Author's Notes: This is the chapter about how much of a struggle I had with writing about childbirth and also how much I love Jaime. Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Catelyn stared out the window, looking downtrodden and somewhat desperate, her fingers of one hand splayed against the stone beneath the glass, the other holding her swollen belly. Would that she could be out in the city right now, wandering the market, anything but in the Red Keep. Years ago, she had been able to tour the towns surrounding Winterfell whenever she wanted. She had loved the way that every city seemed to be teaming with children running around and laughing, despite the cold weather. In her youth at Riverrun, they had been somewhat secluded. Winterfell had always bustled with life since it was the center of the entire North. Even though the towns were far and wide apart, all of them were filled with life. In the Riverlands, it was much the same, perhaps even more so because of the warmer weather, but she had been separated from most of the people.
There was something so very proper about the South. Because she was a woman, she was kept from men; and because she was highborn, she was kept from everyone else. In the North, you had to know who you were surrounded by, because you might depend on them come winter should you run out of food or wood. The people came together in the North while they bickered and kept with their properness in the South. She missed that about the North, missed its people and the warm smiles they showed. She'd been so scared that they'd scorn a Southerner like her, but while they might have been wary, she had been welcomed with open arms and been taught how to survive in the North like a true Northerner.
It wasn't like that in King's Landing, not one bit. The people here fought and scowled and stole from one another without care. And even if they did none of that, they would stick up their noses and say the snottiest remarks.
"I've never seen anyone look so fondly at the city before," a voice said behind her. "For a place that everyone wants to fight over, no one that actually lives here seems to like it."
When Catelyn turned her head, she saw Jaime Lannister standing before her, out of his white armor. "The city isn't so bad," she said as she turned back to look out the window, "but the people in this castle are abhorrent."
Jaime laughed, loud and unforgiving. "I'm not even sure I could call the people that grace these halls people. They're more like desperate, little peasants hoping to get a treat before being pat on the head and sent back to whatever hole they crawled out of."
"That's cruel," Catelyn told him, frowning at her reflection in the window. She thought something very similar to that, though she never said it out loud, but she saw the way people practically tripped over themselves while bowing quickly before Tywin or how they threw every compliment they could think of at his feet. She saw their wide smiles while they opened up their hands and how they would scowl once he turned away. The people of the court were paper thin and sometime she swore that she could literally see through them, as if they were nothing but wind.
"Ah, but you agree," Jaime pointed out as he stood next to her. He gave her a careful look over. "I can see it in your face."
"I've never been one for court games," Catelyn admitted, glancing at him quickly.
"That's the biggest difference between you and Cersei," Jaime said. "She loves them."
Catelyn bit her lip, trying to keep a snappy comment to herself. She did not care about how Jaime might feel if she insulted his sister in front of him, especially since she knew the…rumors concerning what went on between the two of them. Still, she didn't want to get in the habit of speaking her mind about the Queen Regent. It didn't do well to insult the woman when nothing came about it. Instead, it only seemed to stress her further. She rubbed her belly more, almost like a reflex.
Jaime gave her a peculiar look. "You've been oddly…quiet today."
"Following me, have you?" Catelyn rolled her eyes at him.
"You don't think my father would let you out of someone's sight when you're so close to giving birth, do you?" The smile on Jaime's face wasn't a mocking one, but it wasn't exactly a kind one either. It looked more like a joke, reminding her strangely of Theon Greyjoy. "In case you haven't noticed, you've not been alone since that little…incident."
Thinking back on his words, Catelyn realized that he was right. If she wasn't surrounded by handmaidens, there was always a guard on her or some lady of the court pestering her. While he'd stayed true to his word and kept Cersei away from her, Jaime was usually only a call away. Broderick was with her for the most part, keeping her company, talking to her when she felt sour towards the other ladies of the court. After the incident of false labor, there had been a few ladies that had seemingly stopped talking to her, as if they could catch a disease from her or like she had some sort of plague. She'd even overheard one lady whispering that something like that had never happened to her. For some reason, hearing that comment had struck in a chord in her and made her feel wounded, even though she had been through much worse. Words had never hurt her before, but she loathed the idea of failing in anything, especially now. She hadn't told anyone about that, though she was sure Ser Broderick had heard and decided not to say anything so that her pride would not be wounded as well.
"Always on a tight leash," she mumbled under her breath, feeling more aggravated than thankful. She knew that it was for her own good, but she hated feeling like a burden as well. It didn't help that she didn't like being under watchful eyes, though she knew that the Red Keep was full of them.
"I'm fairly certain my father would kill anyone that let something bad happen to you," Jaime said. It was the child that had him so worked up. She was due and it was making him almost…nervous. Tywin Lannister did not get nervous, but he seemed irritated almost every waking moment. The faster she had this child, the better. He'd even stopped coming to their bed most nights until the early hours, leaving her alone and cold under the blankets. It wasn't that she missed him; it was just… Oh, she didn't know. She missed something. "He even told Cersei to stay clear of you."
Had she been a cruder woman, Catelyn would've snorted in derision. "Hm, the most stressful part of my life around here…"
"Cersei just isn't used to having another lady around," Jaime explained. He looked out the windows towards the sept, no doubt where Queen Margaery Tyrell was at, showing all of Westeros just how pious and pretty she was. "Not only must she contend with Margaery Tyrell for Tommen's affections – and the fact that she will be replaced – but now she has to fight you for our father's attention."
"I think that's hardly fair of her to blame me," Catelyn pointed out. "It's not as if I wanted to be here."
"No, I doubt you did," Jaime replied. "My father isn't exactly perfect lord husband material, despite his wealth and power. But what you wanted doesn't matter since you're here. In the eyes of Westeros, you're practically the queen since everyone knows that Tywin Lannister is the one truly ruling."
This time, Catelyn could not stop a laugh bursting from her lips. "Practically the queen? Your sister must be positively seething." She gripped the sill tighter, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She could fight through this. All she had to do was breath. "Well I have no intentions of being the queen or taking her place. All I want to do is give birth and raise this child in peace – and to not act like any of the people here."
Jaime tilted his head curiously. "Catelyn… You're due quite soon, aren't you? I confess, I do not know much about children or giving birth – that was always for Cersei to know – but when she was with child…" Catelyn opened her eyes to look at him. "It's been a little over nine months, has it not? You could pop any day now."
"Any day." Catelyn smiled a little, but the smile was gone in a flash and not cheerful besides. "Not just any day."
Catelyn could honestly say that she had never once seen Jaime Lannister look scared, alarmed, or nervous – and she had seen him bloodied, bruised, chained up, and locked in a cage. He had never once looked bothered. Right now though, there was alarm flashing in his green eyes. "How long?" he demanded. When she didn't answer him right away and turned her face from him, he reached over and grabbed her wrist. "How long?"
"Five hours or so," she answered, jerking her wrist out of his grip. "It is merely early labor. I needed to walk; it helps the contractions–"
"Five hours?" Jaime shook his head. "You were still with my father when it started and you neglected to tell him?"
"I did not feel he needed to know yet," Catelyn replied stiffly.
"Don't tell him that. He thinks it's his business to know everyone's business." Jaime gave her a hard look. She was certain that this was bothering him so much only because it had to do with his father. If anything were to happen to her or the child, his father would've been furious; and right now, she was under Jaime's care. "Come, let's go to Maester Pycelle."
Catelyn put her hands protectively on her belly and stepped back from him. "I'm not going to that man. You'll need to fetch Maester Varden."
"Is there even any time for that?"
"Of course there is." Catelyn let out an aggravated huff. "I've had five children before; I know what I'm doing." It hurt to say it, but it had to be said. No sense in tiptoeing around the facts. "And you said yourself that you know little about childbirth."
The look on Jaime's face softened slightly, but there was still alarm in his eyes. She could hear the clock ticking in his head: the time he had to get Catelyn to a maester before his father punished him. "All I remember is the screaming."
"That comes later," Catelyn replied, trying not to cringe as another contraction hit her. They were getting close now, to the point where she knew that she would have to go to a maester. It had been foolish of her to wander about on her own, but a part of her had known that she wouldn't be. There were maids and servants running about this castle at all times. She was rarely alone, if ever. She hadn't thought that it'd be a problem. When she'd gone into labor with Rickon, she'd walked around the grounds of Winterfell with Ned until her feet were sore. "Right now, I–"
"Cat." The nickname came out choked and his eyes widened as he looked down at her, as if he was seeing something terrifying, something he'd never thought to see before. She would've been shocked by the name coming out of his mouth had she not felt a cold wetness running down her legs. When she glanced down, she saw the front of her dress was dark and there was water pooling at her feet.
"My water broke," she announced in the calmest, most detached voice she could muster. "That doesn't mean the baby is coming right now, Jaime. With Arya, it was another eight hours before–"
"I don't care what happened then," Jaime interrupted. "I care about what's happening now and what my father will do to me if I don't get you to a maester."
Sighing with frustration, she nodded her head and began to walk with him in silence towards the room that had been designated for the birthing. They passed a servant, who Jaime stopped and ordered to find Maester Varden and the Hand of the King. The servant dropped the cloth in her hands and went flying down the hall. Tywin had been true to his word and had found another maester, one that was specifically skilled in child labor, to deal with the pregnancy. The only time Maester Pycelle had been involved had been when she'd had a false labor and there had been no time to get Varden. He had come the next few days to check on her progress, endlessly optimistic and pleasant always, something she had appreciated so much. Pycelle was so gloomy these days, apparently ever since Tyrion Lannister had had his beard chopped off and he'd been thrown in the black cells.
It was only when she had to stop for the second time, her hand pressed against the stone wall, did she realize just how far she'd wandered in the Red Keep. The castle was deceptively smaller on the outside, but had so many winding corridors on the inside that one could easily get lost. Luckily, she'd had far too much time on her hands and had spent most of it walking around this castle and Jaime had been living in the Red Keep since he was barely a man grown. Still, she knew that she'd walked too far from the safety of her room. The contractions were growing even more painful. This one was nearly crippling, making her wish for a bed more than anything.
"This isn't going to work," Jaime said, mostly to himself. She glowered at him, meaning to throw some snappy comment about him not being the one that was going to give birth, when he swept her right off her feet without any warning.
"Ser Jaime, put me down!" Catelyn protested, weakly struggling in his arms. "I can walk on my own!"
"At the rate you're walking and needing to stop, you're going to give birth in the hallway," Jaime told her as he started up the stairs she'd been dreading to walk up. He carried her like she weighed nothing, something she was sure had to be a feat. He might not have been in his armor, but she still couldn't be that light, what with the size of her belly. "I'm not sure about you, but I'm not particularly adept at delivering babies."
Of course she didn't want to think he was right, but she knew that she was having trouble walking. It had been years since Rickon's birth. His had been an easy one compared to Robb's and Arya's, from what she remembered, but she'd apparently forgotten just how shockingly painful the contractions could be. She'd expected it, but they still somehow managed to catch her off guard. Jaime walked in silence, not glancing at her once and only looking ahead to see where he was going. If any servants got in his way, he barked at them to move.
"None of these servants have any common sense," he muttered to himself. She looked at him to see if there was any strain in his face from carrying her for so long, but there seemed to be none. It was as if her weight didn't bother him at all. If anything, the strangeness of the situation bothered her more than anything else. Two years ago, he had been her prisoner, chained up and close to being killed by an angry Northerner. Now he was carrying her through the Red Keep so she could safely give birth to his sibling.
His sibling, Catelyn thought suddenly, feeling decidedly foolish for having truly not thought of it before. I am giving birth to his brother or sister.
Tyrion Lannister had been the only younger sibling that Jaime had had; and she knew that he had actually been fond and cared for his stunted brother, unlike most of the people in Westeros. Jaime Lannister probably cared for few people, save for himself and his sister, but he had loved his brother. Now his brother was gone, a condemned criminal and possible murderer. She wondered what feelings Jaime had for the child that would take his younger brother's place.
"I once heard my father say that he sometimes wondered if he had ever been meant to have any more children besides Cersei and me," Jaime suddenly said in a distant voice, "and if Tyrion's birth and my mother's death were punishments for him wanting more than the gods deemed he could have."
Catelyn felt like she could barely breath, but she knew that she had to. "Jaime, I…"
After nearly fifteen minutes of acting like she wasn't in his arms, Jaime looked at her. "We're here, my lady." He set her down on her feet very gently. For a second, she wobbled; and he held onto her arm until she steadied herself. Handmaidens seemingly appeared out of nowhere and pulled her into the room. She glanced back at him and saw him just standing there, a strange look on his face. "Good luck."
It was the same, dark look his father had worn when she'd told him that she was pregnant.
The look of expected doom, as if he too thought she would suffer the same fate as his late mother.
"Thank you," Catelyn said to him, before the door was shut and Jaime was gone.
The handmaidens prepared Catelyn as they waited for the arrival of Maester Varden and the midwife, setting her down comfortably in the birthing bed that had been brought for her. It was the same one Cersei Lannister had used; though no one had told her, she'd found out easily enough through some of Cersei's snide comments at dinner. They laid pillows against her lower back to help her be at ease but that didn't stop the pain. Predictably, the midwife showed up first, immediately showing the handmaidens who was boss. She was an older woman, probably in her sixties, but she knew what she was doing. Catelyn liked that about her. She didn't want any fresh newcomer to the baby business. Maester Varden showed up just as the contractions felt like they were too close. He wore an amiable smile on his face as he pushed up the sleeves of his robe.
"Ready for the big day?" Cheerful, always cheerful.
Catelyn could not express to him how grateful she was that he alone seemed completely at ease and even happy about what was going on. She didn't think she could have been able to handle Maester Pycelle's graveness at a time like this, not when everyone else seemed to look at her as if she was going to drop dead. "As ready as I can be, I suppose."
"It will be fine, my lady," Varden reassured her, pressing his hand against her forehead. She was already starting to sweat from the effort. She knew that the time to push was coming, but a part of her wanted to hold back. With everyone else on edge, it made her nervous as well. What was it that Jaime had said? That the Lannisters were cursed to have no more children? Or at least none that were deformed or cursed themselves…
She thought of Tyrion Lannister, his stunted legs and arms, his large head, his mismatched eyes, and that lion's grin that cut across his face whenever he said something witty. He had been smart, perhaps more than most men in Westeros, and look where it had gotten him. She could not have that for her child, not this one, not her only remaining one.
Sansa, where are you? And Arya, are you even alive? You are going to have a new sibling now, but will you ever know why?
After examining her carefully, nodding and muttering to himself, Varden sat down next to her, that same old smile on his face. "Everything seems to be going accordingly. I'd say you're nearly fully dilated."
"Feels like it," Catelyn huffed, another hard contraction clenching inside of her. She looked around the room, noting the two handmaidens, the midwife, and Maester Varden. Something felt wrong. Something was…missing. "Where is Lord Tywin?"
Maester Varden and the midwife gave each other a look before turning their attention back to her. The midwife bustled around behind Varden, who wore a smile on his face, but Catelyn could see the strain in the smile no matter how hard he tried to hide it. "My lady–"
"I want my husband in here," Catelyn gritted out, trying not to cry out from pain. The contractions were closer now. She knew that it would not be much longer, but despite being so eager to have the child and be done with all the doom and gloom surrounding her, she desperately wanted to hold back now. She could not begin to understand why she wanted the man that had planned the murder of her last remaining son to be in the same room as she gave birth to another, but she wanted him here, with her, by her side, holding her hand as Ned had done during Sansa's, Bran's, and Rickon's births. "I want him in here now."
"He thought it best if he waited until everything was over," Varden told her carefully.
"I don't care what he thought was best," Catelyn snapped, her breathing becoming more erratic. No, she had to take deep, long, measured breaths. It would only make things more difficult if she was huffing and puffing for air. But she wanted Tywin here and he wasn't and she didn't care if anyone else was here, she wanted him and she wanted Edmure and-and— "He is my husband and this is his child, our child; and I want him here!"
Varden held her hand and squeezed it. "I'm sure he is right outside the door should his assistance be needed, my lady."
Despite herself, despite everything, tears began to leak out of Catelyn's eyes and she threw herself back against the pillows in a frustrated huff. "I won't… I won't…not until he's here," she said stubbornly, biting her lip and shaking her head.
"I do not think you have a choice in the matter," Varden said, almost like a joke, but patient, always patient with her.
Now I'm acting like a child, Catelyn thought in a moment when the pain wasn't too great. A second later, the moment was washed away by a big contraction, making it feel like she was being stabbed. She grunted in pain and closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing like the midwife was instructing her to do. I have given birth to five healthy babies. I do not need your coaching as if I am a new mother.
Robb's birth came to mind quite suddenly. She pictured herself then, a girl of seven and ten, bright red hair, a swollen belly, swollen ankles, what felt like a swollen everything. She had been so scared then. There had been no man to help her then either. Ned had been off at war, near death on a daily basis, and she had been so near life, so full of it that life itself was growing inside of her. And she'd thought of her mother, who had been so full of life as well, but it had been a lie. Her mother had just been filled with death and she had given birth to a stillborn and then died for it. Oh gods, Cat had been frightened so much that she would suffer the same fate as her mother. Instead of Ned, she'd had her father pacing behind the doors. Edmure had wanted to be in there with her, had told her all throughout her pregnancy that he would hold her hand if Ned could not, but once she'd started screaming and crying, the brave, little boy had paled and been dragged out of the room by Lord Hoster Tully.
And here she was now, alone again, near to the point of screaming, painfully wanting to cry, but determined to do neither.
"Catelyn, I need you to focus," Varden told her. "Now is the time to push."
"Tywin–"
But no, she could not hold it and her body worked for her with a mind on its own, pushing, pushing. And she tried not to scream, gripped the pillows and blankets and sheets as hard as she could. She thought of her reaction after she'd agreed to Tywin's marriage proposal – how she'd gone to her room and gripped her sheets until they'd torn. She could hear the ripping of the fabric now, such thin, flimsy material. We will need thicker blankets and sheets for the winter, she thought deliriously. The baby will need warm blankets. She pushed again; and before she knew it, a scream tore out of her throat, strangled and raw.
"You need to breathe, my lady," the midwife pointed out.
Catelyn took a labored but deep breathe instead of snapping viciously at the older woman. It wasn't her fault. She was just doing her job. Catelyn kept thinking that and closed her eyes as the woman continued to instruct her to breathe. I know, I know, but it was so difficult when it felt like her entire inside of body was clenching. She wanted to bite her lip to keep from screaming or crying out in pain, but then she couldn't breathe, but wheneve4r she opened her mouth, all she wanted to do was cry out.
"Lady Catelyn," Varden said suddenly, "I can see the head."
She could hear the excitement in his voice and she could feel it in her chest. She felt as if she'd been pushing for hours when it had only been around thirty minutes. Pushing and breathing and pushing and breathing, the cycle went round and round. With each push, she exhaled heavily, thinking to herself that it might be her last. She couldn't think like that though, even if the pain was so great that she felt like she was being torn in two.
"You're close, my lady!" he told her. She knew, she knew. She didn't need to see it to know; she could feel it. It was as if she could feel the life of her child leaving her womb. "Just a little more!"
It was painful, so painful. Tears slipped out of her eyes, burning paths down her cheeks, no matter how much she squeezed her eyes shut. This was as painful as Arya's birth had been. She had been difficult too, as she had been in life, stubborn and bull-headed as a baby as she was a child. And this child now – it hurt, for so many reason. A year ago, she had been the mother to a king. A year ago, she had been with her brother and her son's men. She had been in the Riverlands, but with the North. She'd had a simpleton's blood on her hands. She'd lost all her children, all her hope. Two years ago, she had been with Ned, back in Winterfell, and she had been so ridiculously happy.
No, she had been so bloody foolish.
And now – oh, now, she was giving birth again, just as she had wished to do two years ago, but instead of the child being with her beloved Ned, it was with Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand that had replaced her late husband, who had plotted her son's murder, who had ordered the burning and butchering of her father's and brother's (her) homeland, who had forced her into this marriage, who had had a hand in taking away everything she loved and held dear.
(And she was happy?)
Robb's voice came to her suddenly, clear as day, sounding just as mournful as he had in the nightmare she'd had the night a false labor had scared her: "How could you betray me like this?" But she wasn't betraying him, not his memory, not his soul, not his life or his reign. Robb, please… It wasn't as if she had wanted this to happen. When she had entered into a compromise with Tywin about this marriage, she had known that it would be expected of her to have his children, but she had not thought…could not have begun to imagine…
"So close, my lady," Varden chimed. "You're doing fantastic. You're almost there."
For some strange reason, she hadn't thought it would come to this. She'd never once pictured the idea of giving birth to a Lannister.
All her wolf cubs were gone, and she would be giving birth to a lion.
Catelyn pushed hard, a scream ripping out of her throat, and then–
A child crying, loud and piercing, howling – no, roaring – as loud as can be. It had been so long since she'd heard a beautiful sound like that. Not since she'd given birth to Rickon, who had wailed as wildly as possible the moment he'd come out of her.
Catelyn collapsed into the bed, sweaty and dizzy, breathing erratically. "My child," she muttered. But she couldn't see the child, not the way Varden was holding the babe, and her legs were in the way. She went to put her legs down and raised her arms. "I want to see my child."
"Not yet." Varden turned and handed the bundle to the midwife. He gave Catelyn an apologetic yet serious look. "We must stitch you up a bit."
It took everything in Catelyn not to scream one more time. She just sat in a stunned and dazed silence as she listened to the cries of her child that told her that he was alive, so alive, vibrating with life. It took everything in her not to break down and cry herself. She laid there in pain, gripping the sheets tightly, as tears spilled out of her eyes more. She knew that it was for her own good. Some women bled out after giving birth if they were not paid enough attention afterwards. The birth had been extremely painful. She also knew that Varden would potentially lose his head if anything happened to her that he could have prevented. In order to distract herself from Varden and the pain, she focused on the back of the midwife as the old woman cleaned up the fussing baby.
Finally, what felt like hours later, Varden sat up straight and smiled. "Would you like to hold your child, Lady Catelyn?"
Catelyn did not say anything. She just propped herself up carefully and then held out her hands. The midwife picked up the bundle and gently placed it down in Catelyn's arms. An overwhelming and powerful sensation swelled up inside of her, to the point where she choked on a little sob, as Catelyn looked down into the face of her newborn son.
The boy had quieted down, his eyes closed, his body still, as he nestled against her in the blanket. When she pushed the top of the blanket back, she saw a thin layer of bright blonde hair, so Lannister, but when she touched his cheek and the baby opened his eyes, she saw the shocking Tully blue eyes that she, Edmure, and Lysa had been born with. All babies were born with blue eyes; Maester Luwin had explained that to her after Arya's light blue eyes had shifted to Stark grey a few weeks later. Still, she knew that this boy's would not change. He would see the world through the same eyes she did.
She was so busy staring down at the child that she did not hear the door open nor did she hear the slow, methodic footsteps towards the bed. It was only when she felt a presence, powerful yet hesitant, did she look up and see Tywin standing there, looking down at the child in her arms. His child, his son, his heir to Casterly Rock.
"A boy," Catelyn proclaimed proudly, "just as I said he would be."
"You did..." Tywin stopped, as if trying to think of the proper words. She had never once known him to be hesitant before. He had only ever been swift and confident in all that he did. "You did well, my lady."
Tywin stepped closer to her, just close enough for her to reach out and grab his hand to pull him down next to her on the bed, but she wouldn't let go of her child. There was a strange look on his face: distant almost confused, as if he could not tell how things had come to this either. She supposed it was shocking for him to have another child after being a widow for around thirty years. All three were silent. She hadn't even noticed that everyone else had left the room. The boy looked around the room, his eyes blinking very slowly. I am tired as well, my boy.
"He looks more like you," Catelyn said quietly. "He has your hair, your nose, your mouth…"
"He has your eyes," Tywin added, looking up into hers suddenly. They stared at each other for a minute, like they were trying desperately to read each other's minds and feelings in this moment. Catelyn honestly couldn't even begin to describe how she felt: shocked, confused, elated, devastated. The list could go on and on. It had taken her nine months, but she had finally come to the realization that things were just as strange for Tywin as well. He had been her enemy, but she had been his.
(Had been. They had been enemies.)
"What would you like to name him, my lord?" Catelyn asked as she turned her attention back to her child.
"Have you any thoughts on the matter? Any preferences?"
Catelyn glanced up at Tywin briefly. In all honesty, she hadn't thought up a single name; she had always assumed that Tywin would name the child without asking her for her opinion. She bit her lip, stroking the boy's soft cheek, and shook her head. A part of her thought that she should want to name the child after someone she had lost, but…a greater part of her didn't want to do that. It felt too much like pouring salt in the wound. Certainly Tywin would not want some common Riverlands name to be bestowed upon his child and she wasn't familiar with Lannister or Westerland names.
She didn't care anyways. She would love her son no matter his name.
"Tyson," her lord husband decided. "We will name him Tyson."
Catelyn looked down at the babe in her arms. He'd closed his eyes again and had turned his face so that it was closer to her breast. His skin was pale except for a rosy, little nose. Tyson Lannister. She rolled the name around in her mind a few times experimentally. It had a strong ring to it. He was a beautiful baby, just as delicate looking as Robb had looked the moment he'd been born. He had wailed louder than all of them though, even louder than Arya and Rickon.
A hand on her shoulder startled Catelyn out of her thoughts and she looked up into Tywin's eyes. "Maester Varden said you lost a good amount of blood," he told her quietly.
"The worst is over," Catelyn said in a final tone, though she knew that it wasn't true. Her mother had died days after giving birth to a stillborn. She had lost a lot of blood during that birth and the maester had said she would heal, but then… The infection had set in without warning. Catelyn knew that she had to be careful, that the weakness she was hiding from Tywin could sneak up on her, but she didn't want to let him on to any of her fears or insecurities. She would be strong before him. "I will be fine. You need not worry about us. I am fine. Our son is fine."
Tywin's hand slid down her arm until it was touching her hand that held their son in her arms. He looked at her, saying nothing. She felt something close to…to something very, very strong in that moment. It scared her, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing in return. He nodded his head, as if to reassure himself that her words were true. "I will leave you to rest. You should rest." He bent down and gently kissed her on the forehead, before leaving the room just as rigid as he had walked in.
Catelyn sank down in the bed, holding the child close to her. We are both Lannisters here, she thought as she gazed at her sleeping son, but we will be Tullys as well, as strong as the coursing river.