Catelyn and Ned lay in bed, content in each others arms. They had just made love, and Catelyn had cherished every moment, knowing it may be the last time they were together like this before Ned rode South. She secretly hoped another Stark would grow within her. Rickon was nearly six, and her arms felt empty for lack of a baby to cradle, the room bare without a cradle in the corner. She was not as young as she had been with the others, but still young and strong enough for another birth. She couldn't help but think she was trying to refill her nest as the little birds began to leave her one by one. They would all be going South soon enough, Sansa, Arya, Jon, Bran. Only Robb and Rickon left, and Robb a man grown and acting Lord of Winterfell. He'd be marrying soon enough, and the grandchildren would come. One more child of her own would be a blessing. Another girl perhaps, or another sweet boy like Rickon. They grew up too fast - Bran would be a man soon enough, and she would have to set about finding a suitable match for him. Jon and Robb should be married by now, something that worried her.
"I don't want to leave you." Ned said quietly, holding her close and interrupting her thoughts. "I belong here, with you."
"Perhaps you should stay, my love. I don't want you to leave."
"I could tell Robert I just can't leave Winterfell." Ned pondered, knowing it would never work. "Will you be alright, without me?" Catelyn gave a wry smile.
"I'll try and survive."
A knock at the door disturbed her thoughts, and her head whipped towards it. "Who is it?"
"It's Maester Luwin, my Lord." A voice Catelyn couldn't place, probably a steward, called back to her.
"Come in." Normally, Catelyn would not allow anyone to see her in bed, but Maester Luwin had delivered all her children, and seen every inch of her - there was no need for false modesty. He entered the room, his grey cloak blowing slightly in the cool night air, and he clutched a scroll in his hand. Catelyn shivered in the cold draft drifting through the room - Ned always opened a window in her chambers, the heat from the hot springs flowing through the thick walls being too much for his cool Northern blood.
Maester Luwin handed her the scroll, which Catelyn took cautiously. It was unusual there was news for her, rather than Ned, and especially in the middle of the night.
"A rider in the night," Luwin spoke. "News from your sister." Catelyn raised an eyebrow - what was so important her sister would send a rider, rather than a raven? Turning the scroll to break the seal, she recognised the dark blue wax, and the mark stamped upon it.
"This is from the Eyrie," she said aloud. "What's she doing at the Eyrie? She hasn't been back there since her wedding." She broke the seal, and read the words rapidly. Glancing up at the men in the room, she rushed to the grate and began building a fire.
"What news?" Asked Ned, watching his wife carefully. She was normally so calm and considered in her actions, and what she was doing now was panicked and frantic.
"Lysa's fled from the capital. She says Jon Arryn was murdered - by the Lannisters. She says the King is in danger!"
"She's fresh widowed Cat, she doesn't know what she's saying." Ned was by her side now, watching as she set fire to the paper.
"Lysa's head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter. The Lannisters are dangerous people, Ned. If Jon Arryn had set against them, they would destroy him." Catelyn paused, trying to process the information running through her mind. "You must go South, there is no question of it now. Robert needs you. He's surrounded by Lannisters - if you don't take the job, they'll put Tywin or the Imp in your place, and then he'll have no friends to protect him."
Ned nodded - he was reluctant to leave the North, but Robert was like a brother to him, and any doubt about leaving Winterfell had been erased from his mind. He hoped Catelyn and Lysa were wrong - that it was just concern spurned by the Lannister's reputation for killing anybody who stood in their way. If Cercei's brat of a son took the throne, the Lannisters could cement their reputation as the most powerful family in the Kingdoms. Lust for power was a trait Ned greatly disliked, and if it was his duty to stop such a thing happening, he would perform it with pleasure.
Jon looked around him, everything he owned packed into trunks. His sword was by his side, and he felt excited by the adventure that lay before him. He had never left Winterfell for longer than a few days here and there, and the thought of heading to the South, in a city he really knew nothing about, was something that both intimidated and excited , there was a rapid knock at the door, which opened without a word. Robb stood in the doorway, his face white as a ghost.
"Bran." That was the only word he said, and he ran from the doorway. Jon followed him at speed, his heart thumping against his ribs. They ran through the castle and out into the courtyard. Jon saw a crowd of people, and pushed through them. Before him lay the twisted body of his little brother, his chest still rising and falling, but his legs stuck out at odd angles. Catelyn had been warning Bran that he would fall, but Jon never believed it would happen.
"What can we do?" Jon asked, his voice shaking. "Where's Maester Luwin?" Leaning down to touch Bran
"He's on his way." Said Robb. "I thought I should get you, your room's closest. Someone's already gone to fetch Mother and Father." Robb's eyes never left the limp body of their little brother, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, clinging onto hope that he would live.
"Get a plank of wood from the carpenter, and some strips of cloth." Jon said to a servant behind him, who nodded and scuttled away immediately. Turning back, he saw Robb look at him like he was mad. "I saw a man fall from a ladder once, he looked like this, they carried him away on wood." He explained. "The cloth's to tie him down with, so he doesn't fall off. We can't move him until Maester Luwin's here anyway."
"He never falls." Robb muttered in reply, unable to process anything else. Hearing shouting, the boys turned to see Maester Luwin run towards them, robes billowing. Jon and Robb moved out the way so he could kneel close to Bran, running his hands gently over his legs and up his torso. The old man looked grim, and Jon wanted to vomit. Staring into the distance, Jon noticed Queen Cersei emerge from a door that only lead to one place - the high tower. Bran must have been up near there climbing, but what business did she have there? Jon slipped away, taking the back route to the high tower so he didn't attract attention. Hovering by the bottom of the stairs, he saw the Queen's brother coming down - fastening his britches. Jon pressed himself against the wall, and listened to Jaime Lannister's footsteps disappear in the other direction. What were they doing up there? Jon knew in that moment that they must have had something to do with Bran's fall, though he had no way of proving it. He wasn't thinking straight - why would Jaime Lannister have any reason to throw a ten year old boy from a tower? Shaking his head, Jon went back the way he came, running into his father.
"What's happened? Poole said there's been an accident."
"It's Bran, he fell from the tower. He's breathing, but he's not awake." Ned gulped with fear - for all his typical Northern gruffness, his children were his emotional weak spot, and his face drained of all colour. "Come, Maester Luwin's with him now." Jon lead the way, both men running back to their kin.
Bran had been moved onto the plank, and Jon could see women had torn their dresses to provide cloth to fasten him down. He was as stiff as the plank he was resting on now, he looked like a corpse. He was as pale as Winter snow, save for the huge, plum coloured bags underneath his eyes. Jon ran over to help carry the make shift gurney. Catelyn was by Ned's side now, her face dripping with tears as she sobbed uncontrollably. Pulling her back, Ned held her tightly as they watched their second youngest son be carried away. Robb shouted over to his parents that they were taking Bran to Luwin's chambers to be properly looked at. Cat immediately wriggled to be free to go with them, but Ned held her tight.
"Let Luwin examine him in private. You don't need to see that." Ned knew how bad Bran's injuries were likely to be, especially if he'd fallen from the top of the tower where he loved to climb. "We'll go to him as soon as Luwin's dressed the wounds. We'll be right outside the door." She nodded reluctantly. As she watched her little boy be carried away into the castle, she felt helpless, sick with fear and entirely at the Gods' mercy.
Hours later, Catelyn sat by Bran's bedside, making a prayer wheel as she had done so many years ago as she nursed Jon through the pox. Unlike the pox, there was no time limit on Bran's injuries and no telling whether he would recover at all. That night when Jon was hovering between life and death was a long one, but at least she had known it would be over, one way or the other. There was no telling how long Bran would sleep for - or if he would ever wake. His back was broken, and he would never walk again even if he did regain consciousness. He could never father a child, never ride a horse, never climb again. What kind of a life could that be?
He looked so peaceful, almost as if he was sleeping naturally. He had always been a handsome boy, and it was only now that she could see herself in him - he had the Tully nose, her long eyelashes, he looked like Edmure did when he was a boy. He was a Stark in colouring, that deep brown hair shining like a polished conker. Truly, he was the best of both of them. She felt as if she would burst with love for him, with desperation to see his eyes open again, to see his smile. She increased her weaving, staring down at the reeds as they took shape.
There was a knock at the door, and she called for them to come in. It was deep into the night, and she wondered who would still be awake at this hour. Ned had stayed with her for hours, until she told him to get some sleep. The door opened, and Jon poked his head round. She smiled a little, her first smile in hours, as he walked over to the bed. He was in his nightclothes, hair wild and unbrushed. She was glad he'd had a hair cut for the Royal visit, it was a little less like a bird nest than normal.
"I couldn't sleep." He said. "I was too worried. I had to see him. I won't stay for long, I promise."
"Stay as long as you want, sweetheart." She said softly, still weaving. Jon pulled a chair away from the corner. They sat in silence for a while. Jon just stared at Bran, willing him to wake up. "Have I ever told you how you came to be named Stark?" Catelyn asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was small, and she was wondering whether this was the right time to tell him this story.
"No, you haven't." Jon replied, wondering why this mattered now. He knew he was a bastard by birth, but had no desire to know any more.
"When you were a babe, a year old maybe, you came down with the pox." This was news to Jon, though it did explain those round scars he had on his chest. "There's something I've never told you. When your father brought you home after the war, I loathed you. You were Jon Snow, not Stark, then." Jon stared at her, feeling shattered.
"You - you hated me?" He asked, not sure if he'd understood her correctly. He had always seen her as his mother, and had naively assumed she had always seen him as her son.
"Yes." She answered him, feeling as terrible as she did on that night. "I hated you. When Ned first brought you home, I did a terrible thing. I prayed to the Gods that you would die." Jon looked as if she'd slapped him, but she felt compelled to continue her story. "I was the worst person in the world. I was young, almost as young as you are now. My husband had brought a stranger's baby home with him and demanded he be raised alongside my own son..I couldn't cope with your father's betrayal. That night, I sat with you through the darkness. Maester Luwin said that if you survived the night, you would survive. So I cooled your little forehead with water, sang to you, did anything I could to soothe your cries. That night, I made another promise to the Gods. If they let you live, I would be your mother. You would not be Jon Snow, you would be Jon Stark. They answered my prayers, and from that day, you have been my son."
"You wanted me dead." Jon uttered quietly, trying to comprehend what the woman he'd called Mother for all his life had just said. "You prayed to the New Gods that I would die." Jon was a staunch believer in the Old Gods, as were all the Starks, though Robb and the others also prayed to the New. Jon had never been inclined to, and Catelyn hadn't forced it on him.
"I did. And it has haunted me ever since." Her voice was small, her fingers still.
"Is that the only reason you've been a mother to me - because you promised the Gods? You didn't want the death of a little bastard boy on your head, so you made a deal with your stupid Gods!" Jon stood up, shaking. He walked over to Catelyn, who stood up to face him. "Did you ever love me? All those times I called you mama, did you wince? How about when I came crying to you because someone called me bastard - were you glad?!" He took a shaky breath. "Do you wish it was me lying there, instead of your true son?" Catelyn lost control, and slapped him hard across the face. He stared at her, utterly shocked, and turned away from her and left the room. He was shaking with rage, but cared too much about his brother to slam the door. Catelyn stood there in the black of the night, the prayer wheel lying forgotten on the floor. How could she be so foolish to tell him that story, especially now? She had loved him for all this time, and now he despised her and saw what kind of a woman she was capable of being. Turning to look at her sleeping son, she wept, not knowing who for.
Bran's condition improved - he was still not awake, but Maester Luwin was convinced that the danger had now passed, and that he would stir in time. Catelyn clung to this hope, but Ned was doubtful. There had been no signs Bran was coming round - no movement, nothing. Robert was pressing him to march South, and Ned couldn't refuse him. The royal visitors had been suitably unsure of what to do when your host's son was crippled. Robert had visited briefly, telling Catelyn he would think of the boy. The pompous Prince Joffrey had reluctantly paid his respects too, shadowed by his Hound, sounding utterly insincere. If Catelyn wasn't so desperate in worry for her son, she would laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Queen Cersei had visited, and Catelyn had been genuinely touched by the telling of Cersei's own grief, and believed in the sincerity of her promise to pray to the Mother. Two women, so utterly different, yet united in grief only a mother could know.
The castle was busy with preparations to head South, and the thought of saying goodbye to three children all at once was something unbearable to her. She had not spoken to Jon since the night of Bran's accident. He had visited while Catelyn was out attending to personal matters, which was only for a few minutes at a time. She had passed him in the corridor on a few occasions, and he had avoided her eyes. She tried to speak to him, but he brushed her away. She didn't blame him at all.
On the morning they were due to leave, Arya, Sansa and Jon all came together to say goodbye to their mother and Bran.
"Goodbye Bran," Sansa said quietly, tears in her eyes. "I'll see you when you're better. I'll be properly betrothed to Prince Joffrey then, and you can come to Kings Landing to visit all of us. Maybe for the wedding." Catelyn couldn't help but roll her eyes - Sansa's desperate desire to marry that vile boy astounded her. "I love you, brother." Sansa delicately pecked his cheek, and Catelyn smiled.
"Have you remembered to say goodbye to Old Nan?" Catelyn asked. Her voice was raw from crying, and her body ached with exhaustion. Her other children had been neglected while she sat vigil at Bran's bedside, but she knew they would understand. Sansa nodded. "Good. Now, come here." She held her arms out, and Sansa walked round the bed and gave her mother a tight embrace. "Be a good girl for your father."
Arya was next to say goodbye. "Bye Bran. I'm sorry about beating you at archery. Maybe when you're older, you'll be better than me. Maybe." She gave a mischievous smile. "But just wake up soon, and then you can come to Kings Landing and we can watch all the tourneys and knights fight together." She kissed him on the hair. She walked round to her mother, and gave her a fierce hug.
"Stay out of trouble." Catelyn warned. "No sword fighting with the boys. You're a Lady of Winterfell, and I expect you to act like it." Arya looked down at her shoes. "I love you both, my darling girls." Both girls nodded, and a voice began calling for them. They ran out the room as they heard Septa Mordane's footsteps get closer. Only Jon was left.
"Goodbye Bran. When you're better, and can come and join us, I'll show you around. I'll be King Robert's squire, so I can show you things not everyone gets to see. You will wake up, I know it. I wish I could be here to see you when you do." He sighed. "Mother."
"Yes?" Catelyn had a lump in her throat.
"I'm sorry." He didn't look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on Bran.
"Not as sorry as I am, my love. Believe me."
"I do." His brow furrowed. "I'm sorry that I shouted in front of Bran. I can't forgive you yet, but you are my mother."
"That's good enough for now." She walked round to him and embraced him fiercely. "You are my son. I was a foolish, jealous young woman. Deciding to be your mother was the best decision I've ever made. I haven't regretted a second." Jon smiled. "You are my son." she repeated. Jon smiled.
"And you are my mother." She stood back and brushed his hair out his eyes. "I'll miss you."
"And I'll miss you. Go now, or you'll hold everyone up. Be sure to write to me. And don't let Robert give you too much wine." Jon shook his head, and with one last kiss to his brother's head, he left to say goodbye to Rickon.
Jon saddled his horse in the yard, preparing for the long ride was by his side, and Jon wondered if the young pup was strong enough to walk the long way to Kings Landing. Jon had said goodbye to almost everyone, but hadn't been able to find Robb. He was pleased to see his brother make away across the yard.
"I've been looking for you!" He shouted, and Robb grinned.
"Father's been going over some last minute information I need to know as acting Lord." Robb explained, the grin still plastered on his face. Jon knew he was excited at his new responsibility, but couldn't help but wonder if he felt scared too.
"Lord of Winterfell," Jon sighed. "Don't burn it down." Robb punched him playfully on the arm. "I just said goodbye to mother and Bran. Have you seen the girls?"
"Aye, I said goodbye an hour ago. Bran's not going to die, I know it. And Mother? Have you two made it up?" Jon had told Robb what had happened, reluctantly, and Robb was just as shocked to hear of Catelyn's hatred as Jon had been.
"Aye, she was very sorry. I just can't help but think maybe she still hates me. If you hate someone enough to pray that they'll die as a babe - does it ever go away?" He tightened the reigns on the horse, staring into it's mane.
"Don't be ridiculous, she loves you. So, Kings Landing. Think of all the pretty girls you'll meet." Robb was smiling, and Jon knew he was jealous. There weren't many girls in Winterfell their own age, and all of those that were were either married or servants who were too scared to look the Stark boys in the face should they lose their hearts - and their jobs.
"Maybe I'll bring one back for you." Jon teased, ruffling his elder brother's hair and getting a punch on the arm in return. "I better get going, everyone else has ridden out."
"Father hasn't, he's just saying goodbye to Mother and Bran now." Jon nodded, and pulled his brother into a fierce hug.
"Farewell, Lord." Jon said into his ear, chuckling.
"And you, Squire." Robb held on tightly, reluctant to let him go and say goodbye to his best friend. He wished he could go too, to experience the capital as a young man. Duty bound him to Winterfell, and although he was happy to act as Lord while his father served as Hand, he wished he could have a little freedom.
A/N: Some dialogue has been taken from the show and books, as this is intertwined with the canon. I hope you enjoyed, please leave a review if you would like.
