"To Riverrun," Catelyn confirmed. She saw no reason to deny it.
"Where I might have expected to find you, my lord.
You are still my father's bannerman, are you not?"
"Heh," said Lord Walder, a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt.
"I called my swords, yes I did, here they are, you saw them on the walls.
It was my intent to march as soon as all my strength was assembled.
Well, to send my sons. I am well past marching myself, Lady Catelyn."
He looked around for likely confirmation and pointed to a tall, stooped man of fifty years.
"Tell her, Jared. Tell her that was my intent."
"It was, my lady," said Sir Jared Frey, one of his sons by his second wife. "On my honor."
"Is it my fault that your fool brother lost his battle before we could march?"
He leaned back against his cushions and scowled at her, as if challenging her to dispute his version of events.
"I am told the Kingslayer went through him like an axe through ripe cheese.
Why should my boys hurry south to die?
All those who did go south are running north again."
Catelyn would gladly have spitted the querulous old man and roasted him over a fire, but she had only till evenfall to open the bridge.
Calmly, she said, "All the more reason that we must reach Riverrun, and soon.
Where can we go to talk, my lord?"