#asheri

its called fashion baby look it up

Though there was comfort and feelings of home in Winterfell, though she had longed for it since the moment they had been forced to march south, though now her children seemed to return from the grave one by one, those that remained, though the world seemed to be building piece by piece...Catelyn did not feel at ease. Her husband’s bastard ruled what should have been her dear Robb’s, Sansa had suffered more than any young woman ever should, her sweet Bran seemed lost to her even though he sat alive and well in the Godswood, Arya carried shadows darker than the Long Night...and the man at her side was not Ned.

A man who had betrayed them, but had saved them also, and Catelyn felt constantly conflicted between the two.

“Arya has always wanted to play at swords,” Catelyn said as she and Petyr looked down upon the sparring below, “And now she is besting Brienne” There was a measure of pride in Catelyn’s voice as she spoke...but as she looked n she remembered a different matching of swords, in which Petyr had not fared so well and she fell silent at the memory.