Catelyn

           TheGreatHallofRiverrunwasalonelyplacefortwotosittosupper.Deepshadowsdrapedthewalls.Oneofthetorcheshadgutteredout,leavingonlythree.Catelynsatstaringintoherwinegoblet.Thevintagetastedthinandsouronhertongue.Briennewasacrossfromher.Betweenthem,herfather’shighseatwasasemptyastherestofthehall.Eventheservantsweregone.Shehadgiventhemleavetojointhecelebration.

           Thewallsofthekeepwerethick,yetevenso,theycouldhearthemuffledsoundsofrevelryfromtheyardoutside.SerDesmondhadbroughttwentycasksupfromthecellars,andthesmallfolkwerecelebratingEdmure’simminentreturnandRobb’sconquestoftheCragbyhoistinghornsofnut-brownale.

           Icannotblamethem,Catelynthought.Theydonotknow.Andiftheydid,whyshouldtheycare?Theyneverknewmysons.NeverwatchedBranclimbwiththeirheartsintheirthroats,prideandterrorsomingledtheyseemedasone,neverheardhimlaugh,neversmiledtoseeRickontryingsofiercelytobelikehisolderbrothers.Shestaredatthesuppersetbeforeher:troutwrappedinbacon,saladofturnipgreensandredfennelandsweetgrass,peaseandonionsandhotbread.Briennewaseatingmethodically,asifsupperwereanotherchoretobeaccomplished.Iambecomeasourwoman,Catelynthought.Itakenojoyinmeadnormeat,andsongandlaughterhavebecomesuspiciousstrangerstome.Iamacreatureofgriefanddustandbitterlongings.Thereisanemptyplacewithinmewheremyheartwasonce.

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