She was one moon shy of her twelfth name day when she flowered. Flowered. Cat thought it was absurd. How did bleeding from between one's legs compare to anything so pleasant as a flower? But it was a pretty word, and everything else a lady did had to be pretty, so she supposed it made sense to give a girl's first moon blood a pretty name. She was torn between embarrassment that everyone would know she was bleeding ithere/i and pride at being a woman when her lord father threw an impromptu feast in her honor the following day.
Lysa, only ten, was jealous of her sister's transition from little girl to woman nearly grown. Cat truthfully told her that it was not an enjoyable thing, that sharp pains tore at her belly and duller pains made her legs and back ache. But she was proud of her new status and she might not have sounded too convincing when she sought to reassure Lysa that, "I don't feel much different, truly. Making a mess of my bed clothes is nothing to envy me, Lysa."
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Lysa was twelve years old when her moon blood first came upon her. There was little pain to announce its arrival and Lysa was not aware of it until the Tully party arrived at Seagard and she dismounted. "Lysa, your dress," Septa Mariya exclaimed. The back of Lysa's ivory samite gown was stained crimson. Lysa's face turned nearly as red in horror and humiliation. Handsome young Lord Jason pretended not to notice, but Lysa could not look him in the face for the rest of their visit.
Cat tried to convince her sister that it was not ithat/i big an embarrassment. "Now everyone knows you are not a child anymore, you are a maiden flowered."
"It was dreadful. They must have all wanted to laugh at me."
"Nonsense. All women suffer such mishaps at some point."
"You haven't."
"I have," Catelyn reminded her. "Remember when my moon blood came while we were at prayer in the sept? And that day we rode off the path to the village to explore and my riding gown was stained?"
"Petyr gave you his undershirt to make a rag," Lysa said, grudging admitting that she was not the only one to have suffered moon-blood stained clothes.
"Aye," Catelyn said, smiling fondly at the memory. Petyr could be quite the rascal at times, but he was as good a foster brother as she could have wanted.
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She gave birth to her son on a chilly yet sunny winter day. Catelyn forgot all about the past hours of pain when they laid the babe in her arms. He was beautiful, and looking into his blue eyes for the first time, she knew she would do ianything/i for him. She had decided on a name the day she realized she was pregnant. Her first thought had been to name him Brandon, or Rickard, to honor the Starks who had been murdered by the Mad King. But their deaths had been so recent that she felt it ill to give her babe either of their names.
Ravens kept bringing news of how well Robert's rebellion was going, how heroically he fought. Eddard Stark, her lord husband and her babe's father, was a quiet man and had spoken little during the fortnight he stayed at Riverrun. But talking of his friend and foster brother Robert had animated him, had given glimpses of warmth and humor beneath his grim exterior, so Catelyn had intended to name their son Robert. But now, looking at his sweet little face, Robert did not seem to suit him. Catelyn settled on a compromise. "Robb," she said.
She was so besotted with Robb she did not notice that her sister did not come to see her or the babe until three days after the birth. Catelyn felt only her own joy and pride when her sister approached the bed where she nursed Robb. "Look at him," she sighed. "He's so beautiful."
"Aye," Lysa said, in an odd voice.
Catelyn looked at her for the first time since she'd entered the room. She seemed unwell, and Catelyn suddenly realized that she had not seen Lysa since her birth pains had started four days ago. "Have you been ill?"
"I...it was nothing, Cat." Lysa moved nearer. "You are right; he is beautiful." She reached out and her hand hovered over Robb's mop of auburn hair, but she didn't touch him. "So precious."
"Here, hold him," Cat said, wanting to share her gift with her sister, wanting Lysa to marvel at Robb the way she did.
Lysa cradled him gently. "The Mother has blessed you."
"I've been thanking her since they laid him in my arms. When the maester permits me to rise, I shall light a candle to her."
Lysa was still gazing at Robb tenderly. "Do you think my babe would have looked like him?"
Only the gods knew why they had quickened her husband's seed within her and withheld that same blessing from her sister. Catelyn felt the same discomfort she'd felt on their wedding day. She could do nothing about Lysa wedding a man older than their father or Lysa's womb remaining empty, yet she felt as if she should apologize. She did not. Instead she sought to reassure her sister. "Mayhaps. The war is ending; Lord Jon will return to you and you will have many sons and daughters."
"I would rather Petyr return to me."
Catelyn missed their friend, too, despite the trouble he'd caused by deciding he loved her and challenging Brandon for her hand. She'd lost them both; Petyr, banished back to his father's keep, and Brandon, slain by his own gallantry and a madman. She took Robb back from Lysa, who only reluctantly relinquished him. She had Robb now and she would not lose him.
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The letter informing Catelyn of her sister's stillborn delivery had been penned by Lysa's husband Jon Arryn. He wrote that Lysa was too distraught to write herself and he hoped Catelyn would send her some words of comfort. Robb had spoken his first word yesterday. Catelyn was grateful for her own blessings, but she wondered at the fairness of the gods that they would test Lysa so.
She did not know what to write. Catelyn set the letter aside. She would reply to it later. Right now she needed to see her son.