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Catelyn Tully Stark did not believe in oath breaking, particularly regarding a betrothal she brokered herself. But in dangerous times like these, Margaery Tyrell, who brought with her the strength of Highgarden, was the kind of match she could not let pass.
I do not make this offer lightly, Catelyn wrote to Robb from Bitterbridge. But we must bring the Tyrells to our side if we have any hope of fighting the Lannisters and saving your sisters. There is no better way than by you taking Queen Margaery to wife. Though Walder Frey will not take kindly to this slight, we must compensate him in other ways. The Lannisters already attempted to court the Tyrells, but they have chosen to throw their lot in with us. I hope you will honor these terms I am making on your behalf. We will be as good as lost if they were to join the Lannisters.
When Catelyn arrived at Bitterbridge, she had planned to treat with Renly Baratheon in the hopes of making common cause with him. But she had found only his young queen and the bulk of his army. It seemed Renly had raced off some days earlier to Storm’s End with his mounted knights to break Stannis’ siege of Storm’s End. Queen Margaery had promised that her king would return soon and be more than happy to meet with her, as they were all of them natural allies against the Lannisters. But he never did return. Ser Loras and bannermen of the Reach came racing back one day with news of Renly’s murder and a longing for vengeance.
The plan had formed in Catelyn’s mind in the seconds after she heard the news. The only trouble was how to approach the Tyrells with an offer of marriage for the newly-made widow when the body of her first husband had not yet cooled. While Margaery marshaled her feelings admirably, her brother was awash with rage and grief. There was no telling if her offer would give insult or no.
But her concerns of delicacy were done away with when scouts brought news of Petyr Baelish and his party’s approach.
“They come to take advantage of King Renly’s demise,” Catelyn had told Loras and Margaery. “With him gone, they would make use of you as a shield so they might hold onto what Renly would have taken from them.”
Loras had rounded on her then. “And you are any different? Are you not here to convince us to join your son’s cause?”
“I came to negotiate an alliance with King Renly,” she told him steadily. “I would have treated with him gladly were he yet living. But the Lannisters would have killed him themselves if others hadn’t slain him already.”
And Petyr is not to be trusted. But Catelyn kept that thought to herself. Speaking the words would only awaken the pain he had caused her, and she could not afford to appear weak.
“I beg you, do not make common cause with Renly’s enemies,” she pleaded.
The young knight’s face seemed to register the truth in that.
“What terms can you offer?” Loras demanded. “A crown for my sister?”
“Yes. The crown of the North, a king as her husband, and an alliance with Winterfell and Riverrun against the Lannisters… and Stannis Baratheon too if needs be.”
“Stannis,” the boy said the word as though it were something most foul. “Him most of all.”
Margaery pressed a gentle hand upon his shoulder and squeezed. That seemed to calm him.
“My father wishes to see his daughter as the queen of Westeros,” Loras continued. “Does your son mean to take the Iron Throne then? I thought he only claimed dominion of the North and Riverlands.”
To that, Catelyn did not have a ready answer. The weight of those two regions was proving a heavy burden for Robb. He was still only a boy of five and ten after all. The whole of Westeros, a throne he had no rights of birth to… she could not arrange for that responsibility to fall upon him.
“If King Robb can claim the kingdoms of the North and the Riverlands through the lines of his lord father and lady mother,” Margaery said, taping her chin as though she were contemplating and forming her thoughts as she spoke, “perhaps… perhaps House Tyrell could claim the same right to govern the Reach as a free and independent kingdom. I think our lord father would like a crown of his very own even more than a grandson on the Iron Throne.”
And just that neatly, their plans were underway.
Ser Loras and his men rode forth to meet and capture Petyr’s party before they could arrive and attempt to claim guest right at Bitterbridge. Those who survived the attack were taken prisoner, sharing cells with the men Stannis had sent to gather up Renly’s foot soldiers. Loras had no mood to even listen to Petyr’s proposals, nor had Catleyn any desire for an audience with the brother of her childhood. She had tasks of much greater import to get underway and letters to write and await responses for.
Her letter to Robb was written quickly, with the design to tread the perplexing line between mother and subject, authority and advisor. Gods willing, he would heed her council.
The next letter was to Mace Tyrell. Queen Margaery assisted her with the best way to appeal to her lord father.
“Loras’ words are the surest path to gaining Father’s approval,” the girl said. “So his letter ought to be enough. But even so, appealing to him on your own and making much of your need of him and his strength can only help. Father longs to be thought of as important and sought after.”
“Like most men,” Catelyn said with more harshness than she intended. But Margaery just laughed.
She often laughed, this springtime girl with her chestnut curls and innocent brown eyes. Though she had lost a king and a husband, grief had not claimed her as it had Catelyn. But that was easily understood. Political matches did not always yield affection, and Margaery did not have the years with Renly, that Catelyn had to build her love for Ned. Gods willing, the girl would have years and years to grow to love Robb.
Once the ravens had flown, there was naught to do but wait. And Catelyn was quite good at waiting. She had done it so often throughout her life.
She tried to make herself useful by joining in needlework with Lady Caswell and her daughters. Margaery often joined them as well and sang as she embroidered handkerchiefs with golden roses or centaurs.
In the months of war and travel, Catelyn had forgotten how pleasant the company of other women could be. At times, she allowed herself to forget, just for a few moments, that the realm was at war and her family in tatters. After those moments, she would feel herself grow stronger as the hope for their future became easier to grasp.
Lord Tyrell’s response came first. He accepted her offer readily. Not one to lose a moment, Lord Mace revealed that he was preparing an announcement to be sent to each of the great and noble Houses of Westeros informing them that he and the reachmen were no longer beholden to the Iron Throne. In a letter to Loras, he even mentioned that his crown golden roses was already being fashioned by his a goldsmith.
“We ought to advise him not to make such grand announcements until after he has won a few more victories,” Catelyn said.
Margaery found that amusing. “Oh, we had best not attempt it. That would only misplease him. Then father would ‘tut-tut’ at us and do as he liked. My grandmother is furious we offered him a crown at all. She says he was already puffed up to bursting as it was. Now he’s like to explode from all the arrogance any moment.”
The response from Riverrun was written in Edmure’s hand instead of Robb’s. Edmure promised to send a rider after Robb with her proposals. Her son had marched his army into the Westerlands and already won another battle, this time against Stafford Lannister. Now his men were raiding the villages along the coast, shepherding live-stock into the starving Riverlands, and taking possession of gold mines.
Tywin Lannister has at last been roused from Harrenhal, sister, Edmure wrote, and I mean to meet him as he crosses our lands. He will not leave the Riverlands unbloodied. I have already called back those bannermen who left to defend their castles and lands. Once they have arrived, Lord Tywin will rue the day he set foot on Tully soil.
“This is folly,” Catelyn admitted to the Tyrell siblings.
“It is, my lady,” Loras agreed. “Your son is trying to tempt Tywin into a trap by drawing him to the Westerlands. Your brother should let him alone, at least until he passes into the west. He could follow behind and harry their rear if he likes, but Tywin must reach the west.”
Catelyn had been more concerned with her brother’s well-being given how few men he could summon now. But the young knight had the right of it. Robb was likely provoking the lion by design. She quickly wrote to Edmure, telling him as much and giving him Ser Loras’ advice. She hoped more than believed he would heed it.
But before she could send out the latest raven, she learned that Ser Loras would set out to meet Lannister in the field as well.
“The Young Wolf can’t win every battle in this war,” he declared while giving leave to his sister and his host. “I will have my share in the glory before it’s all done. If we move quickly enough, we could ensnare the lions between us.”
Margaery gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “I know I have no need to wish you luck, but know that you have my well-wishes and prayers just the same. And don’t forget to press for the Tyrell share in those gold mines.”
Catelyn added this news to her letter as well. With any luck, Edmure could find a way to alert Robb so he might plan his movements accordingly. Margaery too sent a raven to her father sending him Loras’ wish that he take the ten thousand men he had at Highgarden into the Westerlands to join his power to theirs.
Lord and Lady Caswell were likely glad to see the Tyrell host on the march again. Such a large army could have eaten them and the surrounding lands into poverty if it had stayed any longer. Not to mention the stench that was becoming unbearable.
But the sight of men going off to war and blood and death renewed that sense of helplessness in Catelyn. She was always left behind to wait and then share the brunt of the fallout.
Just as she often did in times like these, she gave herself over the gods. Quite often, Catelyn and Margaery visited the sept at Bitterbridge together to pray for their men in the fields and for the children Catelyn was so far from.
“Is there a sept in Winterfell?”Margaery asked one day when they had returned to the young queen’s solar after prayer.
“Yes, there is,” Catelyn said, drawing in a cleansing breath and blowing out the anxiousness building in her chest. Last night, she had dreamed she was home again, and her family was whole. The agony of waking in Bitterbridge had nearly made her pull her blankets over her head and force herself to sleep again. “There are few septs in the North, for they keep to the old gods. But my lord husband had one built for me. It is not nearly so grand as the Great Sept of Baelor or your own in Highgarden, most like. But I have never found it wanting.”
“We may have a long time to wait before hearing news,” Margaery said, perching in the window seat. “You can tell me of Winterfell. It would help the time go by.”
For once, the queen’s pleasing and practiced tone of voice rung with a faint note of concern. Catelyn did not blame her. As a girl, she had feared going to the North and leaving her home. Many described the northmen as brutish savages and vile tree-worshipers. It wasn’t until she met Brandon Stark in person that she began to lose her fear of the North and came to love the idea of being his wife.
“Gladly,” Catelyn said, settling in beside her. “What have you heard?”
“Rumor has it, it’s quite cold,” Margaery said with a smile.
She doesn’t wish to offend me with the stories she’s heard, Catelyn thought, returning her smile.
“It is,” she agreed. “Even in the summer it snows, at times. But the castle itself is warm in all seasons.”
Catelyn found herself telling Margaery of Winterfell -- the hot springs and the water that flowed through the walls to heat the rooms and the glass gardens and the surrounding lands -- with a depth of affection and longing that surprised even her. Though the castle had been her home these past fourteen years, Catelyn had often felt like the outsider she was when she first arrived. But now, when she thought of home, she pictured Winterfell’s tall, grey walls, Ned’s solemn face, and her children, always her children.
While they spoke, Margaery’s trepidation steadily blended into curiosity. She asked several questions and made easy japes of the rumors she had once heard of northerners. With some of those japes, Catelyn had to confirm that they were in fact true.
Soon, their conversation found its way to Robb.
“What does he look like?” Margaery asked. “Does he have a beard like a northerner?”
“He does now that he is almost a man grown,” Catelyn said. “But otherwise he is all Tully. He has my look.”
“Then at least I know he’s beautiful,” Margaery said.
The corners of Catelyn’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile at such blatant attempt at flattering her future good mother. “You are a sweet girl.”
The first letters to arrive were from the birds Ser Loras brought with him. His news was most welcome to many in Bitterbridge and incited a great celebration.
Together, Robb and Loras had broken Tywin Lannister’s host. Lord Tywin had anticipated Edmure’s attempt to follow him, and had prepared accordingly, but he had no way of anticipating the Tyrell forces coming from the south. Two separate battles – the first, indecisive, and the second, a clear victory – decided the matter. The honor slaying the great lion himself went to Jon Umber, the Greatjon, disappointing many a green boy in the Tyrell camp who had boasted of accomplishing the feat for themselves.
Catelyn knew not whether to rejoice or sob. Yes, this was a great victory. More than anything most boy warriors like Robb and Loras could dream of. With the Lannister hosts defeated, the Iron Throne had no power that could oppose them. Not when Dorne and the Vale despised the Lannisters.
But the girls…
“Cersei Lannister, she will kill Sansa and Arya for this,” she confided to Margaery when they were alone in her rooms.
“Lord Tywin was given an honorable death on the battlefield,” Margaery insisted. “She could not punish two young girls. She would have no hostages to bargain with.”
Catelyn clung to that. “And we still hold the Kingslayer. She wouldn’t dare.”
She wouldn’t dare, she repeated in her mind to force herself to believe it. She wouldn’t dare, she would not dare, she would not dare…
But they murdered Ned, and on the very steps of Baelor, it was said. And there has been no word of Arya or her well-being. If they could kill a man within sight of the gods and… and … and …
Margaery’s arms were around her before Catelyn realized tears were streaming down her face. She knew she should pull away and put aside her grief and fear for another day. She knew she should be writing more letters and urging Robb to sue for peace with Cersei Lannister or Stannis Baratheon on their new terms. But all she could do was cry into Margaery Tyrell’s sweet smelling brown curls, only vaguely aware of the comforting noises the girl made as she stroked Catelyn’s hair.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, but as soon as Catelyn was able to quiet her sobs, she drew away from Margaery.
“My pardons, Your Grace,” she said once she trusted her voice not to break. “I am not myself.”
Margaery smiled that sweet smile of hers. “No pardons necessary, my lady.”
With that, the two went about discussing and planning, as though Catelyn had never broken down in her arms. She loved the girl for that.
“They say nothing brings men closer than war,” Margaery said, giving Catelyn an affectionate kiss on the cheek before they parted for the night. “It seems to me, the same could be said with women. We are evidence of that.”
Catelyn couldn’t but smile at that. It was true. There was little more she could ask for in a good daughter than what she found in Margaery Tyrell. And if not for the war, they likely wouldn’t have had more than a passing acquaintance – if that. If she could find anything good in this bloodshed, it would be bringing her into their family.