Sweat glistened like jewels on Catelyn's forehead as she screamed in agony. At her side, the midwife soothed her with encouraging words and placed a cool, wet linen cloth on her forehead. Terrified thoughts swarmed in her mind. My mother died birthing a child. Will I too?
She howled as more pain rippled through her again; it was ten – no, a hundred – times more excruciating than her moon blood pains. She breathed deeply, the Grand Maester's mutterings a faint buzz. "Where's Robert?" Catelyn asked before gasping as her contractions became more frequent. Where is my husband? It is said that the loving and devoted of husbands wait outside the birthing chamber; is Robert waiting for me?"
"His Grace is out…hunting," said Grand Maester Pycelle, clearing his throat. "I am led to believe that hunting clears His Grace's mind. Your Grace, the king loves you and cannot bear thinking of you in pain, hence he goes hunting."
Hunting?
"Come now Your Grace!" urged the elder of the three midwives there. "The royal baby is on its way! You need to push!"
After what seemed like a journey through the Seven Hells and back, Catelyn finally heard the cry of a newborn baby. She remembered an infant's first cry well; when she was four, she heard Edmure's lusty cry; when she was six, she listened to the faint whimper of her feeble, unnamed baby brother before he followed their exhausted mother Lady Minisa Whent to the grave, or to the river, according to the Tully funeral customs.
"It is a girl!" a midwife said happily. "Your Grace! You have a little princess! Oh she will be a beautiful rose one day!" Groggily, Catelyn squinted at the bawling babe in the midwife's arms. "My daughter," she breathed, mesmerised. "She is all well? Bonny? Robust?"
Grand Maester Pycelle nodded, managing a small smile. "The princess's cry is strong. She is a healthy babe, Your Grace."
"Find the king!" Catelyn ordered, eager to hold her child. "Tell him he is now the father of a princess. He will surely wish to know before the court." Her joy melted as she recalled her mother's death. Lady Minisa lingered for a few hours before dying. I must stay alive, Catelyn vowed, for the sake of my husband, the realm…and now my daughter.
It didn't take long for Pycelle to find the king. Just as Catelyn began settling down, rocking the baby in her arms, the doors flung open and Robert strode in, his hunting horn dangling from his thick leather belt. He left a trail of muddy foot prints and smelled of blood and sweat, but there was a broad grin shining like the sun on his ruddy face.
"Cat!" he roared affectionately, swooping down and kissing her on the lips as Ser Barristan, Uncle Brynden and Stannis entered, the former two drenched from head to toe with sweat, their snowy white cloaks now painted with a mix of dirt and blood. Startled by Robert's loud voice, the baby wailed.
"A strong stag that one!" chuckled Robert.
"We have a daughter," said Catelyn, smiling at him. "Are you pleased?"
"Of course! A daughter first, sons will come later, eh?" He looked fondly at the infant, who stared back with beautiful blue eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "Even if we have one son and a dozen daughters, I will love our girls as much as I will love our son. Are you well?"
"I feel well…I suppose."
"Pycelle!" Robert turned to the Grand Maester. "Is Cat in blooming health as she was before she gave birth?"
Grand Maester Pycelle nodded, stroking his long beard. "Aye, Your Grace. The queen has recovered from her ah, ordeal quite quickly. However, there is always the risk of an infection."
Robert frowned. "Infection, eh?"
"Your Grace, it will be wiser if the queen remains in bed for another day or two in case symptoms of childbed illness occurs."
"Very well. I hope Cat will not spend too long in bed! As the queen and mother of the little princess, it will be her duty to attend the festivities and tourneys that have already been planned!"
"Perhaps a day, Your Grace."
Robert brightened. "Excellent! You have done well, Pycelle! Bringing a little princess into the world! Go and rest, Grand Maester! I expect to see you back in the council room when the next small council meeting is held. We don't want you falling asleep now, eh?"
"Thank you, Your Grace." The old man shuffled out the door. Catelyn bit back a cry as Robert took their daughter from her arms. He rocked her gently. "She has my hair and your eyes, Cat. Our own daughter."
Can we name her Minisa? Lord Hoster had once informed Catelyn, Lysa and Edmure – though mostly to Catelyn and Lysa – that one Tully tradition was to name one's child after one's father or mother. It was a custom used from time to time throughout the generations of Tullys of Riverrun; one sadly neglected by Catelyn's own grandfather. "I was thinking of naming our little girl Cassana," said Catelyn quietly. Family, Duty, Honour. Always honour your lord husband's family before your own. "After your mother," Catelyn continued. "What do you think, my lord? Princess Cassana Baratheon." No doubt she will have plenty more children, some of them daughters; there will always be another chance to name one of her future daughters after her own mother.
"A fine name," Robert agreed, his eyes glazed in deep thought.
"What is it?" Catelyn sensed something amiss. "Have I said something wrong, Robert? You do not want our daughter named in honour of your mother?"
"Nothing of the sort," her husband assured her. "There are a good many fine names for a Baratheon princess. Argella Baratheon…Jocelyn Baratheon…Elenei Baratheon…Cassana Baratheon…all strong names for a strong daughter of the House Baratheon. However, I thought of another name for our girl."
"What…what is it, Robert?"
"Lyanna."
Catelyn stared at him, astounded. Is he japing? He must be japing. Apparently Stannis thought so too.
"A terrible jest, Your Grace," Stannis commented. "Lyanna is a Northern name, not suitable for a daughter of our House. Peace between the noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms is almost secure and you wish to renew old grudges by naming your daughter after the Stark lady who was partially responsible for starting that damned war? A very poor jest, Your Grace."
Robert reddened and growled. "It is no jest, Stannis! Frankly, I am surprised you know what a jape even is! I never heard you fucking say one nor laugh at one! Seven Hells! You're still as grim as a fucking statue! I am not japing. I will name my daughter after the one I loved. The one I started a fucking war for. My daughter will be called Lyanna, and the next person who dares to oppose it will find themselves a head short!" He glared around menacingly. Catelyn lowered her gaze, humiliated. After all this time, Robert Baratheon is still infatuated with Lyanna Stark…and she is dead.
Stannis stared at Robert emotionlessly. "I hope Lord Tully does not hear about this," he said stiffly. "He will not be pleased to know you are still in love with the Stark girl now you are husband to his daughter. Imprison me if you must; have me executed if you so desire. You know I speak true." He bowed ungracefully at Robert and Catelyn and marched out.
"Please do not fight with Stannis," Catelyn pleaded on impulse. "We will call our daughter Lyanna…after Lyanna Stark. Lord Stark will be delighted. Robert, I beg you, don't argue with Stannis."
"I don't see why you should defend him." Robert snorted derisively. "Stannis certainly does not deserve your support."
"He is still your brother."
"So be it. I will summon him after supper and tell him we expect him to attend the tourney in honour of Lyanna's birth. If he refuses, I will banish him to that godforsaken island of Dragonstone."
Catelyn nodded. "Thank you Robert."
Robert gave her a strange look. "It should be Stannis thanking me, not you," he said gruffly. "Rest. You need your strength. I will take Lyanna to the nursery and see to it she is comfortable."
Catelyn nodded again, suddenly feeling drained of energy. "Thank you," she whispered. Closing her eyes, she instantly fell asleep.
"Jon fears I am too weak to give birth in a stifling place like here," Lysa said miserably. "He will send me to the Eyrie in a week. Oh why can't I stay here with you, Cat? I hate the Eyrie!"
"The Eyrie is a lovely place," said Catelyn soothingly, resting her head against two plump pillows as she smiled at her pouting sister. "Your future son will be the next Lord of the Eyrie; where better for him to be born? Lord Stark wanted nothing more than his heir to be born in Winterfell. It will be safer for you in the Eyrie, Lysa. You will be well-protected there."
"I am well-protected here! I have Jon, you, Father, Uncle Brynden…"
Catelyn shook her head indulgently. Uncle Brynden's first and chief obligation was to guard the king; his second was to protect her. If Uncle Brynden was not family, ensuring Lysa's safety would not be on his priority list at all. "You will be safer in the Eyrie," she said gently. "Your last two pregnancies have not ah, ended well, and Lord Arryn is only concerned for your health-"
"He only fears I will not bear him a son!" Lysa's voice became shrilly – far shriller than before.
"Lysa…he is your husband and it is his duty to care for you. You will love it in the Eyrie. All his bannermen and loyal supporters will keep you from harm. They wish to see their Lady of the Eyrie too."
"I won't be with you. I will be alone." We highborn daughters all have to bear the burden of leaving our home, our parents, our sisters and brothers…you need to grow up, Lysa. You have responsibilities now.
"I will visit," Catelyn promised, "and a month or two after you give birth, you will return to King's Landing with your baby. Robert will be more than happy to allow his lord Hand's son to stay in the royal nursery. Besides, Lyanna will need companions when she grows up. Who better than her cousin?"
"What if I give birth to a girl?"
"Lord Arryn will love her as he would any son."
Lysa nodded, unconvinced. "Lyanna will be beautiful," she said, smiling at the sleeping baby in an old cradle constructed from lacquer black wood etched with carvings of prancing stags. Covering baby Lyanna were yellow blankets. Robert had more than ensured she be surrounded by Baratheon colours. At times, she was even swaddled in a goldspun mantle. It had only been two days yet it was clear Lyanna was already the apple of Robert's eye.
"She will twist him around her little finger," laughed Catelyn.
"She will twist him around her little finger…" echoed Lysa, her expression one of nostalgia. " Littlefinger…Petyr…" Catelyn looked at her sharply. "What did you say?" Lysa giggled and said dreamily. "Petyr Baelish. Do you remember when we called him Littlefinger? Edmure thought of it first. Petyr was always so clever and so helpful and kind."
Catelyn frowned. "Father sent him home," she reminded Lysa. Father was too ashamed at the prospect of his ward losing a duel with Rickard Stark's heir. "I will anger Father if I call Petyr to court."
"You are the queen." Lysa pouted. "King Robert will agree to anything. Petyr is our old friend. Do you not miss him?"
It will be inappropriate for the queen to be seen with an old friend. "Of course I miss him," said Catelyn cautiously. "I don't think it is…proper for a lady of my position to invite a childhood male friend to court. Rumours will spread and the lords and ladies of the court will talk. I know you miss Petyr, but I cannot invite him to court. You can always summon him to see you in the Eyrie; his House is of the Vale, is it not?"
Lysa nodded, brightening up considerably. "I will go and see to the packing at once!" she said, embracing Catelyn and kissing her on the cheek. "Oh! The sooner I leave for the Eyrie, the sooner I can see Petyr again! Oh Cat, I was wrong to have thought I would be alone in the Eyrie! How silly of me! I will have Petyr there by my side! I will stay here for Lyanna's name day celebrations of course, but I will ask Jon if I could leave for the Eyrie earlier!" She clapped her hands with joy and almost ran out the nursery, delight written all over her fair face. Catelyn sighed and ran her fingers through her thick auburn hair. I have failed in my duty as a sister and a Tully, she thought sadly. I should have made her see the truth of the world; life is not a sweet song sung by bards. If only I'd taught her to put the importance of family, duty and honour before her own desires…
She smiled as baby Lyanna moved her lips in her sleep. Catelyn could watch her daughter sleep all day. I should prepare myself, she decided, standing up and giving Lyanna one final smile. The Starks will be arriving at any time now. I hope they will stay here a few more weeks after the celebrations. She had enjoyed her conversations with Ashara; reading Ashara Stark's letters were not exactly the same as speaking to her in person.
Closing the oaken door quietly behind her, she walked gracefully to her own chambers, nodding as passing lords and ladies murmured, "Your Grace." Waiting for her in front of a large, weirwood-framed floor length mirror, were two of her half a dozen handmaids, Lady Alerie and Lady Blackwood. Catelyn's father had warned her of the dangers of befriending a Tyrell (even one by marriage) and on more than one occasion, offered to introduce her to a number of highborn ladies from the Riverlands. "I rather you befriend a bloody Frey than a prickly rose of the Reach," her father had grumbled at least thrice. Catelyn had not bothered to remind him that it was he who betrothed Edmure to Lady Leyla Hightower…who was Alerie's younger sister.
"Your Grace." The handmaids and noble ladies curtsied as Catelyn entered her rooms. Catelyn dipped her head and smiled. "This is a surprise," she commented to Lady Alerie and Lady Blackwood. "Should you not be in your own chambers, being prepared to greet the arriving parties?"
"My husband has decided for us to meet Lord and Lady Stark at the evening feast tonight, Your Grace," explained Alerie. "I have enough time to aid you dress before mine own handmaids help me look presentable."
"And I must help Your Grace dress before I am to look respectable enough to meet Lord and Lady Stark with my husband," added Lady Blackwood.
"How many times must I remind you to call me Catelyn?" Despite her tone of exasperation, Catelyn smiled at her close companions. She turned and addressed her handmaids. "Fetch my new gown if you will. I think now will be a good time to wear it." The handmaids obeyed, leaving and returning shortly, the former carefully carrying a beautiful gown of silk and the latter clutching a pair of soft black doeskin slippers. Within minutes, Catelyn had donned the new gown and comfortable slippers. As Lady Alerie and Lady Blackwood bickered over which jewels suited Catelyn more, Catelyn stared at herself in the mirror.
The gown was a little too low cut than she was accustomed to, but it fitted her well and was comfortable. Like the majority of her gowns, it was designed in the fashion of a dress from the Riverlands. However, it was black and gold; House Baratheon colours. Black samite flowed from her shoulders down to her waist, forming a vee cut and revealing a triangle of golden satin over her chest. The skirts were long, the black samite slashed from the silver belt, illuminating more golden satin; swirls of gold were also sewn over the black samite that bordered the triangle of gold on her chest, more swirls glittering on her outer skirt. Catelyn smiled as she slowly turned to her right. The seamstresses had designed the sleeves longer than her usual ones, and she liked it. Perhaps it is time for a change after all, she thought, Lady Blackwood placing a golden pendant around her slim neck. She sat down in front of her vanity as the maids reached for combs, jewels, ribbons and other hair accessories.
If Catelyn was in Riverrun, she would have left her hair out cascading down her back; as she was in the capital, she could not go around with her hair hastily brushed. Catelyn's hair braided and coiled, Lady Alerie had the honour of placing a silver diadem encrusted with sparkling onyxes on top of Catelyn's head. "You look beautiful," said Lady Blackwood approvingly. "Lord Stark's heart will melt like snow in summer when he sees you."
"Lord Stark is a married man," Catelyn reminded him. "His heart should melt like snow in summer when he sees his wife, not me."
"Very true, Your Grace," agreed Lady Alerie. "However, Lady Blackwood was quite right. You look splendid, Your Grace."
Catelyn laughed. "You will look divine too," she said knowingly. Lady Alerie Hightower always dressed magnificently on significant occasions…well, on any ordinary occasion too.
"I cannot look finer than you, my queen."
"Your Grace." The door opened and Uncle Brynden peeked in. "Lady Alerie, Lady Blackwood." He nodded politely at the two ladies present. "The Starks have arrived," he informed Catelyn. "Lord Arryn is escorting them to the Great Hall as we speak. Are you ready, Your Grace?"
Catelyn nodded. "Yes, Uncle." Farewelling her two companions, she took her uncle's arm and walked with him to the Great Hall, her head held high. Her neck ached, but she was determined not to look weak. You are the queen, she thought to herself. You must now play the part of queen. Robert and Stannis were already in the Great Hall, the former sitting uncomfortably on the Iron Throne and the latter standing rigidly, tight-lipped and scowling like the ugly gargoyle statue in the garden. Catelyn suspected Robert hated that particular statue and planned to ship it to Dragonstone one day. She would not miss it much, if not at all.
"Your Grace." Stannis dipped his head almost mechanically once he caught a glimpse of Catelyn. "I am delighted you have decided to wear the colours of our House, Your Grace," he added, nodding approvingly at her gown. "After all, it is only fitting for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to wear the colours of the royal house rather than those of her father's House." Catelyn smiled. She had decided to take his words as a compliment.
The iron-and-oaken doors swung open and the herald announced. "Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and his lady wife, Lady Ashara Stark!"
Catelyn's smile broadened as the solemn Lord Stark and the grinning Ashara entered, both still in their stained travelling attire. "Your Graces," they said in unison as they knelt.
"Ned! Ashara! Get up!" ordered Robert, lumbering down the steps of the dais towards them. "No more bowing and bloody kneeling. I have enough of that here as it is." He hugged Lord Stark and then Ashara. "You finally arrive Ned!" Robert said to Lord Stark. "I need a man like you in my court again! Day and night, all I hear is Stannis's constant whining and flattery from lickspittles like that blasted Fat Flower of Highgarden!" Catelyn laughed lightly alongside Eddard Stark and Ashara. When Robert began speaking again, Catelyn could not help but beam, knowing full well what Robert was implying.
"…we have been close friends since we were fostered at the Eyrie," Robert was saying. "I've often considered you my brother; we would've been brothers bound by blood if Lyanna was still alive. It is still not too late. You have an infant son. I have a newborn daughter. Once of age, your Robb and my Lyanna will wed; we will finally join our houses as we once would have done."
This was one of my favourite chapters to write! I hope you've enjoyed reading it! I know a lot of you wanted Sansa to be Catelyn's daughter, but I have other plans for her which I cannot wait to write! I'm leaving overseas tomorrow morning, so this will be the last chapter of the year...unless there is good internet and time for me to update. In case I cannot update, I just want to say thank you to all those who reviewed, favourited and followed and read this story so far. Every time I receive an email stating a favourite or follow alert or a review, it always made my day and motivate me to continue writing! :D
