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

I edited this chapter because I thought the previous version was a bit harsh on Catelyn and made her a bit too OOC.

I don't think Robb being 5-years-old is too young to start learning. Rickon is 3 and Bran is 7 at the start of the series, and both of them are much more intelligent than our normal world children.

Winterfell

Despite being married for two years now, Catelyn did not warm up to her husband.

Eddard Stark was not so keen on approaching her either, seeming to be at ease with the formal distance between them. She suspected it was because he loathed that he was forced into marrying her to secure the support of the Riverlands and would rather have married another woman - a woman he truly loved.

Ashara Dayne.

The name was a reminder of her humiliation and fears. The Dornish maid with haunting violet eyes, whom he'd shared a dance with at the Tourney at Harrenhal.

Eddard Stark could not have her, but he brought her babe with him to Winterfell, and called him "son" for all the North to see.

He had not mentioned the name of the mother, but she knew, and the servants knew as well. A castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard the whispers of the servants repeating tales they heard from her husband's soldiers. They whispered of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and his sister, the Mourning Star. How their young lord had slain the deadly kingsguard in combat and afterwards had carried Ser Arthur's sword back to Starfall, back to his beautiful sister that awaited them on the shores of the Summer Sea.

To the lady Ashara Dayne - tall and fair, with long dark hair.

A tragic love that ended when the lady threw herself from Palestone Sword, a Tower of Starfall, and into the sea. Her best friend brutalised by soldiers in the Red Keep, her lover married to another woman, her brother killed by said lover, and her child to be taken from her arms to the cold North. All had been too much for the lady to bear.

Catelyn had confronted her husband about the matter, as was her right to do so.

They laid together for the first time after she had given birth to their first child Sansa. Though he was already fully clothed despite their coupling not even half an hour before, her husband seemed more relaxed than she had ever seen and was squatting near the hearth with a firepoker. She watched him, the furs on the bed held tight to her chest to cover the skin.

"You broke your marriage vows, my lord," she said abruptly, breaking the silence. Any other woman would have thought it prudent to use this moment of softness to gain more favor, maybe invite him to stay in her bed for the night and let sleeping dogs lie, but not Catelyn. She was the first and favorite daughter of a Lord Paramount, and she would have her due. She would not stand to have her own servants whisper about her or her children.

He at least had the decency to look apologetic. "It was not my intention to shame you."

"But you have," she might not have been of the North, but her voice was like ice. "And you continue to do so."

He frowned, his face solemn and filled with a sadness that made her teeth itch. "I can only apologize, my lady. The deed has already been done, and I must take responsibility for my actions. As all Starks have done before."

He was referring to the existence of the Snow Tower which stood tall within Winterfell's walls for centuries now. The tower was a distance away from the Great Keep where the bedchambers of House Stark were. It stood along the western walls of the castle, overlooking the Wolfswood. The Starks were not like other men. Catelyn had long heard of how they kept their bastards close, and how they even had their own tower aptly named 'Snow'. She knew Brandon fathered a bastard despite already being betrothed to her, heard how the girl was favored and treated as true by Lady Lyarra, she'd even met the girl and her mother who seemed to be at ease within the walls. It would be fine, she'd thought back then despite the nights this mystery woman invaded her dreams, Rickard Stark and her father would not allow for a bastard to have wicked ideas, and Brandon loved her, not whoever he laid with one drunken night. [1]

Then everything changed with the Rebellion and her hasty marriage with Eddard Stark. Catelyn had not expected he too would have a bastard, and so soon after laying with her, but war did that to men. They had spent more than a year apart, Eddard off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father's castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of the babe in her womb, than of the husband she scarcely knew. He was welcome to whatever solace he might find between battles. And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. If he were any other man, that is. He did more than that. He brought his bastard, this Jon Snow, with him to be raised in Winterfell as most Stark bastards were. What she did not expect, however, was the treatment the boy would receive by her husband. Instead of hiring a nursemaid and rooming him within Snow Tower, the boy was placed inside of the private chambers and was given a crib within the same floor as hers. Eddard then went on to move the girl, Aregelle, to the same floor. Fortunately, the mother of the girl decided it was better to raise her daughter with her family, so they soon left. But the boy remained. She thought she could gracefully accept it, knowing about Brandon's bastard beforehand, but when she was finally put in that position she found she could not. She would always look at the two bastards and her mind would go to the women who managed to catch the gazes of the men that were supposed to be sworn to her. The fact that the names of these women would follow her within the hallways of her own home caused her such humiliation she could not believe how naive she'd been when she thought the bastards would be seperated and forgotten within the Tower.

For a year she had to endure the presence of this child who belonged to that woman, and that was treated as if he were the son birthed by a first wife who had already passed. The birth of Sansa, the true first born, made little difference to the Lord of Winterfell. He treated them as if they were full-blooded siblings.

Did he think she would praise him for doing the right thing and bringing his bastard here to properly be taken care of, rather than sending him away like any other man would have? "Eddard Stark, ever the honorable man," she said, doing little to hide her resentment. "Do so, if you please, but not at the expense of your own children."

"My lady-"

"You would have the bastard of some Dornish whore displayed in my castle for all to see, to be raised alongside your trueborn children." She would never usually voice her thoughts so overtly, but the more it seemed like he just expected her to accept it, the more wroth she became.

"My castle," he stood up, dropping the poker to the wooden floor. Despite the fire burning in the hearth, coldness swept through the room, reminding Catelyn of the tales that spoke of the Starks and their ice-cold blood. "It is my castle, as it was my father's before me, along with all my siblings. It will be the castle of my heir, and all his siblings as well, regardless of the name they carry. Jon belongs here, and so does Aregelle, and any children they may have. Just as it has always been before. And now I will learn where you heard such stories."

"Everyone knows," her hands fisted as she was reminded of the name that followed her in whispers as she walked down the passages of the old castle. Beautiful purple eyes. Harrenhal. Dorne. Jon Snow, or was it Sand? She would not be cowed into submission. For Sansa, for her children, and her honor. "Everyone knows about the great love you had for Ashara Dayne, and how you dishonored me and yourself by laying with her despite taking your vows before the gods."

"You will not speak of this again," he warned, voice tight with emotion. "Never ask me about Jon, or his mother." The fact that he did not deny it did not go unnoticed by her.

"Why, so you can have the people forget how he truly came to be?" He did not deign to give her an answer, already making for the door. Any tenderness he might have had for her when she bore him their first child was now snuffed out. "My father will not stand for such insult." She said at last, when it was clear nothing else would get through to him. She hoped he would remember exactly whose daughter she was.

"Lord Tully knows well what goes on here, yet he still went through with the betrothal to Brandon, and then the marriage to me." He turned back at her before leaving, his eyes held something deep and violent that made her clench the furs tightly. At that moment she felt fear towards her husband for the first time. He could attack her, and there would be nothing she could do to defend herself. "Jon is my blood, a Stark. He will be raised here in Winterfell, as any Stark should be. Good night, my lady."

Despite her husband silencing the whispers - to hide his shame from the world - at times, when the sun struck the boy's face at a certain angle, she would swear to the Seven that she spotted hints of purple. It was more proof against her husband.

Mayhaps I could have grown to love him, she thought at times, whenever she would watch him playing with Sansa and indulging their daughter in her games. She noticed that when he was happy, his hard grey eyes would turn soft, like fog. She could lose herself in those eyes if he turned them on her. But it was not to be. Not with the boy between them, not after that night she confronted him, and he made it clear what her position was.

Bastards were things born of lust and lies. Treachery ran through their blood, one need not look further than the Blackfyres as testament to this fact. Nevermind who his mother was - Ashara Dayne or not, noble or not - he was a creature of sin.

Her children, on the other hand, would be born of duty. Like her lovely Sansa. A proper lady, despite her young age. Oftentimes she sent away her daughter's maid so she could wash her with her own hands and run her fingers through the growing thick copper hair, making it smell of lavender oil.

At first, when the Maester informed her that the boy she'd been expecting was a girl, she felt a wave of discontent overcome her. First a stillbirth, then a girl.

When she regained her strength and the child was brought to her, she took one look at the girl - her Tully blue eyes, the same shade as hers, the beautiful tufts of copper growing on her head - Catelyn felt such tenderness that tears began to fall from her eyes. How could she have ever felt anything other than love for her daughter? In that instant she knew she would do anything to protect her child.

Sansa brought her much joy. She felt like a flower slowly wasting away in this cold, brutal place, and Sansa was her sunlight. It helped that her husband, once again, did not begrudge her for her failure. Not that she would allow him to, not when it came to perfect Sansa.

Eddard looked at his daughter with moon-filled eyes. "Sansa. You will never want for anything, I promise you." He cradled her close to his chest and kissed her forehead.

It was almost perfect. But no matter how sweet Sansa was or what Eddard promised, she was still a girl. The North would never accept a woman as their liege lord, and Stark history had shown that they would pass over a legitimate female heir, for a male with a lesser claim. They wouldn't dare do that with Sansa, who was the granddaughter to Hoster Tully and niece of Lysa Arryn, but one could never be too sure that they would be dissatisfied with her delicate daughter and look to the other male around, despite being bastard-born. [2]

So Catelyn prayed every morning and night for a boy.

She prayed and prayed.

A year later she fell pregnant.

Her son was born in 284AC. Three years later.

Finally she could be at ease.

Robb did not have the Stark brown hair, nor the Stark grey eyes. He had the Tully coloring, but instead of her auburn or Sansa's copper, his hair was a dark-red. His eyes were a blue that burned right into her soul. These were not the eyes of the Tullys. Catelyn only found out later that he did indeed have a feature of the Starks, when Eddard said softly how his son's eyes were shared with his deceased uncle and grandmother. The same shade of deep blue ice that had been Benjen and Lyarra Stark's. Apparently blue eyes were a rarer trait of House Stark. She had never met Eddard's mother and had only met Benjen twice before he died as well. She saw it now; they did indeed share the same eyes. She remembered how on her wedding day she hoped Eddard would have Benjen's eyes. It appeared her wish from that day did come true somehow. [3]

/~~/

Robb was as wild as a winter storm.

He howled into the night, keeping her wide awake. It ringed through her ears and went deep into her head where it settled and caused her physical pain. It took all of her restraint and years of courtly training to keep her from snapping at the Maester or her handmaidens.

Eddard was amused by the whole thing, as was the rest of the staff. "It's the wolfsblood, my lady. Just like his aunt and uncle." he'd say wistfully. Exactly the same as Old Nan would, "The little lord has the wildness in him. Once, every thousand years, a Stark would be born part wolf. They would run out beyond the Wall, into the Land of Always Winter, leaving behind Winterfell, and joining their other wolf-like brethren where they belong; wild and free. Would you like that, little lord?" She pinched his cheeks with her bony fingers.

When she held Robb in her arms it was easy to forget that he was the cause of her exhaustion. It pleased her that he seemed to struggle less when she was the one holding him, something the nursemaids remarked upon several times. A child recognises his mother, just as mother does her child.

Every night she sang him the Song of the Seven that her own mother would sing to her.

"The Seven Gods who made us all,
are listening if we should call.
So close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children."

Robb was staring up at her with sluggish blue eyes, as sweet as an angel. She felt tenderness fill her heart as her babe struggled in that state between wakefulness and sleep. His long, red lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and she resisted the urge to tweak on one of his curls, knowing it would be hard to get him to quiet down once he woke up again.

When she was sure he was finally fully asleep, she kissed his cheeks, then his forehead, and his little nose. He did not stir one bit as she did so. It was times like this that made all the shrieking nights worth it.

/~~/

During one of her morning visits to Robb, she found the door ajar and could hear his giggles from the hallway. A smile made its way to her lips thinking of how he must be causing mischief to one of the weary maids.

What she found there was the boy, standing on a wooden bench and leaning over to reach inside.

Catelyn felt sick seeing his hands so close to Robb's face. Childhood stories of the Blackfyre Rebellions, of bastards wanting what belonged to the true-borns, filled her mind. Instinct kicked in and she grabbed Robb from his crib and held him tightly to her chest before those hands could touch him. The boy looked up at her with watery, dark eyes, swimming with confusion. She stared him down until he fled the room.

"Does he come here all the time?" She asked the maid who'd been watching everything from the sidelines.

She gave a few nervous nods. "Yes milady…" she replied softly. "Lord Stark gave permission for both him and Lady Sansa to be let into the nursery whenever they wanted." Catelyn pursed her lips and held Robb tighter, who had begun squirming against her, reaching out to the door where his brother ran out from. Was it not enough that he was allowed to stay in Winterfell and within the inner Chambers where she would regularly cross paths with him, but now she also had to suffer seeing him with her child?

Take him away, she prayed that night. Love for Sansa and Robb, fear for their future, anxiety from the relationship between the boy and her husband, humiliation from a bastard within her walls, vicious jealousy for an unknown woman - they all brewed within her. Make him die. Before he harms my children and desires what is theirs, take him away!

A fortnight later, the boy collapsed at the dinner table.

He had the pox.

The relief and triumph she thought she would feel at the news did not come. Instead, she felt like she had just drunk an entire glass of sour milk.

A cloud of depression seemed to descend upon Winterfell. There were no noises in the courtyard and corridors, no Ser Rodrik yelling at his training men, no maids bustling about and gossiping, no laughing children running down the hallways.

She spent the afternoon fidgeting in her chambers. Guilt ate at her stomach, though she had done nothing wrong. I didn't ask for this.

But she did. She prayed to the gods to take him away, and now the whispers around the castle said that the boy was dying.

Catelyn decided to go to Sansa's room so she could find some solace in her daughter's arms. When she got there her daughter was praying to both the Seven and the Old Gods, asking them to make her brother well again and take away his pain. Old Nan was there as well, sitting in a chair and doing her needlework.

"Is Jon going to be okay, mother?" Sansa asked, tears running down her pink cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy from all her crying.

Catelyn gently wiped her face. "Wipe your nose, sweetling," she said. Sansa took the handkerchief and delicately blew out her nose. Still the proper lady even when grieving, Catelyn thought fondly. "The bo-...Jon will be okay. Remember that time when you got sick? He will get better, just like you did. I promise."

"You shouldn't be making promises like that, my lady," Old Nan interrupted. "I promised the Lord of Winterfell that his boy would live. I prayed day and night for my words to come true, and still he died. He was such a sweet little thing, my Brandon. So young; he was only three. But the gods take whom they please, whether we want it or not."

The old woman's words caused Sansa to burst into a fresh stream of tears.

"That's just about enough," Catelyn said coldly, stroking her daughter's back that was shaking with sobs. "What do you want to accomplish by telling the child such things?" Nan had come to the castle as a wet nurse for a Brandon Stark whose mother had died birthing him. He had been an older brother of Lord Rickard. Or perhaps a younger brother, or a brother to Lord Rickard's father. When she asked about it, her handmaidens themselves were not sure. Sometimes Old Nan told it one way and sometimes another. All that she was sure of was that the little boy died at three of a summer chill and Old Nan stayed on at Winterfell with her own children. She was well respected by both Eddard and the servants, but if she continued on with such stories Catelyn wouldn't hesitate to send her to her room.

"Go and pray to the gods, my lady," Old Nan told Sansa. "Perhaps they will take pity and spare your brother's soul."

"Will you come with, mother?" Sansa asked, looking at her with pleading eyes.

Catelyn never liked the Godswood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. She'd accompanied Eddard there a fortnight after Sansa's birth, where he gave an 'offering' to the old, nameless, and faceless gods of the greenwood. All the while she felt a thousand eyes upon her. She'd never gone back since that time, not even for Robb. She awkwardly made an excuse as to why she couldn't go, so Sansa and her nursemaid took off to the Godswood, while Catelyn went to Robb's room.

Robb was still too young to fully understand what was happening. He only thought that his brother would not be playing with him, so he amused himself in the corner of the room with his wooden blocks. Catelyn knew that when the night came Robb would throw a tantrum and demand to see the boy - they could not be separated for long - and she would have to pull out all of her tricks to calm him down.

She played with him until it was time for his afternoon nap. She planned on taking one herself, but instead her feet took her towards the room at the end of the hallway, the room furthest from her own.

Eddard was slouched at the boy's side, looking ten years older than the last time she'd seen him, which was only the day before. He didn't even cast a glance at her when she entered. Catelyn felt her chest tighten at the sight. She'd never seen him look so anguished before, never even thought him capable of such emotion.

"If he makes it through the night, he will live." The maester shook his head sadly, a hint of pity in his eyes as he saw the state of his Lord. "But it will be a very long night."

It was a punishment, she knew. She asked for it and she got it, now everyone was suffering because of her. If the boy died, wouldn't it be blood on her hands?

She took a deep breath before she spoke. "Go to Sansa and Robb, my lord," she said with a confidence that she didn't feel. "Take comfort in them and have some rest. I will stay with the boy."

Ned frowned at her; suspicion clear on his face. He didn't move an inch or say anything in acknowledgement to her words.

"We can't have another patient on our hands." She felt a tinge of annoyance. What did he think she would do to the boy? "You must rest. Maester Luwin and I will be here, and one of us will call you if anything happens." She shot a look to the Maester who, to his credit, understood it.

"It will do little good if you stay here, my lord," he piped up in agreement.

Finally, the Lord of Winterfell stirred. Catelyn tried not to feel slighted that he took the counsel of a mere Maester over hers. He spoke so softly to Maester Luwin that she couldn't hear him from where she stood. The Maester briefly touched his shoulder and Eddard rose to his feet. He gently stroked the boy's hair, his face filled with such tenderness as he did so. She had to look away.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, a hint of apology in his voice. She nodded in acceptance.

Night came, and she didn't once falter in her duty. She sat with him all through the darkness, listening to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering. His hands clenched hers tightly, and despite the strength behind the grip, the only thing she noticed was how small his hand was. He was only five.

She knew then that she was the worst woman who ever lived. What kind of woman wished ill upon a little boy? A murderer.

Let him live, please, I beg of you. Let the boy live. I will love him, I will be a mother to him. I will beg my husband to give him a true name. He shall be a Stark and he shall be like my son. I swear it upon the Old Gods and the New.

The next morning, Jon Snow's eyes opened.

/~~/

Catelyn did try to uphold her promise at the very beginning.

She pushed down thoughts of Ashara Dayne and her beauty and forced out a morning greeting to the boy when they met to break their fast. He flinched before stuttering out a reply. When she found him together with her children playing in the snow, Sansa ran up to hug her in greeting, and the boy made to leave. "Stay," she told him. His dark eyes stared up at her, his nose wrinkled, looking so much like Eddard and yet not. When the thought came to mind of how those strange features belonged to another woman, her lips began to tighten. He is only a child. A motherless child. You promised to be his mother. Her hands itched to grab Robb and take him far away, but she left them to build a snow castle together, allowing herself to smile when the space was filled with the innocent giggles of children.

When Robb demanded to be placed in the same bed, her first response was to vehemently shoot him down, but then remembered her solemn promise to the gods. So she carried him from the nursery to the boy's room. Robb immediately squealed out his name and began struggling against her. "Down, mama! Down!" It took all of her willpower to place Robb beside him, when her instincts screamed at her that the boy was a danger to her son.

The boy didn't seem comfortable falling asleep with her watching over them, but quickly got used to her presence. They spoke in hushed voices about their plans for tomorrow. Probably up to no good again. Just earlier they'd run the cook ragged when they'd snuck into the kitchens and messed up the cakes with their grubby paws. Evidently receiving a scolding from both their father and the steward did little to deter them from trying it again. Catelyn pretended she couldn't hear them.

Soon the conversation between two waned and by the time she finished up her work they were fast asleep, their fingers intertwined and their foreheads touching.

Side by side, she once again was hit with the similarities and the differences between the siblings. Along with Sansa, they shared the same nose, the same eye-shape, the same milky-pale skin, and tended to mimic the facial expressions of their father. It was easy to tell the three were related somehow, but she knew, she could see, that like Sansa and Robb who had their Tully blood features mixed in with Stark, the boy also had some features that were not-Stark. There was an aristocratic quality to his face that told of his southern heritage. Must be the Dornish side, she thought spitefully. The Daynes were known for their noble and exotic beauty.

When her husband brought that boy back from the war, she couldn't even bear to look at him. Most said that he was the exact image of Eddard Stark, and that was true much to her displeasure, but she could also see the hints of something softer. Whenever she looked at his face, what she saw was the woman who was able to move the icy heart of Eddard Stark. Did he spare a thought for his pregnant wife back at Riverrun as he spilled his seed in that woman?

I can't.

It was impossible for her to look at the boy without the image of her husband in bed with another woman appearing before her. How could she not when the proof of the act stood right before her, forcing her to look upon it. This was the child of the woman her husband might have loved, this was the child of the woman honorable Ned Stark broke his oaths for, this was her shame and humiliation, this was a threat to her children's birthright.

I can't do it. I can't!

Shame at herself for not being able to keep a promise made to the gods themselves ate her from the inside, but more than that was anger. Why was she the one who had to feel guilty about not fulfilling her vow to the gods when it had been her husband who broke his first? Why did she have to suffer this child who was not hers when she had done nothing wrong? Was she truly so evil for not being able to love some child who was not hers?

But still, she'd taken a vow. She could not love him as she promised, but at least she could let him be loved by her children.

/~~/

She said nothing as the two boys grew up to be inseparable.

They were attached to the hip. If one of them was seen, it was expected to see the other close by and it was common to hear both 'Jon and Robb' in the same sentence instead of their names separately. Their rooms were even joined together by an antechamber and it was not uncommon to find them curled up together in the same bed. The age difference only seemed to bring them even closer together, with the boy taking his duty as the older brother with profound earnestness and Robb looking up at him as if he hung the stars.

Jon Snow joined her children in mealtimes, play times, and bath times. She even recently heard that the boy began teaching Robb how to swim, something she'd been wanting to do. She felt flutters of distaste as Robb excitedly told her about his day, how he'd paddled around in the pool in the Godswood, then played monsters-and-maidens in the Crypts. Still, she said nothing. (Though she always made sure they were being watched by one of her handmaidens.)

Eddard was greatly pleased by all of this, and encouraged them to involve their sisters, particularly Arya who began crawling after them like a little duckling. "You are all of the same blood, and you must always protect each other," he reminded them often. "You're a pack. The pack works together and looks out for one another."

The four nodded solemnly, though Catelyn doubted little Robb and Arya fully understood the words. It was at times like these that she was reminded that Robb and Sansa were indeed Starks, though they might have the Tully looks. Arya was a Stark through and through, wistfully reminding her of Brandon in her wildness.

As for the boy… Catelyn was once reminded that he was the most Stark-like of all the children and just how much older he was than her own son.

Her nails bit into the palm of her hands.

Still, she said nothing.

You made a promise.

/~~/

289AC

When Robb first picked up the sword, Catelyn took to regularly walking on top of the ramparts, watching over him and the other boys. She personally thought five-years-old was a bit too early to start, but Robb insisted on joining his half-brother and when she saw the boy in the courtyard being surrounded and praised her misgivings fell away.

It quickly became another common sight. Every morning they trained together; Snow and Stark, dressed in quilted leather coats in place of mail and plate and wooden swords, spinning and slashing about the courtyard, shouting and laughing. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," the boy called out, and Robb would shout back, "I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and the boy would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne."

That morning, however, it was different.

"I'm the Lord of Winterfell!" The boy proclaimed, pointing the tip of his sword into Robb's face, a fierce grin on his face.

Catelyn felt her breath become stuck somewhere in her body at his words. Her Septon's words came to her, "Trueborn children are made in a marriage bed and blessed by the Father and the Mother, but bastards are born of lust and weakness. You may change their names, but you cannot change their nature. Bastards are born to betrayal." [4]

Robb, sweet Robb who didn't know any better, just laughed. "I'm Symeon Star-Eyes!"

The sounds of their laughter made her stomach tighten.

That night she slept restlessly, twisting and turning in her bedsheets as the boy's voice rang through her head. He must have seen her standing there, yet he still yelled the words at the top of his lungs. What had he been thinking at that time? Was he mocking her? Did he think because her husband paid her no attention that she could do nothing? It was common knowledge that Lord Stark greatly favored his bastard, while he had a cold relationship with his wife. The boy must know that as well.

What about herself? What had she been doing all this time letting the boy go around as if he were a trueborn? What had she done whenever it was said that 'Jon' was the name of the eldest Stark child? What had she done whenever her Lord Husband only propagated that belief by insistently calling him 'son'.

Winterfell belonged to her child, to her Robb. It was his birthright. Not some half-Dornish bastard who was born on the wrong side of the sheet.

When she finally managed to fall asleep, she dreamt of a bastard with a Stark-face and purple eyes, holding a sharp steel sword to the necks of her children. "I am the Lord of Winterfell now, little brother," he said, staring down at them with the ruthlessness of a beast. With a single swing of the blade three heads went rolling down the snows, leaving behind a trail of bright red blood as they came to a stop at her feet.

Catelyn screamed.

/~~/

Catelyn made a decision that day.

Was a promise to the gods about some bastard important? Or was securing her children's birthright more important? Catelyn didn't have to think twice about the answer.

(The gods were merciful, were they not? They would eventually forgive her, wouldn't they?)

Her husband, whom she long since knew would never take her side on anything, especially in concerns to the boy, was to be her strongest adversary in this undertaking. He did not seem to care that his bastard might usurp the place of his true-born heir. Eddard raised them together, as true siblings, and made sure they and everyone else were aware that the boy wasn't any different because of his birth. Such things were what gave rise to all the Daemon Blackfyres in the world - a father putting the bastard and the true-borns on the same level.

She would take it upon herself to set things right. She could not, would not, let the bastard surpass Robb. Catelyn would raise him in such a way that whenever the boy was near her son, it was clear for all to see that he paled in comparison.

She had to make sure that Robb's education was perfect. He would not be beneath a common bastard in anything. If he spent three hours with Ser Rodrik, then Robb would spend four. If he spent two hours with Maester Luwin, then Robb would spend three. If he rode a horse every morning, then so too would Robb. He would be much, much better. But it would not end there with a simple education.

Catelyn sent a raven to both her father and her Uncle Brynden to send over any retired knight or soldier that would be willing to live in the North and teach Robb more about battle than what Ser Rodrik taught. One that was worthy of the pay, of course. Not just anyone would be allowed with the Heir of Winterfell. How lovely it would have been if her uncle could be the one to take on the task, but he'd already taken on the duty as Knight of the Bloody Gate for Lysa and would not abandon family, duty and honor. Robb would know how to run the North, as well as an army, if the bastard were to get any ideas.

Eddard took note of this when Ser Rodrik mentioned Catelyn's want of increase in Robb's training. "He's still young, milord. I fear it'll affect the lad's growth if he spends too much time in the tiltyard."

When he brought it up with his wife, she did not seem too concerned by this. "He's only five, my lady. He has a lot of time to learn."

"He's almost six," she replied coolly. Each day she was reminded that the boy had a three-year head start, and Robb needed to catch up.

He shook his head. "No, I'll tell Rodrik to cut back on his lessons. He'll train alongside Jon as usual."

"...As you wish, my lord."

Satisfied at the changes, Eddard left the rest of the children's education in her hands. Catelyn had once been her father's heir after all, before Edmure's birth, so he believed she was more than capable of raising them. Mayhaps, she was stricter because as a woman she was expected to do more than a man if she were to take her father's place. He could always speak to her if something like this were to happen again.

Though her husband had given his orders, Catelyn had little intention of following them. She was doing this for Robb's sake, and he would not stop her. She heard some servants say she was being too hard on her son. Too strict and harsh. What did they know? Damn the whole lot of them.

At the beginning, Robb struggled with memorizing sigils and differentiating between Houses. Catelyn blamed the Maester. He was too easy going and too lenient in all the lessons, letting the boys learn at their own pace and giving in when they looked with yearning to the yard.

So, once Robb finished sword training with Ser Rodrik and cleaned up, she called him to her chambers and sat him down at the desk. "Open up the book and start memorizing."

"But mother," he whined, his lower lip protruded in a sulky pout. "Maester Luwin said I'm done for the day, and I want to play Hopfrog with Jon and Arya."

"Maester Luwin does not care about your education the way I do."

He whined some more, but when he saw that she paid him no attention, he reluctantly paged through the book.

She picked up the accounting books, occasionally glancing his way to see if he was still focusing on what was in front of him. It was reaching the later hours, not yet dark out but almost there, so she lit a candle to bring some light in the room. She still did not dismiss him until a servant came and told her that supper was almost ready. "Mark off where you left," she told him before he could scamper away.

She continued like this for the next couple of days and Robb became fussier. "Can I go now?" He turned his big blue eyes on her. His face, still filled with baby fat, would have made anyone's knees shake. It worked on most of the household, but Catelyn did not budge.

"You can go once you've memorized that book," she promised. "And I'll also give you a present if you finish the whole thing before the next moon turn." It was a technique she used on her restless younger brother who preferred the outdoors than the dusty library. The Maester of Riverrun called it the 'donkey-and-carrot' method and it worked most times.

When he settled down and began studying with a bit more vigor, she started quizzing him on the Houses, starting with the most powerful Lords. He had no problem with listing their sigils, House words, their Seats, current Heads and vassals. Catelyn felt a flicker of satisfaction as Robb breezed his way through. It was when he came to the lesser Houses that he started speaking at a slower pace.

"House Waterman. Seated along the White Knife. Vassals to the Manderlys. Sigil… brown, brown crossed on white. Brown crossed oars on white. Current Head, Lord…"

"Lord…" she pressed him.

"I'm not sure."

"Take your lessons seriously, Robb," she said sharply, speaking to him in a way she'd never done before. He looked down, abashed. "We'll try again tomorrow."

Once again, near the end with the smaller Houses, he began to slow down. "House Quagg. Crannogmen from the Neck. Vassals to House Reed. Sigil…sigil is… three black water lilies on white?"

"That sigil belongs to House Fenn, three black water lilies on a violet backdrop. Not white. If you meet Lord Fenn one day, will you insult him by addressing him as Lord Quagg?" [5]

He struggled a bit more, lasting longer than she thought he would, before his foul temper reared its head. "I hate this!" He cried, kicking his legs and banging his hands on the table. "It's not fair! Jon gets to do whatever he wants, and I have to read a stupid book and memorize stupid names! I hate it!"

"That's enough, Robb! You are a lord's son, and you will carry yourself as such!" She finally snapped when he picked up the book and aimed it outside of the window. He lowered his arms, face red and scrunched up. She stood up and took the book from his hands, putting it back on the table. "You must know these things. When one of your future lords asks you something, you cannot say 'I don't know' or 'I think'. You must know! They will think of you as ignorant, that you have no proper education, that you are not worthy of being the Lord of Winterfell, and they will devour you where you stand. Is that what you want? Look at me!" She held his chin between her fingers, refusing to let him lower his gaze to the floor. He had to understand. She had to make him see. "To be seen as weak, and have people whisper about you behind your back? To have birthright stolen from you?"

"But, mother, Jon will be Lord of Winterfell."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Who told you that? Did he tell you that?"

"He's the eldest, isn't he?" Robb asked, his voice shaking slightly as he saw the anger on her face. "Maester Luwin said that the oldest son inherits his father's position, then the second son next."

Catelyn felt a burning in her chest at his answer. She moved to cup his cheeks, stroking her thumbs over his soft cheeks, willing herself to calm down. "Robb, sweetling, Jon is not my child. His mother was never married to your father like I am."

"Father says Jon is our brother. We're a pack."

"Half-brother, Robb. He is your half-brother. He will never be lord of Winterfell."

"But why?" His face was so confused and guileless. How could this boy ever be harsh enough to survive when winter came for him?

"Because he's a bastard. He cannot be lord of anything. Ever. Winterfell belongs to you." [6]

Robb still didn't seem to fully understand what she was saying, but it wasn't a problem. He was still young. He would see the truth when he got older.

He left the room, his shoulders hanging in a way she knew would end with sniffling. Briefly, she felt remorse. Perhaps she'd been too harsh? He was only five, and what child knew the names of all the Northern Houses at five? Not even she had known half of her own homeland Houses at that time. But Robb was not just any ordinary child. He was the Heir of Winterfell, the next Warden of the North, with an ambitious bastard brother standing in front of him. She was doing the right thing.

Most of all, Robb was a sweet boy. He did not have the head or the heart for betrayal and deception, he was kind even to a lackwit like Hodor and to the lowest of peasants, and he was on the path to becoming a man of honor like his father.

Everything was for her family. Everything was for Robb, Sansa, and Arya.

Time soon proved her right. Sometimes harshness was the right answer.

As he got older, he made less and less mistakes, and created a respectful image of his own, despite his age.

She'd done the right thing.

She'd chosen her family over a bastard.

And she would do so again in a heartbeat.

[1] So apparently, it's normal to send the bastards away to be fostered elsewhere, and while they are looked down upon in both the North and the South, bastardry is treated even worse by those who follow the Seven.

Bastardy in asoiaf.

Two Stark bastards that come to mind who resided within Winterfell are Brandon Snow and Sara Snow, based on the context of their stories. I'm not sure if I read this in a fanfic or not, but other bastards are the brother who helped Cregan Stark to arrest his uncle, and the bastards who sided with different sides during House Stark's succession crisis. Again, not sure if this is canon or fanon, but I'm going with the whole 'Starks are not like other men' and I'm gonna milk that shite and give Stark bastards their own tower within Winterfell. They had to live somewhere after all.

[2] Cue typical Westerosi-sexism. Boys are worth more than girls, girls are meant to be married off, while the boy inherits. If Ned were to die right now, there's a possibility that WF might go to Jon. The daughter of a deceased lord inherits before the lord's brothers, as is law, but this law is not always followed, especially in the North. Sansa and Serena Stark, daughters of Rickon Stark (Cregan's firstborn who fought and died in the Conquest of Dorne), were passed over in favor of their uncle, Jonnel 'One-Eye', the late Lord's half-brother, because the North wanted a male. (Both sisters married their uncles, btw, which weird). There has also never been an accepted Queen of Winter or a Lady of Winterfell, when there were males around to choose from. He may be a bastard, but he's a son, while Sansa is a daughter. This is why I think fanfic where Sansa is favored over Robb or the other brothers is a bit unrealistic. The North places high value on ideas of strength and honor, and are just as sexist as the south, they're not going to bend the knee to Sansa just because she's 'smart' . Intelligence and politicking can only get you so far and when war comes, they will expect a leader who can fight with them or at least have a mind for battle strategy, not one who pulls strings in the background. Kneeling to her while having her brothers around will most likely form factions among lords who don't want to be under a woman.

[3] Benjen is said to have grey-blue eyes, and little of Lyarra is ever mentioned, but by blood she is an actual Stark. Her father and Rickard's grandfather were brothers, making them cousins. So, this is me taking artistic license and making the Starks have a deep blue eyes gene in the family. Heh, me trying to be subtle 🌚 I was a bit hesitant to change canon colorings, but I've read so many fics where they change coloring, it makes me more confident to do so.

[4] "The old High Septon told my father that - […] Trueborn children are made in a marriage bed and blessed by the Father and the Mother, but bastards are born of lust and weakness, he said. King Aegon decreed that his bastards were not bastards, but he could not change their nature. The High Septon said all bastards are born to betrayal." [Aegon V Targaryen, The Sworn Sword.] Catelyn being a follower of the Seven must have had similar teachings to this.

[5] House Waterman, House Quagg and House Fenn are actual Houses of the North that exist, but neither have anything listed other than their locations and House Sigil. List of Northern Houses.

[6] Before you say Catelyn never said anything to her children against Jon: "That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." [Jon XII, aSoS]

"Robb and Bran and Rickon were his father's sons, and he loved them still, yet Jon knew that he had never truly been one of them. Catelyn Stark had seen to that." [Jon IV, AGoT]

"I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew." [Jon VI, ADWD]

"With her deep blue eyes and hard cold mouth - […] She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. Who are you? that look had always seemed to say. This is not your place. Why are you here? [Jon XII, ASoS]

About Rickon: This is a rewrite, and I originally wanted to keep Rickon in because I didn't want to scrap him from the pack, but I've changed that now and taken him out. This is because I wasn't sure what to do with him and he is so young to have any impact whether he's there or not. I love Rickon, but I'm not going to strain myself to try and think of what he should do and say during scenes. He doesn't exist inside the universe of this fic because Ned and Catelyn's relationship isn't as good as in canon. They have an heir and a spare, and two girls to marry off. That's enough for them. Their ages are also nicely spaced out, instead of on top of each other, which works out more for Ned/Cat who probably only share a bed occasionally, rather than regularly.

Author Notes: In regard to the change in Catelyn's personality there are many things that are different from canon. 1, she is alone without a child to tie her to House Stark for an entire year and sees Ned doting on Jon. 2. Robb is born later, and Catelyn begins to worry about Jon who's getting older, Ned still being openly loving and giving him a noble's education. 3. She doesn't have the reassurance of Ned's love like they had in canon and she's suspicious that he might favour his bastard whose mother he might have truly loved and Ned is defensive whenever she brings up the matter which doesn't help. 4. Jon carrying himself with a bit more confidence, out in the open and not cowering in corners.

All of this, mixed into a package altogether makes her a different Catelyn from canon. I hope she's not too OOC though.