Catelyn Stark was in a position many of the Winterfell household would call unusual. She was at Jon Snow's bedside, watching over him while Maester Luwin attempted to discover the cause of his current lack of consciousness.
But Catelyn felt that it was perfectly reasonable for her to be here. She may still be resentful of Eddard for bringing his bastard son back to Winterfell to be raised alongside his trueborn heirs, but she loved her husband. Even in spite of her continued resentment at his decision and his constant refusal to ever explain his reasoning, she loved him. And just as she managed to both hate and love her lord husband, so was Catelyn able to both hate and pity Jon Snow.
She knew in her heart that he had done nothing to foster her resentment of him save to exist. And she knew he was not the one truly deserving of her dark feelings, but a product of those who were. It was why she had been by his side when he had taken ill as a babe: because despite everything her jealous heart and her upraising as a proper lady told her, she knew it was not right to feel such poisonous vitriol toward the one person in the whole affair who was entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.
And after he had done something beyond Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane or even Eddard Stark's understanding of what was possible to heal her little Arya, Catelyn could easily acknowledge she owed him this much. Family. Duty. Honor. Those were the words of Riverland's ruling family the Tullys. Her house before she had come north to marry the middle Stark brother who had never thought to be Lord of Winterfell, let alone lead a rebellion against the Iron Throne. While Jon's actions had clearly called upon unknown powers whose intentions they could not be sure of, it had also lead directly resolved the question of Arya's sickness positively when neither medicine nor prayer had managed to. That was worth consideration no matter who or what you were to her mind.
So she would stand vigil by his bedside as she had when he was still a baby. Provide a washcloth for his burning brow, shift and tend him as the Maester instructed and hold his hand even as she winced from the physical discomfort of his heated palm on her own feeling as though it was burning her if she held it too long and the humid air of the chamber felt like it was trying to suffocate them both with its oppressive weight.
All of her children were made aware of what had happened to Jon by the morning after the fire and acted as if he would ultimately be alright. Robb, Bran and even young Rickon had requested that she tell Jon's unresponsive form about their training and the boyish adventures he had missed during the days to follow. She complied every time, unable to bear refusing the fragile hope on their faces when the boys had asked her so earnestly. Sansa had offered more than once to help Catelyn care for Jon whether by application of medicine or prayer. (Though considering the number of candles Septa Mordane told her the eldest girl had borrowed thus far, it seemed Sansa was fulfilling the prayer part of it just fine without Catelyn's prompting.) And it had been a constant challenge just to get Arya to attempt her lessons ever since the fire in the Sept. If not otherwise prodded, she would spend most of her waking moments trying to sneak into the sickroom adjacent to Maester Luwin's chambers where the boy was being kept to be at her bastard sibling's bedside.
Catelyn was not inclined to allow her to do so in the face of the circumstances. Not because she didn't think that Arya would catch anything from the boy she was so (inexplicably) close to. But more because despite their calmness in front of the children and the servants, no one aware of Jon Snow's true condition had the first idea what could possibly be going on within the boy's body or mind. As recently as two days ago for instance, she and Maester Luwin noticed that Jon Snow had somehow managed to break his own nose sometime in the night despite not appearing to move more than the occasional twitch or the barest movement of his lips. Catelyn may not have understood the unusually close relationship shared between her youngest daughter and her husband's bastard son, but she knew it would do neither of them any good to let her see him like this. She had instead been gently prodding her willful Arya into going about her lessons by telling her she needed to do them. That way when Jon awoke she would be able to tell him the things she had done with Sansa and the Septa. Arya had sullenly answered each time that nothing the Septa ever taught merited sharing with Jon. But she always reluctantly complied for a few days when Catelyn suggested it.
Her lord husband, in between running Winterfell and telling any bannermen who might inquire that they were dealing with the aftermath of a fire in the Sept while treating some injuries that had resulted, had meanwhile taken to observing Jon Snow from the doorway of the room where his unconscious body was kept. He never seemed to sweat despite the heavy heat in the room, his eyes always seeming so far away when he did. His gaze told her that he wasn't simply seeing Jon lying there, but answers and questions he had not even realized existed until that moment.
Catelyn had observed he also spent far more time in the godswood than usual these days. Though to what purpose she and Maester Luwin could never quite fathom.
But that was how things had been moving around the castle walls of this frozen part of the world while Jon Snow appeared almost literally frozen in time, his body barely responsive while his normally grey eyes were now severely bloodshot and consumed entirely by his irises. More than once Catelyn wondered if she should fashion yet another prayer wheel as she had when he had been ill or should she retrieve the one she had made back then?
She shook her head softly, jolting out of her reverie as the door began to softly swing open. Today was the day he needed to be washed. Since Sansa had recently asked again about how to help her half-brother, Catelyn had decided she should be allowed to do so. She had sent a servant girl to fetch her red-haired daughter so that she might join her mother in caring for her illegitimate sibling. While it would certainly serve as a valuable first experience for Sansa creating for a sick man, Catelyn had also thought in the back of her mind that perhaps if the New Gods looked upon this as a sign of Catelyn seeking to build better ties between her husband's baseborn and trueborn children they would lend him what aid they could spare.
'Heaven knows I may not deserve to be heard by them,' She thought as her lovely fire-headed girl entered the chamber, her blue eyes unsure as she took in Jon's still form and sweat already beading at her hairline as the humid air rushed to greet yet another victim. 'But surely what he has done for my family is worth their consideration. And perhaps if they do not wish to hear my plea, they will hear Sansa's.'
As she began to instruct her eldest girl on how they were going to be treating to Jon's unconscious state, Catelyn could only hope that whatever was happening to him, that he would not suffer for doing the right thing by her family.
Sansa placed herself in a chair by Jon's head while Catelyn's was right in the middle of the bedside, Jon's covered torso facing her as she was asked what it was she needed help with. It was a fairly simple process. The young bastard was currently wearing a long sleeping tunic that almost reached his knees, being slightly taller than most Starks were at this age. And while she would wash the boy's legs and feet while working her way up to his hips, it would be Sansa's duty to wash his brow, his neck, his arms and his chest before they met in the middle.
"Why can Jon not be moved to a tub mother?" Sansa asked, her sky-blue eyes speaking to her uncertainty as to what the purpose behind washing him by hand was. She appeared uncomfortable to have asked a question that implied her mother or Maester Luwin didn't know what they were doing with her bastard half-brother. Catelyn smiled so as to reassure her she didn't mind the question.
"Maester Luwin is not certain we could keep track of him in the tub. If we clean him by hand, there's little possibility for a moment of inattention leading to his death by drowning." She told her, left hand on her shoulder as she leaned in to kiss her daughter's forehead. "But I am proud of your concern Sansa. The Seven smile on those who show such compassion to others."
Sansa's tentative and hopeful smile allowed her to express one of her own. "Now take the bowl of water and the cloth there." She continued, pointing it out on the table nearby. "Once you have it, start with his face before moving to the neck."
Sansa nodded, a determined set to her face now. Her delicate fingers wrung the cloth a bit before she brought it to bear on Jon Snow's head, as lightly as the touch of a feather. Catelyn watched her for a pair of moments as she cleaned him before she lifted the covers to the end of the bed and brought Jon's right leg up off the bed. As she washed the underside and top of his leg, her mind wandered.
Maester Luwin had informed her and Eddard that first morning that he had no idea what was wrong with the boy. Not as in he had no idea what the specific ailment was. More as in Jon Snow was perfectly healthy and yet his body was only barely subsisting itself, his mind seemingly gone but for the slightest registers of activity from twitching eyelids and responses to physical stimuli.
It was a mystery of one of the highest orders, one he hadn't been certain whether he should ask the advice of the Citadel on or not. When Catelyn and her lord husband had expressed their incredulity at Maester Luwin's reluctance at involving his order, he had been quiet for a short time. He lowered and raised his eyes at them as he alternately contemplated them and the stone floor of Eddard's solar, visibly struggling to find the words to say what he needed to.
They were both respectful of his need to gather his thoughts, waiting patiently for him to speak his peace.
"My Lord, My Lady." He began quietly. "If I report Jon Snow's symptoms to the Citadel, I fear the measures they will ask me to take. Measures I do not think will be to anyone's liking."
Her husband asked the question for the both of them. "And why might that be Maester Luwin?"
"Because my lord," He answered, looking Eddard dead in the eye so that he would know how utterly serious Mikhal was being when he said this. "I fear that they may ask me to slip Jon the Essence of Nightshade to ease his passing."
Catelyn and Eddard both drew breath sharply. To ask such a thing of Maester Luwin…
"What is it you are not telling us Maester Luwin?" Catelyn asked. "Why would they ask this of you? Jon Snow is not dying is he?"
Catelyn was ashamed of herself as a more primal side of her being briefly flared pleasurably at the thought of Jon Snow's accursed presence gone from her life. She reminded herself sternly that she had been down that road once before. No matter what her worst impulses told her, she was not going to wish him dead a second time. Not when it led to such unnecessary suffering and pain. He may not have been a babe now, but he no more deserved such a thing wished on him than he had the day he'd been struck by the fever.
"No my lady, he is not dying." Mikhal responded. "He is in fact, healthier than I can recall him being. But that is not what would concern the Citadel."
Ned's grey eyes narrowed slightly.
"You speak of the fire in the Sept." His statement was certain.
Mikhal nodded. "I do Lord Stark." He said. "If I tell them of Jon's current state of unconsciousness, I will need to explain the circumstances of how he came to be knocked out. And in the eyes of the Citadel, what Jon did is likely a magical ritual. One that resulted in destruction and has affected him to an unknown degree."
Catelyn could feel a headache coming on.
Maester Luwin continued. "Maesters have been stripped of their chain and banned from Westeros for pursuing this sort of matter before." Mikhal looked pensive before he pursed his lips, obviously disagreeing with the position he was about to speak. "The Order takes a very dim view of those who meddle in inherently volatile matters such as this without following the Citadel's guidelines; no matter their intentions. It is one of the primary reasons there was such bad blood between the Citadel and the Alchemist's Guild back when they were a powerful force in the south."
Catelyn noticed her husband's knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of his desk.
"They would ask you to murder a young boy for this?" He asked.
Mikhal didn't have the heart to say the word, only bowed his head in confirmation.
Catelyn stood up abruptly. "Than the solution is simple, is it not?" She said. The two men looked at her, curiosity reflected in their gazes. "We help Jon Snow as best we can. And we keep the Citadel out of it entirely."
Maester Luwin looked unsure, clearly torn between his duty and his heart.
"My lady-" he began before she interrupted him.
"In your opinion Mikhal, does Jon Snow represent a threat to the realm?" She asked.
He shook his head in the negative.
"Than that simplifies it immensely. Until he awakes he is more a danger to himself than to anyone else."
Maester Luwin looked to her lord husband for confirmation.
"My lady wife speaks for us both Maester Luwin. See to Jon as best you can. We will only revisit the issue once he has awakened." He ordered.
Maester Luwin looked relieved at not needing to choose between the realm and the Stark family for now. Her husband's eyes had shone with such gratitude for her speaking on Jon's behalf that she felt somewhat guilty that she was only doing so to repay her debt to him for helping her family.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Sansa let out a shrill scream.
Dropping his left leg, she swiveled her head to take in a macabre sight. Her daughter had fallen backwards out of the chair, the bowl of water forgotten on the floor and the cloth still on the bed and stained red. Her face was white as a sheet, her body shaking like a leaf as she appeared to be transfixed at her bastard half-sibling's visage.
As she looked at Jon Snow's face, she saw something she had never thought or wanted to see. Where before his eyes had been half-lidded and almost asleep now they were wide open. But the eyes themselves were gone, only empty bloody sockets left. He was moaning softly, the loudest noise Catelyn had ever heard him make as tears of blood leaked down his cheeks and the side of his face as though the eyes had just been crushed into a pulp.
She quickly moved toward her daughter, stepping in front of her line of vision so she wouldn't need to continue looking into the gaping holes where his grey Stark eyes had once been. She urgently grabbed Sansa by the shoulders.
"Go get Maester Luwin Sansa! Go now!" She urged her, moving her toward the door without moving out of the way of her eyes. Sansa's legs were shaking as she hurriedly made her way to the door, eyes wide and afraid. Catelyn made sure she was gone before she moved back to Jon Snow's side. She quickly moved the cloth to his still moaning face. With a jolt, she realized that if his voice was any louder, Jon Snow's moans would've been screams.
Catelyn Stark knew then that Maester Luwin was right. This was something unnatural. This was something beyond anything they had prepared for. She thought of praying to the Seven for help. But where would she begin to ask their guidance on this matter?
Catelyn Stark felt a chill down her spine as she cleaned the blood on Snow's face eyes, trying not to make his pain any worse. 'Where there are gods, there are surely demons.' Her mind whispered to her. The question was, which one would hold sway over Jon Snow when he awoke?
A/N: Fifth chapter up! Hope you guys will review and let me know what you think! :)