A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

It was her children she yearned after. One day, she promised
herself as she lay abed, one day she would allow herself to be less than
strong.
    But not today. It could not be today.
    Her fingers seemed more clumsy than usual as she fumbled on her clothes. She
supposed she ought to be grateful that she had any use of her hands at all. The
dagger had been Valyrian steel, and Valyrian steel bites deep and sharp. She
had only to

look at the scars to remember.
    Outside, Shadd was stirring oats into a kettle, while Ser Wendel Manderly sat
stringing his bow. “My lady,” he said when Catelyn emerged. “There are birds
in this grass. Would you fancy a roast quail to break your fast this
morning?”
    â€œOats and bread are sufficient . . . for all of us, I think.
We have many leagues yet to ride, Ser Wendel.”
    â€œAs you will, my lady.” The knight’s moon face looked crestfallen, the tips
of his great walrus mustache twitching with disappointment. “Oats and bread,
and what could be better?” He was one of the fattest men Catelyn had ever
known, but howevermuch he loved his food, he loved his honor more.
    â€œFound some nettles and brewed a tea,” Shadd announced. “Will m’lady take a
cup?”
    â€œYes, with thanks.”
    She cradled the tea in her scarred hands and blew on it to cool it. Shadd was
one of the Winterfell men. Robb had sent twenty of his best to see her safely
to Renly. He had sent five lordlings as well, whose names and high birth would
add weight and honor to her mission. As they made their way south, staying well
clear of towns and holdfasts, they had seen bands of mailed men more than once,
and glimpsed smoke on the eastern horizon, but none had dared molest them. They
were too weak to be a threat, too many to be easy prey. Once across the
Blackwater, the worst was behind. For the past four days, they had seen no
signs of war.
    Catelyn had never wanted this. She had told Robb as

much, back in Riverrun. “When last I saw Renly, he was a boy no older than
Bran. I do not know him. Send someone else. My place is here with my father,
for whatever time he has left.”
    Her son had looked at her unhappily. “There is no one else. I cannot go
myself. Your father’s too ill. The Blackfish is my eyes and ears, I dare not
lose him. Your brother I need to hold Riverrun when we
march—”
    â€œMarch?” No one had said a word to her of marching.
    â€œI cannot sit at Riverrun waiting for peace. It makes me look as if I were
afraid to take the field again. When there are no battles to fight, men start
to think of hearth and harvest, Father told me that. Even my northmen grow
restless.”
    My northmen,
she thought.
He is even starting to talk like a
king.
“No one has ever died of restlessness, but rashness is another
matter. We’ve planted seeds, let them grow.”
    Robb shook his head stubbornly. “We’ve tossed some seeds in the wind, that’s
all. If your sister Lysa was coming to aid us, we would have heard by now. How
many birds have we sent to the Eyrie, four? I want peace too, but why should
the Lannisters give me
anything
if all I do is sit here while my army
melts away around me swift as summer snow?”
    â€œSo rather than look craven, you will dance to Lord Tywin’s pipes?” she threw
back. “He
wants
you to march on Harrenhal, ask your uncle Brynden
if—”
    â€œI said nothing of Harrenhal,” Robb said. “Now, will you go to Renly for me,
or must I send the Greatjon?”
    The memory brought a wan smile to her face. Such an obvious ploy, that,
yet deft for a boy of fifteen. Robb knew how ill-suited a man like Greatjon
Umber would be to treat with a man like Renly Baratheon, and he knew that she
knew it as well. What could she do but accede, praying that her father would
live until her return? Had Lord Hoster been well, he would have gone himself,
she knew. Still, that leavetaking was hard, hard. He did not even know her when
she came to say farewell. “Minisa,” he called her, “where are the children?
My little Cat, my sweet Lysa . . .” Catelyn had kissed him on the
brow and told him his babes were well. “Wait for me, my lord,” she said as
his eyes closed. “I waited for you, oh, so many times. Now you must wait for
me.”
    Fate drives me south and south