AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi readers new and old! This is an updated rewrite of this chapter. Again not much change except Stefan has been changed to Matt, and word of Nadia grabbing luggage from her parents' place is no longer here. Where she got her things from is still a mystery for much later down the road...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of its characters. These are the property of HBO and George R.R. Martin. I own Nadia alone.

She wakes in a cold sweat, scream dying on her lips at the sight of the very familiar stone walls. She almost finds the irony amusing, telling herself she's safe here where she's a captive, safe in a world where everyone dies.

Black eyes flicker to the window; the sun is just peeking over the horizon and from what she's gathered that'd make it about 5:30. It would still be many hours till most rest of Winterfell wakes. Peeling back the covers, revealing her near naked form, Nadia lazily shifts herself from the bed. Her feet pad across the stone to the window. Eyes closed, she relishes in the cool air to kiss away the heat from her skin and hopefully some of the tension she'd been carrying.

The dreams are becoming a rather frequent affair, this being the fourth night this week. In her entire twenty years, Nadia could only recall four dreams, all of which had been nightmares. The first two were the same; she'd been trapped in her home, chased by zombies. The third time, she'd been trapped in her school with her friend during a zombie apocalypse. The fourth time, she recalls being pleasant until a shadow of a woman appeared; the woman was there for barely three seconds, but there was something about the way she called Nadia's name that frightened her. She mayn't have been a zombie, but her aura reeked of death.

It seems nothing had changed since she'd arrived in this second Earth. She never remembers her dreams, only her nightmares... but now she's been having them nearly every night.

Biting her lip, she turns away from the window, determined to push the nightmares from her mind. Slipping on a floral cami and black leggings over her underwear, she moves to the mirror to fix her hair and draw her eyes. A large part of her realises that she's not dressing up to head out to Uni or to hang out with her friends, and yet she can't seem to shake the pattern she'd gotten into these past few years (after she'd stopped being stubborn and accepted that eyeliner with the right lipstick is a godsend). She'd been honestly surprised to find the small make-up kit in her suitcase; in fact she'd been surprised by half of what she'd found. Truthfully, Nadia can scarcely remember the night she'd gone to collect the last of her things… It had all been a blur of her and Matt going through her old room, grabbing whatever and throwing it in her bag.

Blinking quickly, Nadia tries to stop the wetness of her eyes from ruining her all her hard work with the eyeliner. Ruffling her short raven locks just a tad bit, she glances out the window again. Grey skies stare back at her, the cool breeze now more biting to her more alert senses. Throwing on black blazer, Nadia stumbles into her boots and out of the room.

She pauses outside her door, eyes boring into that across from hers.

During her short time in Winterfell, she's become familiar with castle. Safe to say, she was a little perturbed by the fact that Robb's chambers lie across from hers. Did he hear her screams? How many nights had he heard them? Why did he never bother to check on her?

Blinking she realises she's not sure what is a better option; having him ignore her or having him see her like that again, vulnerable, weak, so unlike herself. Given she's barely said a word to him since that night in his room, and even gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him or risk he actually act on his threat of throwing her in the stocks, Nadia chooses the former.

Her feet lead her through the empty hallways. Few guards nod at her in passing, but for the most part they ignore her. It's as if by some silent code the people of Winterfell have accepted their strange new guest without question. They may stare and whisper but no one outrightly questions her identity and background. That's good enough for her now.

Arriving at her destination, Nadia stops dead in her tracks at the sight that awaits her. A pair of Tully blue eyes stare at her and she stares back. The older woman's eyes are calculating, the tension raw, palpable.

Realising she looks like an idiot just standing there, the nineteen year old clears her throat. "Sorry, I-um. I didn't think anyone would be here. Normally no one is but... you probably don't even care. I'll just go," she rushes.

But just as she's about to turn on her heel, Lady Stark's calls out to her, beckoning to come forth. Nadia swallows the lump in her throat. Hesitantly, she obeys the woman, a little fearful of the commanding tone she'd spoken with. It's not a long walk, inherently she knows this. And yet each step feels a second too long under Lady Stark's scrutinising gaze. Nadia can feel those Tully blue eyes tracing her figure; studying her expression, her posture, her gait; assessing her every attribute in this short yet painfully long walk.

It's been days since the her standoff in Robb's room. If Nadia knows anything about Robb from the show, it's that no confidant is more trusted than his mother. Whatever ill-opinion he carries of her now, no doubt he's shared it with his mother.

Nadia really wishes now that it was Cersei who'd pushed Bran. She'd gladly give up that bitch to the Starks. Why the hell does Jaime have to actually be a worthwhile character?

Nadia comes to a standstill, just across the table from Cat, her mind still weighing up the pros and cons of Jaime Lannister, as if she's back with Alyssa and Avie marathoning the show. All the while, Cat still seems to be making her assessment of the girl. The red-haired woman stares up at Nadia, expression hard for a scarce moment. Then… "Take a seat, dear," she gestures for Nadia. Nadia's shock must carry through to her expression, for the woman chuckles a little, insisting this time that Nadia join her. "I don't bite."

Forcing a smile, Nadia nervously obeys. They sit for some seconds in quiet, only the sound of Catelyn's cutlery echoing through the great room. "You're not hungry?"

Before the girl can respond, her stomach growls loudly. She mutters a bashful, "Sorry," hands wrapping around her torso, as if to silence the rumblings.

"Eat. That's what you came here for. Do not let me stop you."

This feels like a test. Of what, Nadia's not entirely sure. Ignoring her craving for the platter of bacon sitting right there, she reaches for the bread. Correction, she takes a single roll of bread and nibbles at it. Catelyn is still watching her, though more subtly this time, from beneath her lashes.

The silence consumes them once again. And it is painful.

Just when Nadia thinks she should excuse herself feigning illness - only halfway through her small roll - Catelyn breaks the tension. "I'd like to thank you, Nadia."

The raven-haired girl looks as if she's been slapped. Lips slightly parted, wide doe eyes. A crease appears between her brows, "My lady-"

"Please. You saved my Bran's life. And mine. If you were a mother, you would understand that is a price that can never be repaid enough. I only wish I could have thanked you earlier."

The girl only just manages to stutter out, "Your welcome," completely taken aback by this show of gratitude.

The older woman takes this opportunity to apologise... "I have not been a good host. I hope you can forgive me?"

The girls shakes her head, furiously almost. "You don't have to apologise. Your son needed you."

Catelyn nods, "I hope Robb has been good to you. A better host than I at the very least."

Nadia seems conflicted to answer. Despite how icy things have been between herself and the younger man, she's not one to talk ill of a son to his parents, especially when he is understandably justified in his current opinion of her. "We may have our... issues. But Robb - Lord Robb, I mean - has been extremely kind and understanding, given... everything," she struggles out.

"Yes. My son has informed me of your gifts."

"Affliction, more like it." The girl's words are not meant for Catelyn's ears, but she can't help that particular slip of the tongue. Biting her lip Nadia drops her gaze, not wanting to see the look in Cat's eyes at her snark.

A tender hand finds its place on hers. "It must be difficult, being apart from your family in a time like this." It's strange to hear such pity from the older woman. Nadia feels undeserving of it. Giving Lady Stark a tight-lipped smile, she replies, "I dunno. I kinda get the feeling that the Convergence or whatever brought me here sorta triggered my… abilities... like a spark to the flame." Eyes dropping to their hands, she adds, "Even if it weren't the case, I don't think I could tell my parents. They aren't the most... understanding people."

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "Don't be. I loved my parents, despite our issues. They made it difficult at times… most of the time, but I loved them."

Catelyn smiles sympathetically. "Do you have siblings?"

She's not quite sure where the Lady is going with these questions, but for the time being she answers them. "No. When I was younger I loved the attention. The older I got… I wanted a big brother. Someone to take care of me, you know."

Catelyn nods empathetically. "I was the oldest daughter but I wanted that also. I found it a burden being the first. All that responsibility, caring for my siblings. Making sure they stayed out of trouble and behaved themselves for our parents. It didn't help that my dear baby brother - Seven bless him - was an utter fool. Still is." A small giggle escapes Nadia. The two women exchange a look as if to agree all boys are fools. "It's strange how that responsibility becomes less of a burden when it transfers to your children," Catelyn says. Her face and tone have grown serious in the short few seconds, causing Nadia to frown. "Would you like children someday?"

"Um…"

"Forgive me. I don't mean to pry."

"No, no it's fine," Nadia rushes, looking incredibly guilty, as if Catelyn's intrusiveness is her fault. "Not like my friends and I haven't talked about that sort of stuff. Babies. Names. Weddings. All that jazz." Catelyn can't help her surprise. Looking at the woman beside her - hands scraped and dirtied with mud, patch of grass and dust clinging to her shins and elbows where she's no doubt tripped over herself in her games with Rickon - the Lady Stark would have thought her to be of the same league as Arya, boyish and roguish and without feminine flair or interest; Not exactly one to discuss wistful girlish dreams… 'Just like Sansa.' The thought of her daughters so far away from her brings a twinge of pain and uncertainty to her heart.

The young maiden isn't ignorant to this subtle change, though she has little-to-no idea the cause of it. Softly she says, "Lady Stark?"

Shaking her head, Catelyn replies with a sheepish smile, "It seems my mind escaped me for a moment's thought." Robb would push her to explain. So would Ned. For this reason, Catelyn appreciates that Nadia doesn't and let's it be, offering only an understanding smile, her dark eyes shining with a little concern. "So, children?"

"Oh, um," Nadia chews her lip. "Yeah-Yes, I mean. At least it was yes. Not that it still isn't yes. It is. It's just a not now, yes. Not that it ever was a now-sort-of yes. I mean, well, I'm a bit too young to have kids. Especially now with everything going on, I mean my life is literally falling apart around my head, you know. Well, of course you know. Oh God, I'm not one to talk am I? I mean. You and Bran a-and the assassin-" the girls promptly bites her tongue, her cheeks flamed, wincing as she tries shake off her embarrassment. Catelyn is surprised Nadia has any breath left in her body to keep upright by the end of that rant. "I'm sorry. Sorry. I jus-I don't know why I said that. That was stupid. I'm stupid. I swear I have no brain to mouth filter. Really, I'm really sor-"

"Nadia." The girls silences herself, ducking her head to avoid looking the older woman in the face.

Catelyn's not sure what to make of this woman. Usually she's quite perceptive about people. Had she not felt her skin crawl when the Queen smiled at her dear Sansa, promising her sweet daughter to that spoilt blonde spawn of hers? Had she not felt the cool dread loom over her house as Ned brought back news of a Stag and Direwolf killed by each other's hand? Had she not warned Robb not to ride out into the woods that cool, chilling night, when the mist clung to the dirt and the crows cawed ravenously in their cages? The very same night she'd seen him return, from Bran's window, soaking through to the bone, pale-faced and icy blue eyes holding nothing but concern for the mysterious dark-haired figure wrapped within his arms, sharing his cloak and his heat. Had Catelyn not questioned his choice to bring a stranger into their home?

She's not normally so callous, to turn away those who need help. But Catelyn cannot deny the odd feeling that nagged at her when she'd seen this girl from afar and again when she'd delivered some obscure, unholy prophecy. Yet when Catelyn sees this girl now, she's not sure what to think. Yes, she still feels that nagging torment, though it's tamed, subdued; she believes it has more to do with the girl's… affliction… than with the girl herself.

Unclenching her jaw, she releases Nadia's hand. "My son is not sure what to make of you. He wants to trust you, but he believes that you are not a very trusting person. And I do not blame him," Catelyn speaks, commanding an ease and solemnity that a woman only gains after years of watching her Lord Husband do the very same. "We know nothing about you. You do not tell him the things you know." Nadia fidgets beneath her unwavering gaze, chewing her lips nervously as her eyes flicker about anywhere but Catelyn's face. "I am grateful for what you have done for Bran. But I must warn you that earning my trust is still a long ways away. Especially now."

"I know."

"I know you are not my enemy. But that doesn't mean you do not pose threat to my family. I need you to know that."

"Yes… my Lady." Catelyn observes, the clenched jaw and pursed lips that quiver ever so slightly. 'The girl does well to hide her distraught,' Perhaps the Lady Stark does feel the slightest bit guilty. Sighing, she adds, "I'm sorry I have disturbed your morning."

"N-no. You have every right, I guess. You're a mama looking out for her cubs."

"Pups," Catelyn corrects, though there's the smallest hint of a smile.

"Pups. Right. 'Cause they're Direwolves…" An awkward silence, hangs between them. After what appears to be serious internal conflict, Nadia utters, "Four."

"Pardon?"

"Four… You asked about children. I'd like four…" she trails off, uncertain and suddenly regretting mentioning that. Gosh, she's so awkward...

"Four?"

Chewing her bottom lip, Nadia nods. "Yeah… three boys and a girl. And hopefully in that order."

"So that she has big brothers to protect her?" Catelyn asks, correctly recalling Nadia's words.

"Yea-yes."

It changes nothing, alleviates none of Catelyn's doubts and questions regarding the girl. Yet she allows the corners of her lips to tug upwards, visibly. Warmly. "That sounds perfect."