Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
Eight years.
Eight years she'd been in the North, and she was still no closer to understanding their ways than the day her father had announced she was to be married off to the savage heir of Winterfell.
(of course then the moron had got himself killed and she'd been passed along to the grim, solemn, second son, but what mattered the semantics?)
Oh, Ned tried, bless him, he'd truly tried. He even had a Sept built and a Septa installed just for her, so she didn't have to hold to the North's savage gods.
(and the first thing he'd done in their marriage was bring home that bastard boy)
He was calm enough, kind enough, he had none of the fire and ferocity his brother had displayed when she met with him.
(sometimes he felt too unambitious)
And now he'd brought home that huge damn wolf.
To live in the castle.
With their children.
Two of which were still infants.
Her only saving grace was that the wolf largely stayed with Ned himself.
The biggest problem though, remained Jon Snow.
Oh, she'd softened on the boy after his sickness, but he remained… unstable, and whatever madness he had has quickly spread to Sansa, Arya, and, once he was old enough, Bran, who all babbled away to the boy's so-called siblings whenever the bastard was with them.
And Ned did nothing to stop them.
He encouraged it!
He'd smile, greet these unseen children, and treat the children as though there truly were two more. He even had places set for them at the table, though no food was served there, as it would be a waste.
At least he drew the line somewhere.
But sometimes Catelyn despaired, she really did.