Part 1: Catelyn

Catelyn inspected the shipment of food and goods that had just arrived. Ned was away at war, again, leaving her to carry out his duties as well as her own. She understood that Balon Greyjoy needed to be stopped, but how she was meant to do everything that was expected of her with three babes, two of which were still at the breast, she did not know?! And he expected her to care for that bastard boy as well! Well she wouldn't! Old Nan could see to the sullen thing. Yes, she had insisted that the Dornish wet-nurse, Wyalla, be sent away before the boy was weened, but she had hoped that would encourage Ned to send the bastard away as well, it hadn't.

Catelyn still had a nagging feeling that there was more to Wylla's presence at Winterfell than Ned's claim that he had been in Dorne when he had learnt of the boy and acquired the first wet-nurse that he could find. Part of her even wondered if Wylla was the bastard's mother, but she had watched the woman and Wylla did not behave like a woman that was trying to get into Ned's bed.

"Stranger, take the basted boy away." Catelyn whispered. She shivered against the cold, Maester Luwin said it was summer, yet there were still days when it snowed, sometimes she truly hated the North.

She rummaged through a crate of textiles, all of them sensible fabrics, oh, how she longed to make herself a new dress, something pretty, but there was no heavy brocade or silk here, there wasn't even any velvet. Once Ned returned, maybe she would ride to White Harbor and get some nice fabrics for the girls and herself. If Ned returned… hopefully he wouldn't return with another child, she wasn't sure if she could take it if he did. What if he never returned?

A large crate caught Catelyn's attention, it wasn't on any of the lists and was personally addressed to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Catelyn went in search of Lord Vayon Poole.

"Lady Catelyn." Vayon greeted her warmly. He was Winterfell's Steward and a father of five, all girls. He was one of the warmest people that Catelyn had met in the North. He was practical and fair, and never lamented not having fathered a son, his wife had breastfeed the bastard after Catelyn had insisted that the Dornish wet-nurse be sent away.

"Come, I have a question in regards to the delivery." Catelyn instructed. She led him to the crate and raised an eyebrow. "I cannot find this on the lists." She stated, leaving the question implied.

"Aye, you won't." Vayon agreed, he seemed slightly hesitant in his response.

"Well?" Catelyn asked, her eyebrow arching even further.

Vayon sighed and pried open the box. "Torrentine lemons, the sweetest there are, oranges, blood oranges… hmm, oh! They've even given us pink grapefruits and limes!" he exclaimed with a smile.

"Given?" Catelyn asked. She had always found Ned's indulgence in citrus out of character, they only grew in Dorne, and as such were expensive this far north, yet she saw them on the table more frequently than she ever had as a child growing up at Riverrun.

Vayon's expression was suddenly guarded. "Well, not given, of course…"

Catelyn felt that if she arched her eyebrows any further they might just fly off of her face. "How much did they cost us then?" She challenged.

Vayon looked down then looked at her. "The return of an ancestral sword and the location of Ser Arthur Dayne's body." He replied quietly. "We've never wanted for lemons since."

"Dayne." Catelyn muttered. It all made sense now, the wet-nurse had been Dornish… but Wylla hadn't been the bastard's mother, she'd been sent by the family of the mother! "Ashara was the bastard's mother." She said quietly. She shivered, she could still remember when she had confronted Ned on that, it was the only time that he had ever scared her.

Vayon gave her a horrified look. "My Lady, of that I could not say… but even if it were true I would advise you against speaking of it."

"Of course." Catelyn muttered bitterly. "Can't have Ned scaring the cooks again. Forgive me, I am tired." She turned and walked away, leaving Vayon Poole to finish dealing with the delivery and ponder their conversation with concern.

~~/~~

The fever had taken the bastard a fortnight ago, Catelyn had been yelling at him for not listening when he had collapsed right in front of her, she had thought that he was acting up. She'd yelled at him to stand up but he hadn't responded so she'd kicked him… not that hard, or so she had thought. He still hadn't responded. She had grabbed him and tried to pull him up to his feet but the boy was limp in her hands, that was when she had realised that something was terribly wrong.

She had yelled for help but nobody had heard her, she was too pregnant to be able to carry him herself (nor did she truly wish to) so she had no choice but to leave him alone whilst she went for help. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. What was she meant to do? Sit with him and wait for somebody to come along?

The boy was in bad shape, he had a fever and Maester Luwin had said that he must have broken his two floating ribs on the right side when he fell, but she knew the terrible truth, it wasn't the fall that had broken the boy's ribs, she had kicked an unconscious boy… thank the gods that there had been no witnesses. It was guilt that had placed her at his bedside to the neglect of her own three children.

Catelyn sat by the bastard's bed and watched him sleep, the boys had only recently gotten their own rooms. 'The bastard, I have to stop calling him that.' She silently chided herself. But it was hard, so hard. She had begged and prayed for this child to die for seven long years, begged for this burden to be taken away from her, but when the Seven had decided to question her resolve she had realised that she did not want the selfish desire to be fulfilled. He was just a young boy, a few weeks younger than her own sweet son, how terrible of a person was she that she had prayed for a child to die?

"Stranger, please." She whispered. "Let him go, let Jon go." It was difficult to speak the child's name, in his seven years of life she had never even addressed him by it once.

"Father, forgive me, I am a selfish and unjust woman. Judge me if you must, but do not judge this boy. Please, let the boy live and I will treat him better." She lifted the damp cloth from Jon's forehead and rinsed it in a bowl of clean water, she mopped the sweat from his face, rinsed the cloth again and placed it back on his forehead. He looked so pale lying there, and the mop of black curls surrounding his head only made it look even worse. She studied his features, he had the look of a Stark, even more so than Robb did, but there was something else in the shape of his face, the grace of his movements and the tightness of his black curls… The fever had made his skin pallid, the skin stretched tight across his face and seemed fine and breakable, almost translucent. He almost looked as pale as a Targaryen… What a silly thought.

"Mother," she whispered. "Show your mercy, guide me. Let him live and I will be a mother to him, a real mother. Save him and I will beg Ned to have him naturalised… Jon Stark." She whispered, the last two words tasted bitter on her tongue but she forced herself to say them again. "Jon Stark, wake up." The boy did not respond, it was almost as if he knew that was not his name.

"Maiden, this innocent boy need you, save him, please, let Jon live. Crone, lend me your wisdom, light his way and bring him back to us, teach me how to love him."

She studied Jon again, comparing his features to those of her children. Could she really bring herself to ask Ned to have him named? He was so obviously a Stark, what power would the name give him? If he ever decided to rise up and challenge Robb for Winterfell the Northern lords might just support him on looks alone. Both Robb and Sansa favoured their Tully heritage, although Sansa more so than Robb, sometimes when Catelyn looked at her son he reminded her of her baby brother, Edmure. Catelyn's mother had died on the birthing bed, causing her to be as much a mother as a sister to her little brother, she'd been acting as a mother most her life.

Of all Catelyn's children the only one that might be able to contend against Jon on looks alone was baby Arya. Arya, the poor child, Catelyn hadn't held her for over two weeks! Cat stood up slowly from her chair, her pregnancy making her movements slow and ungainly. She went to the door and asked a servant to have old Nan bring the baby girl to her.

Old Nan came, but it was the wet-nurse who held a squirming nine month old Arya. Arya was not impressed, she had stated walking at six months old, far earlier than any of the other children, and hated being carried.

"Down." Arya protested. "Down, down, down, down, down! She thumped the wet-nurse's shoulder with her little fists, Catelyn gave the wet-nurse a sympathetic smile and reached out for Arya. "Mama!" Arya squealed in delight. "Mama, down!"

"I know you can walk, Arya." Catelyn said gently. "But let me carry you." She kissed Arya on the forehead and hugged her, Arya hugged her back.

"Up." Arya agreed, cuddling into her shoulder. Suddenly Arya noticed Jon lying on the bed. "Jon!" She squealed loudly, almost deafening Catelyn. Jon had been one of the first names Arya had learnt, sometimes it felt like Arya had learnt to say Jon before she'd learnt to say Mama.

Catelyn repressed the wave of jealousy and forced a smile for Old Nan and the wet-nurse, the old Crone looked like she was about to say something, but Catelyn dismissed her. "That will be all."

"If you are sure, Lady Stark." Old Nan replied, her eyes seeming to judge Catelyn.

Catelyn's expression hardened. "Yes, I'm sure." She replied, she did not speak a word to the wet-nurse, embarrassed that she could not remember the woman's name. It was only after they had gone that she realised she hadn't asked after Robb or Sansa… or the Greyjoy ward. Gods, she hated the ward almost as much as she hated the bastard… Jon, his name was Jon, and the other boy's name was Theon. Just a boy, not his fault, it wasn't right for her to hate him. Two boys, two boys without their mother, both needed her, she needed to be better. Once Jon recovered she would fix things, she would fix things with everybody. She was eight months pregnant so it was a slow waddle from the door back to the chair beside Jon's bed, especially with Arya squirming and chanting "Jon." In her ear. Arya tried to scramble to Jon as soon as she got near the bed but Catelyn held her back.

"No, Arya." Catelyn said firmly. "Jon is sick."

"Jon sick?" Arya asked, not understanding.

"Yes." Catelyn replied. "Jon needs sleep, don't wake him."

"Jon play." Arya sulked.

Catelyn sighed, was she really trying to reason with a child that hadn't even reached their first name day. "Jon sleep." Catelyn replied firmly. "Mama cuddle Arya."

Arya nodded and cuddled into her, she patted Catelyn's tummy. "Baby." She whispered.

Catelyn smiled. "Yes, baby."

"Baby sleep?" Arya asked.

"Yes." Catelyn agreed. They had explained pregnancy to the children as a little baby sleeping and growing safely inside of it's mama, once the baby was big and strong enough it would wake up and be born.

"Baby play?" Arya asked.

"Soon." Catelyn replied. "Arya cuddle?"

Arya nodded. "Cuddle." Arya agreed. Arya snuggled in and soon drifted off to sleep.

~~/~~

Catelyn shifted Arya awkwardly in her arms, the child never stayed still, even in sleep, and Catelyn couldn't hold her anymore. Reluctantly Catelyn placed her down on the bed, she intended to readjust and pick Arya back up but the moment Catelyn put Arya down beside Jon the babe curled into him and was calm. Catelyn watched with amazement as the nine month old girl cuddled up beside the sick boy. Arya placed her chubby little hand on Jon's shoulder and his features seemed to soften, his breathing instantly becoming easier. Catelyn felt a small smile start to pull at her lips as she watched them both sleep.

"Gods be good." She muttered. There was no argument that the children were related, Jon's hair was darker and Arya's hair was straight, not curly, but the resemblance was there.

"Jon," Catelyn whispered quietly, but the boy gave no response. "Jon, this is your sister, Arya, she will love you as fiercely as any sister can, but you have to wake up."

Still nothing from the dying boy, he could not die, if he did his death would be her shame. Catelyn returned to her prayers. "Warrior," She whispered. "Place your strength and your courage into this brave child." She looked at Jon and stroked Arya's hair, she never really knew what to say to the Warrior, or the Smith. "Smith… some say that life is the chain that links the body to the soul, re-forge the damaged links, strengthen his body and give him back to us… save him. Stranger, please, this one is not to walk with you today. Give Jon back to us, keep on walking."

Catelyn sighed, she was at a loss at what to do and she had run out of words, she decided instead to watch Jon and Arya sleep. The peace was broken by Ned Stark and Maester Luwin bursting through the door.

"Catelyn, what are you doing?!" Ned demanded.

"You can't have the baby in here, Catelyn." Maester Luwin said more patiently. "If she catches whatever Jon has it could kill her."

Ned however had come to a stop as soon as he saw the sight on the bed. "By the Heart Tree..." He whispered.

"He needs her." Catelyn said quietly. "As soon as she touched him his breathing improved, he'll wake up, but he needs her."

Maester Luwin frowned. "Well there is no point taking her away from him now, whatever damage might be done has already happened. You are right, he does seem to be breathing better, let me take a closer look."

As Masester Luwin moved around the other side of the bed and took a closer look at the boy Ned moved around to behind Catelyn's chair and put his hands on her shoulders. "Thank you." He whispered. "I know you don't love him but…"

"I'll learn." Catelyn said quietly. "I'll learn to love him." She wanted to believe her own words, she truly did.

Ned dropped a kiss on her head. "Thank you." He whispered again. Oh gods, if he only knew the truth!

Catelyn felt a small pain, a quickening of her womb, and moved her hand to her pregnant belly. She did not mention it to Ned or Maester Luwin, they were already concerned enough that she had insisted on tending to Jon even though she was pregnant, and after three children she now knew what to expect. She would get these little pains on and off for the next three or four weeks and then the baby would be born. Maester Luwin had taught her that these pains were a good thing, they meant a quick labour, and a quicker labour meant less risk for her or the child, so far he had been correct.

~~/~~

Catelyn hated the Crypts, but that was where Ser Rodrick had said Ned had gone. Jon had been awake for a week, and he was getting stronger, but it had taken until last night for her to find the courage to ask Ned to have him legitimised. Ned had not responded how she had expected and it had led to an argument. He wouldn't even discuss the matter, instead becoming as hard and unyielding as he was whenever questions were asked about Jon's mother. He had missed breakfast and she hadn't seen him since.

Catelyn shivered as she slowly made her way down the stone steps with a lantern in one hand and he skirt hitched in her other. Although it was only mid-afternoon it might as well have been midnight, or the heart of winter, for all of the help the lantern gave her. a sharp pain caused her to stop and catch her breath, they were getting worse, but they were not labour pains, she was confident that she still had another week or two before that would happen.

As Catelyn passed the stone statues of ancient kings, and their direwolves, she became less and less certain of her decision to confront Ned. She shouldn't have come down here, or at least she should have brought somebody with her, but then, she wouldn't get an honest answer if she didn't come alone. Still, the steps would have been difficult enough even if she hadn't been heavy with child, she was sweating and short of breath despite the chill of the crypts. Another pain caused her to pause but she dismissed it.

Catelyn did not feel welcomed here, the stone kings did not give guest right, they sat on their stone thrones with iron swords unsheathed upon their laps as if they were going to leap up and strike her down at any moment. The oldest statues no longer held swords, they had rusted away over the centuries, but the rust stains still lingered where the swords had once been. Mikken would have liked to forge new swords for the old Kings of Winter, but Ned had told him to leave them be.

The shifting shadows made it seem as if the direwolves were moving, their heads turning to watch Catelyn as she passed. It was only once you got to Torrhen Stark that the statues changed. The king who knelt had no throne and no direwolf to guard his tomb, his statue stood and held its iron longsword in both hands. The last king, the first warden, he stood like a solder awaiting orders. Torrhen did not deny guest right, nor did he need to, one had already been denied many times before they reached his tomb… anybody bold enough to reach Torrhen was welcomed to stay. Catelyn shivered.

Every statue held (or had held) a sword, every statue but one, Lyanna Stark, the only female to be granted a statue in this hall of kings in eight thousand years. Catelyn remembered the stir that it had caused when Ned had ordered the statue be made. One Lord had even been so bold as to demand what she was the queen of to warrant such an act. "Love and beauty." had been Ned's stoic reply. Nobody could argue with that.

Catelyn had once told Ned she did not want to be buried here, he'd laughed and told her she was going to outlive him so she better talk to Robb about it when he got older. She moved as softly as she could, trying not to disturb old ghosts, but Ned surely must have still heard her coming. He stood in front of his sister's statue, Lyanna's hand seemed to be reaching out to him, beseeching him. The wetness of fallen tears simmered on his face from the light of the candles burning at the statues base. Ned had placed a freshly picked blue rose in the palm of her hand.

Catelyn stopped in front to Brandon's statue, and placed the lantern at her once-betrothed's feet, the statue did not do him justice. She looked at the tomb of the wild wolf, the man she should have married, and waited. She knew it would be better to let Ned break the silence. After a while he spoke.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly, she looked towards him and saw that his face was downcast. "I was unkind to you last night. I know your intentions are good, but Jon can never be named a Stark."

"Why?" Catelyn whispered nervously. She took a couple of steps towards him. This was her husband, she may not have felt the passion for him that she had felt for Brandon, but he was gentle and kind, and she did love him. That was why she was down here, she was trying to accept Jon, but Ned wasn't making it easy. "He is your son, why can he not be named a Stark?"

"Jon is not my son." Ned answered quietly.

Catelyn's confusion turned to anger. "What?!" She raged. "Seven years! Seven long years you've let me believe you broke our marriage vows, you shamed me, brought dishonour on yourself, and now you tell me it was all for a lie!"

"Yes." Ned replied quietly.

Gods, he had that look in his eyes again, nothing good ever came of that look! That was the look he had worn when he had presented Jon to her and told her the babe was staying, the look he had worn when he had returned from another war with yet another child, Theon Greyjoy. Well she wasn't having it this time, if the man wanted to adopt an army of sons he could, but he would not pass one off as his bastard when it wasn't true. He may be the Lord of Winterfell but he had gone too far!

Catelyn took a couple of angry steps towards him and struck him, he stood there and wordlessly took the blow. She considered striking him again but she doubted that she would get away with it a second time, even as heavily pregnant as she was. "Once he is well you will send him away." She demanded coldly.

"No." Ned did not yell, his voice was cold and calm, his eyes like steel. "Jon is my blood, he stays."

Confused, she took a number of steps backwards and he allowed her the space, she was almost in front of Brandon's tomb again. She looked back at the statue and wondered for a moment if Jon could be Brandon's? But no, the boy was too young by at least half a year. Benjen's? She struggled for answers but the only place she was going to get them from was the quiet wolf. Ned watched her as she tried to decided, she suddenly felt like prey in that cold gaze. She gathered her courage and retook the ground that she had lost. They were both standing in front of Lyanna's tomb now.

"Whose son is he then?"

Ned closed his eyes, the memory causing him pain. "The answer to that question could cost you your life." He whispered. "The answer to that question is why Benjen took the black." His voice was full of grief.

"Who did Benjen dishonour?" Catelyn asked. "Gods, he was only a boy himself!"

"Jon is not Benjen's." Ned whispered quietly.

"Then whose?!" Catelyn demanded.

Ned raised his head and looked her in the eye, meeting her challenge. "You're standing in front of Jon's mother."

The answer took all of the wind out of her, she turned and looked towards the statue, in life she had never met Lyanna Stark, and Ned would not talk about her, Catelyn only knew what people said in hushed voices.

"Ned," She pleaded. "What are you telling me?"

"I am telling you that Jon is my blood and he is staying, but he can never be named a Stark… he already has a name, although to use it would be his death, and mine."

"W-what is his name?" Catelyn asked with a shaky voice.

Ned studied her for a few moments. "Promise me on your honour that you will never repeat this, not even to Jon himself, he cannot know."

"Ned…?"

"Promise me, Cat, swear it, by the old gods and the new, on Brandon's grave or our children, on whatever you need to swear it by." Catelyn took a couple of steps backwards but he stepped forwards in response. "If you want me to answer this question I must have your vow that you will keep his name secret, no matter the cost."

"I swear," She said quietly. "In the name of the seven, and on my own life." She stood her ground and stood tall, she was the daughter of Hoster Tully, whatever the truth she could handle it. "Whatever this terrible secret is, tell me, and I will keep it. Tell me Jon's real name."

"Aegon Targaryen." Ned replied quietly, his eyes gave away nothing.

"No," Catelyn shook her head and took a step backwards. "No, he can't be. Elia…"

"Rhaegar had the marriage annulled and married Lyanna, she told me on her death bed… on Jon's birthing bed."

Catelyn took another step backwards. "No." She whispered again. She had been wrong, she could not handle the truth. She didn't want to hear anymore, but it seemed that after over seven years of silence the damn was broken, Ned wouldn't stop, he told her everything. She kept backing up and shaking her head but he wouldn't stop talking, he told her everything that had happened at the Tower of Joy, then he told her what had happened at King's Landing beforehand. Of the brutality with which Elia and her children had been murdered, of the way the baby's skull had been caved in and the hundreds of stab wounds on the little girl's body, and of Robert's reaction… and then he offered her a divorce…

That was when her waters broke and the first real contraction hit. There was no way to get her up the stairs and Ned would have needed to leave her alone to go for help… as she had left Jon. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. But Ned did not leave her, instead he held her until the contraction had passed, once it was over he carefully led her back to Lyanna's tomb, the candles offering more light. He removed his fur cloak and laid it down on the ground for her.

He sat beside her and rubbed her back between contractions, they were close and fast, and Catelyn soon realised that she should have paid more attention to the earlier pains. She had been a fool to come down here… if she hadn't confronted Ned in front of his sister's tomb maybe he would have kept his secrets? Now that she knew the truth she wished she had never asked.

Ned continued to rub her back between contractions and asked what he could do to help, as another contraction hit she realised this was the Seven's answer… Ned had offered her a divorce and then she had gone into labour, once this child was born there was nothing keeping her here. She ignored Ned and focused on Brandon's statue as she rode the waves of pain.

"If it's a boy I want you to name him Brandon." She said quietly. "Brandon could have fathered a hundred bastards and I wouldn't have cared, he wouldn't have brought shame on me as you have."

Ned swallowed thickly but didn't respond to the insult. "And if it's a girl?" Was his only reply.

"Anything but Lyanna." She knew the comment was spiteful but she didn't care.

Less than two hours later she was holding the baby boy in her arms. It took four men to get her up the stairs, she tried not to look at the boy too closely, or to get attached, as her decision had already been made. She refused to feed the child, instead passing it off to the wet nurse.

"Ned," she said quietly once it was just him and her alone in her room. "Once I am well enough to travel I would like to go home."

Ned nodded sadly. "And the children?"

She looked at him surprised, it was not a question that she had expected him to asked. "I assumed that they would stay here." She said quietly.

Ned nodded thoughtfully. "Catelyn, they are your children as much as they are mine, Winterfell is their home, but I will never keep them from you. You are welcome to come back any time you wish and we can work out a way for them each to spend some time at Riverrun as they grow older."

Catelyn nodded slowly. "I – I think that would be a bad idea." She said quietly. "I am still young enough to find another husband…"

Ned nodded sadly. "I will let you rest." He said quietly.

~~/~~