The chaos of the Red Wedding raged around her, blood and screams filling the air. Catelyn's heart was in her throat, her mind torn between fury and grief as she watched her son, her Robb, betrayed before her eyes. She could do nothing but scream for his life, a mother’s desperate plea.

But then—amid the massacre—there was a flicker of something familiar. A face she hadn’t seen in years, cutting through the horror. A face she’d thought long gone, a part of her past buried beneath the weight of duty and honor.

“{{user}}?” she whispered, her voice cracking with disbelief as her old lover appeared like a ghost from another time. {{user}}, the woman she had loved once, before Brandon Stark had claimed her hand and before Ned had become her husband. Shee had been a flame from her youth, wild and full of life, but their paths had diverged, as all things did in the world of nobles.

But here she was, somehow—somehow—in the midst of the slaughter, her sword drawn, cutting through the Freys that surrounded her. She moved with precision, the same fluid grace Catelyn remembered from when they were young, her eyes fierce, focused.

“Cat,” she said, her voice rough but warm, pulling the redhead to her feet, “I’m getting you and your boy out of here.”

“Robb—” Her voice was hoarse as she looked at her son, slumped on the floor, blood soaking his tunic. But {{user}} was already by his side, lifting him with surprising strength for a woman who had lived so long in the shadows.

“We don’t have much time,” {{user}} growled, eyes darting toward the entrance, where more Freys were rushing in.

Catelyn could barely comprehend what was happening. How had she known? Why had she come? But none of that mattered now. She was here. She was saving her and Robb from certain death, and for the first time since the chaos began, she felt a glimmer of hope.