she could spot the ghost of a smile dancing across their eyes. Catelyn wiped some sweat from her brow and froze as her hands brushed through her hair, or what remained of it.
"Here, My Lady." Brienne produced a silver mirror for her, and Catelyn inspected her now short auburn locks that barely reached her neck - it looked like a wild crow's nest with jagged, uneven edges. "I did not dare presume to fix it for you."
"Thank you, Brienne, but I care not about what my hair looks like. I would gladly shave myself bald for the rest of my days if it meant I would slay that monster."
The sound of galloping horses heralded Ser Mullendore, his monkey hanging over his shoulder, its small beady eyes curiously inspecting the Northmen and her. "We found a good spot to camp. A spring and a grove; we noticed signs of game as well."
Ser Balon looked to the skies, and Catelyn noticed it was late afternoon, "We could still travel for two or three more hours, but I doubt we will find a better place to stay the night. The lands have been queer lately, woodlands appearing when prior there were nothing, springs when there were dry wells." The words sent a strange shiver down her back but the Swann knight merely shrugged. "Alright, men, let's get to it. Ser Gawyn, go to-"
Two hours later, Catelyn found herself in the comfort of her own tent, the same one her brother Edmure had gifted her the day she left Riverrun for that ill-fated diplomatic mission to Renly. A copper tub was provided for her, full of hot water, and for the first time in moons, Catelyn finally managed to take a proper bath that did not include a dip in a spring.
"Brienne? It's your turn now." She shared the tent with the Tarth Maid, and as she put on her clothes, the tall girl hesitantly entered the covered section of the tent to clean herself, bringing two large buckets of boiling water with her.
"Thank you, Lady Stark."
Catelyn hummed as she grabbed a pair of scissors and began trimming her hair. "Brienne, I think we need to discuss what will happen once we arrive in Stannis' camp."
The blonde girl finished emptying the cool water of the tub before refilling it with hot water. "What is there to discuss? We surrendered to him and were given guest rights. I'm not sure if he would honor it considering…"
"Ser Balon Swann tells me that Stannis had forsaken the foreign faith of R'hllor and returned to the Seven." Brienne paused her scrubbing for a moment before carrying on. "There is a reason Ser Swann accepted Lucas' abilities so readily, and those tales of magic and sorcery are far more real than we imagined. Stannis Baratheon is apparently blessed by the Warrior, wielding a blade of lightning and carrying the Seven's favor."
"Yet, he killed his brother."
"None are as accursed as the kinsalyer," Catelyn agreed, "Yet would he have been so blessed if he truly was a kinslayer?"
"My Lady! You were there with me, and you saw that shadow with Stannis' face stabbing King Renly!"
Catelyn sighed at the tall woman's stubbornness. Ah, the folly of youth. "You are not wrong, I did see a shadow carrying Stannis' face, yet what could I possibly know of magic and sorcery? What if it was done on purpose to cause us to misjudge the elder Baratheon brother? There are so many things that we do not know, and it would not do for us to antagonize our captor when, so far, his men had treated us with honor."
"…Very well, My Lady. I understand."
Catelyn feared the young girl did not truly understand, yet she had said her piece. It was up to the Tarth Maid to embrace wisdom and not commit rash actions. Once her hair was fixed and brushed, Catelyn excused herself and stepped out to the campfire. Two of her household guards, Tom and Harmond, immediately stepped in behind her as an honor guard as she made her way to the campfire, where several nobles were seated.
She looked around the campfire, as well as the several others that sprang out along with cooking fires and a smith operating from a wagon. Finally, she found her target, for once, seated by his lonesome with a bowl of soup in his hands.
"Ser Balon."
"Lady Stark," He stood up and bowed, his fist touching his heart in salute. "How fares your stay?"
"Well, thank the Gods." Catelyn waited until Harmond unfolded a wooden chair for her to sit on before continuing. "So far, your Stormlanders have been the epitome of politeness and courtesy. Do not take this the wrong way, but I recall them being far more boisterous when I first met with Renly."
"We are Marchermen," Balon shrugged. "We are accustomed to war, and discipline is the only thing that differentiates us from the Dornish rogues. Besides, you are the Queen Dowager of the North, the widow of Eddard Stark, and the slayer of the Mountain. You bring a lot of prestige with your mere presence, My Lady."
Catelyn lightly smiled at the younger man's praise, but she felt hollow inside. "As good as it sounds, me and you both know it's merely empty flattery. I stood no chance against Tywin's dog and was merely lucky enough to land the final strike by the Grace of the Seven after everyone else battered him down."
"And yet it was that final strike that felled the Mountain, not knights and warriors of great renown with years of training," Ser Swann inclined his head.
"A widow has no use for vainglory," she sighed. "I was hoping to ask you about your time in King's Landing, Ser."
Balon's face suddenly fell, but he recovered as he drank from his bowl. "What would you like to know, Lady Stark?"
"Were you present during my daughter's escape?"
"Aye, but I was fighting for my life then. I only glimpsed her and her savior absconding with Sandor Clegane's horse before that sorcerer did the impossible and slashed away at a hail of arrows."
This was the first time Catelyn had heard a first-hand account of the events, and she listened intently as Balon Swann slowly recollected all he knew from that day. The more she listened, the more Catelyn was certain that if that savior of her daughter were faced against the Mountain, he would have beaten him with a single strike. Especially if Sansa allowed him to wield the Stark ancestral blade.
Worse, though, was how she listened to Balon's recounting of Sansa's treatment in King's Landing. It also confirmed once and for all that the Lannisters never had Arya in their grasp.
"… it was the most chaotic day in the capital since the day Lord Stark was betrayed by the gold cloaks in the throne room."
Catelyn broke from her musings as she focused on what the young knight was saying. "Were you present, Ser Balon? In the throne room, I mean."
"Who wasn't? Eddard Stark had chosen the best time to bring out King Robert's decree, right when all the lords and heirs were expected to swear fealty to Joffrey. I was merely a spectator, but I will not forget how Cersei Lannister tore apart the King's decree instating Lord Stark as regent, nor how Littlefinger held a dagger to the Lord Hand's throat as the gold cloaks–"
"Wait!" Suddenly, a terrible, terrible feeling formed in Catelyn's stomach. "Littlefinger?! Petyr Baelish, you mean? My foster brother? He betrayed my husband?!"
She did not realize she had stood until the rest of the camp went silent, but Catelyn did not care. All that was on her mind were her last words with her foster brother, and how he promised her he would help Ned in any way possible.
"I will not forget the help you gave me, Petyr… I have found a brother I'd thought lost."
"I am… sorry, My Lady. But all I said is the truth." Balon was saying, but it felt as if he was talking from a hundred miles away. "There were hundreds of noble witnesses in that throne room. Many of them have returned to their homes in the Reach and the Crownlands, and they would all attest to my claims: Petyr Baelish is a conniving snake who betrayed the Lord Hand when he declared Stannis Baratheon as the one true king. King Stannis has vowed never to rest until–"
Catelyn could not remember the rest of that night's discussion. Only that she had excused herself for bed, but even as she laid in her cot, only one thing stuck to her mind. That day, she met Petyr Baelish in that brothel; he wore a curious pin on his garment.
A mockingbird.
Catelyn Stark fell to sleep, vowing she would not rest until she had her dear foster brother's head on a silver platter. Or even better, have him squirm as she twisted a dagger in his eyes as the last vestiges of his life were snuffed out.
2nd Day of the 10th Moon (two days later)
The Swann Knight
"Ser Swann!" Balon Swann was interrupted as he spoke to a group of riders preparing to leave.
He turned to one of the lookouts swiftly approaching with a scroll in his gloved hand. "Raven."
"What?"
Balon stared incomprehensibly; they were on the field sweeping the Crownlands for any enemy forces as King Stannis besieged King's Landing. Reports have arrived of multiple warbands sneaking past their blockade at the Gold Crossing, and the king did not want any surprises striking from the flank. Balon and his men were one of several other bands searching for those outriders.
"A raven scroll, Ser." The guard repeated, adjusting his grip on his bow. "It landed on my shoulder during my watch. I had Rory keep a lookout while I came to report."
Focused on martial pursuits he might be, but Ser Balon knew well enough that ravens were supposed to only be trained to fly to keeps. While many lords and commanders kept maesters or acolytes to send ravens from the field to a castle, the reverse was supposed to be impossible.
Apparently not, but the world had long gone mad anyway.
Balon nodded and accepted the scroll from the rider, finding it tied with a string. Stranger still, the message had a hasty scribble next to the string stating 'House Stark', lacking any form of legitimate heraldry.
But something in his mind told him it wasn't fake, an almost feminine whisper urged him to trust; Balon blinked as he hurriedly read the scroll.
Catelyn Stark and her retinue request your protection. We shall be by your camp by the hour of the crane. The Mountain Rides after us.
He blinked again before quickly looking at the sky; it was the hour of the hawk when the sun was at its highest. Three more hours, then. Suddenly, all the hairs on Balon's arms stood up as the dire words truly sank in.
There was no way Catelyn Stark would willingly come for the protection of an enemy of her son unless the alternative were far worse. A small voice in the back of his head said this could be a trick, but he instantly squashed it; who in their right mind would train a raven to send a message warning of an attack?
They had already clashed with a few bands of Reachmen and Lion's men, seemingly searching the Crownlands for something. Apparently, that was the answer, and to think it would be the Mountain of all people…
Balon took a deep breath to center himself, noticing more knights and men-at-arms approaching at the disturbance. He turned to the guard, still waiting patiently for orders.
'A good knight does not panic but prepares and faces whatever obstacles the Seven place before you,' Ser Arnold Caron, his knightly master, had taught him. Even now, a decade later, the words brought him much-needed calm.
"Spread the word around the camp of an impending attack. I want everyone up and armored within the hour." He then waved over the squad of scouts about to leave, "change of plans. Call back our foragers and any outriders. Two of you will continue and link with the other warbands' patrols and warn them as well. Everyone else, prepare for battle!"
"Yes, Ser!"
It was a testament to the discipline of the Marchermen that they did not even ask him who was attacking and why. Balon went to his tent to put on his armor, a half-plate as he preferred, with no gauntlets to allow him better use of his favored weapon: the longbow.
Strapping his morning star to his belt and grabbing his heater shield, he returned to the camp, finding all of his forces armed and ready. Riders trickled in now and then, while Balon took stock of his forces.
His brother had worked tirelessly to ensure his competency and loyalty to King Stannis, and Balon was given a considerable force of four hundred men as a sign of trust. Two hundred of them were the very best that Stonehelm had to offer in men-at-arms. His men could wield the bow as well as they could hold a shield wall. Armed with a long spear, a mace, a tower shield, and a long bow, the men of Stonehelm were accustomed to fighting the mounted raiders of Dorne and pirates from the Stepstones.
Their camp was situated on a slightly elevated hill, yet it was not a defensible position by any means. Still, sharpened stakes and a few ditches were positioned on the flanks while a stream covered their rear. The easiest entrance came from the north, yet Balon had no idea where their guests would come from.
"Ser Balon," He turned to his second in command, Ser Mark Mullendore, his ever-present monkey on his shoulder, and his lips quirked into a smirk. The Reach knight was chosen to represent the Reach contingent in his force, which included many heavy knights. A fair number were light lancers, and those were the ones scouting in the field and, even now, trickled back to camp.
"Ser Mark," Balon nodded and preemptively answered the question that he and the rest of his captains and serjeants had on their lips. "A force led by Gregor Clegane approaches, chasing a vital guest of King Stannis."
"Do you think they are the ones we have been searching for?" The Reachman lost his smirk as everyone straightened their backs.
"Most likely, we did not have the chance to scout the region properly, and the two bands we found so far were sellswords and manhunters. What they are doing in the Crownlands, so far away from their armies, is a mystery, but we know Tywin Lannister employs such free riders in his army."
"Aye, so who's our important guest?"
Before Balon could answer, a horn blast sounded out from the west, and the lookout yelled, "Riders!"
They quickly moved to the line of men locking shields as they faced the coming riders - they were early. Balon could see a score of them, galloping like the very hounds of hell were behind them. Their horses were foaming at the mouth, clearly on the brink of collapsing. There was another dust cloud behind them, which Balon realized was pursuers - the summer heat had caused the ground to crack and turn dusty in recent weeks.
The figure at the front took off her hood, allowing long red hair to flow, and Balon instantly shouted, "Lock shields and preset spears. Bowmen, notch arrows, and hold for my call." He turned to Ser Mark, who was holding his horse, and said, "These are our guests. Ride to them and direct them to the northern entrance."
Mark Mullendore nodded before closing his visor and riding out, his monkey jumping away to land on a tent's pole while a dozen other riders followed him. Balon would have ridden out himself, but he was not a particularly good rider; instead, as he grabbed his warbow and approached his troops of archers, he knew where his abilities lay.
"Steady men, wait for our riders to have them veer north," as he watched, Ser Mullendore approached Catelyn Stark's party and quickly directed them northwards. The Northmen did not even slow their horses as they urged them after their guide; less than a minute later, their pursuers also turned, yet they had been blinded by their quarry's dust cloud and did not see the rows of stakes and men behind them until they were already turning away. Farther than the range of a crossbow or a hunting bow, yet well within the range of the Marcher's warbows.
"Loose!"
The twang of one hundred bows sang as a hail of arrows fell on the thirty or forty riders - his arrow nailing the leading rider in the eye. Perhaps if they had been riding south and presenting them with their kite shields, they could have survived the first volley. Yet by forcing them to ride north, they provided the archers with their right flank, where most riders held their blades or lances instead of a shield.
Horses screamed, and men fell as barbed arrows pierced through flesh and boiled leather. Even chainmail would not have lasted long against such an onslaught; only proper plate armor could shrug those arrows off. Most knights could not afford those, and those that could, rarely had any coin left to protect their warhorse with full plate barding. Being a knight was an expensive endeavor, and only those born to lords or possessing great skill could afford to clad themselves in full steel. Those riders were neither knights, men-at-arms, nor even lancers; sellswords, freeriders, and, judging by the tabard of the three running dogs on a yellow field, raiders.
Balon did not need to call for another volley, as the first one was enough to shatter the riders, the survivors galloping away, leaving a score of dead men and horses. Instead, he had a serjeant lead a squad and finish any survivors while he turned as Ser Mullendore arrived with their guests. Balon found himself face to face with an utterly exhausted Catelyn Stark and her men.
"Lady Stark, I am Ser Balon Swann. I believe you sent us a message."
The woman's haggard eyes looked like they had not seen a wink of sleep in days, yet she still managed to get off her horse with the help of one of her men, a muscular Northman easily over six feet. In fact, every member of the party was tall, hairy, and exhausted - except for two Rivermen and a woman he recognized as the heiress of Tarth, who was the tallest of them all.
"I take it you offer your protection, Ser Swann?" Lady Stark gazed at him warily.
"As long as you surrender, you shall be given guest rights." Catelyn Stark closed her eyes, while the rest of her men grumbled - even exhausted, they still looked dangerous enough that his men instinctively surrounded them and fingered their weapons. No arms were drawn, yet Balon had to nip that in the bud immediately. "I will not ask you to surrender your weapons, at least not until we repelled your pursuers. There are more, I take it?"
"Aye, I counted nearly a thousand of the Mountain's men steadily closing in on us. All of them were mounted, yet they did not waste time looting or plundering." The words that came from the dark-haired young man chilled Balon's bones - they were outnumbered, heavily so that they could not hope to escape as only a third of their numbers had horses. "I am Lucas Blackwood. The Mountain had spread his men in search of Lady Stark, yet they were converging when they learned of our location."
"How many were following you here?" Balon did not understand how the Blackwood knight knew the exact numbers of the Mountain's men, yet this was not the time to wonder.
"There were four separate warbands within twenty miles of us at all times, each at least one hundred strong. I am certain they must have grouped again and should be here within a few hours." Lucas grimaced heavily then, "Unless they are smart and wait for the Mountain and the rest of his force to group up."
The men muttered among themselves, yet Balon had eyes only on Catelyn Stark, who leaned on Brienne of Tarth's arm for support. He had never met the Lady Stark before, but he had been told she was a great beauty. He could see the signs of that even through the exhaustion and worry marring her face, yet the woman's eyes were like two blocks of ice as her face steeled in determination. This was not a weak damsel but one who was prepared for the worst outcome.
"If we surrender, you shall guarantee all of our safeties?"
"Of course, by my honor."
"And you shall take us to Stannis Baratheon afterward?" Lady Stark's words were blithe, and Balon could see Brienne's face growing stormy. He had heard of the tales of Renly's death, yet he did not know any details other than the flight of the Northmen following his former liege lord's death.
"It would be my duty to deliver you to my king," Balon said simply, and Catelyn Stark sighed as if the very weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
"Very well. Better Stannis Baratheon than Tywin Lannister."
"Excellent. Ronald!" Balon barked to his squire, the bastard of Griffin's Roost. "Bring bread and salt."
The young lad hurried to obey; Ronald Storm had barely seen eleven name-days when his father, Ronnet Connington, who had begotten him when he was only thirteen, asked him to take as a squire. Still, he was a dutiful and intelligent lad as he brought a tray of bread and salt. Catelyn Stark partook in the rite as the leader of her group, while the rest of her men nearly collapsed as they were provided with food and water.
"Now, my Lady Stark. I apologize that I shall keep you from rest, but I need to learn more about your pursuers and what to expect when they arrive."
"Understood. Ser Lucas? I would have you join us." The Blackwood knight nodded tiredly, yet Balon raised an eyebrow as he found a large raven on the man's shoulder - it was not there earlier. "Hallis, rest your men and horses, but be ready for another fight. I'm sure Ser Balon shall provide you with a spot to camp?"
"Indeed, Roland? See that they are cared for." His squire nodded as he led Lady Stark's group further into the camp. "Ser Mark!" The Mullendore knight saluted, "Gather your fastest riders and screen everything within twenty miles for our pursuers."
"Yes, Ser!"
"Everyone else, you can be assured that the survivors shall warn the rest of our position. You may rest for food or water, yet do not take off your armor. We may yet see a proper fight soon."
His men hollered as he led Lady Stark and Lucas Blackwood to his tent, which was not nearly large enough for more than two people to stand, yet it would provide them a modicum of privacy. There, he hoped to learn more about what they would face.
A*H*M
A few hours later
"Here they come."
Catelyn swallowed her trepidation as she watched from atop the small hill with her guard as the Mountain's small army formed up like a wave of dark steel. The first of their foes had arrived two hours ago but were swiftly driven back by Ser Mullendore and his knights. Several other bands were seen, yet they proved wiser, merely scouting their camp and riding away before Ser Swann could order a charge.
Another two hours later, the bulk of the Mountain's army arrived. Looking at them now, Catelyn could tell that while mounted, very few of them were knights or lancers. Most were mounted footmen, using any kind of equine, even stots, drays, and donkeys, no doubt stolen from the many villages and towns dotting the land, to travel quickly but not expected to fight from horseback.
Ser Balon Swann had moved the bulk of the troops to face west, yet he ordered all wagons and carriages to be moved towards the north to block the entrance to the camp. A stream covered their southern flank, which also happened to be the closest flank to them, at barely a hundred feet away. The men had managed to fell a few trees in the short time they had and dragged them to the east to form a simple barrier.
It didn't look to be enough to stop anyone serious about passing through, but just enough to prevent a cavalry charge.
"How many do you think they are?" Catelyn asked Ser Lucas, who stood with all her retinue near her, his weirwood bow strung in his hands.
"Twelve hundred men, yet they are also exhausted, just like us." Lucas frowned before stifling a yawn - they had barely got a few hours of sleep. Yet, it was better than none, and their horses had been pushed to the brink and would need at least another day before they could be of any use. "I don't understand. Why are they forming ranks as if to assault? It would be more prudent to wait until they are more rested before attacking."
"They know there are other warbands like our own." Ser Balon Swann approached with his lieutenants, "They have placed the bulk of their forces to the west, but they still have riders to the north and east. My men reported that several of them had slipped through to rush to the main force. King Stannis had sent three groups like my own to hunt for those raiders, and the other two ought to be already on their way."
"How long until they arrive?"
"At the earliest? Tomorrow morn. Ser Lucas' ravens are a gift from the gods, but even then, they would need to break camp and travel through the night to reach us." The Swann knight shook his head, but his hardy gaze did not move from the foes forming into ranks to the west. "The Mountain clearly understands this and hopes to dislodge us before reinforcements arrive. If we hold on until morning, victory will be closer, but even then, we would still be in similar numbers."
"Not if we thin the Mountain's ranks now," Ser Mullendore replied. "My horse are ready, and the fools have left a paltry defense to the north, allowing us to wheel in for charges at any time."
"Aye, but the timing will need to be perfect. We must wait for them to fully commit to the western flank before you remove the barricades and ride through." Balon Swann turned to her, "My Lady, I would advise you to retire to your tent. The battle is not a place for a woman, and even then," He raised his voice as Brienne looked ready to argue, "This battle is happening too close for comfort. Any stray arrow could reach here, and if the enemy breaks through, they would be capable of reaching you."
"Even more reason for us to remain here." Hallis Mollen shook his head before adjusting his grip on a tower shield he had borrowed from the armory wagon. "The closer we are to your men, the safer we will be. We shall protect the Lady Stark with our lives, no matter what. The Mountain's men don't have many archers with them, but if they dare shoot in the open, they would be easy pickings for you."
Catelyn merely nodded at the Swann knight's inquisitive eyes as she tried to ignore the bone-deep wariness she and her men were suffering. Nevertheless, they were all awake, armed and armored, and ready for battle. Ser Balon sighed but nodded back just as the Mountain's men began their advance.
"Looks like they won't bother with a parley." Ser Perwyn Frey jested as Ser Swann moved to his men and barked orders for them to notch their arrows.
Ser Lucas bowed to her before joining the Swann knight with his archers, both of them drawing their bows alongside the men. Catelyn was not learned in matters of war, yet she couldn't help but watch in interest as the two hundred men-at-arms of Stonehelm formed two lines. They dropped their shields and spears, notched their bows with the arrows hanging on the quiver on their hips, and then drew at Ser Swann's orders.
"Loose!"
The twang of over two hundred bows resounded as a hail of arrows flew towards the advancing footmen, who were still three hundred yards out. The first volley was a surprise as the men did not expect such an effective range from war bows, and a score was felled before they quickly hid behind their kite shields.
"ADVANCE YOU COWARDS!"
The thundering bellow came from a giant of a man seated on a massive stallion, both of them decked in so much armor that Catelyn wondered how the horse could even move, let alone carry the Mountain. Yet move it did, and as if driven by fear, the footmen jogged with their shields held high. The archers had already fired another volley, but the enemy's large kite shields protected them. Many were still felled as arrows hit exposed body parts, yet with the Mountain and his core of horsemen egging them on, the footmen dared not stop. At around a hundred yards out, their enemy began to pick up the pace, while Ser Balon ordered half the archers to switch to spear and shield. The other half was far more accurate and devastating as they continuously fired at the advancing foot, while the Mountain shrugged off the arrows aiming for him, his massive shield protecting his horse.
Fifteen volleys were fired, and Catelyn counted nearly four hundred dead or wounded on the field, yet Gregor Clegane did not seem at all fazed by the loss of nearly a third of his troops. Finally, both sides clashed, and the archers had to stop their fire to join the rest of the spear wall. Ser Mullendore had already taken his hundred lancers and rode north, aiming to hit their flanks, yet there were still eight hundred of the Mountain's men against three hundred of Ser Balon's.
Catelyn was a mere hundred yards away from the fighting, and it was brutal. Her fingers would be trembling if her gloved hands weren't balled into fists. The screams of men as they were pierced by spears or struck by arrows reverberated to her. More of Swann's men trickled in from the other flanks to join the melee, yet the advantage was clearly on the Mountain's side, as some of his men were busy ripping out the stakes while a majority fought the spearmen.
Nevertheless, after a few minutes, it became apparent that the manic charge of the enemy was losing steam as their exhaustion set in, and Swann's men remained firm in their lines. Catelyn could hear the Mountain's booming voice shouting curses and abuse at his men to keep attacking and stretching the line to surround the Stormlanders. Clegane was close enough to be peppered with arrows, and she could see Ser Balon and Ser Lucas releasing arrow after arrow at the behemoth of a man, yet the brute hid behind his shield while his horse's barding protected even its legs.
A curse from beside her had Catelyn turn to Hallis, "Looks like Mullendore will be delayed."
She followed the Stark captain of the guard's gaze to find the Reachmen and his lancers fighting another band of horsemen hiding in the woods. There were not many, and she could tell Mullendore had the upper hand, but it was clear they did not aim to defeat him, only delay him. And she did not need to be a genius to realize what they were delaying for.
"Seven fucking hells, the Mountain is charging!"
Looking back to the lines, the Stormlanders were holding solidly against the mad assault of the Mountain's men, and they would have most likely beaten their assailants in time. Only for the Mountain and a dozen of his riders, all armed and armored to the teeth, to charge in once the foot removed enough of the stakes and create a gap in the spear wall. The brute trampled over his own men who were too slow to get out of the way before crashing into the line of spearmen, a massive sword swinging left and right, not so much cutting but bashing away any in its path.
For a moment, Catelyn prayed that a spear would find its mark in the horse's belly and drop the brute to the ground, but while several of his riders were felled, the Mountain continued his charge. Soon, the gap widened, and his riders filled in, followed by the rest of his men. The Queen Dowager of the North felt her mouth go dry as Tywin's monster set his sights on her.
Only for her retinue to step in front of her protectively.
"Men! Form a shield wall." Hallis Mollen's shout was answered by a roar as the rest of the men formed up. "Ser Robin, may the gods be with you."
Robin Flint and Perwyn Frey, both on fresh horses they borrowed from the Stormlanders, grunted from their positions behind a tent. Both horses were not suitable for combat but were powerful and clumsy beasts, more suitable for farm work or dragging heavy loads. The men had asked Catelyn and Brienne several times to hide in one of the tents, yet she insisted on being outside, knowing that for that mad plan the Flint knight had come up with on the fly to work, the Mountain needed a target of focus.
What better bait than herself?
The Mountain roared like an angry bull and swung his sword at a spearman who tried to stab at his horse's ankle so hard that he bisected his tower shield and the arm holding it before urging his horse forward.
Only for an arrow shaft to sprout out of the slit of his helmet, just as another arrow struck his horse in the eye as well, causing it and its rider to collapse. It was as if the shooters were waiting for just this moment when the Mountain was so close that there was no chance of missing, and he couldn't hide behind the enormous iron-studded chunk of wood that served as a shield.
The horse died instantly, but the Mountain's earth-shaking roar as he ripped the arrow from his helmet showed he still lived as he pushed the horse's corpse off his body and stood back from his fall. Catelyn gawked, looking to the side to find both Ser Lucas and Ser Balon firing their last arrows at the monster who hid behind his shield, dropping the arrow that still had his punctured eye to the ground before ignoring them and charging straight towards her. The gap he created was closed as the Stormlanders recovered and cut down the overextended footmen, yet more than thirty of them still made it through and followed their Captain toward them.
Three of them were mounted and as they veered away from the Mountain and headed towards the tents with torches, Catelyn heard Robin Flint cursing as he urged Perwyn Frey to follow him as they engaged with the riders.
"My Lady, I would love to say that now would be a good time to retreat but considering there is no real avenue of retreat, I suggest you remain behind us." Hallis chuckled wryly before banging his warhammer against his shield and roaring louder than a horn, "WINTERFELL!"
"WINTERFELL!!" Came the shout from the rest of her men as they charged towards the steadily approaching Mountain and his men. Several of her men threw axes and javelins they requisitioned from Swann's supplies and managed to kill a handful of the Mountain's men before both sides clashed.
Gregor Clegane bull rushed into the advancing Northmen, his shield in front of him as he knocked away Hallin and two of his men to the ground before swinging his massive sword at two more Northmen who barely managed to dodge the deadly swing. The rest of his men engaged with the Northmen, yet the Mountain had not been idle as he stabbed his sword at the still recovering Jorah, piercing through his neck and severing the head.
Catelyn could do nothing but watch as her Household Guard fought and died for her. The Mountain alone kept seven of her men busy, yet the rest were losing ground against the score that made it through the gap. She could see Ser Balon rushing with half a dozen men to aid them, but he was still outnumbered.
Hallis had recovered and smashed his warhammer at the Mountain's knee, puncturing the plate with the spiked part before ripping the armor off, causing Tywin's monster to roar in rage. The captain of the guards didn't have a chance to steady himself before he got shield bashed so hard he flew a few feet and remained motionless on the ground. Before the Mountain could finish him, Ser Lucas appeared with a fresh quiver and started rapidly shooting arrows at the heavily armored knight, yet he could not find a weak point.
Two of her Northmen tried to blindside the Mountain, but he was far more agile than his size suggested and managed to swing his sword at them. Shadd managed to duck, but Osric tried to block it with his buckler, only for the shield and his arm to get crushed as the sword struck. Yet through his roar of agony, brave Osric quickly stabbed with his rondel dagger at the Mountain's mailed fist, puncturing through the wrist and managing to force him to drop his sword only to get mule kicked so hard, Catelyn could hear the sound of his ribs shattering.
The Mountain was disarmed, yet he still had his shield. He surveyed the battle, ignoring Ser Lucas' arrows and finding that he was cut off from the rest of his men.
Then, he turned to her.
Catelyn could almost imagine the beastly eye under the helmet deciding that this battle was lost, yet the man could still get away with the biggest prize.
"My Lady, stand back!"
Brienne moved forward just as Gregor Clegane sprinted for her, his massive shield bashing any in his way. The Tarth Maid tried to stop him, but even though she was taller and stronger than most of the men on the battlefield, the Mountain still pushed her aside like she was a child, her sword clanging uselessly against his armor, while the girl fell to the ground in a roll.
Catelyn idly noticed the sound of horses neighing, but she only had one thought in her mind as the Mountain That Rides continued his relentless charge at her.
Run!
She turned around and dashed as fast as her tired body could allow. Catelyn had no real destination in mind, only to escape from the monster and within a few heartbeats, she found herself at the stream near the camp. She could not afford to hesitate; Catelyn was a decent swimmer, and there was no way Gregor Clegane could swim in all that armor.
Just as she was about to jump into the water, something whistled in the air, and Catelyn instinctively dropped to the ground. The Mountain's massive shield flew just past where her back was and crashed into the stream with a massive splash. Catelyn had no chance to stand before she heard the brute breathing harshly behind her, and something dragged her by her long hair.
"Fucking bitch! You led me on this wild chase and cost me my army. Tywin won't care if I turn you into my whore as long as I deliver you alive!"
Catelyn could only groan in pain as the brute dragged her down the stream, clearly aiming to escape the battle. She could not allow herself to be captured, let alone defiled, by such a monster. Before she knew it, she found her dagger in her hand, but Catelyn hesitated.
It would be so easy. Just plunge the dagger in her throat or heart. Even if she didn't die instantly, she would bleed to death. Catelyn was prepared to end it all!
Yet, she hesitated. Even now, Catelyn Stark did not want to die. Her children… they needed her, just as she needed to see them one last time. The Mountain still dragged her by her hair, and she could barely think from the pain in her head, yet she still gave a prayer to all those who could hear her.
'Please, help me!'
A murmur in the wind, a splash in the water as a trout jumped, a chill in her back, and warmth bloomed in her belly. Catelyn Stark suddenly found the courage to do what was necessary, and before she could blink, she sliced through her hair, cutting it off in one swing. Her long hair which she took pride in, that Ned loved, was severed near the base.
The sudden loss of weight caused Gregor Clegane to lose his balance and slip on the muddy banks of the stream. Wasn't the ground dry earlier? Catelyn did not care as she scrambled to run back to camp, just as the Mountain That Rides lost his balance and fell with a thump. Riders were approaching, and Catelyn recognized Sers Robin and Perwyn in the front, bloodied but galloping towards her. In their hands were ropes tied into lassos.
"Lady Stark, get down!"
Robin Flint had not even finished his shout before Catelyn collapsed instinctively, just as Clegane's hand missed her head by inches - how he managed to recover so fast spoke of how monstrous he was. She scrambled away as the two riders arrived and threw their lassos at the Mountain. Perwyn's rope latched onto Clegane's outstretched hand while Robin's aim was far more deadly as it latched around his neck.
"Damn you!"
The Mountain pulled, and the riders nearly buckled, but they had quickly tied their ropes on their saddles. Pulling on their reins, Catelyn watched gobsmacked as Robin Flint and Perwyn Frey dragged the Mountain away from her. For a heartbeat, she watched in disbelief as Gregor Clegane managed to remain on his feet, roaring in rage as the noose around his gorget tightened and Robin urged his horse to heave one way. The Mountain's left hand was dragged the other way by Perwyn while his injured right hand clumsily tried to tear at the ropes binding him.
Then, rushing footsteps from behind her had Catelyn turn to find Brienne charging with a familiar warhammer in hand before slamming it with a roar at Clegane's knee, the same knee that Hallis had managed to rip part of the plating off. The Mountain's roar of agony was followed by him finally collapsing, and the two riders slapped their horses' rear, causing them to burst into a sudden gallop as they dragged the Monster away.
Catelyn's hold on her dagger tightened in trepidation. Surely, this was the end; Gregor Clegane was surely beaten… until she heard the sound of a rope snapping as the Mountain's gauntlet proved too tough for the cordage. She stared blankly as the Mountain was barely a few feet from her, groaning on the ground but still very much alive and dangerous. He raised his battered left arm as he tried to remove the noose around his gorget.
Something drove her, then. It was as if the world was swimming, and the part of Catelyn that was wroth at being helpless moved forth with certainty she never thought she possessed.
And used all her weight–something she had never done before but felt oddly right–to plunge all eight inches of her dagger into the narrow horizontal slit and through the brute's remaining eye. There was no doubt in her mind that she would strike true into the thin opening, and the dagger struck true with laughable ease. The Monster twitched, his arms moving to snap her neck even in his death throes, but Brienne was there to smack them away with her warhammer. Catelyn clenched her teeth as she growled, withdrew the dagger, and plunged it again and again and again until she was screaming incoherently and cursing the circumstances that brought her to this place.
The gods were cruel… yet they were also merciful, for they answered her prayers when she most needed it.
"My Lady…" Catelyn did not know when she finally calmed down, only that by the time she did, Clegane's face was a mangled mess and her dagger was badly bent. Her hands bled from something yet she could not care less; the sound of battle that had been in the background had faded away.
The Winterfell household guard protectively surrounded her, or at least what was left of them. She spied Ser Balon Swann, standing close by as she sat on Clegane's battered chest armor. The Swann knight was covered in blood and gore, his morning star still having bits of brain and an eyeball stuck in one of its spikes. "It's over now. The battle is won."
As if waiting for that declaration, the sun finally set, and the exhaustion of the past few moons seemingly caught up with Catelyn in one moment, and darkness consumed her.
Catelyn woke up to the sound of wheels moving on the road. The constant bumps told her it was a poor road, and a poorer carriage, clearly not a wheelhouse. She felt like her body was one massive bruise–everything hurt, her elbow on which she had fallen in the rocky stream most of all. She struggled to open her eyes, yet once she succeeded, the bright rays of the sun seared at her face, eliciting a pained hiss from her chapped lips.
"She's awake!" Brienne's voice came from near her, and Catelyn heard a horse snorting as it approached the cart. "My Lady, are you alright?"
After some more struggle, Catelyn managed to open her eyes to find the homely face of Brienne looming over her, her sapphire eyes full of worry and wonder. She looked around, finding she was laid on a cot in the middle of a cart, with several people seated around her. She found Hallis Mollen with a bloody bandage over his head, grinning at her. It was a gruesome sight; the man had lost three teeth, and his lip was busted - not even his thick brown beard could hide his injuries.
"Water…" Her throat was parched, and someone helped her sit up and hand her a water skin. Catelyn carefully wet her lips and tongue with the lukewarm water that tasted like the finest Arbor Gold. She thanked Shadd, who had his arm in a sling and gave him back the water skin. "Where are we?"
"We are on our way to King Stannis' camp," Came the reply from Balon Swann. The second son of Lord Gulian Swann was ahorse, his armor clean from the blood that caked it when she last saw him, yet battered from battle. "You have been asleep for nearly two days, My Lady. I have already sent riders ahead, and the King shall expect us."
"I see." Catelyn groaned as she tried to stand, only for her legs to give out on her. Thankfully, the humiliating fall was averted by Brienne's quick and steady hands. "Thank you, Brienne. You were very brave in battle."
"Not as much as you, My Lady." The Tarth maid grinned, and Catelyn realized she had never seen her smile before; it was a pretty smile despite her unfortunate features. "'Mountainfall', the men call you, for you slayed the Mountain That Rode."
Catelyn looked at the surrounding men; there were many of them, clearly, the entire force was marching alongside them - and nearly everyone of them was harmed in some way. Arms in slings, bloody bandages around heads and limbs; some were even missing their limbs or an eye.
Still, everyone stares at her with respect, yet her Household Guards looked shamed; she could guess what was on their mind; they blamed themselves for not defeating Clegane.
"What happened to the rest of the battle?"
"Mullendore came through with his lancers and crashed into their rear." Lucas Blackwood explained from atop his horse looking mostly unharmed compared to the rest of the men. "The Mountain's men were already on the brink, once we paraded their leader's massive head on a lance, they broke. After that was the cleanup, which did not take long as reinforcements arrived and took over hunting down those who fled."
Catelyn hummed as she followed the Blackwood Noble's gaze where a brutish tarred head was stuck on a lance attached to a corner of the carriage. She noted that the two horses driving the carriage were the same ones that Sers Robin and Perwyn used to hold the Mountain.
Catelyn shook her head and turned to her savior. Ser Balon Swann rode straight with his back, and his face was as readable as a block of stone. "How many men did we lose?"
"We?" The Swann knight smiled sardonically, "You lost half of your retinue, My Lady."
The blunt statement was delivered with the grace of a warhammer to the knee, and Catelyn felt a heavy weight on her shoulders. She turned to Hallis, who nodded sadly, which explained why she couldn't find all of her guards.
"What about your own, Ser?"
The Swann knight grimaced before shaking his head, "You needn't worry about that. Many died, but they held the line most admirably, not so different from your own men." Balon turned his gaze to her guards, "My father had told me tales of the Trident, how the Northmen were the bulk of the Rebel forces and held the line against the more numerous Targaryen forces. Yet, held they did, near fanatically so, especially the Stark men. I have seen the quality of your men, and believe me when I say it was an honor to fight alongside such warriors."
Her remaining household guard did not look pleased, however. Shadd spat sideways. "Fat load of good that did. The Lady still nearly died because we couldn't bring down that monster. Seven of us! Seven of us armed with warpicks and warhammers, rondels and daggers, yet we were brushed aside like tumbling weeds."
"Aye, at least Osric disarmed the fucker before dying." Hugo, one of the oldest of her retinue, grumbled. The man was nearly a greybeard, barely a few years younger than her uncle, yet he was still spry for his age. "To think the two Rivermen would be the ones to save the day."
Despite the harshness of his words, Hugo raised his arm in salute to Lucas and Perwyn, both River knights returning the gesture, while Robin Flint muttered, "What am I, chopped liver?"
The men laughed at the Flint heir's expense, though Catelyn knew it was all in jest. Moons traveling rough in the wilds had broken down any barriers between men-at-arms and the nobles.
"You buried our men, I'm sure." Catelyn looked to Hallis, who nodded solemnly. "Good. Their families will be taken care of, and tales of their bravery shall be retold to their children."
Her household guard stood straighter then, and she could spot the ghost of a smile dancing across their eyes. Catelyn wiped some sweat from her brow and froze as her hands brushed through her hair, or what remained of it.
"Here, My Lady." Brienne produced a silver mirror for her, and Catelyn inspected her now short auburn locks that barely reached her neck - it looked like a wild crow's nest with jagged, uneven edges. "I did not dare presume to fix it for you."
"Thank you, Brienne, but I care not about what my hair looks like. I would gladly shave myself bald for the rest of my days if it meant I would slay that monster."
The sound of galloping horses heralded Ser Mullendore, his monkey hanging over his shoulder, its small beady eyes curiously inspecting the Northmen and her. "We found a good spot to camp. A spring and a grove; we noticed signs of game as well."
Ser Balon looked to the skies, and Catelyn noticed it was late afternoon, "We could still travel for two or three more hours, but I doubt we will find a better place to stay the night. The lands have been queer lately, woodlands appearing when prior there were nothing, springs when there were dry wells." The words sent a strange shiver down her back but the Swann knight merely shrugged. "Alright, men, let's get to it. Ser Gawyn, go to-"
Two hours later, Catelyn found herself in the comfort of her own tent, the same one her brother Edmure had gifted her the day she left Riverrun for that ill-fated diplomatic mission to Renly. A copper tub was provided for her, full of hot water, and for the first time in moons, Catelyn finally managed to take a proper bath that did not include a dip in a spring.
"Brienne? It's your turn now." She shared the tent with the Tarth Maid, and as she put on her clothes, the tall girl hesitantly entered the covered section of the tent to clean herself, bringing two large buckets of boiling water with her.
"Thank you, Lady Stark."
Catelyn hummed as she grabbed a pair of scissors and began trimming her hair. "Brienne, I think we need to discuss what will happen once we arrive in Stannis' camp."
The blonde girl finished emptying the cool water of the tub before refilling it with hot water. "What is there to discuss? We surrendered to him and were given guest rights. I'm not sure if he would honor it considering…"
"Ser Balon Swann tells me that Stannis had forsaken the foreign faith of R'hllor and returned to the Seven." Brienne paused her scrubbing for a moment before carrying on. "There is a reason Ser Swann accepted Lucas' abilities so readily, and those tales of magic and sorcery are far more real than we imagined. Stannis Baratheon is apparently blessed by the Warrior, wielding a blade of lightning and carrying the Seven's favor."
"Yet, he killed his brother."
"None are as accursed as the kinsalyer," Catelyn agreed, "Yet would he have been so blessed if he truly was a kinslayer?"
"My Lady! You were there with me, and you saw that shadow with Stannis' face stabbing King Renly!"
Catelyn sighed at the tall woman's stubbornness. Ah, the folly of youth. "You are not wrong, I did see a shadow carrying Stannis' face, yet what could I possibly know of magic and sorcery? What if it was done on purpose to cause us to misjudge the elder Baratheon brother? There are so many things that we do not know, and it would not do for us to antagonize our captor when, so far, his men had treated us with honor."
"…Very well, My Lady. I understand."
Catelyn feared the young girl did not truly understand, yet she had said her piece. It was up to the Tarth Maid to embrace wisdom and not commit rash actions. Once her hair was fixed and brushed, Catelyn excused herself and stepped out to the campfire. Two of her household guards, Tom and Harmond, immediately stepped in behind her as an honor guard as she made her way to the campfire, where several nobles were seated.
She looked around the campfire, as well as the several others that sprang out along with cooking fires and a smith operating from a wagon. Finally, she found her target, for once, seated by his lonesome with a bowl of soup in his hands.
"Ser Balon."
"Lady Stark," He stood up and bowed, his fist touching his heart in salute. "How fares your stay?"
"Well, thank the Gods." Catelyn waited until Harmond unfolded a wooden chair for her to sit on before continuing. "So far, your Stormlanders have been the epitome of politeness and courtesy. Do not take this the wrong way, but I recall them being far more boisterous when I first met with Renly."
"We are Marchermen," Balon shrugged. "We are accustomed to war, and discipline is the only thing that differentiates us from the Dornish rogues. Besides, you are the Queen Dowager of the North, the widow of Eddard Stark, and the slayer of the Mountain. You bring a lot of prestige with your mere presence, My Lady."
Catelyn lightly smiled at the younger man's praise, but she felt hollow inside. "As good as it sounds, me and you both know it's merely empty flattery. I stood no chance against Tywin's dog and was merely lucky enough to land the final strike by the Grace of the Seven after everyone else battered him down."
"And yet it was that final strike that felled the Mountain, not knights and warriors of great renown with years of training," Ser Swann inclined his head.
"A widow has no use for vainglory," she sighed. "I was hoping to ask you about your time in King's Landing, Ser."
Balon's face suddenly fell, but he recovered as he drank from his bowl. "What would you like to know, Lady Stark?"
"Were you present during my daughter's escape?"
"Aye, but I was fighting for my life then. I only glimpsed her and her savior absconding with Sandor Clegane's horse before that sorcerer did the impossible and slashed away at a hail of arrows."
This was the first time Catelyn had heard a first-hand account of the events, and she listened intently as Balon Swann slowly recollected all he knew from that day. The more she listened, the more Catelyn was certain that if that savior of her daughter were faced against the Mountain, he would have beaten him with a single strike. Especially if Sansa allowed him to wield the Stark ancestral blade.
Worse, though, was how she listened to Balon's recounting of Sansa's treatment in King's Landing. It also confirmed once and for all that the Lannisters never had Arya in their grasp.
"… it was the most chaotic day in the capital since the day Lord Stark was betrayed by the gold cloaks in the throne room."
Catelyn broke from her musings as she focused on what the young knight was saying. "Were you present, Ser Balon? In the throne room, I mean."
"Who wasn't? Eddard Stark had chosen the best time to bring out King Robert's decree, right when all the lords and heirs were expected to swear fealty to Joffrey. I was merely a spectator, but I will not forget how Cersei Lannister tore apart the King's decree instating Lord Stark as regent, nor how Littlefinger held a dagger to the Lord Hand's throat as the gold cloaks–"
"Wait!" Suddenly, a terrible, terrible feeling formed in Catelyn's stomach. "Littlefinger?! Petyr Baelish, you mean? My foster brother? He betrayed my husband?!"
She did not realize she had stood until the rest of the camp went silent, but Catelyn did not care. All that was on her mind were her last words with her foster brother, and how he promised her he would help Ned in any way possible.
"I will not forget the help you gave me, Petyr… I have found a brother I'd thought lost."
"I am… sorry, My Lady. But all I said is the truth." Balon was saying, but it felt as if he was talking from a hundred miles away. "There were hundreds of noble witnesses in that throne room. Many of them have returned to their homes in the Reach and the Crownlands, and they would all attest to my claims: Petyr Baelish is a conniving snake who betrayed the Lord Hand when he declared Stannis Baratheon as the one true king. King Stannis has vowed never to rest until–"
Catelyn could not remember the rest of that night's discussion. Only that she had excused herself for bed, but even as she laid in her cot, only one thing stuck to her mind. That day, she met Petyr Baelish in that brothel; he wore a curious pin on his garment.
A mockingbird.
Catelyn Stark fell to sleep, vowing she would not rest until she had her dear foster brother's head on a silver platter. Or even better, have him squirm as she twisted a dagger in his eyes as the last vestiges of his life were snuffed out.
My first proper battle, with no superpowers involved… if you ignore the Enormity that Rides lmao. Seriously, writing that guy is nuts!
Catelyn survived by the skin of her teeth and finally learns the truth of what happened in King's Landing.
If you would like to support me, or read five chapters ahead (total of twenty across all of my stories), join me on my Patr(eo)n under the same penname.
Catelyn survived by the skin of her teeth and finally learns the truth of what happened in King's Landing.
If you would like to support me, or read five chapters ahead (total of twenty across all of my stories), join me on my Patr(eo)n under the same penname.
