WARNING: Physical child abuse scene ahead. Its the only on-screen event that will happen throughout this entire fic. From then on it will only be hinted at.

This isn't exactly a CatelynBashing fic. She's not meant to be seen as some sort of monster, rather an exploration on how Robb being younger could potentially bring out the worst parts in her.

Chapter 2 [Prelude] - Catelyn II, 284-289AC

Despite being married for over a year now, Catelyn did not warm up to her Lord Husband.

Eddard Stark was not so keen on approaching her either, seeming to be at ease with the formal distance between them. She suspected it was because he loathed that he was forced into marrying her to secure the support of the Riverlands and would rather have married another woman - a woman he truly loved.

Ashara Dayne.

The name - a reminder of her humiliation (and fear). The maid with haunting violet eyes.

Eddard Stark could not have her, but he brought her babe and a Dornish nursemaid back with him to Winterfell and called him "son" for all the North to see.

He had not mentioned the name of the mother, but she knew, and the servants knew as well. A castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard the whispers of the maids repeating tales they heard from her husband's soldiers. They whispered of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and his sister, the Mourning Star. How their young lord had slain the deadly kingsguard in combat and afterwards had carried Ser Arthur's sword back to Starfall, back to his beautiful sister that awaited them on the shores of the Summer Sea.

To the lady Ashara Dayne - tall and fair, with long dark hair.

A tragic love that ended when the Lady threw herself from Palestone Sword, a Tower of Starfall, and into the sea. Her best friend brutalised by the Mountain, her lover being married to another woman, her brother being killed by said lover, and her child to be taken from her arms to the cold North. All had been too much for the Lady to bear.

Catelyn had confronted her husband, as was her right to do so.

They laid together for the first time after she had given birth. Though he was already fully clothed despite their coupling not even half an hour before, her husband seemed more relaxed than she had ever seen, and was squatting near the hearth with a fire poker. She watched him, the furs on the bed held tight to her chest to cover the skin. Eddard Stark was not as handsome as her Brandon had been, but he was not an ugly man. Far from it, with his strong body, well-kept beard and deep grey eyes that hinted at the deadliness that lay behind his moniker "the Quiet Wolf". [1]

"You broke your marriage vows, my lord," she said abruptly, breaking the silence. Any other woman would have thought it prudent to use this moment of softness to gain more favor, maybe invite him to stay in her bed for the night, and let sleeping dogs lie, but not Catelyn. She was the first and favorite daughter of a Lord Paramount, and she would have her due. She would not stand to have her own servants whisper about her or her children.

He at least had the decency to look apologetic. "It was not my intention to shame you, wife."

"But you have," she might not have been of the North, but her voice was like ice. "And you continue to do so."

He frowned, his face solemn and filled with a sadness that made her teeth itch. "I can only apologize, my lady. The deed has already been done, and I must take responsibility for my actions."

Such words only made her more hateful. The hypocrisy of this man! Did he think she would praise him for doing the right thing and bringing his bastard here to properly be taken care of, rather than sending him away like any other man would have? "Eddard Stark, ever the honorable man," she spat. "Do so, if you please, but not at the expense of your wife and children!"

"My lady-"

"You would have the bastard of some Dornish whore displayed in my castle for all to see, to be raised alongside your trueborn children!"

"My castle," he stood up, dropping the poker to the wooden floor. Despite the fire burning in the hearth, coldness swept through the room, reminding Catelyn of the myths concerning the Starks and their ice-cold blood. "It is my castle, as it was my father's before me, along with all my siblings. It will be the castle of my heir, and all his siblings as well, regardless of the name they carry. Jon belongs here, and so do Lynara and Yennefer, and any children they may have. And now I will learn where you heard such stories." [2]

"Everyone knows," her hands fisted as she was reminded of the name that followed her in whispers as she walked down the passages of the old castle. Beautiful purple eyes. Harrenhal. Dorne. Jon Snow. She would not be cowed into submission. For her children, and her honor. Family, duty, honor. "Everyone knows about the great love you had for Ashara Dayne, and how you dishonored yourself and your House by laying with her despite already having a wife!"

"You will not speak of this again. Never ask me about Jon, or his mother."

"Why, so you can have the people forget how he truly came to be?"

He did not deign to give her an answer, already making for the door. Any tenderness he might have had for her when she bore him their first child was now snuffed out.

"My father will not stand for such insult!" She said at last, when it was clear nothing else would get through to him.

"Is that so? It's not as if he does not know I have a bastard, or that the child lives here with me in my home, alongside his daughter. He knows that well, my lady. And it's time you start living with it," He turned back at her before leaving, his eyes held something deep and violent that made her clench the furs tightly. At that moment she felt fear towards her husband for the first time. He could attack her, and there would be nothing she could do to defend herself. "Jon is my blood, a Stark. He will be raised here in Winterfell, as any Stark should be. Good night, Lady Tully."

Despite her husband silencing the whispers - to hide his shame from the world - at times, when the sun struck the Bastard's face at a proper angle, she would swear to the Seven that she spotted hints of purple. It was more proof against her honorable husband. A true hypocrite.

Mayhaps I could have grown to love him, she thought at times, whenever she would watch him sitting upon the Winter Throne and delivering judgment to the smallfolk. But it was not to be. Not with The Bastard between them. Not after that night she confronted him.

Bastards were things born of lust and lies. Treachery ran through their blood. Nevermind who his mother was - Ashara Dayne or not, noble or not - he was a creature of sin.

Her children, on the other hand, would be born of duty.

Like her lovely Sansa. Her firstborn.

A proper lady, despite her young age. Oftentimes she sent away her daughter's maid so she could wash her with her own hands and run her fingers through the growing thick copper hair, making it smell of lavender oil.

At first, when the Maester informed her that the boy she had been expecting was a girl, she felt a wave of resentment overcome her. She could not find the energy to even look at the child before falling into a restless slumber, so disappointed she was. Later, when she regained her strength and the child was brought to her, she took one look at the girl - her Tully blue eyes, the same shade as hers, the beautiful tufts of copper growing on her head - she felt such tenderness that tears began to fall from her eyes. How could she have ever felt anything other than love for her daughter?

Sansa brought her much joy. She felt like a flower slowly wasting away in this cold, brutal place, and Sansa was her sunlight. It helped that her Lord Husband, once again, did not begrudge her for her failure. Not that she would allow him to, not when it came to sweet Sansa.

He looked at his daughter with moon-filled eyes. "Sansa. My firstborn. My red wolf. You'll never want for anything, I promise you." It was almost perfect.

But no matter how sweet Sansa was or what Eddard promised, she was still a girl. The North would never accept a woman as their liege lord.

So Catelyn prayed every morning and night for a boy. For an heir. She prayed and prayed.

She went out of her way to appear more often in front of her husband, dressed up in red silks and white fox fur, all colors that complimented her. He may not have liked her, but he was only a man. He would eventually have a need for her.

She only fell pregnant again two years later. Is he so reluctant to have a boy other than The Bastard?! Is he hoping I'd never have a boy, so he could make The Bastard his heir? Over my dead body!

Her son was finally born in 286AC. Three, almost four, years late. On the very last moon before the new year.

Catelyn did not find any joy in his birth, despite having waited for so long for a male heir. She had felt this way about Sansa initially, and thought she only needed to hold the child in her arms like she had her daughter, but when he was laid to her breast, what she saw horrified her.

Robb did not have the Stark brown hair, nor the Stark grey eyes. He had the Tully coloring, but akin to a bastardized version. Instead of her auburn or Sansa's copper, his hair was an unnatural dark-red, like those of the infidel tree gods. His eyes - gods, his eyes! - were an icy blue that burned into her soul. These were not the colors of the Tullys. These were not the eyes a mother could love.

Her lips twisted down, suddenly filled with disgust. "Take him back." She said, holding him away from her as far as possible.

"Milady?" The nursemaid was confused. Should the lady not be feeling joy at the birth of an heir?

"Don't bring him here unless I ask for him." She had done her duty. That was enough.

"Y-Yes, milady," she took the babe and left for the nursery. She glanced behind her to make sure she would not be called back, but the lady had already turned away and was tucking herself into bed. "The lady hates the little heir," she told her friends later. "You'd think the trout'd be happy that she finally has a boy, but she didn't even take one look at him and told me to take him back. It's the first time she's met him since he was born, no less."

"tis like me man says," Milly, who was in charge of cleaning the family wing, tutted, "the lady has a stoneheart."

"Oh, the sad little lord," Ursa, Lady Sansa's nursemaid, shook her head. "To grow up without a mother's love."

Soon, the servants took to a new nickname for the "Tully fish": Lady Stoneheart, as she would now be referred to by all of Winterfell.

Catelyn was ignorant of all the happenings in the castle. Since Robb's birth she had been in a perpetual fog. Despite the Maester giving the okay for her to start moving about, she still spent most of her time in her chambers, not doing much other than lackluster embroidery projects. If the Catelyn of Riverrun appeared, she'd have been horrified at the poor stitches and crooked shapes.

She knew she was expected to take care of household matters and gain influence over the staff, but she couldn't muster the care to do so.

The boy didn't help one bit. He howled into the night, keeping her wide awake. By the Seven! Who thought it was a good idea to put the nursery next to her chambers?! Her Sansa was nothing like this as a babe. She cried, as any child would, but she never howled like some animal. It ringed through her ears and went deep into her head where it settled and caused her physical pain. She struggled to pay attention during the day and struggled to sleep at night. It took all of her restraint and years of courtly training to keep her from snapping at the Maester or her handmaidens. [3]

Eddard was amused by the whole thing, as was the rest of the staff. "It's the wolfsblood, my lady. Just like his aunt and uncle." he'd say. Exactly the same as the Old Hag, "It's the wolfsblood. Once, every thousand years, a Stark would be born part wolf. They would run out beyond the Wall, into the Land of Always Winter, leaving behind Winterfell, and joining their other wolf-like brethren where they belong; wild and free."

What a bunch of heathenistc nonsense. Was the Hag telling her Sansa these kinds of things when she sat the girl on her lap? She'd have to put a stop to that.

Besides embroidery, she did naught else. Days went by as they did the days before. Her husband had come to check up on her a few times. He never fully entered the room, only hovered near the entrance, asking her a few questions, before leaving. She answered him with the same words whenever he came. "Yes, I'm well. Yes, I've already eaten. No, I don't want to visit my father. Perhaps I shall take a walk tomorrow. Good day, my lord."

Sansa would visit her every morning and night, heralding her mother with stories of what she'd done that day. Sometimes Catelyn would brush her hair, she'd only manage to go halfway, then sent Sansa on her way to her nursemaid when she felt tired. It seemed not even her sweet daughter could bring her out of the sludge she was currently stuck in.

It was eight moon-turns when she finally left her room. It had taken days of poorly concealed begging, and promises of wonderful weather, from her favorite handmaiden for her to gain any will to do so. She let Allison brush her hair, dress her in a cloak, and guide her towards the glass gardens. Catelyn ignored the shocked looks on the servants faces as she passed them. She did not need to explain to the likes of them where she'd been all this time. If she wanted to stay inside, she would do so. If she wanted to walk outside, she would do so.

Her husband was out and about again, somewhere in Wintertown working on the housing systems. Every lord took on a project and this was Lord Eddard's, Allison explained - though Catelyn had not asked. She even stumbled over the words in a rush to cover up for her lady's husband's absence. Catelyn didn't understand why Allison thought she would care. She was fine with this, it's not as if she left her room after all this time just to see him.

Before returning, she stopped in front of the nursery. She had not seen her child since that day she sent him away. She could at least take one peek.

What she found there was the Bastard, standing on a crate and leaning over to reach inside.

Catelyn let out a horrible scream and charged at them. "GET YOUR HANDS AWAY FROM HIM!"

She grabbed her son from his crib and held him tightly to her chest, unconcerned when The Bastard tripped and fell to the ground from her actions. He looked up at her with watery, dark eyes, hoping for sympathy. He would not get any from her. "Don't you ever touch him, bastard. I'll cut off those filthy hands of yours if you do."

He quickly fled the room, cowered by her hateful eyes.

"Does he come here all the time?" She asked Allison who seemed to be in a state of stupor at the events that had just happened. "Allison!"

Allison came to and gave a few nervous nods. "Yes milady…" her voice was soft. "Lord Stark gave permission for both him and Lady Sansa to be let into the nursery whenever they wanted."

Just now, Catelyn was sure The Bastard had foul intentions towards her son. Mayhaps he'd taken to regularly pinching or slapping the child when no one was looking, and Catelyn's arrival had interrupted him. Did he take such liberties with her sweet Sansa as well when he thought no one was watching? The thought made her tighten her hold on her son.

No, this would not do. A Bastard should know its place. If she stayed in her chambers all day, The Bastard would think her children had no protection and if he wanted to, he could easily get rid of them.

A spark seemed to light in her. She had been feeling numb ever since the birth, but now determination filled her. She could not, would not, let The Bastard surpass her son.

Catelyn would raise him in such a way that whenever The Bastard was near her son, it was clear for all to see that he paled in comparison.

As she pulled herself out of her haze and began to retake an active role in the house, she noticed the way things had been operating while she was away.

Her husband, whom she long since knew would never take her side on anything, especially in concerns to The Bastard, was to be her strongest adversary in this undertaking. He did not seem to care that he might usurp the place of his true-born heir. Eddard Stark raised them together, as true siblings, and made sure they and everyone else were aware that The Bastard wasn't any different because of his birth. The audacity! To suggest her children and The Bastard were on the same level.

Out in the open of the Hall, for all of Winterfell to see, he sat them both down on his lap, carefully holding them in his strong arms, despite them already being one years and four years old. Three-year-old Sansa was seated beside her father and The Bastard, looking down the table in shame. Why are you holding The Bastard and not your own daughter? Catelyn inwardly seethed. Why are you holding the children at the dinner table in the first place? It's not proper!

There had been a small childish argument earlier that day over a wooden soldier belonging to The Bastard that her son had thrown into the mud, which also caused mud to splash onto the hems of Sansa's new dress. Sansa had thrown a fit and was ready to attack both the boys and would have if Eddard had not appeared at that very moment to stop her. "Jon and Robb are your brothers, Sansa. Just as Sansa is your sister, Jon. You are all of the same blood, and you must always protect each other. You're a pack. The pack works together and looks out for one another. Toys can be shared, and dresses can be washed clean. Promise me, Sansa."

"I promise," Sansa nodded, briefly looking up to show her father that she heard what was being said. It was at times like these, that Catelyn was reminded that her daughter had Stark blood, as well as Tully. She did not know how she felt about her sweet girl resembling Eddard and The Bastard.

"Jon."

"I promise, Father," the Bastard said in a solemn voice, and despite his young age, managed to sound exactly like the Lord of Winterfell did when carrying out his duties. Eddard must have thought so as well, for he bursted out in laughter. The babe was also amused, and wrenched at his father's beard, babbling out a few nonsensical words. Sansa followed soon after hearing the yelp of pain. The Bastard blushed but looked happy that he managed to gain her husband's favor.

She did not find it so amusing, however. The Bastard already looked like a Stark, and now he practises in private to sound like one as well!

"Good, all three of you. Now you can eat your cake."

"Thank you, father," the two oldest chirped, relieved they could finally have at the desert that had been standing in front of their eyes all this time. Sansa delicately cut a piece off with her fork, ever the proper lady, while both the boys took their slices and stuffed it into their mouths. This caused Eddard to once again laugh at the mess that was being made on his chest. Look at him influencing my son with his barbaric manners. My son will never be seen eating in public like some savage. Never! And the father only continues to laugh like a fool. Useless!

She could not rely on her husband, or the rest.

Catelyn would have to do everything herself.

***Line Break***

289AC

Despite her Lord Husband's shaming her, and her lack of interest in the marital bed chamber now that she had a son, Catelyn fulfilled her wifely duties. When he came to her at night seeking release, she gave it to him. She would not have anyone say that she held blame. Let them know that she did what was expected of her. While he did not, she thought with bitterness.

Soon, she bore him another child. A daughter, birthed when he was away fighting the pesterous Ironborn. Catelyn did not give much of her time to her third child, she was too concerned for Sansa and her son's education to raise a spare. She gave the girl a name, Arya, after Eddard's maternal grandmother who had been a Flint from the mountain clans and handed her over to a nursemaid. (She told herself it was not because the child resembled The Bastard. Further proof of their shared blood, and her own humiliation.)

She had to make sure that her son's education was perfect. He would not be beneath the Bastard in anything.

If The Bastard spent five hours with Ser Rodrik, then her son would spend six. If he spent three hours with Maester Luwin, then her son would spend four. If he rode a horse every morning, then so too would her son. If he knew only one language, then her son would know two. If he knew the entire history of the North, then her son would know the entire history of Westeros and Essos. If he was out playing, then her son would use that time to sit with her and go over everything he had learned for the day.

He would be much, much better. But it would not end there with a simple education. Catelyn sent a raven to both her father and her Uncle Brynden to send over any retired knight or soldier that would be willing to live in the North and teach her son more about the military (one that was worthy of the pay, of course. Not just anyone would be allowed with the Heir of Winterfell. How lovely it would have been if her Uncle could be the one to take on the task, but she knew he already took on the duty as Knight of the Gate for her sister Lysa). Her son would know how to run the North, as well as an army, if the bastard were to get any ideas.

Eddard took note of this when Ser Rodrik mentioned Catelyn's steady increase in Robb's training. "He's only five, my lord. I fear it'll affect the lad's growth if he spends too much time in the tiltyard."

When he brought it up with his wife, she did not seem too concerned by this. "He's only five, my lady. He has a lot of time to learn."

"He's already five," she said coolly. If she fully had her way, her son would spend his mornings training, his afternoons with Maester Luwin, and the rest of the evening once more in the yard. The Bastard already had a head start, and her son needed to catch up. [4]

He shook his head. "No. I'll tell Rodrik to cut back on his lessons. He'll train alongside Jon, with the same amount of time."

She gritted her teeth. "As you wish, my lord."

Satisfied at the changes, Eddard left the rest of the children's education in her hands. Catelyn had once been her father's heir after all, before Edmure's birth, so he believed she was more than capable of raising them. Mayhaps, she was stricter because as a woman she was expected to do more than a man if she were to take her father's place. He could always speak to her if something like this were to happen again.

Though her husband had given his orders, Catelyn had no intention of following them.

He thought she did not know that he preferred The Bastard over her son. Or that he favored the Wild Thing over her dainty Sansa.

Catelyn heard some servants say she was being too hard on her son. Too strict and cruel. What did they know? Mayhaps they preferred The Bastard too. Damn the whole lot of them. Her son must be better than The Bastard, lest the bannermen get any ideas of supporting the Bastard's eventual usurpation. Then they'll watch as her son cut him down and place his head on a pike as an example to those who wish to challenge his rule over Winterfell. And your heads will be there as well if you choose him.

At the beginning, her son struggled with memorizing sigils and differentiating between Houses. Catelyn blamed the Maester. He was deliberately sabotaging her son. She would not give him that pleasure. She would set them both right.

Once his sword training lessons were over and he cleaned up, she called him to her chambers and sat him down at the desk. "Open up the book and start memorizing."

"But Mother, Maester Luwin has already said I'm done for the day."

"Maester Luwin does not care about your education the way I do. You will sit here until you've memorized all the sigils and words of the Northern Houses."

She picked up her newest embroidery project, occasionally glancing his way to see if he was still focusing on what was in front of him. It was reaching the later hours, not yet dark out but almost there, so she lit a candle so they both could see clearer. She still did not dismiss him. A servant had already come and informed them that supper was ready. Catelyn sent her away, telling her that the young lord was busy with his mother and she herself would fetch something from the kitchen later.

"Mother, I'm hungry," he turned his big blue eyes on her. "Like stars in the night sky," the servants would say. His face, still filled with baby fat, would have made anyone's knees shake. It worked on most of the household, but Catelyn did not budge. She had always found them disturbing and having them facing her made her all the harsher.

"Have you memorized everything?"

He hesitated. "N-Not yet."

"Then you're not yet ready for your supper."

"Yes, Mother."

It was about an hour later when he finally felt confident enough to approach his mother. "I'm finished."

She put down her needles and thread. "Let's hear it then."

She quizzed him on the Houses, starting with the most powerful Lords. He had no problem with listing their sigils, House words, their Seats, current Heads and vassals. Catelyn felt a flicker of satisfaction as her son breezed his way through. It was when he came to the lesser Houses that he started speaking at a slower pace.

"House Waterman. Seated along the White Knife. Vassals to the Manderlys. Sigil… brown, brown crossed on white. Brown crossed oars on white. Current Head, Lord…"

"Lord…" she pressed him.

He bit his bottom lip. A disgusting habit. "I-I'm not sure. I think it's-"

"You mustn't think, Robb!" She burst out, making him jump and turn his wide eyes up at her. "You must know. When one of your future lords asks you something, you will not say 'I think'. You must know! They will think of you as ignorant, that you have no proper education, that you are not worthy of being the Lord of Winterfell, and they will devour you where you stand. Is that what you want, Robb?" She held his chin between her fingers, refusing to let him lower his gaze to the floor. He had to understand. "To be seen as weak, and have people whisper about you behind your back? To have birthright stolen from you?"

"N-No.."

"Then you will take your lessons seriously. No playing around like some common street child. You are a lord's son," she let go, satisfied by what she saw in his eyes. "Go to your room. You'll return here tomorrow, and you will list them all again, without a single mistake."

"Y-Yes, Mother."

Once again, near the end with the smaller Houses, he began to slow down. "House Quagg. Crannogmen from the Neck. Vassals to House Reed. Sigil…sigil is… three black water lilies on white."

"Wrong. That sigil belongs to House Fenn, three black water lilies on a pale violet backdrop. Not white. If you meet Lord Fenn one day, will you insult him by addressing him as Lord Quagg?" [5]

She closed the book and stood up. "It appears that you don't take your position as Heir of Winterfell seriously. Do you want The Bastard to take your place?"

His eyes shifted, refusing to meet her gaze.

"You disappoint me. All the effort I make towards you, and this is how you repay me. Truly, disappointing. Everything I do is a joke to you."

Catelyn went to her drawers and removed something she had prepared beforehand for such an occasion. He looked up then to see what she had taken out and blanched at the sight. In her hands, she held a thin, long stick. "Bend down."

He looked between her and the stick, still not comprehending what was about to happen. His father scolded him and Jon often, but he had never raised a hand to either of them. It was his first time seeing a stick that would be used with the intention of hitting him. (It would not be the last time either.)

"You would make your mother say it twice?!"

Still hesitant, but not willing to anger his mother any longer, he bent down, shaping his body like an upside-down L. She stood beside him and raised the stick. So quick it was brought down that the pain came before the whip! of the stick.

He let out a yelp, and tears immediately welled in his eyes. It felt like a red-hot poker was struck across his legs. It was the first time in his young life that he experienced such pain and was not prepared for it. He tried to pull away, but her warning held him in place. "Don't you dare run away from this. You brought this on yourself, and you will take responsibility like a proper man."

She struck again, harder and more painful than the last. He was openly crying by the fourth one, but she continued. "This hurts me, more than it hurts you. Do you think I want to do this?"

Finally, it ended with the tenth blow. He collapsed to his knees, shaking with both pain and fright. The lashings burnt, to the point he felt he had no legs. But more than the pain, he was scared of his mother. Scared she would tell him she was not yet done. He watched from the floor as she set the stick aside, his relief at the action was almost enough to make him cry out again.

Catelyn looked at her son who was still groveling on the ground. She had not even hit him hard enough for him to bleed. More weakness. "Get up from the ground, Robb. You are not a dog."

He stood up slowly, carefully lifting himself in a way that would cause less pain.

"I only want what's best for you, Robb. You know that right?"

He nodded.

"Don't nod at me. Use words. You have a tongue for a reason."

"Yes, Mother."

"Take tomorrow night off and have supper with your father. The next night you'll come back here, and you'll be perfect. Anything less is unacceptable."

"Yes, Mother."

He left the room, limping slightly. Briefly, she felt remorse. Mayhaps she had been too harsh? He was only five, and what child knew the names of all the Northern Houses at five? Not even she had known half of her own homeland Houses at that time. But her son was not just any five-year-old. He was the Heir of Winterfell, the next Warden of the North. With an ambitious bastard brother standing in front of him. She was doing the right thing.

Family, duty, honor. Everything was for her family.

That night, he proved to her that she was not wrong. That she had done the right thing.

He had recited everything as it was written in the book, without missing a single House or mistaking sigils and family words.

Her perfect son.

Catelyn would make sure it stayed that way.

[EDIT: So most of my notes contain links to videos, articles, pictures ect. It's easy to link them on AO3, but I don't know how to on this site (or if I'm allowed). I'm going to keep the notes as is, despite the links being gone. The titles alone should give you an idea of what was intended. On that note, please read this on AO3 if you'd like to see all the links and pictures I've attached.]

[1] How Eddard Stark became the Quiet Wolf . Eddard always seems like a fool because of how badly things ended up for him and his household guard in King's Landing, but he's actually kind of a badass in his own right.[2] Lynara and Yennefer, are NOT new Stark siblings OCs I made. Who they are and their relationships to the Starks are in the next chapter.
[3] Post-Partum Depression
[4] Ripped this line straight out of BnHA
[5] House Waterman, House Quagg and House Fenn are actual Houses of the North that exist, but neither have anything listed other than their locations and House Sigil. List of Northern Houses. I may take some liberties with such Houses in the future.

Author Notes: To all of those who thought that the Abuse tag was because of Jon, I honestly don't see it happening. I can see Catelyn cursing him (like she did when she wished he would die), but I don't see her physically attacking him. She is a Lord Paramount's daughter, a proper lady who should be an example to the North and Riverlands. Plus, she's not a fool. She sees how her husband loves The Bastard and thinks that he is preferred over Robb; she wouldn't disadvantage herself by attacking him, knowing that her husband would ultimately take The Bastard's side. Robb, on the other hand, is different. He is her child, and she is in charge of him. So, when she sees him lacking over The Bastard, all the hatred and anger is released on something she has control over. That being Robb, and later, Arya.

In regard to the massive change in Catelyn's personality from a loving mother who is fiercely protective of her children, I tapped into that madness that seems to run in the Tully sisters. We all know Catelyn can be very bitter and has a dark side to her. I based Catelyn's personality on Lysa Arryn, but much worse. I also read up a bit on Postpartum depression to set the mood she has around Robb. I'm no psychology student though, and this is no psychological fic.

Originally it was going to be filled with Angst and Jon/Robb were not supposed to have a good relationship. Robb was supposed to be based on the concept of The Golden Child, and the entire story would go in a whole different direction. But then I realized I'm too dumb to attempt anything deep like that. All I wanted was a Stark Family Feels fic and delving too deep into things I'm not capable of wouldn't give me the Feels.

I don't know if any of you noticed that Catelyn never refers to Robb as 'Robb' in her inner thoughts. You probably have because it can be annoying to see 'her son' in every other line, but I thought it'd make it clearer that she sees him as an extension of herself and her pride, and not as a person. That is why she's fine with stacking things on top of him, uncaring of how it may weigh him down, and doesn't realize that this is a young boy who has emotions of his own.