Catelyn

Catelyn cannot recall a time when Riverrun was as bustling as it had been the last few days. The whole castle preparing for the return of the rebels and the wedding that would coincide with their return.

Two more days, that was what Catelyn had heard last. Two days until the arrival of her father, her uncle, and her new betrothed.

"You'll marry Eddard Stark now." Hoster had told her. He'd said it firmly, but his eyes had been softer than his voice, watching her closely for reaction. "Your sister will wed Jon Arryn alongside you."

Catelyn didn't know whether she or her sister were looking forward to the day less. She would do her duty, so would Lysa even if the younger girl did pout and rave the whole time about it. But Catelyn still mourned Brandon. She still missed his laugh and the gentle kiss he had given her before riding out. It stung her lips like a ghost whenever she thought of that day. He had been happy that day, his grin wide and his voice loud and booming as he bid goodbye.

He'd only been meant to go meet his sisters and then his father.

Then he was gone. The last correspondence Catelyn had received was a letter from him, apologizing for delaying the wedding and explaining he was heading south for his sister. She still had the letter, tucked away in her room under the books on her desk.

She should get rid of it, lest her betrothed found it when he joined her room.

She didn't know Eddard Stark. She'd met the other brother, Benjen, and the sisters. But Eddard had been in the Vale still, far from her mind and far from her.

But now he was all that occupied her mind. Wondering, worrying. How did he compare to Brandon? Was he handsome as his brother? Loud and bold as him?

No… Brandon had spoken a bit of Eddard. He'd called him the 'Quiet Wolf'. Compared him to his sister Alys, who Catelyn had met.

She forced herself to stop thinking about this all and focused instead on wandering the halls of Riverrun. She checked with kitchens for the feast, and with the castles Steward to be sure the rooms were all prepared for the guests who would be in them. Running Riverrun came second nature to Catelyn. She hardly had to think on it, she knew every member of the household and where everything was within it. She knew every nook and cranny in the stone walls of the keep. She knew it better than she knew anything in her life. And she knew she would miss it terribly.

Brandon and his sisters had told her of Winterfell. Alys especially had shared her knowledge of the old northern keep, and had sworn to Catelyn to help with the household when they returned to it until she herself left for marriage. It had comforted Catelyn, Alys's own seeming understanding of it mimicking her own of Riverrun. The pair had both lost a mother young and rose to the position that had been left clear by it.

But Alys wasn't here. If she was Catelyn is near certain the girl would be comforting her concerns about Eddard. Smiling prettily and genuinely while telling her nice things about her brother.

But Alys wasn't here. And so Catelyn forced herself to focus on things other than the Starks who she would and wouldn't be with.

The day the rebels returned Catelyn spent most of the morning waiting up on the battlements. She woke before dawn, rising and dressing slowly. She'd been torn about dressing in her nicest dress to greet them. It felt a betrayal to dress fine for Eddard, but she did it all the same. He's your betrothed now, she'd reminded herself as she combed out her hair.

She avoids the dress she'd worn the day she'd met Brandon.

Standing upon the battlements she watches the horizon as she had plenty of times before when her father had ridden off. She pulls a cloak tighter about her with the morning air chilling her to her core. Or perhaps it was a ghost, a warning of her future in the north. She recalls faintly the warmth of Brandons hands before shaking it away and moving closer to the brazier lit nearby.

She spots them even before the guards. Horses cresting over a hill with banners of Tully, Arryn, Baratheon, and finally Stark. Her eyes linger on the wolf design longer. Could she be a wolf? I'll always be a Tully. She thinks firmly to herself, but I can be a wolf as well.

She scans the men at the front as they grow nearer, recognizing her father first. He's sat slightly hunched, she knew he'd been injured during the battle, but his letter had written his recovery to be well. Beside him it is easy to spot her uncle, a small bit back but sat tall and speaking with a man beside him. Her eyes linger on the man, he's older than her father perhaps. Jon Arryn, she believes, Lysa's betrothed. He wasn't unhandsome, just old. Beside him is two younger men. Eddard and Robert, she's sure, leant towards each other and words unheard so far away spoken. She can't tell which is which from the distance, but they're growing much closer that she turns away and heads down the battlements to the courtyard to join the rest of the household where they await the return of their lord and allies.

She meets Lysa there, her sister's face an ever-present scowl since news of her marriage had been announced. "Did you see them?" She whispers as Catelyn reaches towards Edmure and pulls him along with them to the front of the gathered household and guard.

"I did." Catelyn states turning to her brother and straightening his cloak while he waves her away with a scowl of his own.

"And?" Lysa whines putting a hand on Catelyns shoulder to draw her attention back to her.

"And, he's handsome." Catelyn tells her. "Jon Arryn was handsome, and looked tall, and…"

"Old." Edmure muses, a smirk upon his face that earns a smack on the arm from Lysa. "OW!"

"Edmure, Lysa. Please behave." Catelyn warns firmly. She looks back to her sister and sighs in sympathy, "Lysa he's old yes. But he's handsome and you'll be the Lady of the Vale." Lysa pouts, but doesn't speak further as they turn to stand straight while the gates open and the bridges lower to welcome the returning rebels.

Their father rode through first. He sat straighter riding into the courtyard than she'd seen him in the distance, his face a stone wall to any of his thoughts. But Catelyn could see the twitch of pain as he climbed down from the horse, passing it off to the squire and moving towards the three of them. Behind him Jon Arryn came, flanked by the two who had been his wards for years and now led a rebellion with him.

Closer to them she could differentiate them easier now. Robert was tall, handsome with a beard grown and the hearty size of a man who fought with the war-hammer still tied to his horse. His armor was emblazoned with the stag of his house. Eddard was shorter, his beard less full on his face and plainer to the face than his friend, his worn leather armor holding a simply stitched direwolf on it.

Catelyn continued to study Eddard as he swung down from his own horse, his eyes scanning the crowd of people before landing on her. She swore a blush came to his cheeks before his attention was drawn away from her by Robert. She looked away as well, turning to her father who stood before them now. She closed the difference between them as quickly as was lady-like.

"I was glad to hear your recovery father," She tells him, holding him like the child she felt and swearing she saw a comforting smile cross his face at her.

"Was only a scratch on the side," he assures her, a hand resting on her shoulder and the soft eyes she's learned were reserved for her and her siblings watching her. "Is the castle prepared for the evening?"

"Yes," she tells him, "the kitchens are already cooking the feast and the sept has been prepared." The others are joining around her father. Her eyes flick towards her betrothed so she adds quickly, "So has the Godswood."

"Good," Her father appraised. "But for now we need to rest a bit." He looks towards the others, "Utherydes will have you all shown you to your rooms." He dismisses them all with a nod, turning himself and heading towards his own rooms. Catelyn walks with Lysa as they all depart from the courtyard. Her eyes following the form of Eddard as he follows slowly beside Robert.

She enters her father's solar not long after their arrival. He's alone, looking over papers on his desk. "I've kept up with the records as necessary. Took note of the food and wine and ale that would be used today." She tells him.

"I was never worried about that." He looks up from the papers and smiles at her. "How is Lysa faring?"

"Frustrated and moving about with a constant frown on her face," Catelyn jokes with a laugh, "but she'll do as she's told."

"Good," he says looking back to the papers about him. "And you?"

She pauses, biting her lip and moving along to the window she loved to sit at most. "Fine… I understand the reasons and will do as I'm bid."

"He's a good man," her father informs her. But he says no more to assure her, though she feels his eyes linger upon her. She just sits at the window and watches out past the walls of Riverrun as tents began to rise. She sat like that for near an hour before Maester Vyman arrives with a bundle of letters in his hand from the ravens in his rookery.

"Cat," her father called to her, drawing her eyes from the swaying flags of wolfs and fish out in the distance and instead to him motioning her over. "Will you take these to Lord Stark. From what Vyman heard he's out in the Godswood." She takes the two letters delicately in her hands and leaves with a nod to her father. Examining the seals as she walks the halls towards the Godswood. The first one holds a direwolf sigil, albeit the wax slightly sloppily pressed. The second is just wax, pressed shut with no seal identifying it coming from any specific house.

She arrives to the Godswood and slows her own pace. She hadn't interacted with him yet, barely even locked eyes with him and now she was to hand him letters. An action that would involve speaking to him more than she'd realized as she passes beneath the first of the redwoods. She walks slowly, savoring the peace of the wood and wonders how the northern Godswood of Winterfell will compare. She doesn't imagine it will be as sweet a place. Nor as warm to her skin as she walks under the red leaves and over the slowly trickling streams. It will be a place for the old gods, not a place where the only sign of them is the tree at the center.

It's at that tree that she finds Eddard Stark. Knelt before it with his head lowered. She watches him a moment, stopped in her tracks and studying him in a way she hadn't before. His kneeling form is so still it reminds her of a statue, the boy all stone. It was a stark difference from his brother, ever moving and never quiet. She can't recall seeing him at the weirwood when he'd stayed here. Perhaps he had, just not when she was around to see.

"My lord," she calls after what was likely far too long a time to watch her future husband praying. "Some letters came for you."

He glances back at her, a bit of surprise on his face but he shakes it off and stands quickly. "My lady," he says, striding towards her.

He was only the smallest bit taller than her. Shorter than Brandon, she thinks faintly. She hands the letters over and watches him glance at them both, his eyes studying the seals. She stands still, unsure whether to leave in that moment or to say something.

He's to be my husband, she thinks, say something.

"I hope that your room is to your liking," is the first that pops to her head. When he glances up at her, a brow raised she recalls something that makes her blush more than she'd like. "Though, uh, I suppose if you don't it's only until this evening."

"I'm sure wherever I end up will be fine." He says, his voice tense as he grew flush as well. Though the beard he had growing in covered the redness better than she could. "I suppose though; I should get myself cleaned up for tonight. I came straight here after we arrived."

"Oh," she says, she glances about the small clearing. "Would you like me to escort you back to your room?"

"If you'd like my lady," He said it timidly, as unsure about it all as she. As they start back to the keep she struggles to not think of Brandon's boldness and how his brother was lacking the same kind.

Eddard

He sits in the room he'd been given to get ready in and stares down at the letters before him. He'd set them aside upon arrival to the room, focused on cleaning the dirt and grime from himself that near two weeks of travel had brought. As he sat to settle his nerves he pulled the letter from Winterfell to read. Breaking the seal he saw Benjens scattered writing and scanned it half-heartedly.

The largest takeaway from the letter was the news of Maester Walys' death. A fever had taken the elderly maester a few weeks back, and the poor man had not recovered. Another death, another member of my home gone. Ned sets the letter aside, Walys had written the Citadel before his death, as had Benjen. A new Maester would be coming north soon enough to replace Walys in Winterfell.

Looking back at the second letter he examined the seal. It was plain, no indication of where it came from to warn him whether the news would be bad or good.

He slid his thumb beneath the wax and broke it open. As his eyes landed upon the neat letters his breath caught and his heart dropped.

Ned,

He stared at it. His name written so precisely and delicately. Written in a hand he recognized from years of letters arrive in the Vale for him. He blinks the tears that threatened his eyes and read on.

I write in secret. Thus I ask you not return a letter. Though I am unsure if you would even be able to. I write in hopes of calming your nerves as well as my own. I am safe. If you worry for my safety, please know I am unharmed and am likely to stay that way so long as they hold me as their hostage. I am keeping myself busy, and out of trouble. I try to keep myself as happy as one can be in the situation I find myself. Try not to worry over me.

He blinks, a tear escaping his eye and falling to the ink. He sits back, shutting his eyes to the world and the letter while he lets it all sink into him. Safe, she tells him. She tells him to not worry, but he is unsure if he could manage that even if he wished.

He sits back up, opening his eyes and looking back to the letter.

I'm let around the court enough that I can hear of the war. A few months back I was left to rely only on a guard and my handmaid. I worry so much over you that I imagine I've written near a hundred letters in the night. None of them sent but this one of course. It helps my nerves to hear of your own safety around the court, though I hide my joy at it. I need you safe.

I also want you happy.

I heard of your wedding. Or the wedding to be. I am hoping this will reach you before you wed Catelyn. I hope that you know it is alright to feel whatever you are feeling at this moment. I can't claim to know completely the feelings you have around this, let alone around all the changes that have come to you. But I hope you believe me when I say I understand that it must be hard. Brandon died so recently and with father as well. It forced you into a position you never expected, a position that was to be Brandons but he never got to step into himself. I know that it must all be so hard on you. And adding his former betrothed must only add to the grief and confusion you must be feeling.

But I hope you know that Brandon would not want you feeling guilty over this. He would understand the reasons for it and he would want you to keep moving on. Even if that was with someone he was originally meant for.

I don't know if this will help. But Catelyn is a good woman. She was kind to me and will be a good wife, and a good lady of Winterfell. I know it will be awkward. Hard beyond the normal difficulties of marrying someone you hadn't met before. I know it will be hard to move past the shadow of our brother, but someday it might not be so big a shadow and you will feel no guilt for any love you and Catelyn achieve.

I write you good blessings for your wedding and your marriage. I pray that you fare well in health and safety in the coming weeks.

With all my love,

Alys

Ned stares at the letter for quite some time. Rereading it over and over until he can't any longer. He stares at it then, just looking at the words, looking at the sign of his sisters safety.

He's still staring at it when Robert comes to his room to take him to the Sept.

Ned feels as though he's held his breath the entire evening.

He's tense throughout the ceremony in the Sept. From when he's stood with Jon Arryn to his left while Hoster Tully escorted both his daughters to them and through the smaller bit before the weirwood, just him and Catelyn with some witnesses. He did actually hold his breath as he swung the Stark cloak around Catelyn's shoulders, it almost heavier in his hands than the sword he uses in battle. He only released it when Catelyn turned once more to face the Septon, a flush of air escaping him as he stands as tall as he can. He knew little about the ways of a southern weddings, having only seen one once in the Vale and he'd only been twelve at the time.

Despite this he fared alright in the ceremony in the Sept. Speaking where required and following the suit of Jon when he was unsure.

The ceremony before the weirwood brought a strange comfort to Ned after the one in the Sept. There were less words that threatened to be forgotten, less hymns and prayers to gods he doesn't follow. There were less people about them as well, only a few northern lords, as well as Robert and Hoster Tully. When he knelt before the gods of his childhood and future he felt not only the eyes of the old gods upon him but his sister, with the words of her blessings and prayers coming to his mind as he rose again.

He escorts Catelyn back to the Great Hall, where the feast was beginning and music could already be heard drifting through the tall redwood trees. She holds his arm lightly as they walk, and he wonders not for the first time since his arrival in Riverrun whether he should say something to her. He knows he should. She was his wife, they couldn't not talk together. He wishes faintly that Alys were here, to help him decipher what was best to say to his new lady wife.

Upon their arrival in the hall the sound of clapping and praise falls down on them while they walk to the high table where Lysa and Jon were already sat. Robert claps Ned on the shoulder before disappearing into the tables full of drinking and feasting.

Sat at the head of it all Ned felt awkward as he reached for his wine. Out of place as he often felt the last few months. Feeling to him as if he were sitting in Brandons spot and his brother would come through the crowd and tease him till he left it. But as Ned's eyes scanned the feast below his brother was not sat amongst the other lords.

He was unsure how to act here. Sneaking a small glance over to Catelyn he studied her a moment.

She was beautiful. But he didn't like to think that outright. It felt wrong, all of it still so new that it was as though he were thinking it of his brothers betrothed not his own wife. It added to the guilt he held already, the guilt of being the living brother.

Though he isn't sure that it would feel any less guilty if she were foul looking.

But she was beautiful. Long auburn hair that was braided simply for the wedding and caught the firelight in a golden way that Ned could stare at for hours. Blue eyes that lit up when talking with her sister or her father or her brother and her uncle. Eyes as blue as the sky and a smile that looked like the sun when he spotted it.

She smiled at him, but it wasn't the same as he saw her give to her family. It was courteous and nice but not because he deserved it.

He wants to deserve it and he hates that he wants that as badly as he does.

He drinks another hearty bit of wine before looking out at the feast once more. His mind wandering to another feast over a year ago. Another beautiful woman who he'd wanted so badly. And a dance that he almost hadn't had if it weren't for his brother.

Guilt was a horrid feeling.

I hope you know that Brandon would not want you feeling guilty over this. Alys's words float back to his head as he finds himself caught between a memory and the moment.

"My lady," he speaks, his voice harsher than he meant before he breathes and focuses upon softening it. "Would you like to dance?"

Catelyn looks at him, blue eyes like water studying him in a way that made him wish he knew what she was thinking. He had been wishing that all evening.

"Of course, My Lord." She replies, gently taking his hand and following him out to the small floor beside the players, joining the already twirling pairs to the sound of the music. Her hand resting gently on his shoulder while his own moves to the small of her back. He hesitates it only a moment before resting it there. Worry floating through his head that he'll find some way to mess this up.

"I apologize for not asking you earlier," he says as they spin about, her auburn hair flowing with her in a mesmerizing way. "I have never been the best at this sort of thing."

"This sort of thing?" She questions. She lets him lead the dance though he moves slower than he means, nerves adding to his natural worries over dancing.

"Oh, well, dancing, and courting women." He looks down at his feet in hopes of not stepping on hers.

"Well," she says hesitantly. "We're already married so I suppose you can't go wrong." She offers the words in comfort.

"I could," he whispers but shakes it away quickly by saying "but let's not talk on that." He looks back at her and sees her smiling slightly. "Was the wedding okay for you? The ceremonies I mean, I understand it was weird that we did both…" He didn't know whether to look at her or not, their faces close together that if he looked at her that was almost all he could see.

"It was good," her voice held a small chuckle at his question, he supposed it was odd. "And I understand the reasoning. Your gods are of the north, and we'll be living and ruling in the north. It would only make sense that we joined before them." She glanced away a second before her eyes returned to him, "I'm more surprised that you bothered with the ceremony in the sept."

"Those are your gods," he says quickly, "I won't ask you to separate yourself from them just because we are wed." He doesn't add that he'd known the two ceremonies were planned for with Brandon, a fact Alys had relayed when she and Lyanna had visited the Vale.

"Thank you," Catelyn says softly as they slow with the music, it fading away and a few claps for the players ring about them. "Would you like to return to the table?"

"Am I that bad?" he jests.

"You haven't stepped on me," she returns with a smile pulling at her mouth, "but I can tell you haven't danced often."

"Certainly not in a long while," he confesses.

She nods and the two walk together, arm in arm back to the head of the table for the rest of the evening.

The bedding ceremony came, and Ned was a terrible color red in the face for most of it. Escorted to their room by the girls in Riverrun, his clothes being stripped from him the whole way until he was left in the room naked and with an equally bare Catelyn stood before him.

He was about to speak when he heard a rowdy Robert shout something uncouth through the door amongst the rest of the chatter outside it. His face turned a fiercer red which gained a surprising laugh from Catelyn.

"I apologize for Robert."

"Ser Desmond made more bawdy jokes than that, and proceeded to apologize after each one," she laughs again, but her arms still wrap about her form, covering what they can. The two are left silent and looking at the other.

Catelyn glances to the bed then and moves carefully towards it. She settles on the end of it and waits for him to join her.

"Would you believe I haven't before?" He confesses as he moves towards her.

A small bit of surprise on her face answers his question before she can say anything. "I…" she stops herself from saying what had come to mind and instead scoots further back on the bed.

"Wait," he says, pulling her back to the edge and standing between where her legs overhang the bed. "I don't want to do anything that will hurt you… so tell me if…"

"It's going to hurt regardless," Catelyn informs him, "better to get that out of the way quickly."

He pauses a thought crossing his mind that he pushes away with guilt. A thought she seems to hear anyways when she adds, "My mother talked of it a little, before she passed. I'd had my first blood, and she was getting sicker. She told me in case she passed before I wed."

"Oh," he says with a trace of shame. "I apologize if I seemed…"

"It okay." She assures with a gentle look.

Ned sighs and looks at her fully. Her arms are no longer crossed over her body, instead they rest back on the bed keeping herself propped. Ned's eyes trail over her exposed body and his own responds at the sight. "I suppose we should start."

"If you want my lord," she responds her breath short from her own nerves. He reaches a hesitant hand forward, brushing it against her collar to move a bit of hair back from it. Leaning forward he did what came to him first and kisses her gently. As gently as he could her moved her back, following her onto the bed and laying her down beneath him. His lips still finding hers as he hoped that helped.

It helped him. Kissing her felt enough, gently lacing his hands through the length of her hair and her own hand moving to cradle his back as he positioned himself over her. Kissing her he could forget everything else and focus himself only on the moment before him. Kissing her he could finally let out the breath he'd held all night.