บท 1181: 8
Chapter Text
Timeline
283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 19: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.
Jaime Lannister I
"That boy is not Ned Stark's son."
Cersei glanced up from where she fixing her hair in a cracked mirror. The tower they had chosen for their tryst was abandoned, crammed full with battered old furniture and dust covering every surface while cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling and moth-eaten drapes covering the walls and windows. One of which he pulled to the side to peer down at one of Winterfell's many courtyards where the supposed bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark was assisting one of the younger Stark boys -Jaime didn't know which, he hadn't bothered remembering their names or faces- with his archery.
"What are you going on about?" Cersei joined her twin at the window, turning away from him with the silent command to lace up the back of her dress. He did so with practiced ease but kept his eyes on the boy.
"You can't tell me you haven't noticed how little Jon actually resembles his supposed father."
"Oh, the bastard is Jon now?"
Jaime ignored the jab, too excited about his discovery, "I wasn't sure at first, but after crossing swords with the boy I'm certain that he is the son of Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark."
Cersei's lips pursed and she cocked her lovely blonde head to the side as she took in Jon's distant frame. "He's certainly comelier than Stark, though that's not saying much; Brandon was supposedly the fairer of the brothers -don't look at me like that, I'm only speaking objectively; I'd never touch any of them- and that Dayne girl was pretty enough, but how can a simple sparring match make you certain of such a thing?"
"Because he is far too good with a blade to be the son of Ned Stark; I've only seen that level of skill in a precious handful of men, Arthur Dayne a cut above them all."
"Stark defeated Dayne in combat," Cersei reminded him slowly. She knew the death of his idol at the hands of the judgmental Warden of the North was a sore subject even after all these years.
Jaime gritted his teeth, "Perhaps he was the one who walked away from the battle alive but the day I believe the Sword of the Morning was truly bested by someone like Stark is the day I surrender my right hand. Besides, everyone and their drunken uncle have said how out of character it was for Ned Stark to sire a bastard so soon after his marriage, even if it was to a woman he didn't love."
The Queen of Westeros' hummed thoughtfully as her brow furrowed, "I suppose I can see the sense in what you're saying. You know, I once heard Selmy say that the Dayne girl was dishonored by a man at the Tourney of Harrenhal who supposedly got a child on her. He said that she later gave birth to a stillborn daughter and that, along with the death of her brother, was why she threw herself into the sea."
"Be careful how much trust you put in Selmy's tales; he was obsessed with Ashara, fancied himself in love and would have likely forsaken his vows if she spared the man a kind glance or some sweet words. That story is well known, though, the name of the man is never mentioned though."
"Exactly!" His beloved sister was excited now, she had always enjoyed plots and knowing things others didn't. "Most assume it was Eddard, but Brandon was a known cad; Dayne would hardly have been the first noble lady to lose her maidenhead to him. Harrenhal was too soon for Snow to be conceived but she was at the Red Keep when Brandon was arrested, perhaps she made a stop at his cell at some point. Still, I can't help but wonder why would Stark lie about such a thing. No one would fault the man for taking care of his dead brother's child, some might even praise him for it. So why besmirch his own honor by claiming the child as his own?"
"Who knows?" Jaime shrugged and fell back into a decrepit armchair, knocking a cloud of dust out of the cushion. He sneezed, the forgotten tower was far from the most romantic spot to lay with the woman he loved but it had done in a pinch; his sister's temper had been burning bright since their arrival in Winterfell -why wouldn't it? This was the birthplace and resting ground of the woman her buffoon of a husband would trade his crown, kingdom, and queen for in a heartbeat- and if he hadn't taken the proper steps to sooth it, she would have likely smothered the fat king in his drunken sleep.
He finished retying his trousers and set to pulling on his boots, "Maybe Stark didn't want his new lady wife to know that her dead betrothed had preferred stars to fish? Maybe he was worried that the boy being the son of the original heir would cause problems, even if he was just a bastard? Maybe he thought it would be a horrible scandal and wanted to maintain his brother's dignity? Maybe he was jealous Brandon got the woman he wanted and diluted himself in to believe the babe was his? Maybe he claimed it so he'd be allowed to keep the boy in Winterfell and not be pressured into sending down to Starfall, you know how the Dornish like to keep any bastards born with their blood. Anyway, whatever the reason, I'm sure it makes sense in the man's head."
"You've been giving this boy an awful lot of thought; no matter where he came from, a bastard is still a bastard."
"That bastard saved Tommen's life."
His sister's face softened slightly before rehardening, "Yes, I suppose he did. Still, that is hardly a thing to praise heavily, Tommen is his prince so it was the boy's duty to protect him."
Cersei was growing tired of this conversation, the huff in her voice was noticeable, so Jaime pulled her into his lap and kissed her neck, "Oh come now, Sweet Sister, you must admit that he's the most interesting thing in the whole of the North -aside from yourself, of course- and it's been a long time since I've had such a productive sparring match."
"So that's why you let the match go on so long, your lingering admiration for the boy's uncle?" She was relaxing under his lips and hands now; he pinched a nipple through the thick material of her dress and felt himself stir at the breathy moan that left her luscious lips. Jaime knew her body as well as he did his own, probably better, and he never felt so at peace as he did when they were together.
"The match went on so long because the boy is good, extremely good. Oh, don't get me wrong, I would have won eventually, but what's the harm in enjoying something to the fullest? Speaking of which…" He let his right hand slide between Cersei's legs.
The gilded Queen of Westeros leaned back against Jaime's chest as she enjoyed his ministrations, "Be quick, we can't be missing much longer."
They were quiet for a moment as Jaime serviced his beloved sister before she let out a sharp laugh, "I'm just thinking of how much fun it will be to know the truth about the bastard next time I'm forced to enjoy the company of Lady Stark. I swear, that woman is as intolerable as her cow of a sister. She actually expected me to join her in her daily prayers at the sept! And Robert, he blathers on about him endlessly and now I get the pleasure of knowing Snow isn't even Ned Stark's bastard. Why, the way he talks, I'd swear that oaf is half in love the boy; it's a good thing Robert's proclivities don't extend to pretty young men, otherwise, there'd be serious cause for concern."
She tilted her head back against Jaime's shoulder; he could tell she was getting close when a loud voice -Jon's voice- froze them cold and killed any desire boiling in their blood.
"BRAN, GET DOWN FROM THERE THIS INSTANT! YOU KNOW YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE CLIMBING THE OLD TOWERS!"
"C'MON, JON, YOU KNOW-"
"NOW!"
The second voice was much closer; in fact, it sounded as if it came from just under the window. Cersei started to say something and moved to get out of his lap but Jaime clamped a hand over her mouth and, with an arm tight around her waist, slid them from the chair onto the dirty floor. There they stay for what seemed like hours, silent as every muscle in their bodies tensed like tight, coiled rope.
Eventually, the second voice responded with a sharp, "FINE!" and they both let out an audible sigh of relief. The stayed on the floor for a bit longer though, until their hearts finally stopped racing.
"That was close," he smirked at his beloved, trying to make a joke out of nearly getting caught in their traitorous act.
Cersei clearly didn't find it funny though; with a face white as milk she slapped dainty hand into his chest, "He saw us, Jaime! He knows! We need to-"
He caught her wrists and soothed, "He did see anything, he couldn't have. Now, what we need to do is calm down, get cleaned up, and then leave this tower. If anyone sees us together you'll say that you simply wanted to explore this magnificent old castle and I was escorting you, okay?"
Though her face was still pale, the Queen of Westeros gave a shaky nod and rested her head against his heart. Jaime wrapped his arms around Cersei and allowed himself, just for a moment, to imagine they were the only two people in the world.
Catelyn Tully Stark I
"What do you think, Mother? Mother?"
Catelyn blinked, "I'm sorry, dear, what were you asking?"
Her eldest daughter rolled her eyes, "I asked if you thought Father would be alright with me paying Mikken to make me a necklace with all the jewels Jon brought me."
The Lady of Winterfell went tense for the briefest moment, freezing at the mentioned of her husband's bastard; the same bastard who seemed to habitually spoil everything she worked for. After a shaky breath, she returned to the task of brushing out her daughter's brilliant auburn hair -the same lovely hue as her own tresses- and the same color shared by all of the girl's brothers instead of the common brown locks historically found in Starks. The repetition soothed her, even as she watched Sansa arrange her new collection of gemstones in a pattern on the vanity before her; occasionally swapping one out for the other, an emerald for a sapphire here and an amethyst for garnet there. Seeming to eventually decide on a combination of garnets, sapphires, and pearls.
"Well, what do you think?"
Catelyn bit her tongue as the precious stones mockingly glittered up at her; she decided to deflect the question, "Mikken is the castle blacksmith; he probably could make you a necklace but it isn't where his training lies. You'd better off hiring a gold or silversmith for the task."
"Gold, it will have to be gold," Sansa answered quickly as a faraway look began to fill her eyes.
"That be quite expressive, Sweetling."
"I know, I can use the allowance I've been saving. This is more important."
Cat pursed her lips, "You should be saving that money for building your trousseau."
"I was, but with all the material Jon brought me I can dip into my funds a bit." Sansa gestured to the partially finished gown that was draped around a mannequin in the corner. Her daughter had started working on the outfit nearly the moment she had gotten her hands on the fabric; the body of the dress would be made from breezy royal blue fabric that would be overlayed a strange, opaque material the color of pale lilac; there would be violet silk drapery gathered around the waist to match bell sleeves and a train intercut with sections of snow-white bone lace. The design was fairly elaborate but still didn't take up a third of what had been gifted to her darling girl by the Bastard. It would be a striking number once but would certainly take a great deal of work to complete and yet Sansa was determined to have it ready for the royal party's going away feast in two weeks time.
The eldest Stark daughter paused and tilting her head to the side in thought, "But maybe you're right, I should save that money for later. Perhaps I can convince Father to have the necklace made for my next nameday gift, or maybe as a piece for my wedding."
She said the last party wistfully and Catelyn smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt like days. "You and the crown prince have been getting along then?"
"Oh, isn't he the most beautiful man you've ever seen, Mother? Joffrey's hair is like spun gold and his eyes glitter more than these emeralds; he's gallant and kind and well-spoken too, just like the songs!"
Catelyn fought the urge to roll her eyes; she remembered what it was like to be the captivated by a man, remembered it well enough to know the inevitable disappointment that would eventually follow. She also failed to find Prince Joffrey nearly as impressive as her daughter did; with his Lannister features, he should have been a remarkably handsome young man, but for some reason, Cat couldn't help but find something uncanny about his appearance. It wasn't the hint of femininity in his features -she, like nearly every woman and girl in Westeros, had admired Prince Rhaegar's looks and it was widely agreed upon that he was prettier than his wife- but there was just an oddity about his appearance that tugged at the back of her mind, even if she couldn't put a name to it. Similarly, there was something about the prince's personality that was just...off; it was something in the eyes, something that put her teeth on edge.
'Be that as it may, he will still be the next king of Westeros and, therefore, the best match possible for my Sansa. After all, it is a wife's duty to temper and whether her husband's bad habits and, if nothing else, I've ensured that Sansa knows how to be a good wife.' Catelyn smiled to herself, she had been elated when Ned informed her of the agreement he had made with King Robert. Of course, she would have been preferred if he had agreed outright -with the crown prince being such a coveted match, surely there were other families hoping to make a betrothal themselves- but also knew that it was completely in character for her cautious husband to make such an arrangement. Still, it would be good for Sansa to get a taste of Southern court life, even if it was for just a short time; Catelyn hoped her daughter's gentle nature would attract friends there, instead of predators.
"It is important that you go out of your way to make him and his family welcome." Cat reminded her daughter as she pinned up a thin braid with a decorative hairpin.
"I'm trying, Mother! That's why I need to have my new gown ready before the royal party leaves; I want to be sure Joffrey can't think of anything but me the whole night."
The Lady of Winterfell chuckled, "You're a beautiful, charming young lady, Sansa, I'm sure you'll be on his mind regardless of what you wear. But, in the meantime, you need to win over his family. During your tea with Princess Myrcella remember to flatter her with compliments -talk about her hair, her dresses, her courtly skills- and ask her many questions about herself, Prince Joffrey, and life at King's Landing. If you can win her friendship than you will have an invaluable ally."
Sansa nodded rapidly, "I will! I was up late last night thinking of things to say to the Princess." Then the auburn-haired girl scowled, "I just wish Arya didn't have to be there, she's probably going to ruin everything."
"You must be patient with your sister, Sansa. She's younger than you and needs your guidance; Arya will learn to play her role eventually," Catelyn chided gently, even as she struggled with the nagging voice in the back of her mind that agreed with her eldest daughter.
"Alright," the young lady sighed as she fiddled with a large, round emerald. "What are you going to do with your half?"
"My half of what?" Catelyn asked absentmindedly as she put the finish touches on her daughter's hair.
"The gems and fabric. Jon said half of them were for you- ow, Mother!"
"Sorry, Sweetling," the Lady of Winterfell muttered as she rubbed her fingertips against Sansa's scalp, soothing the area she had accidentally irritated when she sharply tugged a lock of hair. "Don't worry about me, Sansa. I have all the dresses and jewels I need, you can keep them all. Besides, you're a talented seamstress than I; you'll be able to do them far more justice."
Blue eyes, identical to Catelyn's own, studied her with a touch of apprehension, "But didn't you always say that it is rude to reject-"
"Sweetling," the Lady of Winterfell cut in; she was using what Robb had dubbed her 'Lady Mother Voice' instead of just her 'Mother Voice' and it quieted the girl instantly, "it is time for the tea party. You should leave now, a true lady is never late for social engagements."
Sansa hesitated for a moment but ultimately nodded, swiped the gemstones back into the leather drawstring pouch they had come in and rushed from the room before catching herself, slowing to a more appropriate, lady-like pace. When she had gone, Catelyn turned to glare at the innocent looking pouch on the vanity. Not for the first time, she felt the urge to fling the whole thing into the deepest pit she could find; it's sister urge, the desire to rip all the fine, exotic fabrics into pieces and throw the shreds into a fire, also called. It was a childish impulse, she could admit, but one that bit at her nonetheless. The gifts had been an obscene show of wealth -pride and vanity were grave sins, every properly righteous child was raised to know that. But what did bastards know about piousness?- and she held a callow annoyance that the Bastard had gifted her something so generous. After all, if he had neglected to bring her something then she could claim to her husband that he was being disrespectful; instead, Ned forced her to acknowledge his so-called 'generosity'.
She forced the urge away -it would be impractical to destroy such things, especially since they could be used to further her own sweet daughter's livelihood- and caught her reflection in the mirror. Catelyn was no longer the fresh young bride she had been upon her arrival to Winterfell; wrinkles tugged at the corners of her eyes and there were strands of silver among the waves of auburn. 'But,' she thought as she brushed a hand against her abdomen, 'it's not too late. Old Nan gave birth to her last child at the age of forty. I can give Ned another son, one who looks like him.'
It would be dangerous, but Catelyn was still hearty and hale; she had only ever lost one pregnancy -one between Sansa and Arya- due to the horrible flu that swept through the castle. Other than that, she never experience any true problems in the birthing bed so there was still a chance she could give Ned a dark-haired, gray-eyed son; one who could make him forget all about the Bastard who haunted her dreams and caused her to agonize over every aspect of his features, trying to piece together an image of what his mother must have looked like.
Every time some servant or some visiting lord had commented on how much the Bastard resembled her husband had been like a slap to the face; as if the true-born sons she birthed we somehow less than true Starks just because they looked like her. It hurt even more because for the life of her, she. could. not. see. it! Maybe the hair, eyes, and length of the face were similar enough but the arched brows, the full lips, and the thick curls? The slender build? The long tapered fingers? They could have only come from his unnamed mother.
'Ashara Dayne was the most beautiful woman in the world,' the treacherous voice that haunted her at night reminded. Catelyn shook it away, but, honestly, part of her actually hoped -most of her was actually sure- the Bastard's mother was Ashara Dayne. As much as she hated the woman she only met once -couldn't even bear to hear her name- at least Ashara was dead; dead and gone and unable to return or tempt Ned ever again. It was a sick thing, to be happy about a young woman's tragic death but the shadow she had cast over Winterfell for nearly ten years was thick and dark.
It had, whenever Ned refused to speak of her or send the Bastard away, caused Catelyn to question the love he had for her and the children she bored him. She married the man knowing he was only doing so out of duty and not because he wanted her -it stung, at the time, but she could hardly blame him because the same was true of her- but Ned truly had wanted Ashara? Had he dreamt of wedding her? Of raising a family with her by his side whilst serving as Brandon's vassel? If so, did that mean the Bastard had been the child Ned always wanted while her own were merely to be tolerated?
It was an absurd worry, of course; any man with eyes could see the Ned adored all their children. But still, it hung in her mind whenever Ned looked at his bastard with such painful affection; was he looking for the shadows of Ashara in their son's face? Catelyn knew thick, dark curls were common among the Dornish; could that be why Ned had refused whenever Cat suggest they cut the Bastard's hair short so it was more manageable? 'It matters not,' she consoled herself. 'Once I give birth to a son with true Stark features everyone will see that the Bastard didn't fit in at Winterfell.'
But for that to happen, she'd need to convince Ned to lie with her; something he hadn't done for over six moons. Men have needs and if it had been any other man, she'd be sure Ned had a mistress stashed somewhere on the sprawling grounds of Winterfell. She knew that wasn't the case though, so why hadn't he come to her?. Catelyn wasn't a lustful woman -she had been taught better than that- and while sleeping with Ned was far from a burden, it also wasn't high on her list of favorite activities. But she missed the closeness, the feeling of his warm body against hers through the long, harsh nights of the North; the last time they even shared a bed was two months ago. Now, though, with the stress of everything that was going on around them, perhaps she could tempt him.
A smile graced her face as she wound her way through the halls of Winterfell, busy servants parting before her as they rushed to perform their duties. But the smile fell from her lips though, when, through a window, she spotted the Bastard sparing with her eldest down in one of the courtyards, his strange black sword clashing against the blade he had tempted Robb with; they went back and forth until Robb's sword was knocked to the ground, Catelyn's heart along with it. Rage replaced that feeling when the pair of laughing young men were joined by Ser Barristan Selmy; the famed knight offered her son, the Heir of Winterfell, only a few brief words before turning his attention to the Bastard.
The Lady of Winterfell fell her body begin to burn and a bitter taste filled her mouth. He was at it again, the Bastard was stealing what belonged to others; he always did that, if it wasn't her husband's love, it was her children obedience or the attention of the king and renowned knights that should have gone to her son. His presence was bad enough, but why did he have to ruin everything?
Even after the Bastard did the proper thing and left Winterfell of his own accord, his shameful presence continued to stain the castle. When he disappeared it left her husband in shambles, so she was left to deal with the sadness of their children. She tried to do the right thing; Ned's endless searches and offered rewards may have given the children hope of seeing the Bastard again but she needed to make them understand that there was no way a boy of four-and-ten could survive on his own, especially after a storm -the worse anyone has seen in decades- swept over the land the day after he had disappeared. Catelyn tried to get her children to each light a candle at the feet of the Stranger for the Bastard so that they could move on but only obedient Sansa and baby Rickon had done so; Robb refused outright and hadn't entered the sept in years while Arya threw a vicious fit -joined by Bran once he figured out what was going on- and then they both told Ned, who was furious.
However, once that fury passed, he -helped by a visit from Benjen- began to pull himself from his stupor. He returned to his duties both as Warden of the North and as a father, taking time out of every day to spend time with each of their children. Then, slowly but sure, Ned worked to repair the divide that had grown between the two. Two years passed and a new peace settled over Winterfell; a better peace, in Catelyn's opinion. Which had, of course, eventually been ruined by the Bastard with just a simple letter; it hadn't even said much, just that he was alive, doing well, and living in a land far, far away from her and her family
The Lady of Winterfell hadn't exactly been glad to hear from the Bastard, but the knowledge had made her husband and children happy so as long as the only presence the boy had in Winterfell was in the form of letters, she could silently bare it. Her peace had been shaken but, as long as her family was content, she could carry on. Things changed once again, though, the day she found her husband distraught in his solar. When Catelyn tried to figure out what had upset him so, she had been rebuffed; later, after much pushing from herself and Robb, Ned had finally admitted that Jon was angry with him and didn't want to maintain correspondence anymore. He refused to say what the argument had been about, but Cat just knew that the Bastard wanted something her husband had been unwilling to give. So, she did what was necessary and banned her children from writing to their bastard brother. They hadn't liked it, but she did what she had too -even as a cloud somberness filled the castle yet again.
The Bastard's return had made her near physically ill; how dare he show back up after all these years, at a celebration she planned. It was bad enough that so many of the people she invited could -or wouldn't- come, even her own brother hadn't been able to make it, but the Bastard had to show up too? Everything, even the upcoming arrival of the royal family, had been tainted the moment he had arrived at Lord Manderly's side with a chest full of exotic gifts and a strange, dark-skinned giant at his beck-and-call. He had made Ned dismiss her, made her children praise him, and even made dutiful Sansa disobey her. Then he ingratiated himself into the king and members of his party's with gifts and flattery, stealing attention that should have been her children's while his cohort poisoned the minds' of servants against her.
Catelyn, red-faced and pulse racing, she flung the door to her husband's solar open. Ned jumped up from his seat, eyes wide with surprise, "Cat, what's-"
"You need to stop this now," she hissed bitterly.
"W-what do you mean?"
"The Bastard, you need to stop him!"
"Cat, you're not making any sense. What is wrong with Jon?"
"He's stealing from Robb, from all of your other children! He's showing off in front of everyone and throwing himself at the king because he wants Winterfell and you don't even care! But I won't stand for it, he must go! If you ever cared for me than you'll send him away and tell him never to return!"
Catelyn knew she sounded hysterical because Ned just signed and slumped down into his chair, rubbing his brow, "You need to calm down, Cat."
"Why can't you see the danger he poses to Robb and the other boys? That's why I forbid the children from writing to him!" She hated the dismissal, hated the way he looked up at her like she was the mad one and hated the way the face she had grown to love twisted in anger now.
"Wait, did you ban the children from writing to Jon? You had no right to do that!"
"I had every right! I'm trying to protect us all! Why don't you understand?"
"Jon would never harm his siblings, you'd know that if-"
"Maybe he won't harm them physically, but that doesn't mean he won't try to undermine his siblings! And what happens when Robb marries Margaery Tyrell? Bastards are lustful creatures by nature and the girl is said to be a great beauty, what if he ends up cuckolding Robb?"
Why, why couldn't Ned just understand that she was just trying to protect her family? Instead of listening to her, Catelyn could see the sparks of angry lighting in Ned's eyes; then, in a coldly calm voice, he tore her hopes of the future to shreds. "Robb won't be marrying Margaery Tyrell, he is going to marry Alys Karstark if my talks with her father go well. Rickard seems receptive to the idea but there is the small matter of her technical engagement to Daryn Hornwood; their families were waiting until Alys flowered to wed the two but since that has come and gone without any marriage, they might be convinced to set the betrothal aside. If not then there is always Karla Umber or Wynafryd Manderly, though there are some issues with her."
Catelyn was aghast, "B-but those are all Northern matches."
"Aye, marriages are the best way to ensure loyalty."
"Northern houses have always been loyal, nothing will change that."
"I hope that is true, but if loyalty is ignored long enough then it can turn into bitterness. This will ensure my vassals know that the Starks are as devoted to the North as the North is to them."
"But I thought we talked about Southern matches for the children? We agreed-"
"We agreed on nothing. You talked about Southern matches, Catelyn, and I listened, to an extent. If all goes well than Sansa will marry Prince Joffrey, but Robb and Rickon will both have Northern brides. I'm not sure about Bran yet, however, I do think that having him foster at Riverrun while squirting under your uncle is a good idea."
It was, but Catelyn was still too shocked to be happy about it, "Arya-"
"Arya will be marrying in the South as well, I'm working on finding her a match in Dorne."
The idea of one of her children in the barren wasteland horrified Catelyn. "Dorne? You can't possibly send our daughter there! Its filled with nothing but violent, godless heathens! They-"
"They afford women far more independence and flexibility than anywhere else in Westeros. Arya will be happy there and that's all we should care about. I will send the first offer to Doran Martell soon; if he rejects it than the heir of Starfall is close to her age."
Starfall. 'So it all comes back to the Daynes,' the Lady of Winterfell spit bitterly in the safe void of her own mind as icy wrath replaced the boiling anger she had been feeling a moment ago. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at her husband of near twenty years, "So that's it then? You don't care what I think? You just want to feel close to her again, don't you? Ashara is gone, Ned! She is dead and nothing can bring her back; not marrying Arya into her family and not showing preference to her bastard son!"
Ned slammed his hands down on the desk, starting her. "By the gods, this nonsense needs to stop, Catelyn! Arya's potential future marriage has nothing to do with Ashara and I'm having a hard enough time trying to convince Jon to stay without your childish jealousy making it harder."
Catelyn went still, not at the claim her anger was childish but at something else."W-what do you mean, you're trying to convince him to stay?"
"Jon doesn't want Winterfell, Cat! He doesn't even want to stay in Westeros!" Ned explained desperately, looking at her like he was seeing a stranger.
Catelyn stared back, confusion filling her. "If I don't want him here and he doesn't want to be here than why in the world are you trying to convince him to stay? Are you really so desperate to be reminded of his mother that you'd go against his own wishes?"
"He doesn't know what he wants, he's too young. Besides, Winterfell is where Jon belongs."
Cat shook her head desperately, "For someone so honorable, you are a selfish, selfish man, Eddard Stark."
"That's enough, Cat. Now you are the mother of my children and I love you dearly, but this petty hatred of Jon has gone on long enough. I've stood by silently for years as you tried to alienate him from his own home and siblings. That's on me; I tried to do my best by both you and Jon and I only ended up hurting you both. I am truly sorry about that, but I won't let you continue to harass my blood because of your hurt feelings. You'll never love the boy, fine, but for everyone's sake you need to move on."
Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and words caught in Catelyn's throat, "How can you say that to me? I'm your wife! I've given you five healthy true-born children and you can't do this one thing for me? You're right, I do hate the boy! I think he's a horrible stain on this entire family and that you should have left him in the desert where he was born. I can't stand the sight of him! If he dropped dead before me I wouldn't waste a tear on his corpse! I don't want him anywhere near me or my children and if you try to keep him here I'll- I'll-"
"We've clearly come at a bad time."
A familiar deep voice cause pulled the pair's attention from each other and to the doorway where the Bastard and his giant cohort were standing. The Bastard's face was carefully blank but Catelyn could see the glint of malicious amusement in Vlast's eyes.
"Jon…" Ned took a step towards the pair, face crestfallen as the Bastard turned on his heel to walk away.
Vlast watched him go before returning his attention to Cat's husband, "I apologize if my companion and I interrupted you, Lord of Winterfell. But we thought it important to let you know that we intend to take our leave from this castle in three days time."
The Lady of Winterfell's heart leapt at the man's words and the promise that she wouldn't have to put up with the Bastard much long, only for it to come crashing back down when Ned spoke up. "No, he can't leave yet. You both need to stay-"
"Your offer is generous, Lord of Winterfell, but it really is time for us to take our leave. The journey back to Skyrim is long and Thane Whitewolf has many responsibilities he needs to return to. We also would not want to continue making anyone uncomfortable with our presence."
The man didn't look at her, didn't even acknowledge her, but Catelyn knew mocking when she heard it. She felt her cheeks flush red -embarrassment, anger, or a combination of the two, she did not know- and she opened her mouth to berate this man, this stranger, who dare insult her in her own home but he spoke up again before she could get a word out.
"Well, now you know. I have several people I need to speak with about gathering supplies for our return. I thank you for hosting me, Lord of Winterfell; my visit to your home has been interesting but it would be a lie to say I hope to ever return."
The man left, almost certainly to go spread foul rumors about her to the servants he had integrated himself with, and left Ned standing there silently. Discomfort filled the air and, after a moment, Cat reached out in an attempt to comfort him. "Ned…"
Her husband waved her away, "Cat, just- I can't deal with you right now. Please, just go away."
Despair filled Catelyn's heart as Ned left her in his solar, never once looking back. She stood there for a long moment, heart pounding in her ears. When she was sure Ned was gone she fled to her private quarters, keeping her head down so that no one would see the tears she was fighting back. Those she only let them out in the safety of her room.
Collapsing in the armchair closest to the fireplace, the Lady of Winterfell pulled the softest blanket she had around her shaking body as she desperately tried to get warm.
Jon VIII
'It's not like I didn't know she thought that,' Jon assured himself as applied red paint to the hair of a figurine. 'So why did hearing it hurt so badly?'
But the young Dragonborn had mastered the fine art of emotional repression long ago so Jon simply shoved any lingering pain -the pain he should have gotten over by now- to the side and replaced it with the comforting knowledge that he soon would be leaving the ghosts that haunted Winterfell behind. Saying goodbye to Robb, Arya, and the others would be hard but regular correspondence could start again and maybe, one day, they could visit him in Skyrim. Until then all he had to do was avoid Lord and Lady Stark; hiding out in one of the rarely used lounge annexes might be considered cowardly but, honestly, Jon didn't care.
The small room was a quiet place for Jon to be alone with his thoughts and distract himself by working on his carvings. Well, he wasn't entirely alone, Enzo had been with him briefly but had left a while ago to talk to servants about the best places to buy foodstuffs in bulk. He also, Jon figured, could wait to gossip about what Lady Stark had said with the castle staff. The giant Redguard was an honorable man in many ways, but, when it came protecting loved ones, he could be creatively vindictive. Jon, for his part, wasn't a good enough man to try and stop his friend. Ghost had also made a reappearance, having apparently decided to forgive Jon for shrinking him -though the direwolf might have been motivated by some jealousy over Jon's new female shadowcat kitten, Phantasm- and was currently basking by the fire.
So here he sat, singing "Brundi and the Sea" under his breath and putting the final touches on a carving of Aela; it was about a foot tall and depicted the huntress with her bow drawn and a fierce expression on her painted face. Over the years he had created figurines of most of his friends, including all of the Companions. He even did two larger depictions of Kodlak and Skjor that stood in remembrance at Jorrvaskr. Jon smiled down to the painted green eyes, Aela -tough and stern as she was- had been like an older sister since he first arrived in Skyrim. She had given him his first bow and taught him how to use it.
"That's a pretty song."
Jon jerked his head up to see Princess Myrcella standing at the doorway, smiling nervously with her hands knotted in the skirt of her green and gold dress. He bowed, "Your Royal Highness, how can I help you?"
"Please, I just need someplace quiet to sit for awhile."
"I can leave if you wish."
"No, no, it's alright. You don't need to leave on my account, Ser Jon."
"It would be inappropriate of me to stay in your company without a chaperone, Princess."
"It would also be inappropriate to leave a helpless young lady alone and defenseless, especially after she got lost wondering this grand old castle. You wouldn't do such a thing, would you, Ser Jon?" Princess Myrcella slipped into a padded armchair across the table and cocked a golden brow at him as her emerald eyes glittered with mischief. Ghost came over to her and, after licking her outstretched hand, plopped his massive head down in the princess' lap.
"Very well, but you don't have to call me 'Ser'. I'm not a knight."
"Maybe, but you did save my brother and that makes you as good as any knight I know. Even better, actually, because you did it without wanting or expecting anything in return."
It was true. When Tommen had fallen down that hill, Jon hadn't seen a prince or an opportunity, he had seen a little boy in danger and had reacted as such. Even though King Robert had promised to reward him -which he hadn't yet, Jon honestly hoped the fat king had forgotten all about it- it didn't change anything. "That should be the norm, in my opinion."
"Perhaps," the princess said wistfully as she stared at the fire, "but it's rarely the case. When you're royalty, people -even the ones who may truly care for you- always see you in terms of what you can do to, or for, them. You're always watched, everything you say or do or wear is scrutinized."
There was a story there, likely a somber one, but Jon knew better than to bring it up so he sat in silence with the young princess. Eventually, she spoke up again, "That song you were singing, I've never heard it before."
"It's a song I learned while in Skyrim, "Brundi and the Sea", it's quite popular in port towns and cities."
"It's pretty," the girl repeated, firelight catching in her hair.
"It is, but it's also sad. Yet I still find comfort in it. Serana -she is a friend of my mine- loves that song, asks me to sing it so often that it always makes me think of her."
"Are you a bard?"
"Not exactly, but I do have some training. I can also play the lute quite well, if I do say so myself." Jon had learned that something people had a hard time talking even when they wanted to get something off their chest; when that happened it was best to talk until they felt comfortable to let it out.
"I had tea today with your sisters."
"Oh, did you enjoy yourself?
"I guess," Princess Myrcella shrugged. "Lady Sansa was the one who talked to me the most. She nice, but…"
"But?"
"But she acted just like all the other ladies. I know that she probably doesn't even know she's doing it but Father said that people in the North are different so I hoped…. She did the same things everyone does: compliment my hair, tell me how lovely my dress it, and ask me about my brother. They always ask about Joffrey, sometimes Tommen too but always about Joffrey. No one ever just wants to know about me; well, they want to know about Princess Myrcella Baratheon but not about me, Myrcella."
Jon felt an ache of sympathy for the young princess, "Don't you have any friends?"
Another shrug, "I have handmaidens and bedmates, there is my cousin Rosamund too but… I don't know, they were all chosen for me to serve some greater purpose. Don't get me wrong, I get along with them all well enough -Rosie and I are really close- but I know they report back on me to their families and would use me to get ahead in life if they could. I have Tommen, but now that he's started martial training we don't have as much time to spend together as we use to. Aside from him, I get along best with Uncle Stannis' daughter, Shireen, and Uncle Tyrion -they like to read and learn as much as I do- but Mother doesn't like when I spend too much time with either of them."
"That's odd, do you know why?"
Princess Myrcella's eyes dipped low, "Mother has been getting more controlling as I've aged but at the same time, she's been more distant. We did so much together when I was younger, she used to have matching gowns made for us. Now that I'm older, though, she seems more and more… dissatisfied with me. If she doesn't like the things I read or the clothes I wear or the people I spend time with than she gets rid of them; she doesn't consider that they make me happy, just replaces them with what makes her happy. That's why I spend almost all my time surrounded by my Lannister cousins, Mother chooses them for me. It just would be nice to have a friend that I wasn't related to or wasn't picked out by someone else."
Gentle green eyes sad, the princess looked at him then and asked, "Could you be my friend, Ser Jon?"
The painfully shyness that colored her voice broke Jon's heart; he knew what it was like to feel alone even whilst surrounded by people you cared for. "I'd love nothing more than to be your friend, Princess, but I'm returning to Skyrim soon."
"You could still write me letters," her brow furrowed deeply but a brightness returned to her eyes. "No, no, you'd have to address the letters to Tommen; it would look too odd otherwise. But you saved Tommen and he thinks you're the greatest thing since cake -he talks about you so much that it makes Joffrey jealous- so it wouldn't seem suspicious if you had a correspondence. Father is already taken by you too so he wouldn't mind; Mother will probably object but so long as Father allows it there isn't much she can do about it."
'This girl has a mind beyond her years; if it was properly honed I doubt there would be anything she couldn't accomplish,' Jon thought with a grin. "It would be an honor."
Myrcella met his eyes with a smile before they flicked to the drying figurine on the table, "What's that?"
"Oh, I make little wood carvings in my spare time; it helps me relax. This one is of my friend, Aela; she's the greatest hunter and tracker I've ever met."
"You can do much and yet you never brag; I wish Joffrey could be more like you, he's all bluster with no substance."
From what Jon had seen of the crown prince, he didn't seem like the boy had many great accomplishments; not that he'd ever say such a thing out loud. He held out both hands so Myrcella could see the dozens of scars that covered them, "It takes time to develop any sort of skill. I must have cut myself a thousand times when I started making carvings."
"You kept at it though. Do you have any more I could see?"
"Sure," he passed her the box that held all the ones he had worked on during the trip. The golden-haired princess handled each one with extreme care; examining each one with intense fascination. He pointed at the two she just pulled out, "Those are Farkas and Vilkas; they're twins. Vilkas is the smaller of the two, even if he is the older one; one of the best strategist I've ever seen but extremely grouchy, especially if you wake him early in the morning. Farkas is tough as steel but a real puppy dog on the inside; he claims not to be much of a thinker but is smarter than he gives himself credit for."
A pearly smile turned into a gasp of delight when Myrcella pulled out a finished piece, a painted snow fox. "It's beautiful, looks just like Ghost."
The giant direwolf's red eyes flicked open and he gave a dissatisfied huff at what he seemed to feel was an unflattering comparison. Jon chuckled, "You really like it? It's yours then."
"Really? Thank you! I'll take good care of it, I swear! I'm going to call it Vix. Would you mind if I picked one out for Tommen?" The girl clutched the carving to her chest, fingers curled over its ears.
"Of course, go ahead." The fox wasn't anything he had an emotional connection too and it wasn't as if he couldn't make another.
After careful consideration, Myrcella selected a red fox figurine to match her own. "He'll like this one; Tommen loves animals."
"Well, I'm glad they'll be going to someone who will appreciate them. Otherwise, they'd just end up sitting in one of my houses collecting dust."
Myrcella propped her chin up on her hand, "Can you tell me more about Skyrim? It sounds like a fascinating place."
Jon hesitated, he had to before how much he revealed about his home, but the earnest look on Myrcella's face make him give in. "What would you like to know?"
Supper that night was not as loud or rambunctious as it had been for the past few nights; there was still plenty of food -though only five courses instead of nine- and even some music. The Great Hall was also far emptier than it had been, most of the Northern households had already left, aside from the Karstarks, Umbers, and Manderlys. That being said, a heavy, uncomfortable atmosphere hung in the room, choking everyone but the youngest children with the feeling of claustrophobia.
Enzo -who sat, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary, at the end of the table describing the different holidays celebrated in Hammerfell to Rickon, Bran, and Tommen- had wasted no time spreading descent among the castle staff. The serving girls who cleared plates, filled drinks, and brought new food gave him warm, sympathetic glances along with ensuring he was given fine cuts of meat -almost certainly on Matlyn's orders- while being as coldly polite to Lady Catelyn as they could without risking punishment.
The Lady of Winterfell sat stiffly next to her husband; the pair had not looked at, spoken to, or even touched one another for the entire evening and, when spoken to, Lady Catelyn gave short, terse answer before returning to her food. Robb obviously knew what happened because he refused to meet Jon's eyes, instead forcing himself to engage in a conversation with Prince Joffrey about the younger man's hobbies which seemed exclusively be hunting and boasting about his supposed martial prowess. Theon drank most of the meal away, likely wanting to avoid as much awkwardness as possible. Jon had managed to engage Sansa in a brief conversation about the dress she was making but mostly she just kept trying to get the crown prince's attention. It wasn't too lonely though, he still had Arya and Myrcella to talk with; he even got the two girls to bond over their shared interest in falconry.
It also seemed that, at the very least, the king was still having fun. After managing to pull his attention away from a serving girl's generous cleavage, the king called to him, "Boy, I've been thinking about what would be an appropriate reward for saving my son and have come up blank."
"That's quite alright, Your Grace. I was only doing what anyone would; I don't need a reward for common decency." Jon didn't want anything from this man, except maybe to be ignored; too bad the king seemed to want Jon's… would affection be the right word?
King Robert let out a hearty laugh and slapped Lord Stark on the shoulder, "Common decency, eh? He's just as honorable as you, Ned. Now, normally I'd knight you but since I doubt knighthood means much in that strange land of your's, it would be a meaningless gift. I could legitimize you, if you want-"
"That's not necessary, Your Grace!"
"-but I can tell you're the kind of man who takes pride in his identity, and you built a good one around a name of your own choosing. So, I'll tell you what, you're coming with your father and sister when we all leave for King's Landing in two weeks. You'll stay at the Red Keep as my honor guest and get to see the splendor of the capital. Ned told me you haven't seen much of Westeros outside of Winterfell so I'm sure it'll be exciting for you. So, what do you say?"
Every part of eyes in the hall slide to Jon, who could only give a shaky smile and a mental, 'Fuck!'
Next Chapter: Things between Ned and Jon reach a boiling point, but maybe that is for the best.
Notes:
1) It looks like everyone is trying to solve the same algebra problem and yet no one can seem to get the right answer. Wonder why?
2) So the long-awaited Catelyn POV has finally arrived. I hope no one was disappointed. Much like Ned, I was trying to walk a careful line between infuriating and pathetic. It was hard, but I think it turned out okay.
3) Next chapter will be a big one, maybe not in terms of size but in terms of importance.
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