A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

father, Lord Tytos. The rest rode on.
    Catelyn spied a second camp strung out along the bank north of the Tumblestone,
familiar standards flapping in the wind—Marq Piper’s dancing maiden,
Darry’s plowman, the twining red-and-white snakes of the Paeges. They were all
her father’s bannermen, lords of the Trident. Most had left Riverrun before she
had, to defend their own lands. If they were here again, it could only mean
that Edmure had called them back.
Gods save us, it’s true, he means to
offer battle to Lord Tywin.
    Something dark was dangling against the walls of Riverrun, Catelyn saw from a
distance. When she rode close, she saw dead men hanging from the battlements,
slumped at the ends of long ropes with hempen nooses tight around their necks,
their faces swollen and black. The crows had been at them, but their
crimson cloaks still showed bright against the sandstone walls.
    â€œThey have hanged some Lannisters,” Hal Mollen observed.
    â€œA pretty sight,” Ser Wendel Manderly said cheerfully.
    â€œOur friends have begun without us,” Perwyn Frey jested. The others laughed,
all but Brienne, who gazed up at the row of

bodies unblinking, and neither spoke nor smiled.
    If they have slain the Kingslayer, then my daughters are dead as
well.
Catelyn spurred her horse to a canter. Hal Mollen and Robin Flint
raced past at a gallop, halooing to the gatehouse. The guards on the walls had
doubtless spied her banners some time ago, for the portcullis was up as they
approached.
    Edmure rode out from the castle to meet her, surrounded by three of her
father’s sworn men—great-bellied Ser Desmond Grell the master-at-arms,
Utherydes Wayn the steward, and Ser Robin Ryger, Riverrun’s big bald captain of
guards. They were all three of an age with Lord Hoster, men who had spent their
lives in her father’s service.
Old men,
Catelyn realized.
    Edmure wore a blue-and-red cloak over a tunic embroidered with silver fish.
From the look of him, he had not shaved since she rode south; his beard was a
fiery bush. “Cat, it is good to have you safely back. When we heard of Renly’s
death, we feared for your life. And Lord Tywin is on the march as
well.”
    â€œSo I am told. How fares our father?”
    â€œOne day he seems stronger, the next . . .” He shook his head.
“He’s asked for you. I did not know what to tell him.”
    â€œI will go to him soon,” she vowed. “Has there been word from Storm’s End
since Renly died? Or from Bitterbridge?” No ravens came to men on the road,
and Catelyn was anxious to know what had happened behind her.
    â€œNothing from Bitterbridge. From Storm’s End, three birds from the castellan,
Ser Cortnay Penrose, all carrying the same

plea. Stannis has him surrounded by land and sea. He offers his allegiance to
whatsoever king will break the siege. He fears for the boy, he says. What boy
would that be, do you know?”
    â€œEdric Storm,” Brienne told them. “Robert’s bastard son.”
    Edmure looked at her curiously. “Stannis has sworn that the garrison might go
free, unharmed, provided they yield the castle within the fortnight and deliver
the boy into his hands, but Ser Cortnay will not consent.”
    He risks all for a baseborn boy whose blood is not even his own,
Catelyn thought. “Did you send him an answer?”
    Edmure shook his head. “Why, when we have neither help nor hope to offer? And
Stannis is no enemy of ours.”
    Ser Robin Ryger spoke. “My lady, can you tell us the manner of Lord Renly’s
death? The tales we’ve heard have been queer.”
    â€œCat,” her brother said, “some say
you
killed Renly. Others claim
it was some southron woman.” His glance lingered on Brienne.
    â€œMy king was murdered,” the girl said quietly, “and not by Lady Catelyn. I
swear it on my sword, by the gods old and new.”
    â€œThis is Brienne of Tarth, the daughter of Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, who
served in Renly’s Rainbow Guard,” Catelyn told them. “Brienne, I am honored
to acquaint you with my brother Ser Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun. His steward
Utherydes Wayn. Ser Robin Ryger and Ser Desmond Grell.”
    â€œHonored,” said Ser Desmond. The others echoed him. The girl flushed,
embarrassed even at this commonplace courtesy. If

Edmure thought her a