Author's Notes: I know what you're thinking: Catelyn and Tywin Lannister? Are you out of your mind? Well, not quite. Of course, my main ship will always be Catelyn and Ned, who are tragic and deeply in love and hurt my soul, but I came across a one sentence fic featuring Catwin and was immediately captured. No one ever writes anything on this random and wild ship, so I thought, Why the hell not? I'll do it myself. I expected it to be about four parts long; it's seven so far, and I'm not sure where it's stopping.

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I'd be a happier person in general. GRRM owns all of them and kills me instead.

In the Lion's Den
part i

It had been a long time since she'd stayed and slept in such comfortable quarters. Had it been since Winterfell, during a life she could barely remember ever living? Only thirty-seven, and her bones ached, and not from her time on the road. Her room in the Red Keep was much brighter than the bedroom she'd shared with Ned, but it felt colder too, despite the heat of the southern sun. There were no warmth of the hot springs under Winterfell and no Ned to warm her bed, just herself and the ghosts of her family.

The first three days, after she'd been shoved unceremoniously into the room and locked in, she had sat in a plush chair by the window, staring out unseeingly, picking at her food and refusing to speak to anyone. There had been no time or place to mourn since Ned's death, not for him or for their daughters or sons, but now that the war was over and had taken all of her sweet children, grieving was the only thing left for her to do. She didn't see King's Landing, the buildings or the landscape outside. She had seen Robb swordplaying with Rodrik Cassel; Sansa learning how to dance; Arya looking mischievous with a stick behind her back; Bran climbing a tower; Rickon running and laughing through the halls; and Ned, her dear Ned, lying in bed next to her, his chest slowly rising and falling, letting her know that they were all alive.

(But they weren't. Everyone was dead and these ghosts would never bring her warmth.)

Catelyn Stark had broken down the fourth day, crawling weakly to the large bed and slipping under the covers where she could weep quietly. The next two days were spent in bed. She wrapped herself up in a protective cocoon of blankets and grief and cried every night until she had nothing left in her. The tears began to vanish and she began to come out of it after the first week passed, but she felt completely hollow. Grief had swallowed her whole and when it was done with her, it spit her out, leaving her as just a shade.

By the end of the second week, Catelyn pulled herself out of bed and slipped into a cool dressing gown. When one of the maids came in with her meal, Catelyn asked for a bath. It had been far too long, since she'd first arrived and they'd washed Robb's blood off of her. An hour later, she was submerged in steaming water. It scalded her, but she didn't care, preferring to let the pain wash over her skin. It was the first time she'd felt something since Robb's lifeless body had been dragged away from her. They dressed her in a beautiful blue southern-styled dress, something she hadn't worn since she'd married Ned as a girl at Riverrun. Her family's colors, they'd said, the Tully colors, but she had been transformed into a Stark over the past two years, cold and unforgiving as winter itself.

While she was brushing her long red hair into something much more manageable than it had been for the past months, she heard the door creek open behind her. When she turned to see who it was, about to tell a maid to leave her be, Catelyn was stunned to find herself looking at Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, the man who had concocted the plan that murdered her oldest son.

At first, Catelyn didn't know what to do, frozen in place, the brush in her hand still against her hair. For a wild moment, she pictured herself throwing the brush at the older Lord, screaming that he was a murderer and to get out, rushing to him and clawing his eyes out. She thought of how they would drag her away and lock her in chains. How there would be blood on her hands again and on the clean dress they'd given her. She wanted him to hurt just as much as she did. She'd heard that his son, the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, had fled in the night after murdering the first boy king Joffrey. She knew that he'd lost nephews to a furious Karstark. There was some loss in his family, but not enough, not anywhere close to Catelyn's, and she wanted him to suffer just as much as she was. She wanted him to burn and die in agony. She wanted to take his dagger from his side and stab him in the eye with the pointy end.

But Catelyn did no such thing. Instead, she set the brush down, dropped her hands to her side, bowed her head, and said, "My lord," in a soft whisper. It pained her to speak to him like this. She didn't even know why she was, except for the fact that perhaps keeping like this, remaining proper, was the only thing that tied her back to the world when all other strings had been severed.

"Do you like the dress?" Of all the things for Tywin to say, Catelyn had not expected that. She raised her eyes to him, a slightly puzzled expression on her face. He shut the door behind himself and stepped closer towards her. "I made sure it was Tully colors. It will need to be taken in to fit you more properly, but I thought you might...appreciate it."

Catelyn mulled over what to say. She had not thought that Tywin Lannister would pick out her outfits especially, but she certainly wasn't appreciative of it. "It is beautiful," she finally settled on saying, silently adding, But it will not bring me my children back.