Leaving the main keep, Lady Catelyn unconsciously quickened her pace. Her destination was Winterfell's oldest Godswood.
At the heart of the woods stood a Weirwood carved with a face, its roots sunk into a pool of Blackwater.
"Dacey."
Lady Catelyn gestured for her guards and maidservant to remain where they were, then walked over alone.
Dacey Mormont, who had been kneeling before the Heart Tree in prayer, opened her eyes and immediately rose to bow. "Lady Catelyn."
Ever since she had carried Robb's body back to Winter Town, Dacey had grown increasingly haggard. Lady Catelyn remembered how cheerful and strong this young heir of Bear Island had once been—a formidable woman who was no less capable than any man.
Robb's death had nearly crushed the finest female warrior in The North, and Lady Catelyn's heart ached anew.
After briefly looking Dacey over, Catelyn had to tilt her head up at the woman, who stood a head taller than her. "I knew you would be here praying at this hour."
Dacey's long lashes trembled faintly. "I hope the Old Gods can hear my confession."
Hearing that, Lady Catelyn could not help sighing inwardly.
House Mormont of Bear Island was an ancient, proud, honorable house, one of House Stark's most loyal vassals.
Though House Mormont's Bear Island was poor, both its men and women were soldiers, and all were fierce fighters.
Whenever war came, they were always the first to answer House Stark's call—their house words were "Here We Stand," and they had never feared battle.
Lady Catelyn reached out with her warm hands and took Dacey's cold ones. "Robb now sleeps eternally in the crypts. Your repentance has been enough."
Most daughters of Bear Island were short and sturdy, but Dacey was tall and possessed a distinct feminine charm.