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Catelyn stretched her arms over her head as she woke from her slumber. Light streamed in from the windows and Robb was chattering away to himself from his cot, but the bed was soft and her limbs all felt so stiff and sore that she hesitated to open her eyes. For a brief moment, she experienced an odd disorientation as it hit her that the bed felt different, the light came from the wrong angle, and the light seemed far too bright for so early in the morning.

Blinking into that too bright light as she sat up and opened her eyes, she remembered.I am in Riverrun. She couldn’t give name to what she felt as that realization took hold. Her eyes focused, and she gazed around the light airy room she had been given. It wasn’t the large, comfortable chamber she had once shared with Lysa, but it was still Riverrun. Home.

“Mama!” Robb, having noticed she was awake, now stood in his cot stretching his arms out for her. “Mama!”

She smiled sleepily in response to her son’s wide grin and rose to fetch him to her. “Good morning, sweetling!” she said, lifting him from the cot. At just shy of his second name day, Robb was quite a solid little boy, and her arms and back protested as she raised him up. It seemed a night in a soft bed had reminded them how sore they truly were after far too many days upon a horse.

She carried Robb to a window, and her heart leapt at the sight of the sun glinting off the river below. “Look, Robb! We’re home!”

“Home!” he parroted. He’d taken to repeating sounds and words gleefully, and she knew he had no idea what he’d said, but his joyful expression still filled her with guilt. For this was not his home, for all he’d been born here. Her son was a Stark of Winterfell, one day to be its Lord. It’s not my home any longer, either, she thought sadly.

She sank into a chair by the window and pulled down the front of her loose sleeping shift as he’d begun to paw at her chest. He latched onto her vigorously, always eager to suckle upon first waking. Maester Luwin in Winterfell had told her she must wean him soon when she’d gone to him about her failure to get with child again yet, but she found it difficult to deny her beautiful boy something he so obviously loved. Something that only she could give him.

She realized she wasn’t certain what time it was. The sun had gradually risen earlier as they journeyed south. It was still winter, but even winter nights were not so long in Riverrun as they were at Winterfell, and she had grown accustomed to rising before the sun. She suspected it wasn’t terribly late in the morning, but it felt as if it should be. Her body had grown used to the rhythms of the North.

They’d arrived fairly late last night, several days ahead of their anticipated arrival, for fair weather had blessed them throughout the journey, and they’d made excellent time. Her lord husband had been pleasantly surprised by her ability to ride for long distances as well as she did and without complaint. She’d been pleased by his praise and by the obvious pride in his voice at her horsemanship when he’d ordered the men to keep riding each time she assured him that she did not need to stop. But she’d also been dismayed by the fact that this was simply one more thing he didn’t know about her after being wed to her for more than two years.

Brandon had known she rode well. He’d once arrived to Riverrun just in time to see her soundly defeat Lysa, Petyr, and two of her father’s stable boys in a race. He’d laughed and teased poor Petyr mercilessly until she begged him to stop. He’d then clapped Petyr on the shoulder and told him not to feel too badly—that while he’d never been beaten by any woman in a horse race, he knew two who could nearly beat him and that Catelyn rode almost as well as they did. It occurred to her now that she’d never even asked Brandon who those other girls were. She’d been too busy basking in the glow of his smile. She supposed one was his sister, the tragic Lyanna, for she’d heard stories of the doomed maiden’s prowess on horseback in Winterfell. Not from her husband, of course. He rarely spoke of Lyanna.

Her husband rarely spoke of Brandon, either, and as Catelyn never felt comfortable speaking of Brandon to him, Lord Eddard had never heard that story of her own race. She knew it was unfair to fault her husband for not knowing things about her that Brandon would have, but finding fault with her husband had become something of a habit with her in her early days and weeks at Winterfell in the wake of her anger and hurt. She had forced herself to move past the insult of the bastard in her home as best she could for the sake of Robb and her own position, working hard at being a good wife to this man and giving him the respect and honor that he was due as her lord husband. But oddly enough, as she’d discovered so much to respect and even like about Eddard Stark, it had sometimes become even more painful that he thought so little of her that he could shame her in such a way. And she would find herself grasping at small reasons in order to justify her withholding deep affection from him because she dared not hope he held any for her.

She hadn’t even wanted to come to Riverrun when he’d first approached her, an uncharacteristic smile on his long face, with the invitation. He’d thought she’d be thrilled at the prospect of seeing her family and her childhood home once more. And she was. Partly. She’d smiled in return, thanked him, and begun making preparations for the journey, keeping her dread of it well-hidden.

She hadn’t seen her father since before Lord Eddard had brought his bastard home and insisted that the boy be raised alongside Robb without ever a mention of the child’s mother or her fate. Her father had ridden home to Riverrun before her departure for Winterfell full of tales for her about their victory and about her husband’s valor and tremendous honor. He’d told her how Lord Eddard had gone from King’s Landing to successfully break the siege at Storm’s End and from there had ridden to Dorne determined to rescue his sister Lyanna. Of course, none of them realized how tragically that would end at the time.

Hoster Tully had spoken in such glowing terms about the goodson he’d barely known when they’d first ridden to war together, and Catelyn had been filled with a new sense of hope in the life that awaited her in Winterfell. She was wed to an honorable and valiant man. He would ride home to Winterfell victorious, and she would present him with his son and heir. There could hardly be a more auspicious beginning to their life together.

But instead, Eddard Stark had arrived in Winterfell before her and installed the bastard son of his mysterious lover in the nursery prepared for Robb before his trueborn son and heir had ever been within Winterfell’s gates. That had been a bitter pill to swallow indeed, and she’d feared she might choke on it—unable to survive either the cold North with its strange ways or a cold husband who valued her and his heir so little. In time, she’d come to love and appreciate Winterfell’s people, even if she did continue to feel a bit of a stranger, especially when she knelt in her room before her little figures of the Seven knowing she was the only one in the castle who did so.

As for her husband, he did love Robb. There was no question of it. He was endlessly fascinated by their son, and his solemn face never showed more expression than when he was with their beautiful boy. And that had caused Catelyn to open herself at least somewhat to the man. She could give him other children, at least. If she filled his castle with trueborn children, mayhap the bastard would not matter so much. And he did treat her with utmost respect within Winterfell as well as demand that for her from every man, woman, and child present. She thought perhaps he felt guilty about what he had done to her, what he continued to do to her by having the child in her home. He seemed in small ways to try to make amends for it, in any event, even if he wouldn’t do the one thing which honor should require and send the child away to be well cared for somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Her father had requested that of him, she knew. She had written her father in those first terrible days. She had tried not to say anything blatantly disrespectful of her husband for she had been raised far better than that, but she knew her distress would be plain enough to her father. Lord Eddard had not kept her from writing. Nor had he asked to see her letter before it was sent. He hadn’t read the reply from her father, either, in which Lord Hoster had expressed dismay, disbelief, and outrage, promising Catelyn that he would demand that his goodson send the child away. Her husband had received a letter from Riverrun that same day, but he never spoke to her of what was in it. Nor did he ever mention sending his bastard away.

She had long since stopped mentioning the boy in her own letters to Riverrun, and her father had responded by ceasing his inquiries as to whether or not Lord Eddard had made plans to remove him from Winterfell yet. She feared her father might be ashamed of her inability to receive so basic a consideration from a man widely considered to be honorable and just to everyone. He had been so insistent upon giving her a title and position as great as any in the realm save that of queen, and she did not want him to be disappointed in her ability to carry that title. She had no wish to embarrass him in her own shame.

Nor did she truly want there to be blatant animosity between her father and her husband. That served no one. While this gathering was being touted as a feast in honor of her father’s name day, she knew well enough it was an excuse to gather the high lords with most reason to be concerned over rumors of growing insolence from Balon Greyjoy. Why else would both Lords Stark and Lannister as well as the King himself travel to Riverrun to gather together while winter still held sway over the realm? She had surmised the true purpose of this gathering herself even before her husband had shared it with her. He does at least trust me to keep his counsel. And however much she might like it if her father could somehow force her husband to send the bastard away, he could not. And the two men needed to be working together to prevent a rebellion in the Iron Islands rather than arguing over her slighted honor.

So she had dreaded coming to Riverrun as greatly as she had anticipated it. And she had been more relieved than disappointed to find upon their late arrival that her father, not expecting them for several days, had taken King Robert, Lord Arryn, and Lord Lannister hunting and was not expected back in the castle until the following day.

Today, she realized. No doubt, word had been sent out already that they had arrived, and her father would make haste to return. She wondered where her husband was and if he had slept well last night. His room was not far from hers, but they were not adjoining or even side by side. She thought it likely her father had done that purposely and wondered if her husband had taken offense. His face had given nothing away when he’d bid her goodnight. She’d seen only an exhaustion to match her own in his grey eyes.

Robb had finished suckling and now squirmed in her arms, eager to be put down and allowed to explore his new surroundings. He was ever fearless, her son, and not one to cling to her unless he wished to suckle or had been injured in some way. Of course, his fearlessness had led the toddler into more minor injuries than Catelyn would have liked.

A rap at the door was followed by a familiar voice calling out, “Lady Tully?”

With a delighted cry, Catelyn put Robb down on the floor, rushed to hurriedly put on her robe, and opened the door. “Utherydes!” she said warmly, embracing the long-time steward of Riverrun enthusiastically but releasing him quickly lest he become embarrassed by her rather unladylike greeting.

“It is so good to see you,” she said with a smile. He had already retired by the time they’d arrived last night, and she’d asked the men at the gates not to wake anyone as long as someone knew what rooms everyone was to be given.

“It is more than good to see you, Lady Tully.” He was already blushing from her greeting, but the flush deepened as he corrected himself. “Lady Stark, I mean.”

She laughed and waved a hand as if to brush away any concerns about her title. “I was Lady Tully far longer than I’ve been Lady Stark as of yet, Utherydes. Come in, please.”

“Mama!” Robb came toddling over and crashed into her legs as he looked up at the newcomer.

“That’s little Lord Robb? He’s gotten so big!” the steward said, smiling down at the boy.

“He has,” Catelyn said proudly. “He grows well, and he’s as strong and clever a boy as any has ever been.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, Lady T . . . Lady Stark. Your lord father will be so pleased to see him. To see you both.”

Catelyn laughed again. “Why don’t you simply call me Lady Catelyn and save yourself tripping over my surnames? And is my father here? I know he’d been out hunting.”

Utherydes nodded. “He’s here. Ser Robyn had a man ride out last night because Lord Tully had said he wanted to know the instant you arrived. They weren’t camped far away and came in at first light.”

“My lord husband,” said Catelyn. “Is he aware the other men have returned?”

“Lord Stark is meeting with them, my lady. They’ve all been up in your lord father’s solar for more than an hour now.”

Catelyn’s cry this time was one of dismay. “Why was I not awakened?” she asked. “I shouldn’t have slept half the day away!”

Infuriatingly, the steward laughed at her, just as he had done at times when she was small. “You’ve hardly slept the day away, Lady Catelyn. It’s early yet. And Lord Stark specifically instructed that you not be disturbed. He said you deserved a good rest after that journey from Winterfell.”

Catelyn frowned. That was something her husband would do. “Is the morning meal over?”

He laughed again. “Not at all. I told you it was still early, my lady. One of the maids heard your little one awake and came to tell me. I thought you’d like to know your father had returned. Would you like me to send a maid to help you dress to come down to the Hall, Lady Catelyn?”

“Thank you, Utherydes. I would appreciate that.”

“That!” Robb added emphatically, apparently having decided he needed to participate in the conversation.

“That child looks so much like Lord Edmure,” Utherydes said, smiling down at him.

“I know,” Catelyn said softly, feeling the uncomfortable mixture of fondness for her son’s resemblance to the little brother she loved and dismay that he looked so little like the man who’d fathered him. Especially when the bastard was Eddard Stark’s miniature.

“I shall leave you to dress, Lady Catelyn,” Utherydes said. “Your brother will be in the Hall.”

The prospect of seeing her younger brother made Catelyn very happy, and she picked Robb up to get him ready for the day while she waited for the maid.

She enjoyed her morning meal greatly. Edmure had been overjoyed to see her, and her own eyes had gone big and round when she saw how much he not only grown, but grown up. He’d been a boy when she’d ridden out from Riverrun more than a year ago. Now she could see the beginnings of the young man he would become. He doted on Robb who appeared fascinated with him as well, and she smiled at how her brother’s chest puffed up each time another person remarked upon Robb’s resemblance to himself.

The only disappointment of the morning was Edmure’s telling her that Lysa had not accompanied Lord Arryn from King’s Landing. She’d expected the Queen to remain away, as she had given birth to Robert Baratheon’s son and heir, but she couldn’t imagine her sister not coming to celebrate their father’s name day.

She discovered the reason for Lysa’s absence when her uncle appeared. Uncle Brynden had not parted from her father terribly amicably when he’d gone with Lysa to join her husband in King’s Landing so Catelyn was a bit surprised to see him here, but he came striding into the Hall with Tywin Lannister, Robert Baratheon, and two men in the white cloaks of the Kingsguard. She recognized one of those as Jaime Lannister, but wasn’t certain who the other man was.

“Little Cat!” Brynden’s voice boomed from halfway across the Hall, causing her to blush as she stood to greet the approaching men. “Your Grace, my lord, here is my niece, Lady Catelyn Stark.”

Before Catelyn even had time to be grateful that her uncle had belatedly remembered her proper address or to kneel before the king, Robert Baratheon came forward to embrace her as if they were close family members. “Lady Catelyn!” he exclaimed. “You are a vision of loveliness. Ned Stark is one lucky man!” He allowed his eyes to travel over her without any effort at discretion in spite of the fact that his goodfather stood beside him, and Catelyn felt her cheeks grow warm.

“I’m honored, Your Grace,” she managed to say, dipping into a curtsy, uncomfortably aware that only allowed him a better vantage point to look down the bosom of her dress.

“The honor is mine,” the King said, with a surprising amount of courtesy, extending a hand to help her rise. “Your father has been invaluable to me, my lady, and your husband is the brother I would choose over either of those the gods saw fit to give me. I would honor you most greatly on their accounts even if your own charms did not warrant such high regard already.”

He smiled down at her from his impossibly great height, and it occurred to Catelyn that Robert Baratheon truly was an alarmingly handsome and charismatic man. She wasn’t particularly drawn to him, herself—there was a certain carelessness in the way he treated people, even those claimed to love, which bothered her—but she could see how people were charmed by him.

“Lady Stark,” the older man beside him said, bowing his head slightly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yours as well, Lord Lannister,” she said courteously. Tywin Lannister was a tall man as well, although not nearly so tall as the King. His green eyes resembled his son’s, but Catelyn thought she saw gold in them as well. His head was shaved except for side whiskers the precise color of Ser Jaime’s hair. The man was not yet five and forty, but he’d begun to lose his hair at an early age and simply shaved it off rather than have it be thin. He was not unattractive, but those green and gold eyes observed her with a gaze so calculating that it made her feel cold.

“Is there any woman in the Seven Kingdoms so lovely, Tywin?” Robert Baratheon enthused.

Tywin turned his cool eyes toward the King. “None save my daughter your Queen,” he said coolly. “Your Grace,” he added belatedly.

Robert seemed unfazed by those words, but Catelyn felt ashamed on his behalf. “How is the Queen?” she asked courteously, uncertain of which man she should address. “And the new crown prince?”

“Cersei’s well enough,” Robert grunted. “But she didn’t want to leave the boy with a wetnurse to come along with us. Joffrey seems all right. He’s got that yellow hair, and he cries a great deal, but the maesters say he’s healthy.”

Catelyn couldn’t help but notice the thinly veiled displeasure in both Lord Tywin’s and Ser Jaime’s eyes at the dismissive way Robert Baratheon spoke of his Queen. Ser Jaime stood silently beside the other knight of the Kingsguard, but his eyes held no reverence as they followed his King.

“I would never have left Robb at such a young age,” Catelyn said quickly. “I don’t know that I could leave him now, so I am fortunate he is big enough to travel more readily. And babes do cry, Your Grace. It speaks to healthy lungs.”

Robert merely grunted, but the Lannister men appeared somewhat mollified.

Brynden had moved just a bit aside to take Robb from Edmure during this conversation, and Robb now gave a loud squeal and laugh as his great-uncle tossed him into the air.

“By the gods! Is that Ned’s boy?” Robert asked with far more enthusiasm than he’d exhibited when responding about his own son. “Sturdy lad, isn’t he?”

Without waiting for any response from her, Robert moved to take the child from Brynden. Robb, characteristically, was unbothered by exchanging one stranger for another, and simply cried “Up!” which was one word he definitely spoke with meaning. The King roared with laughter and threw him into the air much higher than Catelyn liked, but Robb was thrilled, and the man caught him with ease.

“Uncle, where is Father? And my lord husband?” she asked quietly as Brynden Tully came to stand beside her.

“They stayed back,” her uncle replied with a fairly grim expression. “Your father asked for a private word with him.”

Catelyn swallowed hard. Apparently, her face showed her worry because her uncle looked at her with concern. “Are you well, Little Cat? Does Stark treat you decently? The man should treat you like a queen, especially after he . . .”

“Uncle, please,” Catelyn interrupted him. Her uncle’s deep voice carried far better than he realized, and she had no wish for anyone to hear him say such things. “My husband treats me very well. I swear it. And I would not thank you for treating him with anything less than courtesy while we are here.”

Her uncle looked at her another long moment and then nodded. “You look well, Little Cat. It wasn’t very bright of our King to say so in front of Lord Goldshitter, but you are the loveliest maiden in all the Seven Kingdoms, including Tywin’s golden daughter.”

Catelyn tried to frown at him, but she ended up laughing instead. “I am no maiden, Uncle. You held the evidence of that in your arms just a moment ago. And your vision is clouded by affection, I’m afraid. I’m honest enough to agree that I have a pleasant face and form, but Cersei Lannister’s beauty is legendary.”

“Some women’s beauty grows less for every moment spent in their presence,” her uncle replied with a dismissive snort.

“Tell me of Lysa,” Catelyn said, both to change the subject and because she was desperate for some word of her sister.

“She is with child again,” he said bluntly.

“She is?” Catelyn asked, pleased at the news. Her sister had written her that she was with child almost upon her arrival to Winterfell with Robb, but she’d lost that babe and another in little more than a year. “That’s wonderful!”

“Is it?” Brynden shook his head. “I worry for her, Cat. She isn’t as strong as you are. Losing those babes was hard on her. I fear she became worse than despondent each time, and filled with self-recrimination as if she had done something wrong, had failed in some way.”

“Surely, Lord Arryn didn’t . . .”

“Jon never says a word against her,” her uncle assured her. “But he doesn’t say much to her, either, I’m afraid. They aren’t terribly well suited, and Lysa needs more reassurance and coddling than he has it in him to give.” He shook his head. “She’d not have handled what Stark did to you at all.”

“We’re speaking of Lysa, Uncle,” Catelyn said severely. The extent to which she felt compelled to protect her husband from her uncle’s unkind words or even his poor opinion surprised her somewhat. There was a time when she would have welcomed the sight of Ser Brynden Tully riding into Winterfell with his sword drawn to call out Eddard Stark for the slight to the honor of a daughter of House Tully, but that time was past. She needed her father and uncle not to despise her husband for practical reasons, yes, but she admitted to herself just a little that she had other reasons for defending him. “Please do not bring my husband into this conversation.”

He raised a brow, but nodded once more. “As you wish.” Then he sighed. “She missed her moonblood less than a fortnight before we were to depart King’s Landing. The maester isn’t even certain she’s with child yet, but she won’t stir from her rooms or barely even rise from her bed. She feels that any activity could threaten a babe in her womb, and she won’t risk it. Certainly, she wasn’t going to risk coming here.” He shook his head. “Although it might have done her good to see you.”

“Poor Lysa,” Catelyn said, shaking her head.

“Mama!” Robb shouted, and she looked up to see her son struggling to get down from the arms of a kitchen girl; Robert Baratheon having apparently lost interest in him.

“Come here, sweetling!” she called, stooping down and stretching out her arms. The girl put him down and he ran toward her to be scooped up.

As she stood up with him, Brynden laughed. “He’s quite a little boy, Cat. You should be proud of him.”

“I am,” she said, smiling at her son.

“Mama,” he said, patting her head and looking at Brynden as if informing his great-uncle who she was and that she belonged to him.

“Oh, there’s no doubt she’s your mother, little wolf pup,” Brynden laughed.

It sounded odd to hear him say that. Her husband called Robb that frequently, but she’d not heard anyone else use it as a name for him.

“Papa!” Robb suddenly yelled and began climbing over her shoulder. She turned toward the doorway of the Hall and saw her husband and father striding in. Neither looked happy. Lord Eddard’s face was set in stone, wearing the grim, unreadable expression she’d taken to calling his “lord’s face” in her thoughts. Her father simply looked angry.

Her father’s face underwent a remarkable transformation when he saw her and Robb, however.

“Cat!” he exclaimed, and he nearly began running, leaving her husband behind him. “You are sight for sore eyes, my girl!” He embraced her there in the Hall as Robb squirmed between them, and Catelyn let herself forget everything but the comfort of having her father’s arms around her for a moment. “I’ve missed you, Little Cat,” he murmured in her ear.

“I’ve missed you, too, Father,” she replied, smiling at him with tears in her eyes. “Would you like to hold your grandson?”

The Lord of Riverrun beamed at the boy in her arms with such pride and affection that Catelyn thought her heart might burst. “This big fellow can’t possibly be my little grandson, Robb, can he?” he said, reaching out to tickle Robb as Catelyn held him.

Robb giggled, but went to his grandfather easily enough.

“My gods, he is perfect, Cat,” her father breathed, as he held Robb out from him bouncing him in the air as he looked him over from head to toe.

“I think so,” she said proudly. She saw that her husband had reached them, but he had intentionally stopped and remained silent to give them a moment together.

“He’s certainly all Tully,” Lord Hoster said with pride.

“Papa!” Robb cried, reaching for the father who stood just out of his reach.

Catelyn realized that her husband had clearly heard her father’s words although his only reaction to them was a slight tightening of the muscles in his jaw that she doubted anyone else would recognize.

“He’s a Stark,” she said clearly, “for all that he has my hair and eyes, and I believe he just told you so.”

She smiled as she spoke, but neither man missed the steel in her tone. Her father raised his brow slightly as if in surprise, and her husband’s grey eyes rested on her with approval and something she thought might be gratitude, but she had only begun to learn to read the subtle changes in his face so she couldn’t be certain.

“So he is,” her father said just as Robb yelled, “Papa!” even more loudly and insistently.

Ned held out his arms and her father handed her son to her husband.

“Did you sleep well, my lady?” he asked her as Robb began to tug at his hair and beard.

“Very well, my lord. Thank you for seeing that I was undisturbed this morning. It felt good to sleep in a real bed. And past sunup.”

His expression softened into something that was almost a smile. “I am glad of it.”

“Papa! Up!” Robb interrupted.

At that, Lord Eddard laughed. “And whose arms have you already worn out from tossing you up, little wolf?”

Catelyn felt warmed by the way he looked at their boy, and she smiled. “I have seen both my uncle and the King doing so, my lord.”

Her husband shook his head as he smiled at their son. “You never grow tired of it, do you?” He then held the boy out and tossed him upward, catching him as child giggled.

Catelyn allowed him to do this twice more before saying, “You and my father should eat, my lord. You must be hungry after your early morning council.”

He looked at her, and his expression darkened briefly. Whether that was from discussions of the Ironborn or conversations with his father regarding her, she didn’t know. “Aye,” he said. “We should eat.”

“You’ve already eaten, Cat?” her father asked, speaking for the first time since handing Robb to her husband. He’d been watching them closely, however, Catelyn realized.

“Yes, Father. It looks to be a mild day. I thought I’d get our cloaks and take Robb to run about in the godswood.” She smiled. “While we’ve been outdoors for days and days, there’s been little opportunity for him to wander as freely as he likes.” She looked to her husband. “If that is acceptable to you, my lord.”

“Of course, my lady.” He kissed the top of Robb’s head on his soft auburn curls before handing him to her, and she realized how much it meant to her that he would do such a thing here in a Hall full of people including his King. “Be good for your mother,” he admonished the little boy.

Catelyn had thought her son would wear himself out much more quickly than he did. Robb loved the Riverrun godswood, and that made her very happy as it had always been one of her favorite places. Even in winter, without all the flowers in bloom, it had a warm, inviting air about it that was entirely different than the forbidding godswood of Winterfell. As much as she had grown to love many things about the North and feel more comfortable in her role as its lady, that godswood forever made her feel a stranger.

So, she wandered quite contentedly with Robb, allowing him to run and climb and babble to himself and to her. She told him the names of the trees and sang him songs she’d once sung to Lysa and Edmure and even remembered her mother singing to her. Finally, his little head began to droop, and he crawled into her lap and fell asleep as she stroked the auburn curls just a shade darker than her own hair.

“Would you like me to carry him to your room, Cat?”

She startled at the sound of her father’s voice, and looked up to see him smiling down at her.

“I’d nearly forgotten how much I loved this place,” she said softly.

“You always did,” he said, sitting down on the ground beside her. “And thank the gods for it. At least here, I didn’t fear you’d drown, and the only other place that you loved half so well was the river.”

She smiled. “Yes . . . well, it’s too cold to swim in the winter, so you needn’t worry for me this visit.” She would have liked to swim with Robb, though.

“Is it too cold for you there, Cat?” her father asked her then, meeting her eyes with his.

She saw the worry in his eyes. Had he sent her to be unhappy? Had he given her a life without warmth?

“No,” she said. “Winterfell is warm, Father. Everything Brandon used to say about the hot water from the earth is true. And the walls of the Great Keep do feel warm to the touch, as if they were living things.” She smiled at him. “Truly. I felt more of a chill when I awoke this morning than I do in my own room at Winterfell.”

He tried to smile back. “You are . . . content, then?”

“I am,” she told him. Sometimes, she thought. And sometimes I feel that I could be more than content if only . . . She would not speak to her father of that, though. “My lord husband treats me well. I am respected and honored by the people there, and your grandson is absolutely revered.”

He regarded her for a moment, and then looked away. “I never thought he would do such a thing, Cat. Truly, I didn’t.”

He didn’t explain what he meant, but she knew well enough. “It was none of your doing,” she said simply. “I have never been angry at you, Father.”

He looked back at her then, suppressed anger in his gaze. Not at her, though. “You have a right to be angry, Cat. He is wrong, and he’ll even say he’s wrong, but he won’t . . . Damn the man! Why can’t he just send the brat away?”

Catelyn swallowed hard against the tears that threatened. Her father had always tried to fix all the wrongs in her life. Some had been impossible to fix, of course. Like Mother’s death. But he’d suffered every time she’d had a hurt he couldn’t mend. “It doesn’t matter, Father. Truly, it doesn’t. I am the Lady of Winterfell, and he does me no further disrespect. I am content.” Am I?

“I’d still like to hit the man. For good measure,” her father scowled.

“That would bring me no joy,” she said definitely. “He is my husband, and I have no wish to see him suffer. I tell you truly, Father, that he is good to me. And you saw him with Robb.”

Her father nodded slowly. “Give me the lad, Cat, and I’ll help you get him to your room.”

“Where is my husband?” she asked him, suddenly wondering what he was doing if her father was free to come to the godswood.

“Robert Baratheon has commandeered him, I’m afraid. They’re drinking and telling war stories in the Hall still.”

That didn’t sound like her husband.

“Although, to his credit,” her father said grudgingly, “Stark is more watching His Grace drink ale and listening to His Grace tell stories.”

“And Lord Lannister?”

Her father shrugged. “Somewhere with his golden boy, I suppose. Ser Preston is with the King in the Hall.”

“I don’t trust him, Father,” Catelyn said suddenly. “Lord Lannister, that is. Not Ser Preston. I just . . .” She shook her head.

“You’ve always had good instincts, Cat. He’s not a man to be trusted. But in this affair with the Greyjoys . . . well, he’s got as much reason to want those reavers kept in check as any of us with land on the western coast. And he’s got a good sized fleet at Lannisport. We need him. And he needs us as well, and whatever else the man is, he’s not stupid. Allowing Greyjoy to even think he can find success upon any part of the coast will only embolden him to try others as well. We all need to work together to show him our strength and our resolve.”

“You think that will stop him?”

“Permanently? I don’t know, Cat. Balon Greyjoy is a reaver. It’s his nature, and a man doesn’t change his nature. But if he sees plainly that he hasn’t got the strength to do anything, we can stop him for now. There are a few Islanders with at least a modicum of sense such as Rodrik Harlaw. But while I think he’ll back down now, it won’t surprise me if it still comes to swords in a few years’ time.”

Catelyn didn’t want to think about that. The Rebellion was far too fresh in her memory for her to want to contemplate another war. “I hope not,” she said.

“Well. We can all hope, my girl.”

She watched her father as he walked, carrying her son as if it required no effort on his part. She’d always believed those strong shoulders could carry anything. It was strange to think that a year of living away from here, of learning to be a wife and a mother, had caused her to see so clearly that her father was a merely a man—a good man and a strong one—but capable of both successes and failures like any other.

When they reached her room, he laid Robb into the cot, and the boy didn’t move. As he stood up, he looked at her sadly. “He is a good boy, Cat. Take pride in him. Find joy in him. That’s what I did after I lost your mother. You children . . . you were my joy. Yours can be joy for you, I promise.”

“Robb is a joy,” she told him, and she kissed her father on his cheek before he left her with one last regretful look. He pities me, she realized. He loved Mother, and he knows that my husband . . . She bit her lip hard to keep from crying. Of all the things she did not want from her father, pity likely was the worst.

Feeling restless and unable to sit still, she found a maid to sit with Robb and went back outside on her own. This time, her feet went swiftly to a place that had brought her comfort often during her years here. The place that she missed with an ache that was almost physical at times in Winterfell.

The sept at Riverrun was beautiful. Everyone said so. Some had gone so far as to say that only the Great Sept of Baelor was lovelier although some others were certainly larger and more impressive. Not having seen all the septs in the Seven Kingdoms, Catelyn couldn’t venture an opinion, but she did love the sept at Riverrun. It was her sept where she could feel the presence of her gods. Sometimes she feared the Seven couldn’t find her in the North. She found herself wondering if they could hear her small and solitary prayers amid the thousands of prayers offered before weirwoods to the forbidding Old Gods that held sway there.

She fell on her knees before the Mother and began to pray, not even entirely certain what she prayed for, but knowing that being here in this place felt right to her. She wasn’t certain how much time had passed before she realized she was not alone. She wasn’t even certain how she knew he was there—whether he had made some sound or movement that caught her attention—but she turned to find her husband standing just inside the door, watching her.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said softly. “I had no wish to intrude upon your devotions.”

She got to her feet. “Do you have need of me, my lord? Is Robb . . .”

“Robb is asleep still. Or he was when I went to your room. I only wished to see you . . . and I can wait.” He frowned. “I should have remained outside, but . . .”

“No,” she said quickly. “You needn’t remain outside.” She tried to smile at him. “I have sought you in your godswood, my lord. Why should you not seek me in my sept?”

She watched the muscle of his jaw move as he swallowed. “You have no sept in Winterfell. I have been remiss.”

“What?” she asked him, not understanding. “I knew there would not be a sept, my lord. Brandon had told me as much.”

His face darkened slightly at his brother’s name, and she cursed herself for reminding him of his loss. “You follow the Old Gods, my lord. They are the gods of Winterfell.”

“Ned,” he muttered.

“My lord?”

“Ned,” he said more clearly. “It is my name, and I have asked you to use it more than once. You call my brother by his name. Why can you not speak mine?”

She had spoken it, of course. At his request. But it didn’t come naturally. “Why do you not speak mine?” she asked by way of answering. “You say 'Catelyn' only when you speak of me to others, and only with ‘Lady’ in front of it.” That wasn’t strictly true. He whispered her name in the dark of her chamber when he laid her down upon her bed. He had even cried out her name on occasion when his body convulsed and his seed spilled within her. She didn’t need to think about those times, though, as she realized her breath was coming a bit shorter simply from being alone with him here. He had not bedded her at all on the journey south from Winterfell, and that was the longest they had gone since she’d welcomed him back into her bed after that terrible fight about the bastard’s mother.

She could see by the way that his eyes looked like grey smoke as he held her gaze that his thoughts were similar to hers. He was a man, and he had needs, of course. But, she was gradually discovering that she desired to have him in her bed as greatly as he desired to be there. And the way she felt now had nothing to do with her longing for another child.

“Catelyn,” he said softly. “It is a beautiful name. But I am not always certain it is welcome from my lips.”

It hasn’t always been. She’d been so angry with him for so long. She still found it hard to look at him or speak to him after she’d seen him laughing with the bastard or tossing him into the air precisely the same way he did Robb. But other times . . . Gods, Catelyn. He had moaned precisely that into her neck on the night before they left Winterfell as he finally pushed his cock inside her after spending a great amount of time suckling her teats and kissing and sucking between her legs in that manner which had once shocked her, but now left her breathless and shaking and beyond caring how wanton she must appear to him. Gods, Catelyn. She licked her lips, and then shook her head, willing herself not to think of the word ‘gods’ preceding her name as the words fell from his lips onto her neck like a plea and a joyful exaltation all at the same time as he moved within her.

Gods, Catelyn. “The gods,” she blurted out, realizing her words made no answer to his own, but needing to remind herself that she was in a sept dedicated to her gods. “You needn’t concern yourself about my gods, my lord. I keep them in my room at Winterfell. You have seen the carved figures.”

If he was troubled by her sudden change of subject, he didn’t show it. He paused only briefly before saying, “And those figures should have a home.” He waved his arm to encompass the sept where they stood. “I will order a sept built for you upon our return to Winterfell. I should have done it long before.”

“I . . . a sept? But no one in Winterfell prays to the Seven.”

“You do,” he said simply. “And you are Winterfell’s lady.” He took a step closer to her. “You are my lady. And I would give you a sept. Your gods are welcome in your home. In our home.”

She couldn’t stop the tears which came to her eyes at his words. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Ned.”

He stepped closer still and reached out a finger to wipe a tear which had escaped onto her cheek. “You did not cry when I wed you here.”

“No,” she said softly. Lysa had cried. Lysa had been unable to stop the tears as Lord Arryn had placed the falcon cloak upon her shoulders, but Catelyn had remained dry eyed as Lord Eddard . . . Ned . . . had wrapped the direwolf cloak around her own.

“You were very brave, my lady. Catelyn. You were also very beautiful.” He swallowed. “And I thought to myself that I could not possibly be husband to such a lady, any more than I could be Lord of Winterfell.”

“You are the Lord of Winterfell,” she whispered.

“I am,” he agreed softly. “But I was never meant to be. Just as I was never meant to be your husband.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, and so she remained silent. She hadn’t wanted to wed him then, but she’d known her duty. And she had done it. First in this sept and then in the bedchamber they’d shared when she gave him her maiden’s gift. And unknown to both of them at the time, had given him his heir. Now, she couldn’t quite name what she wished to give him—wished to have from him—she only knew it was something more than the respectful distance they shared almost everywhere except her bedchamber.

“I fear I do not always know how to be either,” he said after a moment.

“You are a good lord,” she said quickly. It was true. “You must never doubt that.”

Surprisingly, he chuckled. “I thank you, my lady. And I note that you do not say that I have been a good husband.” He raised his hand to silence her before she could protest. “I thank you for that, too. For you have always been honest with me, Catelyn, and that means a great deal.”

She didn’t know if she should thank him for his assessment of her honesty or still try to protest that he was a good husband, because he certainly was in most respects. In all respects save the one, truly. But she decided to simply remain silent once more.

“I want you to know what I told your father today,” he said then.

“I . . . my lord, you needn’t . . .”

“I want to tell you this, and I want you to listen,” he said very carefully. “Lord Hoster loves you, and I understand that far more now than when we wed--because of Robb. If anyone wronged my child, I would wish nothing but harm upon that person.”

“My lord . . . Ned . . . please. I am sorry for whatever my father . . .

“Do not apologize to me!” He sounded almost angry, and she couldn’t prevent herself flinching. He’d never shouted at her except for that one night. He wasn’t really shouting now, but still it made her recall the fear she’d felt when he’d grabbed her arms and demanded to know where she’d heard that name.

“Damnation,” he swore softly. “Forgive me, my lady. I have no cause to frighten you. Ever.” He sounded definitely angry then although his words were spoken much more quietly, and it was clear his anger was with himself rather than her.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“But you must never apologize to me, Catelyn. Not for anything that has to do with Jon. Not ever. All of it is my doing, and not yours.”

He rarely spoke of the bastard at all to her, but when he did, he always called him by name. That usually bothered her. It made him more of a son to him. A son with a name. Just like Robb. Now, though, she concentrated more on the rest of his words. It wasn’t an apology, really. But it was an acknowledgement of sorts.

“Is that what you told my father?” she asked him softly.

“No,” he said. “Lord Hoster asked me to send the boy away. I will not do that. I cannot do that. I have told you the same. Jon is my blood, and he remains at Winterfell.”

She nodded. The words didn’t hurt as much as they once had. She had heard them before, after all. And now, he spoke to her calmly, quietly, almost as if he wanted her to understand somehow, even if she couldn’t forgive.

“He then asked me if I had no shame,” her husband . . . Ned . . . said, never looking away from her.

Catelyn knew her husband was a man who regarded his honor as something sacred in spite of the bastard. With that one exception, she was forced to admit she could name no man with more honor—including her own father. She couldn’t begin to imagine how terrible it must have been for her husband to be asked such a thing by his goodfather.

“I told him I knew well I had dishonored you, and that nothing in my life has shamed me more.”

He had never said those precise words to her before, and she could see the truth of them in his face. Her husband may hold the secret of his bastard’s mother tightly in his heart, but he was not a man for lies. She knew that about him. He truly felt ashamed. And yet you will not send him away.

“I then swore to him that I would bring no further dishonor upon you. Ever.”

Those words stunned her. He spoke them as if they were an oath. But before she could respond, he continued speaking.

“And that is why I sought you here. I thought to speak with you when you had finished your devotions. It seems fitting, somehow, that I should say this here where I wed you. Before your gods.”

“Speak with me of what?”

“What I have already sworn before my gods, my lady. And what I would now swear before yours if you would hear me.”

She simply nodded.

“I swear to you, Catelyn, here before your gods, that I will do no more to bring dishonor upon you.”

She looked at him standing there before her, his face as solemn as it ever was, but when she reached out to touch his hand, she felt it tremble slightly. “Very well, Ned,” she said. “I accept your promise.”

There was nothing more to say after that, really. He offered her his arm, and she placed her hand upon it. Then they walked out of the sept together much as they had on their wedding day.

The rest of that day passed by with Ned (she made an effort to think of him as Ned—she had made that effort when he’d asked it of her after their wedding as well, but had stubbornly reverted to thinking of him only as Lord Eddard after he’d brought home the bastard) spending much of it in meetings with Lord Tywin or her father or the King and Lord Arryn. Dinner was a fairly sedate affair. Other lords and ladies would be arriving over the next few days—her father’s bannermen come to celebrate his actual nameday feast, and the King and his high lords wished to have all their business concerning the Greyjoy threat well addressed prior to the castle filling up with people.

Her husband did not come to her room that night, and Catelyn found herself both disappointed and hurt. She knew he had wanted her when they’d been together in the sept. She might not be able to accurately gauge what he thought or felt on any number of occasions, but desire for her was one thing she’d learned to see in him quite well. And since she knew he wanted her, since he’d gone to such lengths to address the matter of his bastard as much as she thought he ever would—more than she’d thought he ever would—why did he not come to her?

The next several days went by in a frenzy of activity. Catelyn found herself falling back into the role of Lady of Riverrun as everyone from her father to Utherydes to the cooks to the chamber maids came to ask her any number of questions about menus, seating arrangements, musicians, and guest rooms. She greeted guests and generally acted as hostess. Sometimes her husband was with her, and at other times he was with the King who seemed to want his near constant companionship unless he was occupied with chasing one of the chambermaids about. She noticed, however, that her husband did not seem nearly as eager for the King’s company, and she wondered about it. They had been like brothers nearly all their lives. Everyone spoke of it. Yet her husband seemed somewhat distant from his brother, and she didn’t think it was entirely due to his distaste for Robert Baratheon’s love of drink or the way he fondled women in full sight of his goodfather. She thought he enjoyed time spent conversing with Jon Arryn somewhat better although the man seemed somewhat uncomfortable around her, and she suspected that had to do with her sister. All he said to her of Lysa was that while they were both pleased that she was with child, he knew she was bitterly disappointed not to get the chance to see her family.

She rarely had opportunity to speak privately with her husband although she did make an effort to use his name when they were alone, and she noted that he called her by hers as well. It was very strange to her that in some ways since that day in the sept, they seemed closer and more open with each other, but he never came to her bed.

On the evening of Lord Hoster Tully’s nameday feast, the Hall at Riverrun was filled with people. The King had insisted that Lord Hoster, as the man being honored, sit in his accustomed seat at the head table while he sat upon his right. Lord Hoster had Catelyn at his left with her husband beside her. Lord Arryn sat on the other side of the King with Lord Lannister beside him. Uncle Brynden sat on Ned’s other side. It was a rather impressive gathering as it included the King and four High Lords, and the dinner was lavish with multiple courses and wine and ale that never stopped flowing.

When the music started, Catelyn found herself dancing more than she could recall having done in a long time. So many of her father’s bannermen and their sons asked to partner her, many of them calling her Lady Tully. She always smiled and corrected them, and her husband seemed to tolerate it well, but she thought he began to look more annoyed as the evening went on. He actually danced with her himself four times which was more than he’d danced with her at their wedding feast.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said as he took her out onto the floor that fourth time. “I know I am a poor dance partner and that you could easily find far better.”

“You are my husband, my lord,” she’d said. “I will always dance with you.”

“Of course,” he said rather darkly. “You will always do your duty.”

“What do you . . .”

Before she could finish asking her question, he grabbed her rather tightly and moved her quickly almost to the other side of the floor without making any effort to follow the steps of the dance or even keep time with the music.

“Ned!” she exclaimed, his name falling from her lips quite accidentally after having used it intentionally over the past few days. “What are you doing?”

“Protecting my wife,” he said grimly.

“What?”

He sighed and looked rather uncomfortable. “Robert was coming toward us. He intends to dance with you, my lady, and I intend to prevent him from doing so. Thus far, I’ve been able to get to you first any time I’ve seen him approach to ask you. He won’t cut in on me as quickly as he would another.” He looked back over his shoulder. “But the more he drinks, the more likely he is to do anything, and I’d rather prevent him from reaching you than have to answer to the Kingsguard for striking my liege.”

“What are you talking about, my lord? I realized His Grace is too drunk to keep from trodding upon my feet, and he’ll likely look down my dress, but . . .”

“He wants to remove your dress,” her husband said grimly. “And I’ll not have him paw at you like he does the poor maids.”

She’d never seen her husband like this. “Robert is like a brother to you,” she said. “You’ve said so yourself. Surely, he wouldn’t behave so abysmally with your wife! And he is the King, Ned. If he wants to dance with me . . .”

“You cannot refuse him. Aye. I know that well enough. And he has been a brother to me. But even brothers can act without honor.” He looked away from her as he said that, and she decided not to ask him what he meant.

When the dance ended, he still looked rather agitated, and he looked less than pleased when Tywin Lannister asked her to dance, but he did not object.

“Your husband looks even grimmer than usual, Lady Stark,” Lord Tywin said as he spun her smoothly around. He was as elegant a dancer as Ned was an awkward one, and he conversed with her easily without missing a step.

“My husband is not overly fond of dancing, Lord Lannister. That is all. I assure you he is not at all grim this evening.”

“I would be,” the Lion Lord said with a rather unpleasant smile on his face.

“What do you mean?”

Lannister shrugged slightly. “You are a beautiful woman, Lady Stark, wed to a cold, somber man. People talk.”

“People talk? What do you mean? What people? What talk?” She was honestly at a loss as to what the man meant.

“It is nothing to concern yourself about, my lady. It simply appears to me by your husband’s demeanor this evening that even if he has no interest in availing himself of your charms, he does not appreciate either those charms or his lack of interest being commented upon.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve said more than I should, and I’ve no wish to spoil such a lovely evening for such a lovely lady.”

The man would say nothing further, and when the dance ended, Catelyn looked around for her husband, but did not see him right away. She started to walk toward the doors to see if he had stepped out of the Hall when she felt a hand on her arm.

“May I have a dance, my lady?”

She turned and saw herself looking up into the green eyes of Jaime Lannister. He smiled at her, and she found that she liked his smile no more than his father’s although she recalled thinking him rather nice when he’d visited Riverrun once years ago. Of course, that was before he’d killed Aerys Targaryen in cold blood. Her husband had no use for the man at all, she knew, having expressed to her that he had no honor at all.

“I’m sorry, Ser Jaime, but I need to find my husband.”

“He won’t miss you,” the younger Lannister said without letting that smile falter one bit. “And besides, I’m a knight of the Kingsguard. You are safe with me, Lady Stark.”

“It isn’t a matter of safety,” she said in some irritation.

“Well, surely it isn’t a matter of passion. Since you’re wed to a frozen lord with cock made of ice rather than flesh.”

“How dare you, ser!” she exclaimed.

He shrugged. “Calm yourself, Lady Stark. No one doubts your virtue, my lady. The little red-haired babe is undoubtedly your husband’s, but having gotten the heir out of you, he doesn’t seem to have it in him to do any more. Shame, really. You are lovely.”

“You are despicable,” she spat at him.

“Am I?” he smiled at her again. “Why don’t you ask our good King Robert about it. It’s his words I’ve given you.”

“You lie,” she told him. “The King would not say such things about my husband.”

Jaime Lannister laughed. “I won’t bother telling you what he said about you then.”

“What?” Catelyn asked him, horrified.

“Here she is, Your Grace! I told you she hadn’t left.”

Catelyn looked up to see Tywin Lannister leading a very drunk Robert Baratheon toward her. The King peered at her through bloodshot blue eyes and grinned. “Little Cat,” he drawled in a very lecherous imitation of title both her uncle and Father persisted in using for her all too often in all manner of company.

“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Let’s dance, my lady,” he said, slurring the words rather noticeably.

She saw no help for it. Certainly, neither of the Lannister men provided any assistance. She got the distinct impression they had orchestrated this. She only hoped the King could remain upright because there was no possible way she could support a man as large as Robert Baratheon.

She took the arm he offered, and he managed to lead them out onto the floor where he put his arms around her much too tightly.

“Your Grace,” she said mildly. “I’m afraid I can’t breathe.”

He laughed. “I could leave you breathless if I had the chance. Gods, I’d like the chance. How is it Ned ended up with such a fiery beauty?”

She swallowed and decided to treat the remark like any other compliment upon her appearance. “I thank you, Your Grace. You are a fortunate man as well as the Queen’s beauty is legendary.”

“Pah!” he said. “That woman’s cunt is as cold as Ned’s cock. Maybe we should trade! Haha!” He laughed outrageously at his own terribly offensive joke, and people began looking at them. She hoped they were staring simply because the drunken king, laughing loudly was rather a spectacle and not because they’d actually heard what he said. “Maybe we should trade,” he said again, grinning down at her. “How do you like the sound of that, Little Cat?” He moved one hand down her back to grab at her arse. “I like the feel of it, that’s for sure.”

Catelyn felt hot, angry tears pricking her eyes, and she looked around desperately for help. Now people appeared to look anywhere except at the two of them. No one wanted to offend Hoster Tully by watching his daughter be humiliated. But no one wanted to challenge the King, either.

“I think my lady wife has had enough dancing, Your Grace.”

At the sound of that quiet, cold, deep voice, Catelyn whipped her head around to see her husband standing beside them. His face was nearly expressionless, but his eyes were the color of thunderclouds, and she knew he was furious. Jon Arryn stood beside him with a hand on his shoulder. Just behind them stood her Uncle Brynden, standing between them and Jaime Lannister, looking at the Kingslayer as if he dared him to interfere. Catelyn wondered idly where the other Kingsguard was.

“Ah, I’ve only just gotten to dance with her, Ned. You get her all night . . . if you know what to do with her, that is!” He laughed again as if his words were the funniest ever spoken. No one else laughed.

“Robert,” Ned said, moving right up to where he was almost touching the King. “She is my wife, and I say she has had enough dancing. Please unhand her now.”

His words were growled, and Catelyn could hear the menace in them, but they were spoken too low for anyone other than Robert and herself to hear. Robert Baratheon glared down at him for a moment, and Catelyn was honestly afraid, but her husband did not move or look away, and after a moment the larger man began to grin once more. “Aw, take her, Ned,” he said. “See if you can remember what to do with her. I still say you got luckier than I did no matter how much gold Lannister shits.”

Suddenly, Catelyn found herself free for a moment before Ned reached out to take her arm and pull her toward him. She went more than willingly. Jon Arryn had stepped in to speak with Robert, and Catelyn thought she heard him suggesting gently that the King might wish to retire for the night. The music had never stopped playing, and the people around them began dancing once more.

“If you would make your our excuses to Lord Tully, Ser Brynden, I would like to see my wife to her room,” she heard Ned say clearly.

“I should stay,” she stammered. “Father may need . . .”

“Go, Little Cat. Your father won’t object in the slightest, I assure you.”

Catelyn nodded somewhat numbly, still trying to process all that had just occurred. Then she let her husband lead her from the Hall.

“Are you all right?” he asked her softly when they were in the corridor leading to their rooms.

She nodded. “Why did they do that?”

“Why Robert?” he asked. “Because he is an idiot when he’s drunk and he’s drunk far too often these days. I’ve spoken with Jon about it, and he says that he’s doing the best he can. In King’s Landing, he has help from a good number of the staff in the Red Keep, and Tywin Lannister isn’t there. So he says Robert’s drinking is at least somewhat more manageable.”

Catelyn recalled the King’s complete loss of all of his charm and any sense of propriety with her just now and wondered if Lord Arryn was being overly optimistic. “And the Lannisters?”

Her husband frowned. “I am not certain. Likely they only seek to embarrass Robert and your father and myself as well.”

“To what purpose? Tywin Lannister’s daughter is wed to the man! Surely, he doesn’t want her humiliated by his behavior.”

Ned sighed deeply. “I’m afraid Robert’s whoring in King’s Landing is worse than his drinking. And even more well-known. The Queen has no chance of escaping such talk. But if Tywin can weaken him enough to make him more dependent upon Casterly Rock, and give people reason to laugh at his nearest allies as well . . .” He shrugged. “It’s all about the Lannisters for him, Catelyn. It always has been. The realm be damned. And a weak king will damn the realm. For all his faults, Robert needs to be strengthened and supported. Or this business with the Greyjoys will be just the beginning.”

“My father seems to think you can back Balon Greyjoy down.”

“We can,” he replied confidently. “This time,” he added rather grimly. Then he stopped walking. “Here is your room, my lady.”

“I would prefer to go to yours.”

He looked rather stunned.

“I wish to speak further, and Robb is sleeping in my room.”

He scowled at that, and she thought for a moment that the idea of taking her to his room angered him. “He sleeps quite well,” he said. “A message was given to me stating that he’d awakened and was fretful. That’s why I left the Hall. It wasn’t true, however, and I hurried back as quickly as I could.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ned. Who did the message come from?”

“I don’t know. The lad who told me had been told by a serving girl. I’ll see if I can find more out on the morrow. But I’ve no doubt it was Tywin Lannister’s doing. He was the one dancing with you when I left.”

He pushed open the door to his room and led her inside. “Are you certain you are all right, my lady?”

“I am fine. It was humiliating to be groped like that by the King, but he didn’t hurt me. I would rather talk about what the Lannisters said.”

“What do you mean?”

“First Lord Tywin, and then Ser Jaime. Ned, has Robert Baratheon been saying terrible things about you and me?”

She watched his eyes darken, but then he turned and walked away from her without replying.

“Lord Tywin insinuated you had reason to be grim and said that people talk,” she told him. “I won’t even repeat the things the Kingslayer said. And you yourself said something about Robert wanting to remove my dress.”

He turned back to look at her. “Sit down, Catelyn,” he said.

Obediently, she took a seat in a chair, and he sat down across from her on the bed. “I had no wish for you to hear any of this.” He swallowed before continuing. “Robert was drunk before the feast ever started.”

“I noticed,” she said.

“He spent the better part of the early afternoon with a chambermaid who, in addition to whatever else she did to entertain him, told him that you and I have not shared a room here in Riverrun.” The muscle in his jaw twitched before he continued. “He decided to ask me about it while drinking with any number of men not long before the feast began, and it became a chance for him to jape loudly at my expense. He meant no harm in it, but he got progressively more lewd, and when I got angry with him, his japes became uglier. I left, and as I went, he called after me that he might have to show you what a real man can do in a lady’s bed.”

He spoke through gritted teeth as he said the last, and Catelyn noted that his hands had curled into fists. She realized that he likely had come dangerously close to committing the crime of striking the king more than once today.

“I’m sorry, Ned,” she whispered.

“It is not your doing.”

“No. But I am still sorry.”

“Is there anything else, my lady? Or would you like me to take you to your room now?”

At that, she couldn’t remain silent. “Are you that desperate to be rid of me?” she asked him. “Unlike your friend Robert, I have no wish to jape, and I know you are far from cold, but I do wonder why you seem to no longer want me! The other day . . . in the sept . . . I thought that . . .” She bit her lip. “What have I done wrong, Ned?”

“Nothing!” he said, sounding anguished. “You have done nothing wrong, ever.” He stood up then and began walking back and forth across the room in an agitated manner. “As for wanting you . . . Catelyn, I want you every time I look at you. If my wants were all that mattered, you and I would never leave your bed. I assure you, my lady, that in that respect, I am no better than Robert Baratheon.”

“You at least manage not to bed with whores and serving girls to meet whatever needs of yours that I do not.”

“I don’t want whores and serving girls!” he nearly shouted. Then he took several deep breaths. “Did you not hear me? I want you.”

“Then why have you not come to me?”

He looked down. “Your father . . .” he started to say.

“My father? My father is well aware that we are wed, my lord. He will not object to our sharing a bed!”

“No. I mean to say that your father coming to me . . . about Jon . . . reminded me of things I prefer not to think upon. I am selfish when it comes to you, Catelyn. I do not wish to recall how dutiful you are at times. I do not wish to consider that you have never had a choice in anything concerning our marriage. I bed you because I want you, and you will never turn me away because it is your duty. And I am selfish enough that I would have it be otherwise.”

“You would have me be otherwise? What would you have me be?”

“I would not change a thing about you,” he said fiercely, coming to stand directly in front of her and pulling her up to stand facing him. “Not your hair or your eyes or one freckle on your skin. Not your voice or your laugh or your damned insistence on fires when no fire is needed. Not your quick mind or even your sometimes sharp tongue.” He looked at her. “I want you precisely as you are, Catelyn. But you deserve to have what you want. That is what I meant, and I wish you weren’t so committed to your duty that you will not ask for what you want.”

I asked you to send the boy away, said a nasty little voice in her head. And you denied me that. He had denied her nothing else, however. He had come to her rescue tonight. He had promised to build her a sept. She looked at the grey eyes which now gazed into her own eyes so intently. She’d never told him, and she realized that she’d held back at least partly from fear—fear of his knowing he could hurt her. But he’d promised her. He’d sworn before her gods he would not dishonor her again.

“I want you.”

“What?” He seemed dumbfounded.

“You told me to ask for what I want. I don’t want to go back to my room. I want you.”

Then his lips were on hers, more insistent and demanding than she’d ever known him. She opened her lips to him and threw her arms around him, telling him with her body what she’d just told him with her words. They didn’t speak any more at all as they somehow removed their clothes and stumbled into the bed trying never to lose contact with each other. She couldn’t stand the thought of not touching him even for an instant, and it seemed he felt the same.

His lips were everywhere, and they seemed to set her skin afire every place they touched. Her face, her neck, her arms, legs, nipples, belly, and finally her sex. She heard herself moaning as she gave herself entirely over to what he was doing to her and realized in a hazy sort of way that she was saying his name.

Her own lips sought out as much of his flesh as she could reach as well, and she thought they likely would leave bruises on each other, but she didn’t care. She only wanted to wrap herself around him and to be wrapped up in him and to feel the impossible need and heat that would build up inside her until she didn’t think she could stand it before it would finally bring her over an edge and she would feel she was flying apart and falling from a great height all at once. He’d pushed her over that edge twice by the time he raised himself above her and looked at her face with an expression of such tenderness inexplicably mingled with raw need that she nearly cried just to see it. Then he pushed himself into her and began to thrust, his hips crashing into hers with the force of words too long unspoken and desires too long denied. When at last his body tensed and she felt the wet heat of his seed filling her up, she realized they’d come to an entirely new place. She wasn’t certain what it was, but she liked it.

He lay atop her panting for a few moments, and then he pulled himself out of her and rolled onto his back. She immediately felt a loss at not having him inside her, and she rolled on her side to lie against him with her head on his chest, needing to feel him still. He reached up with one hand and began to play with her hair which had come mostly loose during their lovemaking.

“You are so beautiful, Cat,” he said softly after a moment. “Never doubt that I want you.”

“Cat?” she asked him with a lazy smile.

“I’ve noticed your family rarely calls you anything else,” he said. “Lord Hoster. Ser Brynden. Edmure.” He paused a moment. “Would you prefer I not call you so?”

“No,” she said. “I like it. It’s as you said. My family calls me Cat.” She raised up to look down at his face. “You are my family, Ned. You and I made a family when we made Robb.”

“That we did, my lady. That we did.” He raised up enough to kiss her softly. “And that pleases me very much, Cat,” he said as he pulled her head back down to rest on his chest.

This was definitely a new place, and while she couldn’t quite give a name to what they shared between them now, she knew it was more than they had shared before. She fell asleep in the arms of her husband for the first time in their marriage and woke up more content and more hopeful than she’d been in a long time.