Capítulo 11: Chapter 10: The Gala
Hundreds of years ago, the Red Keep had been a castle from which kings had ruled. Now it had been converted for the modern age-a museum, a ballroom, and a location for many large events. Tonight, it hosted the Charity Gala.
The outsides of the building were ancient, but the insides were opulent. Great columns stretched from floor to ceiling on either side of the room, and one could not even count all the chandeliers hanging in the ballroom. Catelyn had tried once but lost count halfway through because someone distracted her with conversation.
It had taken far too long to reach said ballroom because of the walk from the parking lot up the stairs, which had been covered with red carpet. All along the way, the press had lined the carpet, snapping pictures and asking questions.
But Catelyn was used to dealing with them by now. She was used to swallowing down her grief and pressing forward even when she wanted to scream.
And so she did. She locked her rage inside and let herself drift until finally she reached that great ballroom. As soon as she did, she scooped up a flute of champagne, trying not to drink too deeply. Then she made a plan.
I'll force myself to mingle with the people who expect it for the first half an hour. After that, I will sit near the edge and wait for dinner.
She glanced at Robb and he gave her a nod of 'good luck' before they parted.
She found her sister first, laughing and talking with a group of women who Catelyn could not remember the names of for the life of her. Lysa smiled brightly and glided over to her, clasping her hand in greeting.
"I'm glad you could come, Cat. It's been ages ."
It was a fake smile, Catelyn knew. She and her sister had not been on friendly terms for years. Even when they both lost their husbands in the same year, they had not grown back together.
"It has," she said. "How's Robyn?"
"Bigger every day," Lysa said. "I don't know where the time goes. You should come to the eastside and visit soon. Bring Bran and Rickon. I'm sure the boys will get along."
Catelyn very much doubted that, but luckily it was an empty invitation. Lysa didn't truly mean for her to accept. She nodded once. "Yes, I'll have to check my calendar."
Her sister was so… strange these days. Lysa claimed to mourn Jon Arryn dearly, but she did not act like a grieving woman, even in the immediate aftermath of his death. Theirs had never been a loving relationship. Lysa liked nice things, and Jon Arryn was a wealthy older man who could give them to her. Now he was dead, and she still had those nice things. She had no real reason to grieve, and she certainly did not know how to handle Catelyn in the immediate aftermath of Ned's death. They did not draw closer together. If anything, the deaths of their husbands had driven more of a wedge between them.
But for the party, for the cameras, Lysa greeted her with a smile and spoke of how glad she was to see her. Catelyn excused herself from the conversation as soon as she could.
She soon after ran into Petyr. Seeing him was a surprise, but a welcome one. "Petyr. I didn't know you received an invitation."
"You wound me, Cat," Petyr said with a grin. "I'll have you know my business is doing quite well. I know startups in this town have their troubles, but I'm smart enough to handle myself."
"I never said you weren't," Catelyn said. "I am glad you're here. One more familiar face."
"Yes, in a sea of false ones." He grasped her hand in his, bending to kiss it. "You must save a dance for me."
"I'm not sure I'll be in the mood for dancing, Petyr," Catelyn said. "I'm not even in the mood for being here tonight."
"No. Of course not," Petyr said, releasing her hand. "Forgive me. I forgot the time of year."
No, you didn't, she thought. You forget nothing.
But she let his lie slide. Her old friend had never been the honest sort even when they were children. That's why Ned always hated him. "You should mingle as much as you can. I know this is an opportunity for you. Make the most of it."
He gave her a sly smile. "Oh, I always do, Cat."
She wandered the floor, greeting other familiar faces with what she hoped was a convincing smile. The Stark shareholders, fellow board members and business partners. Eventually, her job done, she made it to a table at the edge of the room and sank into a chair. She breathed a sigh of relief and let her composed mask drop. Gods above this was exhausting, but at least this time she didn't feel right on the edge of a breakdown.
A drink set beside her on the table. "Mrs. Stark."
She recognized the voice in an instant, coming from just over her left shoulder. She drew in a breath and plastered a charming smile back on her face. "Mr. Lannister. It's a pleasure to see you."
"No need for the pretense," he said, a hint of amusement passing through his eyes. "I'm only greeting you out of courtesy. Just like always."
Yes. Just like always.
Catelyn had almost never interacted with Tywin Lannister before three years ago, except at events like these. And even then, Ned made a sport of avoiding his rival. Back then, she did not meet with Tywin in business because, well, she hadn't been involved in it. Now she was on the board of Stark Industries, and she and her son had taken up Ned's mantle.
Catelyn knew he hadn't reallynoticed her until the first gala after Ned had died. He had approached her son to offer his condolences, as was expected of him, and Robb accepted them graciously, though he knew it was just empty words. The CEO of the Lannister Corporation gave his condolences to Catelyn as well, more like an afterthought.
" I expect I'll be seeing more of your son now," he had said.
" Yes," she replied. "And me." He gave her a look, and she stared right back. "I'll be helping him as much as I can. I'm on the board now."
" Really." He had seemed surprised by that. As if he hadn't even considered the possibility.
" Yes," she said, lifting her chin. "I have the same business degree that my husband had, Mr. Lannister. Please don't forget it."
She wasn't sure what had possessed her to challenge him in such a way. Most people did not, for it was ill advised to taunt such a ruthless man. But her husband was dead, and her daughter had been missing for two days. Next to those monstrous things, Tywin Lannister did not scare her.
That next year, they held the Charity Gala only a week after Arya's funeral, and Catelyn still felt on the edge of breaking. Every time anyone talked to her, she felt like snapping. She did not want to be here. She did not want to be here, but she had come anyway because she did not want her son to face these people alone.
" Should you really be here, Mrs. Stark?" he had asked when they crossed paths that night.
The question was sincere. He knew as well as everyone else that her daughter was fresh dead and that she was still in mourning. But still it felt like a challenge.
" Yes. According to the press I should be and so I will be," she said flatly. "Do not concern yourself with me, Mr. Lannister. I can handle myself."
Her voice had sounded strong enough, even though it was a lie. He was right. She shouldn't be here.
" No doubt," he replied. "But you seem like you need a drink."
There was a question hidden in his obvious statement. And she had wanted to deny that too, but she did need a drink and if she got up to fetch one herself, she might find herself in conversation with some stranger.
So she nodded once. A silent answer to his silent question. A few moments later, he had set a drink in front of her and continued on his way. They did not cross paths for the rest of the night.
Last year's gala had somehow been the worst for Catelyn. Even though neither of her losses were recent, the anniversary of them both had put her on a knife's edge. After a month of barely sleeping and drinking coffee more than she ate full meals, she knew that she was on the verge of a breakdown. A large crowd of people was not at all what she needed.
She had no clue how she had survived the walk past the press that night, but as soon as she got inside, she had to duck into the nearest hall, away from the crowds. She spent several minutes there, a hand over her mouth, trying to fight down the growing wave of panic inside her. She kept expecting a call on her phone saying that one of her other children was dead. Because that was what this time of the year had become to her.
He said nothing at all to her that night. No greetings and no condolences. No asking if she should be there. But he had handed her a drink as he passed her in that hall, and gods had that drink been welcome in that moment. More so than she would ever admit.
Now, on the fourth gala since Catelyn's world had cracked, he set another glass beside her on the table. A gesture that it seemed had become a tradition for them at this gala. It was the most courtesy he ever offered her in the year. Usually they only met with a contract of some sort between them. But there was no business tonight.
"You seem well," he said.
Unlike last year, said the silent implication of those words.
"I am, thank you," she said crisply. "So do you."
"I'm well enough," Tywin said. "Though I expect this gala will drag on for far too long."
"You don't like charity galas. That doesn't surprise me."
"Don't pretend that you like them anymore than I do."
"I think we may dislike them for different reasons," she said, sipping at the drink he had offered her. Bourbon, and a very good one.
"Possibly," Tywin said. "Why do you force yourself to come every year then?"
Catelyn's grip tightened around her glass. "The press watches all of us this time of year. Sniffing for weakness. If they want it so badly, they'll have to try harder than that."
"Hmm," he replied, and she could not even begin to guess what that meant.
"Grandfather?"
Catelyn turned to see a girl with long golden hair hurrying over to Tywin. She had a sweet face, and Catelyn recognized her as Myrcella Baratheon. Robert and Cersei's second daughter.
"How long am I expected to stay here?" she asked. "I don't want to leave too early."
"What did your mother say?" Tywin asked.
"To ask you. Since you're the one who wanted us here." The words might have sounded accusatory coming from anyone else, but they sounded sweet as honey coming from Myrcella. It was a wonder to Catelyn that they were related.
"Not long," Tywin said. "The press will clear out soon. You can go then." He glanced around. "Do you have your bodyguard?"
"Yes, she's here," Myrcella said. "Don't worry; I'll take her with me when I go. Thank you." She turned to look at Catelyn. "Oh, sorry. I'm being rude. I'm Myrcella Baratheon."
"Pleased to meet you," Catelyn said. "Catelyn Stark."
"Oh, of course. I went to school with some of your children," she said. She had the grace to not say which one was in her year. She didn't need to. Catelyn knew that she was the same age as Arya. "Nice to meet you. Have a lovely evening."
She hurried off and Catelyn watched her go. She was different as could be from Arya, yet Catelyn saw her daughter in the girl. Arya would be a young woman now if she had lived. If only she had lived.
Myrcella went to join someone by the wall and Catelyn inhaled sharply. For a moment… for a moment her eyes had deceived her, and she thought she had seen her daughter. But when she looked closer, she saw that Myrcella was speaking with a red-headed girl. The same size as Arya… but not her. It couldn't be her, after all.
"What is it?" Tywin asked.
"Nothing," Catelyn murmured, standing from the table. "Thank you for the drink, Mr. Lannister. Enjoy your evening."
It had been nothing. It was her tired mind seeing ghosts in familiar faces.
Just that time of year.
Nothing, she had lied.
Catelyn Stark was many things: stubborn, sharp tongued, unyielding. But she was not at all a good liar. Not that Tywin would press her on such things. She was not one to admit a lie, nor was she one to admit weakness or ask for help.
She had only asked him for help once, and that was when she had no other choice.
He remembered when Catelyn Stark showed up on his doorstep nearly three years ago. It was one of the more surprising visits he had received. It was only a few days after the gala in which they had held a tense conversation. In that time, she had clarified that she did not like him and that she intended to be his enemy if he came at her son. There was ice in her eyes when she issued the challenge. Hard to believe she was only a Stark by marriage.
But when she arrived at the Lannister manor… the ice had given way to panic.
" I'm sorry," she said. That was how he knew something serious had happened. She would never apologize to him otherwise. "I know it's late."
That was when she told him what he had already heard rumors of in the news. Her daughter Arya was missing. She had been missing for about a week and it did not take Tywin long to do the math in his head. The last time she had seen her had been the Thursday before the gala. The same day she came to his office to repay her debt.
" I've asked all the other major families. I didn't want to ask you but… You have many people working for you and a lot of influence in the West. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate. If you see her, then… let me know."
" I did see her," he replied. "She came to my office that afternoon."
She had looked at him with a bewildered expression, and he realized that his statement required a great deal of explanation.
He explained the 'why' quickly to her. That he had crossed paths with her daughter at Baelor's cemetery in the pouring rain. That he had given her a few coppers for the bus and apparently, she saw fit to repay the debt. He knew she was skipping school that day, and she had a large bag, as if she intended to go somewhere.
" And why didn't you stop her?"
" Because I don't know your daughter. For all I knew she was just skipping school. I didn't pry into her business."
" You didn't have to pry, but you could have at least called someone ."
Yes. He could have. But then, he hadn't wanted to explain the situation of why she was in his office. It was just some strange encounter and getting caught up in the Stark family mess was the last thing he wanted.
" How… did she seem?" Catelyn asked at last.
" Calm. Determined. Better than she was in the graveyard. Whatever she had planned… well there was a plan."
" How does that make it better?"
" It means she likely has a plan to come home." Tywin said.
After all, the girl was fourteen or fifteen. Old enough to take care of herself for a few days. Sometimes teenagers ran away to clear their heads. Joffrey did his fair share of disappearing in the months since his father had died. Though he didn't know if that was grief or just an increased desire to rebel.
Catelyn was not convinced. Her family had already taken two hard blows, and she expected a third. What was it Kevan had said? These things come in threes?
A silly superstition, but he promised to tell his people in the west and around the city to keep an eye out for her.
" Thank you. I'll… repay the debt somehow if you find her."
She was like her daughter in that way. She did not want to be in any debt to him. "I'm sure you will."
He had been wrong, of course. Arya did not turn up the next day or the next week or the next month. She was missing in every sense of the word. And a year later, the police declared her dead when they found her body beneath a bridge.
It annoyed Tywin, because he should not have been involved in the whole affair at all. It should have been a story on the news, like Ned Stark's death. But then Arya Stark repaid a few coppers and cursed him knowing that he was the last one to see the girl before she died.
The fact that his people found nothing about the girl also annoyed him. He had experience tracking down people who didn't want to be found. A fifteen-year-old girl shouldn't have been difficult to find. But she hadn't left a paper trail, and someone must have destroyed her cellphone as his people couldn't track it. There were just no leads.
And then she was dead.
Even in the wake of her many tragedies, Catelyn Stark dragged herself to this charity gala every year. And every year, when he looked at her face, he could see that she would rather be anywhere else. Her smile was brittle, her gaze haunted, her tone clipped. He respected the effort. The sheer stubbornness that came from refusing to show any weakness.
She had been better at this gala than she had the last three years. Tired, but not on the verge of cracking. Until she had seen a ghost in Myrcella.
No… Not Myrcella, Tywin glanced back across the room where Myrcella's bodyguard Beth Rivers stood at the edge of the room. She was the same age as Myrcella. The same age Arya would be. Different eyes and different hair, but Tywin supposed they had similar faces. And they were both quite small.
Beth Rivers looked up at caught his gaze across the room and he saw another flash of nervousness go through her. She did that every time she saw him. Just the smallest flicker of worry before her expression set again. He still hadn't figured out why.
"Father."
Cersei's voice drew him out of his thoughts as she came up beside him, hooking an arm through his. "Look who's here."
He turned and saw that Jaime had entered the room. It had been a few months since he had last seen him, and he looked much better than he had-clean shaven and his hair freshly cut. And he was smiling. That was a change from the last time Tywin had seen him. His last image of his son was of him snarling at him, his eyes bloodshot, his hair and clothing unkempt. He was half a feral animal then.
Now, he looked like a Lannister, meeting the guests that approached him with a charming smile. Playing the role he was meant to play.
"So you convinced him," Tywin said at last.
"Yes," Cersei said. "To come to the gala at least. I didn't exactly convince him to return to the business."
"One step at a time," Tywin said.
"Tiny steps," Cersei said. "Are you going to speak to him?"
"Yes. Later," Tywin said. "Let him get his footing first." He scanned the room and found Joffrey in the other corner. He was making conversation with one of their shareholders as well, and for once he looked like he was playing nice. "Joffrey has been handling himself surprisingly well tonight."
"I told him he only had to stay for an hour," Cersei said. "That seemed to brighten his mood. He can be on his best behavior for that long, I think. Just long enough for the press to snap a few pictures and then ignore whatever he does with his time later tonight."
"So, you handled everything then," Tywin said. That was unexpected. Not that his daughter didn't listen to his requests. It was just that she always acted so irritated in the moment that he never truly knew if she would complete them or "forget".
"Don't sound so surprised, Father," Cersei said. "And no, not quite everything. Tyrion is throwing a lavish party tonight as a counter to the Charity Gala. I won't be able to keep that from getting into the papers."
"Well, I wouldn't expect you to do anything about him," Tywin said. "You have my thanks for the rest."
A smile crossed her face. "Your thanks. What a rare thing." She slipped away from him. "Enjoy the night, Father. I have a few more people to pretend I'm happy to see."
"Best of luck," he said. He watched his daughter fade back into the crowd. Cersei oscillated between being useful to the family and rebellion, often on the same day. But she was still the only one of his children who made an effort in the family business. And she seemed surprised by his gratitude.
I suppose it is a rare thing from me.
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