A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

so.”
    Catelyn read the letter again after the maester was gone. “Lord Meadows says
nothing of Robert’s bastard,” she confided to Brienne. “I suppose he yielded
the boy with the rest, though I confess, I do not understand why Stannis wanted
him so badly.”
    â€œPerhaps he fears the boy’s claim.”
    â€œA bastard’s claim? No, it’s something else . . . what does
this child look like?”
    â€œHe is seven or eight, comely, with black hair and bright blue eyes.
Visitors oft thought him Lord Renly’s own son.”
    â€œAnd Renly favored Robert.” Catelyn had a glimmer of understanding. “Stannis
means to parade his brother’s bastard before the realm, so men might see Robert
in his face and wonder why there is no such likeness in Joffrey.”
    â€œWould that mean so much?”
    â€œThose who favor Stannis will call it proof. Those who support Joffrey will
say it means nothing.” Her own children had more Tully about them than Stark.
Arya was the only one to show much of Ned in her features.
And Jon Snow,
but he was never mine.
She found herself thinking of Jon’s mother, that
shadowy secret love her husband would never speak of.
Does she grieve for
Ned as I do? Or did she hate him for leaving her bed for mine? Does she pray
for her son as I have prayed for mine?
    They were uncomfortable thoughts, and futile. If Jon had been born of Ashara
Dayne of Starfall, as some whispered, the lady was long dead; if not, Catelyn
had no clue who or where his mother might be. And it made no matter. Ned was
gone now, and his loves and his secrets had all died with him.
    Still, she was struck again by how strangely men behaved when it came to their
bastards. Ned had always been fiercely protective of Jon, and Ser Cortnay
Penrose had given up his life for this Edric Storm, yet Roose Bolton’s bastard
had meant less to him than one of his dogs, to judge from the tone of the queer
cold letter Edmure had gotten from him not three days past. He had

crossed the Trident and was marching on Harrenhal as commanded, he wrote. “A
strong castle, and well garrisoned, but His Grace shall have it, if I must kill
every living soul within to make it so.” He hoped His Grace would weigh that
against the crimes of his bastard son, whom Ser Rodrik Cassel had put to death.
“A fate he no doubt earned,” Bolton had written. “Tainted blood is ever
treacherous, and Ramsay’s nature was sly, greedy, and cruel. I count myself
well rid of him. The trueborn sons my young wife has promised me would never
have been safe while he lived.”
    The sound of hurrying footsteps drove the morbid thoughts from her head. Ser
Desmond’s squire dashed panting into the room and knelt. “My
lady . . . Lannisters . . . across the
river.”
    â€œTake a long breath, lad, and tell it slowly.”
    He did as she bid him. “A column of armored men,” he reported. “Across the
Red Fork. They are flying a purple unicorn below the lion of
Lannister.”
    Some son of Lord Brax.
Brax had come to Riverrun once when she was a
girl, to propose wedding one of his sons to her or Lysa. She wondered whether
it was this same son out there now, leading the attack.
    The Lannisters had ridden out of the southeast beneath a blaze of banners, Ser
Desmond told her when she ascended to the battlements to join him. “A few
outriders, no more,” he assured her. “The main strength of Lord Tywin’s host
is well to the south. We are in no danger here.”
    South of the Red Fork the land stretched away open and flat.

From the watchtower Catelyn could see for miles. Even so, only the nearest ford
was visible. Edmure had entrusted Lord Jason Mallister with its defense, as
well as that of three others farther upriver. The Lannister riders were milling
about uncertainly near the water, crimson and silver banners flapping in the
wind. “No more than fifty, my lady,” Ser Desmond estimated.
    Catelyn watched the riders spread out in a long line. Lord Jason’s men waited
to receive them behind rocks and grass and hillocks. A trumpet blast sent the
horsemen forward at a ponderous walk, splashing down into the current. For a
moment they made a brave show, all bright armor and streaming banners, the sun
flashing off the points of their lances.
    â€œNow,”
she heard Brienne