A/N: i actually considered making it into a just literal highlights, more like sentences but it just kinda branched out and i couldnt stop haha. maybe im just paranoid about the rating but just in case guys. combined elements of book and show
(Maybe I'll see you in another life)
i.
Her head emerges from the river, gasping for breath and her hand clutching her neck. She blinked her eyes a few times, seeing a close river bank. She used her other hand to paddle closer to it, pulling herself up with both hands. She crawled away from the bank on her hands and knees, vaguely noticing that she's naked as the day she was born. She stopped a few feet away from the line of trees in front of her.
She should be dead. Catelyn Stark should be dead.
Her mind slowly grasped the reality of what had happened. She should be dead. She should have died with her son, her brave and beloved first-born. She should be with her loving Ned, her wild daughter and her young sons.
Is this some sort of a dream? She thought to herself. A dream before I can be with the ones I love?
Catelyn lied on her back, still gasping. She's thirsty, so so thirsty, that her throat felt like it was being burned on the inside. She sat up again, clutching her neck. Her neck, which should have been slit to the bone, was as smooth as silk.
She stopped, her hands stilling its movements and her thirst momentarily forgotten. I should have been dead, she thought repeatedly to herself. The last memory she had was the death of her own son before her eyes, the way her hair was yanked to the roots and the bite of the cold knife against her neck. Her neck should be open and gushing blood, not as smooth as a newborn's.
She crawled back to the bank, staring at her hazy reflection at the water. The moon is big and bright tonight and she can clearly see herself stare back at her. Her hair was undamaged, looking like it's beautiful, fiery glory; her face, which she remembered she clawed herself and tore of her own flesh, was smooth and scar less; her blue eyes appeared almost black in the night. Her neck, though, looked as smooth as it felt. Her hands ran itself upon her neck again. Smooth as silk.
Her throat began to burn again and she brought her hands under the clear water of the river, cupping them and bringing them to her mouth to take a drink (she half expected her neck to split open and water to gush out). She did it a few more times but it didn't quench her thirst a little bit. Instead, it made her feel worse; like a hot lance was being pressed inside her throat. Catelyn sat back, feeling helpless and pained at the same time.
If this is death, it shouldn't hurt this much, she thought to herself as she rubbed circles on the surface of where her pulse should be, hoping to bring comfort. She stopped short again.
There is no pulse under her fingertips.
She pressed harder, trying to feel underneath the skin. It was futile, a part of her knew, but she didn't stop. She tried for the middle of her chest, where her heart was. Nothing. She tried to feel it inside her wrist. Nothing. She started to panic, tears welling up her eyes. She finally stopped and laid on her back, tears spilling from her eyes. Where in the seven hells is she? What is going on?
She heard rustling of leaves and footsteps from the forest but she didn't move an inch. Let them kill me, she thought, kill me for real this time. Ned had waited for too long for me. It took them a while to reach her and their footsteps almost sounded like the drums at the Freys hall; boom doom boom doom.
Two figures emerged from the line of trees, staring at her naked form with undisguised desire in their eyes. Their armor had a sigil of the Twins.
"What have we here?" One slurred.
"What do you think?" The other answered, "That's a bloody whore for ya! And naked too! I think she'll gladly let us fuck her!"
The two continued to talk loudly and at the point of yelling but Catelyn only heard one thing: the collective beats of their heart, the fast-paced notes of their pulse. Thump thump thump thump thump thump
Catelyn didn't remember much after that. All she knows is that she jumped so quickly at one of them and snapped his neck so fast that he didn't even have the time to react. She sank her teeth on his jugular, drinking his blood. His companion screamed so loudly before he ran away in fright. Catelyn felt his thick blood drip down her mouth, her chin, between the valley of her breasts but she didn't stop drinking. She drained her victim's blood fast and she felt her thirst abate a little. She dropped him unceremoniously to the ground before looking after the other. He was a fast runner and was already ways far from her but he kept tripping over twigs and rocks, screaming for help. She ran after him as fast as she could and it only took a second for her to catch up with him, snap his neck back and sink her teeth on his neck. Everything was silent after that except for the occasional grunts of satisfaction from the back of Catelyn's throat. She shoved him away from her when she can no longer suck anything.
The burning from her throat was gone by the time she stood up. With her thirst sated, her mind began to clear and she looked at the man. She gasped, a noise piercing the eerie silence of the forest. His neck was angled in an unnatural way, his face was white, glassy eyes staring blankly at the trees above them, mouth wide open in a silent scream. His neck was a mangled mess of flesh and blood, his bone unnaturally white beneath the red of his blood. She landed hard on her backside, her hand flying to her mouth only for her to pull it away as if she was burned. Her trembling fingers came away bloodied and she looked down at herself and she had to suppress a scream as she gazed at her bloody torso.
"What have I done?" She whispered to no one. What have I become? She thought to herself in horror.
ii.
She hid amongst the living at the West.
Catelyn lives as a low-born, washing clothes for other people as a living as it requires less interaction with the public. She does it on the open area on the back of her small hut, where she can hear the small folk talk. If she does have to go out or interact, she does not forget to bring her cloak to hide her head. With her blue eyes and fiery hair, she would easily be recognized as a Tully if she is ever careless.
She thirst for blood, she knows that by now. No beverage can ever dissipate the thirst she feels and food doesn't appeal her now. She has sharper senses; hear, smell and see was magnified to her now. Even her strength was magnified; she once broke a washing board when she gripped it a little too tightly. She has to deliberately slow her movement now too, because she keeps on moving too fast. She no longer has a pulse, or a beating heart, at that. It appears that she has gone dead without dying. She tries to remember Old Nan's scary stories, if she can possibly know what had happened to her, but her mind came up with nothing.
It has been a year since the first time she fed from those two knights of the Twins, and she had to do it again at least once in a fortnight. She had gained control over her urges to kill anybody within her sight. She stayed in the West for a simple reason: the Lions are too busy in that shit place that they call Capital and this is the place that she could think of.
She had heard many rumors from other small folks when she comes out: the Boltons are now warden of the North, rewarded by boy king Tommen for killing the Young Wolf and his mother; Sansa Lannister is now Sansa Bolton, having married the legitimized son of Roose; Joffrey died in his own wedding feast and his uncle the Imp killed him; Roose was killed by his own legitimized son; Old Frey died along with his sons under mysterious circumstances; the news and rumors are never ending but Catelyn listened to them all the same. She could easily strike the Lannisters and the Freys and the Boltons now, if she wants, and she can do it. But, first, she had to know about what she's facing. It actually annoyed her when she heard that it was true, all Boltons and Freys are dead.
The news reached her by the small folks talk again.
"I heard about that Battle of the Bastards was a bloody one," said one man. She continued scrubbing a gown as she listened to them talk. It was already late at night but one lady begged her to clean it up for her and gave her an extra gold coin.
"You dolt! That was a year ago!" One voice interrupted.
"Aye, that's what they say," another answered, "That Jon Snow really crushed that Ramsay."
If she was a dog, her ears would have perked up really high already. Instead, she stopped scrubbing and listened more intently. From the sound of it, there's three men talking outside.
"The knights from those damned mountain really took those flayed men, I heard. And the wildlings helped. That Jon Snow let those wildlings in!"
"He can do what he wants with the Wall, I suppose. He's the Lord Commander after all."
"Maybe," they paused, "They said that one boy was killed."
"Aye. The last boy of the Starks."
If she had a beating heart, it would have stopped already. Last boy of the Starks? What are they talking about? All Stark boys are dead.
"He was supposed to be the heir to Winterfell," one said, "What was his name again? Dickon?"
"Rickon," the other corrected and she gasped, tears welling in her eyes. Rickon. Her baby Rickon was alive all this time. But Theon had killed him alongside Bran! Killed them and covered them with tar!
"One said that the bastard Ramsay made him run across the field and then shot him before he can get to Jon Snow," he paused before continuing, "But I heard Lady Sansa fed Ramsay's body to his own hounds!" He said and they laughed.
Catelyn could no longer listen. She ran back inside her hut and cried on the floor. Her baby was alive all this time. Rickon was alive and she was not there. Rickon had needed her and where was she? Hiding here in the west instead of looking for him.
That night, she hunted down the three, drank their blood, took their coins and a horse and started for King's Landing.
iii.
The queen of Lannister lay dead at the foot of the Iron Throne, crown at the foot of the steps and face drained of any color. Catelyn stood over her corpse, blood staining the front of her stolen gown.
Catelyn arrived a fortnight after she left the West but she decided to remain hidden for a few moons, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack. That opportunity came when the Wall crumbled and the mythical Others came in to Westeros. Every knights and guards in King's Landing either went North to fight or fled to the Free Cities with seemingly every boat available, defying their queen's order not to leave the Capital. Cersei had been furious but none of the lords listen to her anymore. They followed the lead of the dragon queen Daenerys Targaryen and the new King in the North Jon Snow. With no guards at the castle, Catelyn easily snuck in the Red Keep. She easily took care of the guard outside the throne room, the legendary Mountain, when he tried to stop her from coming in.
The proud queen stayed at the damn throne room, sitting at the throne with her crown proudly sitting at the top of her short, golden hair, her green eyes at the door. Catelyn entered slowly without lifting her cloak and did not bother closing the door behind her. The queen stared at her with cold eyes.
"Who are you?" Cersei asked.
"You know very well who I am," Catelyn replied in a quiet voice but one can still hear that it was full of venom.
The queen raised her eyebrow, "Perhaps you should remove that cloak," she said, "As I can not clearly see you under that enormous hood you donned yourself with."
Catelyn removed her hood and she saw, to her immense satisfaction, Cersei's expression turn to one of absolute shock and fear.
"You're dead," Cersei whispered, "You're supposed to be dead a long time ago."
Catelyn smirked. It was the first time in a long time that she felt this happy, "I thought so too," she said as she slowly walked closer towards the queen.
Cersei pressed her back against the throne, "You're not real," she said in trembling voice.
Catelyn smiled viciously at her, "Oh, but I am real, Your Grace," she said, a mocking tone catching in her voice when she mentioned the queen's honorific, "And I am going to make you pay for all the things that you took from me. It will bring me unexplainable joy as I tear your limbs apart."
She wanted it to last, truly. She wanted the wretched woman to feel even an ounce of the pain that she had inflicted upon Catelyn's life and family. But once she started, she didn't want to stop.
With a feral snarl, she closed in on Cersei and ran her nails deep in her face, making the crown topple from her head and fall down the steps in front of the throne as Cersei screamed. Bits of Cersei's skin and flesh and blood clung to Catelyn's fingernails and she shook them off impatiently.
Cersei clutched a hand over her ruined cheek, blood seeping through her fingers and the scent of her sweet blood began to fill the room. It was too much for Catelyn and she sank her teeth on the pale neck of the queen, drinking in her blood. Cersei gasped and tried to push Catelyn away but she simply snapped her neck to the side and the queen stopped struggling. Catelyn tore the flesh of her neck, opening the queen's throat and exposing her still beating jugular and she eagerly went back to drinking her blood.
This is for Ned, she thought, for Robb, for Sansa, for Arya, for Bran, for Rickon and for myself.
She let go of the Cersei with a swipe of her arm, making the queen fall down the steps of the Iron Throne. Catelyn breathed heavily and went down, staring at the corpse emotionlessly.
"You don't deserve to be called a queen," she said quietly, "You never deserved to be called the Protector of the Realm. You are one wretched woman who knows nothing but her own wants and loves nobody but herself. Your death has been easy, Cersei. I wanted it to- "
"Mother?"
She looked at the door and saw a small woman come in. She had a thin sword in her hand and Catelyn didn't recognize the voice but recognized the gray eyes, the long face.
Her mouth fell open and her eyes welled with tears, "Arya?"
Her daughter walked quietly, as though she's cat, staring at her mother with wide, disbelieving eyes, "Mother?" She repeated. Her little sword fell from her grasp and she was running towards Catelyn, throwing her arms around her, heedless of the blood that heavily stained the front of Catelyn's gown.
Catelyn hugged her daughter close to her, having half the mind to control her inhuman strength. Her daughter is alive, she's real, she's solid and she's alive. "Arya, I thought you were gone," she said through her tears.
"I thought you were dead too," her daughter said with a sniffle against her shoulder. She pulled away and looked down at the corpse of the queen and she gasped. She took stock of the queen's open throat and looked back at the ruined gown of her mother with a stunned expression.
"Mother, what- "
Catelyn didn't let her finish the sentence. She ran away from the throne room, out into the winding city. She stopped by the docks and cried. She feared about what she can do to her own daughter. My daughter fears me, she thought, I am a creature that is feared. I could kill my daughter as easily as I can kill Cersei. I should not be close to her.
She spotted a small ship, being managed by few men and thinks that it's not too late to go to the Free Cities.
iv.
She can not kill herself. She can not be killed, in fact, she found out while at Mereen.
She tried to kill herself a fortnight after she arrived by slitting her own wrist. No blood came out (of course she no longer has a beating heart) and no scar was left on her skin. She tried hanging herself but she only felt like a fool, hanging by her neck at a tree without feeling like she's running out of air. She tried to jump into the ocean, filling her pockets with rocks so she can sink, but all it did was to sink her under the water until she reached the sea bed. She didn't even feel the need to breathe. She tried poison, too, but all it did was give her a headache. She tried to starve herself but it only made her see red everywhere and she feels the palpable desire to kill every single person on sight. Catelyn may kill a person for her own benefit but she didn't want to cause havoc and panic among the people.
She had also noticed that her teeth doesn't stay sharp. It retracts itself to its normal size, so she doesn't have to worry about her fangs protruding from between her lips.
Catelyn had cut her hair short after she arrived at Mereen, when a merchant admired her long, beautiful, fiery locks and offered to buy them. She didn't have any coins with her and she needs a place to stay so she relented. She dyes her hair dark brown using the color wash that the Tyroshi merchants sell. Now, her dark hair stopped only an inch above her shoulder. She works as a handmaiden to one rich master.
Ned loves my hair and I cut it all off, she thought once again.
She wants to die. She needs to die. She wants to be with her Ned and her sons. It is unnatural for her to still be alive after enduring what she had. But how can she die? She had tried everything that she could think of but nothing works.
How can someone kill an immortal?
She longs for her children. She saw that her youngest daughter before she fled and it was not enough for her. She itched to go back to Westeros, to go to the North and see the home that she had lived for half of her life. But she feared for what her children reaction will be. Arya had seen what she does, what she can do. And besides, she could not risk their lives.
Catelyn can still hear news from the West because of the sailors. Jon Snow now sat in the Iron Throne as King of the Seven Kingdoms. Only now, he is no longer Jon Snow but Jon Targaryen, the last living trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. It was revealed that Lyanna was not kidnapped by Rhaegar but she willingly went with him and wed him on her own free will. King Jon Targaryen wed his own aunt Daenerys Targaryen and named her his queen.
(Catelyn should not be surprised at all. Targaryens wed each other for a thousand years.)
Catelyn's mind often wandered back to years ago, when Ned brought Jon Snow (Jon Targaryen) to Winterfell. She is certain that Ned had known all along about the true lineage of Jon, she was sure of it. It bothers (and hurts) her that her lord husband never told her the truth. She recalled the jealousy that she felt towards the woman that he forbade her to ask, the hatred that she feels every time she looked at Jon and all those nights, when they finished making love, when she would lay awake and stare at the ceiling and wonder if Ned thought of the nameless woman while he lay with her.
Why did you have to lie to me, my love? Do you not trust me at all, Ned? Did you not think about what I would feel if I found out?
Her father had taught her all the language that he knows like the Common Tongue and High and Old Valyrian. She did not tell anyone that she knows about it. Ned is the only one who knows and she would sometimes teach him when he comes to her bedchamber, after they make love. She did not tell anyone in Mereen either. She would content herself with just listening to them talk in Valyrian and give her orders in the Common Tongue.
She was fixing the sheets in the bedroom of her master when she heard them talking on the other room.
"I heard one of those ship's captain talk about it!" Her master insisted in Valyrian.
Her companion huffed, "Then damned fools, they are! There is nothing west of Westeros! They'll be wasting their golds!"
Catelyn listened to them intently.
"I know but maybe..."
"Don't tell me you are thinking about going there," her friend said in a disbelieving voice.
"I am not but..."
"There is nothing west of west of Westeros!" The other repeated, "Nothing but the edge of the world! They are fools for even thinking about sailing there!"
Her master fell silent.
"When are they sailing?" Her companion asked.
"In a fortnight."
Catelyn began thinking. No one knows what lies beyond the west of Westeros and no one from the Seven Kingdoms ever dared to sail and see what lies beyond. All maps only show the countries of Westeros and Essos. Perhaps the edge of the world really lies beyond the west. Perhaps she can find some answers there. Or, perhaps, she can even end her life there.
She began planning for her journey. She packed the meager possessions that she had and stole two gowns from her master which she hid under her straw mattress. The night before the sailors go, she stole a pouch of gold coins and even found a purse filled with iron coins from Braavos.
She snuck in to a ship and paid the captain, who grinned widely when she showed him one iron coin and gave her one small cabin where she can sleep. There were others who joined them, at least fifty other people - including the crew - , but she never saw her master.
v.
She never grows old even after decades.
The west of Westeros doesn't end to the edge of the world, they found out. They sailed for almost a year before they can see land. By then, the voyagers were reduced to only half. The others died of starvation, the other devoured by Catelyn.
Catelyn grew out her hair, losing the brown locks and her hair returned to its red, fiery glory. She let it grow out and now reached past her mid-back.
Their ship docked in a foreign land that is now called Canada. The residents all came out of their huts by the sea to gawk at them. They must be quite a sight: twenty-five men and women in leather breeches and silk gowns. Once the residents figured out that they were not a threat, they let them stay at their huts. They speak the Common Tongue and asked them about where they came from and what are they looking for.
One man asked her what her name was. If she is not going to die anytime soon, she had to adapt a new identity.
"Nymeria," she replied, "My name is Nymeria."
The ones who survived the voyage stayed in that land for many years. They co-existed with the locals and joined them in their living; they hunted and fished with them. Catelyn has to feed herself discreetly, though, because everyone notice when one is missing.
She realized about her unaging 'gift' a decade after they settled. Some of the locals and the ones that sailed beyond the west had already died or had their own children already and yet, her body and face remained youthful; she looked like she had just passed her thirtieth name day even after a decade. Most of the locals had started noticing and began questioning her. She tried to evade the queries as best as she could but one is only bound to lie so much until it sounds nonsense to another.
One night, she was cornered by five men as she was coming back from fishing in the river, as she prefers to fish at night, holding the basket of fishes against her hip.
"Hey, Nymeria!" One of them yelled (Janus, she remembered) and she looked up, keeping her silence.
"You certainly look young, do you?" One sneered, reaching out to touch her cheek and she swiftly turned her face away from his hand.
Another, Andrew, laughed, "Stop playing hard to get, Nymeria. We know you would like to get fucked."
Catelyn turned away from them without saying anything, determined to go back to her hut but she was stopped when Janus grasped her arm tightly, causing her to let go of the basket. A low growl escaped her throat through her gritted teeth and she can feel them growing sharper at the minute.
It was the other's turn to laugh, "I like my woman feisty. Come on, Nymeria, stripped off your garment! We'd like to have a taste of you."
Janus pulled her closer to him, touching her hair and in the most inappropriate places, his lips ghosting over the skin of her collarbone and she felt her control snap. She snarled and grasped his hair, yanking it back until she exposed his neck. She bit him in the front of his throat, tearing the flesh on his neck open and his blood gush forth. She spat the meat of his neck from her mouth and went back to drinking. Janus gurgled, blood pooling from his mouth and his companions ran away with a scream. She eagerly drank, relishing the feel of his thick blood inside her mouth and the way the front of her thin gown got drenched with blood. She did it to the other four, silencing them with a snap of their neck before she drank them in.
When she finished, she looked at the carnage that she had caused. When they arrived at this land, Catelyn started to 'diet': feeding on only one person in a fortnight. She never went beyond that. If her eternally youthful appearance doesn't get her in trouble, four murders certainly will. She quietly took her blankets and her purse of coins.
She fled, yet again, this time going south.
vi.
Catelyn turned her first human in 1873.
She was hopping from place to place after what happened north of Canada. She's been staying at Ontario this time, and before that was Quebec, and before that was Vancouver and before that..
She started working as a slave, working her hands raw washing clothes and scrubbing floors. She feeds every week and always far away from where she is. She comes out every night when her employer sleeps, running miles away from here and waits patiently for her prey.
That particular night, she came earlier than she used to, her employer having gone to bed earlier. She ran miles away and stopping behind a large tree close to the road. She patiently waited for the perfect prey, a single person or a pair that she can feed on.
She didn't have to wait long. An inebriated man was walking, or more like stumbling, down the road, laughing at something only he can hear. She narrowed her eyes and darted forward.
She grabbed the man and immediately fell upon his neck, sinking her teeth and drinking his blood. She did not even bother pulling the man to the trees. The man attempted to push her away but she merely grabbed his arms and snapped them as if they're just pieces of twigs, his bones tearing through the mass of flesh and muscles. His rich blood dripped thickly from the two gaping holes.
She heard laughter from up the road and, the rational part of her mind, panicked. She dropped the man and didn't get to finish him up. She ran to the trees, shrouding herself in the darkness. It feels like an eternity before she heard the startled shouts.
"It's still breathing! It's still breathing!" One voice said and she stilled. He's still alive?!
She went back to her place at once.
Several moons later, she went back to that place, hunting once again. She was waiting for a while already and she was thinking about moving to another place when she saw a man walk down the road. She could not contain the gasp that tore through her.
It was the man that she tried to feed on.
The man looked around, as if he heard something before his eyes found her, hidden amongst the trees.
That's impossible, she chided herself, It's too dark here in the forest, I'm sure he can't see me. Yet, there he was, his eyes trained on hers, walking in her direction.
"I know who you are," he said lowly, "You're the one who turned me into this."
She shook her head, "I.. I.."
"You tried to kill me," he continued, "Yet here I am, living the life of being undead. I felt it in my veins, that.. that.." the man struggled for words , before finding them, "Your venom!" He yelled and she jumped slightly, "I felt it in my veins! I feel it spreading and it left me writhing in bed!" He exclaimed but she said nothing.
His eyes grew clouded when he continued, "My wife feared for my life and my child. Then I awakened only to attack them almost at once. My wife left me and took my child with her. What did you do to me?!" He shouted the last part at her, his teeth starting to grow inside his pulled back lips.
"I didn't want to do it!" She yelled as she jumped back, some instinct in her making her crouch in a defensive stance, her own teeth starting to grow as she bared them threateningly at him, "But I had to."
The man glared at her, "'You had to'? You got to think of a better reason than 'you had to'!" The man lunged at her, trying to catch her by the shoulders but she easily side stepped. She expected him to fall on his face but he landed easily on the balls of his feet, turning so fast to her direction and lunging once again. He was successful this time and they toppled, with him landing heavily on top of her. Reflexively, she hit him square on the shoulder, effectively putting him on the ground as she sat on top of him. She hit him with her fist repeatedly, on his face, chest and shoulder, not giving him time to reiterate. When his jaw loosened from his face, she stopped.
"I had to do it," she repeated through gritted fangs, "I never said I wanted to do it."
The man looked at her with brown eyes as dead as hers, unable to say anything with his jaw loose from his face but his eyes expressed all the grief.
vii.
Catelyn finally found out what creature she had turned out to be.
Her journey south led her yet to another country. America, they call it. She lived a low-key life, going from somewhere to another when suspicions starts reaching her ears. Changing names seems as easy as changing her clothes: Caterine Snow, Arya Winters, Sansa Rivers, Minisa Black, Lysa Falcon, Catelyn Stark. This time, she is Lyanna Wolfe, staying at Michigan in a small house. She lives by either stealing money or working as a slave.
The year is 1913 and she heard of tension growing in the East. What she came to know as Westeros and Essos is now known to the world as one Europe.
She easily flits from place to place, paying for a ferry or getting herself her own horse. Living for almost a thousand years, she quickly learned to save her money that she can easily use to escape and buy her a new place. People's names come and go to her along with their faces.
She thinks of her lost family more often than not. She remembers her brave son Robb, her beautiful Sansa, her fierce Arya, her brilliant Bran, her wild Rickon and her beloved Ned. After many centuries, she learned to forgive the biggest lie that her husband had told her. She longed for her loved ones but she knows that she can have them no more.
When she starts thinking about her family and tearing up, she'd grab a book and start reading.
She often consumes her time reading. She likes to read even when she was a little girl and she still takes pleasure in taking in the words into her mind. She goes to the small library two blocks away from her house and the old librarian lets her take as much book as she wants. In that library, she learned about the new cultures being adapted in the East (Europe, she corrected herself). The former Faith of the Seven is now called the religion of the Roman Catholics who worships one god called God and the monarchy remained. She learned new languages as well: French, German, Italian, Finnish.
She also learned that there is more to the world than Europe and Canada and America. There is also a continent that they call Asia, which lies east of Europe and they say that it was the largest continent in the world.
She's thinking about leaving this place soon. She's been staying at Michigan for twelve years now and she's starting to hear rumors about her. Her appearance, in particular, had caught the attention of the locals. I have to leave soon...
She was browsing the small library for a new material to read. The librarian smiled at her when she entered and told her that he had new books for her from Europe. Most of them were fictions but nothing yet appealed to her.
Her eyes caught the sight of a white, thin book and she pulled it out from the shelf. It can not even be called as a book because it's too thin. She looked at the title written in French and indicated that it was a treatise. It was written by a theologian named Dom Augustine Calmet. She opened it in the middle. The treatise talked about a creature that is already dead, roaming the earth and sucking the blood out of the living like a leech.
She had not heard the librarian approach her from behind, being so absorbed with what she is reading, "I have read that already," he said gravely which caused her to jump. She didn't answer.
"That's hardly the first, you know," the man continued and she looked up, puzzled, "There are other books about such creatures."
"Like what?" She asked.
The man looked thoughtful for a moment, "Well, there's The Vampyr by John Polidori. Another is Dracula by Bram Stoker. I don't know much and I don't have the said books. That," the man pointed at the treatise, "is the only one I can procure."
"At least I have something new to read," she said with a slight smile.
The old man chuckled, "It's a good read, Lyanna," he said as he put back books in to the shelf.
She swallowed, "Is it?" She inquired.
He nodded, "Entertaining. And informative. But I don't believe this folly that they call vampires."
"Why not?"
He chuckled again, "To see is to believe, Lyanna. To see is to believe."
She looked down at the treatise in her hands.
"You can have it," he said and she looked up questioningly.
"You can have it. I think you'll need it," the old man smiled at her mysteriously before returning back to his desk.
She looked back at her hands, repeating the word over and over in her mind.
"Vampire," she tested the way the word rolled in her tongue.
"Vampire," she repeated, took it and left.
viii.
It seems that war is the only constant thing in her unending life.
It's 1942 and the war is ravaging the Europe and Asia. German bombings in Europe, Japanese army ravaging Asia and the civil war in Spain and many people are dead.
She's in New Orleans this time, sporting a dark brown hair and bearing the name Kathlene Snow, a rich business woman buying and selling estates. She learned to change her persona along with her social status but with the war going, business is not as flourished as it was. Not that Catelyn (Kathlene) minded, she had an abundance of money by now for living for more than a thousand years.
She closed her eyes and leaned back on her chair, thinking about her past, her family. She imagined Robb sparring with Jon at the courtyard with their wooden swords. She thought of her Sansa, praying in the sept and sewing gowns for herself and for her mother. She recalled Arya's last run with her wolf Nymeria at the godswood. She remembered how her sweet Bran answered Maester Luwin's questions about Westeros' lords and ladies without hesitation, proving himself to be a smart lad. And she imagined Rickon, still a babe, sleeping peacefully in his cradle as she and her lord husband looked down lovingly at their littlest wolf pup.
Six wars, she had lived: Robert's Rebellion, Greyjoy Rebellion, the War of Five Kings, the War against the Living and the Dead, World War I and now World War II. Six wars and she's still breathing. She had seen the carnage, the effects of wars. She wonders if she'll ever stop seeing wars.
She wonders if people will ever stop being greedy and angry and when will they start understanding each other.
ix.
Catelyn stared blankly at the painting in front of her. This art gallery only has one theme: horror. And she had already seen a handful of vampire-themed painting while browsing through it.
The invite came from an acquaintance (a young man who saw her working at the café), who said that he had two tickets for the event. Her 'date' ditched her though, saying that he had an emergency meeting to attend to. Catelyn doesn't mind, she preferred to go alone in events like this.
She is Catelyn Tully now, with vibrant red hair and bright blue eyes; a young, orphaned barista working at Starbucks. Her passport and birth certificate says that she's 27 years old and she can definitely pass for that age. She definitely doesn't need to work but she needs a sort of a front for her identity and lives in a small apartment at New York and a second-hand car.
She stared at the painting and rolled her eyes in annoyance. Edvard Munch's representation of vampire annoys her but she guess she can't really blame him as it starts back when it was rumored that redheads turn to vampires when they die. It also annoyed Catelyn that most paintings here at the gallery depict a vampire as a woman. Really? I have turned a man in to a vampire. Don't they consider that?
She gave it one last look before moving on to the next painting, her heels clicking against the tiled floor and she stood beside a tall man in a tux. Her phone then vibrated twice inside her purse. She took it out, swiped across the screen and read: Is the gallery pretty? - Liam
Another message from her co-worker at Starbucks: Soo.. did the date go well? ;) - Shae
Catelyn rolled her eyes again and opted not to reply to both texts, shoving her phone back to her purse where it clinked against her keys. She looked up again at the painting and sighed exasperatedly. Again it was a vampire themed painting with the woman as a vampire. She looked at the little paper that held its details: The Vampire, by Philip Burne-Jones , 1897
"How original," she muttered under her breath.
"I know right," the man beside her replied in a gruff familiar voice.
For all the people that Catelyn had met and talked to, she will never forget Ned's voice. The familiar low timbre of it will never leave her mind for more than a thousand years. And the man beside her spoke in a voice exactly like the only man she loves.
She slowly turned her head. Something began beating wildly against her chest and she can not stop the choked gasp for as she looked at the profile of the man, she was certain that her dead husband had risen from the grave.
She could not find her voice but she managed to whisper, "Ned.."
Her whisper, however, was drowned by another voice calling, "Uncle Ned!"
The man turned to look at the boy with wild dark hair, "Jon!" He said in an admonishing voice (the one that he will use when Rickon has been in the courtyard again and playing with the wooden swords without their knowledge), "Keep quiet!"
The boy only grinned, "Sorry, Uncle Ned," but she heard no real reproach. She looked at the boy and she felt her throat constrict at the sight of Jon Snow (Jon Targaryen), the same way that he looked when he was 8 years old, playing knights and dragons with her son Robb.
The man gave him a small smile and he turned to look at her, "Sorry. It's his first time in an art gallery and my sister can't come with him."
She stared at him, drinking in the sight of her husband. He looked like himself before he left Winterfell, stared at his gray gray eyes, a man of lean build at 35 years old. More than a thousand years, she had longed for the man that she loves. He had died but now he's here, in flesh, in front of her. Words like 'resurrection', 'rebirth' and even 'cloning' flew inside her head but one thought kept on popping up: My Ned is here. My Ned is here. My Ned is here.
"Miss?" He looked at her with concern now.
She snapped out of her daze, "I'm okay," she said in a voice filled with emotion and she cleared her throat, "I'm okay," she repeated more firmly.
The man with her husband's voice and appearance gave her a small smile and gestured at the boy, "This is my nephew, Jon," he held out his hand in front of her, "And I'm Eddard Stark."
She smiled as she grasped his hand, the same rough hands that used to hold hers in the coldest winters and feeling more alive than she had ever felt in a thousand years as her dead heart began beating again in her chest, "I'm Catelyn Tully."
( If this one wasn't enough.)
A/N: this is the result of my binge watching vampire diaries and the originals, reading vampire myths and stories in reddit and that ancient myth that redheads come back from the dead as vampires haha. i dont really know if the last part is accurate (heart beating again part) but i just added it in for effect