And they'll tell you the latest gossip about me.
There's nothing more interesting in the world than gossip about me.
(c) Mike Naumenko
The low population of the North and the absence of castles along the King's Road saved Lionel for some time from his bad reputation, which, as Howland Reed correctly predicted, would have affected Sansa and Arya more. The commoners at the rare inns did not seem to be burdened by any rumours, and if they did offer: "Go on, young ones, go up to the hayloft, the three of you won't freeze," it was probably said with a pure heart, although if Lionel had had to wander and fight as much as his father, he would have doubted the innocence of the phrase. But for now, Lionel was only bothered by the treacherous properties of the hay, which sank deep beneath him but was dense enough to be slightly sloping: for example, Sansa was rolling towards him on purpose, but twice Lionel woke up hugging both sisters and struggled to extricate himself from the situation, or rather, crawled out: one could dream of many things, but clearly not that they would wake up and both greet this situation with a cheerful "We rolled here!"
The more familiar nights in the tent, which was colder than a haystack, also held surprises: in the darkness, Lionel warmed Sansa's hands with his breath and slyly invited her to warm herself some more, her cold fingers unabashedly finding their way under his clothes, and in both their minds, the minstrels' favourite metaphor about a song of ice and fire took on a somewhat indecent meaning. "Aren't you cold?" Sansa asked Leo, reaching for his beloved's tender body, either out of concern or teasing, but more likely because he loved feeling Sansa's body press against his. He understood that he was playing with fire, that the next night in the warm rooms, they might not be able to resist, but he also felt that the attraction between them could not be denied, that it was as essential to a loving couple as roots are to a tree.A new surprise awaited Leo in the morning when he came out of the tent and saw a white plain in front of him.
"What do you mean, 'what is that'?" asked curious Arya, who had also poked her head out of the tent. "Oh, you sweet summer child!
It's not easy to get through your youth when a girl almost half your age calls you "sweet summer child" as if you were her little brother, and Lionel, instead of laughing it off, made a fatal mistake.
"You think I've never seen snow?" Lionel asked indifferently, and then Arya really did roll over.
"It's hoarfrost," Sansa whispered, peeking out from under the tent.
"In my opinion," Arya said through her laughter, "in my opinion, they just hibernate in the south during winter. For all three days."
"Come on," Sansa replied from inside the tent. "What winter in the south? It's just a cold summer."
Etiquette dictated that all three should visit the Servins, whose castle was half a day's journey south of Winterfell, but Lionel's disregard for etiquette was hereditary, and he felt no moral qualms about disobeying the grey and blue eyes he loved so much.
"I can see the tower!" Arya shouted as she flew up the hill.
"You can't see anything," Sansa said, not believing her, but she also urged her horse on a little.
They might have managed to take the inhabitants of Winterfell by surprise if the wolves hadn't raised the alarm from the fortress walls, and suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Arya and Sansa raced towards the gates of Winterfell.
"Where is Summer?" Arya demanded of Robb, dismounting with a swift and almost imperceptible throw, as Thoros had taught her, and Lionel would have laughed at such a well-placed and always appropriate question in the North, if he had not already remembered the names of all the wolves as if they were members of his family. "Where is Bran?"
"He'll be where you both should be soon," Robb replied sternly, but still hugged his sisters, while Lionel rejoiced at the presence of women in the courtyard and the absence of Lady Catelyn, who had taken Bran to King's Landing to recover. For some reason, she was the last person he wanted to explain himself to. "After all, maybe not all rumours reach Winterfell," thought Lionel, seeing that Robb greeted him but did not invite him to take a walk to the family crypt.
Lyonel underestimated Robb's knowledge, and Robb was simply postponing the conversation so he could talk to him alone. In the evening, he approached the young king's chambers and knocked, not wanting to startle him.
Sansa and Arya were in their rooms, sorting through the things they had left behind before leaving for King's Landing, and Lionel was alone that evening.
"I wanted to kill you all week when I heard you took my sisters away," Robb said bluntly, sitting down opposite the king by the fireplace. "Then I thought about declaring myself King of the North to annoy you. So the gods punished me.
"How can I help?" asked Lionel, who liked quick-tempered and straightforward people.
"I'll tell you now," Robb promised. "I went to visit some relatives in the Riverlands, killed a few people, and hanged Vargo Hout. I did miss Mountain Clegane, though."
"I didn't," Lionel said cheerfully.
"I've heard," Robb replied. He was sharp-tongued and disrespectful to his elders, the perfect young Lord of the North. "Yoren was there before you. You almost got yourselves killed."
"That's true," Lionel admitted. "We fought as best we could, but they had what you left behind."
Rob was forced to admit that the king had cut him off.
"To conceal the movement of the troops, I crossed the Three Fingers," Robb continued. "And then the devil made me go through the Twins.
"Your sisters wouldn't let me through," Lionel interjected to test Robb's reaction to the plural form, and deemed the results positive.
"I'm not complaining," Robb admitted. "Old Frey has many daughters and granddaughters, and there are some excellent ones. The one I chose was on my mind the whole trip, I couldn't get her out of my head. And Frey himself will probably die soon, the gods are merciful. But here's how it turned out: I rode on, we fought well twice, I got lucky and unlucky. This girl nursed me back to health, the daughter of Gaven Westerling. And something is drawing me to her chestnut curls. You understand me, don't you?
"All I can do is give you some advice," Lionel said cautiously. "Go back to your bride in Freeville. Freeville is like cockroaches behind the stove: if something happens, you won't remember who to beware of.
"No," Robb shook his head stubbornly. "I've already married Jane. What I mean is, when you return to the capital, issue a decree, don't be greedy. What's this, you get two brides and the rest of us boys have to suffer? I won't go back on my word, I'm marrying Roslin.
Catelyn turned back halfway to White Harbor because a messenger from Blackwater Bay caught up with her on the Kingsroad with a letter saying that her daughters had returned to Winterfell. Of course, Catelyn had heard all the rumours many times on the way, stopping at all the castles, but out of pride she began to deny everything, until she finally convinced herself that her daughters would meet her at King's Landing, and that the rumours had been blown out of proportion from a small hunting party, albeit a very lavish and respectable one, with hounds, falcons and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to boot.
"Yes, that's right," nodded the owner of the large inn, listening to the story of the royal hunt and the hereditary inclination of the Baratheons towards it, and entering the stable with his favourite groom. "I told you, the eldest has exactly the same hair as Lady Stark. You're a good hunter.
"You should whisper there, master," suggested the groom. "What hunt, what capital city? Two weeks ago, the three of them were lying in the hayloft until late, the sun was already over the barn, and the girls were just shaking the grass out of their hair.
"You'd better keep quiet, and I'll keep quiet," said the master. "You've probably heard that fifteen years ago, the prince stole our old lord's daughter. He wanted to take her as his second wife, but they say she didn't go with him of her own free will. I still wonder how I survived the commotion that ensued. There are dead and wounded lying on the field, and rumour has it that the old king is coming on a dragon to burn everyone. No, these two are with him of their own free will, it's obvious. If the gods are merciful, perhaps the matter will be settled without war.
"But how can that be, two wives?
"Yes, it happens in the south, where they have three-headed dragons in their capital, and brothers marry their sisters. And that year, remember, the jugglers came and said that they had been in the southern deserts," - so they said that there a prince married a snake, and now they call him the Red Serpent, and his daughters are called the Sand Serpents. You'd better go lock up the hayloft, you never know what they might have dropped in the hay or in the corner. They've been rummaging around, and now they'll be questioning us.
Meanwhile, Catelyn read the letter delivered from Blackwater and was seriously angry, especially because all her noble explanations of the rumours, which she had come to believe were true, had been shattered, and in front of the nosy neighbours.
Tyrion, who was riding with Catelyn and Bran, realized that he was also to blame for what had happened. "It's all my fault," thought Tyrion. "I disagreed with Ser Barristan, who said that a noble knight should be pure and moderate. On his fourteenth birthday, he brought his beloved nephew a lady of pleasant appearance and irresponsible behaviour, and then decided to show off and picked up another one on the way. I messed with the boy's head, maybe now he's lost on his own — well, he's embarrassed when there's silence and the girls aren't chatting among themselves, and then he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't have a second girl... Oh, I'd rather not remember that episode from when I was fourteen, someone will kill me for such associations... I must think about lofty things, about the heart of a noble knight torn between love and duty... Oh, I have an idea!
Waking up early in the morning, Tyrion rode off and returned just as everyone was getting ready to set off on the return journey, bringing with him a skinny minstrel of dubious appearance but with a good voice.
"Which would you like, my lord, edifying or amorous?" asked the minstrel, tuning his strings.
"Love, love," ordered Tyrion, having already agreed on everything with the minstrel on the way there and specifically instructing him not to sing "He saddled his horse in the dead of night, he left the castle secretly..." no matter how well the song suited the occasion. "I don't need edification."
And the singer sang for Tyrion and all those present a song about the Dragon Knight, who was in love with his royal brother's wife, then a song about Prince Dragonfly, who renounced the crown for the love of the beautiful peasant girl Jenny, then a song about Serin the Mirror Shield, who had a habit of rescuing the prettiest ladies, even though he was a knight of the King's Guard and had taken a vow of celibacy long before his knightly and amorous exploits. The songs glorified sublime courtly love, which knew no barriers and was above condemnation, and against the backdrop of these songs, the scandalous and reckless behaviour of the young king seemed romantic and daring.
"A real nightmare," thought Tyrion, seeing that Lady Catelyn was already taking her away, and she was surely inventing a new legend to excuse her daughters, and Lionel along with them. "No, what works so well now is only to our advantage. But do we have any morals in Westeros, or do we only have songs?"
Finally, the minstrel sang a song about Aegon the Conqueror and his two wives, and Catelyn sincerely sympathised with the heroic king, who had been betrothed to Visenya since childhood, then declared his love for Rhaenys, then married Visenya and burned with passion for her, then fought on dragons alongside his two wives... "Well done, you devil!" Tyrion thought proudly of the minstrel he had brought. "He's walking on the edge of a precipice, because right now his nephew is doing pretty much the same thing, and without music to justify him, Lady Catelyn would have his head. I wonder if Leo knows this song. Maybe it will come in handy someday."
Softened by the sublime songs, Catelyn bid Tirion a very warm farewell as he set off.
"I'm sorry to see you go, Tyrion," said Lady Catelyn, and Tyrion thought that in a different situation, or even just a few weeks ago, it would have sounded different.
"I have not met many people who would be sorry to see me go," said Tyrion touchingly, who in the last few weeks had learned how to deal with quick-tempered noblewomen and could now even leave the Eyrie without trial or combat. "Give my beloved nephew my blessing and my wish that he always follow his noble heart."
The gaunt minstrel who had volunteered to accompany Tyrion summed up his performance in a much more mundane manner.
"Phew," said the minstrel, "that was close. Now we can get acquainted.
"Well," smiled Tyrion, remembering that he really didn't know the singer's name. "I hope your name isn't Bael the Bard. And you haven't taken some silly name like Marillion or Simon Silver Tongue.
"I'm Tom," the singer introduced himself simply. "But they call me Seven or Seven-Stringed. Next time, my lord, tell me who I'm singing for, because the Tullys hate me. At least their women don't know me by sight. If anyone calls me Seven, it's the end of me and our business. Who were we covering for, that big guy who killed Clygan and then a bunch of his soldiers?
"Put down the Hill of Clegane?" Tyrion was taken aback. "I must hear this!"
"You'll hear it, my lord," Tom Seven promised. "When we pass the Old Stones, they say one of those who saw it himself is waiting there for good men. But let's agree on one thing first: are we going through the Twins or not?"
"What's in the Twins?" asked Tyrion, who had never been north of Harrenhall before and had heard many jokes about the Twins that he didn't quite understand.
"Maybe it's nothing for me," agreed Tom. "But a man of your stature, my lord, will surely be surrounded there. Lord Frey has as many sons as a fool has coloured patches, and only slightly fewer daughters and granddaughters to marry off.
"Scary, I bet," suggested Tyrion, but when he heard that there was nothing to see, he suddenly waved his hand dismissively. "Let's go through the Twins!
A letter from Lady Catelyn delayed Lionel and her daughters' departure by several days, and adherence to etiquette and tradition almost delayed Catelyn even longer, so Catelyn, having stopped at the Servins, arrived at Winterfell on the evening before the day when it was finally decided to leave.
Noble people are lucky in their protectors: Tyrion and his singer created a romantic aura around Lionel for Catelyn, and Robb's letter to his mother added military glory and the title of friend of their house. Rob wrote that Lionel had avenged every Northerner he had lost in the battle sent by Eddard to fight the invaders of the Riverlands, and had killed the commander of the attackers and the chief destroyer of the Riverlands, whom the Stark cavalry had already considered to have fled to the Westerlands.
Catelyn was often unpredictable, and if the defenders were going to guess whether they would achieve their goal or not, they should consider the option "neither one nor the other." The first people Catelyn saw were her daughters, and she was very happy to see that they had grown older, closer, and even happier. Lionel only got a quick glance over their heads: Catelyn noticed that the young king was simple, strict and serious, in complete accordance with the courtly theories that a noble knight in love becomes pure and virtuous thanks to his passion. And with that, Lionel was left to the fairy of Love and other fairy-tale characters, while Catelyn pulled Robb aside, because she had heard about the Freys and the Westerlings.
"I don't understand!" Catelyn said indignantly, because when Robb returned from his campaign, he tried to hide both his wound and his complicated romantic situation. "I've been worried sick! Tell me what happened."
"I was wounded, Mother," Robb admitted, but contrary to his hopes, his explanation did not end there. "I drank poppy milk. And I was accidentally — you understand, not on purpose, but accidentally — carried to the chambers where the Westerlings were staying."
"What do you mean, carried?" Catelyn finally became agitated. "Where were you wounded?"
"My left elbow was broken with a club," Robb reported, so that his mother would immediately understand that his life was not in danger. "There was a big bruise, and it hurt a lot. Jane took care of me, sat by my bed, and then it just happened somehow..."
"You're such a mess!" Catelyn exclaimed, not wanting to hear the rest in all its gory detail. "How awful! But you must marry, since you promised Lord Frey. I understand it will be difficult for you to explain to him...
"I'm already married, Mother," Robb confessed. "To Jane Westerling."
"So you're breaking off your engagement to Roslin Frey?" Catelyn was a little frightened; she didn't expect anything good from the Freys after that, but she expected even less of what followed.
"I'm marrying Roslyn too," Robb said firmly, and caught his mother as she staggered. "Mother, what's wrong?"
"Wait," Catelyn said and took a deep breath. "I understand. You're a womaniser. A womaniser!"
"I'm a miserable man, Mother," Robb sighed, hoping to get out of it that way, and it worked: Catelyn forgave her own son, and the Tully family put duty and even honour before everything else.
"It's all right," Catelyn said, stroking Robb's hair. "You poor boy! It'll all work out."
***
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