Catelyn inspected the shipment of food and goods that had just arrived. Ned was away at war, again, leaving her to carry out his duties as well as her own. She understood that Balon Greyjoy needed to be stopped, but how she was meant to do everything that was expected of her with three babes, two of which were still at the breast, she did not know?! And he expected her to care for that bastard boy as well! Well she wouldn't! Old Nan could see to the sullen thing. Yes, she had insisted that the Dorinish wet-nurse, Wyalla, be sent away before the boy was weened, but she had hoped that would encourage Ned to send Jon away as well, it hadn't.
Catelyn still had a nagging feeling that there was more to Wylla's presence at Winterfell than Ned's claim that he had been in Dorne when he had learnt of the boy and acquired the first wet-nurse that he could find. Part of her even wondered if Wylla was Jon's mother, but she had watched the woman and Wylla did not behave like a woman that was trying to get into Ned's bed.
"Stranger, take the basted boy away." Catelyn whispered.
A large crate caught Catelyn's attention, it wasn't on any of the lists and was personally addressed to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Catelyn went in search of Lord Vayon Poole.
"Lady Catelyn." Vayon greeted her warmly. He was Winterfell's Steward and a father of five, all girls. He was one of the warmest people that Catelyn had met in the North. He was practical and fair, and never lamented not having fathered a son, his wife had breastfeed the bastard after Catelyn had insisted that the Dornish wet-nurse be sent away.
"Come, I have a question in regards to the delivery." Catelyn instructed. She led him to the create and raised an eyebrow. "I cannot find this on the lists." She stated, leaving the question implied.
"Aye, you won't." Vayon agreed, he seemed slightly hesitant in his response.
"Well?" Catelyn asked, her eyebrow arching even further.
Vayon sighed and pried open the box. "Torentine lemons, the sweetest there are, oranges, blood oranges… hmm, oh! They've even given us pink grapefruits and limes!" he exclaimed with a smile.
"Given?" Catelyn asked. She had always found Ned's indulgence in citrus out of character, they only grew in Dorne, and as such were expensive this far north, yet she saw them on the table more frequently than she ever had as a child growing up at Riverrun.
Vayon's expression was suddenly guarded. "Well, not given, of course…"
Catelyn felt that if she arched her eyebrows any further they might just fly off of her face. "How much did they cost us then?" She challenged.
Vayon looked down then looked at her. "The return of an ancestral sword and the location of Ser Arthur Dayne's body." He replied quietly. "We've never wanted for lemons since."
"Dayne." Catelyn muttered. It all made sense now, the wet-nurse had been Dornish… but Wylla hadn't been Jon's mother, she'd been sent by the family of Jon's mother! "Ashara was Jon's mother." She said quietly. She shivered, she could still remember when she had confronted Ned on that, it was the only time that he had ever scared her.
Vayon gave her a horrified look. "My Lady, of that I could not say… but even if it were true I would advise you against speaking of it."
"Of course." Catelyn muttered bitterly. "Can't have Ned scaring the cooks again. Forgive me, I am tired." She turned and walked away, leaving Vayon Poole to finish dealing with the delivery and ponder their conversation with concern.
~~/~~
Part 1:The fever had taken Jon two weeks ago, Catelyn had been yelling at the bastard boy for not listening when he had collapsed right in front of her, she had thought that he was acting up. She'd yelled at him to stand up but he hadn't responded so she'd kicked him… not that hard, or so she had thought. He still hadn't responded. She had grabbed him and tried to pull him up to his feet but the boy was limp in her hands, that was when she had realised that something was terribly wrong.
She had yelled for help but nobody had heard her, she was too pregnant to be able to carry him herself (nor did she truly wish to) so she had no choice but to leave him alone whilst she went for help. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. What was she meant to do? Sit with him and wait for somebody to come along?
Jon was in bad shape, he had a fever and Maester Lewin had said that he must have broken his two floating ribs on the right side when he fell, but she knew the terrible truth, it wasn't the fall that had broken the boy's ribs, she had kicked an unconscious boy… thank the gods that there had been no witnesses. It was guilt that had placed her at his bedside to the neglect of her own three children.
Catelyn sat by the bastard's bed and watched him sleep, the boys had only recently gotten their own rooms. 'The bastard, I have to stop calling him that.' She silently chided herself. But it was hard, so hard. She had begged and prayed for this child to die for seven long years, begged for this burden to be taken away from her, but when the Seven had decided to question her resolve she had realised that she did not want the selfish desire to be fulfilled. He was just a young boy, a few weeks younger than her own sweet son, how terrible of a person was she that she had prayed for a child to die?
"Stranger, please." She whispered. "Let him go, let Jon go." It was difficult to speak the child's name, in his seven years of life she had never even addressed him by it once.
"Father, forgive me, I am a selfish and unjust woman. Judge me if you must, but do not judge this boy. Please, let the boy live and I will treat him better." She lifted the damp cloth from Jon's forehead and rinsed it in a bowl of clean water, she mopped the sweat from his face, rinsed the cloth again and placed it back on his forehead. He looked so pale lying there, and the mop of black curls surrounding his head only made it look even worse. She studied his features, he had the look of a Stark, even more so than Robb did, but there was something else in the shape of his face, the grace of his movements and the tightness of his black curls… The fever had made his skin pallid, the skin stretched tight across his face and seemed fine and breakable, almost translucent. He almost looked as pale as a Targaryen…
"Mother," she whispered. "Show your mercy, guide me. Let him live and I will be a mother to him, a real mother. Save him and I will beg Ned to have him naturalised… Jon Stark." She whispered, the last two words tasted bitter on her tongue but she forced herself to say them again. "Jon Stark, wake up." The boy did not respond, it was almost as if he knew that was not his name.
"Maiden, this innocent boy need you, save him, please, let Jon live. Crone, lend me your wisdom, light his way and bring him back to us, teach me how to love him."
She studied Jon again, comparing his features to those of her children. Could she really bring herself to ask Ned to have him named? He was so obviously a Stark, what power would the name give him? If he ever decided to rise up and challenge Robb for Winterfell the Northern lords might support him on looks alone. Both Robb and Sansa favoured their Tully heritage, although Sansa more so than Robb, sometimes when Catelyn looked at her son he reminded her of her baby brother, Edmure. Catelyn's mother had died on the birthing bed, causing her to be as much a mother as a sister to her little brother.
Of all Catelyn's children the only one that might be able to contend against Jon on looks alone was baby Arya. Arya, the poor child, Catelyn hadn't held her for over two weeks! Cat stood up slowly from her chair, her pregnancy making her movements slow and ungainly. She went to the door and asked a servant to have old Nan bring the baby girl to her.
Old Nan came, but it was the wet-nurse who held a squirming nine month old Arya. Arya was not impressed, she had stated walking at six months old, far earlier than any of the other children, and hated being carried.
"I walk!" Arya agued. "I walk! I walk! I walk!" She thumped the wet-nurse's shoulder with her little fists, Catelyn gave the wet-nurse a sympathetic smile and reached out for Arya. "Mummy!" Arya squealed in delight. "Mummy, I walk!"
"I know you can walk, Arya." Catelyn said gently. "But let me carry you." She kissed Arya on the forehead and hugged her, Arya hugged her back.
"You carry." Arya agreed, cuddling into her shoulder. Suddenly Arya noticed Jon lying on the bed. "Jon!" She squealed loudly, almost deafening Catelyn.
Catelyn smiled at Old Nan and the wet-nurse and dismissed them both, to Cat's shame she could not remember the wet-nurse's name. It was only after they had gone that she realised she hadn't asked after Robb or Sansa… or the Greyjoy ward. Once Jon was better she would fix things, she would fix things with everybody. She was eight months pregnant so it was a slow waddle from the door back to the chair beside Jon's bed, especially with Arya squirming and chanting "Jon." In her ear. Arya tried to scramble to Jon as soon as she got near the bed but Catelyn held her back.
"No, Arya." Catelyn said firmly. "Jon is sick."
"Jon sick?" Arya asked, not understanding.
"Yes." Catelyn replied. "Jon needs sleep, don't wake him."
"Jon sleep? No, Jon play." Arya sulked.
Catelyn sighed, was she really trying to reason with a child that hadn't even reached their first name day. "Jon sleep." Catelyn replied firmly. "Mummy cuddle Arya."
Arya nodded and cuddled into her, she patted Catelyn's tummy. "Baby." She whispered.
Catelyn smiled. "Yes, baby."
"Baby sleep?" Arya asked.
"Yes." Catelyn agreed. They had explained pregnancy to the children as a little baby sleeping and growing safely inside of it's mummy, once the baby was big and strong enough it would wake up and be born.
"When baby wake?" Arya asked.
"Soon." Catelyn replied. "Arya cuddle?"
Arya nodded. "Arya cuddle." Arya agreed. Arya snuggled in and soon drifted off to sleep.
~~/~~
Catelyn shifted Arya awkwardly in her arms, the child never stayed still, even in sleep, and Catelyn couldn't hold her anymore. Reluctantly Catelyn placed her down on the bed, she intended to readjust and pick Arya back up but the moment Catelyn put Arya down beside Jon the babe curled into him and was calm. Catelyn watched with amazement as the nine month old girl cuddled up beside the sick boy. Arya placed her chubby little hand on Jon's shoulder and his features seemed to soften, his breathing instantly became easier. Catelyn felt a small smile start to pull at her lips as she watched them both sleep.
"Gods be good." She muttered. There was no argument that the children were related, Jon's hair was darker and Arya's hair was straight, not curly, but the resemblance was there.
"Jon," Catelyn whispered quietly, but the boy gave no response. "Jon, this is your sister, Arya, she will love you as fiercely as any sister can, but you have to wake up."
Still nothing from the dying boy, he could not die, if he did his death would be her shame. Catelyn returned to her prayers. "Warrior," She whispered. "Place your strength and your courage into this brave child." She looked at Jon and stroked Arya's hair, she never really knew what to say to the Warrior, or the Smith. "Smith… some say that life is the chain that links the body to the soul, re-forge the damaged links, strengthen his body and give him back to us… save him. Stranger, please, this one is not to walk with you today. Give Jon back, keep on walking."
Catelyn sighed, she was at a loss at what to do and she had run out of words, she decided instead to watch Jon and Arya sleep. The peace was broken by Ned Stark and Maester Lewin bursting through the door.
"Catelyn, what are you doing?!" Ned demanded.
"You can't have the baby in here, Catelyn." Maester Lewin said more patiently. "If she catches whatever Jon has it could kill her."
Ned however had come to a stop as soon as he saw the sight on the bed. "By the Heart Tree..." He whispered.
"He needs her." Catelyn said quietly. "As soon as she touched him his breathing improved, he'll wake up, but he needs her."
Maester Lewin frowned. "Well there is no point taking her away from him now, whatever damage might be done has already happened. You are right, he does seem to be breathing better, let me take a closer look."
As Masester Lewin moved around the other side of the bed and took a closer look at the boy Ned moved around to behind Catelyn's chair and put his hands on her shoulders. "Thank you." He whispered. "I know you don't love him but…"
"I'll learn." Catelyn said quietly. "I'll learn to love him." She wanted to believe her own words, she truly did.
Ned dropped a kiss on her head. "Thank you." He whispered again. Oh gods, if he only knew the truth!
Catelyn felt a small pain, a quickening of her womb, and moved her hand to her pregnant belly. She did not mention it to Ned or Maester Lewin, they were already concerned enough that she had insisted to tend to Jon even though she was pregnant, and after three children she now knew what to expect. She would get these little pains on and off for the next three or four weeks and then the baby would be born. Maester Lewin had taught her that these pains were a good thing, they meant a quick labour, and a quicker labour meant less risk for her or the child, so far he had been correct.
~~/~~