Catelyn I

She twisted the fabric of her dress nervously, her head ducked low so her face would be concealed by a curtain of auburn hair. The tension and worry which thickened the air of her husband's solar was palpable. They were going to hear Jon Snow's story today.

Jon Snow, she thought with a grimace. He couldn't really be considered a Snow now, though, could he? Jon Targaryen, she thought instead, and she could almost taste the words in her head. Bitter, raw, spicy, they were, and above all: wrong. Her husband's bastard was royalty. She treated a prince (or was he a king?) no better than the filth beneath her shoe. Jon was older now, more mature, even if not in body. Maybe he would decide to take revenge. Throw her in a cell, starve her and beat her. Or even behead her, burn her. Catelyn could almost feel the phantom flames licking her body and charring her flesh black. She shuddered.

Mad King Aerys was supposedly obsessed with fire. He was said to burn people alive for entertainment. There were also whispers about Queen Rhaella- about the revolting puckered scars of melted skin littering her body. Although logically she knew Jon Snow (Stark? Targaryen?) would not go so far to murder her, even if spurred by vengeance, his family held a terrible history of insanity. What if, in the future, he turned dark and rageful? What if his dragon blood was inescapable, even if half-wolf? She couldn't bear to think of it.

And this story, about the future he lived through- would it be reliable? Would the boy disclude things that put him in a negative light? And what about her children, her babies? Did Jon know what happened to Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon? Did he know what they went through? Could he be trusted enough to tell what they went through?

Although Catelyn still had feelings of distrust towards the boy, her instincts screamed, "Yes! You can trust him with this!" The boy had seemed so grievous, so urgent the day before in this very solar. Whatever's coming is going to impact every single one of us, she realized. Oh, what did her children go through!

Jon and Robb stepped into the solar, closing the door firmly behind them. Robb pulled out a chair and sat, but Jon stood at the doorway fiddling with the hem of his shirt. The boy's usually melancholy features were drawn with anxiety.

"Sit down, Jon," Ned instructed, "I think we'll be here for a while."

Although her husband didn't show it, Catelyn knew he was just as worried as she was about what Jon was going to tell them. He tossed and turned the entirety of the night before, haunted by demons yet to drag themselves out from beneath the bed.

Jon sat down. Jon sat down and he told them everything. He told them about the death of Jon Arryn, about Cersei and Jaime Lannister's incestuous affair. He told them about Ned's execution (Oh gods!) and the War of the Five Kings. He spoke of Sansa's imprisonment in the lion's den, and Arya's trek across the continent. He spoke of Ramsay Bolton, and Theon's betrayal. He talked of Bran and Rickon and the greenseer, The Three Eyed Raven. He told of what was dubbed the Red Wedding, and Catelyn wanted to be sick.

And then he talked of what was happening on and beyond the wall- The Others, wildlings (or free folk, as she learned they preferred to be called), and Mance Ryder. The Mutiny at Castle Black, The Night King, and the Battle of the Bastards. The retaking of Winterfell and the King in the North.

Then he spoke of the Mad King's daughter, Daenerys Targaryen, and her dragons. He spoke of how the dragons were crucial in the battle for the dawn- well, until they were turned themselves.

His tale got darker, more chilling. He talked of mass slaughter, of electric blue eyes. Of the Night King's Army numbering in the hundreds of thousands. He talked of famine and hypothermia, sickness and death! So much death!

And then he got to the end- the magic, the rituals, the fruitless battle. And all Catelyn could think was How? How could her babies go through that? How could the Others, White Walkers, Night King, Children of the Forest, Greenseers, and Wargs be real? How could dragons be real, for that matter? And what was the nonsense about the savage sun god R'hllor, and his followers Thoros of Myr and Melisandre? Azor Ahai and Beric Dondarion? How did the bastard Jon outlive all of her children besides Bran? And by the way Jon made it sound, Bran wasn't exactly her baby boy by the time he traveled back, but more of an imposter wearing his face like a sick sort of mask. Jon also shared his suspicions about the greenseer. Either indifferent, he said, or evil.

The Raven could've been using Bran's empty body as a meatsuit, her actual child either dead or trapped inside his mind. The Raven was power hungry, supposedly, and only worked for his own benefit.

"Bran was far from the boy who climbed the towers and dreamed of knighthood," Jon had said, "He was blank, emotionless. Not even a man, really. All he seemed to care for was killing the Night King. Funny, really, because the Night King seemed to want to kill him too. Self-Interest, I tell you. All he had on his mind was his survival and his alone."

No, not funny, Catelyn had thought despite knowing that Jon meant it in a more ironic fashion. Not funny at all.

She spared a glance around the solar and almost immediately regretted it. Robb sat staring at his hands in a haze. A singular tear rolled almost lazily down his cheek and his foot tapped anxiously against the stone floor.

Tap tap tap tap.

And Ned, oh her Ned! He seemed vacant, his body trembling like a flame when attacked by wind. His head was lowered into his hands and his body wracked with great shuddering sobs. Soon enough her vision started to blur and a loud embarrassing hiccup forced its way up from her diaphragm. The tears started as Jon Snow looked on.

He looked uncomfortable, surrounded by his weeping family (and yes, they were family, he was rightfully her nephew after all. Family, Duty, Honor). How trivial this must seem to him? How pathetic, how weak? He had to live through, no survive this, and they were just hearing an account of it. An account of something that technically never happened, never in this universe at least. Catelyn forced herself to stop thinking about it and to just focus on getting her act together. She was confusing herself. Then Jon Snow started to speak. It was dark, and gravelly, and mature, and sounded way too old and weary to be coming out of a boy of ten and three's mouth.

"After we get the mess sorted out with the Arryns, Baratheons, and Lannisters, I suppose I'd head north immediately. The wall is seriously outmanned and ill supplied, as you've heard. I'll want to get the brothers prepared there, then head even further north to help the free folk. Or do whatever they'd let me, for that matter, I'm still a pathetic southern kneeler in their eyes."

"Southern?" Ned said brokenly, his voice cracking. Poor man, that was probably the last straw.

He resigned to it when Jon just looked at him and continued, sounding way too tired for nine in the morning, "Jon, I don't- I won't-" he sighed and shook his head, "I'm not going to fight you on this now considering its years in the future, but… but I really hope you decide to stay in Winterfell."

She turned her gaze to Jon, who wore a hard look on his face. Understandable, for he was just Bastard of Winterfell, the black sheep of the Stark family until Ned died in his previous timeline. Ned was probably relieved in the other universe, even a little, to see him take the black, swear celibacy, and to waste away in the frigid tundra. Less chance of being found out as the secret King, she supposed.

And she was probably part of that decision, too. That Jon Snow went to the wall because that was the only place he felt like his status wouldn't hold him back. It didn't, at least not too much- he was Lord Commander, after all. At Winterfell, though, how disdainful was she to him? How neglectful was she, even just a few days ago? Part of his decision to leave was probably to get away from her. (Family, Duty, Honor). And Ned probably let him go so easily because he knew how she had always held so much hate for the motherless child. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Can't we just isolate ourselves? Segregate the north from the rest of Westeros and leave Iron Throne, and other southern conflicts for that matter, to the south? It would be a little tough come winter, but I've heard of foreign crops, ones that could be grown in cold weather: barely, rye, turnip, and sugar beet to name a few. All we have to worry about is the Long Night, then. And we could go north together."

Catelyn had almost forgotten that her eldest son was in the room. And she did have to admit- he made a compelling point. A part of her heart longed for Riverrun, though, for Lysa and Edmure. She also wanted to feel warm, maybe even uncomfortably so, before darkness and chill descended upon them all.

Granted, she had acclimated to the North shockingly well- Winterfell was just as much her home as Riverrun. When she had first met Eddard "Call me Ned" Stark, he was straight off a battlefield, standing loyally by the behemoth usurper Robert Baratheon. He was caked in dirt and mud and blood, and his hair was tangled and matted. And when she spoke to him she was in disbelief. This couldn't have been her betrothed! He was grim, and spoke very few words. He was quiet, and broody, and overall not the man she had dreamed of as a wee girl. He ended up surpassing all of it.

She guessed she didn't realize, as a girl playing pretend, that big, heroic, brawny, braggart types made good fantasies, but not so good husbands. They were too loud, too competitive, too narcissistic. Her Ned, though, he was kind. He was a good and caring husband and father, which was more than she could've ever gotten with a man like Robert Baratheon. She supposed that his gentleness, hospitality, and respect helped her settle better in the North. Plus her children were half northern, half wolfish. Even though they were all born in the summer, they had never known anything but the North. They would do perfectly fine without the rest of Westeros holding them back.

She snapped out of her reverie when Jon began to speak, "That...that could work," he seemed to be considering the idea, which had evidently not crossed his mind before, "We could get the dragonglass from Skagos instead of Dragonstone. And once the South figures out their problems, we could recruit them for help in the Long Night. We're going to need Daenerys and her dragons eventually, after all." As he spoke, he gained confidence in the idea, his voice turning louder with each word, "Robb, you're brilliant!"

There were flaws, Catelyn thought, many flaws. But those could be worked out with time. And they had time, they had years. Ned voiced her thoughts, but admittingly focused a lot more on the flaws.

"Cutting ourselves off from the King- Robb, it'll take more than just a declaration! Robert would never just let me go like that."

"Robert doesn't need to let you," Jon's interjection was sharp, "Just do it. He's not your childhood playmate anymore, father. You can destroy a friendship that's already ripping at the seams, or make things exponentially harder for yourself. And he won't ask you to be Hand if this happens."

Ned's soldiers sagged, "But the alliances- Jon- they'd be ruined!"

"Not necessarily," Catelyn decided to add her two bits, "If they are truly loyal to you they'll continue an alliance even after the secession. The North and Dorne are practically independent, anyway. They might even side and trade with us."

She wanted to immediately bite her words when she remembered the fate of Elia Martell and her children, and how since the blame fell to Robert, it in turn also fell to Ned. Maybe after hearing the full story, though, they would change their minds

"And new trade deals!" As Robb spoke Catelyn realized with a bit of amusement that they were all teaming up against her husband, "Jon mentioned the wildlings, the Braavosi, the Dothraki. We could form alliances with them. We'd be even more powerful than Westeros!"

But that wasn't the goal, now was it? It seemed as if her son, after getting the image of him as King in the North in his head, had become a little over-zealous and ambitious in regards to power. He certainly won't end up as king anytime soon, for Ned was assuredly alive, well, and experienced, but just with the glimpse of the North as an independent nation had gotten him already aiming it to be an imperium. One look at Jon Snow's face told her that survival, and only that, was the ultimate goal for him. Survival of the human race, to be exact, even at the cost of his own life.

"Being more powerful that Westeros…" Jon started, "It could happen, actually, but it won't be what we're striving for. I will do anything, Robb. I will do anything to prevent the Long Night. The suffering...the cold...the famine...avoiding that is our number one priority."

It was as if the wind answered Jon's call. It burst through the window and pervaded frostiness throughout the room, chilling its occupants to the bones. It was an omen, a sign, a herald of the winter to come. Ned sighed.

"Starting tomorrow I'll start drafting letters to the rest of the Northern Lords and the Wall. If we're to do this we're going to need everyone backing us up."