Chapter Text
As Ned walked out of the tavern, his mind moved in a thousand directions. The ever present worry for Catelyn was there. Surely the babe has come by now! The competing needs to rush to his wife’s side and to stop long enough to see to his nephew warred within him. And now Robert had told him to take the boy home. The gods knew he wanted to. Jon belonged at Winterfell, not Greywater Watch. He was a Stark in all but name. Yet, Ned was still fearful. Robert’s moods were as changeable as storms. He knew that well. Beyond concerns about Robert, there was Catelyn to consider. Ned was not blind to the fact that his wife still harbored some misgivings about having Jon there with their children. She would not defy him, but he had no wish to make her unhappy. He’d heard the occasional whispers about Ashara’s dead babe and knew that she did as well. She’d never mentioned it to him. Never complained. Yet, he knew it must be difficult for her. Jon’s presence would bring whispers as well. For all that Ned had acknowledged him as Lyanna’s babe, the questions surrounding his birth could never be answered to everyone’s satisfaction.
He sighed. As if that weren’t enough, Robert had now given him custody of Theon Greyjoy. What am I to do with the boy? He was young, certainly, but not stupid as far as Ned knew. No doubt, Balon would make it clear enough to the child precisely what his status would be at Winterfell. Balon was not a man who would mind terrifying a child at all. This boy would know well enough he was a glorified hostage against his father’s good behavior. How was Ned to treat him as a true foster son with that hanging between them? From a strategic standpoint, taking the boy made sense, he knew. Robert was right about Balon Greyjoy. He was not a man to be trusted ever. Yet, Ned wished Robert had chosen anyone else for the task.
Robert. Ned did believe that Robert felt he was doing the best he could by everyone in this. It didn’t mean that he agreed with him. Nor did it mean he had forgiven him. The rage he’d felt when Robert had insinuated he’d never done Ned any real harm had been as powerful as it had been the day Catelyn had told him Robb had been taken. His fists clenched now as he walked just thinking about it. No, he could never truly forgive Robert for that. Yet, he now knew he could never actually hate the man, either. Fighting by his side, fearing him killed by that bloody axe . . .memories had surfaced he’d thought long dead and buried. Robert would never be to him the brother he had once been, but Ned finally admitted that some bonds were forged too strong to be broken completely, and he wished no harm on Robert Baratheon.
Before mounting his horse to ride back up to the castle, Ned decided to check in at the message boat. They had sent ravens from Pyke throughout the Seven Kingdoms as soon as they’d taken the castle, but that had only been a matter of days ago. Many incoming ravens had been sent to Seagard and the letters they carried were still arriving to Pyke by boat. The letters were collected and kept on a small galley tied up at the dock until their recipients could be located. Ned had been gone to the message boat almost daily, but nothing had come for him.
Today was no different. A man standing on the deck stopped him before he even had a chance to board. “Lord Stark!” he called. “There’s no letter from Winterfell. I’m sorry.”
The man looked truly sorry for him, and Ned wondered if his frequent inquiries here made him an object of pity. He did not want that. As he turned to go back to where he’d left his horse, he saw a tall man with black hair standing against a rail and staring out at the sea. It took him a moment to recognize Stannis Baratheon, for he had an almost lost expression on his face unlike any Ned had ever seen there before. As he looked at the man, Ned registered that he held a piece of parchment clenched tightly in one fist.
He was unsure why he felt compelled to go to the man. Stannis certainly had no love for him. As the man had been forced to wed a woman he believed Ned had bedded and gotten with child, Ned couldn’t truly blame him. Yet, Ned wished only the best for Robert’s brother, and it bothered him that Robert acknowledged him so little. Stannis’s brilliant management of the naval battle at Fair Isle had made their assault on Pyke possible, and Stannis had then led the assault on Great Wyk himself. Always the dutiful brother, he’d done all in Robert’s name and asked for no personal acclaim, but Ned suspected he wanted some recognition badly and had encouraged Robert to praise Stannis’s accomplishments at least as highly as he had some others who had done far less.
Stannis seemed not to hear him approach now, standing as a statue and staring into the distance.
“My lord?,” Ned said softly. Still the man did not turn. “Lord Baratheon, are you well?”
Slowly, Robert’s brother turned to face him. His face at first was oddly blank, but as he recognized Ned, a cold anger seemed to spark in those dark blue eyes. “Lord Stark,” he said slowly, and his voice sounded odd to Ned.
“Have you received some news from home, my lord?” Ned asked gently, nodding toward the parchment still clenched in the man’s fist.
“Home,” he repeated dully, as if the word had no meaning. “I have had a letter from Dragonstone.” He paused, and then added almost inaudibly, “I have a son.”
“A son?” Ned was shocked. He hadn’t even heard Lady Ashara was with child. Of course, he had spent little time with Stannis himself, and he supposed it was not surprising that Robert had not found his brother’s impending fatherhood worth mentioning.
The shock must have shown on his face because Stannis’s own face twisted angrily. “Yes, Stark, a son. Did you think me somehow less capable of bedding my wife than you are?”
“No!” Ned said hurriedly. “I mean . . I only . . .I did not know you and Lady Baratheon were expecting a child. Congratulations, my lord. That is wonderful news.”
Only Stannis Baratheon did not look like a man who had just received wonderful news. The expression on his face seemed to contain more than just his usual anger and resentment toward Ned. “Wonderful news,” he repeated dully. “Yes. It would seem I have a son . . .but I no longer have a wife.” He turned to stare out at the sea again.
His words took a moment to sink in, and then Ned felt his heart drop. “Oh gods,” he breathed. “Not Ashara.”
Stannis jerked back around to look at him, blue eyes blazing once more. “Lady Ashara was taken by a fever after childbirth,” he said. “And she was my wife to grieve, Stark, not yours.”
Ned barely heard him. His sadness for Ashara had immediately been replaced by panic for Catelyn. He could not lose her. He couldn’t. Wildly, he looked at the parchment in Stannis’s hand and prayed that such an evil thing would never come to him. Be safe, Cat. Be well. Be safe.
He became aware that Stannis was staring at him with an odd sort of fascination, and he wondered what showed on his own face. “Gods, man,” Baratheon finally said, sounding bitter but oddly curious, too. “Did the woman honestly still mean so much to you, even after all this time?”
“What?” Ned said stupidly, his mind still presenting him with images of Cat, feverish and limp, calling out his name. He forced such thoughts away from him and realized what Stannis thought. “No,” he said firmly. “I am very sorry for your loss, my lord. Lady Baratheon was a fine woman, but she is not the cause of my distress.” He swallowed. “I fear that your news caused me to think of my own wife. She, too, is with child. Or she was. The child should have come by now, and I have had no word.”
It was strange, to speak so to Stannis Baratheon of all people. Ned had kept his fears mostly to himself. Robert certainly could not understand them. Robert’s brother, however, looked at him with a kind of understanding. “I hope all is well with her, Lord Stark. I have heard that you and your lady wife are . . .close.”
“We are,” Ned acknowledged simply.
“And you are proud of her.”
“I am.” Speaking of Catelyn was almost too painful at the moment as fearful as he was for her.
“You told me once that I would learn to take pride in my wife. I had begun to believe that with time, perhaps . . .” The man’s voice trailed off, and he looked seaward again. “It appears I am not to be given time.”
They stood there silently a moment. “Will you be leaving for Dragonstone immediately, my lord?” Ned asked then.
“Why would I do that?” Stannis asked, seeming genuinely puzzled.
“To see your son, my lord.”
“Oh. I must stay awhile in Lannisport first. Robert insists that I attend this tournament.”
“But once he knows! Once you tell him what has happened . . .” Ned protested.
“He will tell me that my wife is beyond my help, and that not having teats myself, I am little use to my son at present. I would do better to go where I am needed.”
Ned was silent at that because that was very likely precisely the response Stannis would get from Robert. He wished there was something he could do for the man, but Stannis Baratheon would likely not accept comfort from anyone. Least of all, in this matter, from him. “What is his name?” he asked finally.
“Whose name?”
“Your son’s.”
“Oh,” Stannis said softly. “Before she died, my lady wife named him Orys.”
“It’s a strong name,” Ned said. “A Baratheon name.”
Stannis nodded. “It’s a Targaryen name as well, you know. Orys was rumored to have been Aegon’s bastard brother. And when he took Storm’s End, and Argella was brought to him naked and in chains, he covered her with his own cloak, treated her well, took her to wife, and did not shame her.” Ned saw the movement of Stannis’s throat as he swallowed. He turned to look directly at Ned again then. “I was not cruel to her, Stark.”
“No. I never believed you would be, my lord. Orys Baratheon was strong, fierce, and proud. Not cruel. Your lady wife chose your son’s name well.”
He nodded once, clenching his teeth and turning away again. Ned left then, and as he rode back up to the castle, his heart was filled with both sorrow and pity for Stannis and Ashara, and even more with love and fear for his own Lady Catelyn.
The crossing to Seagard went smoothly, and for that Ned was grateful. Spring squalls had been common all the time they’d been at Pyke, and he was not a good sailor in the best of conditions. The little Greyjoy boy handled the crossing well, no doubt having been on boats since birth, but he remained quiet and sullen, resisting all of Ned’s attempts to draw him out. Ned couldn’t blame him.
At Seagard, Lord Mallister greeted him joyfully, but told him he had received no ravens from Winterfell. Nor had he heard anything from Riverrun concerning Lady Catelyn. Ned’s heart fell. By his reckoning, the babe should have arrived nearly a full moon ago, and he knew Catelyn would have written to her father. In turn, Lord Hoster would hardly receive news of a new grandchild without sending the tidings out to all his bannermen. She is dead, he thought bleakly. She is dead, and they do not wish me to read it in a letter.
Lord Jason offered him a more encouraging possibility for the lack of communication. “The spring storms have been terrible, my lord, and what few travelers we’ve seen from the North tell us they’ve been far more violent and frequent there. In truth, we’ve heard little from any northern keep for some time, and I suspect any poor bird that has been sent out hasn’t fared very well.”
He accepted Lord Jason’s hospitality for only one night, and held tightly to the man’s words as he rode northward. He repeated them to himself frequently as he bid his men wait for him when he rode into the swamps with two of Howland’s men toward Greywater Watch, and again when he rode back out two days later with a small grey eyed boy seated before him on his saddle.
“Must I go to Winterfell, Uncle?” the little boy had asked him solemnly.
“Winterfell is your home, Jon,” Ned had assured him. “I know it will seem strange at first, but you will come to love it as your mother did. She lived there all her life.” Until she ran away with Rhaegar Targaryen.
“And the cousins you speak of, they will be glad to have me there?”
“Of course, Jon. Your cousin Robb is precisely your age, and you two will be wonderful friends. You’ll grow up like brothers.”
His nephew had regarded him carefully then. It always startled Ned to see Lya’s ever slightly suspicious eyes looking out of the little boy’s face. In the year since he’d seen him last, Jon had grown to look even more like his mother than ever. Yet, with the exception of that hint of suspicion, the boy’s personality was more reflective of his own than of Lya’s. He was as calm as Lya had been wild, and Ned was grateful for that. His future would be difficult enough without his mother’s wild wolf blood.
“How do you know my cousin will like me when he hasn’t even met me?”
He hasn’t even heard of you, Ned thought. But you will be close. I know you will. “Because I know both of you,” he assured Jon. “And I have no doubts that you will become fast friends.”
When they returned to the men, Ned immediately saw the looks Jon got, and the way the men looked back and forth between Jon’s face and his own. “Most of you are aware that my sister Lyanna bore a son before her death,” he said loudly. “This is her child, Jon Snow. It is time for him to come home.”
There were murmurs and mumblings, but Jon was welcomed, and none of the men asked any questions about him. Theon Greyjoy, however, watched him closely, and he came to Ned by the fire one evening.
“That little boy. The men say his name is Snow. That’s a bastard name, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Ned said gruffly.
“Is he the child of one of your salt wives, then?”
Ned spit his drink. “I have no salt wives, Theon. We do not take salt wives here.”
“You just get bastards on whatever women you wish, then?”
Gods! For all that Ned had wanted the boy to have a real conversation with him, this was not the conversation he wished to have.
“Theon,” he said gravely, “Sit down. It is dishonorable to take a woman who is not your wife, and to leave her with a child is a terrible thing. But Jon is not my child with any woman. Did you not hear me say he is my sister’s son?”
“He looks like you,” Theon said simply, stating the obvious fact that Ned knew all too well would be noted by all who saw the boy.
“My sister looked like me as well,” he said. “Only much prettier.”
“So some man got a bastard on your sister?” Theon asked bluntly.
“I am afraid so, Theon.”
The Ironborn boy frowned. “I am my father’s trueborn son,” he said. “The heir to the Iron Islands. Yet, you treat that little bastard as well as you treat me.”
Ned fought to control the anger that rose up in him before responding. Theon was older than Jon, but still a child, and he was only repeating what he’d learned. Bastards were of tainted blood, not to be trusted and never to be afforded the same respect as trueborn noble children. Jon is no bastard, came the treacherous thought to his mind, and he forced it away. He is. And for him to have any life at all, he must remain one.
“Theon,” Ned said gravely. “You are certainly entitled to the respect due your name, and you shall receive it at Winterfell. I have told you that I wish you to be happy there. But Jon is my sister’s child. He is my blood. However he came into this world, it was not his doing, and I will not punish him for it. He is as welcome in my home as you are. Do not ever doubt that.”
Theon looked at him for a moment and nodded before wandering away to find a stick with which to poke at the fire. Ned realized that Jon had been sitting against a tree not far away during the exchange and wondered how much he had heard. The boy never said a word about it.
When the walls of Winterfell finally rose up before him, his heart very nearly exploded out of his chest, and he very nearly spurred his horse to a gallop as soon as he saw them. Instead, he stopped completely and offered a fervent prayer that all was well within those walls and that he would hold his wife safely in his arms within the hour. Fear and anticipation in equal measure nearly overwhelmed his capacity for rational thought, but he forced himself to think clearly. He had sent a raven from Seagard about Theon Greyjoy. If that bird had arrived, then Catelyn would be expecting the Ironborn boy, but Jon would be a surprise.
“Jon,” he said carefully to the little boy in front of him on the horse. “You are the biggest surprise I am bringing back to the castle, and I think I should save you for last. How about you ride with Jory now, and once I have greeted your aunt and your cousins, we shall introduce you to them?”
The boy nodded without looking around. He was staring at the huge grey walls of Winterfell, so unlike anything he had known in Greywater Watch. Ned rode back to Jory who accepted the plan without question. He’d already befriended Jon quite a lot on the journey here, so Jon went to him happily enough. Then Ned turned his horse toward Winterfell without another backward glance.
Once he heard the horn from the gate announcing his arrival, he could not help himself. He did gallop the rest of the way, and he smiled to see the people of the castle hurriedly assembling as he approached the gates.
A cheer went up as he rode in a good bit ahead of the others. He knew the rest of the party had increased their pace as well, but not nearly as much as he had. He looked around the yard wildly, and then he saw her. She was running from the direction of the Great Keep, hair blowing behind her, little Sansa on one hip and her other hand holding Robb’s. He felt moisture sting his eyes and his breath came short at the sheer relief of seeing her alive and well and with his children.
He nearly vaulted off the horse and ran to her in a most unlordly manner. She was laughing when he reached her, and he caught her in his arms, careful of the little girl she held. “I have missed you,” he said into her hair.
“I have missed you, too, my love.” Her voice was controlled, but he heard the slight tremor in it and saw the moisture in her eyes.
Suddenly aware of all the eyes upon them, he released her and stepped back to simply look at her. As his eyes traveled down her body, it was obvious, even through her cloak that she was no longer with child. His eyes came back to hers, questioning.
“Your newest daughter is well, my lord,” she said.
“Daughter?” Ned choked. The word felt thick in his mouth, as if hearing Catelyn speak of her suddenly made her real.
A tiny shadow crossed Catelyn’s face then. “Yes, my lord. You have another daughter. Did you not . . .”
He didn’t let her finish before grabbing her arms. “And you, Cat? You are well? Truly well?”
She looked at him closely and seemed to recognize the panic he’d felt for her face softened into a smile. Gods, I love her smiles!
“I am truly well, Ned. Now that you are safely home, I am truly well, indeed.”
“Father!” Robb was unable to control himself any longer and had begun tugging insistently on the leg of Ned’s breeches.
Ned laughed, letting go of his wife’s arms to hoist his son into the air. “My gods, boy!” he exclaimed. “You weigh twice as much as when I left you! How many pies have liberated from the kitchen during my absence?”
Robb laughed. “I’ve been very good, Father. Ask Mother! And I took care of Mother and Sansa just like you said. And Baby Stark came out. Only she’s a girl. But she looks more like you than like Mother!”
Ned held his son to him, never wanting to let him go. At that last comment, he looked toward his wife, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s true,” Catelyn laughed. “This one is all Stark. You shall see.”
“Where is she?”
“In my chambers. I realize this is what you Northmen call almost summer, but it is still far too cold to drag a newborn out for any length of time--even if she is a Stark.” The smile on her face was giving him life, making the long separation seem further away by the moment.
“And what of my pretty Tully daughter?” he asked then. “Have you missed your old father at all, my little lady?”
Sansa had been clinging tightly to Catelyn, but she smiled at Ned shyly. “Papa,” she said. She reached out a little hand and touched his beard. “Papa,” she said again.
Ned twirled one of her little curls on his finger, noticing that her auburn hair was quite a bit longer than it had been. It made her look more a little girl and less a baby, and the realization struck him painfully. “I believe she’s grown even more than Robb has,” he said to Catelyn.
“Oh, she has,” his wife agreed. “You are more than welcome to spend the next few days carrying her about if you would like to see just how much she’s grown.”
Ned laughed and reached for her, but she ducked her head against Catelyn’s shoulder. He tried not to be hurt.
“She’s only being shy, Ned,” Catelyn said softly. “It won’t last.”
Ned looked behind him to see that the other men had all made it into the castle now, and he saw Theon Greyjoy standing alone, looking at the little family reunion. “Did you get the letter from Seagard, Cat?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Is that the Greyjoy boy?” she asked, following the direction of his gaze.
He nodded. “Theon!” he called. “Come and meet my family.” He put Robb down so that he could greet his new foster brother.
“My name’s Robb!” he exclaimed as Theon approached, even before Ned could introduce anyone properly. “You’re bigger than me. How old are you?”
Theon looked down at Robb as if her were an infant. “I am Theon Greyjoy,” he said, “Heir to the Iron Islands. I have seen ten name days.”
Robb just grinned at him. “Hey, I’m the heir to Winterfell. And I'm five. Do you have a practice sword already? Ser Rodrik says I’m almost old enough, but you’re old enough now. Do you . . .”
“Robb,” Ned interrupted. “Kindly let Theon breathe, and let me make the rest of the introductions.”
Abashed, Robb stood back a little, clasping his hands behind him and standing very straight.
“Theon,” Ned said, “These are my lady wife and my little daughter, Sansa.”
Theon looked at Catelyn without speaking, and she handed Sansa to Ned. He was gratified that she came to him without protest. Catelyn then bent down to speak to the Ironborn boy.
“Theon, I am Lady Stark. I know you probably miss your home, but you are very welcome here. I’ve had a special room prepared for you. I can have all of your things brought there, and you can keep them however you like them. Does that sound all right?”
“Yes, Lady Stark,” the boy said courteously enough.
“Would you like to see your room now?”
“Please, Lady Stark,” the boy said with an almost pleading note in his voice.
She called to Vayon Poole. “Please have someone gather all of Theon’s things, Vayon, and take them to his room. And have Etta take him there now, please.”
Etta stepped forward then. Ned hadn’t seen her in the group of people before. “Come along, young Theon,” she said brightly. “Aren’t you a big lad! Practically a man grown, I’d say.” She put a hand on Greyjoy’s shoulder and began to usher him away.
Ned looked after them. “Cat, are you certain that . . .”
“Has the child had a moment to himself since you took him from Pyke, my love?” she asked.
Ned shook his head.
“Think how strange all this must be to him. He needs some time alone, Ned. He needs to know he can have his own space here. And I could not think of anyone better to get him settled in than Etta. The woman had me feeling like Winterfell was home in five minutes!”
He smiled at his thoughtful and understanding wife. “You are right, my lady. As always.”
“I am also getting cold, Ned. And Sansa is shivering. Let’s go inside.”
“Wait.” He had spent moons commanding men, and he realized the word had come out very much as a command then. “I have someone else to show you first,” he said more softly.
He realized his daughter was indeed shivering, and he called to Septa Mordane who was standing not far away. “Would you take the little Lady Sansa inside, please, Septa?”
The woman stepped forward and Sansa went easily into her arms. “What about Robb, my lord?” she asked.
“I’d have Robb stay a moment,” he said.
“Catelyn,” he said as the septa carried Sansa into the Keep and other people began to move away to attend to various duties as well. “I have brought . . .”
“My lord!” Jory Cassel’s voice came from behind him, and Ned turned to see the man walking toward him leading Jon by the hand. “People had started coming up and asking him who he was,” Jory said softly. “I thought it best if . . .”
“You did well, Jory,” he said. “Catelyn, I have brought Jon home,” he said, turning back to his wife. Her face was pale, and she stared at the boy with an expression of shock and disbelief. Her blue eyes flickered between Jon’s face and his, and Ned’s heart clenched.
“Cat,” he whispered. “Cat . . .he is my nephew.”
She looked at him then and nodded slowly. “I . . .I know, my lord. It is only . . .”
“You look just like my father!” Robb chose that moment to exclaim loudly. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jon,” Jon said quietly, staring at Robb. “You must be Robb.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Uncle told me.”
“Uncle?” Robb looked up at Ned wonderingly. Ned went down onto his knee and drew both boys toward him. “I am Jon’s uncle, Robb. And you are his cousin.”
“Cousin?” Robb asked, a wondering grin blooming across his face. “I have a cousin?”
“You do,” Ned said. “You have heard me speak of my sister, Lyanna.”
“She died,” Robb said, reciting the most important thing he knew about his aunt.
“She did,” Ned agreed. “And I miss her very much. But before she died, she had a baby. Jon is your Aunt Lyanna’s son, and that makes him your cousin.”
Jon looked mostly at the ground, occasionally looking up at Robb, while Robb grinned at Jon openly. “A cousin is almost like a brother, right?” he asked, and Ned thought his heart might explode with joy at the question.
He heard Catelyn draw in her breath, though, and he looked up to see her still standing there, looking at the two boys as if she were uncertain what was happening and what she should do. “My lady?” he said softly, wanting so badly for her to accept this.
She looked at him, and then knelt down herself. “Jon,” she said. “I am Lady St . .I am your Aunt Catelyn.”
Ned released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
“I’m afraid you are quite a surprise to us, Jon,” she continued, “And I don’t have a room prepared for you yet. Would it be all right if you shared with Robb until you have a room of your own?”
“Yes!” Robb shouted, and Jon nodded shyly.
“Robb, why don’t you show Jon your room now, please,” Catelyn said, standing back up. Ned rose as well.
“Come on, Jon!” Robb said, and he took Jon’s hand, leading him into the Keep at a run.
With all of the children gone, Ned moved to take Catelyn’s hand. “Are you well, my love?” he asked her.
“I am . . .surprised,” she said. “I didn’t think . . .”
“Much happened while I was away. Robert has given his word that he will not trouble us. That he will not trouble Jon.”
“You believe him?”
Ned sighed. “I do. I still do not trust him as I once did, but I believe he means to keep his word in this, for now at least.”
She nodded. “He is very like you, Ned.”
He knew she wasn’t speaking of Robert. “He is,” he acknowledged. “He is more like Lya in some ways, but very like me in others.” She didn’t say anything. “You know he is not my child, Cat.” He didn’t mean it to be a question, but it sounded almost like one to his ears.
She met his eyes. “I know it,” she said. “But others will not believe it so readily.”
“Some will not,” he acknowledged. “I am sorry for any hurt this causes you, my lady, but I cannot keep my sister’s child away from Winterfell when there is no threat to him here. This should be his home.”
She nodded.
“Now, I would like to meet my new daughter. She is in your chambers?”
She nodded again, and he gave her his arm. The small weight of her hand on his arm as they walked into the Great Keep made his heart speed up. “What did you name her?” he asked then.
“Arya,” she said softly. “I called her Arya.”
“Arya,” he repeated. “It is beautiful, Cat. Like you.”
She looked up at him then, and the small cloud of tension that had sprung up between them in the courtyard seemed to vanish. “I have missed you more than you could possibly know,” she said, her voice breaking just a bit.
“You cannot possibly have missed me more than I’ve missed you, my love,” he told her.
They had reached her chambers now, and as soon as the door closed behind them he pulled her against him and held her tightly as he kissed her. All thoughts of his new daughter temporarily fled his mind as he was overwhelmed with the need to simply touch his wife and assure himself that she was indeed alive and unhurt. She seemed to feel the same for she wound her arms around him and returned his kiss with equal passion.
“Gods, Cat!” he exclaimed when their lips broke apart to draw breath. “I was so afraid for you! I thought I’d lost you! Why did you not send a letter?”
“I did!” she exclaimed. “I see now that you never got it, but I did send it, my love. And when I received no reply . . .” She clutched him tightly. “I worried you had been killed!”
He kissed her again, pressing his mouth her lips and to the tears that fell freely now from her eyes. “You’ll never know how that letter from Seagard gave me life,” she told him when next they broke apart. “Maester Luwin assured me it was likely only the storms that kept your letters from me, but I was too afraid to believe him.”
He laughed, thinking himself the most fortunate man on earth to be able to laugh once more in her arms. “Lord Mallister told me the same,” he said. “And I couldn’t quite believe him, either.”
A loud wail pierced the air in the room then, and Catelyn laughed.
“My daughter?” Ned asked.
“Your daughter. She was born during a particularly loud storm, and she’s been trying to make herself heard over it ever since.”
Catelyn slipped out of his arms and went to pick up the babe. He watched her undo the laces of her bodice as he’d seen her do countless times for Robb and Sansa, and he walked to stand beside her as she sat down and put the child to her teat. The little girl had brown hair, thicker than Sansa’s had been as a newborn, and her face was long like his. Her eyes were tightly closed as she suckled, so he couldn’t see them.
“She does have the Stark look,” he said.
“Does that please you?” Catelyn asked. “I know she is not a son, but she does at least look like you.”
He frowned. Dropping to his knees in front of the chair, he looked up at his wife. “I do not know how to make it plainer to you, my lady. All of my children are beautiful. I care not whether they resemble more the Tullys or the Starks. I care not whether they are boys or girls. They are yours and they are mine, and they each are more precious to me than anything on earth save their mother.”
“Forgive me, Ned,” she said. “I am foolish, I know.”
“You are not foolish,” he told her. “You are beautiful and brave, and you have done everything here alone and brought our daughter into the world alone as well. Then I return bringing you a hostage child and a nephew that any number of people will likely believe is my own bastard.” He swallowed. “Catelyn, it seems I am forever asking much of you, my love, when all I all wish to do is to hold you close to me and give you everything you desire.”
She smiled at him then. “You do give me everything I desire. I have no need of anything except you and our children, my lord. Now that you are home once more, I have everything I desire.”
Dinner in the Great Hall that night was a celebration. The drinks flowed freely, and the men likely drank more than they ate. Even Ned drank more than his usual, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of being home, of the feel of Catelyn’s thigh beneath his hand under the table, of the sight of Jon and Robb sitting together at the table, bright head and dark head close together as they shared some secret known only to small boys.
He left the Hall with Catelyn to put all the children to bed. She insisted that they at least stop to look in on Theon Greyjoy. He would not be interested in shows of affection, but she wanted him to at least know that he was not alone and forgotten. The two little boys were loath to leave the Hall, but the prospect of staying together in Robb’s room made it easier, and Ned knew perfectly well the two of them intended to stay awake all night sharing stories once he and Catelyn left. He also knew they would likely fall asleep within the hour from sheer exhaustion.
Sansa went down after a single lullaby which disappointed Ned as he could have listened to his wife sing for a lot longer. When they at last made their way to Catelyn’s chambers to retrieve Arya from Etta, he found his newest daughter wide awake, but mercifully not screaming. Etta handed her to him.
“She has grey eyes!” he exclaimed, getting his first good look at them wide open.
“Of course, she does,” Catelyn told him as she sat down to brush out her hair. “I told you she was all Stark.”
Ned smiled. “No. Whatever she looks like, I know she is half a Tully, so I shall forever need to be on my guard with her.”
“Ha, ha,” Catelyn said, as she took down one braid and then another before running the brush through her long, auburn hair. Ned could watch her brush her hair all night.
Once she’d brushed out her hair and removed her gown, she came to take the babe from him.
“She isn’t crying,” he protested.
“I know,” Catelyn said. “But as I wish to remain in bed for a few hours once I get there, I’d like to fill her up as full as I can get her now. She sleeps well when she’s satisfied, my love. But you’ve heard her when she’s hungry.”
Ned handed Arya to her mother, and then decided he could watch Catelyn feed their babe all night just as easily as he could watch her brush her hair. She caught him staring at her.
“What is it, my lord?” she asked.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. “I cannot stop looking at you.”
She blushed prettily. “I look a sight,” she protested. “In an old shift with a babe at my teat. I must resemble one of the old wetnurses from the town.”
He laughed at that. “None that I’ve seen.” Turning more serious, he said softly, “But then I’ve never seen any woman I find as beautiful as you, Cat.”
She smiled at him. “I want to be beautiful for you, my love.”
Arya seemed to have taken her fill, and Catelyn raised her to her shoulder to softly pat her back before laying her in the cradle.
“Might I sleep here tonight, my lady?” Ned asked then, feeling unaccountably shy with his own wife. “I know it is too soon for . . . I cannot bear not holding you.”
She came and put her arms around him. “I won’t tell Maester Luwin if you don’t,” she said wickedly.
“Catelyn! It has been barely a moon since Arya’s birth. Surely we must wait another fortnight at least!” With her body pressed against him beneath the thin fabric of her shift, he was rather painfully aware that he did not want to wait another fortnight at all or even another minute, but he would not risk hurting her.
“Maester Luwin is overly cautious,” she said. “My bleeding is long stopped and I feel perfectly well.” She hesitated, and he saw the color come to her cheeks again. “And I want you, Ned.”
At those words, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again. Had he had less to drink, he might have resisted more strenuously, but he found he had no desire to stop her as she began to remove his clothes, and before he quite knew what happened, they were both naked in her bed.
“Are you certain, Cat?” he breathed, his painfully hard cock poised just at her entrance.
In answer, she grabbed at his hips and brought him down against her. Groaning, he pushed into her, stopping only when he saw a slight grimace cross her face. “Have I hurt you?”
“No,” she breathed. “It feels . . .different. It was the same after Sansa. It will ease. Please, Ned.”
Still he hesitated, so she held him firmly by the hips, and thrust herself up further onto him, and he shivered at the sensation.
“Gods, Cat! I cannot keep still,” he said.
“Then don’t,” she whispered, laughing as she did so. The vibration of her body around him as she laughed drove the last of his reservations from his mind, and he began to move within her, slowly at first, mindful of her comfort, but more quickly and forcefully as she moved beneath him, urging him on. When, at last, she found her release, she bit his shoulder hard, and he recalled her doing the same when Sansa had been a newborn beside the bed, trying to keep from crying out and waking her. He smiled at at the memory even as he continued to thrust within her and then collapse onto her with his own release.
“Are you well?” he asked her, when he found his breath again.
“I have never been better, my love,” she assured him.
“Nor have I, my lady. Nor have I.”
He fell asleep holding his wife for the first time in three moons, and slept better than he had since he’d left her.
“Robb! Uncle is in here!” The harsh whisper woke Ned. Having been awakened by an invasion of small voices a number of times before, he quickly made certain that he and Catelyn were completely covered and then lay still, waiting to hear what this particular invasion was about.
“Of course, he is,” came Robb’s voice. “He always sleeps here.”
“I thought this was your lady mother’s room,” Jon whispered back.
“It is. Do you want to see the baby or not?”
Silence. Ned could easily picture Jon giving one of his solemn nods. Two small pairs of feet made their way around the bed, and Ned felt Catelyn stir beside him. He quickly gave her a squeeze and when she opened her eyes sleepily, he put his finger to his lips.
“She does look like me!” The excited exclamation was considerably louder than a whisper.
“I told you,” Robb said. “It’s like she’s your sister, and Sansa’s mine.”
Catelyn tensed beside him, and Ned regretted not interrupting the boys sooner.
“She’s not, though, “ Jon said. “She’s my cousin, just like you. Etta says she looks like my mother just like I look like your father. Etta knew my mother. She told me that yesterday when you had to go to the sept for prayers with Septa Mordane.”
“I don’t know why you didn’t have to come,” Robb grumbled.
“Because I keep the old gods,” Jon said.
“So do I,” Robb informed him.
“You have to do both. Because of your mother and your father. I only have a mother.”
“Oh,” Robb said. “And she’s dead,” he added sadly.
Silence again, but this time, Ned had his eyes opened, and he turned his head just enough to see Jon’s nod.
“I wouldn’t like not having a mother and father,” Robb said. “I can share mine with you, I guess. But if I share Mother, you have to come to the sept with us.”
Ned couldn’t help himself then, and he laughed. Immediately, Robb pounced on the bed, and Ned felt Catelyn clutch at the furs in order to keep herself decently covered.
“Father! You’re awake!”
“Well, I am now,” he told his son. “Whyever are you and Jon in your mother’s chambers so early? And what have I told you about knocking?”
Robb had the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Father. It’s just that I told Jon that Arya looked like him and he didn’t believe me, and I wanted to prove it, and I didn’t know if you and Mother would ever get out of bed. You two sleep a lot sometimes.”
The snort of laughter from beside him gave Catelyn away.
“Mother!” Robb shouted gleefully, scrambling over Ned to pounce on Catelyn.
“Easy, Robb!” Ned cautioned. “Don’t bruise your poor mother.”
Catelyn raised herself up in the bed, carefully pulling the furs with her. “Robb, you know you are never to come into my chambers without knocking.”
“You didn’t get so mad about it when Father was gone,” Robb pouted. “Do you make him knock?”
The color that came to his wife’s face then almost caused Ned to lose complete control of the laughter which threatened to overtake him.
“Young man,” he said as severely as he possibly could. “You are being rude to your mother, and that is not acceptable. Apologize at once.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Robb said.
“Why don’t you go down to the Great Hall, Robb, since you are already dressed and obviously up for the day?” Catelyn sighed.
“Really?” Robb asked. “Jon and I can go by ourselves?”
“Wear your cloak,” Catelyn sighed. “And do not stay outside to play. It will be too chilly for another couple hours, yet.”
“Yes, Mother!” Robb said, throwing his arms around her neck.
Catelyn carefully pulled one of her bare arms out from beneath the furs to put around him. Then she kissed the top of his head, and he bounced over to hug Ned before jumping off the bed again. “Come on, Jon!” he nearly shouted.
Ned looked toward the cradle, but little Arya somehow remained asleep. It had only been an hour or two since Catelyn last rose to feed her, he thought.
Jon, who had done his best to melt into the shadows of the room now crept forward. “I apologize for coming into your room, Lady Stark,” he said formally. “I will not do it again.”
Ned could feel the tension in his wife’s body. She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Jon,” she said. “You may go with Robb now. The cooks tend to make quite a lot of food in the morning. No doubt you will find something you like to break your fast.”
“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Jon said gravely, moving toward the door.
Ned watched his wife looking at his little nephew as he walked slowly to the door where Robb waited. She was biting her lip. Suddenly, she called out his name.
“Jon!”
He turned to look at her.
“You are not banned from my chambers, Jon,” she said. “But I do expect you to knock. And if you can teach your cousin the importance of knocking, that would be most appreciated.”
Robb pouted, but Jon’s face lightened a bit. “I will,” he said. “Thank you, Lady St. . . Thank you, Aunt Catelyn.”
Then both boys ran out, and Catelyn looked at him. “I love you,” she said simply.
“I could ask for no greater gift,” he replied. Then he grinned at her. “So, shall I leave you, my lady, lest everyone think we sleep too much?”
She laughed, and he pulled her to him. He knew there were difficulties ahead of them. He knew that the addition of both Jon and Theon to the household could not possibly take place without any problems at all. He knew that whispers about Ashara Dayne, about Jon, about his imprisonment after the Rebellion would never completely fade away, and that Cat would continue to be hurt by them. He knew that Robert was as volatile as his House Words, ‘Ours is the Fury,’ and that he would have to be ever watchful that the man did not begin to see Jon as a threat once more. He knew that someday Jon would be old enough to have questions that he had not yet decided how to answer.
Yet, right now, Ned Stark was home. His children were well, and he held his beautiful wife in his arms. He looked toward the future with more hope than fear, and his most fervent immediate hope was that his youngest child would keep sleeping for quite a bit longer.