Hers Is The Fury

A Lady, A Knight, And A Mockingbird

[Winterfell - Great Hall]

As Catelyn Stark and Brienne of Tarth finally found the time to sit down and talk in the great hall of Winterfell, the air was thick with the weight of their long-awaited reunion. The fireplace crackled and spat, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls, each dancing like a ghost from their shared past. The tension between them, palpable as a drawn bowstring, threatened to snap at any moment, yet they couldn't help but cling to each other's words, desperate for any scrap of familiarity in this strange new world.

Catelyn, her voice trembling with emotion, spoke first. "I want to thank you, Brienne. For keeping your promise, and for looking out for my daughters." Her eyes filled with tears as she reached across the table, taking the other woman's rough, calloused hand in her own. "I know that you could have gone anywhere, done anything with your life, but you chose to stay, to protect them."

Brienne's expression softened, her own eyes glistening. "It was an honour, my lady. An honour I'm not sure I deserve." She hesitated, then continued. "I did meet Arya. She was traveling with The Hound. We had a... disagreement about her whereabouts."

Catelyn's heart skipped a beat. "A disagreement?"

"Yes," Brienne said, her voice growing more resolute. "I challenged him to a duel. I thought that if I could force his hand, make him give Arya up to me, then I could bring her back to you." She took a deep breath, and for a moment, Catelyn could see the young, idealistic woman Brienne must have once been. "But in the end, Arya refused to go with me. She insisted that she was where she belonged."

"Arya?" Catelyn said, surprised. "She's with The Hound?"

"Yes, my lady. Or, at least, she was."

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted their conversation, and both women looked up to see Littlefinger strolling casually into the hall. He inclined his head politely in their direction before taking a seat at the table, his expression unreadable.

Catelyn couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine. She didn't trust Littlefinger. Not one bit. But then, neither did Brienne. The question was, which of them would be able to hide it better?

As Petyr Baelish took a seat at their table, he inclined his head in greeting, his smile warm and inviting. "Lady Stark, Lady Brienne, what a pleasure it is to see the two of you reunited at last." His voice was smooth as silk, and Catelyn fought the urge to shudder.

Catelyn's eyes flickered over to Brienne, wondering how the other woman would respond to Littlefinger's presence. But Brienne merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, her expression guarded. "My lord," she said coolly. "It's good to see you looking well."

Littlefinger laughed lightly. "Well, well, well. Aren't we all a bit stiff today?" He paused, considering them both for a moment. "Perhaps some time apart has done us all good. A chance to reflect, to grow." He reached across the table, taking a sip of wine from a delicate silver goblet. "Or perhaps it's just that this place has a way of putting things in perspective."

Catelyn studied his face, searching for any sign of deceptivity. She didn't trust him, but she knew that he was right about one thing: Winterfell did have a way of changing people. It was a place of cold, hard steel and ancient stone, a fortress that had weathered countless storms and survived against all odds. It was a place that demanded strength, resilience, and loyalty from those who dwelled within its walls.

"Perhaps," she said, her voice steady despite her trepidation. "Perhaps that's true." She glanced at Brienne again, wondering if the other woman felt the same weight of history pressing down upon them. "Or perhaps it's simply that life has a way of forcing us to grow up, whether we want to or not."