A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here with another literary experiment. I have way too many idea roaming around in my head, so I thought I'd ease the burden with some Samples.
I would like to personally thank Fanfic writers "Priestess of Groove" (for "Dragon's Roar" which more or less got me started on the fandom... but mostly more) and "Alperez16" (for "Live as a Wolf or Die as a Dragon"). Without you guys, the synapses in my brain wouldn't have fired in the write order (it's a reused pun, but it's my reused pun).
I will try to write in true Maester Martin style, and hint at most changes I've made, or make mention of large-scale information in unassuming passing. Because lets face it, Maester Martin is a master at doing so.
That being read, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn. There is a method to my madness. 90% of what I write, I don't write baselessly. There is a reason some things are changed, and others are the same.
Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or a Song of Ice and Fire. Those rights belong exclusively to Maester Martin, and whoever pushed for the show. Mores the pity Season 7 and 8 took place (though kudos to the actors all the same) and the simplest translation of otherwise indecipherable Valyrian prophecy was made writ and scourges the fine-printed histories of Westeros.
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
Prologue: His Name is Jon Snow…
Winterfell Hold 292 AC
Catelyn Stark
"Lady Catelyn, I'm not sure moving about just yet is wise."
The Lady of Winterfell duly noted the maester's concern and proceeded to continue about the hold's business all the same. Even as she breathed slowly to stand up, heavily pregnant and due to birth any time now. "Maester Luwin, while I appreciate your concern," she groaned, already feeling the weight go straight to her back. By the Seven, it hurt. But she was a lady – and what's more, a Lady of the North – and held her poise without so much as a twitch, "I have birthed four children thus far and none have eased me of my duties yet. A fifth one is not going to rob me of my ability to stand."
"Aye, and you'll do well to remember that I helped deliver those four children, and will most likely deliver this one too," he replied with some concerned lip, tidying up a little around his turret, but otherwise, it was still the cluttered mess it always was. "A little bedrest never hurt," he insisted, "especially with another little one on the way."
She gave him a fond smile that said she didn't believe a word of it. "Aye, but not when you are Lady of a hold. I must assist my husband in as many matters as I may."
He sighed exasperatedly. "That I could have your sons and wards as dedicated to their studies as you are to your duties Lady Catelyn. Alas, the mind is the last thing most boys tend to train when the sword is what they live by."
"I find it takes a failure of the sword to encourage one to sharpen the mind," she replied, earning a hum and a nod from the maester as he continued to tidy a portion of the clutter. "Speaking of, how do the children fair in their studies."
He smiled a little. "They are young men, one and all. They are more interested in stories of knights and great deeds. Their grasp of histories and warcraft would be exemplary if it weren't a dower on their other subjects. It's a wonder I can get young lord Bran to learn his sums at all. I pray to the Seven that Septa Mordane has an easier time with your daughters."
"He's only four name days maester," she smiled. "He won't have such chances to be so young again."
"That he won't milady," he agreed, before looking at her. "Be sure to get at least some rest. We can't have the Lady of Winterfell fainting of exhaustion, nor her pains too great. Prevention is oft of more import than a cure."
"I will Maester Luwin," she said with a curt nod. "Let me know if any raven's come."
"Of course," he bowed. But before she went on her way, she heard, "Did you break your fast?"
She couldn't help the small chuckle that she let loose. "Yes Luwin. You don't have to worry. I remember how it was with the other four." He nodded, seeming to finally accept that after having four Direwolf children, she could handle a fifth. She supposed it was the worry he'd had since he had followed her from Riverrun on order of her father, a new babe conceived from the one night with her husband before he was off to fight in "Robert's Rebellion" as it was known; though a more accurate name would be the "Arryn Rebellion" seeing as how Robert Baratheon and Ned had both fostered under him, and he had raised his banners first in rebuke to the Mad King's orders to turn said wards over to him.
Of course, there was talk. How unlikely it was for Cat to have conceived Ned's son on the first night, and there had been speculation that she'd bedded with his elder brother before he was killed. It hurt to think about Brandon Stark, whom she had been sure would be her partner at that point, and perhaps a small part of her always would hurt on that part; but as it was, that loss was something both she and Ned had bonded over in the weeks and months after his return. But she hadn't dishonored him. And as much as she had thought otherwise at first, he hadn't dishonored her, farce though she was made to keep.
She winced as her carried child kicked, making her take a deep breath at the sharp discomfort that echoed it. It seemed the littlest Stark wasn't going to wait too much longer to make himself known. A week or two maybe.
Catelyn continued on from the Maester's Turret, donning her furred mantle to keep out the chill; summer weather though it was, it was still the North. She took the less subtle route through the courtyard. It was dirty, and muddy, and the muck of the stables, and the waffes of the kitchens, and the burning of Mikken's forge were present. They had been acquired aspects of the North, everything somewhat condensed together in the keep as compared to the those of the South; with all the sharp sights and scents blending together. But in time, it had become a scent she associated with home.
She smiles at the greetings of her servants and well-known occupants, nodding politely and returning greetings in-kind. She is pleased to see all is well, and stopped to ask occasionally about any tasks or orders that need filled, ensuring stores were stocked, that materials were abundant, and that there was room to spare for more once the bitter chill of autumn was confirmed. While it was still the height of summer years, and according to the maesters, would still be for a while yet, her married House's ever-vigilance had been something she'd taken to heart.
"Winter is Coming". A warning. A promise.
She took pause as she met Ser Rodrik Cassel, their master-at-arms, in one of his rare moments of not training the older boys with wooden blades. And along with him, her little climber.
"Mama!" Bran was four name days, but like the rest of her little trout-wolves, he was running, jumping, and climbing before he was walking. He'd almost tripped and fallen flat in the pocketed mud in his haste to meet her if it wasn't for Ser Rodrik's quick arm catching him.
"Easy there lad. Don't wanna fall and hurt yurself," he warned sternly but not unkindly, setting him back down as she approached closer.
Bran didn't hesitate to run over again, the warning lost on him in his young and adventurous age as he clung to her leg. She about tipped, but managed to right herself, gently waving off Rodrik's concerned start forward.
"Hi mama!" Those little eyes practically glowed. Oh, how innocent they were at that age.
"Hello sweetling," she greeted, something about holding her children that eased the soul of its burdens. "And what were you up to today?"
"I feed craws," he crowed happily, like it was self-explanatory what he had done. But he was so smart, that when he saw her confusion, he pointed.
'Craw, ravens and crows. Of course,' she thought warily as she looked over at the flying black birds that settled and nested amidst the Broken Tower. She didn't care for them much, scavengers and meatpickers, and oft as not, intent on the few harvestable produce that grew up North. Nay, she cared not for them, not with Winterfell and Northern bellies to keep filled. But it was clear her son found them absolutely fascinating, so she'd not dash such bright eyes. Such were the wonders of youth.
"Did they enjoy it?" she asked with what cheer she could muster, smiling more genuinely when his head fully bobbed. Ah, how she couldn't wait to hold him close in her arms again. His little unborn sibling was taking all the avail space as it were. "How fairs it Ser Rodrik?"
"That it fair's well Lady Catelyn," he responded with a respectful nod. "I assume you'll be lookin' for the lads." She nodded in affirmation. "They went out with Lord Stark for a hunt near early rise. Figuring they'll be bringin' in supper, or scraps." He snorted slightly, though it was clear he held some gleam of affection for them.
"And the girls?"
"The lasses I'd think be with the Septa," he responded, though he tugged gently at his white whiskers in thought. "Although, I not know much else. I daren't think li'l Underfoot will be there."
Yes, her young lady and she-wolf. Sansa and Arya. Seven and five name days respectively, her eldest girl was as close to a respectable Southern young lady as one could hope for their daughter. Her youngest… was not so much, preferring the mud and the sticks so much, it had been lightly jested she'd almost make a little Crannog-lass, if it weren't for her clearly Stark features.
It brought a little smile to her face. While it was beautiful to see her Tully traits of auburn and reddish-brown hair and blue eyes so prominent in most of her children, she'd wish for a little more Stark in them. Especially the eyes. How she loved her husband's dark grey eyes, and their strange malleable expressions. Eyes she often saw reflect in her little Arya, but most oft in Jon Snow. And she'd not fault him taking the best of her husband.
Or his sister, as it were. That of Lyanna Stark.
Perhaps this next little one would reflect her wishes for a grey-eyed babe. Or perhaps not. Only the gods knew.
"Riders!" she heard called from a watchtower behind her, near the Hunter's Gate. She turned just as the gates opened, revealing that, aye, her lord husband was returning home. Following him was Ser Rodrik's nephew and captain of the household guard, Jory Cassel; their house hostage, Theon Greyjoy; who was jabbering with her eldest son, Robb. Lastly, came….
'Jon Snow,' she reminded herself, as if it warranted remembering. As if it were best to remember it as such. 'His name is Jon Snow.'
And it looks as though they had a good hunt, a deer straddled over the rump of both her husband's horse, and another along that of her son's. But better all the same when Ned had seen her standing there waiting and his eyes alit with a sheen that was more precious than silver. Aye, she loved his eyes.
"Mother! Bran!" Robb greeted, waving frantically with excitement. "Look at what we caught!" Twelve name days since she'd birthed him. Twelve since she'd ridden up North. Wont as she was to think it, he'd be a little heartbreaker if he ever felt the need to head south. Some of her handsomest features he had.
She was not one for the blood of hunts save where it provided meat for the table. But there was pride in her boy's face, and in that of his father's. "Aye, I can see, love. And what all have you brought?"
"Two deer," Ned answered as he dismounted, slipping the reigns over his horse's head. He looked to Robb to finish.
"Theon flushed the bush, then Jon shot it in the chest, and I got it in the neck," Robb said excitedly as he also dismounted. "Father took the other one down with a single arrow. Dropped it instantly."
"Aye, was near thing," Ned affirmed, his smile bright as could be. "But, a killing blow is a killing blow. And what be the rules of the hunt?"
Robb's face soured. "He who deals the killing blow must carry and clean the animal he kills," he stated. His face and the brownish splotches on his shoulders said he had already carried it to his horse, and he was being made to carry it again. Ser Rodrik let loose a small chuckle at her side after her son.
Ned nodded, looking just as dirtied around the shoulders as her son, brushing his gloved hands together tightly. "Alright then, hop to it. I'll be along in a moment." Robb sighed and moved to obey as he fixed his eyes on her, still smiling, but the subtle shift in his gaze questioning.
She smiled, shaking her head to let him know that all was well. Many moons with child and due any day now, but well.
"And how is mine lady wife and soon-to-be?" he asked, as he approached, quietly grasping arms with Rodrik, clearly taking in the sight of her and Bran at her side.
"Both fair well according to Maester Luwin," she answered with a smile of her own.
He crouched down for their son, looking at him softly. "And you lad?"
Bran looked him straight in the eye with a smile. "Good Papa. I fed the craws."
"Crows now?" he asked, an exaggerated, but excited, understanding in his voice. "Did they eat well?"
Bran nodded happily.
"Good. Good." He pushed back to his full-height, ever the imposing Northman. "Now, if you pardon my lady," he said with a teasing lilt to his tone that was rare to cross Ned's tongue, but still made her smile a little all the same. Gods forbid, she should giggle like she was a young southern court gossip, "I must make sure our son properly skins his catch." She could tell he was half-tempted to kiss her there and then, but he knew she'd properly scold him about doing so fresh from a hunt and blood staining his clothes. Still, she'd almost wish he dared.
"Go," she said, nodding in gesture to where Theon and Jon were trying to help Robb shoulder the deer from his horse while Jory chuckled atop his horse at their attempts. "Before it ends up on the ground for the dogs."
Ned smiled. While he was oft a solemn and contemplative man, he was ever the loving father and husband she'd dreamed she'd marry as a young girl. Maybe even more so. Or perhaps her perception of what that dream was had changed to fit the man that Ned was.
He lifted the deer with a practiced ease, instructing Robb carefully as he lowered it onto his back before moving to carry his own. They moved toward the kitchens, where they'd hang the carcass outside and begin their work.
Theon and Jon were quick to gather the reigns of her husband's and Robb's horse, and the ever-considerate stableboy Hodor came to fetch the beasts in his own simple way. They passed the horses off with nods of their own before moving to head inside.
"Jon!" Bran greeted, moving disbalanced from her side over to his "half-brother".
A smile lit Jon's face. Aye, further proof he was a Stark; that same silvery gleam in his grey eyes, the same as Ned's. Bran moved too quickly, tripping once more. Jon was near as quick as Ser Rodrik, catching her boy before lifting him with a grunt. "Bran," Jon greeted with a smile. He got along well enough with his half-siblings, though it was mostly courteous relations with Sansa. A dear friend to Robb, near worshiped by Arya, and beloved by Bran. And he in-turn, as endeared as if he were a true brother. If only it were so.
"Aye, the little crow-lord," Theon japed, softly pinching Bran's cheek. "Pro'ly wastin' corn."
"Better the corn than the bread," Jon stated, and Catelyn found she agreed with that.
His smile was a short-lived one as he came to prioritize her presence. "Lady Catelyn," Jon greeted respectfully, if not meekly, doing his best to avoid her gaze. He had the same solemn face on him that Ned had for a half-moon after his return from the Rebellion, a quiet sadness and weight.
"Snow," she returned with a nod and a forced chill to her tone. She couldn't make her tone cold, or give it bite. Not truly. She watched as Theon shuffled awkwardly next to him, equally doing his best not to hold her attention. Even her little Bran was frowning at the strange atmosphere they had created. "Well enough of that. Come along boys. You've hunted all morning, and there's a nip in the air." Though, just looking at them, it appeared that neither of them appeared as bothered by the chill as her. Perhaps it was the rough Kraken seas in Theon, and the Direwolf in Jon that made them resilient to the cold's touch.
'That, or the dragon,' she contemplated, before chastising herself. 'His name is Jon Snow.'
A kind of relief pooled across Jon's face, and he set her son down with as much gentle care as he could, still a boy himself, if not an older one.
"Aye, and help add to the table you lads might have, but I still expect some practice out of those hands before supper," Rodrik stated next to her with a grunt, earning gloomy nods from the boys in question.
Theon frowned at the order. "And what about Robb?" he asked indignantly.
Ser Rodrik gestured over to Ned and Robb, beginning to hang their kills by the hock and shank of the deer, though it was clear Robb still struggled to lift it. "Robb brought home a deer. That's good meat that'll last a while. Maybe next time, bring some substance to go with it. It's still summer yet, and I like me a squirrel or two to add a little stout to my stew. Ya hear me."
"Yes Ser Rodrik," they muttered together, grumbling under their breaths at how unfair it all was.
As they moved to where they kept their wooden practice blades, Catelyn looked back to her husband and son, silently enjoying as her husband guided their son's hand as though he were receiving the same training the other lads were about to undertake; though, wooden blades and bare steel were a touch different as such, but the barest gleam of the gutting knife reflected patiently through her husband's eyes.
Aye she favored his eyes. Where once they had been a solemn and cold and heavy and sometimes, empty; they were now bright and cool and gentle, with edge that was as honed as any blade. His happiness was her happiness, and hers was his.
Though, she hadn't always been happy here. Not for the first days of her stay, as most would have understood wholeheartedly. Gently rubbing the swell of her belly, and the little life that was kicking, making itself known to her. But so much happiness had come from that unhappiness. And even more still once she'd been made aware the truth.
Winterfell 280 AC
She'd laid in her own chambers for a nearly two weeks now. Rarely leaving the confines of her room, and only for a brief meal, or to hold her dearest babe of a son. He was still so young, and still needed looking after. She trusted few others with his care, and she would not have her babe suckle at any breast other than her own. Even with her grief plaguing her.
Why? Why would he do this? How could he do this to her? To them? She had thought these things and prayed to her gods long and hard for answers. But none came. Aye, there had always been the possibility. There was scarce a comfort in war like the arms of a woman, and her husband, honorable and faithful though he was, had lost more than this war warranted. First his father and his brother – to whom she was betrothed before him – to the Mad King in horrible fashion, then his oldest and dearest friend to a conflict of honor, and then his sister to fever; not to mention all the friends and lealmen in between. In two years, he'd near lost all the family he had, and she could hardly fault him that the child would have had to have been conceived a little after they'd been married, with those first losses still fresh and raw, and her still a stranger in his mind. All he had left of family was his youngest brother, and herself, whom he'd barely known for but a night. And now her babe. Aye she understood.
But she was angry, and hurt, and more than a little offended that Ned Stark would bring the bastard into his home. Into her home. It was a slight to her that she couldn't even begin to spell out. But she supposed it was only natural. After all the well-spun tales of Eddard Stark's famous honor and honesty, she supposed there was bound to be tales infamous as well. A guilty conscience some had said. That Ned Stark would feel more shame to leave his bastard with whatever harlot had seduced him – since it was unanimously agreed that Ned Stark wasn't a man who would initiate such liberties – than to take it home as his own. That he'd rather keep the slight honestly, than the lie of purity. By the Seven, he was honest. And she wasn't even sure if she was angry at him for that honesty. Things like this happened in war, and he was more than owed comfort where she could not provide it, and he'd more than owned up to his trespass against her.
There were rumors of course. Tell-tale whispers that had made their way up north. Some said it had been some servant girl he'd met. Others hinted it was Ashara Dayne of Starfall, the woman having been pregnant herself at about the right time, and refused to name the father; though Ned had stoutly shutdown those rumors. Perhaps some courtesan, for she truly couldn't imagine Ned spending any amount of time in a whorehouse. But it wouldn't surprise her if the bastard's mother was a highborn lady. Ned may have been quite shy, and with a solemness about him that made the heart hurt for him, but there were qualities about him that Catelyn was wont to admit she found appealing, even before her marriage to him was passed onto him. His kindness for one, and the shy but reassuring smile he'd given her as his brother rode off to meet his father for what would eventually lead to their deaths. What women wouldn't care to ease those kind and sad eyes if for but a night? All could agree, he was a good man. A man worthy of following. Of believing. One slip didn't make him fall from their graces. If anything, it made him more believable that he had claimed in owning his bastard… his mistake. Most of the Northern lords especially would see him and find that there was no fault in him. He was still the Honorable Ned Stark.
For over a year she'd waited. Newly married, and a babe beginning swelling inside her. She was overjoyed, but wouldn't see it as good news if she would hear that her newborn would never know its father as the war raged on, little though they knew each other. And it wasn't until shortly after that laborious birth that she'd received a raven that her lord husband had survived and the war was over. That was all the confirmation she needed to hear. So she had waited until the maester said she was good for travel before she had decided to make her way to her new husband's home of Winterfell, intent to greet him upon his return. It had been a long, and somewhat difficult journey with a new babe, though she was helped much by Maester Luwin on her trip from the South. But the grounds of Winterfell themselves felt odd to her. Unwelcoming. Measuring her in some way.
She'd scarcely liked the keep for the dark gloom that hung over the atmosphere, and the heavy smells that permeated the air, or the false spring chill that hung in air. The people were friendly though, if a little gruffer and sterner by southern standards, but warm and welcome to their new Lady. A kind of warmth, not dissimilar to the hearth in the colder evenings.
And then he'd come home. Several moons since she'd received the raven, and hardly a few days after settling in from her travel as Lady of Winterfell. And he'd brought that thing. That… bastard! There was shame on his face, and sorrow, and everything a man should rightly express with such a stain. But the exhaustion of the campaign and the further added losses had hung low on his face as well, and he'd scarcely explained himself before taking to the keep.
She had avoided him then, and apparently he to her as well. She did everything in her power never to see her lord husband, or his… bastard, or the wet nurse that cared for it. Anything that could remind her that while she had remained as honorable and true as her birth House's standard, he had not. She cried. Salted her face as she had contemplated if this would be the norm between them. That for every trueborn child she bore him, he'd father a bastard soon after. An unfounded and illogical fear, but a present one none-the-less.
She was well within her third week of self-imposed exile to her personal chambers when the knock had come to her door.
"Catelyn?" His voice was wearied, and soft, and heavy, but still he called again. "Will you come to the door?"
She had every mind to deny him, just as he had denied her. And there was a tinge to his voice she had not heard before. A kind of firmness and resoluteness that made her answer rather than remain silent. "And what would my lord husband ask of me?"
She could feel the cringe and wince he made beyond the door, but he spoke. "To talk. Explain," he replied hesitantly. "There are lords of the North come here, and I would be true with my words to them. And I would ask you be by my side during the exchange."
Was that all? He just wanted her support in proclaiming he'd had a bastard? So he could further slight her in front of the lords that were sworn to him? "No!" she answered as she folded her knees to her breast, and she knew… she knew… he would not take offense to her refusal, and so she did refuse him.
His voice was but a whisper from behind the door, as solid a barrier as had always been between them. "Please. Catelyn, please. I'll ask nothing else of you if that is what you wish."
His "please" might as well have been a dagger for all the bleeding her heart could take now. And in her hurt, she should feel angry. And she could. And she did. "Why?!" she demanded, still atop her bed. "Why should I?! So you can slight me further?! So your Northern lords will see that I still support you in this?!
"We have a son," she choked out, her throat catching painfully. "A trueborn son to love and cherish. An heir to your North. And you bring the spawn of some other woman in as though I should be happy for it. So why should I yield dearest husband?!" Any other husband, any other man if she had married him, wouldn't have taken to her words kindly. She would have paid dearly to most any other man. But not Ned Stark. For all the men she could have married, he was far too kind for that. Not him. And she knew it. So she had taken advantage of it.
It was silent for a moment, though she could still feel his presence looming beyond the door. Still see his shadow stand just underneath the threshold. The chill was finally getting to her, and she pulled carefully at the sheets, so they'd bundle around her shoulders; and yet she wished so strongly that they were his arms. She held no true love for him. Their marriage had been an arrangement where once it had been to his late-brother, and it was little more than a political one, solely for her birth House of Tully to raise its banners for the Rebellion behind Arryn, Stark, and Baratheon.
And yet, their brief coupling had been gentle. He'd asked for nothing from her save what was required of a wedding night and the bedding ceremony; no more than their duty. He extracted nothing she would not give. To think back on it now, perhaps it hadn't been as gentle as she had remembered; the grief playing a part in it. He had been kind. And aye, truly gentle and considerate as he'd taken her maidenhood. Perhaps they would have left it there, were it not for the need in both their bodies. Too many tragedies had occurred, and the comfort of that night was expressed behind feverish moans and breathy groans and choked gasps. She'd awoken in his large arms, held close and dear. She'd felt secure and steady in those arms, even with the threat of war and the potential that he would ride away that very day, and perhaps never return.
But how could she feel that now, knowing he had shared those same sacred breaths and intimate touches with another woman?
His voice came soft. Softer than it had before. And yet she could still derive meaning from it. "Because you deserve the truth. The full truth. Far more than any lord I would meet today.
"If you wish to hear it." His offer was left hanging as the clump of his boots trodden away.
She'd sat there a moment, listening to the sound of his step retreating. She was almost shamed to admit it, but it pleased her he had come to her first. It was something about his words though that intrigued her. "The full truth", as though the truth he had told her was but a small one. Or a glimpse of one. She wasn't sure. She didn't want to hear any further truth about his bastard's mother, curious though she was about the woman that could make Ned Stark temporarily forsake his precious honor and... and their vows. She didn't want to hear how he would dishonor her to his lords. But… "you deserve the truth"; his words promising a certain clarity to her that she could ill-afford to miss, no matter her truer thoughts on the matter. Even if she'd regret it, it was something she needed to hear.
And yet, she realized she was ill-dressed to receive, or be received, by guests. She stepped from the warm comfort of her bed, moving to the wardrobe and trunk that she held her belongings in, dressed only in a shift as she was. While she was tempted to take on the familiar colors of her birth House, she realized quickly that the North favored more muted colors of grey, green, brown, and such; and that even if her husband were to dishonor her, she should not do so to him. "Honor. Duty. Family." Alas, that left her choices limited as far as dressing would go as she hadn't taken the time to see to any new clothing in her exile. The closest she could come was to such a thing was an olive-green kirtle. The blue one might also be a good choice, but as close as she could come to Stark colors would be best.
She dressed herself, doing her hair up into a simple braid as she had trained herself, covering her ears and neck as was prominent in Northern hair styles as well, to reduce the hold the cold could take on exposed skin. She only wished she had a surcoat that would complement her gown as such. She had only just exited her chambers, prepared to meet where her husband would meet his lords when she was struck with an inspiration.
She caught one of the keep servants quickly enough. Upon the sight of her, the servant bowed respectfully. Despite her rather recluse time here, the staff was made aware of her presence before Eddard had returned home.
"Where is my husband?" she asked firmly, bordering on demand.
"The Godswood, my lady," the servant answered with a curtsy, a young woman herself. "Lord Stark is meeting there with a few of the other northern lords. He asked not to be disturbed for a short time."
'Of course,' she thought. The Old Gods were by whom they swore their oaths. Particularly in front of those strange northern trees. The ones with the faces. She knew this only in passing, but it would be good to further acquaint herself with her husband's beliefs, even if she wouldn't follow them. But something else caught her attention from the servant. "A few", of the northern lords. Not "most" or "all". Just a few. If he were to make some statement about his bastard, why not all of them. Unless he was counting on word of mouth to spread. Whatever "truth" he intended to impart, it was to a small group he was telling it with.
"Could I also ask something else of you?" she asked, but there wasn't really room to reject her request. She was the Lady of Winterfell, and her orders now only came second to her husbands. "Could you retrieve a mantle from my husband's chambers. Something…." She gestured absently to the gown she wore. "…complimentary. I'm afraid I'm a little less prepared than I anticipated for the North."
The servant's eyes lit up in way that Catelyn recognized. Not as a servant and her mistress. Or even as northern and southern born women. But as two women who knew the workings and thoughts of women, and the silent statements that could be made with such simple acts as their choice of fashions. The little smirk the servant woman had was all but confirmation of this. "Aye my lady." She quickly turned and went toward her husband's chamber to do as she commanded.
Perhaps she'd enjoy the North after all, if only a little.
Catelyn sighed, keeping her poise as best as she could muster. She was lady, and a Lady of Winterfell at that, wife to the Warden of the North. It was a position to fill, and if they were to work together, it would be best to at least appear united at least in public view.
It was only mere moments later that the servant returned, the mantle a tad heavy in her hands. But it appeared a good choice, the dark brown furs dappled in blacks and greys.
"If you please my lady," the servant said, letting it train out as she motioned for her to turn around.
Catelyn did so, immediately feeling the weight drape across her shoulders. It was heavy. Like a responsibility was being made to pull her down. Had she not known the strength in her lord husband's shoulders and back, she'd wonder how he held such a thing aloft. But stand firm she did. The servant smoothed it before moving to her front, bringing the ties forward, and tying them just so, so the weight would stay to her shoulders and not pull to her neck. Once she was done, Catelyn reached back and pulled her auburn hair free from behind the neck of added wear.
"Well?" she asked, looking to the servant for… what? An opinion? Words of encouragement? Perhaps a spot of luck, as though that could change the outcome fate had in store?
"You look a woman ready to march," the servant said with an approving nod as she gave her a quick over.
She couldn't explain why, but those words lifted Catelyn's spirits. If ever so slightly. She'd need all the strength, wit, and propriety she could muster. Then again, this was the North. She would have to learn how they held themselves in these manners. If what she knew by now was to go by, they had strength in legions, wit on occasion, and propriety only as necessary. She turned to see how it looked. It was a bit big on her, the fringes dragging along the ground, and clearly demonstrating how much smaller she was compared to Ned.
Without not but a nod of affirmation, she steeled her face. She was Catelyn Stark née Tully, and if need be, she'd play the Game for her House's sake. She proceeded out of the Great Keep, cutting across the Winterfell's Courtyard toward one of the gates that lead into the Godswood. Those that were about stopped and stared for a moment, and she wouldn't blame them; she'd been scarce over the past couple weeks, but now her posture and stance saying she was a Lady on a mission, and that none should disturb her. Aye, march she did. The gate she searched for was wrought of iron, and the hinges swung open with nary a whisper to grant her access, allowing her escape from the stares, and whispers in her passing.
The Godswood greeted her with an unnatural silence, as though her presence had caused it to draw back a breath. Even her footfalls seemed oddly muted against the moss-covered ground. The air was thick and heavy around her here, as though she were feeling eyes watching her, and she faltered in her step. This place… it wasn't meant for the likes of her, a strange eerie hanging over the place much as the canopy of trees above.
She knew not which direction to walk in to meet her husband, and the trees thick enough that she could scarcely find the opposing wall through its thicket. She waited, and listened then. The silence assisted her in that manner, as she could pick up the faint sounds of voices. She made her way closer then, her tread still softened by the ground as she moved within earshot.
"…Heard you were recently married Reed. Now what kind of poor lass would marry a Crannogman?"
"A good one. Better than I could hope."
"…And I told them I'd not want a second. But they offered me a taste anyway. Not sure what the southerners want take from their wine. An stout ale will do me just fine."
"…Are you gonna tell us why you called us here Stark?" one said.
"We do have business of our own to deal with. Especially now that this bloody war is over," agreed another.
Any voice that was Ned's seemed to remain silent.
Taking a deep breath to compose herself once more, Catelyn made herself known then, stepping forward. A small council it truly appeared to be, composed of no more than nine men. A few she recognized from hers and Ned's impromptu wedding, though their names escaped her, but the master-at-arms for Winterfell, Rodrik Cassel was a familiar face. Most very clearly Northman, while one was hidden underneath a thick dark cloak. While many of them seemed surprised at her presence, none looked more surprised – nor more relieved – than Ned, who was leaning on a sheathed blade he had tipped into the ground.
"I apologize for my tardiness, my lords," she greeted with a curt nod. "I found I haven't quite adjusted to the Northern climate yet, and wasn't as prepared as I had hoped. Securing a cloak took far more time than I assumed." Her explanation seemed well received, a few of the lords giving Ned questioning glances, to which he responded with a firm nod. Though she could see the barest twinkle of amusement in his eye as he recognized the garb she'd taken up, as easily as he recognized his own mantle draped across her shoulders.
But never mind how a smile threatened to emerge from her face, she wouldn't give him that, her anger still forefront and her desire for answers outweighing any other thought. She stepped forward to take her place among them, finding the space to her husband's right open to her, as it should be. It wasn't until she was near in position that she noticed it.
The weirwood tree. A heart and soul of the Godswood. She'd read of such things before, but words on a page did naught to do its image justice. It's bark white like ash and ivory and bone, large hand-shaped leaves the color of newly spilt blood. And of course, the enlarged carven face in the trunk captured in thoughtful contemplation, red sap trailing from the corners of the carved eyes as though it were bereft. The eerie she had felt earlier returned manifold, and its hollow eyes seemed to watch their gathering, keeping silent and mournful council over what proceeded here. She could believe for a moment that its truly was the face of an Old God.
She was so entranced by it that she almost didn't hear the next words coming from her husband. "Introductions are in order," he stated, swallowing thickly with an air of nervousness about him as he adjusted his footing on the mossy ground and his fingers danced around the pommel of his sword, and she remembered that this is his first moon as a lord. He hadn't practiced with such things of this sort, probably assuming his elder brother would have that role, and for a moment, she is saddened for the both of them.
He gestured to her. "My lady wife, Catelyn Stark." She nodded firmly in greeting, earning nods in return. He immediately gestured to his left, "Lord Howland Reed…" and he continued down the from there.
"… Lord Helman Tallhart, Lord Galbart Glover, Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord Halys Hornwood, Lord Jeor Mormont, Lord Rodrik Ryswell, and Ser Rodrik Cassel." For each introduction, they nodded their heads in acknowledgement to her and to each other. Aye she recognized many of the names. Northern blood aplenty, and all of their Houses had taken up banners for the Starks during the Rebellion.
"My daughter wished to thank you for returning her husband's bones and horse, Ned," Lord Ryswell stated, somewhat downed by his own words. "They are small comforts, but they are true ones."
Ned nodded, but his words hesitated for a moment. He didn't get the chance when Lord Manderly of White Harbor spoke out first. "And what about the fella there? Ya haven't introduced any of us to him yet."
Ned tensed, but it quickly laxed as he looked over at said man. "In due time. He has played a large part in today's meeting my lords, and he has a larger part yet to come."
The lords all mumbled to themselves curiously, but Catelyn took note that Lord Reed wasn't fazed at all by this unspoken addition. Whoever he was, he didn't seem a Northman, despite the barest visibility of his unshaven jowls; he was rugged perhaps, but not of the North. There was a certain air about him that reminded her of a sentinel as he watched the other lords. A knight perhaps? She couldn't be certain.
"My lords," Ned interrupted firmly. It took another few moments for them to settle, and she could tell the more time that went on, the more his nerves frayed. "I've asked you all here at the insistence of our friend here…," he gestured to the hooded man, "…to form this small council. Before we speak much further, I'd have your oath that what we speak of here today, will not leave this place without my expressed permission."
'Ah,' she thought in realization as she glanced back at the weirwood. 'That would explain why he brought them here.' She had read that Northerner's took their oaths before weirwoods, entreating it as though their Old Gods were watching and present. It made her wonder if Ned would have sired a bastard, had they been married before one and not some rushed attempt at a wedding in a Sept. But if Ned was going this far for it, then it clearly wasn't about his bastard, seeing as how near everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew about it.
It was clear the other lords realized Ned's intent as well, and looking none too happy about it.
But before any could protest, Ned spoke once again, far firmer than he had been. "If you cannot swear your oaths now, then I'll not ask it further of you, but I must then ask you take your leave from here while discussions are in place. Nothing I speak on here can be taken beyond this Godswood." His voice was grave, his tone alone speaking all the downfalls that came once their words were bound. As quickly as it came, it left, leaving him looking distraught. "This is not an easy thing to hear, and it will be a burden of its own. I'll not ask anyone to carry it if they do not wish to."
Catelyn's chest fluttered with her own nerves. What possible things could he reveal that required this level of secrecy? One so great it warranted this small council and sworn oaths? Only the Seven knew, and maybe the Northerners Old Gods too. Perhaps even that strange God of Light from across the seas.
It was silent for a moment longer before Howland Reed stepped forward, a dirk in hand that he didn't hesitate to slice across his palm. "By the Old Gods and the New, I swear to uphold this council and keep its secrets. That truths revealed this day will not leave my lips until such time as you deem it necessary." Reed then went to the weirwood, palming his bloodied print against the bark in a contrasting display of color. Marking that moment in time.
It all seemed a little rehearsed in Catelyn's eyes. Were it not for the presence of the air, and the whisper of the wind that followed, as if these Old Gods approved his vow, she might have even believed it for a moment.
The old bear that was Jeor Mormont drew only the edge of his sword, the ripple of Valyrian Steel shimmering as he did likewise. "As is custom of the North," he stated, looking between Ned and Reed. "It is blood and sacrifice the Old Gods demand, and we offer it. You'll have my oath."
The other lords followed suit, one-by-one drawing blades their own to blood, until even the silent stranger had nodded his assent with blood dripping between his fist clenched onto the ground they stood. Soon enough, it was only Catelyn left and she hated how their eyes looked to her for her answer. Biting the inside of her lip, she struggled to keep her face passive, rather than sigh in defeat.
"Your sword, husband," she stated. Ned nodded reluctantly as he drew it up, and she breathed in wonder as she was once more exposed to yet another Valyrian weapon. Without any preamble, she placed her hand on the blade, feeling as the barest touch had already split the skin with a sting and a thrum as her blood and pulse pounded together in her hand. Pulling away, it wasn't a deep wound, but it bled well enough all the same, and it would probably hurt for some time. "Aye. I'll stand with you Ned." His eyes softened at that, and it made her wish she hadn't treated him so, if only in the briefest moment.
"Then I'll get right too it," he stated, eyeing the red sheen of her blood on his blade as he resheathed it. "My sister didn't die of fever."
The silence persisted as each man took it in, each at their own pace. Catelyn herself was confused, and the feeling seemed mutual among the other lords.
"Explain a little better Ned," Lord Mormont asked, a simple understanding in his eyes. Age and wisdom had done the old Mormont proud.
Ned nodded heavily as he licked his lips to continue, a silent sorrow-filled weight pressing on him. "I took a small company with me, including Lord Reed here as my guide, to retrieve Lyanna Stark after we ended the siege on Storms End. I'll not speak of where we went, only that when we arrived, she was guarded by three of King Aerys's Kingsguard. While we won the fight, of our number, only Reed and myself survived.
"When we found her, she was already dying, but not because of fever. She was dying of childbirth."
'Mother have mercy,' Catelyn thought, immediately thinking of the pains labor brought, before her thoughts went to more prudent things. Like how Lyanna Stark became pregnant in the first place. 'Oh. The Mother have mercy.'
"She begged me, promised me, to look after her child. To make sure that he would grow up safe and well, and with no fear for his life."
'No, Ned. Tell me you didn't,' she wanted to say. To beg in turn. But the words wouldn't form, left simply as thoughts as her breath struggled to comprehend and understand.
"Your bastard." Rodrik Cassel was the speaker this time, and the realization of it seemed to slam down on her most unkindly.
Ned nodded heavily, even as dread creeped up Catelyn's spine, and in a moment, she knew why. "Lyanna named him Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Howland Reed and our friend here are my witnesses." Reed and the hooded man nodded in affirmation.
"T-Trueborn?" Manderly choked out. "But Lyanna was kidnapped."
"I know not the circumstances surrounding it. If she was abducted or a party to it, or if she conceived the child willingly or not. Without truer witnesses, it would only be speculation on our parts," Ned admitted, his hands twisting at the hilt of his sword. "I only know that she named him as trueborn."
"Bloody fucking hell Ned," Lord Glover cursed, walking a short distance from their gathering, as if distancing himself would allow clarity to come. Catelyn didn't blame him. Her hands were trembling, pounding further with the cut in her hand, as this resonated with the rest of them. "You know this is treason right?! Harboring a Targ?!"
"Why not tell Robert?" Lord Tallhart asked carefully. "Surely he loved Lyanna. He raised banners for her."
Ned snarled a near wolfish snarl. The first true emotion he'd revealed there as he waited for them to simmer down. "I once believed in Robert's love for my sister. But I now know his hate for Rhaegar was far greater."
"How do you know?" Lord Hornwood asked.
"Because when he had to choose between taking a crown or riding off to save his dearest intended, he chose the crown." They all blinked in surprise as the cloaked figure finally spoke, grit and bite prevalent in his tone. The hands reached up, gently pulling the hood back, and a string of curses flew freely. "Because when I demanded justice to be done for Elia Martell and her children, he laughed, and bellowed, like the Stag he is."
"The Kingslayer?! You brought the fucking Kingslayer?!" Manderly shouted. The hiss of steel signaled weapons drawn, and Catelyn instinctively drew to back away.
"Put your weapons down!" Ned all but shouted, his orders clear in this.
"Jaime Lannister assisted us in bringing home the bones of your kin," Howland stated with a soft fire that made the Northerner's stop before the shorter Crannogman, letting his words digest to their fullest. "He has counseled us both true in protecting young Aegon. Grant him this. Hear him out. And make your opinion's known afterward. The Gods watch this meet."
Many of the lords turned to glance at the weirwood that presided over them, and it seemed that won them staying their hand.
"Continue, Lannister," Ned urged, watching as steel was slowly returned to their sheaths, if far too slow.
"When Robert heard Elia Martell and her children had been slaughtered, Robert was practically giddy beside himself," Ser Lannister growled, returning all attention back to him. "I had no doubts then that if he had no intention of punishing those who committed the act, then he wouldn't hesitate to lose any other 'dragonspawn'." The melancholy on Ser Lannister's face was almost as deep as Ned's, if not equal or more. It was hard to tell, his eyes and face much more guarded. "My only regret is that I didn't… I didn't think, to protect Lady Martell and her children after killing Aerys. That I had thought them safe."
"And how did you come by Lyanna Stark?" Lord Mormont asked most patiently, the other lords still under varies opinions at his presence.
"The Kingsguard knew of her location, and I feared it was only a matter of time before Robert learned of her whereabouts once he had claimed the Throne. We were aware that she may have been with child. I saw it necessary to prevent anything similar happening as it did in the Red Keep and King's Landing," he answered. "I went there as soon as I could get away, but… I was too late to do anything else. I encountered Lords Stark and Reed with the babe on her final breaths. Once we made it clear we weren't enemies in this, we sought to make sure the babe was safe." He glanced cautiously at Ned before continuing, "Lord Stark seemed prepared for the possibility of his sister carrying a child of Prince Rhaegar – and understandably so – some of his endeavors required… a more honed edge."
"Lyanna sought to protect him from Robert's wrath," Ned stated clearly, "and I gave her my word. She knew well what would happen should he get his hands on her son, and I agreed with her."
"So you introduced the babe as your bastard," Ser Cassel stated. "And none would question the word of Ned Stark. And even if the Kingslayer's word weren't shoddy, Lord Reed was still a voice in favor."
"My word," the Kingslayer retorted with a tone bordering on impatience, "is what stayed the Lions from sniffing into it."
Catelyn felt sick to her stomach as she listened to them talk so dispassionately about the deceit. He'd lied. He'd committed treason. Aye, to protect his sister's babe, but… he had let her think….
"So Robert lied to us? About the whole Rebellion? Just so he could take a crown?!" Lord Ryswell demanded angrily. He appeared ready to raise banners for that alone.
"Let us not forget my lords, that Jon Arryn raised his banners first against the Mad King," Lord Mormont reminded them, urging calm. "No. That fault lies with whoever began the tale that Lady Lyanna had been abducted. Robert may be an opportunistic arse, but I doubt he was that clever."
'Aye,' Catelyn thought, trying to hold the darker thoughts at bay in the midst of this madness. 'Because that's what started this all.' And it had lead to Rickard and Brandon Stark's deaths, which in turn had spiraled into the Rebellion. And those two, Rhaegar and Lyanna, had their hand in it too.
"So the babe is a Dragon, and of the North," Lord Hornwood clarified, turning to Ned. "You could have passed this off and none would think to question it. Why have you brought this council then, if it was to remain a hidden truth?"
"Because I asked him to," the Kingslayer stated. "Because such a secret would cause no shortage of trouble later down the road. What Ned and the child needed were men true and leal who would rise in defense of not just the Starks, but the son of Lyanna Stark herself. Sworn men of honor on his side, and perhaps most important, his lady wife. There must be little discord in this, and certainly as few problems that could rise in the future."
Catelyn felt heat creep up her back as the lords looked to her, and she couldn't answer their stares. She didn't know what she was supposed to say to that.
"So what now? Will you raise him to become an usurper like Robert?" Lord Glover demanded. "Will we raise our banners again in another twenty years to reclaim a throne?" The idea was more one of pleading to the contrary. No one wanted to fight again. Especially not with the bloodshed of the Rebellion claiming so many.
"No. I wish to continue as we have. He is to be raised as my bastard, with as much as that title entails as can be made president. No one outside of this may know. Not even as a possible suggestion or suspicion. It could unravel everything in a moment," Ned stated. "In time, I will tell him the truth of who he is when he is old enough, and pray that I have made the right choice in this. But for now, his safety is of more import than any inkling of him taking the Iron Throne."
There were nods of agreement among the Northern Lords, hesitant though they were. He'd just given them a harsh truth, one that they had sworn to secrecy before their Gods.
Eventually, it was Lord Tallhart who asked the question, "Why were we picked among your council Ned."
"Because these present Houses raised their banners the moment I called," he answered deeply. "Your Houses fought and bled more than any others, and your Houses proved most loyal when I rode to retrieve my sister. Had I time and would word reach fast enough with the ravens and horses ride swift, I would have brought a few others into our fold, but time is not an ally, and we must prepare as we are now."
"And what of the Kingslayer?" Lord Ryswell asked. "How do we know he is to be trusted?"
"It was Lannister who supported the details surrounding my sister's death when I relayed them to Robert. It was Lannister who advised me to commence this council and ensure those who had fallen for my sister were brought home," Ned supported. "It was also he that ensured my… my father's and brother's bones were returned to me. As well as my family's blade." He gestured absently to the Valyrian Steel greatsword he had been leaning on. "Any reason he has given me to doubt him has been made clear in my mind."
"Normally, a man accused of Kingslaying and Oathbreaking would be made to take the Watch," Lannister picked up further, "but as Robert has seen to pardon me, and my father would not hear of it, some… creative bargaining settled that I act as liaison between King's Landing and the North. As close to the Wall as my father would let me be anyway, on account of mine own guilty conscience."
It was clear that whatever guilt lay in his conscience, it had nothing to do with slaying of the Mad King. That was just the excuse. It was clever really, and Catelyn could appreciate it if it weren't so damned dangerous.
"It will give me a chance to keep a watch over the child," Ser Lannister continued, "while also securing trustworthy allies in the South who are willing to back the North should the child be discovered."
"And his claim?" Mormont asked, speaking for all of them at just how dangerous such words could be.
"Perhaps," the young lion answered cryptically, and purposely evasive. "Let's just say that our foremost ally is of the right opinion that a good ruler is needed, and he isn't exactly singing Robert's praises right now. His honor in this venture has been questionable, and his claiming the Iron Throne is likewise."
"Robert's ascent to the throne doesn't exactly put him in good standing," Ned nodded rather glumly. "Hopefully, there is still some honor in him that will guide his rule."
"Bah!" Lord Manderly exclaimed. "Let us not talk of treason and war so soon after we've barely survived this last one. You did a bloody foolish thing Stark. But none here will fault you the love of your sister, or her son. Lyanna Stark was dear to the North. Our own Winter Rose. Her son will be safe while within its borders. I'll see no threat come through White Harbor if it can be helped, and even then, ravens fly faster than horses."
"And they shall find no ease of passage through the Neck," Lord Reed stated firmly. "We will begin reinforcing Moat Cailin as subtly as we may. There is no lord there, but Greywater will see it made strong in any case."
"I recommend a strengthening of all lorddoms and their keeps with as little alarm raised as possible. And if our new King has any query about the North fortifying itself, it may do well to use my presence to your advantage," Lord Lannister stated with a leonine grin. "That you dare not trust the intentions of lions so far north. And if necessary… I dare think I'd make a handsome hostage." There was a soft murmur of chuckles. Clever enough, if it were true. It was an interesting plan, one that Catelyn was detecting layers of intricacy that would only serve to feed the deceit with potential fact.
"Our very own Northern Dragon. The first of an age I reckon," Lord Tallhart stated with chuckle, and firm nods of agreement all-around. "Aye, Lyanna's boy will be safe."
"Aye," Lord Mormont stated firmly, looking to Ned. "We'll all tread carefully with this. Build up our strength slowly and with as little cause for fuss as can be met. No word will reach Robert about the child's true status, and the boy will be raised a bastard in your home until such time as you deem fit to reveal the circumstances of his birth. Let us leave these things in their place until there is a need to draw them up again."
"Aye, and pint or two wouldn't be remiss," Glover agreed.
Ned seemed to get the hint and the tension left his shoulders as he breathed. "Words cannot express my gratitude my lords. Very well. We have meat, bread, ale, and a warm hearth to those who will accept the hospitality of my keep."
This seemed to stir the lords as they nodded in acceptance of his hosting. One by one they dissolved away. Glover and Tallhart went in a pair, then Ryswell, Manderly, and Hornwood. It wasn't long yet before Ser Cassel went to ensure that the servants prepared something for their guests, and prepared the Guest Rooms in the event any of them drank too much. Within moments, all that remained in the Godswood were Mormont, Reed, Lannister, and the Lord and Lady Stark.
Reed patted Ned on the shoulder before making his own way toward the Great Hall. "I'll speak with you later Ned. But not too long now. I wish to return to Greywater Watch before Jyanna gives birth." Her husband nodded firmly with a knowing and encouraging smile on his face that was lost to her.
"And I had best be off," Ser Lannister stated after a moment of silence, his attentions clearly elsewhere. "I must ride for White Harbor. Robert has Dragonstone watched thoroughly, so I won't be able to secure my Queen without alarm. At the very least, I can see to it that no harm comes to them when they try to take it. She will have birthed her own babe by then." A familiar heaviness crossed his eyes, one Catelyn was becoming familiar with in Ned; an equal sadness and regret. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. Smothered. "At least no moves will be made on it until Stannis has built Robert enough ships to drown the entire Keep. Last I heard, they wouldn't be completed for another seven months yet. Poor bastard that he is. Spent the better part of a year under siege, and Robert sends him right back into the fray the moment you lifted it."
"Aye. That he deserved better for his trials," Ned agreed before holding out his hand, both men grasping arms firmly. "Godspeed then, Lannister. And good luck to you." It seemed a strange alliance to Catelyn, a Stark and a Lannister. A Direwolf and a Lion. And yet, something in the eyes of both men spoke a respect despite having been on opposing sides of the Rebellion. She could only begin to guess what had occurred that had forged such a trust. In another life, in another time, she could only see them as enemies. "You are welcome any time for as long as you would stay. And keep your wits about you out there. There are plenty of hunters who'd love a lion skin pelt above their fire mantle."
"Probably sooner rather than later," Lannister said back, before taking his own leave.
"Can I help you with something Lord Mormont?" Ned asked once Lannister had disappeared, looking at the Old Bear curiously.
The Lord of Bear Island looked intently into the Godswood. Or perhaps at the weirwood itself. She didn't know, but he seemed a man of focus in that moment. "I thought I might extend an offer. Perhaps when the babe is of age, you might see it fit to have him fostered. I'd offer my halls to him if it wouldn't be of trouble to you. At the very least, it might give him options otherwise unavailable were he to remain. My son has no children of his own after his wife passed, and should he marry again, he might find it good practice when I pass on my title."
That somewhat irked Catelyn that Ned's bast– that his nephew was already on the receiving end of offers to foster. But given the weight of the conversation they'd all just had, she let it simmer down immensely. This wasn't just a matter of the babe's safety and the safety of her own, but also of potentially rigging a Game before anyone even knew it was being played. It might be better were he away from Winterfell. It was dangerous work, and if need be, the child might need a place to fall back on; but the reassuring matter was that no one would suspect such a tact of the North. She would never have thought them so clever if she hadn't just been present to their council. But the North protects their own, even to treason it would seem. What was the saying? "The North remembers"? And the last year had given them much to remember it would seem.
"I will keep it my thoughts," Ned assured, though his face betrayed a silent agony at the thought of sending the child away.
'Jon Snow,' she reminded herself. 'His name is Jon Snow.' Not "the child". Not Aegon Targaryen. Not the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Not the son of Lyanna Stark. But a bastard of her honorable husband and whatever wanton woman that had seduced him.
She blinked when she realized Lord Mormont had walked away, leaving the two of them alone in the Godswood. Despite the revelation that her husband had in fact been true to her, there was still an apparent wall between them. Despite the truth, the thought that he'd fathered a bastard had been allowed a few weeks to seed and root, now replacing a lie with treason and danger.
"Catelyn?" Ned asked, his voice far softer than it had been in front of his fellow lords.
"You lied to me." The words came out before she had comprehended that she spoke them. "You lied to everyone. The honorable Ned Stark has sunk himself neck-deep in his own deceit, and none would think to question him."
He froze stiff for a moment before nodding hesitantly. "Aye."
She scoffed, more annoyed still that he could be honest about it so freely. But there wasn't an ounce of shame on his face. It was clear he wasn't going to allow his choices to cripple him. He owned them, and he wouldn't regret them.
"Why?" It shouldn't have cut her so deep. They were still but strangers, and yet she was pleading with him. Begging to understand why he'd allowed her to believe that he had violated something so sacred between them; only to find that something just as sacred had been violated in its stead, if she could only discover what exactly it was.
"The servants," he stated calmly, his tone revealing how truly tired he was. How exhausting the war had been and how exhausting these last few weeks back had been. That he was a man defeated even in victory. "They needed to see a true reaction from their Lady. No act. No farce. If those who dwell in my keep believe in my transgression, then any who enter this domain will believe as well." His answer irked her as much as she understood it. Again, her husband was proving as cunning as any Player of the Game, even if it was only a necessary cunning and not a practiced one. But she wasn't happy with his answer. Far from it.
"I'll not apologize for doing it," he continued firmly, letting her know that it was a choice he'd make again without a second thought. "But I am sorry that it hurt you so. If I could absolve you of it, I would."
They were no more than two strides from each other, and yet she felt the need to be closer to him. When she had stepped in front of him, she had to look up to gaze into his downcast eyes. She found in that moment that she loved those eyes of his, their grey reaches so deep and solemn, like a foggy mist. It may not be a truer love, but it was a start. That he would go so far for his sister's son, what lengths would he go to protect hers and his, their child and future children, together?
Their distance was erased as she moved to his chest, and his arms came up around her on reflex, and they embraced. She listened for a moment, intent on finding his beating heart, and was rewarded with its strong thrum.
"It's treason Ned," she whispered. "If it's discovered, it won't just be you or Aeg– Jon. It'll be your household. It could be the other lords too." She wanted him to understand the dangers. Maybe he did. "It'll be me and your son." She felt his arms wrap tighter around her, almost protectively.
"That's why I agreed with Lannister to hold this council. We need allies," he stated, resting his chin on her head in a manner that was as much for her comfort as it was for his. "Even if Robert let me off, he wouldn't let Aeg– he would let Jon go, simply for being Rhaegar's son. It matters not that he is Lyanna's. In the unlikely event he did, there are still those who back House Baratheon that might be provoked to attack simply by learning of his existence and his truer claim. There's a risk with or without the lords knowing, and there's boons in both cases as well.
"I just wish I knew a way to keep you all safe with no risk."
It was a risk. The maternal instinct to protect her own was already manifest. The child was as in as much danger as he was dangerous to those around him, simply by association. If word ever got out, then that would be the end of it. Gods forbid the Kingslayer's father saw to it that the "Rains of Castamere" would visit Winterfell. Or try, with his armies having to cross the Neck. There would not be mercy or pity. Her child, and any children she bore afterward would be in danger, whether or not he lived. Whether or not the babe grew old enough to take the Watch or stake his claim. That Ned had confided in allies he trusted, and that their strength would sum to their own was of small comfort at least.
"I'll not say I'm happy about it, but I am glad you told me," she whispered into his chest, worry gnawing at her as the cold did. It was all she could do to enjoy the feeling of his warmth, even with the mantle about her shoulders. "I'll say this once Ned, if he decides to reclaim the Throne, me and mine will stay out of it. I'll not risk any babe of mine. Not when the risks are so great as is. Promise me that you won't take any of our children to war for your sister's babe."
She felt him tense, the feeling prodding her to look up into his stormy eyes. There was a sorrow she had not yet seen before, a grief laying just underneath the surface as if her words were some incantation that had invoked it so. He looked at her so kindly, and so tenderly. And so sadly. And she could see that she was asking too much of him. And yet she asked again. "Promise me."
"Aye," he whispered, a small, shuddered gasp escaping his lips. "I promise."
She closed her eyes, knowing she had asked something most dreadful of him under the leaves of the weirwood. It was pain enough the child would grow up without a mother, and as a bastard. She wouldn't deny him his birthright if that's what he wished, so long as it didn't involve her child. So long as any future children they had didn't become involved.
There were holes in the promise of course. Their children – because Gods willing, there would be others – could act on their own outside of their parents will. But Ned was honorable enough, and she trusted him enough, not to seek it out and at least attempt to dissuade such foolishness. Gods, she trusted him, just as he was trusting her with this. And as his Lady, there would be work aplenty to ensure this didn't come back on them. Or that they were far more prepared for it than their current circumstances presented. They had allies at least, and those allies would fortify their own.
But that all could wait. She just wanted to stand there, enjoying his warmth under the weirwood.
She smirked suddenly, and tried to hide her face, but he must have heard her.
"What amuses my Lady so?" he asked, an attempt at a smile in his voice.
"I believe I'll be keeping your mantle my Lord," she stated. "I find it's suitably warm."
He barked a deep laugh that seemed ill-suited to their surroundings or the receding conversations. And yet it was crisp and clear to her that it could be bespoken anywhere, and still be among the most beautiful of sounds she'd ever heard.
'Aye. I think, I could grow to love you,' she thought softly, letting a sliver of happiness past her features.
"Then it is yours my lady."
Present
A sharp kick returned her from her recollections, her hand grasping her belly with an equally sharp gasp. She forgot where she was for a moment, before looking back out to see her son and Ned still working on the deer.
"Are you alright my lady?" Ser Rodrik asked, concern marring his features.
"Yes. Just lost in thought," she answered with a wince as the discomfort passed, turning from Ned and her eldest to the other boys, drawing wooden swords on each other to strengthen their arms and skill. "Just thoughts of a Godswood long ago."
He grunted softly, following her line of sight. "Not the best thoughts to be lost in," he commented warningly, and she found she would have agreed if it wasn't also the point in time that brought her and Ned closer still. A cursed period that had given her many blessings since.
There was still the danger of course. As it was whenever she found she was with child, she contemplated the danger they were in as long as the "bastard" was present. She was at her coldest to him then, but not without her own bouts of sympathy. Just when she thought she had much more to lose, it seemed to Gods would mock her with more should the North's collective deceit turn against them.
Every now and then though, she'd wonder what it would be like if Ned hadn't told her. If she truly believed him to be a bastard. Would she treat him the same? A part of her knew that, no, she wouldn't. She'd be crueler. Far crueler to a child that could potentially take her children's place as heirs of Winterfell, unlikely though that would ever be. Ned would never do that to her; she knew that in the here and now. But sometimes the thoughts creeped in, and she couldn't help a small trickle of bitterness rise up.
But mostly, she was jealous. Jealous that her late good-sister's son looked more a Stark than any of her children, other than her little she-wolf.
"Aye," she agreed, letting her gaze linger on the Stark features of Lyanna Stark's child. Especially the eyes. Because those eyes, no matter who his mother was, were like that of Ned's; different, but still the same. They were indeed beautiful eyes.
'Jon Snow,' she had to remind herself as he and Theon continued in swordplay, the clack of their sticks connecting sharp tones. 'His name is Jon Snow.' And Gods rue the day he learned his name is Aegon Targaryen.
Author's Note:
Heads-up: I'm not sure how often I'll be posting these yet, or if it will continue. This is mostly to relieve the pressure on my brain. Because it's a Sample Story, if I get serious about writing this, it will be subject to changes. So not everything here will be gospel if I come back to it.