CATELYN I
Catelyn made a point of telling Jon Snow to sit at the dais with them during supper. Ned's quiet words and hurt looks after their noon meal had made her want to tear her hair out, but she refused to lose her composure. She would have to show him that she was a dutiful wife, and above all else, understanding. Always understanding, but never understood.
What had he expected her to do that morning? To seat the boy at the dais during their meal, in Arya's place? To rip the servants from their own meal so they would prepare a spot for Jon Snow? The long tables below them had seemed a much better choice, since there were empty places and plenty of food available. She had not intended to offend anyone, but that seemed to be the case no matter what she did nowadays.
Supper that night was a quiet, awkward affair. Arya was present as well, thankfully. But it had the unfortunate effect of making Robb and Sansa tense, so Catelyn had tried to divert their attention by rearranging the seats.
With Ned and Catelyn at the center, she decided to place Robb and his wife to her left, and Sansa at the end, so she would have her brother, her good-sister, and her mother to talk to. To Ned's right sat Rickon, Bran, Arya, and Jon Snow. That lot got along better, so she would not have to worry about them. It was not an ideal arrangement, Catelyn knew, but it prevented everyone from being unhappy, and encouraged conversations.
The boy – the man, really –, Jon Snow, looked so much like her lord husband it hurt. She had failed to give Ned sons with the Stark looks, and the one trueborn child who took after her husband was a girl. The middle child. The wildest, most willful of all her children.
Catelyn loved her daughter with all her heart, of that there was no doubt. She could never hate the child she brought forth to this cruel world while her husband was away, fighting Balon Greyjoy, when the foolish lord had decided to crown himself King of the Iron Islands.
Yet Catelyn's hands were tied, figuratively speaking. Ned had made it clear that he would tolerate any and all of Arya's horrible decisions. Her husband was blinded by the love for his children and, as much as he denied it, Arya would always be his favorite.
The child who had the Stark looks, who had been compared to Lyanna Stark as a little girl, and now to Brandon Stark as a woman. Ghosts of the past. Two people who had died young. Lyanna had not accepted her place in the world, had rebelled, and had paid dearly for it. Brandon had been impulsive, not stopping to think about the consequences of his words and actions, and had been murdered by the Mad King.
It terrified Catelyn.
And people spoke. Cruel words about Catelyn, about Arya, about her husband's natural son, about Robb, about Robb's wife, about Sansa and her friend, the former steward's daughter. And it was as if they were twisting a knife in her heart with each word. Why can't they leave my family alone? Catelyn wondered.
She wished she had someone to confide in. Someone who would listen to her and understand her when she spoke, instead of taking offense, or brushing her off as cruel or shallow.
Catelyn had lost her mother when she was very young, months before her tenth nameday. She had long since forgotten her face and her voice. All she remembered was the sadness of her father, her little brother Edmure crying every night of the first year without their mother, her sister needing her guidance. She had to become the Lady of Riverrun too soon, and act as a mother to her sister and her brother, ensuring they did what was expected of them.
Catelyn did what was expected of her as well.
When her lord father took a ward, Petyr Baelish, she made sure to be gracious and hospitable, despite his humble birth. In time, she had warmed up to the younger boy, and had considered him to be another little brother. She had been glad for his presence, since it gave her true little brother Edmure a male friend to play with.
When she was two-and-ten, her lord father had arranged a betrothal between her and Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell. It was a splendid match, as it cemented a good alliance with the North. She had tried not to think of the tales of the Northern Kingdom, of the cold climate and the different customs, of the stranger she would have to marry, of leaving her home and her family. Brandon was five-and-ten at the time, not much older than her, but the thought was still intimidating.
Unfortunately, Petyr didn't agree with the match. Four years later, when the date for her wedding was set, he thought himself above his station, and demanded a duel for Catelyn's hand in marriage. It was foolish and embarrassing. Brandon Stark was a man grown, and Petyr scarcely a boy. Her betrothed spared the boy's life at her request, but still managed to gravely injure him.
Petyr was bedridden for a fortnight, with only Lysa and the maester to keep him company. He had refused to see Edmure, because her brother had squired for Brandon. And Catelyn herself felt it was not proper to visit him.
Things only worsened from that point, though Catelyn had been ignorant of it until the consequences were impossible to hide. Lysa had gotten with child by Petyr, and had nearly died birthing the little girl, nine months later; a natural daughter her sister named Alayne Rivers. Their lord father had been furious at them all. At Catelyn, for not knowing of the relationship. At Lysa, for falling in love with a boy of such low birth. At Petyr, for soiling and ruining his youngest daughter, and for the challenge for his eldest.
Lord Tully had sent Petyr away as soon as the maester had deemed it safe for the boy to travel, back to his family's lowly hold at the Fingers. That had been shortly before Brandon had ridden off to meet with Lord Rickard Stark, who was on his way to Riverrun for the wedding. Somewhere along the way, they had found out about Lyanna's abduction by Prince Rhaegar. From there, Brandon had left with a small party, rushing to King's Landing to demand for his sister's return.
Once the war broke out, and it seemed that the Riverlands' loyalty would have to be secured by the rebels, her father had hastily wed Catelyn and Lysa to Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Jon Arryn respectively. Ned had seemed a poor copy of his brother Brandon, and Jon Arryn was even older than her lord father.
It would have been wondrous that a high lord such as Lord Arryn would have wed Lysa, after she had birthed a natural child, but the old man had been wed twice, and had only managed to produce a stillborn daughter. No, the reason for his acceptance had been the necessary alliance between the Vale and the Riverlands, and because his nephew and, later, his cousin had both been slain; his only heirs. And, with Lysa being dishonored but proven fertile, Jon Arryn was assured that he would have an heir by her.
Catelyn had felt bad for her sister. With such a history, it was probable that Lord Jon Arryn was close to infertile. And, indeed, Lysa only had stillbirths and miscarriages for years; until she died birthing Lord Jon's only son, Robert Arryn. The boy would now be five-and-ten, and the heir to the Vale, though some rumored he was unfit for the position.
As for Catelyn's natural niece, Alayne had been sent off to live with Petyr Baelish at his keep. But she had turned up at the Bloody Gates one day, with an escort from Longbow Hall, begging for help. She had scarcely been a child, recently flowered, and her escape had been an ordeal she had only shared with Catelyn's uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, known as the Blackfish and the Knight of the Bloody Gate. Whatever the girl had told him had been enough for the old knight to gather a party and take ship to Baelish Keep, a dismal little hold in the smallest of the Fingers.
Petyr had been arrested by Ser Brynden, and had been taken to the sky cells of the Eyrie, the ancestral Arryn castle, to await Lord Arryn's judgment. However, because Jon Arryn had been the Hand of the King – and still was – he had to travel from King's Landing by ship, and it took him weeks to arrive at the Eyrie. The sky cells only had three walls, and the prisoners were welcome to "escape" by throwing themselves into the abyss to their certain deaths. And, Petyr Baelish had done just that. Rather than face justice for what he had done, he had chosen the coward's way out.
It hurt to think that the boy she had loved as a brother had turned into a monster. Catelyn would never forget the letter Ser Brynden had sent, the words often echoed in her mind and sent a shiver down her spine: I cannot speak of it, nor will I write it. It is heinous, what he did. And then, She looks like you when you were her age, Cat. She's a sweet girl.
Petyr's lands were granted to Alayne, and the girl was legitimized as a Tully by King Robert at Lord Arryn and Ser Brynden's request. She would stand to inherit from the Blackfish, since Lord Hoster Tully had wanted nothing to do with the girl. Lysa had been dead for a few years by then, so the Lord of the Vale had allowed the girl to join his own household and become her half-brother's caretaker.
Lysa had died ignorant of Petyr's true nature, Catelyn knew. Her rare letters to her older sister were always of praise to the little man who had put a babe in her belly and ruined her prospects. But Lysa never seemed to care. Sometimes she told Catelyn of her daughter Alayne, of how smart she was, like her father.
Though now she was a woman grown, four-and-twenty, if Catelyn's memory did not fail her.
Catelyn was engrossed in her thoughts as she ate her supper. Around her, the conversations between her children, her husband, and his natural son were quiet and polite. She was glad of it, knowing that they had been making a poor impression throughout the day.
Sansa spoke quietly with Jeyne Westerling – no, Stark, remember! – and Robb, and did her best to avoid whatever conversation was being had on the other side of the table. Mostly, she looked into her plate and only replied when addressed. The boys had all gotten it into their thick heads that she would feel better if no one spoke to her. And Arya was too wary of how Sansa would react to try and include her into the talks with their younger brothers and Jon Snow.
Catelyn wanted to think of a way to fix Sansa and Arya's relationship. Her heart twisted at the memories of the past year. When had things turned so sour?
To be sure, her daughters had never gotten along. No matter how hard Catelyn and Ned had tried, they could not make their daughters tolerate each other. And over the years, as Arya became more and more mannish, Sansa had become more and more scornful of her sister. But it had not been like this.
Of course, Arya gave as good as she got. And, lately, her own wrath had turned violent and unpredictable. The last time the sisters had argued, in the godswood for some reason Catelyn never found out, Bran had to tell Sansa to run back to the castle. He had returned with scratches and bruises, and refused to tell anyone what had happened. Arya had appeared hours later, looking haggard and somber.
Even now, Bran would often look at his sister with trepidation, as if expecting her to burst into action at any moment. And Arya would look at her younger brother with something akin to remorse. All Sansa had told her mother was that her sister's eyes had turned yellow, for just a moment, like her direwolf's.
Catelyn had gone to both Arya and Sansa many times, begging for them to forgive each other, reminding them that they were women grown, sisters, family. But her eldest daughter saw this as betrayal, as her mother choosing one daughter over the other. And after the incident with the steward's daughter, she had only turned sourer.
And Arya… Arya would not understand Catelyn's concerns. Like Sansa, she believed her mother took her sister's side in all matters. She could not comprehend that Catelyn wanted to protect her from the world, from the scorn of men, from the possibility of rape, of certain death in a battle or fight against any man.
As if that wasn't enough, Ned refused to see things through Sansa's perspective, and would often speak harshly to her. Catelyn knew that he did it out of concern, not anger or dislike, for Sansa's words sometimes bordered on cruelty. It hurt to know her sweetest, gentlest daughter could say such things and seemingly not care about her own sister.
To be sure, neither Catelyn nor Ned had ever dealt with such a broken relationship between siblings in their own childhoods. Her husband had told her of a few arguments with Brandon, but never to the point where it tore them apart. Likewise, she never had such thing happen between her and her siblings.
And her sons... Robb was deeply displeased by Ned's gesture with the swords, Catelyn knew. Offended and shamed, as only a young man could when his father treated his younger sister as he would his heir. As much as he loved his sisters, Robb was a man, and men were not equal to women. One thing was to spar with Arya, humor her in her silly plays, and another thing was to treat her as his peer. This he had said to Catelyn, when they spoke about his treatment of his sister. He was to be the Lord of Winterfell, he was the heir, and already commanded respect from the household and some of the sons of House Stark's bannermen. As a mother, she understood him. As a woman...
And however much Bran loved and admired his sister, Catelyn could see that, as a second son and the only one who wished to become a knight out of all his siblings, it had hurt him to be bypassed. Unlike Robb, her sweet son did not shun Arya. Their relationship was tense, but they still remained close. In a way, Robb's anger and Sansa's words had ensured that Bran did not voice his own feelings. For one of the best qualities of her second son was his diplomacy.
Rickon was still a boy, as much as he didn't like to be reminded of it, and he understood little of the implications of what was happening with their family. He had been most vocal against Robb and Sansa, thinking them to be unfair to Arya.
Catelyn had been forced to take Bran and Rickon and speak with them privately about making a scene in front of the servants and other people who were not their immediate family. She had tried to explain as fairly as she could about the swords, about allowing Arya to act the way she always did, about that abhorrent incident with Jeyne Poole – much to her dismay, they found that amusing. She could only hope that they were more restrained than their sister when they decided to seek the company of women.
They couldn't understand, anymore than Ned could. At least, being her sons and still young, they knew better than to defy her openly. So they had remained quiet during their noon meal, when their half-brother had arrived.
As always, her husband did not see her concerns as valid. To him, the gesture with the swords had been no different than the two statues he had made of his elder brother and his little sister in the crypts. That, too, had been something no other Stark had ever done in thousands of years. It seemed Ned wanted to break with all traditions, and damned be the consequences.
To be sure, the Valyrian greatsword Ice had not been the same ancient sword from the Age of Heroes, merely named after it. However, it had been at least four to five hundred years old, and of great value. Few Houses could boast to having a weapon made of Valyrian steel. She could imagine Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock salivating at the thought of buying one of the swords.
Catelyn thought many of her husband's decisions stemmed from the fact that he was never properly trained to be a lord. He had been a second son, his elder brother had been a man grown and had been groomed to be the next Lord of Winterfell. With the sudden loss of both Lord Rickard and Brandon, there was no one to teach Ned what he needed to know to be Warden of the North.
By no means was he terrible, but his lack of appreciation for traditions and protocol made it difficult for him to be aware of the effects it had on their rule over the North.
And already Catelyn had to deal with letters from lesser lords who made demands above their stations, while others saw fit to withhold their taxes. And there had not been any proposals of betrothals or marriage alliances since Robb's broken promise to the Manderlys, two years ago. One of the last ones had been from the ancient Lord Walder Frey, who wished to marry off a daughter to Bran. But her second son had shown no interest. Besides, she suspected he had his eye set on Lord Reed's daughter, who had visited Winterfell along with her brother a year ago; though he had not told Catelyn of his feelings.
Sansa had taken that as a personal slight to herself, especially when the rumors about her friendship with Jeyne Poole had begun circulating, less than a year ago. With Arya's actions had come the consequences for her sister, though she could not understand them.
For now, none of those things were cause to be alarmed. But if they were overlooked or ignored too long, Catelyn feared they would attract the notice of King Robert and the other high lords.
The more immediate matter was the trouble that had begun stirring in the Bolton lands bordering the Hornwood and Stark lands. Lord Halys Hornwood had died in a hunting accident a year ago, and now there were whispers of a band of brigands led by Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton's natural son; his only remaining son after his trueborn died of an illness ten years ago.
With the Manderlys south of the Hornwood lands, and Lord Manderly being cousin to Lady Donella Hornwood and her son, Lord Daryn Hornwood, it was a disaster waiting to happen. The Lord of White Harbor had sent them a barbed letter requesting for immediate action, and then had the gall to make a comment about broken promises.
Lord Daryn had also written, though his tone was cordial and had assured them that he could handle the raiders, but he welcomed any assistance Winterfell could provide.
Ser Rodrik had informed her that the smallfolk living in the lands between Winterfell and the Dreadfort's borders had been reporting crimes which had been mounting in severity and frequency over the past three months: rapes, murders, tortures, burned fields and houses, disappearances, and so on.
And through it all, Lord Roose Bolton had been silent.
It would not do. She would have to broach the matter with her lord husband. Yet another thing to argue about, she had no doubt.
Lately, Catelyn found herself performing the duties Ned should be attending to. For the past year or so, he had begun withdrawing into himself, prone to brooding in the godswood or in the crypts. He would spend hours with Arya and Bran, speaking quietly, and breaking off their conversations whenever she or their other children approached them.
She had long ago learned to not ask him about his secrets. When she had tried questioning him about Jon Snow's mother, after hearing the rumors about Ashara Dayne, a beautiful woman from an island near the Red Mountains of Dorne, Ned had seemed so fierce and angry. For a moment, she had thought he would strike her. He had demanded where she had heard the rumors, and later had ensured that no one ever spoke of that woman again within Winterfell.
Ned's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and brought her back to the Great Hall, to their supper. "Jon," he said, gaining the attention of his natural son. Arya and Bran quieted down to also hear what he would say. "I want you and Arya to begin preparations. You have a long journey ahead."
Their daughter nodded, and a heated but quiet conversation broke out between her and Bran, with Jon Snow interjecting from time to time. Catelyn took the opportunity to speak with her husband. "So soon?" she blurted out. "The boy just got here. Surely, you'd want him to rest a few days?"
Ned looked at her strangely. "I didn't think you'd be so concerned for Jon's well-being," he whispered to her. It was as if he had slapped her.
"Despite what you may think, my lord," she ground out just as quietly. "I'm not a cruel person." She took a small sip of water from her cup to cool her thoughts for a moment. "I was hoping, as well as you did, that his presence would smooth things over between our daughter and the rest of the children."
With a sigh, Ned took her hand gently in his. "I'm sorry, Cat. I did not mean to imply that you are heartless. It's just… You've never shown me that you cared about him."
Their whispering was not seemly, she knew. "I won't claim to love him, but neither will I claim I wish him harm," she said, sharper than she intended. "I know you had him pay for rooms in Winter Town. I did not wish to go behind your back, husband, but I will have you know I do not think it wise to send him and Arya away from the castle at night. Nevertheless, have them stay there for tonight. It might do her some good to have a friendly ear away from the castle. But tell him a room shall be prepared for him for as long as he will be staying here. And Arya is to return to hers as well."
Her husband regarded her quietly, and then his eyes turned sad. "Cat," Ned whispered. "I'm sorry, truly. I..."
Catelyn found herself smiling at him. She didn't feel like it, but the regret in his eyes tugged at her heart. She knew she had earned that mistrust, for she could never prevent her body from tensing at the mention of her husband's natural son, nor she could take back the words she had said to him during the first year of their marriage, when she had told him she never wanted to see the boy set a foot in Winterfell while she lived. The wound of her sister's dishonor had been fresh in her heart, and with Ned bringing his own natural son from the south, it festered. And when Ned had suggested she bring her natural niece to Winterfell, as a bargain to bring Jon Snow as well, she had taken it as another slight. "It makes no matter."
"He won't be staying here long," Ned said, reassuring. Louder, he addressed the children – adults, really – to his right. "I'm afraid we cannot delay any longer, Arya," he said, his voice grave. "Winter is coming."
Arya turned somber at that, and nodded. "When shall we depart, Father?"
Ned paused, glanced briefly at Catelyn, then turned back to his daughter. "Two days hence," he said simply. "Say your farewells, and spend time with all your siblings," he said pointedly, and their daughter grimaced but did not protest.
Jon Snow seemed confused at the exchange, but remained quiet. Catelyn was beginning to realize that the similarity between her husband and his natural son was not only in appearance.
Rickon seemed troubled at the news, and looked at his sister as a kicked pup would at its attacker. "You're leaving us?"
Arya smiled at her youngest brother, and Catelyn noted the smile did not reach her eyes. "Not for long, little wolf," she said, her voice straining to sound cheerful. "I have some errands to run, for Father."
Rickon chewed his lip, but nodded and gave her an uneasy smile. Arya ruffled his hair.
Bran nudged his sister lightly. "We will miss you," he said with a lopsided grin.
"We have two days," Arya said, waving a hand sharply in irritation, the tone she took whenever she wanted to seem indifferent about her feelings. Bran chuckled, and turned to his food.
But Catelyn knew her daughter, and she knew the young woman would be suffering inside. The path Arya had taken, she knew, would not permit her to show emotions as normal women would. It was the price she'd have to pay to be in this world of men.
"My lord, might I ask where we will go?" Jon Snow finally seemed to have found his voice.
Ned swallowed a bite of his food before replying. "You shall go to Castle Black, to deliver the supplies the Lord Commander has requested of us. And you shall gather information on the King Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder." He left his natural son mull over it for a moment, before continuing. "Also, you will want to see your Uncle Benjen again."
Jon Snow finally smiled. "Aye. I haven't seen him in over five years. Not since I was fostered at Last Hearth."
"Good. Then you will have much to talk about," Ned said with a smile of his own.
The night ended much better than what Catelyn had anticipated. Arya, Sansa, and Robb had behaved impeccably. While Robb and Sansa did not speak directly to Arya, none of them had been discourteous to one another. She could only hope it wasn't just a mummer's farce for their half-brother's sake, and that this peace would last.
In the morning, Catelyn made her way to Maester Luwin's tower, to see if there were any new messages or matters to attend to. She passed by the training yard, and saw Robb and her husband's ward, Theon Greyjoy, along with Jon Snow and, to her utter surprise, Arya.
Catelyn approached quietly, and tried to remain out of sight.
Robb and Theon were sparring with tourney swords, while Jon Snow and Arya watched not far from them, talking softly to each other.
She had seen her son and Theon spar many times, and it did not surprise Catelyn when Theon ended up sprawled on the muddy ground. "Yield," he said with an easy smile, and Robb helped him up.
Her eldest son turned to Jon Snow and Arya, who had stopped their conversation to nod and congratulate him. It wasn't the enthusiastic cheering that had filled the yard a mere year ago, when Robb and Arya were still speaking, but it was a vast improvement, in Catelyn's opinion. She wondered what had caused such an abrupt change. Was it Jon Snow? Or had Ned spoken to Robb?
"Want to give it a try… Arya?" Robb asked, his voice uncertain.
Arya seemed taken aback, but Jon Snow's lips had formed a small smile and he nudged her towards their brother, whispering something that made her chew her lip. With a sharp movement of her head that could have passed for a nod, Arya took Theon's offered sword and walked over to Robb.
They circled each other, like a pair of wolves that had stumbled upon each other in the middle of the woods and were not confident whether they would be friends or foes.
Catelyn's heart lurched, and her eyes filled with tears that blurred her vision. She heard the clash of the swords, as brother and sister made a clumsy show of sparring. They were trying, she knew. They were trying. And it was all that mattered. Let Ned keep his secrets. She would have this moment.