Marina's green eyes filled with tears as the truth picked apart her mentality, shattering the very beliefs she thought she understood. It had been them all along, everything that has lead to this moment was planned. Every word that slivered past the...
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TALISA STILLED HER HORSE AFTER APPROACHING LADY STARK TUCKED UNDER THE SHADE OF A TREE.
The mood after leaving Harrenhal drastically removed all moral the men had. It was a truly heartbreaking sight to see so many northern men butchered like animals. Robb took the the news to heart even more so when Roose Bolton announced that Winterfell was burned to the ground by Theon and his men. Yet, the final crushing blow was the fact that Bran, Rickon and Marina were unaccounted for among the wreckage.
Talisa's horse whinnied, slamming its hooves into the dirt. The woman jumped a bit, petrified that it might stand on its hind legs and throw her off. Luckily, a northern soldier grabbed its reigns and steadied it.
"Your Grace." He offers his hand, helping her down.
Talisa mutters a soft thank you, quickly moving around the horse so that it wouldn't hit her with its nose. Once she was close enough to Lady Stark she decided to take a seat on a small boulder.
"Can I help you, Lady Stark?" She asks, after a moment of silence.
"No"
Talisa frowns, confused at the hostile answer, but prepared to take her leave. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"
Catelyn sighs, eyeing the woman across from her. "You can't help because a mother makes one for her children to protect them. Only a mother can make them."
Talisa nods, looking down at her fingers, twiddling them over her lap. There were so many questions she wanted to ask Lady Stark, but the woman made her opinion on Talisa clear— she'd never be worthy enough to love her son.
"I take it you've made one before based off how quick you've managed to do this one."
Catelyn sighs again, this time a little louder, to voice her aggravation. After hearing the news of her sons potentially being dead, Catelyn wanted nothing more than to be left to her devices in peace. Yet, a woman that warms her eldest son's bed, a woman who knows nothing about the Stark family, chose to break up the much needed silence.
Still, although Catelyn wouldn't admit it, she was grateful for the distraction. Her thoughts had taken a turn for the worst and left her questioning her worth as a mother. So, even though she's a little annoyed with her presence, Catelyn answers while trying to finish her work.
"I've made them twice now." She replies. "The second one was made recently when my son Bran fell from a tower. I prayed for his survival."
"And the first?"
"The first one was made many years ago when my husband brought home a baby from war. I couldn't even look it in the eyes, so I prayed to Gods for them to take him and make him die." Catelyn pauses, setting the twined ornament on her lap as she gazes into the trees. "He got the pox not that long after my prayers. The Maester said he'd live if he survived the night, so I sat with him, listening to his whimpers to make sure the deed was sealed. I knew then that I was the worst mother to ever live."
