Catelyn II
It was early morning when Catelyn Stark stirred from sleep, the faint gray light of dawn barely penetrating the heavy drapes of her room in Harrenhal. The chamber, though grand in size, was as cold and forbidding as the rest of the castle. High ceilings loomed above her, and the walls, scarred by fire centuries ago, seemed to still carry the scent of charred stone. The air inside was thick with an ancient, lingering smoke, and the mournful whistle of wind echoed through the long, empty corridors like the cries of restless spirits.
Harrenhal was a place steeped in ruin, a fortress that felt more like a tomb than a seat of power. Catelyn had been confined here for nearly a whole moon turn, waiting in anxious silence for news from King's Landing. Lord Bolton, who had taken command after Robb left for the capital, ruled the keep with a cold, unyielding presence. Unlike her son, Bolton offered her no counsel, no updates. Though it was never explicitly stated, the message was clear: she was not welcome in his councils, an outsider in a place that now felt more oppressive with each passing day.
The solitude gnawed at her, save for the small comfort she found in the frequent letters from Roslin, her daughter-in-law, who wrote faithfully from the capital. And there were the precious letters from Robb, though fewer in number, which she clutched to her chest in her loneliest moments.
But the letter that had moved her to tears—the one she still reread every night before bed—had brought news she dared not even hope for: Ned was to be freed. Soon, he would join her here at Harrenhal. She didn't know when exactly he would arrive, but each morning, as she woke in the eerie quiet of the castle, she clung to the fragile hope that today would be the day they were reunited. It was the thought of seeing him again, of holding him after so many months apart, that kept her from succumbing to the weight of the castle's dark history. Every dawn was a promise of hope.
Catelyn had developed a routine during her stay at Harrenhal, taking to the battlements every morning in an attempt to find some solace. Though she bore the name Stark, she was a Tully of Riverrun at heart, and the riverlands surrounding the castle—despite their often grey and somber skies—brought her a measure of peace. The winds that swept over the landscape, carrying the scent of earth and water, reminded her of home, where the River Trident flowed strong and steady.
This morning was no different. After dressing, she began her usual circuit around the grounds. The air was brisk, a sharp contrast to the stifling darkness inside the castle. As she gazed down from the battlements, her eyes fell upon the courtyard below, now teeming with Lannister soldiers. Tywin and Jaime had arrived three days prior, and since their arrival, it seemed Harrenhal had fallen completely under their control. The red and gold of House Lannister banners fluttered over the walls, a vivid contrast to the cold stone beneath them, making the place feel even more foreign to her.
Catelyn lingered on the battlements, her eyes following the movements of the Lannister soldiers below. They moved with a sense of entitlement, as if Harrenhal had always belonged to them. She knew their presence was a dark omen—Tywin Lannister did not travel without reason, and his being here made her uneasy.
Just as her thoughts turned to Robb, she caught a glimpse of Jaime Lannister striding across the courtyard. His golden armor gleamed in the pale morning light, a symbol of his family's wealth and power. He moved with a swagger, a man who knew he commanded attention wherever he went. Catelyn's gaze hardened as she watched him, her mind flashing back to Bran's fall, to the injustice her family had suffered because of the Lannisters.
She turned away from the sight, trying to calm the storm of anger rising within her. She had to stay focused, patient. Ned was coming. That thought alone had been her anchor these past moons. The letter she'd received, telling her of his release, had filled her heart with hope, a hope she clung to with every fiber of her being. Soon, they would be reunited. She had to believe that.
Making her way down the stone steps, she felt the weight of the castle's oppressive atmosphere close in around her. The halls of Harrenhal were long and cold, the air still carrying the scent of charred stone from its long-ago destruction. Every step echoed, the sound swallowed by the vast, empty corridors. There were whispers that the castle was haunted, that the ghosts of Harrenhal's past roamed its halls, but Catelyn was not a woman who believed in such things. Still, the wind that howled through the narrow windows did give the place a spectral quality.
As she reached the main courtyard, she pulled her cloak tighter around her, bracing against the chill. A Stark guard hurried past, and she stopped him with a raised hand.
"Has there been any word?" she asked, her voice steady but strained.
The guard shook his head. "No, my lady. But if I hear anything, you'll be the first to know."
Catelyn nodded, though the answer was expected. Every day she asked, and every day the answer was the same. Still, she held on to hope. Ned would come. He had to.
Turning her gaze once more to the bustling courtyard, she spotted Lord Roose Bolton in conversation with a Lannister captain. His pale, expressionless face betrayed nothing, as always. Since Robb had left, Bolton had assumed control, and though he was civil enough, Catelyn had never trusted him. His cold demeanor, his quiet voice—it all set her on edge.
As she stood lost in thought, Catelyn's gaze drifted once again to Jaime Lannister, striding confidently across the battlements toward a figure she now recognized as his father, Tywin. The two men stood close, engaged in what seemed to be a serious conversation, their expressions unreadable from where she stood. Catelyn's eyes narrowed as she observed them intently, trying to glean any hint of their plans.
Her focus was broken abruptly by a shout from a Lannister guard stationed nearby on the battlements. "Riders approaching!" he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet tension of the morning.
Catelyn turned sharply, her pulse quickening. Something was coming.
Tywin and Jaime descended the stone steps swiftly, their boots echoing off the walls of the courtyard as they made their way to greet the new arrivals. The Lannister colors draped over them like armor, radiating power and authority.
"Lady Stark," came a voice from behind Catelyn. She turned to find Lord Bolton standing there, his eyes cold and unreadable. "Shall we stand together?" he said, gesturing toward the gathering below.
Catelyn gave a curt nod, though she found little comfort in his company. She walked alongside him, taking her place just behind Tywin and Jaime, who were now positioned at the forefront, awaiting their guests.
Jaime turned, a smirk already playing on his lips. "Lady Stark," he said, his tone light but edged with mockery. "It seems we've been graced with quite an eventful morning."
Catelyn kept her voice steady, refusing to rise to his bait. "Indeed, Ser Jaime," she replied coolly. "Good morning, Lord Tywin."
Tywin offered her only the slightest nod before turning his steely gaze back to the gates of Harrenhal. As two Lannister guards swung them open, Catelyn's breath caught in her throat. Her heart seemed to stop as she saw the unmistakable sight of the large, grey Stark banners billowing in the wind.
She felt as though the ground had been swept from beneath her. Her legs wobbled, and she instinctively gripped Lord Bolton's arm to keep herself upright. The weight of hope and relief surged through her all at once. Tears blurred her vision as they spilled freely down her cheeks.
There, at the head of the small party, were Robb and Ned, riding side by side. Seeing them—alive—felt like a dream made real. Her hands trembled, unable to contain the overwhelming emotion flooding her heart.
As the party drew closer, Catelyn's eyes remained fixed on her husband and son, hardly daring to believe they were real. Robb, strong and proud in his armor, rode with the confidence of a lord. Ned, beside him, looked weathered from captivity but unbroken, his familiar face a sight she had longed to see for what felt like a lifetime. The sight of them together, after so much fear and uncertainty, left her breathless.
The courtyard had fallen quiet as the Stark banners fluttered in the cold breeze. Even the Lannister guards, usually so insolent, seemed subdued. Tywin stood like a statue, his calculating gaze never leaving the approaching group, while Jaime's expression betrayed curiosity, perhaps even amusement.
As Robb dismounted, he saw his mother and gave her the slightest of smiles, a gesture meant to reassure her. She could see the relief in his eyes, though he carried himself with the burden of leadership that had aged him beyond his years. Ned, too, climbed down from his horse, moving slower than she remembered.
Catelyn could no longer contain herself. Breaking away from Bolton's side, she rushed forward, her tears flowing freely. She reached Ned first, throwing her arms around him. His embrace was strong but tender, his hand cradling the back of her head as though comforting her from all the nights of worry. "Catelyn," he murmured against her hair. "I'm coming home."
She pulled back just enough to look into his face, her hands cupping his cheeks. "I feared... every day, I feared..." Her voice cracked, too full of emotion to finish the sentence.
"I know," Ned said softly, his eyes filled with the quiet understanding that only they shared. "But I'm here now."
Robb approached, and Catelyn turned to him, pulling her eldest son into a fierce hug. She could feel the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him, but for this moment, he was just her boy again. "Mother," Robb whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "it's over."
She pulled away, her gaze scanning Robb's face, filled with a mixture of relief and concern. "You're safe. Both of you are safe. But... where is Arya?"
Before Robb could answer, the sound of a carriage door creaking open drew their attention. Arya leapt out, her small frame moving swiftly across the courtyard. "Mother!" she called, throwing herself into Catelyn's arms. Catelyn wrapped her daughter in a fierce embrace, holding her as if she might slip away again. Her fingers instinctively threaded through Arya's short hair, a gesture of comfort.
Catelyn pulled back just enough to take in the sight of her daughter. "Your hair... what happened?" Her voice faltered with a mother's worry, but she quickly shook her head, pulling Arya close again. "It doesn't matter. You're safe, and that's all I need."
Behind them, the Stark bannermen stood tall and proud, their presence a sharp contrast to the Lannisters who surrounded them. The tension in the courtyard was palpable, a clash of two powerful families standing on the brink of conflict.
Tywin's cold, unyielding voice broke the silence. "Lord Stark, welcome to Harrenhal." His words were civil, but there was no warmth behind them.
Ned stepped forward, his gaze locking with Tywin's. "Lord Tywin," he said, his tone as controlled as ever. "I trust the terms of my release were honored."
Tywin gave a curt nod. "They were."
"We have much to discuss," Ned said, his voice calm but edged with a quiet determination. Though steady, a flicker of resolve gleamed in his eyes. Without waiting for a response, he moved past Tywin, heading toward the castle. But Tywin's sharp voice halted him in his tracks.
"Yes," Tywin said, his tone as cold and unyielding as stone. "There is much to be discussed, and I intend to do so with the Lord of Winterfell."
Catelyn glanced at Ned, her confusion mirrored in his furrowed brow.
"In case it has slipped your mind, Stark," Tywin said, his voice as sharp and cutting as steel, "your son is now the Lord of Winterfell, not you. I will speak with Lord Robb about what comes next. As for you, perhaps you could use a few days of rest before returning to Winterfell."
With a swift turn of his head, Tywin's cold gaze fixed on Robb. "Lord Stark, join me in the grand hall in an hour's time, if you please."
Robb gave a curt nod, and without another word, Tywin spun on his heel. Jaime followed closely behind, along with a retinue of guards as they exited, leaving the courtyard heavy with unspoken tension.
Roose Bolton stepped forward, his voice smooth and measured. "My Lords, if you please, let us get you settled in. Later, perhaps, we can convene with the Northern lords."
"Yes, I—" Ned began, just as Robb spoke at the same time, "Of course—" They exchanged an awkward glance, each cutting off the other mid-sentence. Ned, clearly uncomfortable, nodded and said, "My apologies, my lord."
Robb winced, the title coming from his father seeming to cause him visible discomfort, but after a brief pause, he composed himself. "Of course, Lord Bolton," Robb replied. "I'll summon the banners after I meet with the Lannisters."
Roose Bolton gave a slight nod, his cold eyes flickering between father and son before he stepped back into the shadows of the castle. The tension lingered in the air, heavy and palpable. Ned cast a glance at Robb, searching for something unspoken, but Robb kept his gaze forward, his jaw clenched.
"We'll meet soon, father," Robb said quietly, though there was an edge of determination in his voice. "This is just how things must be now."
Ned hesitated, then nodded. "Aye, I know."
Before either could say more, a servant appeared at the edge of the courtyard, bowing deeply. "Lord Stark, the stately rooms are this way," he announced, his voice trembling slightly in the charged atmosphere.
Robb gave a single nod, casting one last glance at his father before heading to follow the servant, deep into the castle.
"Come along," Catelyn said softly, her voice calm but urging, as she glanced between Ned and Arya. "We're headed this way."
Her hand rested gently on Arya's shoulder, guiding her daughter forward, though her eyes lingered on Ned for a moment longer. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a shared grief that passed between them without words. They had both seen too much, carried too much, but now was not the time for heavy hearts.
By the time darkness enveloped the castle, Catelyn received word that Robb was free to meet with his parents. Throughout the day, she had spent precious hours with Arya, listening intently as her daughter recounted her experiences in King's Landing. Catelyn felt a mix of horror and awe as Arya spoke of her time spent on the streets, her voice filled with a surprising resilience that both worried and impressed her.
Ned had remained by their side, a steady presence throughout the day, though he had been unusually quiet. His attention was consumed by a stack of letters, each one had been saved for him to read after his release. Catelyn glanced at him occasionally, sensing his thoughts were far away, entangled in the politics and perils that surrounded them.
Catelyn had insisted that Arya be given the room closest to her and Ned, refusing to compromise. It took some gentle persuasion from Ned to convince her not to sleep in the room with their daughter. "She'll be fine, Cat," he assured her, his tone calm and steady. "You've got her back. She's not going anywhere."
Catelyn bit her lip, torn between her protective instincts and the need to allow Arya some independence. In the end, she relented, though her heart remained heavy with worry.
Catelyn had been seated by the fire, wrapped in Ned's embrace in their chambers, when a firm voice from the door broke the quiet. "Lord Stark," the guard announced, and their son stepped into the room.
Catelyn's heart quickened at the sight of Robb, a mixture of pride and concern flooding her senses. He stood tall in the doorway, his expression serious but softening as he caught sight of them.
"Mother, Father," he said, stepping forward, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across his face. Catelyn rose, leaving Ned's side to meet him halfway, and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"How were your meetings?" she asked, pulling back to search his eyes for any sign of his burdens.
Robb exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "They were… difficult. The lords are restless, and trying to convince them to fight alongside Lannisters is not an easy task. They want to know my next steps."
"But one thing hasn't changed," Robb said as he sat down across from his parents. "You can't come on the campaign, Father."
Catelyn immediately began to protest. "But your father is one of the best—"
"And he also betrayed the crown," Robb cut her off, though his tone was gentle. "I'm sorry, Mother, but the terms of his release were clear. He can lead no armies and hold no titles - he's no longer Lord of Winterfell, just as you are no longer Lady of Winterfell."
Ned, who had been quiet until now, rose slowly to his feet. "It's all right, Cat," he said softly, walking over to her. "My time in King's Landing has changed me."
He took her hand, his touch both reassuring and tender. "I'm not the man I once was. My two oldest friends are gone, leaving behind widows and children who will barely remember them. Let us go back to Winterfell. Bran and Rickon have been without us too long. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, watching our children grow… and perhaps, our grandchildren."
Ned's voice softened on the word "grandchildren," and he glanced meaningfully at Robb, a hint of a smile on his face.
Catelyn's eyes shot to her son. "You mean—?" she began, her voice filled with surprise.
Robb gave a small, confirming nod.
"Roslin is—?" Catelyn's voice trembled with disbelief, her hands coming to her mouth.
Ned chuckled softly, his eyes warm and full of affection. "Since we left King's Landing, and not a moment sooner, I swear, my love," he replied, his gaze shifting back to Robb, a look of pride in his eyes.
Robb smiled faintly, though there was a seriousness that lingered beneath the surface. "We were going to tell you soon," he said, glancing between his parents. "But with everything happening, it didn't feel like the right time."
Catelyn's teasing expression softened as she stepped toward her son, resting a hand on his arm. "You'll make a wonderful father, Robb," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
"But that's why I need you, Mother," Robb said, his voice steady. "I need you to protect the North until I return—with Roslin, and with our child."
Catelyn's eyes softened, the weight of his words settling in. "I understand, Robb," she replied, her voice filled with quiet strength. She glanced at Ned, then gently took his hand in hers. "We both understand," she repeated, a sense of shared purpose binding them all.
Robb nodded, the weight of responsibility clear in his expression, though there was a flicker of relief at his mother's words. "I know it's a lot to ask," he said, his voice softer now, "but I can't trust anyone else with this. The North is our home, and I need it in safe hands while I'm gone."
Catelyn squeezed Ned's hand, then stepped closer to her son, looking up at him with the fierce love only a mother could possess. "Robb, we will do whatever it takes to protect our home," she said firmly. "The North will be waiting for you when you return." Her voice softened, carrying both promise and concern. "Just make sure you come back to us."
Robb gave a solemn nod, his gaze meeting his father's. "I will, Mother. I swear it."