This story begins with a part of the book and expands on a change of plot line. It will be a mixture of both the book and tv series. Let me know what you think, enjoy!

Xx Kate

"Catelyn's bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place" (Game of Thrones by George RR Martin).

After they were finished Catelyn rest her body upon her husband's, flesh against flesh under the furs. Her breasts were warm against his chest and her heat pressed just above his manhood, she looked up at him with sadness and longing her eyes, their faces mere inches apart.

"Please don't go, Ned," she whispered.

"Catelyn, you know I must." Her full name was harsh sounding on his lips.

She laid her had against his chest; her face blushed with embarrassment for showing her weakness and need for her husband. She knew she was being selfish, but she couldn't help it.

"What if…I were with child?" she mumbled against him. He shifted suddenly under her and lifted her chin roughly.

"Are you with child, Cat?" he asked urgently.

She looked down, ashamed and began to play with his coarse chest hair.

"I might be," she stated mildly, not meeting his gaze. It was not a lie, but it was certainly a stretch of the truth. It had been more than three years since she last held an infant within her womb. If she could become pregnant, it was likely she should have already.

"Might?" Eddard asked, tucking a stray hair behind his wife's ear. Part of him wished it were true. If she was with child, he could use it as an excuse not to leave with Robert. It was not exactly a noble decision, but it would be understood.

"If I were, would you leave, Ned?"

"It is my duty, my love," he told her honestly.

"You have spent half your life fighting Robert Baratheon's wars, you owe him nothing."

"He is my King, Cat – and yours too."

"I can't do it," she whispered against him.

"You have done it before."

"We were not in love then, Eddard."

"True enough."

*GOT*

Sansa Stark was giddy with admiration for Joffrey Baratheon. His golden mane was seething with manly maturity for he was two years older than her. But the best part about their likely arrangement was the fact that she was going to be Queen one day. How glorious a title! She would rule the realm with the most handsome King by her side. Her once dull life seemed now brimming with hope and possibility. She would get to leave Winterfell – dreary and dark Winterfell - and join the prestigious and powerful Baratheon's on the Iron Throne in charming King's Landing. She wondered if it would be at all like the pictures in her storybooks.

Arya Stark, Sansa's nine year old little sister suddenly spoke, interrupting her day dream: "Stitching is for ladies," she fumed, lazily dragging her needle through the fabric she was holding.
"We are ladies," Sansa said dully, quite used to the little girls' hostility towards all things homely and womanly.

"What if I want to be a knight one day? I could fight alongside Robb and Jon, and I have a much better aim than Bran or probably even Rickon when he comes of age," she bragged.

"First of all, Arya. Jon won't be fighting alongside Robb," she stated, becoming increasingly annoyed with her younger sister.

"Why not?"

"He will be joining the night's watch, at least that is what Robb told me."
"Why? Does he not want to be married?"
"I don't know, Arya," she said honestly.

They both knew that Jon was not fully their brother, for they did not have the same mother. He was treated differently because he was not a Stark.

"Will I go to King's Landing with you, Sansa, or will I stay in Winterfell with mother?"

Suddenly the door swung open and Lady Stark entered, "No one will be going to King's Landing."

Sansa dropped her stitching, "What do you mean?"

"Your father is declining the position as King's hand. His duty is with his family in Winterfell."

"You can't mean that, mother," Sansa cried, "I'm meant to go with him, I'm meant to marry Joffrey!"

"I did not say you would not marry Joffrey, my sweet. But you will wait until you have bled, then you will go," she assured her daughter.

Arya scrunched her face in disgust, "I hope I never bleed," she said.

"Arya Stark," her mother scolded, "A woman's greatest gift is her ability to bear children for her husband."
"I don't want a husband, and I don't want children. I want to fight!"

"No daughter of mine will be drudging through the mud with a bow and arrow, Arya," Catelyn scowled, trying to hide a smile. Arya was certainly a special girl, full of salt and brine. She was born screaming and flailing in protest and she hadn't stopped since.

Catelyn approached her youngest daughter and stroked her hair out of her small cherub face, "You are still young, my love. You will learn to appreciate what it means to be a woman. Like your sister, you will marry well and birth many healthy children, God's be good."

Arya frowned but said nothing.

"Why did father decline Robert's request? I thought that he did not have a choice, Robert is the King after all," Sansa said.

"Your father is not going because…because you will soon have a new baby brother or sister," Catelyn said, stumbling over her words. The lie got heavier every time she told it. Last night she had convinced her husband that she might be carrying his child and she had convinced herself that it could be the truth.