The Lady Paramount

294 AL

Catelyn Tully

Six months with child, and Catelyn felt the babe kick as though he was trying to claw his way out of her. All her boys had beaten her womb mercilessly with kicks and had fluttered incessantly during the early stages of her pregnancy. So had Arya, come to think of it, Catelyn mused.

Of all her children, Arya was the fiercest. Sansa was mild-mannered; Bran always did as he was bid, save for his incessant need to climb everything and anything; Rosarra… could be reasoned with, and had a good enough head on her shoulders that she never did anything to disgrace the family, though Catelyn had never met a girl more wilful or stubborn.

Four years on and she still had not forgiven Catelyn's youngest child for being born, and seemed to resent Catelyn for birthing him.

"Was I not good enough, Mother?" Rosarra had asked her mournfully, as though Catelyn had committed some great crime against her. It had been the first time Catelyn had seen her after Bran's birth, and her daughter was sitting in the chair by Catelyn's birthing bed, waiting for her mother to wake up to ask her that.

She had not known what to answer, but tried her best to fumble words together nonetheless.

"Of course, my sweet girl," she had promised her tiredly. "You were – are more than enough. You are so clever, and you will make a very lucky husband out of some great lord someday."

Tears had gleamed in Rosarra's ten-year-old eyes' then, and her daughter succumbed to a rare tantrum. "But I don't want that! I want Winterfell, like you said – you told me I was heir – "

"Oh, sweetling, I told you, you were heir until – "

"A baby boy came along," Rosarra said, with far too much bitterness for a girl so young. "But you were never meant – you weren't supposed – you shouldn't have – "

Little girls did not understand, Catelyn had told herself in order to calm the anger that had risen in her. She had finally accomplished what she had prayed for for ten years! A son – a healthy son – and her daughter was embittered because of it.

She had seen something in her daughter that day, a glimpse of bitter ambition and entitlement, that she had seen glimpses of for years after, when she ignored her little brother but doted on her sisters as though she was a mother to them, despite being a child herself. Catelyn saw how much that crushed little Bran, and she couldn't help but feel some disdain – Gods forgive her – for her own daughter because of it.

It was that, and Rosarra's sudden endearment towards her husband's baseborn son as soon as Bran was born, now that she no longer saw him as a threat, that caused the relationship between mother and daughter to become strained.

When she ordered Snow to sit at the back at feasts, Rosarra had words to say about that.

When she asked for Snow to not be present when they greeted guests, Rosarra told her mother that she was being unfair and even, could you credit, cruel!

Catelyn, who had allowed her husband to bring his bastard into her home among her trueborn children, had been so enraged at that; she dealt her daughter a slap. She had never slapped one of her children before, never worse than a light tap on the wrist when they were small, but she had truly struck Rosarra, enough to leave bruising. She was ashamed of what she had done, but she had never apologised.

Despite the strain in her relationship and her daughter's determination to see her as the villain in every story, Catelyn still loved her daughter, and wanted the very best for her future. She knew Rosarra wanted to stay in Winterfell, so she laboured to find a northern lord suitable for her daughter. Then, she could stay in the North, and perhaps her lord husband would even stay in Winterfell until it was time for him to take his father's seat.

Unlikely, but Catelyn could dream.

She had almost jumped with joy when she received a letter from House Umber, asking for Rosarra's hand for Smalljon Umber, the Greatjon's heir. The Smalljon had previously been betrothed to a Cerwyn girl who had sadly died last year. As sorry as she was for the Cerwyn's, she was overjoyed at the opportunity it provided her family.

Catelyn's head was whirling with ideas and plans. The Greatjon was a good friend of Ned's. They could give the Smalljon a position at Winterfell, and Rosarra could stay here for a while longer.

Delighted and excitedly, Catelyn rose from her desk and went to tell her daughter the news, walking as quickly as her growing bump allowed her too. She stood outside her daughter's room, about to open the door, when she heard…

Oh, gods…

She heard a man's groans and a woman's – her daughter's – moans, and the slapping of flesh…

"That's it, Rose, gods, you take me so well…"

Was that… Greyjoy?

Catelyn almost fainted, until rage coloured her vision and steeled her. She barged into the room, hot with anger.

Greyjoy, lost in pleasure, had not even noticed she had walked in. But Rosarra, as naked as the day she was born with her legs wrapped around Greyjoy, looked at her mother with fright and horror before she pushed Greyjoy off of her.

"What. Is. This." Catelyn found herself seething.

Theon Greyjoy stood, naked as well and his manhood dangling before her. He stared at her mutely. As enraged as she was with him for dishonouring her daughter, Catelyn knew he was not her responsibility. And, after all, men got away with much more than women did. If word was to get out, it would not be Theon Greyjoy's reputation in tatters – oh no, it would be her daughter who would bear the brunt of their sins.

"Get out," she barked at him. "I will deal with you later."

Her tone was low and threatening, and Theon took heed of it, scurrying out the door in haste. He gave Rosarra a sorry look before he left.

Rosarra had scampered to put on her nightdress and had turned her back to her mother. Catelyn hoped it was out of shame, out of understanding of the severity and foolishness of her actions. The shame, the disgrace… if anyone was to find out. Catelyn shuddered to think of the scandal that would befall her family.

"Turn around and look at me," Catelyn commanded her daughter lowly, anger simmering beneath her tone. Rosarra turned around slowly. "How long as this been going on for?"

"Not long," she said quietly.

Catelyn almost hit her, but restrained herself by clenching her fists by her sides. "When did you give your maidenhead to him? You did not sound like a girl experiencing the pain of her first time," Catelyn had observed. Rosarra was reluctant to answer and glanced away from Catelyn. "Answer me, Rosarra."

"Two months ago," she answered in a whisper.

"Two months," Catelyn repeated slowly, "this has been going on under your father's roof."

Rosarra cringed at her mother's tone and stared upon the floor. Catelyn's rage did not abate.

"You have allowed a Greyjoy hostage to soil you, to take your virtue and leave you ruined," Catelyn accused, all restraint and forced calmness having dissipated. "And know this, it will not be the two of you sharing the blame. Oh no, his reputation will not be tarnished, but if word gets out that he took your maidenhead, do you know what they will say of you?"

Her daughter knew. Catelyn said it anyway.

"They will say you are a whore. They will say that Lord Stark's daughter is a damaged goods. Gods, they will say that your father and I raised a whore," Catelyn said, and had to sit down at the edge of her daughter's bed as the severity of the situation hit her again. "Did he tell you he loves you?"

"No. But I know he does," Rosarra told her confidently.

Catelyn scoffed. "You are so clever, and yet you jumped into bed with a man who could not even promise you love?"

"He never said it, but I know he does," Rosarra repeated, close to tears. "Please, Mother, don't tell Father. Or I'll marry him. I'll marry Theon."

"You will not," Catelyn stated shortly, wishing to end her daughter's fanciful solution. "You would be shipped off to Pyke, the harshest place in the world with only your husband as your ally. Is that the life you want?" Rosarra pursed her lips together and shook her head. "No, I thought not. You know, I came here to tell you that the Greatjon had asked for your hand for his son. The handsome Smalljon. Your father could have given him a position at Winterfell and you could have stayed here with us for a little while longer."

"We could still…" Rosarra trailed off, wanting to please her mother.

"No. We will not deceive an honest house into taking you as your bride. And if I have my way, you will be sent far away from that Greyjoy boy."

"Mother," Rosarra breathed, her voice shaking from hurt. "That's cruel." Anger had bled into her dark eyes, making them narrow and glare at her mother.

It had always struck Catelyn, how her daughter's pretty, round face could look so innocent one moment, and so wicked the next as a teasing grin split it in two. Her daughter loved to laugh, but she also knew her capable of such kindness.

Cruelty too, she thought, thinking of Bran. If I am cruel, then so are you, daughter, she thought, but would not condemn her daughter with that word.

"I will not tell your father. But this must stop," Catelyn told her firmly. "Marena Snow will sleep in your bed every night as your bedwarmer, so that this never happens again."

Rosarra's glare followed her out of the room, but Catelyn was firmly set in her decision.

Before she left the room, Catelyn turned around and said,

"I have never been so disappointed in a child of mine. Not even when you told me you wished I never birthed a son. Not even when you hated a little boy for being born."

"I don't hate Bran," Rosarra claimed softly, but her words were like wind to Catelyn's ears, and she left the room without acknowledging them.

295 AL

For four moons, enough time for the babe in Catelyn's belly to grow to full size, Rosarra had refused to speak with her mother. Catelyn was too ashamed and angry at her to try mend their strained relationship. After all, she had only acted as any mother would, attempting to preserve her daughter's reputation. Rosarra would thank her for it someday; that she knew.

Ned had noticed the rift between daughter and mother, and had questioned Catelyn on it many times, but Catelyn would tell him nothing. Instead, she worked tirelessly to find a betrothal for her daughter in the Riverlands. She asked Ned if he would consider Edmure – it was not uncommon for niece to wed uncle, after all – but he was horrified at the suggestion.

And so, Catelyn kept looking.

A pain stabbed through her gut, gone as quickly as it came. Though alarmed at first, Catelyn soon forgot about it as her husband entered their bedroom.

"You look troubled," Catelyn observed, seeing the lines that had etched themselves upon her husband's forehead, and the way something hung heavy on his shoulders, causing him to slouch.

In response, Ned placed a letter on her desk. As she read it, Ned explained the problem that weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Jaime Lannister – released from the Kingsguard – a betrothal.

"I cannot allow her to marry such a dishonourable man," Ned declared as he slipped off his boots. "A man who slays his king and then breaks his oath to the Kingsguard."

"It seems as though he had little choice," Catelyn pointed out as she reread the letter again. "Robert only released him from the Kingsguard to reduce his debt to Tywin Lannister. I would not hold it against Ser Jaime. A man must obey his king and his father."

"And Robert has seen fit to drag us into this dishonourable mess," Ned lamented, undressing to his nightclothes.

"He fears Tywin will seek to use Ser Jaime to make a powerful alliance through marriage, with a Hightower or Tyrell, most likely. A reasonable concern," Catelyn mused, finally tossing the letter onto her desk. "And we are the only house he trusts with a daughter of marriageable age."

It was true. House Arryn had no unwed daughters, nor did House Tully. He could propose a house from the Stormlands, but they would probably not be prestigious enough for Lord Tywin's liking. A Stark of Winterfell, with the upbringing of a lord and one of the most beautiful girls in the Seven Kingdoms, was the only bride good enough for Lord Tywin Lannister's son.

Catelyn was overjoyed. Her daughter – the wife of the Lord of Casterly Rock; the future Lady of the Westerlands! She could scarcely believe it. Just when she was looking for a match down south for her eldest daughter, the greatest match of all fell into their laps.

Though Rosarra would never see it that way, a life of being Lady of Casterly Rock would be far more prestigious and noble than being the Warden of the North. But Catelyn would have to make her see it that way, and judging by the scowl on Ned's face, she would have to make him see it that way as well.

"Ned, we are unlikely to find a better match for her," Catelyn said smoothly, moving to sit beside her husband. "Rosarra is far too brilliant to be wasted on a northern bannerman, or one of my father's lords. She will make a brilliant Lady of Casterly Rock."

"She will not like it," Ned predicted solemnly, "and I will not be the father who forces his children to marry unwillingly."

And though she loved him for it, Catelyn wished that, just this once, he would not be such a kind, honourable man.

Catelyn took his hand in her own and gave him a smile. "We raised a clever girl, who thought she was going to inherit your lands until Bran came along. We will make her understand, Ned. I will talk to her. But, my lord, that letter does not seem like a request to a friend, but an order from a king."

"Robert will not force me to give away my eldest daughter."

"It has been five years since you've seen him last," Catelyn said seriously. "Men change."

Her husband became even more solemn then. "Speak with her," he finally relented, and Catelyn tried to hide her relief. "But I will not drag her down the aisle, not like – "

"My father and Lysa," Catelyn finished, and Ned nodded. That had been a terrible sight. Lysa had wept all through the ceremony. "You will not have to. She will see that this is a prestigious match. And we've raised children who understand their duty."

Family, duty, honour. Catelyn had been raised with those values as a guiding stone all through her life. She had tried to pass those beliefs onto her children – the importance of family; the value of duty; the desirability of honour. She had thought she had succeeded, until she found Rosarra in bed with the Greyjoy.

But she would not allow that to cloud her perception of her eldest daughter forever. Rosarra was a good daughter, a loving sister to all but Bran, and a kind, dutiful lady. Her children had not gotten their kindness from her, though Catelyn strived to be a good, fair and kind mistress. Their father had instilled in his children a rare respect and kindness for the smallfolk. All her children knew every servant by name, and loved visiting Winter Town to engage with smallfolk. In Riverrun, the servants had been nameless to Catelyn, and she was ashamed to say that she saw them more as workers, not people. That had changed, however, when she came to Winterfell.

Bran and Rosarra had been the most influenced by their father. Rosarra gave out alms more often than Catelyn did, the Lady of Winterfell was ashamed to admit. She seemed to enjoy it, whereas Catelyn bemoaned the sharing of alms as another painstaking duty of a lady. Rosarra would speak with the smallfolk and ask about their families, as though they were no different than a lord. They loved her for it.

As much as they loved Ned. She would have been a brilliant Lady Paramount, if they lived in a world where Lady Paramounts were accepted. But Catelyn had been so relieved when Bran was born. Westeros was not a kind place to be a female ruler, and the North was the worst. It had never had a female ruler before, and it had kept Catelyn of at night to think her daughter might be the first.

She knocked on Rosarra's door, entering when she heard her daughter bid her to.

Rosarra sat by her vanity, Sansa standing behind her and braiding her hair.

Her daughters were similar in their colouring, but vastly different in their looks. Rosarra's hair was brighter; a paler shade of red whereas Sansa's was a rich auburn, shining like copper in the light. Rosarra's fell in an abundance of thick curls to her waist, but Sansa's hair was straight and thick, falling just past her shoulders. Sansa had Catelyn's eyes, while Rosarra's eyes reminded Catelyn more of her father's – dark, deep and intelligent; always thinking, always looking through people as though they were made of glass.

Where Sansa's features were sharp, Rosarra's were softer, though they both had inherited Minisa Tully's cheekbones. Both had fair, soft skin. A beauty at just ten, Catelyn knew Sansa would grow into a great beauty, surpassing both Catelyn and her eldest sister; neither of whom could ever be considered homely.

Catelyn smiled at the sight of Sansa braiding her elder sister's hair. Though Rosarra insisted on continuing her swordfighting lessons and relished being on horseback more than anything else in the world, Rosarra still embraced her girlishness. She loved songs and stories almost as much as Sansa did, and picked up the high harp as often as the sword during her time for leisure.

"I wish my hair was curly like yours," Sansa bemoaned as she threaded a strand of hair through the braid, almost done.

"It is the plight of girls. We always want what we cannot have," Rosarra smiled at Sansa through the mirror. "I wish my hair was as silky as yours." She reached out to touch Sansa's long, silky hair. "We could summon a Myrish trademan and sell it to him for silk," she jested.

"No," Sansa replied, wide-eyed and horrified, but giggled when she saw her sister's teasing smile. "Rosy…" she groaned. "Don't tease me like that."

Catelyn chuckled from behind her, and Rosarra's expression soured immediately.

"Sansa, would you go find Arya, please? She was asking to play with you."

Sansa groaned. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, sweetling," her mother bid, and Sansa did as she told.

Once Sansa was gone, Catelyn sighed.

"How long are you going to continue to be cross with me?"

"Until I stop being cross," Rosarra replied shortly, turning around on her backless vanity chair to face her mother.

"I am your mother. I only want what is best for you. This world is not kind to a woman without her…" she could not finish the sentence, as she had not said the words aloud since she found Rosarra and Theon that night.

"I know I was harsh with you, as any mother would be," she reminded her daughter. "Many mothers would even be worse. I have not told your father, and I will not," added Catelyn quickly, seeing the fright on Rosarra's face. "Because I know how disappointed he will be in you. Do you know what he said of you and Arya?" Catelyn smiled. "You are his pride, and Arya is his joy."

Her daughter smiled for a moment, then a frown settled on her soft features. "What of Sansa?"

Catelyn frowned too at that. Truthfully, Catelyn did not think he thought of Sansa much. Arya amused him, and he could never deny her anything. It had been much the same with Rosarra when she was little, but as she grew up, Ned had given her more and more responsibility. Cupbearer; advisor; his eyes when they ached and he needed to read more correspondence. He had brought her to all the holdfasts in the North, to show her off and to indulge her, because Rosarra loved nothing more than showing off her cleverness.

"I suppose he sees Sansa as my responsibility. She's the most ladylike out of all of you. I don't think your father understands her, really," Catelyn mused thoughtfully.

Catelyn had Bran and Sansa; Ned had Arya and Rosarra. Even though they claimed to love all their children equally, a parent always had their favourites, despite claiming to not. But Catelyn was an honest woman. She loved the little lady Sansa was becoming, and the sweetness and charm Bran showed to everyone, just as Ned loved the wildness in Arya and Rosarra's cleverness and passion.

"I don't think you understand me," Rosarra admitted quietly. "I don't think you ever tried to."

"I understand you better than you think," Catelyn told her firmly. "Did you know I was my father's heir for ten years before Edmure came along?" Rosarra shook her head, surprised. "Yes. I was being groomed to follow in my father's steps. I did not take to it as you did, and I frankly felt some relief when Edmure came along, but I remember the change. Suddenly, all my lessons got easier. Everyone treated me differently. I was a little lady, not an heir to my father's land. I remember that change. And I was glad for it, but I understand how a different girl might resent it, even fight against it, as you have."

Catelyn had not approved of Rosarra's insistence on keeping up her sword lessons, or her desire to follow her father around as though she was still heir. She had approved even less of Ned's indulgence of her. Ned said he was just being cautious. He said that Rosarra was gifted, and that should he die before his time, as his brother and father had, she could help Catelyn and Bran lead the North.

They were the overly cautious words of a man who had seen far too much death as a young man, but Catelyn had argued with him no more on the topic. What was the harm, she supposed? And it made Rosarra a very valuable bride.

"You will not like what I have to say," Catelyn began gingerly, wary of the torrent of disagreement and anger about to be thrown her way. "But know that your father and I only want the best for you."

"I'm not going to like this at all, am I?" Rosarra stated wryly.

"Most likely not, but promise me you will keep an open mind?" Catelyn pleaded of her, and her daughter reluctantly nodded. "Ser Jaime Lannister has been released from the Kingsguard. His father wishes for him to marry, but the king worries he will use a marriage to forge a powerful alliance. He distrusts Lord Tywin, you see."

"What has this got to do with me?" her daughter asked. Catelyn could see the wheels already turning in her daughter's head. Rosarra had already figured it out, of course, but was too horrified to speak the words without confirmation, hoping her assumption was not true, no doubt.

"Your father is undoubtedly loyal to the king. The king trusts him. We are the only house he trusts with an unwed daughter – "

"No," Rosarra voiced immediately, and firmly, in a tone that commanded no arguments and was all too authoritative for a girl of four-and-ten.

"It is our duty to serve the crown, Rosarra. This was not a request. This is an order from the king."

"Father would never make me," Rosarra declared, knowing her father well. She was right, of course. "And he would most certainly not make me marry a Lannister. He despises them! How could he marry me to a family he despises. No," she said again, just as firmly, "I will not do it."

"What of duty?" Catelyn asked her. "Duty to your family, duty to your king. Your father has very little choice in this, neither do you. I bid you to accept your fate and see the benefits of this marriage. House Lannister is a rich and prestigious house. Ser Jaime is handsome – "

"And Father dislikes him," Rosarra finished. "He would not force me down the aisle to wed the Kingslayer of all people! No, Mother, I will not do it. Father will not make me; the king cannot make me."

"But I can," Catelyn told her softly. How she loathed to do this, but Rosarra gave her no choice. "I pray I never have to tell your father of what transpired between you and Theon under his roof, for his sake more than yours as it would tear him apart. And so, I bid you to look favourably on this marriage."

"My own mother," Rosarra said in horror, eyes wide and teary, "is threatening me."

Catelyn's heart broke. "It is for your own good, Rosy," she said, grabbing her daughter's hand in her own. She had not called her daughter by her childhood nickname in years. "You will be far away from Greyjoy. I know how it pains you to see the boy you care for around Winterfell, yet you are unable to speak with him."

"Because of you," Rosarra pointed out darkly, but did not stop holding her mother's hand.

"I know, I know. But I do this for you. You will shine in the Westerlands. You can show off that wonderful clever head of yours, and that pretty face should not be locked away in some northern holdfast," Catelyn told her, trying to give her daughter an assuring smile, but Rosarra only frowned in response. Catelyn sighed. "When your father speaks to you about this match, what will your response be?"

Rosarra glared at her. It was a terrifying thing, how a girl so sweet could give a look so sour. "I will agree. But I will hate you for this," Rosarra bit at her mother and tore her hand away from her mother. She turned her back to her.

"Rosy…"

Her daughter did not respond. With a small but long sigh, Catelyn stood from the chair and left the room, aware that everything had changed.

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait, I've written a fair bit more of this story so updates will be quicker! Please let me know what you think