Chapter Text
Catelyn could pinpoint the exact moment her life had changed. When she changed. She was still a child, far from marriageable age when it happened. They were always told not to play in the forest; not to wander too deep. But Lysa had wanted to that day. They were supposed to be knitting that afternoon and Catelyn had tersely pointed out to her younger sister that they weren’t supposed to go beyond the glade. Lysa just laughed and Catelyn just sighed and gave in. After all, what could possibly happen?
She could hear her sister’s muffled screams; Lysa’s voice filled with fear calling for her. There were two of them. Two large and scary men. Lysa had shrieked when one of them had grabbed her; the man’s other hand covering her mouth as he pushed her to the forest floor to stop her from flailing. Catelyn just stood there. She didn’t scream. She didn’t do anything but stand there. The other man, standing before her, reached out and yanked her cloak off feeling the fine woolen fibers. It was an expensive cloak. Catelyn understood. They were being robbed. But Lysa kept screaming from beneath his hand and then she started crying. Disgust contorted the man’s face as she cried. He was annoyed, not angry, but he still hit her. Then Lysa stopped screaming. She stopped everything, falling completely limp. That was when Catelyn knew she had to do something. She couldn’t let them hurt her little sister.
As the other man stepped towards Catelyn, leaning down to grasp the golden chain around her neck and trying to unclip it she gripped her wooden knitting needles tightly; and in one swift motion jammed them right into his eyes. He cried out and his companion turned to look. But Catelyn was already moving. Ducking under the now screaming man she slid his knife from his belt and tackled the man on top of her sister. The blade stabbed straight through his throat and a burst of blood stained her hands. Yanking the knife out, Catelyn backed away from him. He fell backwards both his hands at his neck, trying to keep the blood from coming out. But it dripped from between his fingers and with a cough it spurted from his mouth.
The other man called out for his companion. But he wouldn’t answer; he couldn’t. One dying and one blind. Catelyn turned back towards the blind man. He hadn’t pulled the wooden needles from his eyes although his hands circled around them as though he wanted to but couldn’t or was too afraid to. He was cursing now. She wanted to take her sister and run, but what if this man came back for them?
Catelyn approached him, her footfalls making no noise. Knife poised she slashed at his lower back, which was where she could reach. The man cried out a hatful curse and tried to turn, but his foot must have caught on a root or a rock because he ended up tumbling backwards. He managed to grab her wrist though with one of his flailing arms. But it was her free hand that still held the knife, and as she came tumbling down on him she used all her strength to stab at his chest. His grip tightened on her wrist and his other hand searched for the knife but ended up in her hair.
He yanked hard and she thought her hair would be pulled clean off her skull. But in response she ripped the dagger from his chest and stabbed again. She kept stabbing over and over and over. Until she realized his hand had fallen from her hair and the grip on her wrist was slacked. He’d also stopped cursing.
Leaving the knife in him she got up off of him and ran to her sister. Lysa’s eyes were closed, but she was breathing. She had fainted. Catelyn wasn’t particularly strong but she was able to pick up her sister and get them back to the glade. Everything was the same. They hadn’t been gone long enough for anyone to come looking for them. Carefully she laid her sister on the grass before falling to sit down beside her. Her hands were shaking as she reached up to wipe the sweat from her forehead. That was when she realized she was crying; that was when she realized she was covered in blood.
Furiously she wiped her hands on the grass. There was nothing to be done about her dress, but glancing over she realized Lysa still had her cloak. Carefully removing it from her sister she pulled it around herself tightly, covering her completely. It was then she realized what she had done. She felt sick and thought she was about to empty her stomach, but it was then that Lysa woke up.
“Cat?” Lysa sat up rubbing her eyes and looked around; her brow furrowing when she saw where they were. “What happened? Weren’t we in the forest? Weren’t there...” She looked afraid again.
“You were just dreaming silly.” Catelyn smiled brightly at her sister. “We came out to knit and you fell asleep.” If she pretended nothing had happened then it would be true. She would forget about it and this sick feeling would go away. All she had to do was not think about it. Lysa seemed to accept this quite readily; then she frowned.
“Then, where are your needles?” The two thin wooden sticks protruding from the man’s eyes flashed through her mind.
“I must have forgotten them.”
***
Even though she had resolved herself to forget, even though she’d burned that blood stained dress, that night she dreamed about it. Watched herself kill those men a thousand times. She woke up sweating with tears streaming down her face. She sat up and clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from sobbing aloud. Then she caught her reflection in her mirror, the moonlight illuminating her in the reflective surface. Her stomach rolled in disgust. She wiped the tears from her face almost angrily. Catelyn had been so composed when it was all happening and yet now she was falling apart. She hated it.
What she had done was necessary; she did it to protect her younger sister. She shouldn’t regret it and at the moment she decided she wouldn’t. There was no shame or evil in her actions. She should be proud. That’s what she said to herself. From then on she never cried, not from the dreams and not from anything else that would happen to her. Steel and anger would replace those feelings now. Tears were what one should be ashamed of; being composed and cold enough to do what was necessary no matter what was to be prized.
Slowly the dreams faded from her mind. But every now and then when they managed to worm their way back into her conscious she no longer felt like crying and that sickening feeling had disappeared. Pride and perhaps a twinge of pleasure was what those dreams now provoked.
What the event in the forest had taught her was what kind of person she was. For her actions had to be explainable. So from that she knew she was the type of person who would go to any lengths to protect her family. Family. Duty. Honor. She took those words more seriously than ever.
It was with this state of mind that Catelyn spent more time with her father listening to every bit of dialogue and watching every action taken in regards to the running of the house. She read a great deal and wanted to learn to fight as her brothers did, but when she had broached the subject with her father he had been appalled. She never mentioned it again. But she watched her brothers, their movements, why they hit where they did; where the vulnerabilities were on a man.
She needed to know. So it would never happen again.
***
She was engaged to Brandon Stark. He seemed like a nice man, though distant. Lysa insisted it was because of Catelyn’s cold attitude. She had become what many considered cold since her childhood and now she idly wondered whether her father had made this match because she was as cold as the North. That wasn’t to say she didn’t smile or enjoy a joke. But she was very matter of fact and goal oriented.
But then the Winterfell heir had died and she was suddenly engaged to his brother, Eddard Stark. Catelyn figured he would be similar to his brother and perhaps in some ways he was; but he was different. He would smile when he spoke to her and seemed to be interested in getting to know her. Her hard nature didn’t make him leave, instead it seemed to encourage him; and then she was thawing; or at least that was what Lysa said. It may have been an arranged marriage but Catelyn was falling in love with this kind and honorable man.
They were married despite the rebellion and the night after their wedding they made love. To her it was simply necessary to produce an heir and finalize the marriage but for Ned it was more. The way he kissed her and touched her made her forget the reason they were doing any of it. She lost herself in him. It was then that Catelyn realized it. She was in love with him.
And then everything fell apart.
***
She found herself with child quickly. But with little for her to do during wartime she found herself listening to every bit of news about the rebellion. Whose armies were going where and why; who had gained the most strategic terrain and the like. She rationalized that it was a necessary skill for the wife of the head of House Stark. Besides, she enjoyed every bit of it. But a part of her also did it in the hopes of hearing anything about Ned.
She saw him again just a day after she had given birth to Robb. It seemed like a perfect reunion; she was so happy to see him and had given him an heir. But it wasn't as happy as it should have been.
When he entered the room he was carrying a bundle, Catelyn thought nothing of it thinking it to be a cloak or some such. She held Robb out to him proudly, but Ned didn't put down what he was holding so he could take his son in his arms.
He already held a son in his arms. The dark black hair and complexion told Catelyn who he was immediately. He looked exactly like a Stark. For a moment Catelyn said nothing; did nothing. Finally she spoke.
“Who knows about him?” She could see the surprise on his face. No doubt he expected her to yell or cry but she did neither of those things. But there was an iciness in her voice and demeanor that had only existed when he had first met her.
“Just me.” Ned answered softly. “But I will raise him as my son.” He saw a flash of emotion cross her face but it was too fast for him to see what it was. “Cat... ” He started but stopped. He wasn’t sure what he should say; could say. Looking at the dark haired child in her husband’s arms Catelyn saw he was barely older than Robb, maybe only by a few days.
“I could have had twins.” Her statement caught Ned off guard. He furrowed his brow; not yet sure what it was she was proposing. “I’ve just given birth, and no one except the septa has seen him.” Catelyn replied. “If we’re quick to buy her silence no one will know.”
“What?” This was far from the reaction he had expected and prepared for.
“He could be Rob’s twin.” She was looking straight into his eyes with what Ned could only call determination as she spoke.
“Cat-” She cut him off.
“No child deserves to grow up a bastard, it’s not his fault you…” she grit her teeth. Catelyn couldn’t say it, or everything she’d built with him would completely fall apart; and it was so unstable already. She felt betrayed, and even more so because she had thought Ned to be one of the most honorable men in Westeros. If a man like Ned could do this what did that say about other men? She prayed she never had daughters, so they would never have to experience something like this. Feeling cast aside was the worst but there was still the way everyone would look at them if they knew. How they would view Ned, her, and her children. Catelyn couldn’t let that happen. So she would fix this. “And I will NOT have people thinking I couldn’t even satisfy my husband during our first year of marriage.” Her words were biting and he saw the flash of pain and sadness that abruptly transformed into anger. Looking up at him she held out an arm and took the child from him. The boys were clearly born within days of one another so it would be easy to pass them off as twins.
“What’s his name?” Her voice was softer and kinder now that she was looking at the dark haired child in her arms.
“Jon.”
“Jon…. Jon Stark.” She smiled down at the child. Her face tightened for a moment before relaxing once again. “Robb will be the oldest, born first. Your heir.” It seemed to Ned her words were almost an afterthought. She was so focused on the infants in her arms.
The distance Jon created between Catelyn and Ned would never disappear completely. But Catelyn was determined to raise Jon as her own. Because to her, if she pretended Ned’s betrayal never happened, then it didn’t. Sometimes it shocked her how much these things never happened. But the ghosts still lingered just as the bleeding eyes and slashed throat would never leave her.
***
The hardest part about raising a child for Catelyn was the crying. Not because it was annoying but because she still felt an overwhelming sense of disgust at the very sight of the tears streaming down the boys’ faces. It was because of this that both Robb and Jon learned quickly that crying would not bring their mother to them. Only when they were calm would she hold them; a graceful and loving smile rewarding them for their strength.
Sansa was born a year and a half after the boys. Robb and Jon were just two when they met their younger sister. Having just been born Sansa hadn’t learned not to cry. Catelyn wondered whether she was a bad mother. Whether it was abhorrent that she felt sick every time she saw Sansa or her boys cry. Her anxiety lessened though when she saw how Jon had taken to his younger sister. He would hold her as best he could in his small arms and hummed to calm her. Sansa learned not to cry, at least around her mother, but she never learned not to cry to Jon.
From the moment they could lift a sword Robb and Jon learned swordplay. Ned had thought them a little young for learning such things but Catelyn was determined they learned these things young. The very second that Sansa could walk Catelyn had her train with the boys. Most thought it was strange and extremely unorthodox for a girl to learn such things. But every time Catelyn looked at little Sansa she saw herself at that age. She wanted her daughter to be prepared. For the world was cruel and dark. Something Catelyn had learned very young.
The Greyjoys rebelled and Ned was forced to take up arms to quell the madness, leaving Catelyn to run and protect Winterfell. She ran things with such proficiency and seemed to know every goings on no matter how small. There were whispers and wonderings of why she had not taken control before; her iron fist was certainly effective. But Catelyn did not seek power. Family was what came first; then duty. Her duty as Ned’s wife was to be a supporter, not a leader. But with him away her duty had changed.
Despite her efforts things still got worse; war and conflict seemed to have that effect no matter who was in charge. More and more often the men guarding the keep would catch sight of scouts or perhaps would-be assassins. At first Catelyn thought it must be wildlings for the Greyjoys wouldn’t possibly be able to send someone to slip past Ned’s army. So she dismissed the talk of assassins sent to take revenge for the death of one of the Greyjoy boys. She was wrong.
Robb and Jon were about eight during this time. They were confined to the keep as was most everyone else during war time. They had taken the habit of playing in the tombs, both amazed by the large stone figures and sarcophagi. Catelyn headed down the steps to find them; the sun had set a half hour ago and they were usually back by then.
The loud THWAP of skin on skin made her pause before she rushed down the rest of the way. There were her two boys standing and poised to fight; the side of Jon’s face was an angry red the skin smarting, causing tears to well up in the eye on that side. And before them was a large dark man holding a long dagger. Catelyn faced the man’s side and she didn’t hesitate for a second before she tackled him to the stone floor.
Curling her hand into a fist she slammed it as hard as she could into the man’s forearm forcing his grip to loosen and the small sword to fall from his grasp. Catelyn made to grab it, but the man tried to at the same time and the weapon ended up sliding across the floor. He was faster than her; his fist stunning her as it collided with the side of her head.
Then his hands were around her throat, his weight pressing down on her as she now lay beneath him. She clawed at his face, trying to reach his eyes.
Suddenly blood was dripping down onto her and the man howled in pain. Tumbling off her, his hands reach to the back of his neck trying to stop the bleeding. Sitting up she saw Robb standing before her holding the steel in his small childlike hands.
Not wasting any more time she took the sword from her son and approached the bleeding man. Robb had tried to stab it into his neck but it had veered off and cut the side of his neck instead. In one swift movement Catelyn struck his head with the hilt of the blade; the man collapsed, his eyes rolling back and then shut.
Turning back towards Jon and Robb she saw their eyes glued to the semi-unconscious man. She called out for maester Luwin; he and some of the guards men came immediately and were just as shocked that the assassin had not been seen; and why no one had known Robb and Jon were being attacked. It was then that Catelyn realized neither of the boys had screamed. They hadn’t called for help or cried out in fear. That was why no one had known; both of the boys had been silent.
Climbing the steps up to the world of the living, Catelyn saw Sansa. She was being held by the Septa. As soon as her blue eyes saw Jon and his now bruising cheek Sansa struggled out of the Septa’s grip and ran towards her brothers calling out Jon’s name. When she reached him she looked at and then lightly touched the discolored skin. For Jon’s part he just smiled at her.
“My Lady,” Luwin began. His eyes flitted to their prisoner and he opened his mouth to speak but Catelyn answered his question before he was able to ask it.
“Kill him.” There was no hesitation or even anger in her voice. It was as though she were giving any other household order. Luwin’s eyes widened.
“My Lady,” he began in protest. “He’s clearly of the Greyjoy line. Likely a second cousin of Lord Balon. Killing him could-”
“We don’t have supplies to waste on keeping him alive, and we can’t let him go.” Her voice was hard and Luwin would swear he saw Stark steel flash through her eyes. “He dies.”
What she said was true and Luwin could not dispute her logic. The man had also tried to kill her sons. Family came first, then her duty, which was to protect them and the rest of Winterfell. But what of honor? Was it honorable to kill this man, a boy really? Maybe not, but family and duty would always outweigh honor regardless of the situation.
Robb, Jon, and Sansa watched and heard all of this; and while they were children much of it would stay with them.
That night Catelyn stayed with Robb. Expecting him to finally break down. He’d stabbed a man after all; he hadn’t killed him, but just trying to take a man’s life and seeing blood stained hands would affect him. Or at least it should. She waited for him to cry or wake up in a cold sweat. But that night he slept just as peacefully as all the others.
That was the first time Catelyn thought that maybe something was wrong.
***
It was a while before Catelyn realized she was pregnant. At the start of the rebellion Catelyn had known Ned would leave. She remembered all too well the last time he had been away to war. He had brought Jon home. While Catelyn wouldn’t trade Jon for anything in the world--he was such a sweet and kind boy so much more like his father than Robb--still she didn’t want him to be with another woman. So she had held him tightly before he had left and they had conceived Arya. Although she didn’t know it until halfway into the rebellion.
So by the time Ned returned her belly was round and full, and, according to the Septa, the child would be born any day. She watched from above as Ned and his men arrived. A raven had come telling her the outcome of the rebellion and she watched with narrow eyes as the young Greyjoy, Theon, entered the keep. Her jaw was hard set; Robb, Jon, and Sansa could see how tense and bristled their mother was.
“What’s wrong?” Jon asked, looking up at his frowning mother.
“This, rebellion,” she said the word with distaste, “the way it was handled.” They looked up at her questioningly. She sighed “How many times do you want to fight a battle?” they didn’t answer so she continued. “Once. Which means that you have to hit your enemy hard, so hard they are either annihilated or so crippled they will never be able to rise up against you again within your lifetime.” She sighed and shook her head. “I would have wiped out the whole Greyjoy line…” She muttered. Looking down at them she noticed the confusion in their eyes; for their father had done far from what she had said. She didn’t want their father to be diminished in their eyes though. “Your father didn’t do that though, because he’s a great man. You see, any man can kill, but only a great man can grant mercy, and forgive.” Which was true. Honor was everything to Eddard Stark. It always would be.
Just as with Jon, Catelyn didn’t blame Theon for his father’s actions. The boy was young, about ten, and Catelyn would treat him accordingly. But unlike Jon he wasn’t a Stark and he was too old for her to take on the role of a mother figure to him.
For a long while everything was at peace. Until it wasn’t.