Chapter 2

"Mother, does she have to be there?" Sansa asked tensely. "Hasn't she embarrassed us all enough already?"

"Sansa, this is your sister you are talking about," Catelyn scolded.

"I know, but you know she isn't normal. I don't want to be embarrassed in front of my friends."

Catelyn sighed tiredly. "Sansa, we're celebrating your brother's 18th nameday. Robb wants Daliya there as well."

"That's easy for him to say," Sansa snorted. "His friends have gotten used to her ramblings."

"That's enough," Catelyn said firmly. "Daliya is your sister and a part of this family. What happened to her wasn't her fault."

"Fine, but I don't want to sit anywhere near her," Sansa snapped, then marched away.

Catelyn closed her eyes and sighed again. Out of all her children, her relationship with her second-born, Daliya, had always been the most complicated. Of course, Catelyn loved Daliya just like her other children, but sometimes she simply wasn't sure how to handle the girl. With Sansa, things had been different. Easier. Sansa was everything Catelyn could have ever hoped for in a daughter. Arya was different from Sansa, but Catelyn had always admired her spirit. Daliya, on the other hand… Sometimes Catelyn couldn't help but feel she was just too different. Too lost in her own world.

Thankfully, Robb loved her, and Catelyn was relieved by that, knowing he might have to take care of her after he became the Lord of Winterfell. She feared it would be impossible to ever find Daliya a suitable match.

Catelyn lingered in the hallway after Sansa's retreating footsteps faded, staring down at her hands. She didn't have the energy to deal with another argument, not today. There was too much else to worry about.

Once again Catelyn tried to tell herself that she loved all her children the same, but when it came to Daliya, the love was laced with concern and confusion. The girl was fragile in ways Catelyn could never quite understand, retreating into her own mind, her thoughts often wandering far from where they should be.

Catelyn startled when she turned and suddenly saw Daliya, standing there quietly with her hands clasped together. Her long, dark hair hung in loose waves, and her eyes, those sleepy, distant eyes, seemed to look past Catelyn as much as they looked at her.

"Mother?" Daliya's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "I heard Sansa... Is she angry with me?"

Catelyn felt a pang of guilt, unsure of how much Daliya had overheard. She quickly moved to close the distance between them, offering a small, reassuring smile. "No, sweetling, she's just... nervous. Today's a big day for her, and you know how she can be when she wants everything to be perfect."

Daliya nodded, though she still looked troubled. "I don't want to cause any trouble. I don't have to go if I'll upset her."

"You're not upsetting anyone," Catelyn said, taking her daughter's hand gently. "Robb wants you there, and so do I. You're part of this family, Daliya. No matter what Sansa says, this is your home too."

Daliya bit her lip, glancing at the floor. "Sansa... she's so perfect. And Arya is brave. I'm not."

Catelyn's heart ached at the words. She wanted to tell Daliya that she was perfect too, in her own way, that she didn't need to be like Sansa or Arya. But how could she say those words when, deep down, she still worried about what would become of her daughter?

"You belong here, Daliya," Catelyn said softly. "You belong with us."

There was a pause as Daliya's face softened slightly, though the uncertainty never fully left her expression. "Will you sit with me?" she asked quietly. "At the feast?"

Catelyn hesitated for a moment, thinking of her duties as the Lady of Winterfell, of how she would need to oversee the event and speak with guests.

"Sweetling, I'm afraid I have many responsibilities tonight," she said gently, squeezing Daliya's hand. "This is an important night to your brother. But you can sit with Bran and Rickon."

Daliya's face fell ever so slightly, but she nodded. "Of course, Mother. I understand."

Catelyn felt a tug at her heart, but she remained firm. It was a difficult balance, managing her duties as Lady of Winterfell while also being the mother her children needed. "Bran and Rickon will be glad to have you with them," she said, trying to reassure her daughter. "And you'll be close enough. I'll come check on you throughout the feast."

"I'll be fine," Daliya whispered, her smile wavering. "Thank you, Mother."

She turned and began to walk slowly down the hall, her footsteps soft, as if she were trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

Catelyn watched her go, a tightness forming in her chest. She knew Daliya felt isolated, but what could she do? The responsibilities of running Winterfell and guiding her children through the political maze of the North were overwhelming. She had tried to shelter Daliya, to protect her from the harsher realities of life, but in doing so, perhaps she had pushed her further away.

Catelyn swallowed her guilt, reminding herself of what was expected of her tonight. The feast, the guests, her eldest son, all of it required her full attention.

Still, as she moved toward the Great Hall, preparing herself for the evening's festivities, the image of Daliya's downcast face stayed with her. What would happen when she couldn't be by her side anymore? When Robb had to bear the weight of caring for Daliya as Lord of Winterfell?

Catelyn sighed, pushing the thoughts aside. The day wasn't just about her fears or Sansa's frustrations. It was about Robb and celebrating the future of Winterfell. She had to remind herself of that.

Jon was on his way to his chamber, intent on changing for the feast, when he noticed Daliya sitting on the embrasure, staring into the landscape outside. Her lips moved, but her voice was barely a whisper.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong..." she murmured under her breath, her eyes distant.

"Daliya?" Jon approached cautiously, his heart sinking. "What's wrong?"

"I'm wrong," she muttered again, without looking at him. "Wrong, wrong, wrong..."

Jon frowned, watching Daliya closely as she kept her gaze fixed on the landscape beyond the walls. Her fingers were nervously twisting a loose thread on her sleeve, her voice continuing in that soft, broken chant. "Wrong, wrong, wrong..."

He gently placed a hand on her arm, trying to break her from whatever dark thoughts had taken hold. "Daliya, look at me," he said softly. "You're not wrong. You're not…"

"I am," she interrupted, her voice trembling but steady in her conviction. Her eyes finally met his, and Jon's heart ached at the haunted look in them. "I don't fit, Jon. Everyone knows it. Mother, Sansa, even you… I'm not like you or Robb or anyone else. I don't belong here."

Jon's grip on her arm tightened, as if he could anchor her in place, hold her steady against the storm inside her mind. "That's not true," he said firmly, his voice low and insistent. "You belong here as much as anyone else. More than me, if we're being honest. This is your home."

Daliya shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "No. I don't belong anywhere. I just... drift. I don't think like you. I don't know how to be what they want." She paused, her lips trembling. "I'm just wrong."

Jon's heart twisted, hearing her speak with such certainty. He had felt like an outsider himself for so long, but seeing Daliya wrestle with the same sense of not belonging was unbearable. He couldn't stand it.

"Listen to me," Jon said, his voice almost fierce now. "I know what it feels like to not belong. To feel like you're different, like you're on the outside looking in. But you're not alone, Daliya. You have me. You always have me."

She blinked, tears slipping down her cheeks. "But you're strong, Jon. You don't get lost in your head like I do. You can be someone. I don't know who I am."

Jon shook his head, his thumb brushing away one of her tears. "You're my…sister. That's who you are. And that's enough. You don't have to be anyone else, Daliya. Not for your mother, not for Sansa, not for anyone."

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes softening as she looked at him, though the sadness lingered. "I don't want to ruin Robb's feast. I'll just… stay here."

Jon shook his head immediately. "No, you're not staying here alone. You're coming to the feast, and you're sitting with me."

Daliya hesitated, the conflict in her eyes clear as she glanced back out the window. "But I…"

"No 'buts,'" Jon interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. "You're coming. I'll be with you the whole time. You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. You can just sit with me. And if it gets too much, we'll leave, alright?"

For a long moment, Daliya was silent, her fingers still fidgeting with her sleeve. Finally, she nodded slowly. "Alright," she whispered.

Jon smiled softly, relief washing over him. "Good. Now come on. We should both get ready."

He stood, offering her his hand. She hesitated before taking it, allowing him to pull her gently to her feet. As they walked together down the hallway, Jon couldn't help but feel the weight of her pain on his shoulders. He had always felt protective of her, but this was different.

She was lost, in a way that Jon understood too well. And he'd be damned if he let her feel alone in this world, not when he was right there beside her.

"You're not wrong, Daliya," he said quietly, almost to himself as they continued down the corridor. "You're perfect."