The landlady of the Inn at the Crossroads was pacing in anxious circles, but there was nothing she could do. That blasted tournament had turned the Kingsroad into a flood of travelers, and to make matters worse, rain was falling outside.
The dwarf flicked a gold coin from his pocket. It sprang neatly from his finger and dropped back into his palm just as steadily. The temptation of a golden dragon was more than most men could resist.
A freerider in a faded blue cloak rose to his feet.
"My lord, if you don't mind, you could make do with my room."
"This one's clever," the Lannister said as he tossed the coin over. The freerider snatched it out of the air. "Quick hands, too."
"Lannisters truly are generous, handing out golden dragons just like that." Catelyn caught the gleam of the coin clearly.
Even as Lady of Winterfell, she had never spent money so extravagantly. When it came to household accounts, Catelyn suspected she and Eddard were very much alike: careful and measured with every coin.
The dwarf turned to Masha Heddle.
"Food won't be a problem, I assume?"
"Anything you like, my lord. Whatever you wish to eat." The power of a golden dragon was boundless. The landlady fully intended to give such a wealthy guest the finest service she could manage.
Catelyn watched the dwarf's small figure, but her thoughts drifted unwillingly to Bran. Her poor child, soaked in blood, gasping for breath.
What can I do for you, my child?
The dwarf glanced toward the nearest table.
"My men will eat what those people are having, just double the portions. We've ridden a long way. Roast me a bird. Chicken, duck, pigeon, whatever you've got. And bring a jug of your best wine. Yoren, will you eat with me?"
"Gladly, my lord. I'll join you," the brother in black replied.
Catelyn allowed herself a small breath of relief. With so many tables and benches between them, the dwarf had not noticed them.
But at that moment the singer sprang up like a fly drawn to blood.
"My lord, might I entertain you while you dine? Perhaps a song praising your father's great victory at King's Landing."
"I'd sooner vomit," the Imp said sourly. This singer's tongue ought to be cut out. Everyone knew what Lord Tywin's so-called victory at King's Landing truly was. Treachery. Slaughter. If the man had any sense, he would play The Rains of Castamere instead.
Then the Imp noticed someone he had not expected.
His eyes settled on Catelyn.
"Lady Stark. What an unexpected pleasure. It's a pity we didn't meet in Winterfell."
The singer Marillion stood there with his mouth hanging open. Catelyn slowly rose to her feet.
Damn it. Of all chances.
Ser Rodrik muttered curses under his breath. Damn this coincidence. If only the dwarf had stayed at the Wall a few days longer. If only they had not stopped at this inn.
But it was already too late.
Everyone had realized what was happening. All eyes turned toward Catelyn.
"Lady Stark?" the landlady Masha asked roughly.
"The last time I stayed here, I was still Catelyn Tully," Catelyn said to her.
She could hear the whispers spreading through the room. Every gaze had fixed upon her. Heat rushed to her head. She took a slow, steady breath.
Should she take the risk?
Or follow Eddard's advice and return to Winterfell as quickly as possible?
"My lady," Rodrik said, trying to stop her.
But the old knight could not hold Catelyn back.
It seemed matters were about to grow far worse.
Catelyn surveyed the room, her gaze passing over the knights and sworn swords present. The only real concern was the ragged band of sellswords who looked more like vagabonds, but judging by appearances, they did not seem likely to interfere with her plans. Should she take the risk?
She felt she had no time to think it through. The opportunity would vanish in an instant. She was not doing this for herself, but out of a mother's duty and pride.
"The gentleman sitting in the corner," Catelyn said. "Is that the black bat of Harrenhal embroidered on your cloak?"
"Yes, my lady," the knight replied hastily as he stepped forward.
"My father is Hoster of Riverrun. May I ask whether Lady Whent is his loyal ally?"
"She certainly is," the knight answered firmly.
Ser Rodrik sighed but drew his sword nonetheless.
The Imp blinked in confusion. What was this madwoman trying to do? His mismatched eyes were full of bewilderment.
Catelyn then called upon them one by one: knights of House Whent, House Bracken, and House Frey. Each rose at her summons like well-trained hounds.
"This man came to my house as a guest and attempted to murder my seven-year-old son." Catelyn pointed him out to everyone present, making certain the dwarf had no chance of escape.
Ser Rodrik stepped beside her, sword in hand.
"In the name of King Robert and the noble lords you serve, I ask that you bring this man to justice and assist me in escorting him to Winterfell, where he will face the king's law."
"What the hell?" The Imp's mind reeled. How had he gotten mixed up in an attempt to murder Bran? Damn it.
More than a dozen swords were drawn at once, the sound slicing through the silence of the room. Catelyn felt her plan had succeeded. The advantage was hers, and the sound of steel leaving its scabbard was strangely satisfying.
"My lords, please, I beg you, do not draw blades in here," the innkeeper pleaded.
Before things could escalate further, Tyrion grabbed Jack's arm. The numbers were far too uneven. Now was not the time to fight.
"Lady Stark, I believe you must be mistaken. I have nothing to do with what happened to your son. I swear it on my honor."
"Lannister honor," Catelyn said coldly.
She revealed the scar on her hand.
"This scar was left by his dagger. The very dagger used in the attempt on my son's life."
Her words thickened the air like powder before a spark. The crowd was stirred by her accusation, and the Imp felt death closing in around him. None of these people knew him, yet they seemed ready to kill him on the strength of Catelyn's claim alone.
He quickly weighed his options. The difference in numbers was overwhelming. For now, surrendering and stabilizing the situation was the only sensible choice. One man against more than a dozen knights.
He had only two men with him. Jack was at least competent with a sword. Morrec, on the other hand, was little more than dead weight, a cook, stablehand, and general attendant.
At that moment, an unwelcome voice came from the corner.
"Damn it, woman. You're disturbing the lads while we're eating."
The ragged sellswords in the corner rose to their feet. Most of them wore the pelts of shadowcats or mountain goats, and they looked every bit as savage as they sounded.
Only then did Catelyn realize these men were far from harmless. Their appearance was shabby, and some of them were even missing limbs, but there was no mistaking the smell of blood about them. These were men who lived for gold and had no respect for honor.
"How dare you speak to our lord's daughter like that!" a knight of House Whent shouted.
"Speak to her how?" the brown-haired sellsword leading them sneered, raising his longsword. "Isn't that old trout nearly dead anyway?"
Catelyn forced down the anger rising in her chest. There were more than a dozen men on each side now. If fighting broke out, the outcome would be uncertain. The sellswords were clearly men who had seen blood before, while the knights at her side might lack that same ruthless edge.
But why? Why were these men opposing her?
"My father is Great Lord Hoster of Riverrun. My husband is Great Lord Eddard of Winterfell. My sister is the Lady of the Eyrie," Catelyn declared loudly. "If you hand this man over to us, I will not forget your help."
The power of the Fish, the Wolf, and the Falcon. She trusted that these sellswords would understand such authority.
"Fuck that," the leader wrapped in a shadowcat pelt barked with a laugh. "We're free men of the Milk Snakes Tribe of the Mountains of the Moon. We don't bow to any Great Lord. And that old Arryn especially. He's our enemy."
His men burst into laughter along with him.
The mountain clans were primitive tribal peoples who lived beneath the Mountains of the Moon in the Vale. They preserved many traditions of the First Men and shared much with the wildlings beyond the Wall: raiding, and a fierce refusal to submit to outside rule.
Catelyn froze for a moment. She had never expected to encounter tribesmen from the Mountains of the Moon at an inn like this.
Most of the time, the mountain clans only preyed on travelers along the high passes. Though they occasionally descended from the mountains to raid, such things were rare.
"Lady, they certainly aren't wildlings. They're only disguising their real identities," Ser Rodrik whispered. Wildlings from the Mountains of the Moon rarely come this far south, and their build and equipment hardly resembled those of true wildlings.
"A duel. I demand a duel!"
The knight from the Whent family could no longer hold himself back. He sprang to his feet, drew his longsword, and rushed at his opponent.
The opposing sellsword captain lifted his own blade and met him lightly, moving with practiced ease as the two began to fight.
The House Whent knight swung again and again, only to find himself steadily reaching his limit. His opponent remained calm and relaxed, clearly the better swordsman.
"You've fought on the battlefield. You've killed men!" the Whent knight cried out in shock.
His recklessness was about to cost him.
"Damn it, stop playing with him," the sellswords laughed loudly. "These cowards from the Riverlands are bloodless fools who've never seen real fighting."
The sellsword leader, wearing a shadowcat pelt, suddenly moved.
His sword flashed with blinding speed, the strikes almost impossible to follow. In the next instant, the blade drove straight through the Whent knight's abdomen.
The man died where he stood.
The free knight's corpse collapsed onto the floor, and the room quickly filled with the thick smell of blood. The innkeeper turned pale with terror.
"Spare our poor little dwarf. They say touching a dwarf's head brings good luck. Lady, I don't want to hear that again."
The leader wiped his blade on the Whent knight's body before speaking coldly.
"You…"
Catelyn felt fury burning in her throat. She stared at the band of outlaws before her, trying to study their faces, but none of them were familiar.
The "wildlings" raised their crossbows, aiming them at Catelyn and those standing with her.
"Lady, I'm afraid the situation has turned against us," Ser Rodrik said quietly. The men opposite them moved swiftly and ruthlessly. They were far more likely to be battle-hardened veterans who had retreated from war, not the wildlings they claimed to be. And from the looks on their faces, they clearly meant them no goodwill.
Catelyn's face turned deathly pale.
Her only chance, her best chance, had slipped away just like that.
Her nails dug hard into her palms. What a foolish kidnapping.
"Listen, everyone. There's plenty of time ahead. I doubt our friends over there will simply forget this. Why don't we leave it here? We'll each go our own way, and I promise to forget everything that happened today. Noble Lady, I shall visit you properly another day."
The Imp cleared his throat.
The imp felt as if the heavens themselves were helping him. He had no idea who these supposed wildlings served, but at least they had come to his aid. And judging by their attitude, they seemed determined to disgust Catelyn, that madwoman. These men were certainly not real wildlings.
The imp had read many books. True mountain wildlings were usually poor and savage, their armor and weapons crude and worn.
"Lady Catelyn, have you made up your mind?" the wildling leader asked coldly, shifting his crossbow to cover another direction.
A soldier from House Bracken tried to reach for his own crossbow, but the enemy's bolt shot out first, striking viciously into the ground right at the Bracken soldier's feet.
"Don't anger me. Otherwise, I won't mind killing every last one of you."
A young knight from House Frey trembled so badly that the longsword slipped from his hand and clattered loudly onto the floor.
This was what a real battlefield felt like. Far bloodier than the young men had ever imagined.
"Hold on to your swords, lads. I don't like killing young men. It makes me uneasy."
The wildling leader looked over the group of Frey knights. Though their armor and clothing were fine, they were still only boys.
"We'll see about that!" Catelyn spat back, though a deep sense of powerlessness filled her chest.
"Come here, shorty," the wildling leader called out.