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As with the last chapter, this one must re-tread a little canon material. But again, there are some small changes.

Chapter Five: Be a Lady

"You look troubled, brother." Robb glanced up at Jon as he spoke. He tried to keep his tone casual, his words more an observation than anything else. But Jon's morose state was beginning to rub off on him, unsettling him. But Jon kept his gaze fixed on the fire in the hearth, his expression distant as the flames reflected in his dark grey, unfocused eyes. His lack of a reaction caused Robb's discomfort to spasm. He reached for the wine bottle at his feet and topped up both their glasses. The sound of the bottle clinking against the glass seemed to knock Jon out of his torpor.

"I dreamed about my mother," he stated, drawing a sharp breath.

Robb's brow creased as their eyes met. Having been concerned that something was seriously wrong, he almost said something dismissive before catching himself in time. "What happened in the dream?"

"It was when you and Theon woke me up to tell me Bran was awake. My mother was there, but she had Lady with her," Jon explained. The troubled expression clouded his face again, his lower lip trembling. "It was just before we found out that Lady had been slaughtered."

Robb flinched against that last word. So uncompromising; it hit him all over again like a blunt force object. Inwardly, he cursed the Lannisters once more – this time for Sansa's sake. As for Jon's dreams, he was of the same mind as his father with regards to such matters. No matter how coincidental their details, they ultimately meant little. Especially coming, as did Jon's, in times of trouble.

"It was only a dream, Jon," he said, gently. "And one direwolf is much like another, so look at it another way: maybe aunt Lyanna has a companion of her own in the afterlife? Maybe she's taking care of the mother of our direwolves? That would explain why she looked like Lady."

Only after he had said it did Robb realise it was the sort of thing he'd normally tell a three year old to make them feel better. Nor was that lost on Jon, who rolled his eyes and laughed. But at least he smiled again.

"You've been looking after Rickon too long," Jon chided. But he was back on his feet and draining his glass of summer wine. Once done, he put the glass on the mantelpiece over the fireplace of the solar. "Have you been nannying the children so long you've forgotten how to pick up a sword?"

That sounded like a challenge. Robb grinned as he reached for Ice. "Apparently not," he retorted, bouncing the sword in his hands to demonstrate his point. "Come on brother, we'll both go insane if we're cooped up in here much longer."

He led the way out of the solar that was once their father's. Both Ghost and Grey Wind stirred and snapped out of their slumbers, keen to follow their masters out into the yard for some exercise. With his sword belted round his waist, Robb was able to hammer one newly gauntleted hand on Theon's chamber door as they passed on their way, calling out to him to follow them. They hadn't had a chance for a three way spar since before Lord Stark left and the prospect of another brought a definite renewed spring into the step of both of them. However, they didn't make it past the Great Hall without Maester Luwin shuffling into their path with one hand reclining ominously into his sleeve.

"My Lord," he said, inclining as the boys drew closer. "A raven arrived."

Robb suppressed a sigh of frustration as he took the small scroll of parchment from the Maester. Keen to get out into the yard, he scanned the missive swiftly, feeling his stomach flip painfully as he realised what it was. Indignantly, he scrunched it up in his palm as Jon and Theon crowded round to see what it was.

"Seven hells!" he groaned. "After everything that's happened the Imp has invited himself back into our halls on his way down from the Wall?"

He looked up at Maester Luwin imploringly, wishing there were some way he could slip the noose of diplomatic niceties. But the Maester drew a deep breath and arranged his face into an expression of apology. However, it was Jon who stepped into the breach.

"Lord Tyrion's not that bad, Robb," he said. "Just let him in and I reckon he might even help us."

Theon scowled. "The Imp's a jumped up little prick," he snapped, impatiently. His tone caused Luwin to wince, but the Ironborn ignored it. "But Jon's right, Robb. He is at least different to the others. I say we let him in."

"You have no choice," Luwin reminded him in a grave tone. "You don't have to like it, but you can hardly turn the man away, my lord. It's one part of your many sacred duties."

With a swell of dismay, Robb had to admit that his father would never do such a thing. But he could not stop himself from railing against the Lannister's audacity at such a request. With a heavy sigh of resignation he gave a brief nod of the head.

"Very well," he agreed in high dudgeon. "Let him in but don't expect me to be forging alliances with the man."

With a look of immense relief on his wizened face, Maester Luwin stepped aside with a small bow that made each link in his heavy chain clank together. Robb found it within himself to graciously thank the man before continuing out the doors and into the yard. But his mood had reverted to its earlier state of grouchy agitation. Something he knew could only be remedied in the practise yard.

Catelyn had watched as King's Landing sailed into view from the prow of the ship. Almost immediate, memories of her last visit came washing over her. She had been barely a girl, dizzy with excitement at being presented at Court. But that was before she knew or understood the depths at which Aerys' madness ran. All that had happened since those days had come to distort her memories and feelings of the place, leading her to shun courtly excesses and the ostentation of its inhabitants.

Now she could see the city of her memories was like any other. Large, overcrowded and reeking. Years in the north, to which she had acclimatised, now made King's Landing feeling stiflingly hot and humid. But if she looked up Aegon's Hill, to where the Red Keep sprawled imposingly over the populace, she could see the fairer side once more. Opposite Aegon's Hill stood Visenya's Hill, where the sept of Baelor stood proudly against a clear blue sky. All along the nearby shoreline, children splashed in the sea and chased the sweeping tide. Their shouts and hollers ringing out. Even though not one of them could see her, Cat found herself smiling at their play.

If the voyage suited her, the same could not be said of Ser Rodrick. He had been seasick from the moment they left White Harbour until the very last second they docked in Blackwater Bay. He had cut away his white, whiskery beard for hygiene reasons, it had been so bad. Even back on dry land, he walked with a slight stagger in his gait. For a moment, Cat worried that she would be the one propping him up. All the while, his pride compelled him to keep making furtive efforts to protect her as they rode towards the Red Keep.

"No one will remember me and no one could possibly know we're here," she kept telling him. "Please, do not trouble yourself."

They rounded the large bronze statue of Baelor the Blessed, a landmark Catelyn remembered from her last visit. But on the opposite side, two guards were approaching on horseback. Although she drew her own horse aside to let them pass, they did not waver. They pulled sharply on the reins of their mounts and addressed her directly.

"Lady Stark, you're to come with us."

She almost swung for Petyr Baelish when she realised what he had done. Not only had he sent the guards to terrify the wits out of her, he had followed it up by hiding her in one of his houses of ill-repute. Both she and Rodrick had had to avert their eyes from the semi-naked girls prowling from room to room, each of them flushing bright red in embarrassment. Finally, Ser Rodrick nudged the door to their ante-chamber shut and returned to her side.

The room they were in was small, but private. A balcony overlooked the streets outside, where the populace bustled past in a world of their own. Voices could be heard, many different accents and languages as the merchants drawn from all over the world flocked by. After so long in the bubble of the north, it seemed like Catelyn had found herself in a non-stop whirlwind of activity.

There were still bandages wrapped around her fingers from the assassin's dagger. The same dagger they had brought south with them and was, at that moment, sitting on a small wooden table. Meanwhile, Baelish had told her everything before going to fetch Ned for her.

"Do you believe him, my lady?" Ser Rodrick asked.

Cat smiled through her exhaustion. "Petyr and I go back years. Why would he lie to me? It must have pained him to lose Valyrian steel to the Imp."

More than anything, she now simply willed Ned to be back with her. A wish that was answered before she and Ser Rodrick could discuss the dagger's owner any further. She recognised his voice the instant she heard him remonstrating with Petyr in the street below. His voice sounding out distinctly from the others and making her heart beat three times faster.

"Ned!" she called out, rushing to the balcony outside.

After everything that had happened since he left Winterfell, Cat felt weak at the knees to see him again. Not caring a jot about the heated exchange he was sharing with Baelish, nor the brothel she was still housed in, she made a run for the door with her skirts hitched above her ankles. Ser Rodrick followed, but was polite enough to keep his distance as she was reunited with her husband. It seemed that even Ned forgot about his standing as he kissed her deeply and passionately, as though they were two young lovers again. In some sweet way, it even reminded her of when he returned from war after a year of her praying on her knees for his safe delivery.

The moment proved to be short lived as they pulled apart and Ned started leading up the cobbled street, towards the Red Keep.

"You got the message about Bran, didn't you?" he asked her.

She had, after docking briefly half way through their stormy journey. As much as it had relieved her, news of his being crippled had felt like the moment of the fall all over again.

"He will be looked after," she promised him. "I left Luwin and the boys with him."

"We need to talk properly and decide what's best for his future," he said, drawing her down a quiet side street.

"That's obvious," she replied, frowning. "Bran must remain with me at Winterfell. With both of us, when you come home."

"Of course, but there may be more we can do, Cat," he insisted, optimistically. "We can't rule anything out just yet."

The walls of the Red Keep now towered over them, casting them in their deep shade. Cat was grateful for it, too. She had a headscarf covering her distinctive hair and it was so hot it made her scalp itch. All on top of the fact that her 'disguise' had failed woefully. Once they were as good as alone by the walls of the Keep, she was able to speak freely.

"I heard, also, what happened with Lady," she said, meeting his gaze.

Ever since she heard about those unfortunate events, she had been worried sick about both Sansa and Eddard. Sansa more so, but she knew it would have broken his heart to have to butcher an innocent animal so intimately entwined with his heritage. Even after fifteen years of marriage to a northerner, their customs still seemed dark and out of reach to her. But she knew well their ways formed the heartbeat of their lives. Their heritage and rites were the very fulcrum upon which their world turned.

Ned shifted from one foot to the other, glancing furtively around before looking back at her again. Even after the checking to see if they were still alone, he seemed agitated.

"I couldn't do it," he confessed, his voice low. He brought one hand up to his mouth, as though belatedly smothering the lie he had put out in the ravens. After he drew a steadying breath and composed himself, he looked her in the eye again. "Arya set Nymeria free and I thought I'd do the same with Lady. Robert went to set Ser Illyn to the task, but I convinced him to let me do it. Lady's a creature of the North and Robert granted me the favour out of guilt, or so I like to think. It was late, there was no one else around at all. So I unchained Lady, led her well away from the inn and the King's Road then told her to go find her sister." He paused, looking deeply uncomfortable. "The lone wolf dies, the pack survives," he added, apologetically.

Taken aback, Catelyn was silent as she absorbed what he was telling her.

"Didn't they want to see the pelt?" she asked.

"I was going to say I'd sent a man north with the remains, but Robert was furious with the Queen. Cersei decided not to push her luck, by the looks of it," he answered. "I've heard nothing since. Not even the Prince seemed to care, once I said the deed was done. I knew it was the right thing, Cat. Their behaviour afterwards shows they were only out to cause trouble in our house."

Be that as it may, it was still a royal command he had disobeyed. Still, after everything Eddard had done for Jon it hardly surprised her. She smiled and kissed his cheek; a gesture that perked him back up again.

"Do the girls know what you did?"

He shook his head, again Catelyn was not in the least surprised. Always he shouldered his burdens alone. Unless she teased the details out of him. So brave, so stubborn … everything that frustrated her and endeared him to her in the first place.

"I thought it best the girls were kept out of this," he explained. "Especially Sansa. I cannot build up her hopes only to have the Kingsguard find the two wolves and have them killed. It would break their hearts all over again and I couldn't, Cat. I just couldn't do that to them."

"Of course not," she agreed, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek. Day old stubble was rough against her palm. "It's for the best. How I wish I could see the girls, but you know I must return. I can't leave Bran any longer."

"They'll be heartbroken to have missed you, Cat," he said, softly in appeal. But it seemed he hardened himself instantaneously. "But they will understand as well. Don't fret on it; I'll keep them safe."

That was all she needed to hear to soothe her fractious nerves. They were with their father and some of the best trained men in their household. Surely, no harm could come to them.

"I left Ser Rodrick in Baelish's brothel," she admitted, laughing. "I'm sure he can endure it there for another hour while we walk together."

Ned raised a smile and linked his arm through hers, leading her back down the narrow side street. It was so narrow they barely had room to stand abreast, but they made it out as well they made it in. As they passed the towers of the Red Keep she glanced up at them, using her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She could barely remember what it was like in there now. All she remembered were the dragon skulls.

"Are you sailing straight back to Winterfell?" he asked.

Turning back to him, she answered: "I want to visit Lysa on the way back. Only a short visit to get more information from her. Is that all right with you?"

Eddard thought it over for a moment. "I want you to go to your father's first. It was on his lands that the wolves were set free and I'm worried about local farmers waking up and finding their stock slaughtered during the night. If you're able to find them they will know you, they'll trust you. Bring them back to Winterfell where they can wait to be reunited with the girls."

Catelyn agreed readily, although she had her reservations. "I'll do my best. But finding two direwolves in the Riverlands won't be easy. For Sansa and Arya's sakes, I swear I'll try. If not, my father will agree to letting his men look for them. They won't harm them if I explain the situation."

Together, they reached the gates of the Red Keep. Sadly, Catelyn realised it was also the end of their road together. Her husband would cross the drawbridge, beneath the portcullis. She would return from whence she came and to the seas again. But not before one last embrace augmented with a kiss. Which they did, tenderly, neither one wanting to let go.

Only when a shrill voice caught both their attention did they part.

"Mother!" Arya cried at the top of her lungs. "Sansa look! It's Mother! She's come to see us!"

They barely had time to separate before Arya had come charging through the gates and straight into her arms. Her youngest daughter was still small and skinny and dirty. But all the same, her heart burst as she returned the child's hug. A hug that went two ways as soon as Sansa had caught up with her sister. Well, she thought, so much for a discreet getaway.

Ned smiled at them from a small distance, ruefully happy in a way that only he could manage.

"They've missed you," he said quietly, over the heads of the girls. "Just come in and dine with us for one night. It won't hurt."

There really was no use in protesting and, now that her girls were with her, she had no mind to. "Fetch Rodrick and we can call stay together," she said, squeezing both Arya and Sansa. She knew she could not leave just yet.

Jon picked up a bottle of fine summer wine from their cellars. A good vintage, nicely aired. Giving it a tentative sniff, he decided it would do nicely and brought it up to the Great Hall. There were few people around now. Robb was still sulking in the yard. Their new master of horse was working on the saddle that Lord Tyrion had designed. Old Nan and Theon were taking care of Bran and Rickon. Meanwhile, their guest had been left alone.

Before going inside, he peeked around the door. Mercifully, Lord Tyrion had at least been fed. He was sitting at the table, enjoying some bacon burned black, just the way he seemed to like it. As he went to join him, Jon collected two clean glasses and sat down opposite the Dwarf.

"Apologies for the interruption," he said, sheepishly.

Tyrion swallowed his mouthful, quickly dabbing his hands in the fingerbowl at his elbow. Once dried off, he waved Jon's apologies away.

"Nothing of it, Lord Stark," he said, "Nothing at all. Please, join me. Help yourself."

Tyrion nudged a plate of toasted bread and bacon towards him. First, Jon filled their wine glasses and only then took some of Tyrion's food. To be polite, rather than because he was particularly hungry. Memories of that afternoon's audience between Tyrion and Robb were still raw in Jon's mind, making him blush crimson again. Like the burnt bacon now on his platter, it would just keep repeating on him.

"I came to say thank you for Bran's saddle," he began. "And to say sorry for Robb-"

"Don't apologise for other people, Lord Stark," Tyrion cut over him, firmly. "You're only wasting your own time and the air in your lungs. Gods, if I apologised for every little thing my delightful sister did wrong, I'd be blue in the face and constantly on my knees – and not in a way I'd prefer."

Jon laughed as he sipped at his wine, almost choking on it. But, despite the advice, he felt compelled to press his point. "I know, my lord. But Robb is angry and lashing out. I hope you understand that, at least. It's no excuse, but it is an explanation for his behaviour."

Tyrion turned serious, lifting his mismatched eyes to meet Jon's uniformly grey ones. Setting down his knife and fork, he picked up his glass of wine with short, stubby fingers and sipped at it thoughtfully.

"Whether your brother chooses to acknowledge this salient fact or not," he began. "I can assure you I am every bit as curious as he is about what befell young Brandon that day. As I understand it, he remembers nothing?"

Jon nodded. "He woke up over a week ago now and still no recollection. Robb keeps on asking and asking, then Bran gets angry and frustrated."

He knew he shouldn't be divulging all this, but he needed to get it off his chest and Tyrion seemed willing to listen.

Tyrion shrugged his uneven shoulders. "A totally understandable reaction, but equally misguided. Get Robb to ease off on the thumb screws and with some good luck Bran will remember in his own time. But, I do rather get the feeling that patience isn't Robb's strongest card, am I right?"

"No, normally he is," Jon replied, feeling the need to defend his brother. "But everything that's going on, and being made Lord of Winterfell, it's all getting to him. In time, he will adjust and he'll be just as good as our father."

"Touching!" Tyrion laughed, but not maliciously. "If you had a father like mine, you would see why I find it funny. But I must remember, not all fathers are like Tywin Lannister. Yours is an altogether more honourable sort, from what I've seen."

An affectionate smile lit up Jon's face at mention of his adoptive father. "He is. Very much so."

"We'll see how that fares Lord Stark down in the human bear pit that is the Red Keep!" Tyrion laughed again, cocking one eyebrow. "Oh, Jon, pay me no heed. My intellect is advanced only by my cynicism."

"And your modesty!" Jon retorted, but grinning all the same.

"The Others take your modesty, Jon Stark. The Gods know they took what was left of mine a long time ago," he said, jovial once more, if only briefly. "Tell me, do they all treat you a little more fairly now that a piece of paper has magically transformed you from a bastard into a lord?"

The question also made him turn serious for a moment. He looked at the Dwarf, realising that no piece of paper could ever magically transform him into a respected Lord. His title was just a title and brought him little by way of fair treatment. Compared to that, Jon had nothing to complain about even when he was a Snow.

"Yes, Lord Tyrion, things are much better now," he replied, feeling deeply self-conscious of the disparity between them. "I hope things get better for you, too."

He laughed it off, as always. "Don't worry about me, I can handle them. What I lack in height I more than make up for in super-human charm and deceptively deflective skin. Their insults bounce off like pebbles skimming the surface deep lake."

But the stones still left ripples, Jon thought to himself. But it kept it to himself and they enjoyed their wine in silence. When Lord Tyrion did break the companionable silence, it was to talk about The Wall and what he saw of Castle Black, including its new inhabitants. It was enough to make Jon regret even thinking about joining them, all those years ago. Only after it had grown dark outside, and they had drained a third bottle, did they both climb unsteadily to their feet to call it a night.

Jon's head was spinning and he had surrendered his room to Lord Tyrion in an effort to make up for Robb's rudeness to him earlier that day. Instead of retiring for the night, he went outside to try and clear his wine befuddled head.

"That was very cosy."

A lazy drawl of a voice belonging to Theon Greyjoy sounded behind him.

"Lord Stark will be thrilled to hear his own brother has been cosying up to our enemies while his back was turned."

Rolling his eyes, Jon turned giddily on his heels to face Theon. "Fuck off, Theon," he snapped, before retching and vomiting a gutful of wine on the cobbles of the courtyard.

Theon wrinkled his nose in distaste, backing off slowly. "Keep it classy, Snow!"

But if one good thing came from his horrible bout of sickness, it was that Theon disappeared again. Jon lurched off, head still spinning like a child's top. Somewhere cool and clear, where he could sober up and sleep. Right now, anywhere would do.

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