THREE : CATELYN (I)
It had been four years since Ned had returned from war; from the south.
In that time she had given him both a son and a daughter, both healthy and wonderful children who took after Cat with their Tully hair and eyes. Sansa was a beauty already; her undeniable high cheekbones though she was still but a baby, pink lips, and pale skin. She would make a fine bride someday.
Robb was her in looks and Ned in spirit. She adored her son, her first baby. She loved her children in different ways, but just as much as the other.
Now she was with child once more. In the early stages, to be true, but she could tell already that life was blooming within her. After two babes, a woman knew.
She kept the news close to her chest until it was safe; the revelation of Lysa's latest miscarriage haunted her — fear nagged at the back of her mind that she might lose this one as her sister had lost so many. But the Gods had grated her uneventful pregnancies before. Surely they would do so again?
But not so. Of course, nothing was the matter with the child itself, but the world around Catelyn that only made her fear grow. Tensions were rising in concern with the Ironborn, which might mean her husband riding off to war once more. Not only that, but he had sent out a message to Ashara Dayne requesting time with his two bastard children.
It had hurt Cat deeply when he had told her about the siring of the two children. The pain lessened when he informed her that they were twins, and that he had only been with the woman the one time — before they were married.
He had not betrayed her, no. Nor had he disgraced her by bringing the bastards here in the north or naming them Starks to rip the claim right from Robb's little fingers. Ned had left them in the south, in Starfall, with his whore of a woman.
And now he wanted to visit them.
Oh, how he had begged her not to be angry! How he had pleaded with her; they are my children, Cat. I must see them. They must know me for their Father.
She might have allowed him to go if not for the babe in her belly.
It stung — the thought that he might love his natural children more than his true born ones. It was only a worry, but it was justified in the way that he spoke of this Alysanne and this Jon, and of how his eyes lit up and a smile curved at his lips when they were mentioned — accidentally or not.
Had he ever looked at Sansa or Robb that way? Had he ever spoke their names with such a plain love?
Had he ever said Catelyn the way he whispered Ashara in his sleep?
None of it was meant to hurt her, she knew. None of it was meant to sting or scrape or bend or break. Ned loved her and he loved their children, and he was sweet to all of them. She was growing anxious over nothing.
But here was a missive from Lady Dayne, opened and spread across Ned's desk. It read that Lady Dayne was visiting Highgarden with her two children, and begged him not to come.
Catelyn felt relief. And also, maybe, just the slightest bit of forgiveness toward this woman whom had done her no ill. She knew that much of what she felt toward Ashara Dayne was unjust and unladylike, but she felt it all the same.
Ned was off performing the execution of a Night's Watch deserter. He would not return until noon, she guessed. Catelyn ducked out of his solar and walked down the halls to Sansa's nursery.
Her daughter, not yet a year old, was playing patiently with a little stuffed fish. She believed it had been her Father to send the gift when news of Sansa's birth had spread over the realm. She smiled at the sight and kissed her daughter atop her head.
Robb was on the floor, having his wooden knights fight. "What are you doing in here?" She asked of him.
Robb shrugged. "M'bored," he said. "And anyway, everywhere else is no fun. There's no one to play with."
It was true, for the most part. She wondered if, had Ned brought his bastards north with him after the war, they and Robb would have been friends. Most likely, she affirmed bitterly. And it was her fault that they were not.
Cat knelt down by her son and picked up a knight. Its wood was painted white and purple. The colours of House Dayne. She clutched it so tightly her knuckles went white. "Where did you get this?" She demanded, voice trembling.
"I dunno," Robb shrugged again and went back to his toys.
Catelyn took the knight. Robb did not protest, but she doubt he had noticed at all, he had such a great many of them. She gave both of her children a quick kiss and swept out.
Long ago, years past, she had been betrothed to Brandon Stark.
Catelyn had loved him the instant she'd lain eyes upon him, all dark hair and grey eyes with that smirk and stocky build. He had held little affection for her, though, she knew. He was only doing his duty by his father.
Catelyn had thought that maybe they would come to love one another, and have beautiful children with her hair and his eyes — or the other way around. But it had not been so; Brandon had run south after his sister had been abducted, and as a result he had been murdered by the Mad King.
All of Cat's dreams had been crushed. Suddenly her father was angry and she was in mourning. Then Hoster Tully had decided that Cat would marry Eddard in place of Brandon, and she would remain as she was to be: Lady of Winterfell.
Catelyn had been excited at the prospect. Now, she only felt aged when she needn't be.
Absentmindedly she ran her hand over her stomach, which was yet to swell, and watched the little knight burn.
The door to her chambers swung open. There was Ned, looking grim and solemn as he stepped into their room. He wore his heavy fur cloak over his shoulders and his hair was tied back in that northern style he wore so oft.
"My love," she greeted, meaning it but feeling hollow. "Did it go well?"
"As well as it could have," Ned replied, stripping off his gloves. He came over to the hearth to warm his hands, not noticing the little knight burn. "And you, Cat? The children?"
"All three are well," she assured him, turning around to pour herself a goblet of water.
Ned grunted, and then there was a silence between them. "...Three?"
Cat could not stop the smile that spread across her face. She turned, skirts swaying, and beamed at her Lord Husband. "Three," she nodded. "The Maester confirmed it!"
Ned started to laugh. He pulled her into his arms and spun her around joyfully, and then kissed her, with a deeply rooted affection that warmed her heart and bones. "Oh, Cat," he whispered, cupping her cheek. "Another babe."
She nodded. "I'm about two months in," she said. "The Maester assured me that all looks well. He said I might as well tell you."
Ned nodded. "I am glad you did."
Four months came and went. Soon, Ned had left for war.
Cat had clutched her two children as they cried over the loss of their Father for only the Gods knew how long. Robb clung to her skirts while Sansa wailed into the crook of her neck. Cat shushed them, comfortingly.
That night Robb curled up next to her and fell asleep next to the swell of her belly. Cat lay with her hand on her stomach, staring upward and thinking of Ned's bastard Jon Sand, when the baby kicked. Cat sat upright, shocked, and kept her hand there as a volley of excited kicks impacted her abdomen.
She laughed and cried in the darkness, relieved and upset at once.
Cat held Sansa, rocking her back and forth in the rocking chair. Her daughter was nearing a year and a half, not quite there yet but coming round. Her skin was soft and white like porcelain, cool to the touch.
It was in that moment, when Cat was relaxed and at peace — forcing herself not to think of Ned or the war or Jon and Alysanne Sand — when the first pain came. She gasped, though it had more to do with shock than discomfort, and stood.
Gently she laid the baby down in her cot and walked, swiftly, to see the Maester. It was nighttime, he would be asleep. She pounded on his chamber doors but he did not answer. Another, more sharp pain caused her to cry out. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes.
She kept going, though, clutching her stomach and making her way though the keep. Luwin had to be around, somewhere. But what if he was out? There was a storm raging outside; rain pounding against the walls and windows and lighting cracking across the sky.
There came another contraction. Cat managed not to make any noise, for she had expected it and did not want to wake her children. They would only worry. Gods, where was Ned now? Was he in battle? Was he dead?
She had not heard from him in so long...
Slowly Cat lowered herself to the ground as more pain coursed through her. She was stood in a puddle of wetness. Her water had broke, most likely. Hissing, Cat pulled up her skirts and moved herself away, ashamed and alone.
"Luwin!" She called, as more pain came. Things should not be moving this fast; the other babes had taken hours to get the pain this close together. Why was it coming so quickly?
She was exasperated with this child already and it had not even been born, yet.
"Luwin!" She screamed. Her entire body shook. She pulled herself up, clawing at the door handles for support. "Dammit, where are you?!"
She cared naught for manners at this time. Her child was coming — forcing it's way from her body as she walked. She had to get to a bed. Where was the Maester? Why had he not arrived, yet? Crying out once more and doubling over, Cat began to sob.
This was not how it was meant to be; Ned should be here. Ned should be by my side as I bring this child into the world.
She hammered on his door again. It was clear now that Maester Luwin was not just sleeping but absent entirely. He had said nothing to her about going anyplace. Was that not something he should inform her of in her condition?
Cat grit her teeth as another contraction wreaked havoc on her body.
"By the Seven," she panted, climbing onto her bed. She affixed her legs and dragged up her wet skirts. "Mother have mercy..."
Another pain — this one so bad she screamed. When it passed she felt her muscles ache. "LUWIN!"
That was when he arrived, panting and carrying his leather bag of supplies. His grey hair was wet and plastered across his forehead. "I am so sorry, my lady," he said, appearing genuinely concerned and regretful. "I was with Jory — he has a fever, you see. Now, let us see the state of you..."
His eyes widened and fear coursed through her, and in that moment she could do little else but push without guidance. Luwin nodded, and minutes later the wails of a newborn babe had filled the room. He cleaned off the child and swaddled it, and then handed it to her.
"A girl, my lady," Luwin said, beaming with pride.
Catelyn looked down at this red-faced, screaming girl with dark hair and smiled. "Arya," she whispered. "My little Arya."
Luwin nodded. "A fine name, my lady."
Yes, it was. A perfect name.
Four months after she had been born, Catelyn took her daughter out for a walk along the battlements. It was not storming or even cold, but nonetheless the girl was well-wrapped and cooing as she looked out at all of these new sights with wide grey eyes.
Catelyn smiled, peaceful with her youngest child. She had worried that Sansa and Arya were too close together, that perhaps this would cause discontent or jealousy of some sort. So far, she had been proven wrong. Sansa delighted over the babe and Robb had wrinkled his nose when he saw her, claiming she was too ugly to be his sister.
Cat had admonished him thoroughly, and ever since he had doted on Arya.
She was a loud little girl already; screaming though the night and day, grabbing and punching, even kicking. Cat was glad of it; she would be a strong young thing.
It was then, as Cat stared over the battlements, that she saw the party of men approaching. They bore the Stark banner and held it with pride. There were about six of them, and at their head — she could see him even now — was Ned.
Quickly she rushed down the steps, damning propriety to all the seven hells, and ordered Luwin to fetch the children. Minutes later the old man returned with Robb and Sansa, and the drawbridge lowered to allow the party to pass through.
Most of the faces she knew, but there was only one that mattered. "Ned!" She cried.
He dismounted as quick as he could manage and landed with a thump in the middle of the muddy courtyard. His face had been grim as he approached, but when he saw her it lit up into the broadest of smiles.
He rushed to her as fast as he could without running. Quickly Cat managed to hand the baby off to Robb, who held her expertly having done so dozens of times, and jumped into her Lord husband's awaiting arms.
"Oh, Cat," he whispered, warm and here and alive. "I have missed you greatly."
"And I, you," she told him, holding onto him as tight as she could manage. "Oh, where have you been?"
They kissed, and she felt safe. Ned was then tackled as Sansa came at him, giggling and screaming with delight, auburn curls bouncing. Ned caught her with ease and laughed as she peppered his face with kisses. "Hello, little one."
"Father!" Robb was tired of holding Arya, she knew. In a rush Cat took the baby and Robb pounced, distracting Ned. Soon his arms were full. Robb curled up, a ball of fur and leathers, and buried his face in the crook of Ned's neck.
Cat beamed at the sight. Ned gave them both another kiss and hug and set them down. He approached her in a more hesitant manner this time, and bent over to see the baby. "Her name is Arya," Cat told him.
"She looks..." Ned's breath caught. She could see the tears in his eyes. "She looks like Lyanna."
Cat offered for him to hold her and he gladly accepted, staring down at Arya with something akin to wonder. "My sweet girl," he whispered, so that only the three of them could hear. "You will be a wolf of winter."
He introduced her to the Greyjoy lad later that night.
Cat bore the boy no ill will, but still she was uneasy around him; that smirk and those eyes — always darting around and looking down — made her a bit sick. She avoided him for the most part, though she was plenty kind and hospitable toward Theon Greyjoy.
There was no feast. Ned did not care for such festivities. She suspected he wanted to merely slip back into Winterfell like a thief in the night, to return to how it had been before he had gone off to fight Balon Greyjoy.
He held her tenderly after they had finished. "I missed you greatly, Cat," he told her, smiling and brushing her red hair from her shoulders.
"Ned," she whispered, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Just saying his name, knowing that she was talking to him, that she was held in his strong arms, was enough to make her cry. "Gods, I have longed for you to return. Every day and every night."
Ned sighed. "I wish you had had no reason to," he told her sadly. "I wish that I had not left you."
Cat kissed him softly on his jawline. "You did your duty," she said firmly. "As Robert's friend and as Warden of the North. You were needed elsewhere, but that does not make you any less of a father or husband."
Your bastards do, she thought suddenly, but she pushed the thought away in shame and anger.
Ned nodded, and she saw that his face had gone pale. "Cat..." He bit into his lip and she knew, suddenly, what this was about. "They—"
"No!" She said sharply, extracting herself from his grip. "No. You cannot leave again!"
Ned rolled onto his back. "I will summon for them, then," he said.
"No!"
"Then you would have me ignore them entirely?!" Ned demanded, furious. Suddenly Cat was flushing. She drew the furs up to her chest in shame. "They are my children, Cat."
"You have three children and a wife here," Cat whispered, angrily. "A newborn daughter, Ned. Arya needs you! She cannot have you gone to see your southron whore and bastards!"
Ned's eyes widened, and she realised that she had stepped too far. Ned forcefully climbed out of bed, and pulled a robe around herself. "You have no right," he growled venomously. "They are my children. My blood. As much as Robb, Sansa, and Arya. They have done nothing to you — nothing to deserve this hate you so obviously harbour."
Cat curled up into herself. "You would leave us for them? After just coming back?"
"I would have you come with," Ned said sharply. "But I know that will never be."
"No, it will not," Cat glared at him. "I would not lay eyes upon your bastards, my lord."
Ned grit his teeth. "Do you have any idea what it is like for me to be separated from my children for so long? Last I saw them they were newborn babes — no older than Arya is now. They are nearing on five years old, Catelyn. It has been five years since I last laid eyes upon my babies. My son and daughter. Alys and Jon—"
"Do not speak their names!" Cat snapped.
"Alys and Jon!" Ned stomped his foot on the ground and glared at her with such a furious gaze it made her recoil. "Those are their names! The names of my children!"
"Arya, Robb, and Sansa!" Catelyn shot back, tears in her eyes once more.
Ned ran a hand through his hair. He looked a caged wolf, pacing furiously. "They are mine, too!" He hissed. "My children, Catelyn! And you have forbade me from seeing them. Not anymore, I fear. Either I will send for them, and you will endure, or I will go south with the children."
He was not thinking rationally; normally, he would refuse to take Robb anywhere if he was going as well. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.
"Calm yourself, Ned!" She warned, slipping closer. "Please!"
Ned rounded on her. "Calm myself?!" He demanded, red and distressed. "You have insulted my children! You have... You have..." He closed his eyes and sank to his knees. "You have been my wife. From the moment we said our vows to this moment now. And you are only doing your duty to protect your children."
Cat wiped her tears. She would not deny it. "What will be done?"
"I do not know."
AN: Chapter three, lads and ladies! Hope you enjoy! I actually REALLY enjoyed writing this chapter; it was so much fun to include Fetus!Arya. Review, please; they encourage me to write this story :)