She was no stranger to waiting, after all. Her men had always made her wait. “Watch for me, little cat,” her father would always tell her, when he rode off to court or fair or battle. And she would, standing patiently on the battlements of Riverrun as the waters of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone flowed by. He did not always come when he said he would, and days would ofttimes pass as Catelyn stood her vigil, peering out between crenels and through arrow loops until she caught a glimpse of Lord Hoster on his old brown gelding, trotting along the rivershore toward the landing. “Did you watch for me?” he’d ask when he bent to bug her. “Did you, little cat?”
Watch for me, little cat, she could hear him whisper.
The day she wed Robert Baratheon, thousands had turned out to
cheer for them. All the women wore their best, and half the men
had children on their shoulders. When she had emerged from
inside the sept, hand in hand with the young king, the crowd
sent up a roar so loud it could be heard in Lannisport. "They
like you well, my lady," Robert whispered in her ear. "See,
every face is smiling." For that one short moment she had been
happy in her marriage...until she chanced to glance at Jamie.
No, she remembered thinking, not every face, my lord.