see you for #nedcatweek2027

”This was poorly timed” Ser Rodrik said for what had to be the thousandth time, tugging at his whiskers.

Catelyn would have agreed had it not been for that it was always poorly timed. In truth it would have been better had Ned never left Winterfell and the easy containment of its godswood. Though sometimes circumstances demanded he journey elsewhere and it could not always be done within a moon’s turn.

”It has not gone awry before” she said. ”We must trust in the chains.”

They had stopped to make camp long before sundown in order to prepare. Ned had himself seen out a place where he could be chained to a tree, riding further down the road so that he would not be too close to the camp. It was far from the first time he was on the road during a full moon. He had fought two wars in the south since becoming Lord of Winterfell.

”I have a strange feeling, my lady.”

”Jory will not let anything happen to him” Catelyn assured him. ”Nor will the rest of them.”

They would stand guard with their spears and swords all through the night and they knew almost as well as Ned did what had to be done. Catelyn had full trust in them.

The light of fire they were sitting by made shadows shift in the old knight’s face, making his grim expression even grimmer.

”I ask your forgiveness, Lady Catelyn, though I worry more for what will become of them.”

”They outnumber him six to one.”

And all of them were skilled hunters.

Something almost like a bitter smile ghosted over Ser Rodrik’s face.

”He is a fearsome beast when the moon is full. Larger and stronger than any ordinary wolf.”

And lonely at that. Lonely and chained. Catelyn had only ever seen him before and after his transformation, Ned always gave strict orders to keep her away while he was changed. She had seen the raw wounds left on his body by the chains, it must have hurt the wolf a great deal.

”I will never fault Lord Stark for that viciousness as I know he does not choose it, though I fear it all the same” Ser Rodrik finished.

He was not alone in that sentiment. All through the seven kingdoms people whispered of Lord Stark and his curse.

Catelyn shivered as a howl pierced the air. She knew he was not close and yet it felt as if though he was. The haunting sound echoed over the moors and it was hard to not take note of how everyone tensed when they heard it.

“You are not alone in that.”

When Ned was Ned he had a gentle heart, though he was not always Ned. That was the burden every Lord of Winterfell had to carry. It was only that Ned had never expected he would carry it. It should have passed to Brandon.

”No one in their right mind would meet him with no—”

Ser Rodrik interrupted himself when the sound of a horn reached them, and something squeezed at Catelyn’s heart.

There was immediate movement in the camp even as Catelyn found herself unable to move. She could merely watch as the guards all scrambled for their weapons in one movement. Tired men became alert in an instant, anything they had been holding was thrown aside without so much as a second consideration.

It could not end well. It would not end well.

Ser Rodrik had found his feet and was by her side in an instant, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.

“We must be quick, my lady.”

She could hear that he tried to remain calm, though the urgency shone through more and more with each word.

“Must we leave?” Catelyn asked.

“I swore to your lord husband I would take you away should something happen and we have no time for arguments.”

Their old knight was no oathbreaker and Catelyn would not ask it of him that he become one. Nor was she stupid. She did not wish to leave, though she knew she would be of little help. Her presence would mean a hindrance if they had to defend themselves.

Ser Rodrik held her arm as they hurried towards where their horses were tied up.

”What do you think happened?” Catelyn had to ask.

She was already out of breath.

”I dare not think about it, but I know something is not as it should be.”

Perhaps Ned had not torn free of his chains. Perhaps someone had accidentally ventured too close to him and been injured. It was not good, though it was not as bad as what it could be. They had sounded the horn for a reason and Catelyn could only hope there was no immediate danger.

They had left the horses saddled and ready, as they always did when the moon was full. It should have been easy to mount her horse and begin the ride to safer sounds, though the horses seemed well aware that something was wrong. They were nervously treading where they were standing and when Catelyn reached to untie her usually well tempered mare it began throwing with its head.

She looked towards Ser Rodrik and saw that his horse was sniffing the air. Then another howl could be heard and their horses bolted in one movement. Catelyn could only watch as her mare galloped into the night.

”It was closer this time” Ser Rodrik hissed.

Catelyn had heard that. The sound had been louder, had appeared closer to them, though she had not wished to acknowledge it. The sound moving closer meant Ned was free. His chains had broken and he was moving in their direction.

Two of the horses fleeing had sent the rest of them into hysteria. They reared and kicked and tried to free themselves so that they could follow the first two. Catelyn tried to approach one and had to duck away to keep from taking a hoof to the head.

”This is pointless!” she called as Ser Rodrik was almost knocked to the ground.

Even if they managed to untie the reins the horse would tear free from them as soon as opportunity was given. They felt the presence of a threat and so they would not be calmed.

”You are not safe here” Ser Rodrik insisted.

”No one is.”

Ser Rodrik managed to get hold of the reins of what Catelyn knew to be Harwin’s horse and must have used all his strength to force it down on all four hooves. Catelyn would have been impressed had it been possible to feel anything but fear.

Though as Catelyn moved to help Ser Rodrik untie the horse she did not watch her feet and the horse stomped on her foot. Even through her heavy boot the pain was nauseating and she cried out, forced to step back from the horse.

She closed her eyes, tried to breathe through the throbbing pain. She had not been stepped on by a horse since she had been a girl and she had forgotten the force with which a horse could step.

Catelyn had expected Ser Rodrik to ask if she was alright, though instead something else came from him. Something that forced her to open her eyes and turn around to look at what it was he had seen.

”Run!”

It was a wolf and at the same time very much not a wolf. His hind legs were too long and the body was too thin, not entirely unlike a human having bent over to move on all fours. The ears were strangely shaped and placed on the side of the head rather than at the top of it, folded backwards as he slowly stalked into the camp with bared teeth. A low growl came from his throat and a chain still attached to his right front leg rattled behind it. It was a perfect monster from a story told only to frighten children. A man that had been twisted

It was as if no one dared move. Everyone stood perfectly still, waiting for what was to come. Catelyn was no different. She was frozen to where she stood, unable to move to flee the presence of the wolf.

With surprising agility for a man of his age Ser Rodrik dashed over to Catelyn and took her by the arm, forcing her to move. Together they turned around and began running in the other direction even as it would not get them far. Catelyn put one foot in front of the other, running as well as she could while unable to hold up her skirts, and knew that there was no point in running. They would not outrun him. It was not possible to outrun him.

Catelyn did not see the wolf lunge at them, though felt as Ser Rodrik was torn away from her and thrown to the ground. With horror she saw that the wolf had his jaws around Ser Rodrik’s right arm, teeth deep enough to draw blood.

”No!” she cried, unable to do anything else.

As she did so the wolf’s attention shifted and it left Ser Rodrik bleeding on the ground. Before Catelyn could run anywhere he had again lunged forward, that time taking hold of her skirts.

”Lady Catelyn!” Ser Rodrik shouted.

He made an attempt at pushing himself up from the ground, though flinched and clutched his arm to his body.

The wolf gave a hard tug and Catelyn stumbled forward, unable to tear herself free from his grasp. As she attempted to steady herself her hands brushed against his shaggy fur and she expected the wolf to snap at her hands, though he did nothing. His teeth remained buried in the fabric of her dress.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Desmond with a spear in his hand, preparing to stab at the wolf. It would have been a distraction that could have made the wolf release his hold on her and yet the sight of the spear brought out an even greater panic in Catelyn.

”Don’t hurt him!” she exclaimed.

Desmond’s eyes went from the wolf to her, widening in surprise. It gave the wolf time to tug her even further along, his strength too great to even attempt to withstand.

Catelyn was unable to find her balance that time and she hit the ground with no way to catch herself. For a moment the world was entirely still as all air was knocked from her lungs, but then came the pain. It felt as if though the back of her skull had split open and it was not made better by that she could not breathe.

Catelyn saw only the stars that danced before her eyes and heard only the ringing in her ears, though was vaguely aware of that she was being dragged along the ground. Even through her clothing the ground was scraping against her back.

Her hair caught on something on the ground and Catelyn cried out. The sound was strange, foreign to her ears, and she realised it was because the wolf had given a low whine at the same time.

Her skirts were released and even as Catelyn could still not see clearly and was dizzy from pain she managed to crawl up in a somewhat upright position. Her chest hurt as she tried to suck in air, her body desperate for a proper breath.

Desmond must have landed a stab at the wolf because he had spun around and taken hold of the spear, tearing it from Desmond’s grasp. The wood was splintering between his teeth.

She was grabbed by the arm and brought up to her feet again, forced to lean heavily on the person that had helped her up.

“Come, my lady” Harwin said through clenched teeth.

Catelyn did her very best to keep up with his quick, long steps, but soon found her best was not good enough. She tried to run with him, though the ground was uneven and they were running into solid darkness.

“The horses are the other way” Catelyn managed to get out.

“So is Lord Stark.”

She realised he did not know where they were going, he was just trying to get her away from there. It was pointless, it was all pointless.

The wolf moved much faster than the two of them even as every man still standing lunged at him with blades and sharp points. Even as her breathing and her heartbeat were so loud they pounded in her head Catelyn heard how the wolf came closer to them.

Harwin screamed as a heavy form hit him in the back, forcing him to the ground. Catelyn stumbled forward and found herself on all fours, immediately scrambling to get up again. Pine needles were stuck in her palms, they must have been running towards the woods. It would be better to turn back, she needed to turn back.

Again the wolf abandoned her guard and instead turned his attention to her. That time it took hold of her cloak and began trying to drag her along while she clutched at her throat to unclasp it. If she did not find the clasp she would be strangled by her cloak.

With a high whine the wolf suddenly let her go and in what little light reached them from the campfire Catelyn could make out that someone must have buried a dagger in the wolf’s shoulder while a second man had taken hold of the chain still hanging from his leg, causing him to abandon her cloak to instead defend himself from his attacker.

While taking heaving gulps of air she crawled along the ground to find Harwin, hoping the wolf would be distracted for long enough to get him back up.

”Harwin? Harwin, where are you?”

”Run, my lady!” he told her from somewhere within the darkness.

She tried to do as she was told. Tried to run back to the camp to find protection there. Her attempt was fruitless as it took only a second for the wolf to notice her flight. He would not let her get away. He stubbornly refused to let her get away from him even as he could turn his back on everyone else.

When his teeth was again in her skirts she felt warm tears run down her cheeks. She had not realised she had been weeping until that moment. She grabbed at the fabric of her dress, tried to pull herself free even as her strength was not nearly great enough.

”Let me go!” she cried. ”Please, Ned, let me go!”

The ache in her body was already so great that when she again fell she barely felt it. It made no difference. She was dragged along the ground, her attempts at holding onto anything she could grasp on the ground only serving to further injure her hands.

She was released another few time, though found herself unable to gather enough strength to get herself off the ground and no one helped her. She heard them, heard how every last man was needed to distract the wolf from dragging her further into the woods. Again and again the wolf whined as they managed to stab at him, though each injury only seemed to enrage him further. At one point Hal screamed so loudly she was certain the wolf must have killed him, though she could not so much as raise her head to see if it was true. Their struggle faded to the background as all Catelyn’s attention went to forcing herself to breathe even as every breath felt like a stab in her chest.

How long it had been when her surroundings grew silent she did not know. She knew she could no longer hear the voices of their men and that she was continuously dragged along the ground with no breaks. The world was nothing but pain, she did not have it in her to be afraid anymore. Fear demanded too much strength and of that she had none anymore.

When finally the wolf stopped and let her go Catelyn could not move. She remained on the ground and hoped her death would be swift. If he tore out her throat she would bleed out quickly and that would be a mercy.

Her prayers were not answered. Perhaps no god of hers could see her in those northern woods. Instead of a quick kill the wolf began nudging at her with his snout. She managed to raise a bloodied hand, tried to push him away, though it accounted for nothing.

He went to lie down next to her, resting his great head upon her stomach, and Catelyn knew then that he would not kill her. He had taken her away to keep her to himself and he would not kill her.

“What have you done?” she mumbled.

He did not listen. He did not understand. Though when dawn came he would. He would look at what had taken place and he would be filled with dread.

In the darkness she could barely see anything, though she could feel him. The incredible heat of his body and the roughness of his fur under her fingers as she reached up to pet his head. She heard every heavy breath he took and wondered how badly he had been hurt in the commotion.

“Why did you do this?” she asked.

Then she broke into tears again. She wept so that her body shook, unable to stop even as it sent waves of pain through her bruised and battered body. Her sobs echoed in the empty night, every agonised sound bouncing back to her. She wept until there were no more tears, until she was too exhausted to make another sound, and no one came. She was alone with her wolf, lost in the woods.

They did not move. She was still on the cold, hard ground and the wolf seemed satisfied with merely being at her side. He kept her warm in the cool night and was gentle each time he moved his head.

Even as she wanted nothing but for morning to come she found she was also afraid of it. When the sun came above the horizon Ned would have to face his actions. Catelyn could only hope she was wrong in that someone was dead because if that was so he would never forgive himself.

By the time the sky was finally turning paler Catelyn was so tired she could have wept again. She was sore, her clothes were tattered, she felt hunger and thirst and confusion over that no one had found them yet. How far into the woods had he dragged her? Though at least Ned would be allowed to come to. At least no one would have to be afraid of him anymore.

The wolf raised his head and whined, not unlike how a pup would. Then began the snapping.

Catelyn had to move her stiff and bruised body away from him as he began contorting with unsettling, cracking sounds. She could only watch with both hands over her mouth as the fur grew back into his skin and his bones broke only to heal in new ways. And all through it he cried and cried and cried, and what began as a hound’s tortured whimpers soon became a man’s agonised screams. It mingled with the sound of his bones breaking to create a sound unlike anything Catelyn had ever heard before.

In the end, when Ned was Ned again, he curled up on the ground like a child might. Still with a chain around his wrist. There was a deep wound in his shoulder that was no longer bleeding, though blood flowed from yet another gash in his lower back. Apart from that it seemed to be mostly smaller cuts and bruises. Nothing that would kill him. Though he was naked and had to be cold.

Catelyn sniffled as slowly she crawled towards him. Once she was sitting by his side she used her cloak to press against the wound on his back, wanting to stop the blood flow.

”Catelyn?” Ned asked weakly, not turning his head to look at him.

There he was again. Unknowing of what had happened, unknowing of what he had done, unknowing of how much hurt he had caused.

”I am here” she whispered, too hoarse to speak any louder.

“You should not be.”

“I know.”

With a pained groan Ned managed to look up at her with bloodshot eyes. His initially foggy gaze grew sharp as he looked at her and his eyebrows furrowed together. He looked so old. The lines on his face were more pronounced and it felt as if though he had more grey in his hair.

“Why are you here?”

“It has been… a very long night.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

Ned’s horror only grew as he looked around and realised they were alone. Slowly he managed to push himself into a sitting position.

“Don’t move” Catelyn protested feebly, attempting to keep the pressure to his bleeding wound.

Ned was in no mind to listen. His hands found the tattered remains of her skirts. In the growing light Catelyn could see how dirty she was after having been dragged along the ground. Her hair must have been a tangled mess and she was covered in pine needles. He could not even see her body. It would be weeks before she could undress in his presence.

“What have I done?”

Had she ever seen such panic in his usually cool features? His eyes were wild with it.

“I will tell you later, for now we must… we must stop your bleeding and find our way back to the camp.”

The positive thing with that she had been dragged along the ground was that it had left marks on the ground. She could easily tell from where they had come, it would not be difficult to follow the path Ned had made for them back out of the woods.

“Where are we?” Ned asked.

“It was very dark when we came here so I cannot say” Catelyn let him know. “But I know where we came from.”

Ned gave a strangled sound and Catelyn felt her heart break in two.

“I have hurt you!”

“You did not mean to.”

“My intention means nothing!”

Even as he had dragged her out there, even as he was the reason they were both hurt, Catelyn wanted nothing but to take him in her arms. If only she could have held him until all the hurt went away.

Then came a voice more blessed than anything Catelyn had ever heard. Even from a distance she knew Jory. Someone had come for them. Someone had found them.

“Lord Stark!”

“We’re here!” Catelyn called back.

It took only a moment before more voices were heard. Ned cowered as he heard them, hid his face in Catelyn’s shoulder. She had to keep herself from wincing as he did so, pain shooting out through her entire arm.

When Catelyn caught sight of Jory running towards them she smiled against herself, unable to do anything but as she was overcome by relief.

“Lady Catelyn!” Jory said, returning her smile. “I worried I would never see you again.”

“I did not know what had become of you either” Catelyn confessed. “How are the rest?”

“My group is alright, my lady” he ensured her, kneeling next to them. “Lord Stark immediately took off and paid us no mind. It seems those who stood between the two of you got the worst of it.”

Jory produced a key from one of his pockets and freed Ned from the chain still attached to him.

“What does the worst of it mean?” Ned asked quietly.

He did not look at Jory.

“No deaths, my lord, though some nasty bites and a lot of bruising. It probably would have been worse had you not busied yourself so with abducting your lady wife.”

No deaths. No deaths. No one had died in an attempt to save her.

Catelyn raised a hand to cradle the back of Ned’s head, weaving her fingers into his hair.

“I will be alright, no one needs worry for me” she said both to Jory and to Ned before they could get further into what her abduction had meant. “Though Lord Stark was stabbed and the wounds must be seen to.”

“Stabbed?” Ned asked. “Is that why I’m bleeding?”

“Your men defended me fiercely.”

“Not fiercely enough” Jory sighed.

Not without shame.

Harwin and Alyn came into sight and the relief was obvious on both of their faces when they saw both Ned and Catelyn. Had they truly thought her dead? Maybe it was not so strange considering what had happened.

Jory unclasped his cloak and pulled it around Ned’s naked form to shield him from the cool morning air. Then Harwin and Alyn pulled him up from the ground, both of them needed to keep him on his feet as they slowly began making their way back to the camp.

“Now leave me, all of you. I would be alone with Ned tonight.”

This is what she had told them. And so they had all gone and they were left alone. Or rather, Catelyn was left alone with what remained of him.

His wife had been so strong. For their family’s sake, she had left their two youngest at Winterfell and travelled through Westeros on her own. Always doing her duty and looking perfectly composed, even as he knew just how much being apart from her children cost her. And when news of his death reached her, she did not break down. Even now, being presented with his bones, she did not cry. She would not shed a tear in front of the others, he knew. Though the silent sisters and Utherydes Wayn were gone now, and the tremble in her hands was becoming increasingly more noticeable.

She took a tentative step forward.

“Oh Ned…” She whispered.

“I’m here, my love.”

But of course, she did not reply. She never did. The words could not reach her ears yet he spoke them all the same. And every time he received no reply –every time he was cruelly reminded of the fact that he truly had left her behind– something inside him died a little more.

She stopped right in front of the table, her shaky hand slowly reaching for him but hesitating. She took a deep breath before finding the strength to press it against the skeleton’s chest, beside this sword they had placed there that was not his. There was nothing but bones beneath the surcoat. There was no warm flesh, no heartbeat for her to feel.

It struck him suddenly that he would not experience his wife’s touch again. He would never again know the warm brush of her lips against his or feel her breath on his neck or caress her soft body in the ways that drove her mad. Nor would he run his fingers through her beautiful hair like he had spent countless hours doing. When was the last time he had held her? Ned cursed himself. Why did he not hold her tighter? Why did he ever let go? And, gods, he thought to himself with panic, what of the nights when she grew cold and he was not there to keep her warm anymore? He had failed her in that as well.

Catelyn took a shuddering breath and quickly drew her hand away, as though she had been burned. The beautiful blue eyes that he so adored, the same eyes that she had given to their children, were filling up with tears. Tears that had been suppressed for too long.

“How could you, my love?” Her voice came out hoarse. “How could you leave me like this?”

“Cat…”

“I can't do this alone Ned, I really can't. I am trying but it is not enough. I can't make this right.”

“I’ve been a fool, Cat. The biggest damned fool in the realm. I never should have left Winterfell. I never should have left you and our children. Forgive me, my lady. I beg of you.”

When in life, Ned had left Catelyn to suffer on her own more times that he could bear to admit to himself. He had brought home a bastard and had let her suffer the indignity alone, not daring to go to her, not daring to offer comfort when she was all alone and doubting herself. Because no words could be good enough to undo the dishonour he had brought upon her. So he had kept his distance. Yet in time, they had found their way to each other’s hearts and Catelyn had become one of the most precious things in his life. How she had managed to forgive him he could not say but he would spend eternity being grateful for it.

But when Catelyn needed him the most… when their precious son had been pushed off a window and whether he would live or not was uncertain, he had left her again. He let her go through all of it on her own. Was this to be his punishment? He was here now. Gods, he was here and would give everything for a chance to comfort her, to let her know that she was not alone. But he no longer could comfort her. He could only watch as the love of his life shook under the weight of her grief. Grief that he had caused.

“Robb… our sweet boy… a king now. He needs you, Ned. He’s too young to be shouldering a burden so heavy. Too young…” Her voice shook more when she spoke of Robb.

Hearing of his eldest son pained him more than any physical blow ever could. He was only a boy still. Only a boy, forced to be king. All because of him.

“And he tries so hard to be like you. I try to counsel him but I cannot fill the hole you left behind.”

“I’m so proud of him. Gods, he… he must know that. He has done so well.”

“And the girls… I've started doubting whether I will ever see our daughters again.”

Her voice broke at that. A heartbreaking sound that made his very soul ache. His wife was falling apart before him and there was absolutely nothing he could do.

“What type of mother does that make me? I dare not say it aloud out of fear of making it come true. I miss our little girls, my love. I want no more of this war, I- I only want them back. How can I make it all end?” She covered her mouth with her hand.

“The girls…” He whispered.

Ned had failed his daughters more than anyone. He had taken them to the capital with him, he was supposed to protect them. Instead… instead he had left them alone among the lions. And now his son had to fight a war if there was even some fragile hope of getting them back. How had he failed them so completely? How had he condemned his entire family? His girls… His sweet girls…

The last thing he had heard before the sword fell was Sansa's screams. It was a sound that he could never forget, much as he tried to erase it from his memory. He heard those screams now. They echoed, again and again.

Perhaps his heart did not beat in his chest anymore but he felt it aching all the same. An all-consuming ache. It was as if someone had pierced it with a dagger and twisted it.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant… Sansa… Arya… I failed them. I failed you all. I’m sorry, Cat. I can't…”

But what good could apologies ever do when his family was broken apart? His wife could not even hear him, let alone forgive him.

Catelyn was gasping for breath now, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bran and Rickon must think we have abandoned them by now. They have been alone for so long… Does young Rickon understand death? I wonder. Does he understand that you are gone forever? Our wild baby boy... I fear they will not remember you when they grow older. I fear they will not remember your face, and your voice, and your gentle hands that used to hold them.”

“No more Catelyn. No more. I beg you. I cannot take it.”

“But I loved your face and your voice and your hands. Gods, I don't want them to forget you, Ned.”

“Gods be good, please… don't let our children forget me. Cat please… please tell them that I love them. They must know that. They must know...”

For a while she couldn't speak anymore. She took one more look at the skeleton in front of her, shook her head and lowered it, allowing her tears to fall on his remains; so many tears that he feared she would dry out. Her entire body was shaking.

It was not the lady Stark that their men knew and respected standing in front of him nor the strong mother that Robb so much needed. It was just Cat. His Cat. And beneath it all she was a grieving, tired and frightened woman. But only now that she was alone did she let her guard down and let show just how much her heart was aching. Only she wasn't alone. She didn't know that though did she? She did not know that after his death her husband was still the only person she shared her vulnerable moments with.

He tried to reach out, to grab her shoulders, to steady her, to let her know that she wasn't truly alone. But his translucent hand went right through her body, like it had a hundred times before, and Catelyn felt nothing.

She leaned closer to the skeleton, like she wanted to whisper something only he could hear.

“Our children need me to be strong. To find a way to get our family back together. But I... I need you, my love. More than I ever have. How can I keep being strong when you're not here? How can I keep going? I just want you to hold me. I just…”

Part of him was glad that she broke down, and felt that she needed to have this outburst because had she held her grief in for much longer it would have destroyed her from the inside. But another part wanted to shake her, to tell her that she shouldn't be saying these things. Because she needed to keep going. She needed to remain strong for longer yet. With or without him, she had to be there for their family. Such was the burden that he had left her.

“You are strong. The strongest woman I know. Catelyn…” Her name felt like a prayer on his lips. He could find no words to finish his sentence.

And as she cried there, over his bones, whispering things to what was left to her of the husband she had once loved, she bent down and pressed her wet lips against the skull’s forehead. If he tried he could almost feel her lips and her warm breath on his brow. He wondered painfully if she could almost feel his skin there as well rather than a cold, lifeless skeleton as she closed her eyes, red from crying.

“How could you leave me?” She repeated the question weakly as her legs gave out and she slowly sank to her knees.

Ned Stark was not a man that often wept in life. But he did weep now, beside his grieving wife. Perhaps tears weren't coming out of his eyes but the sensation was the same. The knot in his throat was the same. The pain was real. And there was no escaping it.

“I never did.” He replied softly. “I never will. I'm always with you, Cat. How I wish you could know that…”

She pressed her forehead against the side of the table, her breathing heavy and unsteady.

“I wasn’t even with you when you died. You were all alone in a black cell before they took your head off. I should have been with you in your final moments.”

“You were with our son, where you were supposed to be.”

He knelt beside her, wishing to keep her company. That she did not know he was there made no difference. He would stay with her all the same. This night he would spend with his wife, separated from her only by touch.

For a long time she said no more. She cried and cried, until her tears ran dry and her breathing calmed. He would have thought she had fallen asleep had she not spoken again.

“I hope you are happier where you are now. I hope your gods have offered you peace, for it seems we will not find it soon down here.” Her head remained bowed as she spoke, exhaustion taking its toll. “I shall see you again, my love. One day. Wait for me.”

The words felt impossible to get out, but he forced himself to say them. “I will be waiting. However long it takes. I will wait for you, Cat.”

“Forgive me, I do not know why I am so upset over a calf.”

Ned had thought his heart was as broken as it could be over their loss, stinging with every breath he took. But then he had found Catelyn sitting in the straw with one of the cows, stroking her head and weeping, and then she said that, and his chest somehow burned and froze simultaneously. Perhaps, with this, he could finally speak to her about it, about the screaming, wretched wound between them. He entered the stall, carefully stepping around the cow (it’s Plum; of course it is Plum, Robb’s favorite), and knelt beside the dark, wet little lump in front of her. He placed a hand on the small head and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I am sorry, sweet girl,” Ned murmured, opening his eyes again and looking at Plum. “Sweet little Plum, oh, I am so sorry.”

“She keeps trying to get it to stand up,” Catelyn told him. “She refuses to believe that it cannot. Every few minutes she gets up and tries again. She wants to nurse it.”

Just as you did. Ned’s head throbbed with the image of Catelyn clutching a cold bundle to her breast, distraught at the lack of latch, vehemently refusing to allow him to take it from her. Her. Not it. Her. Alarra. She’s been gone twice as long as she lived, but she was ours. Ned hated how he had distanced himself, but Catelyn’s rejection of reality made it impossible for him to address his pain. She had gone from dismissing death to eliminating existence entirely. Ned understood the initial refusal, the hope that demanding it not be true would make it so; but his darling wife had stubbornly sat in denial for four moons now, and it was wearing on them both.

“How long have you been out here?” Ned asked as he sat beside Catelyn.

“Since just after supper,” Catelyn replied. “Torren informed me she had begun her labors before we sat down to eat, and I came straight here to see how she was.”

That had been three hours ago. As had become routine since the burial, Ned had taken the children to the godswood after supper, then put them to bed before going in search of Catelyn. Every evening, the grief she refused to acknowledge would take her wandering through their home, followed by the guard Ned had ordered be within ten feet of his wife any time he was not with her. (He had seen the way she had eyed his dagger, standing beside him in the crypts; he could not risk her gaining hold of some other tool due to a lack of supervision. He had personally removed everything sharp from her chambers, and her windows had been locked closed, so that she might still have some privacy. That she had not commented on these changes pushed the ache in his soul even deeper.)

“We ought to do something,” Catelyn said quietly.

“Aye,” Ned sighed. “But taking it from her won’t be pretty. I imagine she’ll put up quite a fight.”

“It is still her baby, Ned.”

“I know that. But it can’t stay here.” Ned paused for a moment. “Cat, do you truly not know why this has upset you so?”

Catelyn blinked at him, frowning. Ned swallowed, searching for the right words. He shifted closer to Catelyn, taking one of her hands, thumb slowly rubbing across her knuckles. Plum stood.

She pressed her nose to her calf, gently nudging.

Catelyn lightly stroking their daughter’s wisps of hair, slowly rocking.

Plum softly mooed.

Catelyn murmuring encouragingly.

A more insistent moo.

His name said with a tremble, tears forming.

Nose wiggled under the little body, trying to lift it to its feet.

Dirt. Dirt on her feet, dirt on her nightgown. Dirt under her nails.

A frustrated tail flick, before moving to stand over the calf, getting her udder as close to its mouth as possible.

Shoving him away, angrily telling him that she needed to nurse. Why didn’t he want her to feed their child? Why had he put her down here, away from everyone? Their little girl was hungry, she needed her mother.

More nudging, followed by another moo, more forlorn.

Her babe, he was taking her from her babe! He was a horrible husband, a horrible father! She hated him! Screams echoing in the courtyard as she clawed at the arms wrapped around her. She hated him, she hated him, she hated him.

Plum sighed heavily, circling back around the calf to lay down again. She stared off into the darkness, ignoring Ned and Catelyn.

Silence. A fortnight of silence, the door to her chambers remaining closed. Then suddenly it was as if none of it had happened, as if they had only ever had four pups. Catelyn went about her duties as she had before the birth. The only difference was the restraint in her affections towards him and the children. They didn’t ask about that night, although he knew they had all heard her screaming.

“Ned?” Catelyn’s voice cut through his thoughts. Ned blinked and shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the Catelyn of the present. She was looking at him with concern, her hand hovering between them.

“What troubles you?” Her palm against his cheek was warm and familiar, and he could not help leaning into it.

“Please, Cat,” Ned softly beseeched, squeezing the hand in his lap, “you must know. You must know why you feel so for Plum.”

“Ned,” Catelyn shook her head, “I do not—”

“Please, Cat, please.” A tear escaped his eye, running down to her thumb. “You do not have to join me in mourning, but I am begging you to acknowledge our loss. I cannot continue to pretend. I need to mourn, Cat. Please.”

For a long moment, Catelyn stared at him. Ned could see the pages flicking in her mind. Then her eyes dropped from his and her hand slipped from his cheek to his chest and her breath caught.

“Oh. Alarra.” Catelyn took a shuddering inhale. “Our babe died.” She looked up at Ned again, eyes glistening. “Oh, gods be good, Ned; I dug her up, didn’t I?”

“It’s alright, Cat, it’s alright,” Ned attempted to soothe her, but Catelyn was already turning away from him and heaving, horror and grief crashing into her with such force that a bodily reaction was unavoidable. Ned quickly gathered her hair, gently shushing in a manner he hoped was comforting. After a few minutes, Catelyn sat up again, breathing heavily. She turned back towards Ned, looking absolutely pitiful, and immediately he pulled her into his lap, arms wrapped tight around her.

“Ned, oh gods, Ned,” Catelyn sobbed into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Cat, Cat, it’s alright, my love.” Ned kissed her temple, then rested his cheek against her head. “I never held any of it against you.”

“I said I hated you!” Catelyn wailed. “Our babe was freshly dead and I told you I hated you!”

“I knew you did not mean it, darling. I knew it was only your grief.”

Ned did not know how long they sat there, Catelyn sobbing against him, soaking his shirt. When her tears finally slowed enough that she could breathe normally, he carefully shifted to his knees, slid an arm under her legs, then, with a small grunt, lifted her up and carried her from the stall.

“Ned, I can walk,” Catelyn murmured.

“Nonsense,” Ned replied. “You just lost all of your supper and have likely cried out every drop of water in your body. You are not walking.”

He carried her to his chambers. Alarra had lived in Catelyn’s, for her two short moons; there was no reason to add to the distress they both already felt, and it was summer, she would not be cold. Catelyn allowed him to undress her and help her into a nightgown (left amongst his own clothing for the occasional nights she came to him instead of the other way around) and braid her hair, then she silently climbed into his bed. Ned rushed through getting himself ready to sleep, then slid in behind her. Catelyn shifted back, pressing against him, lacing her fingers with his when he draped an arm over her.

“You’re a good man, Eddard Stark,” Catelyn whispered.

“Not as good as you deserve,” Ned replied, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Can we visit her in the morning?” Catelyn asked hesitantly.

“Of course.” Ned pressed a kiss to the crook of her neck. “Now sleep, my love.”

Catelyn understood quite clearly that it was her duty to charm the Northern Lords. They respected Ned, of course. He was a Stark, had them let them in a victorious rebellion, but his heir was part Tully, Southern, so it was not sufficient to be a good wife or mother, to manage Winterfell as well as she has Riverrun, no. She must earn the respect and affection of this fierce Northmen. After all, Lord Stark he may be, but Ned was an unintended heir, and although her son would be Lord Stark after him, commanding the fealty that was owed him, she would have him loved as well.

So she danced. She laughed. She managed their supplies meticulously so they might present their lords with fine food and drink. She learned every lord’s likes, their longstanding, never forgotten quarrels between the Northern Houses, the names of their daughters, their plans for their sons. Every kindness was security for her children, and so kindness she extended unfailingly even she did not care about that incident years ago involving a stream that was damned, a son that disappointed his father, the hunt for a particularly large elk, she listened, she remembered, and she made her children secure.

That he should be jealous of her, dancing attendance on his lords, for his son’s benefit, under his watchful gaze when he was the one who—But all the same, her heart beat that much faster, her cheeks glowed that much more warmly; she flushed from head to toe.

Family. Duty. Honor.

She lived by her words, the mantra threaded through her every decision, mostly. But there were times when her marriage was not duty, when honor fled her mind entirely, when all that else was forgotten, ceased to exist, but him, Ned.

He was a calm man, her husband. Unreadable, slow to speak, often stoic, but he knew how to move her, stir her blood, make her scream.

She forced herself to look away from his eyes, they brought indecent things to her mind, reminiscences unfit for company, but it was too late. She, not her partner, stumbled through the last steps of their dance. She, not her partner, breathed heavily, grew red-faced. She, not her partner, stood mutely rather than delivering the expected compliments.

Then she felt it, his strong hand on her back, settling just so along her spine, sliding down, sliding low. His fingers pressing into her gown, until the heat of them, of him, penetrated the thick, wool dress. It was a mere touch, she had yet to turn and acknowledge him, all the same, everything within her thrilled at his presence. A married woman she may be, a mother for many years, her husband however still made her feel a maid. Not still, perhaps for the first time, she had truly lost her head. It was enough to make her wonder if all had gone according to plan, if she had married as originally intended, what would have happened on nights like this, Brandon drunk and boisterous with his friends, the quiet wolf with his storm-grey eyes watching her, his stoic face alight.

If this is what they felt, this temporary madness, it was no small wonder men fathered bastards, no matter what it meant for their wives.

Ned replied to her partner without Cat knowing what was said, a dismissal of some kind that undid her flattery and sent the poor man quickly away. A slight pressure on her hip brought her closer to Ned, until her dress caught on a buckle and snagged, three threads pulled free to disrupt her determined tidiness.

“It was only a dance,” she finally managed to say, lips dry, painfully breathless. “If you wanted to dance, you need only to have asked.” She refused to look at him, stood stiffly, just so, afraid if she turned she would melt entirely way.

“I acted without thought.”

She wanted to act without thought. The strange willfulness, a mixture of sharp anger, a painful memory, desire so fierce she wanted to cry out. She choked down any response she might have given, no jest coming to mind.

“You’re right. It’s only a dance. It is only, I have never once danced with you,” Ned said.

She struggled to calm the wild-fury of her heart, “You have never asked.”

“I’ve never asked any lady for a dance.”

How could she ever come to understand her husband, this stranger. Too shy to ask for a dance, yet somehow managing to father a bastard. Unlike and yet so like all other men. A man so unmoved by passion being alike all the others and unlike, seeing fit to bring that child to his ancestral home.

“Forgive me?” His fingers traced her back lightly where they lay.

The musicians played on, with loud stomping accompany it, the drunken lords roared along in voices none-to-pleasant. Winterfell almost seemed lost to time, these ancient walls, these old songs, these rough Northmen ill-suited to the modern ways, living in a past far more simple than the present. Forgive me. The giant hearth was filled with logs so round she’d not be able to fit her arms around it. And above it, the direwolf summoned them back, back to the time of creatures that long since had faded away like snow on a sunny day.

Perhaps she too could be transported there, to this fevered dream, perhaps she could live there, not in daylight, not when her children needed her, for only this moment. Where her husband wrongs her and asks for forgiveness, when he looks at her as if she is the only woman he wants. Perhaps it was already the hour of the wolf, for she would let him have her, take her in the dark corridor with the sound of the revelry still in her ear, take her beneath the face of the strange gods in the godswood. She’d let him ravage her in the Sept, in defiance or in hope of a blessing, she could not say.

The thoughts made her tremble, Catelyn Tully would never, it’s obscene. But Catelyn Stark has been placed under some strange spell, mesmerized by a man who wasted no words who nonetheless beguiled her, wooed her with his clumsy ways, his stupid jealousy. His kind heart that tried to mark her presence here by welcoming her gods, by his love for their children. His shameful inability to play along when it came to men standing a little too close to his wife.

King’s Landing was abhorrent in every way. Others would insist there were certain charms to the city, Robert especially, but Ned could never find it in him to agree. The heat was suffocating, the food was too sweet, the men and women were all snakes.

There was one notable exception to the misery. One thing that could push all else to a small corner of Ned’s mind and keep it there for a few blessed moments.

As Ned pushed himself off the bed and went to open the doors leading out to the balcony to let some air into the chamber Catelyn did not hide away under furs. Instead she stretched out over the bed and welcomed the very light breeze that swept through the room once the doors were open. Her pale skin had taken on a rosy hue and her hair was loose and free around her head. Their children had left lines on her stomach and on her breasts, they had also made her shape softer. Ned loved that.

The sight before him grew even lovelier when she saw how Ned looked at her and her lips curled into a smile.

”It is rude to stare, my lord” she said softly. ”Have you no shame?”

Darkness had descended upon the city, but the warm light from the candles lit in every corner of the room gifted a gentle glow to her skin and brought out the copper in her hair. She grew more beautiful with each passing year.

”All I can do is ask for your forgiveness” Ned told her.

”It shall all be forgotten if you bring me that bowl of fruit.”

So of course Ned did as he was told. He retrieved the silver bowl with purple grapes, pears and peaches from the small table and brought it over to his waiting wife.

”Have you worked up an appetite?” he asked as he held the fruit towards her.

”All due to you.”

Catelyn sat up and carefully chose a handful of grapes. She then hummed with satisfaction as she put one in her mouth.

There was not much fresh fruit to be grown up north and having it shipped was no option as it spoiled before it arrived. Ned had not much considered it until he’d taken his southron bride, used to delicacies that only grew in warmer weather.

Ned walked around the bed, got back in it on his side, and placed the bowl between them on the mattress.

”May this summer be a long one” Catelyn sighed as she ate another grape.

As he looked at Catelyn, naked and at peace, Ned hoped her wish would be granted.

”Summer is best enjoyed up north” he said.

Gentle snows that melted away quickly and sun that was not punishing.

”Hm? I quite enjoy this” Catelyn said, ever his opponent. ”The warmth is pleasant.”

”I am melting away, my lady."


When the sun stood high in the middle of the day he could barely think. He was reduced to a puddle vaguely resembling what was usually Lord Eddard of House Stark.

Catelyn only smiled, having heard his complaint many times before, and held out a grape towards him. She clearly meant for Ned to take it from her so he could eat it himself.

So instead he leaned forward and ate it straight from her hand, bringing a laugh from her.

“These are very sweet” he noted.

“It’s good for you to taste something sweet every now and then.”

“Is it, now?”

“It cannot all be according to your northern ways.”

Kissing her was sweeter still, the softness of her lips unlike anything else he had ever felt. He would have liked to keep kissing her, though she quickly pulled away.

Still smiling she fed him another grape. There was something playful to her expression as she did it. It had been long since Ned had last seen her enjoy herself so.

“Do you often miss these things when we are in Winterfell?” he had to ask.

Catelyn raised her eyebrows.

“Fruit?”

“And warmth. A southern summer.”

She considered for a moment before answering.

“At times, though it is of no great importance to me. I am glad to call Winterfell my home as that is where I have my family.”

When Ned had been wed to Catelyn many had remarked she would not be strong enough to live through the winter. The heirs she could give him would not have what was necessary to survive. Though again and again she had proved them wrong.

Once she had finished speaking she reached for one of the peaches. They were so ripe they seemed ready to burst at any moment.

“With that said I am also glad to enjoy a peach while on a southern visit” she added before biting into it.

It was difficult to eat a ripe peach with dignity and not even Catelyn could manage such a feat. Juice glistened on her lips and threatened to run down her chin.

Ned reached out and cupped her face, gently running the pad of his thumb over her mouth.

“You should taste it for yourself” Catelyn told him, offering him the peach. “It is a good peach.”

Ned had never been fond of peaches, both the taste and the texture was not to his liking, but he took a bite all the same because who was he to refuse his wife? The sweetness exploded over his tongue and the juice ran down his chin.

There was scarcely a second before Catelyn’s mouth was on his. Kissing and licking to gather up every trace of the peach.

“You are making a mess” she mumbled.

“Am I the one making a mess?” Ned had to question.

Catelyn hummed as if it was not her fault he was sticky and then made them both even stickier as she lost hold of the half eaten peach and it fell between their bodies. Ned did not immediately realise why something cold and wet suddenly hit his chest, but as they broke apart he realised what had happened.

“Seven hells” Catelyn sighed.

Ned found himself distracted by that before hitting the mattress it had landed between her breasts. In the light of the candles he saw the traces of it shining on her skin.

Before Catelyn had time to reach for it Ned had taken the peach and tossed it aside. He heard it hit the floor with a splatter and saw the confusion on Catelyn’s face, though she would soon understand.

“I was not finished” she protested halfheartedly as he moved aside the bowl of fruit so that he could get properly close to her.

“Then have more” Ned told her.

It was only he that had to busy his mouth with other things.

Catelyn gave a surprised noise as he lowered his head and ran his tongue between her breasts, but did not push him away. No, a moment later she shifted so that she could wrap her arms around his shoulders to allow him even closer.

He tasted the fruity sweetness of the peach and the salt of her sweat, and she sighed so sweetly as he did so. And once every trace of the fruit had been removed from her skin Ned pressed a trail of kisses up her chest and throat. He nuzzled his face into her neck, pressing himself as close to her as he could get. He wished to breathe only her.

One of her hands had found its way into his hair and she ran her nails across his scalp, sending shivers through Ned even as he was warmer than he had ever been before.

”Have you bruised my neck?” she asked softly.

”No.”

In the heat she had taken to wearing gowns with lower cuts and so Ned had instead chosen to direct his attention towards her thighs. He would spare her from having to endure pointed glances at marks left uncovered by her clothes.

Catelyn kept running her fingers through his hair.

”You took my grapes” she said, though she did not move.

Her arms remained around Ned, holding him close to her.

”Must you have them?”

He had found he was very comfortable as he was.

”Would you deny me grapes?”

Even as he could not see her Ned heard the smile in her voice.

With a sigh Ned pressed one final kiss to her neck and then moved away from her so that she could properly sit up and herself reach for the bowl of fruit. Because he would not deny her grapes if she so wanted them.

He would also not deny himself sweeping aside her hair to kiss her shoulder, though he was quickly forced to raise his head again as she reached up and fed him yet another grape.

”What would they say if they could see you now?” she mused, not entirely without satisfaction.

It was not hard to imagine they would find a lot of humour in Lord Stark eating grapes from his wife’s hand.

”I am but human.”

”With how you are one can easily forget.”

”You wound me, my lady” Ned said dryly.

He then promptly had to receive another grape.

”I believe you will live” Catelyn let him know.

So he would. Especially as he could again let his lips run over her shoulder until he found her hairline, burying his nose in her still slightly damp hair.

“Oh gods, I am in need of a bath” Catelyn said as he did so.

”As am I.”

They were equally sweaty and sticky with peach juice.

Catelyn turned her head to look at him and their faces were so close Ned was allowed to share her breaths.

When they kissed that time Catelyn was eager to push her tongue into his mouth, taking hold of his jaw to hold him in place. The heat of her mouth was the most delicious thing Ned had ever known.

”Let us have that bath” she whispered as they parted.

The musicians struck their notes again and off the dancers went in elaborately choreographed moves that wearied him just to observe, along the long hall fans fluttered in frantic expectation of something that set his nerves alight, the high pitched laughter harsh to his ear.

A northern bride would be better, he determined. Anyone from the South would not survive the harsh winters, the mundane routine of Winterfell so crucial to survival there, not after the theater and concerts, the spectacle and champagne of London. And if those assurances that it would be unfair to ask such a think of a bride arose from an instinct that to remove from his forlorn corner would be to make himself easy prey, well, that thought he’d tried to tuck away quietly in the background of his mind. Although now he thought of it, he’d hunted in the lands of bears, been stalked by wolves, and that had not so unnerved him as this. Here is where the real danger lay.

“My Lord? Lord Stark?”

The sweet voice startled him, an uncouth word fell from his lips before he recognized who addressed him. “Tull—My Lad—Lady Tully.” He stuttered through the words his, silently cursed his winter-pale skin for failing to conceal his blushes. Brandon may have told many a tall-tale, but in this there had been no exaggeration. His betrothed was indeed surpassingly lovely.

“It’s unforgivably rude of me to accost you so, without ever being properly introduced, but I could not allow you to escape London without a word between us.”

His twice damned face must have shown his surprise that she knew of his plans to return home, and she smiled, blue eyes twinkling with great amusement at his inability to refute her assessment.

Tully blue had been an assessment often passed on a peculiarly stunning shade, and now he could attest for himself, it was indeed an enthralling color.

“You have the look of a man ready to leave this terrible city and never return, but I had to thank you. For the letter to Edmure, upon our father’s death.”

“I should have called. The nature of—our family connection—It is my fault entirely for forcing you into such an awkward position.”

Now she laughed, and although he’d been in London long enough to be accosted by the famous soprano’s solo and the prestigious talents of many a lady on the piano forte, it had been many months since he’d heard a sound so pleasant to his ear. As a Tully, he supposed it should be likened to a bubbling brook, tripping over smooth stones on a bright summer day, but he was a Northman, and he heard the the warm water through the Lady’s chamber of Winterfell—the warm, soothing hum of peace.

“No indeed. I would not expect—we have no claim on you.” She instinctively replied, and hesitated a moment as if his words only just then registered before she bit her bright pink lip, and offered, “Well, if we are being entirely honest, that would have spared me the embarrassment of so shockingly accosting you, so if you are feeling in the mood for regrets and benevolence, I shall forgive you your failure if you forgive my audaciousness.”

He bowed and exerted all of his efforts to not stroke his beard in thought, hum in contemplation, or sway from side to side in his desperate awkwardness. Finally, he cleared his throat. “My brother often spoke of your beauty and intelligence. I am the grateful beneficiary of your kindness.”

Seven hells. There went his blushes again. By now he’s not doubt sweated through these miserable clothes and looked as much of a spectacle as he felt. He waited for the lady to make her escape, surely her kindness being rewarded by having a man stutter and blush through a conversation was enough to send her on her way. The dancers had honored one another, the ladies returning to their chaperones, the musicians striking a note to signal for the next set, it was an opportune moment for her to melt away into the crowd, but Cate—Lady Tully surprised him.

“You mentioned—you admit that although we were very nearly family, we do not—are not at all acquainted. Would you care to dance and remedy our mutual ignorance?”

His own blushes held no candle to hers over her boldness, and he felt the strange urge to lead her to the floor, and make a mess of this Southern dance together.

“Ah,” he cleared his throat, “if you knew me, you would know that I don’t—I haven’t—my time in town—that is during my stay here—Ihaveyettomanagetoaskforadance.” The words came out in a rush and far to loudly for their murmured conversation, and it seemed right to him, that he’d end this interlude with a lasting impression of oaf.

In an extraordinary act of bravery, or madness, considering his behavior, Catelyn Tully placed her hand on his arm. “Ah, but if you recall my lord, I was the one who did the asking.”

As much as Ned hated the South and all the strange games the lords and ladies played there, that night he determined that it was not all meaningless frivolity, that balls had their uses, that dancing was an enchanting activity, and he did not leave London before calling on Catelyn Sta—Tully many times over.

It is your name day feast, my love. You shouldn’t be out here all alone.”

She found her husband on the balcony overlooking the yard, where she knew she would.

“I just wanted some air.” He replied, not turning to look at her. He had probably already heard her approaching.

“Mhmm.” She came to stand beside him.

Catelyn had been sharing a dance with lord Cerwyn when Ned discreetly left the Great Hall of Winterfell and so she had taken no notice of it, but she had noticed his absence as soon as the dance was over. 

He was not one for grand feasts, her lord husband. Though he had seemed to be enjoying himself well enough earlier –had even given her the pleasure of dancing with her once or twice, which was not something he did often– it was no surprise that he would need a small break eventually. It was very crowded in the hall after all and rather hot. Ned could only withstand it for so long.

“I would have been back in a few minutes, my lady. You don’t have to miss out on the dancing to stay out here with your old husband.”

That amused her. She arched her brow at him, trying to fight back a smirk that was beginning to form. “Oh old now, is it?”

He turned his gaze to her. There was a hint of playfulness in his gray eyes, probably in response to her own tone. “Well I’m not getting any younger, that’s for certain.”

Ned was only five and thirty. He was definitely not an old man, but he was right in that they weren’t getting any younger either. Catelyn herself, who was younger by a few moons, was aware of the fact that she tired a lot more easily than she used to.

“Careful there, my lord.” She warned in a teasing tone. “You are older than me only by a little and I still like to consider myself rather young. I do not appreciate talk that is making me feel elderly.”

A grin spread over his face. “Ah, but you look a lot younger than me, my lady, so you should have no fear in that regard. Every man with eyes to see could tell you that.”

Ned did look older than his years, that much was true. War and the rule of Winterfell had aged him, and the lines on his face already ran deep. She was saddened that her husband's responsibilities required so much of him and tired him so, but at the same time she'd be lying if she said that she didn't find the gray streaks in his beard and the lines around his eyes to be incredibly attractive. In her eyes, Ned looked more handsome now than he had when they wed, though after loving him for so long her view on the subject was far from objective.

She shrugged. “The man in my bed last night did not strike me as old. If anything I found him quite energetic.”

That made him laugh, a deep rumble that came from his chest. She loved that sound so much.

He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him, and pressed a kiss on her temple. “You know just the thing to say, my love.”

She smiled. It felt nice, sharing this moment of peace with her husband. Most of the day had been spent in preparations for the feast and she had not had the chance to see him much. At the feast itself, while they had spent plenty of time alongside each other, he was slightly uptight, constantly aware of the people surrounding them and their gazes. Now she got him truly to herself for a while. And she happened to like this version of him that was more relaxed. A version that not many people got to see but the few who were close to him.

“Seriously though, Cat,” He started, his arm still around her. “I had no wish to interrupt your dancing. I know how you enjoy it, my love. You should go back inside if you wish to.”

“I've done enough dancing for one day.” She replied earnestly. “I would rather be here with you. I've grown quite fond of you, you know.” 

He chuckled again. “Have you? I never noticed.”

“Mhm yes.” She turned her face toward him, a satisfied grin playing on her lips. “Even if you are getting terribly old.”

He smirked in amusement as he bent down to kiss her. His lips against hers were surprisingly soft and soon she was parting her own, allowing his tongue to slip inside.

It was definitely not proper. They were in a very public space and one of their guests could walk out of the hall any minute and catch their lord and lady kissing passionately on the balcony as if they were newlyweds. Her septa would have told her that such moments between husband and wife should be shared privately. But Catelyn found that at that moment she did not care. It was not a crime to be affectionate with her husband, was it?

She sighed into his mouth, her hand moving to cup his bearded cheek. It was a slow and gentle kiss, without demands and without rush. But before her heart could have its fill of it it was over and he was pulling away. Once the kiss was broken she found herself looking into her husband's eyes that shone in the moonlight.

She stroked his cheekbone longingly with her thumb before drawing her hand away. Anything else would have to wait.

“Come back inside, my love.” She said softly, no longer teasing. “You have enjoyed yourself today, have you not?”

“I have. It has been a good evening.” He confirmed, turning his head to gaze into the darkness once more. 

Of that she was glad. On his name day at least he deserved to have a good time, even if feasts were not his favorite thing in the world. His burdens were at times too heavy, and she wished for him to be free of them for a while.

“Good.” 

“I only needed a moment.” He swallowed hard. “Sometimes…”

“Sometimes?” She urged, tilting her head to the side to look at him. 

Ned weighed his words carefully. “Sometimes, when there are so many people around I feel as though I am about to drown.” 

That surprised her. He hadn't really ever given a reason before as to why he disliked big crowds. Not that he needed one. If Ned wanted to escape the swarm of people for a while and breathe fresh air during big celebrations and feasts she was more than fine with it and had never questioned it in the past.

Catelyn could not claim to fully understand the feeling her husband was describing. Ever since childhood she had been used to such social events and it rarely made her feel uneasy or anxious. She even enjoyed it usually, though that depended on the circumstances. Yet hearing that it was not the same for him stirred an odd fondness inside her and made her feel rather protective. For all his stern looks he had but a soft heart inside, she found herself thinking –not for the first time during their many years of marriage.

“A great man they've made into their liege lord.” He continued when she didn't respond, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Can't even stand to be among his own people for long.”

She frowned. She hated when he started doubting himself like that. Because if there was one thing Ned was not, that was a bad lord. She doubted there were many men throughout the seven kingdoms who inspired half the loyalty that Ned did in his people. Brandon's shadow would always affect the way he thought of himself, she knew, but could he not see how well he had managed? Could he not see that something like this was trivial?

“Seems to me that you were among them all evening. So what if their lord wants five minutes of privacy?”

He seemed to relax slightly, detecting the truth in her words.

“They can continue drinking just fine on their own.” She added

“That's true enough.” He admitted. “Do you think they even noticed we are gone?” 

“I doubt it. The Greatjon has commenced some sort of drinking game. I believe we will soon have some of your lords bannermen passed out in our hall, my lord.” 

“That sounds about right.” He snorted. 

Though most northmen did quite well with drinking, very few men could keep up lord Umber as he has proven time and time again. And at the moment Catelyn was very grateful to him for the distraction.

“It also means I get to keep you here to myself for as long as I want.” His voice dropped lower, taking that all too familiar tone that made her heart beat a little faster. 

“And you would have me freeze to death?” She asked innocently.

It was not a particularly cold night by Northern standards and she was dressed quite warmly but staying out for longer than necessary still did not sound very appealing.

“I can think of ways to keep my lady wife warm.” 

He pulled her tighter against him as if to emphasize his point.

“Oh I'm sure you can.” She got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “And you'll get every chance to showcase your abilities to do so later. When there is a bed available and a door we can shut.”

“You are being cruel, my love.”

“Patience. We will celebrate your name day properly, my lord. I promise.”

The first rays of sunlight glinted across the snow. Winterfell’s godswood was quiet, save for a soft crunching—one pair of boots, three sets of paws. They made their way to the heart tree, where the boots stopped, their owner sitting upon one of the ancient roots. Two sets of paws meandered about the frozen pool in front of the massive weirwood, while the third stopped beside the boots, waiting just a moment before the fronts were placed on a thigh with a soft whine.

Catelyn smiled and bent down, pulling Rickon onto her lap. He licked her cheek, then curled up, watching Arya and Bran circle the pool, snuffling in the snow. Although it had been sixteen years, Catelyn still did not feel quite at ease here, surrounded by her husband’s gods. But having her children with her always made her more comfortable, even when they were in their canine forms instead of their human ones.

They had only been at the heart tree a few minutes when Arya and Bran suddenly lifted their heads and looked to the south. They glanced at Catelyn, who nodded, then ran off, snow flying up behind them. Their excited yipping reached her a moment later, making her smile and enticing Rickon to sit up. Another minute, then they were running back, each carrying a rabbit; Robb loped easily just behind them with a pair of beavers in his mouth. He placed them at her feet and sat, awaiting her approval. Catelyn reached out and gently stroked his head. Robb leaned into her touch for a breath, then Ned came into view, walking oddly, with Sansa skipping, as much as a wolf could, beside him. Robb stood and picked up his beavers, moving to the side. Rickon hopped from her lap to investigate his eldest sibling’s kills, and Catelyn got to her feet, walking towards her husband and daughter.

“Is that a bull elk?” Catelyn asked, astonished, realizing why Ned could not simply jog across the godswood as he had so many times before. Sansa pranced up to her, letting out a joyful bark.

“You took it down?” Another bark. “I am very impressed.”

Ned dragged the elk to the base of the heart tree, where Robb was laying with Rickon, snout already buried in one of the beavers, sitting on his front legs. Sansa sat proudly beside her kill as Arya and Bran bounded over with more excited yipping. Ned affectionately bumped his forehead against Sansa’s, then turned back to Catelyn. 

For a moment they stared at each other. He was huge, his head level with her chest, with canines the size of her hand and paws the size of her face. She ought to be terrified of such a creature. But then he flopped down with a great sigh, looking up at her dolefully, and she shook her head, smiling.

“Alright, alright.” Catelyn spread out the blanket she had brought with her, then sat beside him. Ned rolled onto his side, placing his gigantic head in her lap and closing his eyes. She buried her fingers in his ruff, slowly dragging them through the incredibly soft fur.

“Did you eat already?” Catelyn asked.

Ned huffed. 

“You’ll go out again later, then?”

He placed his paw on her shin, rubbing his cheek against her thighs.

“Do not tell me not to worry. I am very glad that you take such good care of our pups, Eddard, but you must also eat.”

Ned growled softly.

“That is unbecoming.”

Another huff, then he turned his head and licked her gloved palm.

“Apology accepted.”

They sat in silence as their children ate, enjoying the winter sun. Rickon quickly finished and immediately scrambled onto Ned to curl up again, still small enough that the cold bothered him. After cleaning up every scrap of meat from the collected kills, the other four, bellies full and fur warmed by the sunshine, took off through the snow, chasing one another, knocking each other down and playfully batting and nipping. Rickon watched them for a few minutes, then, apparently deciding he would rather face the cold than be left out, slid from his bed of Ned and bounded after them. Catelyn continued to scratch at Ned’s neck, smiling at the awkward way Rickon moved, his paws too big for his legs, which were in turn too long for his body.

“We shall have another one soon,” Catelyn said quietly.

Ned’s eyes opened and he tilted his head to look up at her. Catelyn held her breath, smiling down at him. Ned flipped himself upright, blinked twice at her, then began sniffing her intently, wolfy brow furrowed almost comically. After a minute he pulled back, looking happy, then he quickly sat up and leaned in, and—

“Ned!” Catelyn laughed, his tongue hot on her neck. “Oh! You know I hate when you do that!” Ned pressed his forehead to her cheek and sighed, his tail swiping furiously across the snow. This clearly was more emotion than he wished to express, for Ned quickly leaned back again and snapped at his tail. Catelyn covered her mouth, trying not to giggle at him as he attempted to capture his tail, still wagging, with either paws or mouth.

It had to be past midnight and Ned had long since retired to his own chambers. Even as hours had passed he had found himself unable to find peace enough to fall asleep. He had already gone to see Catelyn earlier in the day, but still he had decided to go see her again. That was better than tossing and turning in his own bed until dawn came. The least he could do was sit at her side while she remained in her strange state of unconsciousness.

One evening, not long after darkness had descended upon Winterfell, a woman had appeared within the castle without ever having passed through the gates. She had looked highly ordinary in her simple woollen dress, though when she had refused to tell anyone how she had managed to enter Winterfell she had been detained by guards. Ned had been told that within seconds she had torn herself free and escaped. Catelyn, unaware of the whole ordeal, had come upon the woman by accident as she had entered her sept. She had been attacked and the woman had bit into her hand. Then the woman had disappeared out of the sept and there had been no further sightings of her.

Not even an hour after that Catelyn had started feeling ill and had taken to bed. She had fallen asleep with a fever and had since not woken up. The fever had passed, leaving her cold in its wake, though she remained unconscious.

None of the attempts at waking her had brought so much as a small response from her. After the last attempt Luwin had gently began the conversation about how it was possible she would never wake up. Ned had only heard half of it as the rest had been drowned out by a humming noise. He did not want to know. He could not stand to know. And Catelyn’s heart had dutifully kept beating in her chest.

Ned opened the door to her bedchamber, expecting to see her just as he had seen her before. On her back with her arms at her sides, pale and unmoving in her bed. Her hair brushed out over her pillow because Sansa refused to let her mother’s hair get matted. Though she was not there. The bed was empty.

Catelyn was instead in the middle of the room and with her was another person. A man. A man whose neck she had her arms wound around and who in turn had his arms loosely around her waist. They were so closely entangled it was hard to say where Catelyn ended and the man began and something within Ned snapped in half.

He moved forward without thinking, mind clouded with rage over what he had in front of him. How dared anyone put their hands on Catelyn? How dared that man take her from her sick bed to use her so?

His hands found the man’s tunic and without considering any further he tore him away from Catelyn. Only to then immediately step backwards when the man gave a strange, gurgling sound and promptly collapsed to the floor.

There was something entrancing about the way blood glistened in the light of fire. Deep red catching the warm light, glimmering like rubies. It took a moment before Ned grasped it was blood he was looking at. It was such a bizarre sight he could not immediately comprehend it.

It covered the front of her otherwise pristinely white nightgown and there was a pool of it at her feet, growing larger by the second as the man that had fallen to the floor bled out. It was on her face. Around her mouth.

The blood was coming from a large wound in his neck. A gaping hole, as if an animal had torn into him and taken a mouthful of flesh with it. He was surely already dead. He did not seem to breathe.

Ned did breathe. He had to force himself to do it as it felt as if a giant hand had taken hold of his chest and was squeezing the air from his lungs. A cold terror had seized him. Frozen him to where he stood.

Catelyn spat out that missing part of the man’s neck and the flesh hit the stone floor with a wet splatter. When she grimaced she revealed teeth stained red and more blood ran down her chin.

“I would have let go willingly” she said hoarsely. “There was no need to tear him right out of my mouth.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Ned knew there had been a need. He had come upon his wife wrapped in the arms of a man he could not name. Before thinking another thought he had torn that man away from her. Though the man had collapsed between them and Ned had been made aware of the blood.

He could not speak. He could not tell her what he had believed himself to have stumbled upon. His mouth was so dry. When he had forcibly parted her from her prey her teeth had been so deep in him that part of the man had remained with her. She had been eating him.

”No” Catelyn told him. ”No, I was not eating him. I do not eat. I need only the blood.”

Not a word had passed between his lips and yet she had corrected his thought. Catelyn could see into his mind.

Against his will Ned felt his body convulse with shivers. There was no reason to the gruesome scene before his eyes. His wife, the mother of his children, had killed a man to drink his blood.

Catelyn turned her head down and looked at the dead body at her feet. She raised a hand to rub her face, smearing more blood over her pale skin.

“Mother have mercy” she mumbled. “If the gods will still hear me.”

When he had been but a boy Nan had told Ned stories of creatures who sought human blood. They appeared human. Could walk among humans and not be discovered. Though they were evil. They had no care for any life, they wanted only the blood to keep themselves alive. Merciless things not guided by any gods, but driven by their own hunger for death. It had frightened him as a child, though as soon as he had been old enough to realise Nan’s stories were not true he had stopped believing in those creatures.

Again Catelyn looked up at him, visibly distraught. For a moment she appeared utterly helpless. As if she was not at all the cause of what had taken place.

“I… I do not know how to explain to you. I barely understand it myself.”

There was agony in her words.

”You killed this man” Ned finally managed to say and his voice could barely carry him through those words.

She had killed a man to drink his blood. His wife had killed a man to drink his blood. If that even was his wife. He knew Catelyn. That was not Catelyn.

“I am!” she exclaimed, taking a step towards him.

Ned instinctively took a step backwards. He stumbled on his own feet, but managed to keep upright. Never taking his eyes off her. He did not know what she could do.

To his great relief Catelyn did not follow him. She stayed where she was, raising her hands and showing her palms.

“I am Catelyn” she said, softer that time. “I became this when I fell ill.”

“You came down with a fever” Ned protested feebly.

“Ten nights ago I awoke in the darkest hour of the night and I was this” Catelyn said, gesturing to herself. “I opened my eyes and felt a hunger unlike anything I have ever felt before. I desired only blood, it was as if I simply knew nothing else would sate me.”

Though no one had died. There had been no deaths within Winterfell’s walls in the weeks it had been since Catelyn had been attacked.

“I have been feeding on animals. Dogs, mostly.”

Farlen had been so troubled by that one of his hounds was biting the others to death. He had not been able to figure out which hound it was as they all seemed to get along nicely in his presence, but then he would come to the kennels in the morning and find another one dead.

”You were asleep.”

He had sat at her side each and every day, praying for that she would wake up. Long hours had been spent staring at her lifeless body. She had looked as if diseased, though her heart had been beating.

Catelyn smiled, though the smile never reached her eyes. In truth it looked more like a pained grimace than a smile.

“During the days. During the dark hours I can roam freely.”

“I have sat with you after sundown. I did so last night.”

She had been in her bed.

“I was awake then. I did not know how to tell you all I have had to tell you now so I kept my eyes closed. Perhaps I should have revealed myself because your presence meant I could not feed and this evening I woke up starving.”

The realisation was nauseating. In sitting by his wife’s bedside he had created in her a hunger so fierce she had killed a man to drink his blood.

The room was slowly spinning around him. His wife’s bedchamber. What had been his wife’s bedchamber. Catelyn had always had a vicious streak to her, though it was not possible for her to have done such a thing.

“I meant to find an animal” she said in a low voice. “I did not set out to kill anyone this night.”

“Yet this man is dead.”

He would have been convinced it was one of his many bad dreams had it not been for the feeling of horror that was eating at his heart. That could not be anything but real.

“I just happened upon him. His heartbeat was so loud I could not hear anything else and I could feel the heat of the blood moving within him. I… I lost my mind. I could not control myself.”

That man’s death had been the prize to sate her hunger.

There was no relief to be found in her own devastation at her actions. How long before she hungered once more? How long before she again lost control? A predator on the hunt within the walls of Winterfell, stalking through the castle under the cover of darkness.

Ned raised his hands to his face, pressed them against his eyes until he could see nothing but stars. What was he to do? What was there to do? Was Catelyn forever befouled by that woman’s curse? Would she always be a monster?

Had it not been for that he was unable to speak he would have cried out when Catelyn took hold of his wrists with hands that were cold as ice and forcibly lowered them, leaving him little choice but to look into her feverish eyes. Blue eyes that burned. They were brighter than they had ever been, the blue so intense it was dizzying to meet her gaze. It did nothing to ease his lightheadedness.

“What will you do with me, Ned?”

His heart was beating so hard it felt as if though it was trying to escape his ribcage and Ned could barely breathe. He would choke on nothing but air.

Catelyn held him with a strength unlike anything he had felt before, his skin would bruise once she let him go. If she ever let him go.

”You should be afraid” she continued when he said nothing. ”Anyone with any sense would be afraid. The dead man was afraid.”

Had he ever seen her so frantic?

”What do you fear most? That you will end up dead on the floor or that you will end up like me?”

He could not think. He could not think. Every resemblance of a thought tangled up in another and became nothing. He was trembling and had broken out in sweats despite that he felt colder than he had ever been.

Slowly Catelyn leaned closer and against himself Ned bent his head down to listen to what she had to say. He was no longer in control of his own movements.

”I worry I will hurt you” she said softly. ”I worry I will hurt the children.”

Her breath was hot against the side of his face as she whispered, though the smell of blood clung to her. Cold death.

”You are hurting me now” Ned said and his voice did not sound like his own.

He winced and closed his eyes as she pressed a kiss to the side of his face. Ever so gently, but he felt the coldness of her lips and the stickiness of the blood covering her mouth.

”Forgive me.”

Then she let go of his wrists and instead laid her arms around his waist, tucking her head in under his chin as she had a thousand times before. Again she was gentle and careful in her movements. It felt almost as it had before, the gesture was so familiar. Had Ned not still been shivering it would have been possible to close his eyes and pretend it was as it was supposed to be.

”I did not want this” Catelyn mumbled. ”I do not want this.”

Ned was unable to raise his arms to return her embrace, though that did not seem to matter to her. She stubbornly held him. She was frightened, too.

”I do not… I do not know what to do” he confessed.

His gaze was drawn to the dead man on the floor. His eyes were open and even in death his panic remained. Ned half expected him to open his mouth and shriek.

”What is there to do?” Catelyn sighed. ”Nothing can save me.”

People would hunt her with torches and pitchforks if it become known what had become of Lady Stark. It was that or she would be confined to secretly stalking in the night forever while everyone believed her to be cursed with eternal slumber. Because even if she could control her hunt for blood she would never again be what she had been.

”And when I kill again? When the hunger becomes overwhelming and I cannot stop myself?”

What was happening did not grow any less unnerving because she kept prying into his mind.

”Forgive me” she said again.

The room was silent with the exception of the fire crackling in the hearth and Ned’s ragged breathing. Catelyn did not make a sound and remained perfectly still. As if it was a statue that held Ned close to itself rather than a human. Though was she a human? Or was she something else?

”There are many stories of bloodsuckers” Catelyn said. ”Yours say the bloodsuckers are dead things that pretend to be alive.”

”Your heart beats.”

He had felt it. Several times he had let his hand rest on her chest just so that he could feel the thrumming of her heart against his fingers. It had remained steady.


”Though I am cold and forced to feed on the life of others.”

His wife was dead. His Catelyn was dead.

”Indeed I fear I am” she whispered.

She turned her head up to look at him once more.

“Something must be done” she told him.

”What would you have me do?”

He had not ever believed he would have to think about that. It had not occurred to him a night would come when he would happen upon his wife drinking a man’s blood.

Catelyn reached up and ghosted her bloodied fingers over his cheek, her touch so light he could barely feel it. It was a cold whisper against his skin.

”Ten nights of loneliness has allowed me a lot of time to think” she said. ”And I do not believe you can let me live.”

No. Because she was a danger to all that lived within Winterfell’s walls. He had a duty to protect them.

He looked at her with blood smeared across her face, knowing the dead body just by them was there because she had killed a man, and knew he would not be able to kill his wife. She was not as she had been, she had been changed into something monstrous, though he could not kill her. Her hands on him frightened him and yet he would not be able to do it.

”My hair free, covering my face as I kneel and you hold the sword above my neck” she mused.

Those words from her lips cut deeper into his heart than any knife could ever dream of doing.

Ned shook his head.

”I cannot. I will not.”

”You would not kill me, I am already dead. All I ask is that you end my misery.”

”You ask for too much” he choked out.

”If not I would have to leave Winterfell and I could not stand to do so. I cannot walk away from my children.”

She would rather die than leave them. What would Ned have done had it been him?

”Leave” he told her. ”Leave before anyone else discovers you.”

For a brief moment he wondered what it would mean if she left. Though there had to be more like her. The woman had been like her. She would not be the only one moving through the country.

She tilted her head slightly and Ned saw the moment her face fell.

”What would I do?” she asked. ”I do not care for a life where all I hold dear has been taken from me.”

“I will not kill the mother of my children.”

The mother of his children and his lady love. She had been at his side ever since he returned to Winterfell after the rebellion.

Catelyn’s eyebrows furrowed.

“No one would have to know” she insisted.

Perhaps that hurt most of all. That she believed his refusal was due to his fear over what others would think.

Catelyn stepped away from him, her face still deeply troubled. Slowly she went over to the dead man and as she looked down at him she spoke to Ned once more.

”For the first time I wish you cared less for me, my lord” she sighed. ”Could you not have barged into the room to this see this and… merely killed me?”

”No” was all Ned could say.

He could not have because he did care for her. He cared for her so deeply he did not know what to do with all of his affection.

”Damn you, Eddard Stark” Catelyn muttered.

Then she knelt by the body on the floor and mournfully touched the pool of blood, looking at her bloodstained hands.

She did not look so monstrous then. Not as she had when she had taken hold of his wrists. He could not see the intensity of her eyes or feel the coldness of her skin. She was a woman in a nightgown covered in blood that sat hunched over on the floor.

”Where would I go?”

”Wherever you wanted to go.”

Catelyn had never been a fool, she had always had a good head on her shoulders and Ned had often trusted in her judgement. She would not be lost. She would only be lost to them. The children would never know what had become of their mother.

She gave a strangled noise and again Ned shivered.

”There is nowhere I want to go. Nowhere. Yet I cannot remain here and you stubbornly refuse to help me.”

”I refuse to—”

”I am suffering! Ten nights of this have been more than anyone should have to endure!”

The fire had returned to her eyes, though they were also shining with tears. He could not hep but notice even her tears were tinted red.

For the first time since all he knew had unravelled before his eyes Ned approached his wife. He slowly crossed the distance between them and knelt next to her, laying an arm around her and pulling her to him.

She did not hesitate before yielding to his embrace, Ned felt her almost melt against him and soon her body was shaking with sobs. Ned kissed her hair and her face as she wept. There was no comfort in the gesture, though he did it all the same. It was all he knew how to do.

When she turned her face up he kissed her bloodied mouth. Her kiss was tinged with the distinct taste of metal, though underneath that was Catelyn.

”Stay another few nights” Ned mumbled when they parted. ”We will figure something out.”

He could not stand the thought of never seeing her again, though that was better than her dying. How would he live with her dead?

”Will we?” Catelyn questioned, her voice thick with tears.

”We must.”

He did not see a way as they sat there on the floor, surrounded by more human blood than Ned had seen in a long time. It was still so hard to think, his heart remained beating furiously in his chest. They needed just a little more time.

”You’re a fool for this” Catelyn sighed. ”Blinded by affection.”