Chapter 12: Catelyn's Worries
On the training grounds of Winterfell—
Saelen moved with effortless ease between Robb and Jon, his twin blades flashing as he flowed from one opening to the next. Every so often, he struck decisively, forcing the two young men into hurried defenses. Yet no matter how fiercely Robb and Jon attacked—pouring all their strength into each strike—Saelen dismantled their efforts with casual precision.
This was less a sparring match than a lesson.
Outside the ring, Saelen's guards shouted enthusiastically:
"The Unbeaten One—Saelen!" "The Hundred-Victory Champion—Saelen!"
Winterfell's own guards responded just as loudly, voices full of righteous fervor:
"Robb will win!" "Take him down!" "Attack his legs!" "Go for his eyes!"
Mixed in with the noise came jeering laughter:
"Bastard Snow, what's wrong—didn't get enough milk this morning? Put some strength into it!"
The crowd roared with laughter.
Arya and Bran were the liveliest of all. One moment they ran over to Saelen's guards, shouting encouragement—Saelen, you've got this! Saelen, unbeatable! The next moment they dashed to Winterfell's soldiers, cheering just as loudly—Robb! Jon! You can do it!
Little Rickon sat atop a saddle, arms raised high, laughing and shouting in delight.
Theon Greyjoy watched with a smirk, clearly amused, but too proud to lower himself to joining Robb and Jon in ganging up on Saelen.
High above, on the second-floor balcony, Catelyn and Eddard stood watching from afar. Ser Rodrik Cassel stood beside them.
As Eddard observed the lively scene below, the stern lines of his face softened into a rare smile. Winterfell had not known such laughter and warmth in a long time.
Ser Rodrik glanced at Eddard's expression and sighed with a shake of his head.
"I truly don't know who could defeat that fellow," he said. "At their age, Robb and Jon are already among the finest I've seen. It's just unfortunate they had to face Saelen—an outright monster."
He paused, then added with a hint of self-mockery:
"To be honest, their progress under my guidance was steady but slow. Under Saelen's tutelage, though, they've improved at a startling pace. It seems I really am getting old. This is the era when the young should begin to shine."
Eddard nodded in agreement.
"No matter how gifted they become," he said calmly, "it was you who taught them how to hold a sword, how to stand, how to attack and defend—back when they understood nothing at all. Talent alone is never enough. Even the greatest warriors are shaped by good teachers."
Ser Rodrik stroked his beard and laughed heartily, pride shining in his eyes as he watched the three figures clash below.
In truth, Saelen himself had learned how to wield a sword under Ser Rodrik's instruction. His earliest combat experience had been forged right here on these grounds. In that sense, Ser Rodrik was Saelen's teacher as well.
And as Saelen's name spread across Westeros—his strength becoming the stuff of legend—so too did word spread that he had been trained by the master-at-arms of Winterfell.
Many had never met Ser Rodrik Cassel.
Yet they spoke his name with respect all the same.
---
At that moment, the maester approached and whispered a few words into Eddard's ear. After listening, Eddard nodded, and the two of them turned and left the balcony together.
Catelyn watched their retreating figures and pulled her cloak tighter around herself.
Seeing this, Ser Rodrik spoke with concern, "My lady, if you feel cold, you may rest indoors. Do not worry—those three know their limits well. No one will be hurt. I give you my word."
Catelyn merely shook her head, her gaze never leaving the three figures locked in combat below.
She had never been interested in tourneys or swordplay. Yet upon hearing that Robb and Jon were sparring with Saelen, she found herself drawn here without knowing why. Watching them now, she was, for the first time, gaining a truly tangible sense of Saelen's terrifying strength.
Her thoughts drifted to a letter she had received earlier—from her father, Lord Hoster Tully.
Her ailing father had written to her personally after learning of her predicament. In the letter, he assured her that Riverrun of the Riverlands and the Eyrie of the Vale would stand firmly at her side, without condition. He also reminded her that Eddard's decree granting Saelen the Stark name had never been acknowledged by King Robert. As such, it held no legal standing in the Seven Kingdoms and was not protected by royal law. Saelen's claim carried no lawful right of inheritance.
Her father further revealed that he had secured King Robert's promise that Saelen's Stark surname would never be publicly recognized as legitimate. At the same time, Eddard—speaking as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell—had sworn to him that Saelen was not his bastard. His only acknowledged bastard was Jon Snow.
Lord Hoster urged her to trust Eddard's honor.
Yet that was not all.
He warned her that undercurrents were stirring across the Seven Kingdoms. The rumor that Saelen was Eddard's illegitimate son had spread through cities and villages with alarming speed. Lord Hoster suspected deliberate manipulation—someone fanning the flames—but could not determine who. He urged Catelyn to remain vigilant.
Finally, her father advised her to take the initiative and mend her relationship with Saelen.
Saelen's overwhelming martial strength and growing fame were now known throughout the realm. Whether now or in the future, few—if any—would be able to surpass him. When Robb eventually inherited Winterfell and the title of Warden of the North, having Saelen's genuine loyalty would bring far more benefit than harm.
Catelyn understood this… yet her heart remained conflicted.
For one thing, her pride would not allow her to be the first to extend an olive branch. For another, she feared what might happen after she and Ned were gone. When Robb inherited Winterfell, it would inevitably be a case of a weak lord with an overwhelmingly powerful vassal.
Watching Robb increasingly look to Saelen for guidance unsettled her deeply. She could not help but wonder whether Robb might one day become nothing more than a puppet, dancing on Saelen's strings.
She knew she needed to raise Robb's prestige and authority—but how, she had no idea.
"Lady Stark."
A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger—approached, his lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile as he bowed politely.
Catelyn composed herself and replied coolly, "Lord Baelish, shouldn't you be in King's Landing, helping Robert shoulder the burdens of rule? I'm surprised you have time to watch others spar."
Littlefinger's smile widened with amusement. He turned first to Ser Rodrik.
"So this must be the famed master-at-arms of Winterfell, Ser Rodrik Cassel," he said lightly. "To see the man who trained the 'Hundred-Victory Champion' with my own eyes—this journey alone was worth it."
Ser Rodrik frowned slightly but said nothing, offering only a curt nod in response.
Littlefinger then turned back to Catelyn.
"Of course, King Robert holds tourneys in King's Landing often enough," he said casually. "I never miss them. Watching knights who call themselves mighty hack at one another is quite entertaining. Unfortunately, as Robert's Master of Coin, every tourney sends me scrambling to raise funds."
He sighed theatrically.
"Robert has always been generous. A champion's prize might be tens of thousands of gold dragons—or more. It's made my life quite difficult. These days, southern lords flee the moment they see me coming."
Catelyn did not understand why he was telling her any of this. As a woman—and one long past the age to care about tourneys—she found the topic tedious.
Maintaining her composure, she replied politely, "So your visit to Winterfell… is to raise gold for another tourney?"