GOTP Chapter 27

Rumors will spread soon enough.
They always do.

Men will say a fire-bird broke the Lannister camp, that flames came from nowhere, that sorcery walked the night. Let them.

What I wonder is how much my presence will twist this war, or the one that’s to come.
I never cared to think on such things before. Now I do.

Anyway.

Tomorrow, the host will march again, slower with prisoners and plunder. That much I cannot change.

For now, Rhaenys lies beside me on the cot, her arms looped around me like she's keeping something from slipping away.. Her eyes are shut, her breath soft against my feather. She says nothing. She does not need to.

Peace should have found me here. It does not.
She despises what I did, she should yet she knows why I did it. Perhaps she wonders why I chose to aid the Young Wolf at all. She has not asked. I’ve not offered.
So I lie still and let her warmth hold what’s left of me together.

The canvas stirs.

“Princess?” A woman’s voice- calm, measured.

Rhaenys opens her eyes. “My lady. Enter.”

Catelyn Stark steps through the flap with a courtesy that even war cannot strip away. She glances at me, then shifts aside, granting space without a word.

“Forgive the hour,” she says. “I wished to speak before we move.”

“You do not offend,” Rhaenys replies. “Will you sit?”

“Thank you,” says Catelyn, but she remains standing. Of course she does.

I hop down. Woman talk gets tight; I'd rather have air. Outside, the night air is cool. I linger just beyond the flap, listening.

“You have my thanks,” Catelyn begins. “For my daughter first… and for last night second. My son owes you, and........” a brief pause “your companion.”

Rhaenys offers no reply. Silence often serves better than courtesy.

Catelyn’s gaze lingers on her face. “I’m glad it was not turned on my son.”

“It will not be,” Rhaenys says simply.

Catelyn inclines her head. “Robb told me what you told him. About… Jon.”

Quiet again. Rhaenys lets her speak.

“Is it true?” Catelyn asks at last - each word careful, weighted.

“It is.”

“How do you know it?” There’s no anger in her tone, only the need for truth.

“I knew my father,” Rhaenys says. “I knew the court he made, and the lies that built it. I knew the men who kept them. Your husband did what honor and mercy required. He gave the boy his name, and his roof.”

Catelyn looks to the ground. “I was not kind to him. To Jon. I told myself it was for my own children’s sake.” Her voice softens. “If what you say is true… then I wronged him.”

“You were a mother, given half the page,” Rhaenys says. “That is how houses endure. It is also how boys are hurt.”

Catelyn’s breath catches. “If I live to see him again, I will ask his pardon.”

“He will deserve to hear it,” Rhaenys replies.

A moment passes before Catelyn draws herself up. “While you remain with us, you shall have fair treatment. Guest right, when we are under a roof. Bread and salt at Riverrun.”

“My thanks,” says Rhaenys.

“And one thing more, my lady,” Rhaenys adds.
Catelyn waits.
“I would speak with Ser Jaime Lannister. Briefly. Under guard, with your leave.”

Catelyn studies her in silence. “He is a prized hostage, and dangerous besides. I will not risk folly. But… under watch, and with my son's men beside you- I’ll permit it. Not this hour. When next we halt.”

“That will serve,” says Rhaenys.

Catelyn inclines her head and turns to go. The flap lifts, she nearly collides with me. She steps aside quickly, eyes lowered, and goes without another word.

Inside, Rhaenys does not return to bed. She leans against the tent’s center pole, eyes lowered, lost in thought. I step in again. Without looking, she opens an arm. I go to her.
We sit a while, the silence enough.

“Camp moves at first light,” she murmurs.

I find myself wondering why she wishes to see Jaime Lannister. Perhaps it’s because of what I wrote, the words she found in the ship’s cabin. Not all lions are hateful. Maybe she wishes to see if that’s true.
Maybe she’s only curious.
Or maybe I’ve forgotten something.

The thought drifts away. Fine. I wriggle out, put on a bit of cute on purpose- a head bump to her wrist and slip for the air.