NOTE: Everything you recognize belongs to George R. R. Martin, a simply wonderful author. I own nothing.

CATELYN IV

She awoke with a pounding head, and tried to recall what might have caused it.

She appeared to be in a tent. That wasn't completely reassuring. The negotiations. What happened with the negotiations? It was starting to come back to her. Tywin. Or Kevan. Yes, Kevan Lannister.

Edmure killed him with a spear.

The haze that covered her mind lifted completely. The battle. Willem Lannister, his throat slit. The Mountain. Edmure. Yohn Royce. Petyr.

She sat up violently and let out a slight moan as she immediately experienced a rush of dizziness. She heard hurried footfalls as someone rushed to her side.

It was a woman. She was clad in practical robes of blue and white that were stained with mud and blood in equal measure, and wore her messy dark hair long. She had brown eyes, and Catelyn's first thought was that she didn't seem Westerosi. A battlefield healer, from one of the Free Cities, perhaps.

"Lady Stark," she said, in a voice that wasn't particularly accented. "How do you feel?"

Catelyn blinked, and shook her head a little. "I am… I am fine," she said, although the dull throbbing at the back of her skull continued. "How long was I unconscious?"

"You had a nasty fall, my lady," the woman remarked. "You slept for about three hours."

Catelyn didn't quite know how to respond to this, so she didn't. Instead, she asked about Edmure.

"He isn't here, my lady. But Lord Baelish wanted to be told as soon as you were awake. I shall fetch him, unless you object?"

"I… I do not," Catelyn managed. The healer rose to her feet and departed, without another word. No more than two minutes later, she returned, with Littlefinger at her side. Catelyn sat up in her makeshift bed.

"Cat," Petyr said. "How are you?"

"I am well, thank you," she replied coolly.

"Do I have your leave to go, my lord?" the healer interrupted, adressing Littlefinger with a hint of defiance in her tone. "There are others in greater need of my aid." He raised a hand to dismiss her, but Catelyn spoke.

"Wait. I didn't thank you," she said. "What's your name?"

"Talisa," the healer replied shortly.

"Thank you, Talisa," Catelyn told her. The other woman nodded and curtseyed before departing.

"Cat," Petyr Baelish began.

"What are you doing here? What?" she demanded furiously. "How dare you? I trusted you! My husband trusted you! And you repaid us with treachery!"

"Cat, please," he said quickly. "You must listen to me. I supported your husband. I wanted him to be protector of the realm, and I begged him to seize the chance-"

"You betrayed him. He trusted you and you betrayed him!"

"I never wanted for him to die. Joffrey's cruelty and Ned's own honour killed him, not I. You know I did all I could to save him."

"Then why didn't you save him?" Catelyn shouted, shaking a little. The dizziness had returned- she felt like the world was rocking back and forth, as if they were on the deck of a ship. Petyr moved quickly towards her and grabbed her hands.

"I tried, sweet Cat, I swear it. When Joffrey called for your husband's head, I begged him to stop. I did all I could."

"You… you…"

"And after Joffrey was crowned king, I tried to undermine his authority. When the Queen commanded me to marry your sister-"

Catelyn was stunned. "You're the Lannister lord. You married Lysa."

"I did," Petyr said with a hint of a smile. He released his grip on her. "But I am no Lannister lord. The Vale holds to Winterfell, and to Robb."

"But..."

"I am deeply sorry, about your husband's death. He was meant to take the black, join the Night's Watch. It was Joffrey, all Joffrey." he said. You don't sound sorry, Catelyn thought bitterly. You don't sound sorry at all.

"If you hadn't betrayed Ned, he'd still be alive," she replied, sharply and certainly.

"Would he be? You saw Renly. He took the throne because he wanted it, not because he had any right to it. If Lord Eddard had stood in his way, then he would have been killed just the same. Your husband supported Stannis's claim, to the end."

"If Ned had lived… if he'd been able to raise the North for Stannis-"

"Renly knew where your husband's loyalties lay. Poor old Ned would never have left King's Landing alive, Joffrey or no Joffrey."

"But…" Catelyn said. It all sounded so unbelievable. Renly may be arrogant, but he has honour. He wouldn't...

"Listen to me, Cat," Littlefinger said, looking her directly in the eye. "Renly doesn't matter, Stannis doesn't matter. There is only one King who matters, now. Robb."

"Robb?"

"I did my best to save your husband's life. Is that not enough to earn your forgiveness for this imagined betrayal? I persuaded your sister, my wife, to see reason and support your son's cause. Is that not enough to earn your forgiveness?" She began to answer, but he cut her off. "Your daughters, Cat. Arya vanished, on the day they took your husband. Nobody knows where she is, but I searched every inch of the city so that I might find her before the Lannisters did." He paused, to let this sink in, before saying, "And Sansa. Sansa should be safe at Harrenhal as we speak, with Roose Bolton and Nestor Royce. I had one of my agents remove her from King's Landing to keep her safe from Renly. Is that not enough to earn your forgiveness?"

Arya. Gone, Catelyn thought, feeling numb. Dead. But Sansa. Safe. The gods give with one hand and take with the other. I must be strong for Edmure. I must be strong for Robb.

She gritted her teeth and rose to her feet. Littlefinger took an awkward step away from her. "Where's my brother?" she asked firmly, leaving the topic of forgiveness hanging above them like a storm cloud. She thought for a moment that she saw a hint of anger on his face when he saw that his dramatic speech seemed to have had little affect on her.

"The Lannister force split three ways when we struck from the north. Edmure and Yohn Royce pursued them towards Hornvale in the south west, Clement Piper and Jonos Bracken towards Wayfarer's Rest in the west, and Jason Mallister east, back into the heart of the Riverlands"

"What of Lord Tywin?" she asked hopefully, but Littlefinger simply shrugged.

"Bronze Yohn Royce is commanding my forces. I'm afraid I'm not much of a fighter, as you might remember. Lord Tytos Blackwood and Ser Jasper Redfort have remained here with five hundred men to escort us both back to Riverrun, where we can await the return of your brother and son."

"Very well," Catelyn said. "We shall leave as soon as possible."

"As you wish… Lady Stark," he said simply.

They rode together on the way north, but Catelyn refused to do so much as look at Petyr Baelish. She tried her best not to think of him at all, which was easier than she thought it would have been, mainly due to her sudden weariness around horses. Before, she had felt at home in the saddle; riding came naturally to her. Now, however, she was aware of every step, every movement, every shift in her own position. She encouraged this, constantly asking herself questions like, am I sitting correctly? or, are there any obstacles that need to be avoided? But, every so often, she caught sight of Petyr out of the corner of her eye, and his voice was always ringing in her ears from his jovial conversations with the highborn nobles who accompanied them.

He betrayed Ned. Who's to say he won't do the same to Robb? Littlefinger had made some little attempt at conversation with her, but Tytos Blackwood was in high spirits, and he more than made up for her silence. But if he tells it true, he saved Sansa. But was it true, though? Catelyn remembered the dagger, the dagger of Valyrian Steel carried by the footpad who'd tried to slay her son Bran. She'd asked Petyr who it had belonged to.

"The Imp," he'd said. "Tyrion Lannister." Truth or lie? Catelyn wasn't sure. The gods judged the Imp innocent, of that crime at least. But what of Petyr? If Robb thought for one moment that he'd had anything to do with the attempt on Bran's life… Catelyn had little doubt that Robb would order him hanged immediately, and their newfound alliance with the Vale would be at an end.

Gritting her teeth and rubbing the back of her head, she returned her attention to the ride.

When they made camp that night, she ate alone in her tent. Petyr did not come to her… when she was awake, at least. When she slept, however, she dreamt of him.

It was a familiar setting, one she'd visited several times recently while awake. The canopy of trees above her, the carpet of flowers below. The Godswood at Riverrun. It was winter, or early spring, she knew from the snow smattered upon the ground.

He was waiting for her beneath the slender weirwood. It was the boy he was, not the man he'd become. He had no beard, and his dark hair was free from any trace of grey.

WIthout knowing why, she held out a hand to him, and he took it. For a dream, it was surprisingly real. She saw the individual snowflakes clinging to his hair with surprising clarity. And when he smiled, Petyr Baelish was in that moment so sad and so beautiful she wanted to cry.

"Cat," said a voice that echoed all around. It wasn't Petyr. She felt their hands pulling apart, but she knew not whether it was by her will, or his. Catelyn turned, and was strangely unsurprised to see Brandon Stark standing before them. He smiled, too, but it was a wild, furious smile, and she saw that the greatsword Ice was in his hand.

"Brandon!" she tried to shout, realising his intent, but it made no difference. "Brandon, no!"

The wild wolf swung the sword in a great arc above his head, and Cat winced as she waited for the cold steel to bite into Petyr's flesh, but the killing blow did not come. Petyr was no longer beside her. Instead, he she saw him standing beside Brandon. That was when she realised with a jolt that it was not Brandon at all, but Robb, her son Robb.

"Mother…?" he said, her beloved eldest boy, sounding confused. His voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and did he nothing but stare at her helplessly. And then Petyr was raising the dagger, the smokey grey steel that had scarred her hands, and he drew the blade across Robb's throat.

The greatsword Ice slipped from her son's pale hands and the blade shattered into a thousand glittering pieces on the forest floor, which were joined by a pool of blood. In her pavillion on the road south of Riverrun, Catelyn Stark awoke and sat up straight in bed, breathing hard.

A dream. Nothing but a dream.

The riding was easier, that day, more natural, but Catelyn put more focus into it than she ever had before. Anything was better than thinking about her dream. The memories had faded in the light of day, but the general idea, the general feel had stuck with her. Whenever she looked at Littlefinger, she felt a little ill. He spoke to her a few times, but she ignored him as best she could.

They reached Riverrun that evening. Catelyn felt some trepidation as they approached the gates, but the banners of Tully and Stark still flew proudly above them and horns sounded to herald their coming. Without thinking, she glanced at Petyr. He was looking all around, his expression unreadable. He hasn't been here since my father sent him away, she realised. She found that she pitied him, just a little, on top of everything else.

Devan Seaworth was waiting in the courtyard for her, standing beside Ser Desmond Grell. When he saw her, he rushed forward and bowed deeply. Ser Desmond echoed the motion, and the assembled knights and smallfolk who dotted the courtyard followed.

Then, the master-at-arms saw who rode with them, and gasped audibly. "Littlefinger?"

"The very same." Petyr said, smiling good-naturedly as he dismounted. "But you must call me Lord Baelish, now, ser."

"Hah!" Ser Desmond laughed. "Clawed your way up out of the dust, eh? Well done, lad!"

"More than you might think. I have wed Lady Lysa."

Ser Desmond paled. Fortunately, Devan interrupted before anything more could pass between them. "My lady!" he said excitedly. "Ser Desmond has been teaching me swordplay. He says I'll be good at it, one day."

I was out of the castle for less than a week, Catelyn thought. How has the boy changed so much? He is acting as a boy his age should. She forced a smile onto her face and nodded. A silence descended upon them. Devan's face fell, apparently disappointed by her reaction. Petyr smiled around at the others in the courtyard, perhaps searching for faces he recognised. Desmond Grell stared at him suspiciously.

"Ser Desmond," Catelyn said finally, dismounting herself. Devan hurried over and took her horse by the reins, leading it away. "How fares my father?"

"There is no change in his condition, my lady."

Catelyn nodded. "I will visit him," she said simply. "Have the men find Lord Baelish suitable accommodation." Far from my own chambers, she added silently, and departed, leaving Ser Desmond looking slightly confused. Tytos Blackwood would be along shortly to explain everything to him, she was sure, and she had more pressing concerns.

She had quite forgotten her father, in everything that had happened. He was old and sick and frail, but he was Lord of Riverrun still, and Catelyn hadn't even considered what his feelings might be on this matter. Edmure seemed willing to welcome Littlefinger with open arms, but he wasn't lord of Riverrun yet. And how would Hoster Tully react to the news that his younger daughter had wed the grandson of a sellsword?

Her visit wasn't a long one, however, as she found her father too ill to have an opinion on the matter of Littlefinger or anything else. He mumbled a few words to her, words she didn't understand, before falling back to sleep. Catelyn bowed her head and left his presence as quickly as she could, consulting first with the Maester before retreating to her bedchamber.

Petyr Baelish requested to visit her again that night, a guard informed her. She rejected him, stating that she was too tired. He dare not make trouble about it. He may have the Vale in his grasp, but not the Riverlands.

She considered going to see Devan, but eventually decided against it. I bring the boy no happiness. I just pray he has the sense to keep that accursed sword away from Ser Desmond. Instead, she slept.

It was a peaceful sleep, a healing sleep. Her dream was of Sansa coming to Riverrun and running to embrace her, while Edmure and Robb stood off to the side, smiling. When she awoke, she as though her unease had been alleviated somewhat. She dressed in light clothes and ate a light breakfast alone in the lord's solar, listening to a chorus of birdsong arising gently from the Godswood. Petyr Baelish did not bother her. My daughter is safe. She had tried to doubt it, she had tried to deny it, but she found she had to trust what Littlefinger had said. Sansa is safe. I believe it.

It was noon when Maester Vyman came to her as she prayed in the sept, the letter clasped in his shaking right hand.

"Maester?" she asked him. "What is it? What's wrong?" Dark wings, dark words.

"My lady. Lady Catelyn…" the old man held the letter out to her, and she snatched it from his hands.

She had to read it three times over before she could make sense of it. Bran and Rickon. She felt as if she had been suddenly plunged into freezing water.

Bran and Rickon are dead.

She read it again, one last time. Every word was like a dagger in her heart.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter took an unreasonable amount of time, for which I must sincerely apologise. It wasn't even very good. Rather than bombarding you with my excuses, please accept my assurance that I will not let such an unreasonable amount of time pass between chapters again. Oh, and yes, Talisa is there. Don't freak out, Robb is marrying Jeyne Westerling as we speak. It's just a little reference to the show.

Thank you to readers and reviewers.