This is a prelude to set up the main chapters. Don't expect much plot and dialogue for these chapters.
THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN REWRITTEN 2023/02/11
In the books Robb was born 283AC at Riverrun while Ned was away at the Rebellion, and Jon the same year. In the show it's changed to 281AC. As mentioned, I'm going with the show dates. When Catelyn arrives with a couple months old Robb at Winterfell Ned is already there with baby Jon. Here Catelyn leaves for WF before he returns, because I wanted to give her a sense of isolation that would remain with her throughout her marriage.
I wanted to write a chapter about Brandon/Ashara and Lyanna/Rhaegar and how that happened, but all four of them are dead, so I didn't see the point of giving them a chapter, especially since most already know the basics of how it would play out. Plus, I think I can add some paragraphs later using Bran (or Jon) as a POV for their stories Short story, both pairings started at the Tourney at Harrenhal. Lyanna was the mystery knight, and Rhaegar covered for her. Half of it was attraction, half of it was done out of his belief in prophecy. He's not a crazy rapist, but he might just have been slightly obsessive. Lyanna herself was swept away by the romance of it all - she was only a 15yr girl after all - and Rhaegar was an attractive, melancholic bard prince. Rhaegar told her about the prophecy, but she mostly humored him about it. It's never said why Rhaegar took so long to join the war in canon, but here I'm just gonna say it's because the two of them were living in a love bubble, which was popped when the war was already in full swing with battles already won and lost. I don't mean to portray their story as something romantic and tragic, they played a part in starting the war and thousands died, but I'm not going to bash them either. It is what it is. Also, Elia...yeah, she might not have been too happy with the whole thing...And yes, Lyanna went with him despite knowing he had a wife and kids.
For B/A, Ned may have had some attraction towards Ashara, but she fell for Brandon, and they have a sort of summer fling. It's not clear whether Brandon loved her as she did him, but he slept with her, and she fell pregnant. She has a stillbirth (like Catelyn) then finds out about Brandon's horrible death, then her brother, and she commits suicide out of grief for all three of them. Brandon was already betrothed to Cat at this point, but continued to have romances with several women, noble and not.
Riverrun
281AC - Sometime during Rebellion
Family. Duty. Honor.
Every Tully child learned the words, but she was a woman grown already before she truly understood them.
When she came of age, her father immediately had her betrothed to the son of his wartime friend and fellow Lord Paramount, Rickard Stark.
To her father, Brandon was heir to the North and a suitable spouse for the daughter of House Tully. To her, he was tall and handsome, wild and terrifying, with eyes that were lit with untamed emotion. She, like so many women within Riverrun, was swept away by this wayward man who seemed like he could not be restrained by anything. Catelyn loved him with all the fire of a first passion.
She soon came to realize that her father's ward, Petyr Baelish, loved her much the same way as she loved Brandon. She thought of him as family, another brother alongside Edmure, but his feelings for her were…more than brotherly. When it was announced that her wedding to Brandon would take place within a moon's time, Petyr demanded a challenge for the right of her hand.
She tried to persuade Petyr not to go through with the fight. It was madness. Brandon was twenty, Petyr scarcely fifteen. Brandon had been born with a blade in hand, Petyr preferred his books. Her persuasions, however, were met with anger from the young man. "Do you think I don't have my own pride?" He glowered at her. It was the first time she saw him truly angry. Even when he was teased by Edmure and the other boys, he never showed even the slightest bit of irritation. It made her realize that there might be another side to the sweet little boy who all this time had been obediently following behind her. She was so taken aback by his unexpected reaction, that she didn't stop him when he embraced her tightly. "Watch me, Cat," he vowed. She could smell the mint on his breath, knowing that he tasted of it too. It reminded her of the kissing games they used to play when she was still a young girl. "Watch me defeat him."
The morning of the duel, they met in the lower bailey of the castle. When Brandon saw that Petyr wore only a helm and breastplate and mail, he took off most of his armor so that he would resemble his opponent. Petyr had begged her for a favor he might wear, but she had turned him away. Brandon was her soon-to-be husband and so it was to him that she gave her token, a pale blue handscarf she had embroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun.
As she pressed it into his hand, she pleaded with him. "He is only a foolish boy, but I have loved him like a brother. It would grieve me to see him die." Brandon looked at her with the cool grey eyes of a Stark and promised to spare the boy who loved her.
That fight was over almost as soon as it began. Brandon drove Petyr all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every step, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds.
"Yield!" Brandon called, more than once, but Petyr only shook his head and fought on. When the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal backhand cut that bit through Petyr's rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so deep that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at her as he fell and murmured, "Cat" as the bright blood came flowing out.
She held a hand to her mouth in horror as she saw Petyr bleed out, but did not run to his side, aware of Brandon's gaze on her as he looked between Catelyn and the bleeding boy. She knew Petyr for almost half of her life, and they were quite close, but Brandon was her betrothed. He came before her childhood friend, so she left him there to be picked up and tended to by her father's men, while she approached Brandon. He had a queer look on his face, and she worried that he might make assumptions about her and Petyr. She carefully thanked Brandon for sparing Petyr, making sure there was nothing in her voice that would make him think otherwise.
Brandon shrugged and held up his sword, stained with the blood of Petyr. He ran a finger on the blade, inspecting the sanguine fluid that came off. "I expected more of a challenge, considering how confidently he professed his love for you in front of the entire castle. Still, I must express my admiration. I thought he would beg for his life, but he stuck until the end. His feelings for you, my lady, must have triumph over his fear of death. Or perhaps he is simply a fool," he snorted.
Catelyn squirmed at his words. She wanted to assure him again but thought it would only make her look guilty of something she had no part in, and Brandon didn't seem wanting for a response from her.
"If he were the victorious one, would you have taken him then, I wonder?" he asked, finally looking at her.
"Petyr is only a little brother to me. I see him the same as I see Edmure. I have been yours since I was twelve." She was eight-and-ten now. For six years, when it came to romance, Brandon was her first thought.
"And me to you since I was four-and-ten. I have not once forgotten, my lady."
There was something in his voice that made her feel unsure of herself. "Bran-"
"Brandon!" Jeffory Mallister called, breaking the rare solemness that befell her betrothed. "Are you still coming with us?"
He grinned suddenly, melancholy disappearing. She felt her mood lift with the appearance of his smile.
She watched his back as he left, hoping he would turn back and wave at her as her father was fond of doing whenever he would ride off, or like Edmure or her uncle, and even Petyr, who would do the same. He did not turn back even once, much like all the other times he came to visit her.
Catelyn stood there alone, with Petyr's blood just a few steps away from her.
/~~/
A fortnight passed before Petyr was strong enough to leave Riverrun. Her father sent him away in a closed litter, to finish his healing on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of rock where he'd been born. She wanted to visit him, to see if he was doing okay, but her lord father forbade her from the tower where he lay abed. Lysa, on the other hand, was free to help the maester nurse him. Edmure tried visiting him as well, but Petyr sent him away every time. Her brother had acted as Brandon's squire at the duel, and Petyr would not forgive that.
She had not seen him once since that day he lay dying before her, but little Petyr was quickly forgotten for her upcoming wedding. She was busy with the servants, trying to get everything in order: her dress and maiden cloak, the food that would be served, the decoration for the Sept and Hall, the guest rooms, things to be packed to take with her to Winterfell.
While she rushed about, Brandon spent most of the time outside of the castle, drinking and hunting with the young sons of the Riverlords.
Only days before she would tie her life with his, when she thought she would be happy forever, the news spread that Prince Rhaegar had abducted Lyanna. Hot-blooded as ever, Brandon immediately set off to King's Landing to demand justice, taking along with him his squire Ethan Glover, his cousin Kyle Royce, Elbert Arryn, and Jeffory Mallister.
Her father tried to stop him, but once Brandon decided to do something, there was little anyone could do to change his mind. "The gallant fool!" Her father uttered harshly. "What does he think is going to happen once he gets there?" He raged for the entire week, while Catelyn restlessly moved between praying in the Sept, and praying in her room. All were well aware of the Mad King's reputation.
The day the raven arrived with the news of Brandon's death, she locked herself in her room and refused to eat for days. She refused to see Lysa or Edmure, and even ignored a letter from her favorite uncle, the Blackfish. Petyr wrote to her as well, but she burned the letter unread.
Catelyn would have remained that way, mourning and weeping for her lost love, until her father reminded her of her duty.
Brandon was dead, and the drums of war were beating.
She was now to marry his younger brother, Eddard Stark. A man whom she had never met. She met Lyanna and Benjen before, both were wild and sweet in their own ways, especially Lyanna who resembled Brandon the most. As for the second son of Stark, none spoke ill of him, or spoke anything at all. Quiet, was what most would say.
Their union was to unite the North, Vale, Stormlands, and Riverlands in rebellion against the Mad King.
Catelyn was a Tully. She would do what was expected of her, for the good of her family.
/~~~/
The first time Catelyn saw Eddard Stark was in the sept of Riverrun, only moments before they would take their vows to be tied for life.
She couldn't help but feel childish disappointment at the man who was to be her husband. She had pictured him as a younger version of his brother Brandon. Or maybe he would share some features with his sister and her charming beauty, or perhaps like Benjen with his deep blue eyes. Instead, he was shorter than Brandon, plain of face, and so somber looking. When she came close enough to see more of him, she saw he had grey eyes, the same as Brandon, but they were cold, and matched his frozen face.
When he placed the cloak on her shoulders, she thought of how Brandon would have smiled at her as he did so. Eddard barely spared her another glance.
He said his vows in a stiff voice. She said hers. Then they were married.
Catelyn spent the feast observing her new husband. True to the rumors, he was quiet. Eddard sat beside her like a stone statue, hardly speaking or drinking, except exchanging a few words with his men, or a small smile with his brother. When he did speak to her, he spoke courteously enough, but beneath the words she sensed a coolness that was all at odds with Brandon, whose mirths had been as wild as his rages.
A cheer erupted when the bedding was called for, and Catelyn held her head high as she stood in the middle of a huddle of men who tore at her dress with clumsy and lusty hands. Benjen, bless his heart, tried to defend what little modesty she had left, but he was easily swept under the crowd by a giant of a man who wore the sigil of an Umber. By the time she reached the bedchamber, she was only in her smallclothes. Eddard was already there, standing in the middle of the room, with the dim light of the candle illuminating his naked skin. He was broad shouldered and long-legged, with coarse dark hair trailing from his well-muscled chest down to his v-line. His hair, which had been pulled back all night, hung loosely around his face. The sight startled her. No, he was no Brandon, but he was not unattractive. It was the first time she thought so since laying eyes on him.
She felt her stomach tighten as he undressed the last of his clothing. Like Lysa, she too dreamt of her first night that she would be with a man. It was not becoming of a lady to openly display her desires like that, but underneath she had some expectations. She thought Eddard would take her much like the lewd stories she overheard from the maids, but to her disappointment, their love had more of duty to it than of passion. They did not exchange words or gazes during the entire deed.
When he finished, he rolled off of her and asked her if she was okay. She nodded, what else could she say? They dressed back up in clean clothing, both facing their backs to each other as they did so, then laid back down together a few inches apart from each other on the bed.
The place between her legs was still tingling. If it was because of her maidenhood being taken, or because she wanted…something more, she did not know, and did not say any of it to her husband who had already taken his fill.
Eddard and his men left the very next morning, promising her his return. She was so sure he would sneak out in the middle of the night, and she would find him gone by the time she awoke. He must have done so out of courtesy, but it still pleased her, and she told him she would await news of his victory.
She watched them leave, direwolf and trout banners flapping proudly in the wind. Her father turned back and waved at her from where she stood on the ramparts. Eddard did not.
/~~/
It was only a few weeks later that she learned of her pregnancy.
She sent Eddard a message of the news but received no reply. This was to be expected; they were in the middle of war.
Catelyn spent many hours waiting at the windows for a raven to hear the latest happenings. To know if her child would grow up fatherless or at all. She was well aware of the price of defeat, and of the Mad King's 'justice'. When the black bird came, and eventually it would, it would mean death. Her father's death, Eddard's death, Robert's death, Aerys' death. No one was safe. No life was certain.
She scoured the kitchens for any and all gossip. Robert had won and crushed the Mad King. Robert had lost, but Jaime Lannister was now king. Robert had almost won, but the Mad King became a dragon and burned all of King's Landing to ash. Her father was dead, her father was injured. Lord Arryn was dead; his cousin was dead. A Stark was killed at the Trident, it was Eddard, it was Benjen. [1]
As every new piece of news came and contradicted the previous piece, her belly grew more and more swollen. She waited and waited. It was one of the worst things she had to endure, enough to drive a person mad. She worried for her child, she worried for her father. "Watch for me, little cat," her father would always tell her, when he rode off to court or battle. He did not always come when he said he would, and days would ofttimes pass as Catelyn stood her vigil, until finally she caught a glimpse of her father on his old brown gelding, trotting along the rivershore. "Did you watch for me?" he'd ask when he bent to hug her. "Did you, little cat?"
Brandon had bid her to wait as well. "I shall not be long, my lady," he said. "We will be wed on my return." Yet when the day came at last, it was his brother Eddard who stood beside her in the sept.
Then it was Eddard who made a promise to her to return. At least he had left her with more than words; he had given her a child.
She caressed her swollen belly, wondering if the child inside could feel her distress. The old wetnurse told her that whatever she felt during the pregnancy would be passed onto the babe so she took more care about listening in on gossip that would only make her anxious.
At first, she told herself the war would end soon and bring peace, either of victory, or the grave. But the more the child within her grew, the more she began to think of what to do if all was lost, and the dragons came out victorious. When her family sided with the rebels, she fully accepted everything that would come with their treason to the Targaryens, but her child hadn't done anything. They didn't deserve to die alongside her, or whatever Aerys or Rhaegar decided would be the punishment for the child of rebels.
Would she be made a Silent Sister, never to see her babe again? If it was a girl, would she be subjected to the same fate as her mother, or perhaps sold off to some lord who held the king's favor? If it was a boy, would he be sent to the Wall the moment he came of age, forced to spend his life in the cold with no hope for a future? She could not bear the thought of their suffering.
She would flee to Essos the moment any news of their defeat came. Catelyn had her savings from over the years and she could sell her smaller possessions. She could buy a small house and settle in a safe area, and surely her education would make it easier for her to find work.
She would protect her child.
/~~~/
Her labour came during the middle of the night.
She had felt mild pain during the day, but by now was so used to having occasional cramps, that she didn't think much of it. But it only continued to get more intense, coming and going, until it became constant.
Catelyn could hear her own screams without completely being aware that she was making them. Both the Maester and the maids urged her to push. I'm trying! Don't you see me trying?! She wanted to yank their hair and scream, but even while in excruciating pain she held onto her decorum.
It felt like she was being ripped apart. She could feel the hot stretching of flesh, could feel her insides being pulled and squeezed. "I can see them, my lady! One more push!" The voice sounded like it came from beneath water, but the words clearly registered to her and with an inhumane howl she mustered all of her remaining strength and pushed.
And suddenly, it was over. Relief washed over her, and she could finally slump back into the feather filled cushions. She had never felt such relief and exhaustion. She took a few moments to catch her breath and wait for her heartbeat to catch up.
That was when she finally noticed the unnatural silence. No congratulations from the maester or servants, or the wailing of a newborn babe.
She pushed herself up with her elbows, just barely able to do so with her head still spinning from birthing pains and looked at the people in the room. "My baby, how is my baby?"
More silence.
"Maester!" Her voice came out in a shrill. Why was no one answering her?
"I'm so sorry, my lady," the maester finally spoke, voice filled with sympathy. His eyes still refused to meet hers.
No, no, no, no. Not my child. Please, Mother above. Please.
"He…did not make it." She saw it now. The blood-soaked cloth, the pale blue of her baby, the dark fuzz of hair on his head, and the unnatural stillness surrounding him.
"Lies. It's a lie," she vainly reached out, trying to take her baby away from the man who she thought was deceiving her. The maids were immediately at her side, pinning her to the bed, keeping her from her child as she begged and struggled like a caged animal. "Help him," she pleaded through tear-stained eyes, looking from the maester to the maids, trying to get any of them to listen to her. "Please, help him!"
The maester shook his head and once again apologized. There was nothing he could do to save the child. It had already been dead before it came out of her womb.
Catelyn named her lost child Brynden. She would have named him Robb, after Eddard's close friend, but she already decided that the name of the heir would be Robb, and her lost child would never be the heir.
She buried him in the godswood, beneath the lone heart tree.
Riverrun's godswood was a tranquil garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods and great old elms drooped shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from their nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers. It was here where her father carried her on his shoulders, here where Edmure chased her through the piles of damp leaves, here where her mother sang songs to her, here where she and Lysa had baked mud pies and served them to Petyr, who had eaten so much that he was sick for a week.
This was where her baby should be buried, amongst the sweeter, happier days of her youth.
Not long after the mourning mother left, the sad face carved in the bark of the heart tree began to weep out red sap from its hollow eyes. [2]
/~~/
Her Septa and handmaidens tried to reassure her. It was a shame, like all stillbirths were, but she would have another child. She was already lucky to have conceived on the first night. Surely, this meant she was fertile enough.
But who was to say when another child would be born? Who was to say she would even be able to have another? Who was to say Eddard Stark would not die before returning, like Brandon did? Who was to say she would not end up a childless widow? And what would Eddard say once he returned?
"Lord Stark is known by many to be an honorable man, milady. He will not stay disappointed for long, nor scorn you."
Yes, she assured herself. Catelyn had met him already and did not forget his politeness to her despite having recently lost his father and brother. But how could she be confident about the man when she barely even knew him? She knew Brandon. Knew he would not begrudge her for losing a child. Perhaps he'd even cheer her up. What did she know of the current Lord Stark, except that he was the quiet and unassuming younger brother of her once beloved?
No matter what kind of man Eddard Stark was, she would fulfill her wifely duties. She would be a proper Lady of Winterfell, and when he returned, she would give him an heir, and mayhaps spares. She would give him a daughter, or two. She would do good to her family, and the North.
/~~/
Catelyn left for Winterfell soon after the news of Robert Baratheon's crowning and Eddard's lifting of the Siege of Storm's End. The last raven she received from the maester of the castle informed her that Eddard would continue on in search of his sister. It would still be a while before he would return. There was little use for her to wait around Riverrun when by-law she belonged in Winterfell.
So she bid farewell to Edmure and her father, who by then had returned, and left for the cold North.
The party that welcomed her was a small one. The steward, the maester, a hunching old woman, and a few servants. She tried not to shiver when she stepped out to greet them. The worst of the cold had passed during her journey, where she gradually got used to waking up shivering and going to bed in the same state. She did not think she would ever get used to the bitterness that set in her bones, but she could get better at enduring it.
"Lady Stark," the steward greeted. There was no reluctance in his voice, despite their previous lady, Lyarra Stark, Eddard's mother, passing away just recently. It was said that the lady had gone mad with grief, roaming around the hallways and calling out for her children, before she fell sick one night, and never woke up when morning came.
Catelyn had not even heard the cries of her babe, so quickly he was taken away, and already she felt that the pain of losing a child was something she would never wish upon any woman. What then of losing a child you had nestled at your breast and watched grown up? She prayed that Lady Lyarra found her peace in death.
She was led inside the castle which, to her surprise, was warm. "Because of the springs," she was told. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man's body, driving the chill from the stone halls.
When she was brought to her chambers, she dismissed the steward and her handmaidens, feeling the need to be alone.
She inspected the room. There was a canopy bed, heavy blankets and fur covers, oakwood furniture with delicate carvings, and empty chests to be filled. A single tapestry hung on the wall, illuminated with a soft glow from the iron chandelier. The room was adjacent to a boudoir, where she could bathe and dress. It was furnished with the essentials and minimal decoration, much like the north itself.
Despite the heat radiating off the stone, she still felt cold as if she were standing outside of the castle's gates.
This was where she would spend the rest of her life.
/~~/
A moonturn passed by. It was just enough time to settle into a routine and get friendly with the household. But not for Catelyn. She remained feeling like a guest in the castle that was to be her home.
The people of Winterfell were polite and respectful but did not seem keen on approaching her until their lord returned and gave his verdict on their new lady. So Catelyn spent most of the days inside her room, with only the handmaidens she had brought with from Riverrun as company.
That day, she decided to take a walk after one of them suggested viewing the glass gardens. Winterfell was one of the biggest and oldest castles in Westeros, much bigger than Riverrun by several acres. There was still much of the castle left to get familiar with, and she hadn't been to the gardens yet.
She passed by the steward who was overseeing the arrival of the fresh produce to fill the granaries. It was supposed to be one of her duties as Lady, but she did not feel comfortable approaching the steward. She had only spent a single night with Lord Stark, and he was still away from the castle. She felt like she would be encroaching on territory that did not belong to her. Would the steward even give her that kind of power in the first place? He did not seek her out either and seemed to do well enough without her, perhaps he would not take kindly to her taking over.
Was this the life she would have to endure if her husband did not return? To be a spectator in a castle that was hers on paper, but would never truly be hers to the people living there? It was a gloomy thought.
The glass garden was located on the far northern side, past the Armory and Guards Hall, past the Crypts and the Godswood. It was made of tall glass walls of green and yellow panes locked in frames. The interior was filled with greenery and colors, so different from the bleak outside of stone-grey walls and snow. It was truly a sight for sore eyes.
She took off her furs and handed it over to one of the maids. It was hot enough inside so she did not need the extra layers. The underground springs extended to the glass gardens, turning it into a place of moist warmth, thereby keeping the earth from freezing, and an ideal area for growing vegetables and flowers.
She recognised some of the flowers from the books she read as a girl when she first found out she was to be lady of the North. Pure snowdrop bulbs, bell-shaped winter heaths, and clusters of pale lavender daphnes. None of Winterfell's famous winter roses were in bloom yet, but there were plenty of frost-colored flowers to make up for it. Like the irises, glory of the snows, and scillas, that decorated the soil beds or grew in clay pots that hung from beams. It was clear that whoever took care of the gardens, were very passionate about it. [3]
Through the transparent glass ceilings, rays of light shined through. It was warm. She didn't think she could feel so warm in the North. It almost reminded her of home. She took a deep breath, the earthy smell filling her lungs like a balm for her soul. This could very well become her favorite place. It was on the edges, as well, away from all the people. She could come here to get away from it all.
There were some things missing though. There were no singing birds, but she could bring some in here. Small birds would find it difficult to survive out in the cold, but here the warmth would protect them. They could build their nests on one of the larger trees, or even on the iron beams across the ceiling. It would fill up some of her time if she made it routine to feed them daily.
She walked deeper into the garden, fingering pale pink camellias as she passed by. The flowers that bloomed were undoubtedly beautiful, but most had a mute coloring. She could bring in different flowers that reminded her of home and even fruits she enjoyed, some might not grow well in the soil, but she could ask the maester about what she could grow. She had heard that some variety of greenery thrived in the winter. She could plant jasmines and pansies that would add bright yellow to the garden, and cyclamen for a vibrant pink. She could import pomegranates, clementines, and grapefruits seeds. She knew they could grow in cold weather, she only needed to give them proper care. She could-
Suddenly her reverie was broken by the giggling of a little child. She stopped in her tracks and looked for the voice that she did not expect to hear. At a distance there was a woman and little girl seated at a table with cakes and fruits laid out. It was clear that she was no ordinary woman or a servant.
"Who is that?" She asked, confused. When there was no answer, she turned to her maids and saw them looking amongst each other. "Allison," she called, singling out one of them.
The girl refused to meet her eyes as she answered. "That, that is Lord Brandon's natural daughter, my lady. And…her mother."
Catelyn felt something visceral run through her.
So that is the woman who kept me up for several nights?
She remembered now how jealous and upset she was when she first heard that he had a bastard, but then he would smirk at her, and all doubts would be swept away. Brandon had a way of making her easily forget about her Septa and her lessons, and just as easily made her forget that he was a man just like any other. She had been so besotted that she chose to ignore his sexual appetite, but now it stood right before her, and it was enough to kindle that humiliation she once felt.
If Brandon was not killed and their marriage went through, would Catelyn have had to live with this…woman in her own castle where Brandon would also be, and run into her like this? Brandon may have only been treating her courteously due to her being the mother of his child, and because she was a noblewoman, but to Catelyn it would have been as if she were sharing him with a mistress. She knew Brandon took what he wanted, and if he felt a desire for this woman enough to forget his love for her, then would he not do it again even though they were married?
Brandon would not, she assured herself. He was wild, but not in a way that would make him take another woman while his wife was under the same roof. He would have treated her as proper as one would any noble lady. But what about that woman herself? What sort of lady would lay with the heir of Winterfell, and not have other fancies while doing so? Would Catelyn just have to endure it?
She should have walked away, should have gone to her room to sort out the emotions running amok in her right now, but when the woman glanced up and caught sight of them, she found herself walking forwards instead. Catelyn was no wilting flower, she would not leave her own gardens just because of this woman.
The woman stood up when she noticed Catelyn approaching, grabbing the hand of the child and pulling her close to her side. "My lady," she curtseyed. The girl, who looked to be about three, sloppily copied the motions of her mother.
Catelyn observed the woman. She was alluringly beautiful, with ash blonde hair that fell in soft waves down her shoulders, warm brown eyes, unblemished pale skin, and an ample bosom. Her clothes were not as fine as Catelyn's, but they did not take away from her charm. Brandon had laid with this woman and had a child with her which he brought into his home, despite already being betrothed with her. "And you are?"
"Arsa of House Condon. A temporary guest, my lady."
"A guest, you say. I have not heard of any guests currently staying in Winterfell," she spoke purposely. It was common knowledge that a guest of lower standing should have paid her greetings, but Lady Arsa had not once shown her face to Catelyn, who was the Lady of the castle, and continued living here as if she need not explain why.
"Forgive me, my lady, I did not mean any disrespect," she lowered her head, her voice slightly shaking after being called out by Catelyn. "I only thought that you might not have been pleased to see me, so I kept myself inside the Snow Tower… I plan on leaving once Lord Stark returns." She hastily added.
She nodded in understanding and the woman perked up when she saw Catelyn did not seem to be offended.
"House Condon, is it? I'm not familiar with the name." She knew the bastard's mother was with a noble lady of the North, but the name was so obscure that after she heard it the first time, she could not recall it after that, and she did not feel comfortable asking someone who might have known.
"We are a small House, my lady, vassals to the Cerwyns. I am not surprised that most below the Neck would not have heard of the name." Her words were humble, but there was a hint of pride in her voice. The Cerwyns were the Starks most loyal bannermen and many of their Lords were close friends with the Lord of Winterfell and his children. House Condon, being their vassals, shared that same pride with them. Arsa's own father had been a close friend of Lord Rickard's and fought alongside him in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. [4]
"This is your daughter?" The girl stared up at Catelyn with her wide eyes. Grey, they were grey-colored. Just like Brandon's, just like Eddard's. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands.
Arsa was slow to answer this time. "Yes, my lady. Aregelle."
"A pretty name." Had there not been an Aregelle Stark in the past?
"Thank you," she smiled. Dimples appeared in her cheeks when she did so. "Have you come to view the flowers?" Arsa asked, taking a step closer so they were in conversation range. Catelyn concluded that she was a bold woman. Well, she had to be bold if she got Brandon into her bed.
"Yes," she answered politely, despite finding the woman to be impertinent. Courtesy is a woman's armor. "The gardener has done a splendid job."
"It was Lady Lyarra who planted them."
"All of this?" She asked, surprised. She was under the impression that Lady Stark was born sickly and remained in poor health most of her life.
"Well, most of them. Before, there were mostly vegetables and fruits and some trees. The only flowers that grew here were the blue roses." Catelyn couldn't imagine how the gardens would have looked before without all the blooming flowers. Had none of the previous lords and their wives seen the need to add flowers?
"Was she also the one who planted all those lemon trees in the front?" The rows of lemon trees were one of the first things Catelyn had laid eyes on when entering.
"Oh," her eyes twinkled like molten honey under the rays of light. Her smile widened to show off pearly white teeth. "There is a story behind those lemon trees. It goes back to Alaric Stark, the Lord of Winterfell during the reign of King Jaehaerys. The lord was notoriously sour in personality. Words like prickly, humorless, and joyless, were used to describe him. A man who found little enjoyment in life. Some even say he was tight-fisted to the point of being niggardly," she leaned in close to softly speak the next sentence. "There was one fool who dared to say that Lord Alaric had not moved his bowels since he was twelve."
"It is said that one morning the Lord had an argument with his wife, a Mormont lady, and she ended up storming out of the castle in a rage. When the lady had not returned by noon, the entire household was thrown into a panic, for the lady carried the heir of Winterfell in her womb. So Lord Alaric gathered all his men and had his maester send out ravens to the nearby holdfasts, but before the first raven could be released, and the first rider could take a step through the gates, the lady returned, carrying with her a butchered wolf on her shoulders. When Lord Alaric laid eyes on the sight of his wife, pregnant and bloodied, he laughed so loud that he could be heard from one gate all the way to the opposite one, much to the shock of everyone present. They had never heard their lord laugh, and rarely saw him smile, yet there he was, in stitches because of the dead wolf hunted by his wife. The lady later became known as the only one in all of the North who could bring the sour lord any joy. Once the commotion of her disappearance had settled, the lady sewed a cloak from the wolf skin and gifted it to her husband, and in return he had the servants plant those trees, telling her that he could not fill the entire garden to satisfy her love for lemoncakes, but perhaps the ten would suffice." She giggled at the end of the story. It was a pretty sound. It made Catelyn's insides twist. "It's one of my favorite stories, makes me think the Starks might not be all ice as everyone believes."
Arsa spoke for a long time, and continued to speak even as Catelyn made no comment. It seemed she cared not whether she was being listened to or that the one she spoke to might not be interested in what she had to say. And the more she spoke, the more her tone and actions became overly familiar, as if they were friends already.
"Lady Stark loved gardening. She would have filled the entire castle with her flowers, if she could, but both Lord Stark and Brandon disliked the smell," Arsa huffed fondly, and patted her daughter on the back when she made a noise at hearing her father's name. "He always said-" Her eyes suddenly widened as she remembered herself, and tightly pressed her lips together.
"I did not know that about him," her voice managed to come out evenly, despite the turmoil brewing inside of her. One of her favorite places in Riverrun was the Godswood, and she would always bring Brandon there so she could share her joy with him. Should she feel touched that he would say nothing and follow along for her sake, or upset that he would freely admit to disliking them to another woman?
"Oh." All of her boldness was gone, and she shrunk into herself like a turtle hiding in its shell. It seemed like she finally realised she had overstepped boundaries. "Pardon me, my lady," she took her daughter's hand and left, practically speed walking away from Catelyn.
When she was out of earshot her handmaidens immediately began gossiping about her, but Catelyn paid them no mind. Talking to that woman and seeing her child reminded her current situation.
Eddard was the last remaining member who carried the name Stark. If he died, the North would lose its liege and the Iron Throne its Warden. A power gap would be opened that Houses such as the Kastarks, Boltons, or Manderlys may desire to fill. They would care little that Catelyn was Eddard's lawfully wedded wife and their lady.
This may be her 'home' by the laws of Westeros, but for long would the North endure a southron trout within Winterfell? How long before they demanded someone with Stark blood? The Starks had cousins in the Vale, and more distant kin in Barrowtown and White Harbor. Would one of them take over? What would happen to her?
Or perhaps, they would turn to the one with the most right: Brandon's daughter. The child, though a bastard, was not entirely baseborn. Her mother was a noble lady, who would have the support of her House and perhaps the Cerwyns. She undoubtedly had the blood and could easily be given the name. She could then be married to a powerful northern lord, who would take the name of Stark and continue the line.
Catelyn touched her flat stomach. If her child had been born, her boy, then she would not have to worry about such a thing, for Winterfell would belong to her child, and she would be its Lady. But she had nothing. Her child was gone, and her husband was not here.
The people here did not care for her or her worries, and continued on whether she was there or not.
I want to go back. Back to Riverrun. This is not where I belong. This will never be my home.
/~~/
Some moons later, her husband finally returned.
Catelyn waited for him in the courtyard with the rest of the household, clad in Stark grey colors and thick furs. Her auburn hair had been styled in a thick braid, and fell across one shoulder.
Their eyes met and she smiled at him. When he returned it with a slight upturn of his lips, she felt some of her anxieties wash away. She thought that maybe she had been overthinking and worrying all this time for naught.
When Eddard stepped out, her smile dropped from her face.
There was a dark-haired babe swaddled in his arms.
"My Lord," she greeted, voice as frigid as the north itself as her gaze went from her husband to the babe in his arms.
Dark hair, grey eyes, a long face. Undoubtedly, a Stark.
He looked straight into her eyes, and said, "His name is Jon. He is my son."
Catelyn felt her blood run cold.
[1] Rebellion goes as follows: Summerhall - Ashford - Battle of Bells - The Trident - Sack of King's Landing - Lifting siege of Storm's End - Tower of Joy combat - Assault of Dragonstone and Dany's birth.
Robert Rebellion narrated by Catelyn Stark
Catelyn's miscarriage happens after the Trident, and between Sack and Storm's End, I think? They don't give month names so I can only give rough time frames, as I'm not entirely sure when Robb was conceived, when he was born and how long after that Ned returned to Winterfell, but it must have been months because it would probably take a while to ride from KL to Storm's End, to Dorne, to the North.
[2] There are actually still weirwood trees in the south, not just in the North. The heart tree in Riverrun is slender with a sad face. [aGoT, Catelyn XI]
[3] All of the flowers and fruits Catelyn lists are able to grow in cold weather. At least that's what google told me.
'Frost colored' means dark or pale blue, taken from Ned who describes blue winter roses as 'a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.' and 'A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death'. Irises, glory of the snows, and scillas are all similar blue colors to winter roses. Snow drops are pure white. Winter heaths and the camellias are light pink and daphnes are lavender, which are all mute colorings. The flowers that Catelyn wants to add are all bright and vibrant. I wanted to add that kind of contrast where the North keeps its pale and subdued themes, and Catelyn wants to add the richer colors of the south. She never gets the chance to do so, just like Ned/Cat doesn't happen as in canon.
[4] House Condon is a real House in the asoiaf universe. I wanted a small noble House that is fairly close to WF, and they fit the bill.
About OCs Arsa and Aregelle: They will not be main characters, or even secondary characters. The main reason I wanted them in is because of Brandon being a womaniser. It's said: "Brandon was absolutely not shy about taking what he wanted, which included women." [aDwD, The Turncloak] and when asked if Brandon had any issue, Grrm answered: "It'd be an exaggeration to say that Brandon died before he could have children. It's established in the books that he was no virgin. He could very well have left behind some little Snows in the various places he visited. But what's absolutely clear is that he had no legitimate children."[link] In the same interview, it's mentioned that "Brandon died before he had sons,". So he might have bastards somewhere, but they are all girls. I wanted to add in a little Snow that belongs to Brandon, but without making the OC a main character, because I myself don't enjoy reading about OCs, so I always feel iffy to make one. Like would readers feel annoyed whenever her scenes come up? Because I probably would. I will add her in here and there, so I hope you don't mind too much.
Neither of them are here to be sources of drama or as love interests, but they do add conflict to Ned/Cat's already shaky relationship. They serve as one of the many stones being placed in a paper basket. Brandon might not have been in love with Catelyn like Ned's POV shows (while Catelyn thinks theirs was a mutual love), but that doesn't mean he liked the OC Arsa either, or Barbrey Dustin for that matter, as she herself would like to think. It was purely for the sake of the child that she is even allowed in Winterfell, and Brandon didn't care for anyone's opinion about the matter. As for Arsa having other intentions when she slept with Brandon, well, most women would considering the North will one day be his, and perhaps she is hoping for her daughter to become something more than bastard, but that will never become a plot point because it'll all just be unnecessary drama, and no one would support her anyways.
As for the reason why they're both currently in WF, Aregelle is already 3 and grew up in WF at Brandon's insistence. She's not going to be thrown out just because Brandon is dead. And because she's so young, her mother is allowed to be there when there's no more Starks to take care of her.
About Catelyn and Winterfell: I'm aware that there was a law passed (by Queen Alysanne, I think?) that said that the wife can rule over the husband's land in the event of him dying. That's how Barbrey Dustin is the ruler of Barrowtown, despite her not being a Dustin by blood, and having no child by her dead husband Willam, who was its lord. But for Catelyn it's a bit different, the Starks are the Lord Paramounts and Wardens of North, positions Catelyn can't inherit. Now I know Lysa was also the wife of a dead Lord Paramount, and she's still its lady, but that's mainly because Sweetrobin is there. I'd imagine the Vale would scramble to put Harrold Hardyng in place, instead of some mad cow with her whoremonger husband. Catelyn doesn't have a child at this point. As the saying goes, 'there must always be a Stark in Winterfell', and while Catelyn has the name, she doesn't have the blood, she's also a woman in an unruly North (which both Ned and Robb had some difficulties controlling), and she's a southerner. Barbrey at least is a Northerner, and her father must have been close to the previous Lord Dustin because Barrowtown and The Rills (owned by the Ryswells) are neighbors. It will be very difficult for her to maintain her position as Lady of Winterfell if the lords start a fight over the newly opened positions. Alot might turn to distant relatives of the Starks, and, wow, what do you know…there is a Stark in Winterfell! She may not have the name, but she does have the blood, very close blood in fact, as she's Brandon's daughter, and she has a noble mother, which possibly brings the support of the Cerwyns. She could easily be legitimized and married to a powerful lord who will then take on the Stark name. What happens to Catelyn then who has absolutely no ties to Winterfell except a piece of paper saying she was once Ned's wife? She's basically going to be like a noble boarder living in someone else's castle, struggling to get the lords to obey her, with Aregelle and her husband waiting for the day she dies so they could fully take over. Of course, it's not that simple because she has the Riverlands (and Vale) behind her, but if the North really wants her to step down, there's little she can do, and if she forces the position, it'll only make it worse for herself. She could just remarry if Ned doesn't return, it's not like women are only allowed to marry once, but for dramatic reasons, that doesn't come up.