act ii . chapter xxxviii

RIVER'S ANGEL
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THE RIVER WAS CALM TODAY. There was a deep blue-green look to it. Lady Catelyn Tully watched from the mossy stone railing on the balcony outside her chambers as the silver trout on her banners jumped; and the fishing boats and traveling barges made their way up and down the river. The sky was clear and blue. The bluebirds chirped with zeal as tears came to the River's Angel once again.

She wore a red faded dress, not caring much for dressing in this time. Her white small clothes peaked from underneath her low neckline. She wore slippers rather than shoes. Her red curls spilled lazy from her head, unkempt and frizzy. She had dragged a chair from her chambers out onto the balcony where she sat with her head rested against the padded armrest with exhaustion and her legs pulled into her chest.

Her pink lips and white cheeks were shiny with wetness from her crying blue eyes and running red nose. Her deep red lashes hung heavy as she grew tired. Her shoulders still heaved from the spell of sobs that had last hit her.

A knock on her door didn't stir her from her daze. "Go away. I'm not hungry," she bellowed, her voice broken and swollen.

"It's Lysa," her sister's petite voice floated across the room and out onto the balcony. Catelyn rolled her head toward the heavy cedar door, but the idea of it opening was not very appealing.

"I-" Catelyn jaw quivered as she looked over her shoulder at the door. She turned back to the river. "I just... need more time."

"Cat, I just need to..." cries were in the back of Lysa's throat as well, but there was too much sadness in Catelyn's heart to carry Lysa's as well. "I need to talk to you. I need to tell you something. They're going to... I just need to talk."

"You have handmaids," Catelyn yelled back.

Lysa sniffled. "I need a sister."

"You have one, but how much could you ask from her?" Catelyn chilled.

Lysa didn't say anything back. When Catelyn was sure that she was away, she turned back to the open balcony. Hours passed before there was anymore noise outside the door. "Lady Catelyn," the maester's voice called.

"Maester," she heard Lysa interrupt. "Who is that letter from?"

"My Lady, it's for your sister," he argued.

Lysa's shrill voice wouldn't let either of them rest. "Your lord's daughter has given you a command."

"It's an intimate thing, my Lady."

"The name," she ordered, anger rising in her voice.

"Petyr Baelish," he finally answered. "The young man that nearly died for a chance for your sisters hand, now I suggest you get back to your own mindings."

Catelyn rolled her eyes at the thought of Petyr writing to her after Brandon's untimely death. Knowing him, it was full of insincere condolences.

"Are-" her voice faltered. "Are you sure he didn't send it to me?"

There were no words for a few moments. "My Lady Lysa. You need to put him to rest. Your Lord father has already decided what is to happen. It will be ready to take tonight. Leave your sister to her own."

There was no more sound for a while until the maester knocked on Cat's door. She said nothing, only sitting. Dead inside and out. She didn't want to move. "My Lady," the Maester called through the door. "You have a letter from Petyr Baelish."

Catelyn said nothing.

"You come answer this door or I will give this letter to your father," the old man threatened. "Lord Hoster is my liege. This said letter should most likely flow through him first. The scroll did come to his castle."

Catelyn's eyes grew dark. Her father would have hung Petyr if he had the chance. Catelyn wouldn't have it. Petyr was of House Baelish from the Vale. He was a third son to a a lord who commanded an old flint tower on no more than a few acres on the smallest of the Fingers. He left as a boy and ended up at Riverrun, living and working with Catelyn and her siblings.

When boys grow up with girls, things tend to happen. There grew a certain triangle of love, lust, and envy between Petyr, Lysa and Catelyn. Lysa had been the one to lust for the shrimpy, yet clean handsomeness that Petyr withheld. Being a man, Petyr acted like a man about it. Catelyn was sure that he had taken his sister's maidenhead. But Petyr loved Catelyn and he made it known. This simple fact is what introduced the drama, for Hoster had already betrothed Catelyn, and she did not love Petyr as he loved her.

This is what introduced the envy. Lysa wanted Petyr to love her. She was possessive and violent about it too. She was jealous of Catelyn. Months ago, almost a year, when her father announced her betrothal to Brandon Stark, Brandon had stayed at Riverrun for courtesy. Sweet, small Petyr Baelish with nothing to his name but an empty title promptly, bravely, and stupidly challenged the looming northman to a duel for Catelyn's hand.

She begged him not to, but he had always publicly proclaimed his love for her and challenged Brandon. With fear and forgiveness in her eyes, she gave her favor to betrothed, as was her duty. Petyr was nearly a head and a half smaller than Brandon. Petyr was quick, but gods be good, Brandon was a true-born warrior. Brandon could have killed him. He had the lawful right, but he spared the stringy boy.

But he had wounded him in the duel to possibility he might die. Her lord father wanted to hang the boy for the scene he made but Catelyn begged him to at least allow the boy to heal and then to send him off. Lord Hoster allowed him a fortnight and sent him on his way.

Begrudgingly, Catelyn got to her feet and crossed the balcony, then her room to open the heavy cedar door. She looked at the maester with stern eyes and held out her hand.

"My Lady," he greeted. There was worry in his old eyes. "Have you slept?"

Catelyn squinted at him and snatched the letter from his hand and shutting the door in his face. When the door shut, she felt shivers fill her body. Fear crept up her back. The last letter she received personally was from Benjen Stark, the thirteen-year-old boy who was acting lord of Winterfell and her betrothed until Eddard Stark was no longer missing. The letter explained the deaths of Rickard and Brandon and the absence of Eddard.

A letter from Petyr Baelish, as soon as the death of Brandon Stark was spreading may hold contents that Catelyn may not agree with, not want to read. She lowered to her wooden desk and stared long and hard at the twine that closed the scroll. He didn't use wax. His sigil was quite useless. He had scrawled his name in his fine handwriting with black ink.

If she read it, she... she didn't know. That is what scared her. Was even betrothed anymore? Eddard Stark has disappeared and she could marry Benjen. He wasn't even a man grown. But the time he was grown, she may no longer be ripe for childbearing. Catelyn's eyes drifted over to the flickering candle and back to the daunting letter.

She moved her hand over the textured ink where Petyr scrawled his name. She picked it up to the flame and set the scroll ablaze. Before the flames could bite at her finger tips, she put it down in the silver ashtray and put the lid on it.

Another knock sounded at the door. "I have the letter, what else would you have me do for you?"

"Cat," a gruff voice sounded through the door. It was her uncle Brynden. "I've heard of your ill happenings."

Catelyn stood up. Why is her uncle here? She stood up from her desk and crossed the room, letting her him in. "Why are you here?"

He was a tall, strong man who wore black fish scale armor. His breast plate held the Tully sigil, a silver trout. Only his was black. His hair was auburn with gray spattered around. His eyes were hard and squinting and his mouth was always frowning. They called him the Blackfish. During a heating moment of Brynden and Hoster's ongoing feud, Catelyn's lord father called him the black goat of the Tully flock. Brynden had replied to that, "Hoster, it happens as that our sigil is a trout. That would make me the Blackfish, rather than the Black Goat."

This was, of course, a very long time ago. Since then, the Blackfish is what her uncle took as his own personal sigil and as his prowess and reputation grew, more people knew him as Blackfish Tully rather than Brynden.

"There is war, Cat," he said, letting himself in. "And I'm sure you know the reason why."

"Lyanna?" she asked. "Or Brandon?"

"Well that's the question isn't it?" he gruffed. "Either way, it's a Targaryen. Lyanna is probably the reason to Robert Baratheon, Rhaegar Targaryen, and Eddard Stark. Those three right there are our leaders in this war. But Brandon and Rickard will be the reason the banners come flocking. Not Lyanna."

"And why are we fighting?"

The Blackfish shrugged. "We need to free the Realm from Aerys's madness. Avenge one of our great lords."

Catelyn shook her head. "Why, Uncle?"

"Your father, Lord Rickard, and Lord Jon Arryn have been working toward this for a very long time," Brynden revealed. Shock fell over her face.

"So this war would have happened even if Brandon didn't die."

Her uncle shrugged. "No way to tell. They needed the right circumstances either way. The king would have eventually done something like he just did, or Prince Rhaegar would have held a small council to remove him. The council would have then called to remove the Targaryen family completely."

Catelyn looked at her feet. "Why does this all have to happen. I thought Rhaegar would be a good king. And he kidnaps Lyanna Stark? Uncle, I don't understand."

Brynden sighed and squinted out towards the balcony. "Well, that's the thing, dear. Rheagar has been the most promising Targaryen heir since Jaehaerys the first, it seemed to me that he might actually have been a dragon rider, had they still been alive. But whose to say the madness won't get to him later. His father was amiable and smart and a good leader when he was Prince Rhaegar's age.

"There's good and bad in everyone. We are all human. Your father is rebelling and going against every oath he and his fathers before him swore. But it's for the good of his people. Now Rhaegar may not have broken any oaths he swore, but he is ignoring his duties and for what?"

"For Lyanna?" Catelyn asked.

"For himself," her uncle corrected. He held his elbow out. "Now you need to go see your father."

Eyeing her uncle's arm, she stuck her chin in the air and held back tears. "He's going to say that Eddard Stark is dead too. That I have to marry Benjen. Uncle, I'm not going."

His squinting, hard eyes softened. "Cat," he said with sadness in his voice. Catelyn tried to hold fast, but even if she didn't break down into sobs, the tears flowed freely. "I don't want to leave home, Uncle. They say the North is cold and unforgivable. I don't want to go."

Brynden sighed and wrapped his niece in his arms. "It's alright, my dear. Let us go talk to your father. Eddard Stark is not dead as we know. Let me bring you to Hoster."

Catelyn pulled away and sniffled. Brynden held out his arm again. Catelyn took it begrudgingly. They didn't talk much as the made their way down the straightforward halls of Riverrun to the Lord's study. Her Lord father sat with silence at his desk, staring at a scroll. He was almost a portly man, but not quite. His hair was brown with gray streaks and his beard was well-kept and short to his face.

Brynden left with no words. The feud was no where near an end. Catelyn didn't understand why two brothers could hate each other so much.

"How are you doing, little Cat?" her father asked her, his voice light and confident. She sighed.

"I don't want to leave North and I don't want war."

Hoster pinched the bridge on his nose. "What do you think I should do about that?"

Catelyn shook her head. "Can't you do anything? You're the Lord in the Riverlands!"

Hoster looked up at his daughter, exaggerated. "Cat, do hear yourself? You are being selfish. Not one person in this kingdom wants to go to war. Going to Winterfell is your role in this war. We will fight and you with marry. Or do you want to lead a battle? I'll let you choose, my dear."

Catelyn stick her chin up, trying to look strong. "And if I choose to fight."

Hoster stood up so that he was looking down at his daughter. "I will strap some armor on you and start mourning my first girl."

Catelyn realized her fault. "So which Stark will I be marrying?"

Hoster held up the scroll. "Eddard is on his way to gather his banners. You'll marry the Lord of Winterfell."

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes for Brandon. Hoster sighed and walked around the desk to stand in front of Catelyn. "What are our words, Little Cat?"

She looked down at her feet, a tear dropping onto the floor. "Family, duty, honor."

Her father nodded. "That's it. Family is first, but our family will be nothing if we do not do our duty. Doing our duty brings us honor. Now do you think you've done enough mourning for a man you never married? A man who loved another woman?"

Catelyn dried her tears as she remembered Barbrey Ryswell. Brandon didn't love her. But he treated her with respect, and he fought for her and stood with her. Brandon did his duty. To his dying day. Catelyn would do the same.

She would do her duty.

TA/N: THREE WEEKS! You guys have no idea how busy I am. I haven't written in THREE weeks. Y'all better be glad that I love written ahead lol!! But don't worry. I had a vacation about three weeks ago and it was pretty busy. Then as soon as I got home, I've been hosting family since. Even today lol!! My sister had some sort of mental breakdown and my dad gave all his money to his mother and school is starting next month. and on top of that, I have about 37 baby rabbits I'm dealing with( I raise them) since my dad didn't tell me that he bred them. Then my house cat knocked up a barn cat and she died giving birth to twins, so I've been bottle raising them. And my mom is going crazy with all this stuff.

I've just got to get to writing. I have about three chapters written. I'll find some time on the plane I'm one today. I've got some basketball camps tomorrow. We'll see what happens👍🏼