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Chapter Two: Family, Duty, Honour
"Give the boy time, my lady."
Rodrik's expression was earnest as he looked across the table at Catelyn, inducing a deep sigh from her. She could see he wasn't trying to be argumentative, so checked her temper and sat in the same place that Jon had left vacant after his escape. Massaging a knot of tension at her temples, she tried to marshal her thoughts and feelings. No real harm had been done; she had just been left red faced with an equally red faced boy sprawled all over her like a nasty rash. The way in which Theon Greyjoy had smirked at her hadn't helped, but then Theon smirked at everyone and everything like that. Given his circumstances he didn't have a lot else to smirk about; perhaps she ought to be congratulating herself for services rendered?
"I would have been angered just the same if it had been any of my own children, you know," she said, still justifying herself. "It wasn't because it was … well, you know."
Say his name, she thought to herself, just say his name. But what was the point. It didn't matter what she did, or what prompted her actions, others would always she assume she was acting out of spite toward Ned's bastard son. If she did nothing, then she would be letting him get away with things her own brood would be punished for. Either way, she found herself caught in that unique no-win position. While she organised her thoughts, Rodrik demonstrated a continued presence of mind by sending a passing servant to fetch them some spiced wine.
Once they'd been served, Catelyn waited until they were alone again. The fires had been stoked and fresh candles set out in the candelabras positioned at either end of the high table. Normally unused during the day, the Great Hall was usually prepped for the night ahead at that hour and the servants used to having the run of the place. Being in there at that moment felt like being an obstacle in the road. Even after all these years, the North had ways of making her feel out of place.
"Whatever I do by him, it will be the wrong thing," she explained, toying with the stem of her goblet.
"Then don't do anything," advised Rodrik. "The boy's not your problem. Leave it to Lord Eddard."
"I know you're right," she sighed.
Soothing her nerves with a long sip of the spiced wine, she caught Rodrik rising to his feet from the tail of her eye.
"Excuse me, my lady, there's something I need to attend to."
With that, he left her to her wine and her thoughts. She couldn't even remember what she was doing before Jon ploughed into her in the yard. Sansa and Arya would be with Septa Mordane; Robb would be training with Theon; Bran was being regaled with Old Nan's stories by the ancient's own fireside and Jon was now cowering in some unknown corner of the castle. As in so many other things, the only one to remain unaccounted for.
She brought her hands to the rim of the goblet and gave the contents a swirl, as though they might reveal her errant charge's current whereabouts from within the opaque depths. But the mini whirl-pool inside revealed nothing but the scratched bowl of the cup itself. A Stark Direwolf snarled at her accusingly from a banner hung on the back wall of the hall; Winter is Coming, it promised. This far north, it wasn't so much as a threat, but more a statement of fact. Unlike her own house words: Family, Duty, Honour. They were words to live by, as old Hoster Tully had drummed in to Lysa and her, when they were girls growing up in Riverrun. Now that she had accounted for her family, she knew she had a duty to find the boy. On her honour.
Draining what was left of her wine, she got to her feet and swept from the hall with her skirts hitched over her boots lest she should fall. Again. Such strong drink so early in the day had left her light headed, a feeling exacerbated momentarily as she stepped out into the bracingly cold afternoon. She had last seen Jon near the yard, where the boys like to practise sword play and it seemed as good a place as any to begin. But as she crossed the yard, Rodrik emerged from Mikken's forge looking flushed from the heat of the furnaces inside. He inclined his head deferentially as he approached her.
"I thought he might have sought sanctuary with Mikken, but no joy."
The worry clouded his expression for just a moment. A small, fleeting thing that she would have missed, had she blinked. But she caught it all the same. But she dismissed it with a shrug.
"Robb is bound to have seen him," she reasoned. "They're joined at the hip."
But moments later and Robb was looking up at them nonplussed, from where he sat beside a whetstone in the yard, blunt sword in hand. "He said something about joining the Night's Watch."
Things had been bad that morning, but not that bad. Catelyn rolled her eyes before thanking her eldest son and asking him to keep an eye out. But even in her heart of hearts, she knew the boy would easily cover for the one he regarded as a full-blooded brother.
"It's been more than two hours now," she stated, as they crossed the yard back towards the Castle.
"Long enough my lady, but not long enough to have vanished altogether," Rodrik answered.
If something happened to the boy, Catelyn knew it would be she who was blamed. His melancholy nature was blamed on her not loving him; his taciturn moods were her fault for not showing him enough attention and his skittering nerves were her fault because he was scared of her, although she had never once given him reason to be. "Organise a search of the Castle; I want him found before his father gets home."
Jon had never been beyond the walls of Winterfell before. Not on his own, at any rate. Once, several years ago, he had managed to slip beyond the same postern gate he had just escaped from again. But one of the staff had seen him; they ran across the thoroughfare as though they'd been set on fire and managed to catch his wrist before steering him back to safety and straight to his father for a thorough telling off. He had been packed off to the bed with the threat of a spanking ringing in his ears, should a repeat performance ever be forthcoming. But it was only because he was so little, back then. So little that the world outside had made him feel like a loose leaf being blown on the wind. Too small to be significant, and at the mercy of elements far beyond his own control.
Things were different now. He had to find the main road and intercept his father as he returned from dealing with the small folk farther north. If Lady Stark got to him first, she would make out that that morning's incident was all his fault, like he deliberately set out to humiliate her in front of the entire household staff. No matter what he said to the contrary, Lord Stark would side with his wife over him just to make her feel better about having an unwanted bastard under her roof. It was the unfairness of it all that got to him. He had been there before and he wasn't about to let it happen again. If he got to Lord Eddard first, he could put his side of the story without interruption and make sure he got a fair hearing.
So he trudged along the seemingly endless road, wrapped up in an oversized fur that trailed the ground behind him, constantly listening out for the sound of approaching hoof beats. When he looked back over his shoulder, Winterfell had vanished from view round one of the bends in the road and down a steep hill. He couldn't guess at how long it had been, but the sun still at its apex in the sky told him it wasn't so very late. His father would still be busy, and he needn't expect him to appear any time soon. But no matter, his nerves still prickled unpleasantly. It was like swimming in a shallow pool, before suddenly realising your feet could no longer touch the bottom and you were pulling along by the invisible current. Adrift.
If he turned around now, Jon was reasonably confident he could find his way home again. But his stubborn streak – the one cursed already by many who knew him – screamed against any such notion. If he did stop, he merely dug the heels of his boots into the rocky, frozen ground before trudging onwards again. Eventually, he reached a small settlement of wattle and daub dwellings set against a steep hillside, where it was sheltered from the worst of the Northern winds. As he passed, an old woman with a crooked back emerged from one of the doorways and watched him as he passed. He had whipped himself up into such a dark mood that all he could do was glower at her, until it occurred to him that these could be the small folk his father had come to see. There was no sign of the Stark banners anywhere; no menacing Direwolf growling at the cowed populace from fluttering silks. But he thought it worth a try, anyway.
"Has the Lord of Winterfell passed through here?"
The old woman looked at him, narrowing her eyes before stretching her neck out to see him better. It didn't look promising. A concern fully realised as the woman merely reclined soundlessly back into her squat little dwelling, slamming the makeshift door behind her. Wonderful, he thought to himself. To compound matters, by the time he passed the settlement, the sun was sinking low behind the distant hills; dusk settling like a shroud over small folk and Jon alike.
Arya shot through the hazy dusk like a bolt of lightning. Her cloak, only fastened in place at her throat, billowed out behind her while Septa Mordane's pitiable wail trailed in the atmosphere. "Arrryyyaaa!" But Ned laughed. He leaned down from the saddle of his Destrier, ready to catch hold of her and sweep her into the saddle in front of him, which he did in one fluid, graceful movement. Her squeal of delight lifted his sagging spirits after a day of grinding business among the hard pressed small folk. Once she was secure, he carefully fasted her tiny hands to the horse's reins. She had no gloves on, but then she always seemed utterly impervious to the cold, the rains and the snows anyway. She was still smiling when he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
Sometimes, as Arya grew, Ned would look at her and remember another girl who once lived with the walls of Winterfell. A girl long gone, but whose memory seemed to linger round every corner and in every chamber. Often, he heard the unexpected clash of steel sounding from the yard. He would look from his chamber windows and expect to see her still, standing in triumph over some poor squire she'd knocked into the dirt, Benjen's sword held high over her head in triumph. "I yield! I yield!" the squires all whined from on their bellies, her feet. But the only death blow Lyanna had ever dealt was to their male pride. During those moments, their gaze would meet across the yard and they would both laugh. It echoed down the years, reaching Ned again as he cantered his youngest child around the yard for some fun and real laughter. Not just the laughter of ghosts. Being up in the saddle of a powerful war horse thrilled Arya, so tiny and yet so powerful already.
Other people, those household staff old enough to remember, had noticed the resemblance too. Ned had lost count of how many times someone had said something, then cut themselves off while blushing profusely, as though mention of Lyanna Stark would ignite another blazing grief in him. How he hated that feeling of being treated like a china doll. To jolt himself out of his rapidly maudlin mood, Ned cantered the Destrier back over to his reassembling host, by the portcullis he had not long ridden through. There was still no sign of Catelyn by the main entrance, nor the boys, contrary to her promise. Only Septa Mordane had arrived, with Sansa still standing quietly at her side. Two sisters had never been more chalk and cheese to each other as these.
"I hope you've been good to your sister today, or there'll be no more horse rides for you for a while," he warned, sending up a silent prayer he wouldn't have to honour it.
"Oh yes," she replied, twisting her neck around so that she was facing him. Her grey eyes shone black in the gathering night. "I helped her play the Find Jon game."
Ned exchanged a look with Jory Cassel as they moved off toward the stables, before looking back down at Arya. Once more, she was focused on the horse, now running one hand through the beast's mane.
"I see," he replied, guardedly. "And what precipitated this thrilling sounding new game?"
"Was Jon also playing the Find Jon Game? Did he have to find himself?" Jory asked, grinning.
"No, silly, Jon was hiding so everyone had to find him," explained Arya, with great patience. "He's really good at it, too."
Hodor was already at the stable doors, beaming his benign beam at them as he waited for the horses to be handed over. Ned dismounted and stood at the horse's side, holding his arms open for Arya to slide into. She did, but only reluctantly. But once she had been separated from the animal, she wrapped her arms around Ned's neck and nuzzled close as she could and settled in fast.
"So, who did win?" he asked, curious. Already, doubts were nagging at him about the true nature of this 'game'.
"Oh, no one yet. Everyone's still searching; even Mother," she broke off, looking puzzled as she frowned up at him. "Does that mean Jon's winning?"
Ned frowned, tightening his grip on her as carried her towards the castle. "If he is, it'll be a pyrrhic victory at best if it's your mother who finds him."
Even after depositing Arya back into the arms of Septa Mordane, Eddard found no sign of Cat or the boys inside the Keep. Inside the Great Hall, the servants had begun laying out platters of food, ready for the evening meal, but no one was inside to even begin preparing to eat. Not even the older boys, who were usually famished after a hard day's training. When he did find Catelyn, it was as she was rapidly descending the narrow, twisting staircase of Maester Luwin's turret in the west wing. Her face was flushed; loose strands of auburn hair were falling loose from the plait that hung down to her waist. She came to abrupt halt, fixing him with a look that seemed to suggest she hadn't been expecting him. Even her hands were curled into fists as they hitched up the hems of her skirts as she been dashing down the stone steps.
"Ned!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "Is your son with you?"
The pronoun grated on his nerves. 'Your' son; a term of reference used exclusively for Jon. But he hadn't time to grow cranky over trivialities now.
"What?" he retorted. "Of course not. I left him in your care."
Her brow creased, mouth tightening as though she wanted to say something fast but was having second thoughts. For a moment, it even looked as though she was about to retreat backwards up the stairs again.
"Cat, what's going on?" he demanded, feeling the first flicker of impatience flaring inside him.
"He's gone," she finally blurted out. "He just ran off, Ned, no one's seen him since early this afternoon."
It seemed to take a moment for what she was saying to sink in. However once it did, the understanding brought with it a sudden surge of hot panic.
"Gods, Cat, I left him with you for one afternoon and now he's gone!" he began. "Jon wouldn't have run off for nothing, he's not a simpleton. What exactly happened?"
If they had been searching the castle as long as Arya implied, then it was clear that Jon wasn't actually in the castle. A thought that added a tinge of sickening worry to Ned's initial panic. All feelings not abetted when Catelyn continued to look scrunched up with worry. She dithered over her explanations, skirting round the issue and indirectly giving him more cause for concern. Some stupid accident out in the yard. He didn't know whether to be angry with Catelyn for overreacting, or angrier still with Jon for doing the same and running for the hills.
Wordlessly, he turned away from her. But before he could walk, her hands fell on his shoulders and turned him back round. Catelyn had recovered herself and was standing tall before him, now. An expression of emboldened clarity on her face as she cupped his chin in her hands.
"I swear Ned, I have been searching for that boy from the moment he went missing," she said, her voice heavy with urgency. "I wouldn't let any child wander around lost and frightened. Surely you of all people know that?"
Slowly, his conflicting emotions abated as he looked her in the eye. A look she easily returned. But it did nothing to alter the fact that the child was out there somewhere, alone and in danger. More danger than anyone could ever know. There were times, like this, when he yearned to tell her; when the truth weighed heavy in his gut like a lead weight he was condemned to bear for the rest of his days. In silence, he took a backwards step.
"Get Hodor to saddle the horses," he said, addressing no one in particular. "Form up a search party, we ride out immediately."
Catelyn stepped around him to see that his orders were fulfilled; Ned quick to follow her anyway. All the while, an old promise he made many years before came back to haunt him. So strong, it brought the faint scented traces of blue winter roses with it. He could almost feel her there, at his shoulder. Promises made, bound him in invisible chains. Memories he had to kick back into the depths of his mind one more time as he mobilised his men to ensure that old promised remained fulfilled.
TBC. Thanks again for reading and apologies if this has been done to death. Anyway, a review would be lovely, if you have a minute.