A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

lady. There will be time enough for
grace
s when these wars are
done. Tell me, when does your son mean to march against Harrenhal?”
    Until she knew whether this king was friend or foe, Catelyn was not about to
reveal the least part of Robb’s dispositions. “I do not sit on my son’s war
councils, my lord.”
    â€œSo long as he leaves a few Lannisters for me, I’ll not complain. What has he
done with the Kingslayer?”
    â€œJaime Lannister is held prisoner at Riverrun.”
    â€œStill alive?” Lord Mathis Rowan seemed dismayed.
    Bemused, Renly said, “It would seem the direwolf is gentler

than the lion.”
    â€œGentler than the Lannisters,” murmured Lady Oakheart with a bitter smile,
“is drier than the sea.”
    â€œI call it weak.” Lord Randyll Tarly had a short, bristly grey beard and a
reputation for blunt speech. “No disrespect to you, Lady Stark, but it would
have been more seemly had Lord Robb come to pay homage to the king himself,
rather than hiding behind his mother’s skirts.”
    â€œ
King
Robb is warring, my lord,” Catelyn replied with icy courtesy,
“not playing at tourney.”
    Renly grinned. “Go softly, Lord Randyll, I fear you’re overmatched.” He
summoned a steward in the livery of Storm’s End. “Find a place for the lady’s
companions, and see that they have every comfort. Lady Catelyn shall have my
own pavilion. Since Lord Caswell has been so kind as to give me use of his
castle, I have no need of it. My lady, when you are rested, I would be honored
if you would share our meat and mead at the feast Lord Caswell is giving us
tonight. A farewell feast. I fear his lordship is eager to see the heels of my
hungry horde.”
    â€œNot true, Your Grace,” protested a wispy young man who must have been
Caswell. “What is mine is yours.”
    â€œWhenever someone said that to my brother Robert, he took them at their
word,” Renly said. “Do you have daughters?”
    â€œYes, Your Grace. Two.”
    â€œThen thank the gods that I am not Robert. My sweet queen is all the woman I
desire.” Renly held out his hand to help

Margaery to her feet. “We’ll talk again when you’ve had a chance to refresh
yourself, Lady Catelyn.”
    Renly led his bride back toward the castle while his steward conducted Catelyn
to the king’s green silk pavilion. “If you have need of anything, you have
only to ask, my lady.”
    Catelyn could scarcely imagine what she might need that had not already been
provided. The pavilion was larger than the common rooms of many an inn and
furnished with every comfort: feather mattress and sleeping furs, a
wood-and-copper tub large enough for two, braziers to keep off the night’s
chill, slung leather camp chairs, a writing table with quills and inkpot, bowls
of peaches, plums, and pears, a flagon of wine with a set of matched silver
cups, cedar chests packed full of Renly’s clothing, books, maps, game boards, a
high harp, a tall bow and a quiver of arrows, a pair of red-tailed hunting
hawks, a vertible armory of fine weapons.
He does not stint himself, this
Renly,
she thought as she looked about.
Small wonder this host moves
so slowly.
    Beside the entrance, the king’s armor stood sentry; a suit of forest-green
plate, its fittings chased with gold, the helm crowned by a great rack of
golden antlers. The steel was polished to such a high sheen that she could see
her reflection in the breastplate, gazing back at her as if from the bottom of
a deep green pond.
The face of a drowned woman,
Catelyn thought.
Can you drown in grief?
She turned away sharply, angry with her own
frailty. She had no time for the luxury of self-pity. She must wash the dust
from her hair and change into a gown more fitting

for a king’s feast.
    Ser Wendel Manderly, Lucas Blackwood, Ser Perwyn Frey, and the rest of her
highborn companions accompanied her to the castle. The great hall of Lord
Caswell’s keep was great only by courtesy, yet room was found on the crowded
benches for Catelyn’s men, amidst Renly’s own knights. Catelyn was assigned a
place on the dais between red-faced Lord Mathis Rowan and genial Ser Jon
Fossoway of the green-apple Fossoways. Ser Jon made jests, while Lord Mathis
inquired politely after the health of her father, brother, and
children.
    Brienne of