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"
You
’
ve
done
nothing
that
needs
forgiveness
,
Father
.
"
She
stroked
his
limp
white
hair
and
felt
his
brow
.
The
fever
still
burned
him
from
within
,
despite
all
the
maester
’
s
potions
.
"
It
was
best
,
"
her
father
whispered
.
"
Jon
’
s
a
good
man
,
good
.
.
.
strong
,
kind
.
.
.
take
care
of
you
.
.
.
he
will
.
.
.
and
well
-
born
,
listen
to
me
,
you
must
,
I
’
m
your
father
.
.
.
your
father
.
.
.
you
’
ll
wed
when
Cat
does
,
yes
you
will
.
.
.
"
He
thinks
I
’
m
Lysa
,
Catelyn
realized
.
Gods
be
good
,
he
talks
as
if
we
were
not
married
yet
.
Her
father
’
s
hands
clutched
at
hers
,
fluttering
like
two
frightened
white
birds
.
"
That
stripling
.
.
.
wretched
boy
.
.
.
not
speak
that
name
to
me
,
your
duty
.
.
.
your
mother
,
she
would
.
.
.
"
Lord
Hoster
cried
as
a
spasm
of
pain
washed
over
him
.
"
Oh
,
gods
forgive
me
,
forgive
me
,
forgive
me
.
My
medicine
.
.
.
"
And
then
Maester
Vyman
was
there
,
holding
a
cup
to
his
lips
.
Lord
Hoster
sucked
at
the
thick
white
potion
as
eager
as
a
babe
at
the
breast
,
and
Catelyn
could
see
peace
settle
over
him
once
more
.
"
He
’
ll
sleep
now
,
my
lady
,
"
the
maester
said
when
the
cup
was
empty
.
The
milk
of
the
poppy
had
left
a
thick
white
film
around
her
father
’
s
mouth
.
Maester
Vyman
wiped
it
away
with
a
sleeve
.
Catelyn
could
watch
no
more
.
Hoster
Tully
had
been
a
strong
man
,
and
proud
.
It
hurt
her
to
see
him
reduced
to
this
.
She
went
out
to
the
terrace
.
The
yard
below
was
crowded
with
refugees
and
chaotic
with
their
noises
,
but
beyond
the
walls
the
rivers
flowed
clean
and
pure
and
endless
.
Those
are
his
rivers
,
and
soon
he
will
return
to
them
for
his
last
voyage
.
Maester
Vyman
had
followed
her
out
.
"
My
lady
,
"
he
said
softly
,
"
I
cannot
keep
the
end
at
bay
much
longer
.
We
ought
send
a
rider
after
his
brother
.
Ser
Brynden
would
wish
to
be
here
.
"
"
Yes
,
"
Catelyn
said
,
her
voice
thick
with
her
grief
.
"
And
the
Lady
Lysa
as
well
,
perhaps
?
"
