The Waiting Room
A/N: Written for CatxNed Week on Tumblr, although there is little to no Cat/Ned in this particular story. Sorry about any mistakes, but I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing all characters belong to George R. R. Martin. This is just for fun.
Ned Stark stood outside his father's chambers in the Great Keep, listening intently to the sounds coming from inside. He dared not lean against the door in the hope of hearing better, for if Father caught him eavesdropping Ned would probably not be able to sit for a week.
He could hear voices echoing in the room, but he couldn't hear what they were saying, barely able to distinguish Father's voice from that of Maester Walys, but mother's soft yet firm voice felt strained to Ned and he grew even more worried.
Mother never slept in Father's chambers, although when he remembered seeing his Father a few times in Mother's when he was a baby. Father's chambers were cool and dark, while mother's were warm, too warm if you asked Ned, and bright, specially when the tapestries were pulled aside and the sun was allowed to fill the room with it's rays.
Mother loved those windows and would often sit on the window seat with Lyanna or little Ben and watch the sun fall below the horizon. She had done it with Ned and Brandon as well when they were babies, but Brandon did not have the patience for it and Ned did not want his big brother to tease him so he had stopped sitting with Mother and his younger siblings at night. Only going to Mother's chambers when summoned or when the weather was especially bad and Mother insisted that all her little wolf pups gather in her chambers for the night, not even Brandon dared defy the she-wolf when she gave a direct order, no matter his age.
It was summer now so Ned did not often spend time there and seeing as they were getting older and therefore bigger, before long it would be impossible to fit all the Stark pups on Lyarra Stark's bed.
It was the third day she spent in Father's chambers, both Father and the Maester frequently running in and out of the door, along with mother's maids. Father said he hadn't the time to speak with Ned, there was a sickness in Winterfell and as its Lord it was Father's duty to take care of all the people beneath its walls. First only the little babes got ill, little Ben among them, and mother had sat at his bedside for what felt like days. But then both she and Lyanna had caught the fever just as Ben was recovering. Lya was mostly fine now, tired and bored, but feverless.
Ned and Brandon had been more fortunate, neither catching the sickness, and Father had quickly sent Brandon away to Cerwyn, with orders to have him sent to White Harbor if the sickness did not relent within a sennight. Ned had been about to leave for Deepwood Motte when the sickness appeared to be dying out, no new sick in three days and only twenty dead and burned. So Rickon had decided to have Ned stay, not wanting to unnecessarily spread the sickness if it wasn't truly gone.
Mother had been sent sick to her chambers about a sennight ago, two days before Brandon was sent away, a letter in hand from mother since the Maester advised that she not see either of her older sons. But then during the night she had been moved to Father's chambers and since then Ned had seen neither his Father nor Walys, leaving him with too much time on his hands, since not even Brandon was around to practice with.
He heard shuffling around the room and footsteps travelled towards the door so he quickly took a step back from the door and straightened his back.
Lord Stark was a tall man, not quite as tall as Ned's grandfather had been, but taller than most. With the Stark features of dark hair and grey eyes in a long face. Ned resembled his father more than Brandon, who was more like their maternal grandfather. Even the wolf's blood was stronger in Brandon than in Ned. Rickard Stark had a serious face, even when he laughed or smiled, his eyes were always serious and Ned was often said to resemble him even at his young age, although Mother swore that Ned had her eyes.
"Son. What are you doing here?" Lord Rickard asked, looking over his eight-year-old son that stood at attention waiting to be acknowledged.
"I want to see Mother," Ned said in a clear tone, minding his manners he quickly lowered his eyes. "Please Sir."
Rickard Stark looked over to the Maester and the fat man nodded.
"I see no reason why not, the boy is not sick and Lady Stark is no longer spreading the sickness. It might do her some good to see one of her children," the Maester said before making his excuses and walking away.
"Alright son, but you can't be long. She needs her rest," Father said, his eyes more sad than serious making Ned feel uneasy.
"Is she going to be alright?" Ned asked, shuffling his feet.
Ned looked up when he felt Father's hand rest on his shoulder.
"Truly, I don't know. The sickness has spread and there seems to be nothing the Maester can do for her," Father gripped his shoulder tighter and Ned tried to hold his face together. "We must draw strength from each other and pray to the Gods she'll get stronger."
"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," Ned recited. It was a saying Father was particularly fond of, even more so than the Stark House words, Winter is Coming.
"Yes son," Rickard spoke, smiling down at Ned, his eyes still sad. "Go on in, she's probably still awake."
Ned waited until he turned the corner and then slowly stepped up to the open chamber door, knocking lightly on the door frame.
"Yes," a quiet voice called out.
"Mother it's me, Eddard," Ned spoke, trying to keep the tremors out of his voice.
"Come in, my son," she spoke softly.
As he entered he saw her lying on the bed in the middle of the room, trying to raise herself up on the bed. Ned rushed over and tried to help her sit up, pillows stacked behind her for support.
"Thank you, my sweet boy," she said, stroking a hand down Ned's face.
Ned tried to smile, but it faltered quickly and suddenly he wanted to throw himself into her arms and have her sooth his worries and doubts as she so often had in the past.
But he was eight now, almost a man grown, and he needed to be strong for her. So he quickly dried his unfallen tears and tried to get his emotions under control.
"You are so like your father when you do that," she spoke fondly, pulling Ned's hand so that he would sit on the bed, her hand again rising to stroke his head, this time pushing his hair from his eyes. "You need a hair cut."
"I like it long," Ned answered quickly, before adding. "But I'll cut it if you like."
"No, my sweet. If you promise to look after it, then I see no reason you cannot keep it as you like. Although if it becomes like your brother's nest, then it comes off," her warning was spoken in the no-nonsense voice she always used when setting down the law with him and his siblings, most often Brandon.
"I promise," Ned said, grabbing onto his Mother's cold hand. It wasn't supposed to be cold, Mother's hands were always warm.
She must have seen the worried look in his eyes for she gripped tighter onto his hand. "Do not worry for me my son. Be brave, for your father and siblings."
"I'm scared," Ned whispered, not wanting anyone but Mother to hear.
"That is why you must be brave, for how can a man be brave if he is not frightened," Mother said, pushing his face up so his grey eyes were staring into her identical orbs.
Lyarra Stark truly had looked better. Her face was pale and the round cheeks were gone, her cheekbones straining the skin, dark circles around her grey eyes, the eyes shining with exhaustion. She closed them often and it appeared as if it was taking all of her strength just to keep them open. Even her red hair looked worse, not as shiny and well combed as it usually was. What was left of the braid lying softly on her breast.
"I should go," Ned said, when her eyes remained closed for longer than before and he feared she might have fallen asleep. "Father said you needed rest."
"Your father is not always correct," Mother replied, a smirk so like Brandon's on her lips. "You mustn't allow him to make you to serious."
Ned frowned. Brandon had always been their parent's favourite. He was the oldest, the heir. With the Stark brown hair and grey eyes, his face was much more handsome than Ned's, who was plainer of face than his siblings. Brandon was quick to laugh and always took the lead in the things he did. He was also rash and thoughtless, but Father was certain he would grow out of it.
Ned had never been anything like him, always solemn and loyal, but not much for taking the lead, a trait that was not unfortunate in a second son. But he would never be like Brandon, nor did he truly want to. He had no aspiration to be the Lord of Winterfell, to have to deal with the Bolton's madness and the Ryswell's ambitions. He sometimes envied Brandon's looks and how everything came so easy to him, but he did not envy his position as heir and future lord, although Ned would miss Winterfell.
"What is it my sweet?" Mother asked, his quietness seeming to unnerve her.
"Nothing, just thinking," Ned replied.
"About what?" she enquired, pulling him towards her.
After he was engulfed in her arms, leaning against the bed as much as he could without leaving her arms, he replied, "About Brandon and I. How we are not alike."
Mother laughed, a soft laugh, not a mean laugh, and stroked his hair from his face, tightening her arms around him.
"You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts," she spoke, laying her ring hand over his heart. "You need each other, because we are wolves and wolves are pack animals. You know our House words?"
"Winter is Coming," Ned mumbled, drawing in breath, filling his nose with her scent, trying to make sure he'd always remember her smell.
"Aye, winter is coming. That means we have to be prepared, but also that we have to stick together. Because when winter comes, as it always will, no matter how long the summer lasts, we must reply on each other," Mother stopped speaking suddenly and leaned over to grab a glass of water from the nightstand.
"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," once again, Ned recited the line that had been ingrained in him since birth.
"Your father is so fond of these words you might think the man had said them first," Mother teased, poking Ned's side when he did not react.
Ned squirmed in her arms, trying to lean away from the onslaught.
"You and Brandon will never be the same, nor perhaps even alike. But you are brothers and even when Brandon infuriates you, you will love him and you will come to his help shall he need it. For family is important. You must remember that, my sweet boy," Mother continued.
Ned closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Mother's voice as she spoke. It did not sound as it always did, it was more strained and it took more effort, he could even hear it when she only breathed. Each breathe taking more effort than the last.
"I promise, Mother. I'll always look after my family," Ned said, looking up at his mother.
"I know you will. In truth, I do not worry for you. My sweet Ned, my little boy," Mother spoke, more to herself than to Ned. "Brandon was such a difficult babe, I was certain I would never have another. But then you came along, a sweet babe with chubby cheeks and your father's face. Even as a newborn you were serious, but that only made your laugh even sweeter."
Her voice was becoming more strained and the last words were barely more than a whisper. He did not want it to stop for he feared that he would never hear her voice again.
"Mother?" Ned said, when she had been quiet for much too long.
"Mhm," she muttered, her arms even loosening around him.
"Should I go get Father?" Ned asked, turning around in her arms.
"Thank you," Mother answered, her eyes closed and her breathing more laboured.
"You have to stay awake," Ned begged, tears again welling in his eyes. "You have to promise to stay awake while I run and get Father."
"I'll try my best, but one should not make promises one cannot be sure to keep," Mother replied.
"Please Mother," Ned begged, too frightened to even rise from the bed.
"Go now my son, get your Father," she tried to lift her hand to his face, but did not have the strength. Ned did it in her stead, lifting the cold hand to his cheek, allowing her fingers to stroke softly over his cheek. "Come here."
Ned leaned over her, careful not to squash her beneath him. Allowing her to kiss his forehead and cheek. Gracing her cheek with his own lips before retreating, angrily wiping the tears that had fallen from his eyes.
"Go, my sweet," Mother asked, smiling before closing her eyes.
Ned ran as quickly as he could, almost knocking down Rodrick Cassel on his way. He did not even knock before throwing open the door to Father's solar. Shouting for Father to hurry.
Father and Walys both ran for Father's chambers, closing the door firmly behind them. Once again leaving Ned in the hallway, waiting.
—-
This was what Ned Stark thought of as he stood outside his wife's chambers, fifteen years later, her screams shattering his heart. When she called his name he could not stand to wait any longer and opened the door, firmly placing himself by her side as she gave birth to their second child.
The End