He believed all his life that he was born under two stars: the first brought luck and intoxicating happiness; the second—tragedies and torments impossible to bear. Those two stars would shine upon all of House Stark until the last bearer of wolf blood lay in the grave. — From the recollections of Princess Lucrezia.
. . . . .
The story of the direwolf pup brought by Grey Wind was far from its logical conclusion. Judging by their smaller kin, a litter usually consisted of four to ten pups. The question begged itself: where were the others?
Cesare was drawn to the forest with terrible force. Grey Wind did not leave his side, like an obsessive reminder of unfinished business. While the direwolves are small, they can still be tamed. When they grow up and get stronger, what a calamity awaits the surrounding villages. But possessive feelings prevailed over all else. The realization that such a treasure might slip through his fingers made his teeth ache.
The party gathered quickly and rode out with the first rays of the new day. Beside Cesare, half a horse-length behind on a quiet dappled mare, swayed Arya. As soon as she learned the purpose of the upcoming sortie, she clung to her brother like a tick. Cesare, seeking an opportunity to get closer to his newly found sister, agreed without hesitation.
No sooner had the forest closed behind them than Cesare felt a vague sense of anxiety. It was akin to an itch in an aching tooth, now subsiding for a time, now returning with doubled force. They could not be attacked—Ser Brynden's scouts earned their bread well and constantly scoured the surroundings for spies; and a party of twenty swords is a tough nut to crack. Yet Cesare slowed his pace and looked around every minute. Arya, as if adopting his feelings, also turned in her saddle, nervously adjusting hair falling into her eyes.
The wind died down. Leaves and branches froze in deceptive peace. Grey Wind caught his eye and broke into a run. He turned off the path into an old dry spruce forest. Without thinking, Cesare followed him.
She lay in a ravine, on a carpet of fallen leaves. Grey Wind's mate had already begun to decompose, but her coat still retained a steely sheen. Beside her rested her children, who would never grow up. Two, six, eight direwolf pups. Nine, counting the one brought by Grey Wind. Too large a litter for a simple she-wolf.
A sense of loss stunned him. Why didn't Grey Wind bring them earlier? Why did he bring only one, when he could have tried to save them all at once, not let them die of hunger? In the castle, wolf pups seemed something taken for granted, but now... now it was as if he had lost eight children at once.
However, Grey Wind was calm and did not take his intent gaze off him, like a patient teacher waiting for a negligent student to understand the lesson.
Only dismounting and approaching did Cesare understand. They were freaks. All of them. Underdeveloped jaws, flattened foreheads, weak crooked paws. Two were even fused into one creature.
Cesare turned away, biting his lip until it hurt. He was not the only one struck by the scene revealed. Someone weak-nerved was already retching in the bushes—characteristic sounds echoed through the ravine.
Theon's gloved hand landed on his shoulder. He was saying something, but the words flew past Cesare.
His gaze slid indifferently around the ravine until it stumbled upon a small face twisted in horror.
"No," whispered Arya. "I heard, I felt. No. No. No. Why?"
Cesare approached her. Wanted to embrace her, but she broke from his hands and leaped aside like a doe.
"He must be here somewhere," she muttered under her breath and, without thinking, rushed into the bushes.
"Poor girl," Cesare thought. "Trials have broken your mind."
From the bushes where Arya had disappeared, a joyful cry rang out. The girl was instantly back in the clearing, glowing with happiness. To her chest she clutched a dirty shaggy something, which upon closer inspection turned out to be a direwolf pup. Like all his brothers and sisters, he was ugly and terribly emaciated, but alive, definitely alive.
Cesare felt a mixture of pity and disgust for this creature. Perhaps Grey Wind was right in his terrible decision, and it is not worth prolonging another's torment?
As if reading his thoughts, Arya backed away, hiding the freak behind her back.
"You won't do it! He is mine!" It seemed she was ready to defend her newfound pet with her life.
"Look at him!" Cesare felt rising irritation. "He is not Nymeria. He cannot grow into a big and beautiful beast. There is no strength in these crooked paws. And these protruding ribs! He is but a cripple of the wolf world. He cannot become a friend and protection for you."
"He is a fighter," cried his sister. "I found him next to the carcasses of small rodents and birds. There is enough strength in him to fight for life. He will survive and be mine."
And her words were filled with such conviction, her eyes burned with such hope, that Cesare could not refuse.
"Fine. Have it your way."
Arya hid the won pet in her bosom and flatly refused to put him in the basket brought for this purpose. His sister's face seemed to soften. She lagged a little behind, holding the reins with one hand to support the precious burden with the other.
Cesare held his horse back too.
"What will you name him? It is a he, is it not?"
Arya did not hesitate for a moment.
"Wrath," a challenge rang in her voice.
Cesare nodded.
"A worthy name. Believe it or not, I could hardly have come up with a better one."
After a silence, Cesare continued:
"Wrath is born of indignation at injustice. Though a destructive feeling, it is righteous. In these months you have had to endure much."
The voices of the retinue grew quieter. Apparently, Theon wisely gave him and Arya the opportunity to talk heart-to-heart.
"I am sure when your Wrath grows and strengthens, you will find someone to set him on. Let me guess, it will be that vile slug Joffrey. No, rather his poisonous mother."
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his sister, trying to read her thoughts. Arya kept silence.
A guess flashing through his mind made Cesare wary. She wouldn't attack a prisoner—honor wouldn't allow it. Although, after everything that happened to her... In her eyes, this might look very right—revenge for father. A life for a life.
"Or will you leave them for last, and choose someone easier and faster to reach yourself."
Arya turned sharply in the saddle, causing the disturbed direwolf pup to squeak plaintively.
"You won't do anything foolish and try to kill Jaime Lannister, will you?"
It seemed Arya felt relief.
"No, I do not intend to harm the Kingslayer. He did not have time to cross my path," she gently stroked the pup. "What do I care for him when a real monster walks the roads of the Riverlands."
The answer was found instantly—the Mountain. The loyal hound of House Lannister, tearing throats skillfully and with considerable pleasure.
Now the metamorphoses that had occurred with her received an explanation. However, something required clarification.
"How did you manage to survive?"
"Lucky," she shrugged and, turning in the saddle, looked at him intently. "However, you didn't remain the same either. Do not blame yourself for what happened—a waste of strength. Better rescue Sansa sooner and end this accursed war."
She looked at him so demandingly and seriously that Cesare involuntarily remembered the faces of the ancient kings in the Crypt. "What have you done for House Stark?"
A moment, and mischievous sparks flashed in her gaze, and her lips stretched into a grin.
"You missed my name day, Robb," she drawled almost capriciously, as if imitating someone. "As a loving brother, give me Gregor Clegane's head, alright?"
And without waiting for an answer, she kicked her horse and rushed forward. Cesare only shook his head. Such a gift was well within his power, but it was unlikely his sister truly expected to receive it.
When her silhouette disappeared behind the trees, Cesare stopped and frowned—the unhealed wound ached again.
He sank to the ground and leaned his back against the trunk of a weirwood. The forest whirled around in a succession of golden and crimson spots.
Thoughts crowded in his head, twisting into bizarre whirlwinds. Excitement, overflowing his body, dried his lips and squeezed his stomach.
The events of the day were transformed, acquiring a new deep meaning. It was no accident Grey Wind led him to the ravine full of wolf bodies. It was no accident his sister found only one, apart from the others.
Dead she-wolf. Wolf pups unfit for life. Only two will be able to outlive the father.
As if in reality, Cesare saw them all: faces of children not yet born, but already doomed; smiles of women not met, but also doomed.
The forest gazed at him silently without any condescension.
. . . . .
Upon arrival, he immediately went to Walda and showered her with tenderness. Looking into her sweet lively face, he knew she was doomed. Doomed from the moment she held her gaze on him in the Hall of the Twins. Doomed because he looked back.
Thoughts crawled like worms through his skull, beat resoundingly in his temples. What is wrong with him?
His state did not escape his wife.
"Are you unwell? Shall I call the maester?" she asked anxiously.
No one had to be called. The maester appeared himself, waving a reply from Kevan Lannister.
A most interesting letter it turned out to be. At the very beginning, Lord Stark was congratulated on getting rid of the Ironborn. "It is gratifying," wrote Lord Tywin's brother, "that I too managed to reclaim my native home." Cesare could not suppress a chuckle.
Further, they inquired about Ser Jaime's health and assured that all was well with his sisters. Amusing. did Ser Kevan know of Arya's escape or was he holy confident in the captivity of both Lord Stark's sisters?
And at the end, he was gently chided for abducting other people's daughters and added that in general they agreed to an exchange of prisoners.
Turning the letter in his hands, Cesare sent for Olyvar. Ser Kevan's hints were somewhat alarming. Judging by the gloomy mood in which young Frey had been since returning to Riverrun, he knew far more about this than he said.
They found Olyvar only an hour later. At Cesare's gesture sinking into a chair, he immediately crossed his arms over his chest.
"Last time I did not pry into your problems with your wife. As it turns out, in vain," Cesare handed him the letter. "Pay attention to the last sentence. Can you tell me what abducted maiden might be referred to?"
Color drained from Olyvar's face.
"Jeyne received several letters from her kin," his voice was dry and colorless. "They do not recognize our marriage and want to present everything as an abduction."
Cesare grinned sourly. Yes, that was like Lady Sybell. After the return of the Westerlands under Lannister rule, the marriage of a daughter to a hostile House was like a bone in the throat. Understandable why she is strenuously trying to disown it. For Ser Kevan, this is an opportunity to tarnish the enemy's reputation, which fell into his hands by itself. Although, this should not damage him much, only the halo of Ned Stark's son will dim somewhat.
Cesare raised an irritated gaze to his friend.
"Why did you not tell me everything earlier?"
Olyvar lowered his eyes.
"I thought you would return her to her kin."
He resembled a beaten puppy. Evidently, he had managed to become attached to his wife, though he had spent so little time with her. The desire to reproach him for distrust sharply vanished.
"Well, I have heard you. Time to learn from Lady Jeyne what she wants."
Olyvar started and shot an indignant look at Cesare.
"Do you think I would keep her by force?"
Cesare did not answer, only called a servant and froze in anticipation.
She fluttered into the room like a frightened bird and, immediately finding Olyvar with her eyes, stood behind his shoulder.
"Were you treated well at Riverrun, Lady Jeyne? Do you hold any grudges against me?" He looked at the girl attentively.
"Thank you, my lord," she said quietly. "I am content with everything."
"You are certain you do not wish to follow your parents' will and return home?"
"I do not," she answered without hesitation and looked straight into his eyes.
Smart girl. At home, the fate of a septa or a pond covered with duckweed awaited her. And this way there is a chance to someday become mistress of her own castle. If the husband survives, of course.
"Decided," Cesare rose to his feet. "Go and worry about nothing. I will not let anyone separate you."
Happiness and relief radiating from them flooded the entire room. Crumbs fell to Cesare too. Until the very evening, he did not think of bad things. Did not think until Theon appeared.
"A messenger arrived. Stannis Baratheon is a day's ride from Riverrun."