Catelyn's eyes followed the direwolf warily as she watched her eldest daughter dote over it. Nearly up to Ceilya's hip, he was, and with jaws big enough to encase a man's head. And yet it rolled over and showed the girl it's belly as if it were still a chubby pup. Each time it snapped it's teeth close to Ceilya's hand, trying to take the little bits of meat she would toss him Catelyn flinched, glancing down at her own injured hands. She knew deep down that she would never fully understand the bond her children had with these creatures; they were Starks, after all, and she was not. The Starks had a long, storied ancestry with these beasts, companionship ran through their veins along with their stubborn blood. But she did wish Ceilya would be a bit more wary with such a dangerous animal. Rowan was as tame as they come, and yet…those teeth. It was enough to keep Catelyn awake at night.

"Mother, would you stop glaring at Rowan as if he ate your newborn?" Ceilya laughed, noticing the look her mother was giving her wolf. Snapping out of her own thoughts, Catelyn startled, growing a mite bit flustered by Rodrick and her daughter giving her that amused look on their faces.

"I was not," she asserted, going back to what she'd been doing previously, ensuring their things were properly packed and stowed with their horses. The three of them, four if you counted the beast, were only just waking with the first rays of the sun, readying themselves to continue on after spending a rather short night at an inn. "I just wonder if you could feed him without putting your fingers in such danger?"

"Danger? Oh please, Mother, look!" Holding up a piece of bacon, she held her hand out to Rowan, palm out in a 'stop' sort of motion. "Rowan, easy. Down." And on her command, he reluctantly set his snout down on his paws, laying down as she said, though his eyes never left the meat. "Show us your belly." And again, on cue, he rolled to his back, paws up by his nose to reveal his belly to her submissively. "Good boy! Catch!" Tossing the bacon, Rowan was on his feel in a flash, lunging for the bacon as it flew through the air, catching it before it hit the ground. Ceilya turned to her Mother, who looked none too impressed. "I'm not in any danger, Mother, he's very obedient."

"Yes, well, a horse is obedient," Lady Stark countered, reaching up to her steed's saddle, and pulling herself up by herself, despite Rodrick's offer to help. "Until it's spooked."

"Nothing spooks Rowan, he's a direwolf. He's top of the foodchain, ahead of even us." Ceilya too attempted to hoist herself into her saddle on her own, but couldn't find the strength in her arms to pull herself all the way up. Again, Rodrick offered to assist her, but before he could, Rowan was by her feet, head bowed low to the ground. He'd helped her onto her horse before in such a fashion, letting her use his shoulders as a stepping stool, and with his boost, she was able to sit comfortably (or at least, as comfortable as sitting side-saddle could be) on her horse. Rodrick paused upon seeing his assistance was not needed by either lady, and just chuckled.

"Well, I have a complaint," he said, checking the saddle bags once more, before mounting his steed, and leading the trio off. "This wolf seems to be pushing me out of a job!"

Ceilya kept her eyes low as she followed behind her Mother and Ser Rodrick. Both Stark women had donned headscarves shortly before riding close to the Capitol city, to keep from drawing too much attention to their faces. For Ceilya, there really was no need; she'd never before been to the Capitol, and unless the Queen and King themselves were riding around the slums of King's Landing at that very moment, no one was around to recognize her. But her Mother was far more recognizable, and had been to the Capitol before. So nevertheless, they kept their gazes low and their voices down.

"Fewer eyes back her, My lady," Rodrick remarked, speaking quietly to Catelyn, "but still too many." The three of them were entering the city from a side gate, very poorly manned and guarded, with only the peasantry present. Ceilya glanced behind them, at the treeline far off, outside the city gates; she'd instructed Rowan to stay hidden in the trees; bringing a wolf into the city would have been a dead giveaway. She knew he'd be fine…but she still worried.

"It's been nine years since I've stepped foot in the Capitol," her mother replied, "and no one knew who I was the last time, either." Even though Ceilya had been instructed to not gawke….she couldn't help it. Even in this decrepit gate on the far end of the city, there were so many people! And so...underdressed. In her thick woolen dress, she was feeling much too warm in the mid-southern climate, but even so! These peasants were hardly wearing anything, the 'dresses' the women wore could hardly be called even that!

"My Lady…" Her gaze away from several girls who looked to be about Ceilya's age once Ser Rodrick's tone changed, and her eyes widened, startled, as two men on horseback rode before them, halting their progress forward.

"Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Stark," they greeted them, though they were really only addressing her mother. Pulling her horse up beside her mother, Ceilya fought the sudden urge to reach out and grab her mother's hand; she wasn't a child. And this was no time to be frightened. "Would you mind following us?"

"I would," Catelyn said, her surprise and misgiving tone barely concealed in her voice, "we've done nothing wrong."

"We've been instructed to escort you into the city," the man on the right continued, his face obscured by a partial veil of chainmail.

"Instructed!?" Catelyn spat, her temper flaring slightly at this seeming misfortune. "I don't know who's providing your instructions, but-"

"Allow me, Lady Stark." The man's voice sounded almost…bored, and it struck Ceilya as a very disrespectful way to address a Stark, even so far away from home! But he handed her mother a scroll, and while neither Ceilya nor Rodrick would read it's crest or contents, whatever was on it seemed to do a good job of pacifying her mother, and without another word, she bade her horse forward, following the men's lead.

"What's this about?" Ceilya asked Ser Rodrick quietly, falling in line behind Catelyn, next to him.

"I don't know, Lady Ceilya, but your mother is a shrewd woman. If the contents of that scroll had not pleased her, we would have known about it."

"If we were going to be discovered so quickly, I should have liked to have Rowan with us," she lamented, feeling rather vulnerable, riding with these men through the streets. If they weren't drawing attention before, they sure were now.

"Something tells me," Rodrick said, narrowing his eyes in contemplation, "That these aren't the King's men, or Lannister men." This gave Ceilya pause, and she leaned forward in her saddle, and then sideways, trying to get a better look at their armor. True, it wasn't the white capes of the Kingsguard or the golden armor of the Lannisters.

"Then who are they?" She asked, still having misgivings. "And how did they know we were here?"

"Only the Gods know the answer to the latter, My Lady. And as to the former…." He motioned to Catelyn then, and a single glance at her somewhat irritated expression, for some reason, put a few of Ceilya's nerves to rest. If these were their enemies leading them through the throngs of people, Catelyn would not look so annoyed, she'd look terrified. "I have a feeling your mother has a good idea."

A good idea indeed. The moment the 'establishment' these men were leading them to came into view, Catelyn's expression grew fiercer, her cheeks redder, her grip on her reins tighter. Ceilya had a vaguely bad feeling about this as well, though she didn't quite know why. She did know, though, that as they rode up to a rather extravagant building in a rather run down little alley (so extravagant as to look very misplaced there) that the women around them seemed to be wearing less and less clothing, even by southern standards. It became hard to avert her eyes, as there was simply nowhere to avert her eyes to.

Catelyn dismounted in a flurry, but as Ceilya was about to slide off of her saddle, aided by Ser Rodrick, her mother halted her.

"Not you," she instructed, her voice venomous. "You stay here; Ser Rodrick, you make sure she's safe out here. She's not coming in.

"My Lady, I can't let you go into a….an establishment like this on your own," he protested, but Catelyn was having none of it.

"She's not coming in!" she hissed again, her hands balling into fists, even though with her injuries it must have caused her great pain.

"Mother, is…is this a brothel?" Ceilya finally asked, feeling more uncomfortable here by the moment. She'd never been so close to one! Sure, Winterfell had it's places of ill repute, but…Ceilya had never dared get this close to one! She was a good girl, after all, and the girls here were…not. "Why have we been brought to a brothel!?" A slight lilt of panic rose in her tone, and even though Rodrick patted her hand soothingly, it didn't go away. "Don't leave us alone out here! I don't want to go in, but if you're going in, I'm coming with you!"

"I told you, Ceilya, if you came with me, you were to do exactly as I say," Catelyn said, throwing her hands up as Ceilya hopped down off her saddle. "And I'm telling you now, stay outside!"

"I don't want to!" she said, almost pleading now. The men who had led them here were standing a little ways off, by what appeared to be the front door, but as their 'guests' were taking a long time to decide whether or not to come in, one coughed awkwardly, to get their attention.

"If you will…?" he said, motioning them to follow him. Ceilya looked again to her mother, begging with her eyes. Catelyn let out a frustrated sigh, eyes finding Ser Rodrick, looking for backup, though he had none to give.

"I'm inclined to agree, My Lady," he ruefully muttered, to which Catelyn scoffed. "I don't much like the idea of it, either, but I dislike the idea of letting you go in alone more. We should keep together." Ceilya nodded beside him, praying silently to any God that would listen to not be left outside, and it seemed as if they were listening, as Catelyn's expression finally relented, and she shook her head.

"…Fine. But stay close to me, and…and don't look. At anything." She held her bandaged hand out for Ceilya to take, which she gratefully grasped, gently. Walking close by her side, the three of them finally obliged the men in armor, entering the dimly lit foyer of the facility. They were led upstairs, and into a small room that, despite being heavily curtained, let in several rays of sunshine, which cast themselves over a figure on the far end of the room, who was languidly sitting by the window and sorting through a few papers in his lap. Beside him sat two women, dressed in wonderfully draped jewels, though not much else.

"Cat!" he purred upon their entry, appraising them with something akin to a kind greeting, though not quite a kind greeting. Standing, he looked to his two…companions, and began to shoo them. "Go on, go upstairs." They both stood slowly, painted eyes skimming over the newcomers, before they took their leave, and the man stepped closer to the trio. "And, who is this? …Your daughter?"

"You little worm!" Catelyn suddenly burst out, lobbing the scroll she'd been given at the man, who dodged it, the smile never faltering from his features. "You take ME, for some back-alley Sally that you can drag into a-" and just as she was about to spit out the word 'whorehouse', two women, this time completely topless, slipped past the beaded curtain that separated this room from the next. They seemed surprised to see the man had guests, but the man seemed more surprised to see them, and quickly snapped at them, pointing away. They retreated, somewhat resentfully, and Catelyn's rage only grew. "-with my DAUGHTER here, I can't believe this!"

"I meant no disrespect," he said, his voice…disarmingly gentle. "To you, of all people."

"How dare you bring me here! Bring US here!" Ceilya stepped a bit closer to her mother then, wide eyes, trying not to look around too much; she was fairly certain the painting on the far wall was of a very naked women doing very…inappropriate things. "Have you lost your damn mind!?"

"No one will come looking for you here," he replied, raising his eyebrows. "Isn't that what you wanted? …I'm truly sorry about the locale." His features rearranged themselves seamlessly to look at Catelyn with something so, so close to genuine regret. And Catelyn seemed to be buying it.

"How did you know we were coming to King's Landing?"

"A dear friend told me." They were motioned to look back then, to a man just revealing himself from behind another curtain of glass beads. He was a large man, short but wide, with a head so polished, had the sun shone on it, it might've blinded them all. Ceilya regarded him curiously; his corpulent features were…almost comical. She'd never seen a man so fat; in the north, men rarely had the chance to become this large.

"Lady Stark," The man greeted, dipping his head low in a much more appropriate greeting.

"Lord Varys," Catelyn returned, seemed a bit baffled to see him here…of all places. He approached the three of them, reaching to take Catelyn's hand.

"To see you again after so many years is a blessing," he said, "oh! …Your poor hands…" But before he could trap her bandaged hand in his grasp, she withdrew, causing him to turn a pained expression up at her.

"How did you know I was coming?" she asked again, growing tired of asking the same thing again and again. This man, Varys, kept his hurt look…or maybe that was just his face?

"Knowledge is my trade, my lady." His gaze strayed to Ceilya then, and as if to make a point, he dipped his head to her as well. "Lady Ceilya." This unnerved Ceilya greatly; she'd never been near this man in her life, how could he have known who she was? Her name? She clung to her Mother's arm tighter, almost like a frightened toddler, and her cheeks sprung red at that thought. Mercifully, his attention to Ceilya did not linger, and he returned his gaze to Catelyn. "Did you bring the dagger with you, by any chance?" he asked, again subtly letting them all know just how much HE knew, without them having to tell him. Ser Rodrick shot Lady Stark a questioning glance, and when no one spoke, he finished, reluctantly. "…My 'little birds' are everywhere. Even in the North."

"Little birds…?" Ceilya whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, but none the less she was still hushed by her mother. Ser Rodrick slowly began to unwrap the dagger they had brought with them.

"They whisper to me, the strangest stories." He took the sheathed dagger when offered to him, and in a flourish, drew it to inspect. His eyes glinted with recognition then, his face showing awe, though it very well could have been manufactured; these two men struck Ceilya as very much the type to wear expressions just for the show of it. She doubted very much that two men in a place like this were truly shocked by anything anymore. "Valyrian steel."

"Do you know whose dagger this is?" Catelyn asked, imploring him to spout off more of his uncanny knowledge, but he paused, readying himself to disappoint her.

"I must admit I do not." Ceilya watched her mother's face fall at that, but behind them, the first man, the one Catelyn had thrown the scroll at, began to chuckle.

"Well, well," he mused, "this is a historic day." And when he'd fully received everyone present's attention, he quirked an eyebrow up. "Something you don't know, that I do." He put his hand out, receiving the dagger from Varys and looking at it, almost lovingly. "There's only one dagger in all of the seven kingdoms like this, you know," he said, very nearly tracing a finger along the sharp edge, and when everyone gathered had their breath held, waiting for him to reveal who the assassin was, he chuckled once more. "…It's mine."

"Yours?" Catelyn blurted out, though not quite as vitriolic as Ceilya had expected…or hoped. At the word 'mine,' all the hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end.

"At least, it was. Until the tournament on Prince Joffrey's last name day." He was still laughing, that damn laughing, and it was…not right. Not right to Ceilya. She dared not say anything, not here, not with these people, but…but why was he laughing? She didn't like it, it sounded disingenuous. "I bet on Ser Jaime, in the jousting, as any sane man would. And when the Knight of the Flowers unseated him…I lost this dagger." He punctuated the end of the sentence by sliding the dagger audibly back into it's sheath, admiring the perfect fit of the leather.

"To whom?"

"Tyrion Lannister." It seemed that the whole building fell silent at those words, even the…unsavory noises from behind walls seemed to cease. "The Imp."

Ceilya felt herself suck in air involuntarily at that; The Imp? The Imp was the one who wanted her brother dead!? It seemed like such a terribly laughable idea! …And yet, the way that man spoke, the way he'd spoken to Jon that night, and the mere fact that he was a Lannister…Ceilya had to admit, it wasn't THAT farfetched. But then again, what kind of a man was stupid enough to give an assassin his own, one-of-a-kind dagger? Even Ceilya knew that that was not a smart move.

"I knew it," Catelyn said under her breath, looking away. "I knew this was the work of the Lannisters."

"What are we going to do?" Ceilya asked, and to this, she was greeted by amused chuckles from the assembled men. Instantly, her face flushed mauve, and she looked around in both embarrassment and defiance at them; why were they laughing at that!? She was being serious! Catelyn didn't find it all that funny though, and ignoring the chuckles around them, her eyes were staring at something far off, not really seeing much.

"I have to tell Ned," Catelyn muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Though the man who's brought them here stepped forward, clearing his throat.

"Leave that to me, Catelyn."

"I don't like it."

"Petyr is right, who would come looking for us here?"

"I reserve the right to still not like it, My Lady." Catelyn and Ser Rodrick sat on one of the silk-decorated sofas in the man's office, whom Ceilya had come to know was called 'Little Finger' among those familiar with him, and Petyr Baelish among those that weren't. A tea set had been brought for them, and sat untouched on the low table beside the sofa; no one's stomach was sitting right enough for tea. While her mother and Rodrick sat talking in hushed tones, Ceilya was roaming about the room, still making a concerted effort not to look at the painting on the wall, but letting her eyes fall curiously on everything else. There was quite a bit to look at in a place like this. Artifacts from Dorne, fine china from Essos, every kind of jewel set in lovely jewelry sat in half-open boxes on Petyr's desk, and even his family crest seal was inlaid with gold. The whole room was draped in fine red linens and silks. This place was pretty much the exact opposite of anywhere back North.

"He's gone to fetch Ned, and once I get the chance to speak with him we won't need to linger any longer." The older woman turned a wary eye to her daughter, wandering around, picking things up every now and then to inspect them. "…But you're right. The sooner we're out, the better."

"Don't much like the Capitol," Rodrick said, scratching at his beard and shaking his head. "A Knight loses his skillset when there's not much to do besides beat peasants at the roadside and visit wh-…..brothels."

"I've never been a fan myself, if I'm being honest."

"Mother-"

"Ceilya, honestly, come away from the window!" Ceilya was peering out of the curtains slightly, just enough to see down to the road. She made a face at being scolded like that, furrowing her eyebrows. "I've told you already-"

"It's Father," she interrupted, finally getting her word in edgewise. "Petyr's returned with him!" Catelyn didn't waste another moment being flustered, she was on her feet immediately, and casting aside the curtains, and poking her head out. Ceilya leaned out of the window as well, gasping as soon as they both saw Eddard holding poor Little Finger to the wall by his neck.

"Ned!" Calling to his attention, he looked up, surprised as ever to see his wife and daughter looking down on him, letting Petyr go almost accidentally, though he quickly made his way inside.

"Gods Alive," he swore, pushing his way into the office where they all stood, laughing in surprise to find them in a brothel, of all places! "What in the seven hells are you doing here?"

"It was what Petyr said was safest for us," Catelyn said ruefully, as Ceilya left her spot at the window to hug her father.

"Did he now? That little worm…"

"That's what Mother called him," Ceilya said in amusement as she pulled away from the hug, so her parents could embrace.

"He's right, though," Catelyn continued, as she tried to fend off the barrage of kisses Ned attempted to leave all over her face. "Ned! Honestly!"

"I haven't seen you in a month," he countered, finally relenting, holding her at arm's length. He glanced between the two of them. "And what are you doing here, Ceilya? Trick your mother into letting you come along?" Ceilya suppressed a small smile at that; it wasn't far from the truth, really. But before any more could be said, Petyr returned, hands folded behind his back.

"I hate to break up such a heartfelt reunion," he said, giving Ceilya the impression that he didn't hate it at all. "But, time is of the essence with this particular matter. Ned's absence from the Red Keep won't be ignored for long."

"He's right," Ned said, nodding in agreement. Catelyn seemed to be steeling herself to admit to her husband what she knew, and she took a deep breath.

"The Lannisters WERE behind Bran's 'accident'," she said. "Tyrion Lannister. The dagger the assassin used? Tyrion won it off of Petyr in a bet some time ago."

"What? The Imp?" Ned began to laugh, as if this were all some elaborate joke Catelyn had conspired to play against him. "My ten year old son is twice his size!"

"It's true." Taking the dagger from his belt, Little Finger stepped forward, handing the weapon to Ned. "It was a dagger of my own design and commission, and I lost it in an ill-fated bet to the youngest Lannister sibling last year." He paused, as if reminiscing on the event. "Such a terrible gambler, he is, but it seemed to have paid off for him that time. And as you know, it wasn't Tyrion himself that carried out the assassination."

"Well, if this IS true," he said, looking to his wife, "then we must tell King Robert."

"The mere suggestion that the Queen's brother tried to kill your boy would be considered Treason," Little Finger reminded them.

"But we have proof?" Catelyn said, "we have the blade!"

"Which Lord Tyrion will say was stolen from him." Catelyn threw her hands up at this, as Ned set a large hand on her shoulder. "The only man who could say otherwise has no throat, thanks to your boy's wolf."

"Then what are we to do?" Ned asked. "And how should I know if you're telling the truth and it wasn't you who sent the assassin?"

"Petyr has promised to help us find the truth," Catelyn said, turning her gaze from her husband to her friend. "He's like a little brother to me, Ned, he would never betray my trust!" She offered Petyr a small smile. "I won't forget this, Petyr. You're a true friend." Ned stood by almost helplessly, shaking his head.

"Don't tell anyone," Petyr said, his own sly smile gracing his features. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Rowan!" Ceilya all but leapt from her horse's saddle as the familiar lump of red-brown fur came into view, snoozing at the roots of a half-dead tree. His ears immediately perked up at her voice, and he was bounding over to her in an instant, tongue lolling from his mouth like an overexcited pup. He nearly bowled her over, though she was able to maintain her balance, and kept jumping up to lick her face. "Rowan! Sto- stop! Ha, down!"

Catelyn watched the spectacle with dull eyes; she might've been worried deep down, but at the moment, only just having said goodbye to Ned for a second time, she couldn't bring herself to feel much of anything besides sorrow. But, it was nice to see her daughter happy. It was easy to forget that Ceilya, despite her age, was very much still a child; the rare moments when she wasn't obligated to keep a cool head were nice to see every now and then.

Sighing, Catelyn hoped Ceilya wouldn't have to grow up too fast. Her wedding was looming just over the horizon, and the older woman couldn't help but feel, watching her daughter giggle as he wolf tried unsuccessfully again to lick her face, that she was just as unprepared as Sansa was for marriage.

"Gods help my children," she muttered under her breath, urging her horse forward. "They will all need it."