The Lady of Winterfell by Luvscharlie
Warnings: It's pretty tame. It's set Pre-GOT, with very little that's objectionable, I think.
A/N: Originally written for rachel2205 at the 2012 got_exchange on Live Journal who asked for a falling in love fic between Ned and Catelyn where Catelyn is shown as non-evil, non-villainess and quite human. I think writing this might have changed my opinion of this character and made me love her a little.
An arrangement had been worked out between our fathers many years past. So being Lady of Winterfell was no shock—I'd been planning for this for years. I mean, as much as any young girl plans out what her life will be like with her big, strong husband and what her children will be named. My first son would be a Joshua—a beautiful name for a cherubic child who I'd hold in my arms and dote upon all the day long. My daughters—I'd have three—would be Meredith, Morgan and Mallory. I had it planned out. My whole life tied up neatly in a bow.
I'd sew and smile prettily and be the perfect lady to run my perfect home.
Only dreams are the only thing perfect; reality has jagged edges and smudges upon my perfect reflection.
I had become Lady of Winterfell; one dream realized… sort of. I wasn't to become Mrs. Brandon Stark. Brandon had gone off and gotten himself killed; I was left to marry his brother, Lord Eddard Stark, who always wore a somber look upon his rather plain face. Of course, to be fair, it wasn't the life (and I wasn't the wife) he'd grown up expecting either. He was a second son, the weight of Winterfell was never supposed to rest upon his shoulders.
Yet, here it was, and here I was, and from the way he behaved, I was fairly certain Ned didn't want any of it. I could almost feel sorry for my new husband, but I was a little too preoccupied with feeling sorry for myself. I guess I'd never really been all that prepared for a life in the North. I wasn't accustomed to the harsh climate, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt my toes. They were constantly freezing and numb. And most of all, I really felt alone. I even missed my sister sometimes, as horrible as she could be. At least she would have been a bit of companionship—someone who didn't call me "milady" and hurry away without making eye contact.
For the last few days, I'd rarely left my bed. I preferred the warmth of my straw mattress, and found a small bit of comfort in burrowing beneath the stack of plush pelts. My husband hadn't visited my bed for anything more than sleeping since our wedding night. He'd taken a small break from the war to wed me, but I knew that any day he'd go back to fight Robert's war and avenge his family. I had no feelings about watching him leave; neither good nor bad. I was simply ambivalent… and a little nauseous. I'd been sick for the past few days.
Ned had been gone for several weeks before I realized my sickness was more than just an illness I'd picked up from the new climate and cold drafty halls of Winterfell. My stomach churned every morning and breakfast almost never stayed down. It was only after I missed my monthly that I realized there was a new life growing inside of me. I was going to be a mother, and that was something I was sure I would be good at. Far better than I was at being the lady of the house, I could be a good mother. I'd looked after Edmure and Lysa once our mother got sick. My own baby wouldn't be much different, except he would be all mine.
I knew so little about the man who was going to be the father of my already beloved child. He had a scratchy face when he kissed me and there was a scar on his hip that was bumpy when I touched it. He spoke very softly most times and his touch was gentle. Other than that, my new husband was a mystery.
It was the desire to learn about my husband that got me out of my room and wandering the halls of Winterfell. I put aside my timid nature and began to speak to those people who had watched young Eddard Stark grow up before he went off the Vale.
The stable master and horse trainer told me how Ned had always strived to be better at riding than his older brother, and had always found himself falling just a bit short. What he lacked in raw talent, I was told, he certainly made up for in determination. I hoped he would put a bit of that determination into our marriage. I could be a good wife, but a strong marriage would require an equally good husband.
The keeper of the kennels told me that Ned had a knack for training animals and that he never had to tell the dogs to do something twice. One command and they were clamoring to please their young master. I wondered if our children would be so eager to please their father that he'd never need to repeat a command. I laughed to myself at that thought and rubbed my growing belly. If our children had any bits of me inside of them, I expected that repeating most orders would be necessary.
The head cook listened to my questions with a smiling face. She told me that my new husband had always been quite the fan of lemon bars. When I expressed an interest in learning to make them, she chided me that it was not the lady of the house's place to be in the kitchens making desserts. I wasn't comfortable enough in my position as house lady to demand to be taught, so I did the next best thing—I begged. The rotund little cook had a twinkle in her eye and a dimple showing in her right cheek when I rolled up my sleeves and dug my fingers into the dough. "Not like that, milady," she scolded. "You have to add some flour first." From that day forward, my breakfast always came to my room on a tray with a tiny sweet on the side that I just knew came from her.
It was the old Maester who taught me about the history of my new home. He was as eager to teach me as I was to learn; I was an eager student who soaked up all his words. He told me of the tombs beneath Winterfell, but refused to let me see them until after the baby came. He didn't want me to fall and injure myself on the steep, dark steps. He told me much of my husband—or at least the child Ned Stark had been before he went away to study with Jon Arryn. He described him as a bright child who was shy and quiet. He spoke when he had something important to say, and otherwise, he remained silent, content to let his older, more outgoing brother shine. The Maester told me of the sister-in-law that I would never meet and how she lit up a room when she entered it. "Much as you do, my dear."
I blushed. I was never that girl. "You flatter me, ser."
"I do no such thing. This house has come to love you and welcome you into its arms. Open your eyes, child. Look around you. This is where you belong. You were born in the river lands and there will always be a piece of you there, but you were meant for Winterfell. Your people have come to look upon you, milady, as their own… and they have love in their hearts for you."
It was the first time I'd ever thought of the occupants of Winterfell as "my people", and upon reflection of the good Maester's words, I realized how much Winterfell had become a part of me. It was as much a part of who I was as the child growing inside of me. And through the people I had come to love here and their stories of the child my husband had been—I had begun to love him too. Being Ned Stark's wife was an adventure I was eager to begin. I had grown to love him vicariously through the people who adored him.
The raven brought the news that Ned was coming home, and I looked at the cherubic child in the basket beside my bed who would be meeting his father for the first time in the coming weeks. He didn't have a name yet; that was a task for his father. I wanted to give him the privilege of naming his heir. My son would one day run this wonderful Winterfell that had welcomed me with open arms. And there wasn't a single member of the household who didn't light up when they laid eyes upon my son. They loved him as I did. We were a family and we were all anxiously awaiting our Lord's return.
I think I stood at the window for three solid days. It was an exaggeration, of course, but I was so eager to see Ned coming. The day when it happened, I flew through the halls like the young girl I'd been when I arrived at Winterfell, nearly knocking down the cook who giggled as I flew past with the baby in my arms, excited to introduce him to his father.
A crowd formed behind me as the men of Winterfell approached the gates, my husband leading them, as their wolfish banners whipped in the chilly wind. I was smiling so largely that my cheeks hurt, and I tucked a blanket more warmly around my precious bundle. I was nearly bouncing with anticipation when my husband dismounted and walked towards me.
But he didn't smile at me. He looked glum, sad… ashamed. I felt my stomach turn over with dread, and a comforting hand touched my shoulder from somewhere behind me.
"I'm sorry. I only hope you can find forgiveness for me, and some love in your heart for my son."
I was confused. I already loved my child. Of course I did. He was mine and—that's when I noticed a similarly sized bundle as the one I held cradled in the arm of my husband.
And this beautiful world that I had made my own shattered with the hurt and pain of my husband's infidelity. I had come to love and respect this man through the stories and affection that his people had for him. He was good and loyal—and honorable man. They'd all said so. And instead of love and loyalty, he had brought me disappointment in the form of a bastard child almost the exact size of my own.