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Chapter Text

Catelyn had never imagined her wedding would be like this. The walk from the door towards the pulpit that sat far across the seven-sided room felt far longer than it should have. Though the feeling of unfamiliar eyes watching her was so overwhelming she was sure it was a trick of the mind.

It was far from the fanciful visions she’d dreamt up as a young girl back home. She always imagined it happening at home. At Rivverrun. Perhaps in the Godswoods, if only for the beauty of it. Cat had never been too stoutly religious- she certainly held no allegiance to the Weirwoods. Though the seven were her gods, she would not have minded being wed out of doors on some gently rainy day- like the ones that come mid-spring.

But Catelyn knew this night was one far from springtime. Not so long ago, she remembered thinking the cold months had finally begun to melt away. But any thoughts of a short winter had shattered with the peace. So much so that the Maesters had named that time the year of the false spring; no, she was marrying in the dead of winter, inside, in a sept she had never seen before. The imposingly tall, dark stone walls were draped in more crimson than blue- partially due to the design of her house crest; however, that fact did not stop the sight from isolating her further.

Her betrothed had apparently refused the idea of it happening anywhere but the Rock. Or perhaps Cersei’s father was affronted by the thought. They had initially suggested holding two weddings simultaneously, Catelyn’s and her sister’s, to Brandon Stark. But little remained of the original plan. Lysa was marrying Jon Arryn now, and she was at Casterly Rock marrying a Lannister. While all her family and their court were home with the younger. She had opposed the timing rather adamantly, but there had been little time to change much more of the plans, and the great distance left her with only her uncle, the Blackfish, to walk her down the aisle.

Ser Brynden Tully was a comfort at her side, but it only covered some of the dread that built in her stomach. It took a few moments before she let her eyes lock on her destination. And there the man stood in all his terrible glory. A great brute in gold. He was supposed to be some majestic creature with the way the girls blathered about him around here, but it was his twin they called The Lion of Lannister, not him. What she would not give to marry the younger instead, but the gods had other plans, it seemed. In all the seven years Catelyn had been betrothed to Cersei Lannister, she’d learned very little about the boy. But what she had learned told her little good was in store for her as each step she took dropped her heart further into her stomach.

As her slow march forward continued, her uncle managed to pull her attention from the far-off place she found in the foreground. Cat glanced only slightly to the side to meet his eye. He was trying to comfort her; a soft expression and a gentle squeeze on her forearm were all he had to offer. It crossed her mind how foreign her state must be for him. Brynden Tully had earned his title of Blackfish by defying her father’s order to marry. So the kind reassurance was truly all he had to give; he could offer no advice, no understanding, only this. For a moment, she felt far too alone for the crowded sept in which she stood.

Each step only held tighter to that feeling until her eyes found Cersei Lannister again. He wasn’t quite as tall as she had remembered. His long golden hair nearly looked more groomed than her own. Cersei looked at her with a thinly veiled disinterest as she ascended the steps to stand level with him. It was about what she expected her husband to be. This was a man known for his ego and his fury. Catelyn had seen both herself. There was little doubt to her about the type of husband he’d be.

She had never understood her uncle more than when she took Cersei’s cold hands. The others take family and duty. What good was that when she wed into a family that was ruthless and without honor? The Tully words were only complete with all three. What good did family, duty, honor do her now? This man was a beast. Her father had warned her not to listen so closely to gossip and rumor but rumor did not touch the things she had seen with her own eyes… Poor Petyr.

There was a long moment where she could have pulled away from Cersei’s touch in an instant to bolt out of the church and back towards home. A longer one than she would ever care to admit in the future. But Catelyn knew what stood on the line if she did. The kingdom was at war. This was the part she had to play in it.

“With this kiss- ” The sound of Cersei speaking nearly made her jump, though she knew better than to lose that much of her composer in front of this crowd; she would earn very little sympathy from them. It occurred to her this might be the new normal. Staring out into a sea of unfamiliar faces while standing beside a man she didn’t trust.

“One Flesh, One Heart” They spoke in unison now. Before she knew it, the shroud of her father was slid from her shoulders and replaced with her husband's cloak.

“One Soul,” The weight of it was heavy, thick, unpleasant. A feeling so foreign that she could barely recognize it as a cloak when compared to the light, woven blue thing she had worn moments before.

“Now and Forever.” The entire room was filled with the light and polite sound of clapping. But there was little true celebration to be found. She walked in step with him now; smiling out to meet the hovering indifference of the crowd around her. Being this close to him diminished the superiority he held. His arms did not feel as strong as he’d like to pretend. She could only pray that his bark was worse than his bite.

Catelyn shook the thought from her mind. Whoever he was- whatever he was- that didn’t change her duty. Their marriage would secure the Lannisters for the rebellion. That was what mattered. As for her, she would have to meet her obligation with grace.

‘This man will not change me.’ She steeled herself with each step down from the pulpit. ‘However he treats me, I will not change. I will do my duty and raise better men for it.’ It was all she could hope to do. With any luck, she would raise more fish than lions.

Chapter Text

It was a short ride to Harrenhal, or so claimed her father. However, it had started to feel rather long. In truth, Catelyn and Lysa had little to compare the trip to. It had been years since either had traveled off their own land. This damned winter had come at such the wrong time. Had the last one managed to hold back for just a few more months, her father might have made plans to send Edmund to foster for some other lord, and they would have had plenty of chances to travel in that. But the winds turned the roads slick and icy far too quickly that year and now it had been nearly 6 since she had left Riverrun.

But now they bumped down the road at a fine enough pace. The ride had been rough; it seemed the roads had quickly gotten used since the cold of winter had blown past. The change in seasons must indeed have been a gift from the Seven; if Catelyn had been forced to spend any more time damn near trapped in Riverrun from the frost they got, she might have lost it in those walls.

Suddenly their wheelhouse bumped down the road anew as their path turned from tightly packed dirt to laid stone. That told all at once just how close they must have been. Catelyn made to part the shutters beside her quickly before peeking her head out to take in the new site.

Harrenhal was stunning, though not in the way that most keeps were. Part of the wonder was how it could stand in that state. If she squinted at the spots where those tall towers started to crumble, it seemed like the stone was melting away. At one time, it had. Cat vaguely remembered the story of its lord’s demise after opposing Aegon the Conqueror. One of those dragons had burnt the old hall to a crisp. She hadn’t studied enough for her history lessons to remember which blasted one. But staring up at the old stone now, it was a wonder their Septa never managed to make it sound more interesting.

“What do you see, Cat?” Petyr pulled Catelyn from her thoughts rather quickly. He had leaned halfway across the entire wheelhouse to move close to her and peek out the window. Catelyn rolled her eyes with little disguise as the boy leaned clumsily and obviously into her space.

“Oh, what do you think, Littlefinger? Harrenhal.” She snapped slightly, though she managed to keep her tone calm and level, trying to sound placatory enough to mind her manners in front of her father. “Don’t go jumping out of the wheelhouse now- we will be there soon enough for you to see it on your own.”

Her words were enough to have him leaning back into his seat, a small amount of embarrassment on his cheeks. She hadn’t meant to do that. The boy meant well. He was simply a little… hopeless when it came to her. When she admitted to that fact, Catelyn looked pitifully at him, but they were far past the age for such affection now. Or perhaps she was far past the age. LittleFinger was still just a boy of fourteen. Old enough for the real men to start calling you one of them but not near old enough to truly be one. With her more than freshly eighteen, she may have simply outgrown these games. Not that she ever returned the feelings to the boy. He had been like another little brother for all the years he was hosted by her father.

Regardless, she could barely stand the boy’s apparent infatuation these days. That might be harsh of her to think, but something had changed in how he spoke to her as of late. The look Petyr gave her when he thought she didn’t know was troubling. It felt like he held some secret over her. Like he knew something she didn’t. It made Cat’s skin crawl. She couldn’t be blamed for her shortness with the boy.

“You can look out of my window if you would like.” Her young sister called from the boy’s other side with a wistful tone. Lysa had never been good with subtlety. Despite both Catelyn’s and their father’s hopes that it would fade with maturity, the young Tully’s infatuation with the family’s young ward only seemed to deepen as of late. Cat was honestly surprised father had let Petyr join them; He had made it very clear he saw this as an opportunity to find a match for Lysa. And little good would come of the week if she spent the whole time toddling after Petyr. Their father’s gaze narrowed at the boy for a moment.

“That’s enough looking, I think.” Hoster Tully spoke up sternly before LittleFinger could, reminding the two of his and Edmure’s presence. Petyr visibly tried to recoil from the sisters quickly in that moment, but seeing as he sat between them, that proved rather difficult. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

“Cn’I watch the melee, father?” Edmure turned and asked pleadingly from his corner of the wagon. It was the first time he had spoken in quite some time; primarily due to the travel sickness that had overtaken him for the back half of the trip. Though, as they pulled closer and closer to their destination, his nausea seemed to be forgotten in favor of excitement in a way that could only be possible in a boy his age. He was nearly twelve though he often seemed like a boy under ten. If only for the fact that gullibility was one of his most defining traits.

“Of course, you can watch the melee, Ed. What would have been the point of your coming if you could not watch most of the tournament?” The older Tully seemed almost astounded by the question.

“Lysa had said I was ‘too short and slow’ to-”

“Lysa!”

“You know, I was much taller than he is before I was allowed to-”

Catelyn returned to watching Harrenhal grow closer through the window as her family descended into a rather silly spat. She would not call the bickering a common occurrence- Tully’s were stubborn by nature- but she knew very well how to ignore the foolishness of her siblings.

The sight they came upon certainly made it easy for the chatter of the wheelhouse behind her to fade out of mind. The road rounded the far side of Harrenhal’s crumbling battlements, and what they traveled all this way for finally came into view. The tournament was staged in the large clearing on the castle’s east side. From their place atop the small hill that the road crossed over behind the castle, Catelyn could see The God’s Eye behind the scene. It was a beautiful backdrop to the bright color and charm of the tents and canopies that littered the clearing. The tents were arranged in scattered patterns and unorganized colors at the far edges of it. She could just start to make out the heraldry that waved before some of the tents nearest them.

Of the ones closest, she could see the white and silver of the stark banners wave in the wind, settled next to the Baratheon golds and browns and the deep blue of the Arryns. Some smaller houses of the north she couldn’t quite put a name to sat close to this group as well.

Looking further back, Catelyn could start to see parts of their own party and bannermen begin to erect their own tents, the Tully trout starting to wave above a camp or two. It was a comforting site. Finally, she had a place here at an unthinkably grand event like this. The last tourney she attended, hosted by the royal family, did not touch the sight before her. It may have been too long for her to honestly remember the marvel of the first event, but it seemed like every house across the kingdom had gone to great efforts to be seen after years of being trapped in the cold. The Tully’s were undoubtedly chomping at the bit to be out, and again, judging from whatever gentle scolding Lysa seemed to be getting next to her, it must have been the same for most of the younger lords at the very least.

Soon the wheelhouse brought them to the thick of the festivities, and they were piling out into the crowd. Edmund tumbled out first, thrilled to be out of the damn thing and back onto solid ground. Lysa followed; she tried to put on an air of grace as she stepped out into the crowd though she was never the most poised of girls.

Petyr, on the other hand, stepped out of the carriage with a carefully held presence. There was a scary sort of intelligence that she always forgot the boy possessed. It was easy to forget, with the way he acted around her and all, but in most circumstances, there was a sharpness to his eye that often frightened Cat a little bit. It was like he flipped a switch around anyone but the family. Though- she even caught that look when he was with Lysa. Thinking of what that might imply sent a chill up her spine, but she tried not to look into that feeling. Nothing was scary about the boy. He just understood how to present himself very well. That was all it was.

Cat followed shortly after with all of the grace expected of her. Being firstborn carried weight, even for a woman. Edmure may be her father’s heir, but that was far off right now; ‘very far off,’ she reflected as she watched the young boy nearly ram a few passing squires over. For now, much of the responsibility Edmure should hold fell to her. So she carried herself as such, walking delicate yet strong as Catelyn stepped from the wheelhouse.

Everything seemed to buzz with excitement as she stepped amidst the action, and the carriage pulled away from behind her. The tournament was not scheduled to start until the morrow, but tonight there would be a grand feast and a chance for the higher lords to say thanks to Lord Whent for hosting. It was a customary courtesy. Cat was sure her father would leave them to do just that momentarily. The other lords whose banners she could see flying here must have already visited the main castle if they weren’t still there.

Catelyn could hardly think of formalities when standing in the thick of the accruing festivities. From where she stood alone, Cat could spot at least a handful of different troupes of performers or musicians. Some played joyful songs, and others performed farcical retellings of history; even a few acrobats spun down from the tops of tents in all sorts of colorful garb. One troupe she noticed must have been from somewhere far away by the look of them; Their songs came in a language she could not discern, and their clothes were unlike any she had seen here in the seven kingdoms.

Catelyn stood there a long moment, imagining where in the world they might be from. She was never terribly focused in her lessons on lands past the kingdoms, so there were few details Cat could hope to discern anything from. Perhaps Essos or one of the free cities. That would be a wonder. She had a mind to head that way and watch the performance before she felt a pull at her arm.

“Sister, look- Lannister banners! Your intended is arriving.” Lysa pointed with shrill excitement; she seemed more excited by the prospect than Cat.

Looking where her sister led, the red and gold banners had indeed started to peer above the hilltop and were making their way down into the valley with the rest. Her heart beat faster at the thought of who came with those banners. Whether it was from excitement or nerves, there was no telling. It has been nearly 6 years since they had been betrothed. They had made the arrangement just a few short days after the last tourney she had attended. That was the first time she’d met Cersei and the last until now. It had been a rather brief one too. There was very little she knew about the boy. He was younger by only a few years. Firstborn of the Lannisters, if only by a few minutes. That made him a better match. There was land for her children to inherit, guaranteed. However, she might have been less nervous now if it was the other twin with whom she was engaged.

People talked about Jamie Lannister. The boy stood out even as a squire at the age of ten. Now he was the youngest knight in the realm. Named at the age of fifteen by Ser Arthur Dayne. Even in the dead of winter, news spread quickly of the accomplishments that earned him his title. But people did not speak of Cersei Lannister. She had heard no word of accomplishments or accolades in all the years since they had met as children. Cat would have preferred to hear of anything he did, good or bad, over the silence on the matter. It left her feeling ill-prepared as the day they would marry drew closer. A date has yet to be set, but she was eighteen by now, all but a woman full grown. She doubted the plans would take much longer to be made and seen through.

Though, this tourney brought an opportunity to fix her disturbing lack of information. They could get to know each other. Make the whole matter less frightening for both of them. But, as she thought about heading towards the Lannister camp and seeing if she couldn’t meet her future husband, another voice cut the idea short.

“Catelyn, dear!” Her father called, “You are with me. I would like you to also extend your thanks to the good lord.” He motioned for her to follow and turned quickly to mount one of the horses they had brought and ride up to Harrenhal proper. She sighed in slight annoyance. This would be a dull venture compared to what she might have run off to. However, there would be plenty of time for meetings and spectacle in the coming days, so Cat fell behind her father with little complaint; mounting her horse quickly to make her way up to the castle.

Chapter Text

Petyr watched as Catelyn rode toward Harrenhal with her father. He had seen what had caught her attention just before departing. The red banner of Lannister was hard to mistake. Cat would have to marry one of those brutes and she was worried about it. He assumed at least, but she had to be. It made his blood boil to think of.

Cat may not have heard any word of Cersei Lannister’s exploits, but he most certainly had. Petyr made a point to hear most things; any whispers or story’s that ran their way through Riverrun had passed to him in some form. It had started out of some dull interest for rumor, but he thought he might find some use for such information the more hush words he heard. He had made quite the collection of rumors as of late. Most important of which told some disturbing news about his loves’ intended. At his last visit home he had met some squires from the Rock who had none too pleasant things to say about the boy. The younger twin had earned the respect and admiration of the other lordlings at court with them but Cersei was a different story.

Squires and lordlings across the Westerlands only whispered the older boy’s deeds, which told him quite enough about the whole ordeal to begin with. Stories of violence and temper were all that came to him. Cersei was said to have half the talent of his brother and twice the fury. One particularly insistent squire had said he caught the boy pulling feather from a mockingbird's wings by the fistful when they were quite young. Another claimed that the songbirds at Casterly Rock were not the blond’s only victim. There had been a girl Cersei was said to be pursuing, Melara Hetherspoon, who tripped and fell down a well quite by accident. Or so anyone within earshot of Lannisport had to claim. Safe in The Fingers, all had a very different story to tell. Though none had seen the deed themselves.

The older folk around tended to dismiss it all as gossip from those who would see good families dishonored. His gratuitous host had been all too plain about his feelings on the matter. Once when Petyr had the mind to tell Catelyn the gritty truth of the boy, old Hoster Tully had caught him in his tracks before he even got close to the girl’s chamber.

“I know what you are trying to do, and I will not let you.” The man had said to him coldly. “Do not fill my daughter’s heart with false fear so that you might *comfort her from her troubles, boy*. I know your game.” Petyr had been baffled that the old fish could know what they said and still blame him. As fine as it was to judge the whispers he heard with a scrutinizing ear, both he and Lord Tully both knew very well no one would drum up such hearsay about Edmure, or any other lordlings he heard tell of across the continent.

He had held his tongue regardless but now as he saw the beastly man would be in spitting distance of his Cat, he regretted ever hesitating. Despite what Lord Tully might have thought- it wasn’t out of jealousy that infuriated him. It was dishonorable to let her walk blindly into this. If Catelyn knew the things people said about him, she would never pass Petyr by for that bully.

Cat would see that when she met him. She’d have to. If the stories were true, and he was nearly certain they were, she would loathe the noble prick as he did. And as soon as she did Cat would remember how she felt for him. She did love him. That much had to be true to the young ward. Otherwise, why would she have sought him out that night? It was only just a few months ago now. Why would she have lied with him?

Memories of that night burned in his skull. She snuck to his chambers in the night and kissed him deeply from his sleep. He’d hardly believed it. Petyr could not see her in the dark but when he asked her name and no response came in denial, it had to have been true. May he never forget it in his life.

“Petyr!” Lysa’s shrill voice pulled him quickly from his own mind. He should have expected her to come bounding when her father was far enough out of sight. “Petyr, isn’t it wonderful? Have you ever seen something so grand in your life?” She prattled excitedly, running up and nearly hanging off his arm. Petyr endured it, there was much he earned in indulging Lysa’s affections.

“I have not seen much in my life besides Riverruun, Lysa. I am sure I would find most things grand in comparison.” He responded callously, still staring off towards the Lannister banners. He felt they mocked him with every step they drew closer.

Lysa frowned at his dismissal, the brusqueness of his words not lost on even her. “Are you not excited to be here Petyr? This is the furthest from home we’ve ever been, isn’t it exciting? I was afraid the winter would keep us locked inside for the rest of our lives.”

Petyr was not excited, nor had he been when Lord Tully first told him of the trip. The Old Fish had almost resolved to leave him at Riverrun, which he would not have minded, had it not meant Catelyn would have had to meet Cersei without him close at hand. These events only served to remind him of all those who considered themselves his betters in this world. He was a young lord from the fingers, with barely a tract of land to his name, and without the strength or affinity for the blade or indeed any weapon. He knew a tournament would only serve as a reminder of all those facts. Of how he was nothing in the eyes of the high lords that assembled here. Though he sensed that impressing those feelings upon Lysa might only serve to make her more insufferable. So he relented in his sourness, finally pulling his eyes away from red and gold to look at the girl.

“I suppose I cannot say it is not a wonder to see more of the world.” He sighed to her in a gentler tone, offering his elbow to her properly before starting to walk along the makeshift road formed by the construction of tents and booths on either side of them. He did have to admit, the bustle of the scene was a sight to behold. Even in his aloofness he must acknowledge the sight of the tourney ground made an impressive image from the side of the hill they walked along. “Though you cannot say that these rolling hills and lakes are all that far of a departure from the rolling hills and rivers we know, my lady.”

Lysa giggled at the softer sounding reproach, not recognizing it as such. “You’re too smart for your own good LittleFinger!” She grinned rather dully, as if she did not insult him with the nickname. He was sure by now the girl saw it as some term of endearment and not some tool for his ridicule made in their games with the other children of Riverrun.

Petyr swallowed his pride to smile back. “So I keep being told. By your father most of all. He’s ever so certain that is going to get me into trouble.”

“He is just protective of me, that’s all. He’ll see soon enough! One day you’ll be his son by law and he will have to finally realize that you are our family! And you always have been.” She promised dreamily. More for her own benefit than his. What he wouldn’t give for that all to be true. Though not in the way that Lysa imagined it. His eyes were on a sweeter prize than the gangly younger sister of his love. Though, while Cat still came to her senses it wouldn’t do to drive the girl away. He needed something to protect his place in Riverrun while he waited, and Lysa was very capable at doing just that.

“We can only dream, dear Lysa. We can only dream.” Was all he said in turn. It was enough to make the girl blush.

They walked along quietly for several moments. Petyr was happy to settle into the silence– or rather, as silent as the bustling tourney ground could be, but the reprieve from conversation was a welcome one. It gave him a moment to think, to take in his surroundings. Where they walked would become like a city street, holding tents and wheel houses for all of those in attendance. This row held mostly lords of great import, though the biggest tents laid slightly closer to the grounds themselves. The tents of the royal family, of the Tyrells, who could afford the larger amenities. And now, the first poles of the Lannister tents were being staked right beside the Targaryen ones. He didn’t have time to descend down the hole of thoughts that brought him to before Lysa was piping up again.

“Petyr, I think there is something I should tell you.” She said quickly. Her voice was much softer than usual, like she would have whispered it, if she would have been heard over the ruckus made by the gaudy performers that filled every direction you looked.

“Hmm? Oh. What is it?” The question came disinterested because he was still gazing at Lannister tents. Though that only made her pull them to a stop in their tracks, forcing Petyr’s eye to hers.

“No- Petyr, listen.. This is important. And I should say it now while my father is away, before I lose the chance to.” This was more serious than one ever saw Lysa. Petyr gave her his full attention. “.... Now you can’t–”

That was about as far into the confession that Lysa managed to get before someone was shouting at them. “OUT OF THE WAY!”

Petyr pulled the two of them out of the walking path with a quick reflex before a horse was speeding just barely past them. It was a gleaming white blur in his vision, broken up by gold and crimson. It was not difficult to guess who had nearly trampled them before properly looking.

“Cersei– Stop at once! Where do you think you are going?” A harsh, stern voice called from further back as Petyr’s eyes landed on the object of his envy and spite. Cersei Lannister pulled hard on his horse's reins with a sneer, clearly pleased with himself for the way he disrupted the forming street with his riding despite the reprimand heading in his direction.

The young lord flipped long hair over his shoulder with an arrogance that made Petyr’s gut twist. “I am only heading to the castle, father. Is it not customary courtesy for a Lord and his heir to pay their respects to their host at such an event?”

That made the man who rode up on a horse of similar stature Tywin Lannister. Though few would say the status that the Hand of the King commanded could be compared to his son– the lord commanded far more attention and respect than the teen who stopped to regard him. Petyr could not summon the courage to think the same hateful thoughts towards this man as he did to his son.

“It is. Though it is one that we will be ignoring for the moment. Give your horse to Jamie, he will be joining me instead.” The words were bitingly to the point. Petyr could now see the other Lannister boy walking in tow behind his lord father. He stood tall, if a little vacant. The boy did not seem to care for the confrontation about to ensue and had already decided to look elsewhere til he was called upon.

Petyr pushed himself and Lysa back from the scene and just out of sight. Something gave him the feeling the lords were under the impression they trotted by mummers alone, whose word on such conversations would have little weight.

The older boy’s disposition soured quickly. Petyr saw him prepare to challenge the order from his father with great vigor but the lord gave a colder look than could be described. “Perhaps if you had refrained from making a fool of yourself on the road here, we would be able to uphold such traditions. However you seem to enjoy making such customs difficult to observe.”

That seemed to stay Cersei’s tongue. He trotted back towards his father with his mouth shut tight to protest more quietly, though even from twenty or so paces Petyr could tell that was a losing battle on the part of the boy.

He would have continued to watch as Cersei relented, if only for the satisfaction of it but he became aware of a sharp tug on his wrist. “Petyr! Did you hear me? I really need you to listen to me!” Lysa complained.

The boy looked back in time to see Lord Tywin and the young Sir Jamie head off on horseback up towards Harrenhall. Only Cersei remained from the group and Petyr could not turn away from glaring at the man. Even as Lysa cried for his attention again. After seeing just moments of his arrogance in person he was seeing red. The irony of that was not lost on him but it did not dull the image of having to watch Catelyn get saddled with the awful man.

A lot of ideas came to him at once. Some of them were more impulsive than others. There had to be a way to keep Catelyn from having to sign her life away. He could think of several half baked plans in an instant, but none so immediate as–

“LANNISTER!” Petyr called before he could keep himself from pushing back into the makeshift street. As the older boy turned to sneer in the direction of his call he realized he had little idea of what he planned to do but still he was speaking before he found his answer. “I challenge you to a duel for the hand of Lady Catelyn Tully.”