Author's Notes: Yay, thank you for reading and reviewing! I always appreciate it, especially when this is such a strange pairing. But I do love it so much. It's become something a lot bigger than I ever intended.
Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I'd be a happier person in general. GRRM owns all of them and kills me instead.
In the Lion's Den
part iii
That night proved to be cold and infuriating. Catelyn first paced the bedroom, thinking about how much she wanted to kill Tywin Lannister on the spot. How dare he? How dare he even begin to consider such a proposal? She took a goblet that a maid filled with wine earlier and threw it across the room at the door, trying to pretend that he was still standing there, and then watched as the wine seeped down the door like blood. Her children's blood. Her husband's blood.
And now she was going to be married to the man that had had a hand in their deaths.
Tywin had made it clear that she was not going to be given a choice. He was merely extending a courtesy of sorts, letting the idea grow in her mind, giving her time to think about whether or not she would fight him, as he said. Catelyn was not the sort of woman who just gave up though. She was a fighter and always had been. This marriage, even though forced upon her, would not break her. It would only add fuel to the fire burning inside of her. It would be difficult, but marriage was a battle in itself, as she had found out as a young girl.
She had fought her way through Robert's Rebellion, alone and forgotten. After Brandon's death, her sudden marriage to Ned, and the realization that she was already pregnant, Catelyn had felt completely desolate. She had worried about Ned, tried not to picture him being burned alive like Brandon, but it had been difficult. A part of her had been excited to see him; she had been proud to show him that she'd already produced him a son. What a good, young wife, she was, she couldn't help but think. And then Ned came back with his bastard son, proof to her that he hadn't cared about her, that she would only be duty in his bed, and that he didn't need her more than he needed his sword or a whore. It had been eye-opening.
Of course, things had slowly mended between them. She had grown to love Ned, especially when she would see him play with Robb. Ned had been the North in person, but he had warmed like the hot springs when with little Robb. When Sansa was born, and she'd been scared that Ned would be displeased with a girl, she had felt a burst of love and relief when Ned had picked up his daughter and proclaimed her to be a gift from the Old Gods, happy and true.
This marriage would be different. Catelyn would not battle to love her husband; she would have to battle to not kill him. Though she had been hurt by Ned, she had never strayed from her duties as a wife. He had apologized to her, though he had offered her no explanations or justifications. Tywin would be different. He would never apologize to her. He would not wipe the tears from her eyes should they appear during their wedding. He would not help her wash the shame away after she did her duties in bed. He would not hold her gently in the night if she struggled to conceive. He would not join her in the sept when she prayed to the seven about Sansa or her lost children. She would be with him, but she would be alone.
I will be as strong and cold as the North, Ned, Catelyn thought, looking out the window. You taught me well enough.
She knew what she must do – what she had to do. It terrified her, to say the least. Technically speaking, she was going to marry her daughter's father-in-law; she would become Sansa's mother twice over. But if that were the case, then the seven would have granted her Sansa's life and presence, and she could intensely mother her daughter. Instead, there was no one.
The next morning, Catelyn found yet another beautiful gown hung on the door of her bedroom. One of the maids must have slipped it in some time in the early hours of the morning after Catelyn had fitfully fallen asleep. She put it on, carefully did her hair in the old southern ways she'd done as a girl, and examined her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired. She wanted to look proud and unbroken, but there were limits to her strength. By all accounts, her pride had been shattered and she was more broken into pieces at well. Bits of her were left in the burned ruins of Winterfell, the Twins, and the Riverlands. Her whole life was scattered across Westeros, and no gown or marriage would piece her together again.
When the maid entered again with her breakfast, Catelyn startled the girl by sitting on the bed waiting for her. The poor girl nearly dropped the tray of food, but Catelyn jumped and hurried to catch her. "M-m'lady, I did not expect to be awake."
Catelyn felt a pang of shame. Since she had crawled into the comforts of the bed, she had not gotten out of bed until well after midday. There had been some days when she had pretended to be asleep when the maids came in, so they would not disturb her. Still, she gave the girl a soft look. "If you could be so kind, please tell Lord Tywin that I wish to speak with him."
"Yes, m'lady." The girl set the tray down on the table, curtseyed, and then left the room. Though she had never been much of a drinker, Catelyn poured herself a healthy glass of wine. She sipped, resisting the childish urge to dump its entire contents into her stomach, and waited.