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She supposed she wasn’t truly shocked by Ned’s placing his hand on her thigh beneath the table when he sat down after rising to announce to all gathered that she carried their second child. He was, rather uncharacteristically, on his second glass of ale before the meal even began, and he certainly was in high spirits. Also, he had grown steadily less reticent about touching her beyond the politely offered arm when they were outside her chambers.
Still, he had never touched her quite so intimately in the Great Hall before, so while she would not consider herself shocked, she was certainly . . .surprised. Especially when he made no move to remove his hand after a moment. He had been asked a question by Lord Karstark who sat at his other side, and she pondered the meaning of his hand upon her while he faced away from her.
“That’s splendid news, Cat. The babe, I mean.”
Lost in her thoughts, she nearly jumped at the sound of Benjen’s voice from her other side. She turned to him with a genuinely affectionate smile. While the young man shared some of his older brother’s natural reserve, he also had a gently teasing way about him that Catelyn found easy to love. She missed her own little brother terribly, and Ned’s younger brother had become her first real friend at Winterfell.
“Thank you, Ben. I hope you don’t mind learning about it here in the Great Hall with everyone else. I had hoped we might speak to you first, but there wasn’t a chance, and Ned was rather . . .eager . . .to make the announcement.”
Ben laughed out. “Eager? He’s was about to burst, Cat! I’ve never seen him like this.” His eyes looked past Catelyn, and she knew they fell upon his brother as he smiled widely. Returning his gaze to her, he said, “You make him very happy, you know. I’m so glad of that.”
She smiled at Ben, feeling warmed by his words and by the pressure of the hand still on her thigh. But then her gaze fell to the table just below where the dark haired little boy was being encouraged to eat by the nurse who sat between him and Catelyn’s own son. She watched the two little boys giggling and refusing whatever the nurse was offering, and marveled again at how unlike they were---Robb with her own bright hair and a Tully face, the other boy made in Ned’s very image. Do I make him as happy as your mother did? she wondered, not for the first time.
He certainly seemed to enjoy her bed, and the gods knew he was pleased with Robb and certainly seemed genuinely pleased by the news of this new babe. Yet, men could find pleasure in the act of bedding with any comely woman, or so she had always been told. And her husband seemed as pleased with his bastard as with his trueborn son. So, what had she given him that the other woman had not? I am his wife, she told herself firmly. I bear his name, as will all my children. This boy and his mother never will. She frowned, hating that it mattered so much to her that Ned might have cared for the unknown woman more than he cared for her. What did it matter? She knew well that her husband had married her for obligation. She had married him for the same. He had certainly treated her well in all respects other than the bastard. It is only the insult, I mind. That and the threat this boy’s tainted blood poses to my own trueborn children. It matters little if Ned cared for the mother. She is not here. She is nothing to me.
She knew that to be a lie, but she refused to acknowledge it even to herself. Mayhap when I have borne him enough trueborn sons, this woman’s son will matter less to him. As she stared at the two boys, she prayed silently that the child in her womb was another boy, and that this one would look like Ned.
“My lady?”
Roused from her troubling thoughts, she turned to look at Ned. From the concerned expression on his face, she feared that he likely had spoken to her more than once before she heard him.
“Are you well?” he asked her, and she felt the pressure of his hand on her thigh lessen as if he meant to withdraw it.
“Quite well, my lord,” she told him, putting her hand over his to keep it where it lay. She didn’t know why, or perhaps she only chose to pretend she didn’t know why, but she didn’t want him to take his hand away from her. She wanted his touch. She needed it.
He looked at her for a moment, regarding her with those grey eyes while he masked his own thoughts with what she had taken to calling his ‘lord’s face.’ Or trying to mask them. She found herself able to see beyond that mask a bit more as time passed. He was displeased about something.
Still, he kept his hand where it was.
“I would have you joyful tonight, my lady,” he said softly after a moment.
“I am, my lord,” she assured him, closing her fingers over his hand, wondering if he could feel how important holding him there, reassuring herself that he was hers in this moment, was to her. “I am very pleased that I shall give you another child.”
He smiled at the mention of the child and his gaze fell briefly to her still flat belly before coming back to rest upon her face. “I am pleased by that as well,” he said. “I would also be pleased if you would permit me to come to your chambers when this meal is finally finished.” His hand squeezed her thigh gently, and he gazed at her with a mixture of desire, hope, and something like uncertainty.
“Of course, my lord,” she said, puzzled why he felt the need to ask. “I am your wife, Ned. My chambers are always open to you.”
A shadow passed briefly over his face at his words, and she wondered if he thought of the bastard’s mother and would have preferred to be visiting her bed. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and he smiled once more. “I am very glad of you, Catelyn,” he said. “And I hope this dinner passes very quickly.”
She heard truth in those words at least, and she held tightly to the knowledge of the babe in her belly and even more tightly to the hand on her thigh, telling herself it was enough.
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He didn’t intend to grope her as he sat down. Truly he didn’t, but as he looked down at his wife’s beautiful face after announcing to the Hall that she carried his babe within her, he couldn’t stand not to be touching her. He meant to say something to her as he returned to his seat amid the cheers and shouts--some rather ribald, he feared--but Karstark grabbed at his arm.
“Have you thought about a match for your older boy yet, my lord?” the man asked him.
Ned looked at him in disbelief. Robb was still shy of his third name day. Sighing, he realized he’d have to speak to the man, but he reached out his other hand blindly in search of his wife’s. Instead he found the soft fabric of her skirt beneath the table, and he laid his hand upon it feeling the curve of her thigh beneath it. Surprisingly comforted by the contact with her, he forced his attention to Lord Karstark.
“Robb’s a bit young to be considering betrothals, don’t you think, Rickard? Or mayhap you think I ought to be looking at matches for my next child as well? I can choose some likely candidates of either gender in order to be prepared.”
Karstark grunted. “Well, I only wonder if you intend to look to the south as your father did, or if you intend to choose a good strong northern lass as the next Lady of Winterfell.”
Ned frowned at the slight to his own lady, but he bit back an angry reply. Tonight was a joyous occasion, and Catelyn would not like it if he lost his temper. “If I do half as well in selecting a future wife for my son as my father did for . . .my brother, I will do very well for him indeed,” he said simply. He realized with a start that he had nearly said ‘for me,’ but of course, Rickard Stark had never chosen Catelyn for him. He’d chosen her to be Lady of Winterfell, however, and Ned had made her that, even if she never was meant for him. Karstark still looked at him as if he expected more of an answer, and Ned sighed once more. “I am not opposed to a northern marriage, my lord. But I do not intend to give it much thought one way or the other until Robb is at least old enough to learn his letters. Now, drink up, my friend. We are celebrating a brand new Stark of Winterfell!”
Ned lifted his own glass, and Lord Karstark did the same. When the man put it to his lips to drink, Ned turned to his wife. He found her smiling at something Benjen was saying, and he smiled at the sight of it. Gods, she is beautiful. He moved his hand slightly over her thigh and found himself absurdly grateful she hadn’t tried to remove it. Still, he wondered if she would feel he had been improper by touching her so in the Great Hall. Gods knew she was so dutiful she probably wouldn’t protest even if she had.
She was looking away from Ben now, and she had a frown on her face. He stilled the hand moving over her thigh, thinking that she might be upset by it.
“My lady?” he said. She continued to stare ahead out over the Hall as if she hadn’t heard him. She had seemed so happy before. He knew she was pleased by the babe. As hard as he tried to keep the thought away, it occurred to him that mayhap she looked upon the celebration for her child and grieved for the fact that she shared the occasion with the wrong Stark brother.
“My lady?” he said again, and this time she turned to face him. She still looked distressed. That beautiful face rarely hid what she felt. “Are you well?” he asked her, withdrawing the hand he feared had offended her.
“Quite well,” she said firmly, and Ned suddenly felt her own hand cover his, holding it where it was. He didn’t understand why she did so, and he looked at her carefully, searching for clues in that expressive face. He saw only some sort of longing and wistfulness and tried hard to believe it had nothing to do with his brother.
It would seem she does want my hand upon her, he told himself. “I would have you joyful tonight, my lady,” he said.
“I am, my lord. I am very pleased that I shall give you another child.” Surprisingly he felt her fingers close more tightly on his hand. That, as well as the mention of the babe she carried made him feel warm and he found himself looking at her slender body, marveling that life, a babe of his own seed, could actually be growing within her.
“I am pleased by that as well,” he said, raising his gaze back to her beautiful blue eyes, but not failing to notice the curve of her full teats at the bosom of her dress as he moved his gaze upward. He felt the warmth of her hand on his and was filled with a sudden stab of desire for her. His hand squeezed her thigh almost involuntarily. “I would also be pleased if you would permit me to come to your chambers when this meal is finally finished,” he said, half hating himself for needing her so badly when he still was uncertain if she would want him in her chambers now that she was with child.
“Of course, my lord,” she replied without hesitation. “I am your wife, Ned. My chambers are always open to you.”
Her words almost made him angry. I don’t want you because it is my right, damn it. I want you because I . . .want you. And I would have you want me as well. Always so dutiful, his wife. He shouldn’t be angry about that. He knew well enough why she had wed him. She did not love him, and the gods knew he’d done enough to see to it that she never would. Yet, she ever welcomed him to her bed. And she was more than warm to him when he came there. He should be grateful to her. Not resentful.
He smiled at her. “I am very glad of you, Catelyn,” he said. “And I hope this dinner passes very quickly.” He meant those words. He wanted to be done with the meal and to have his wife alone. In her bed, he could touch her as freely as he wished, and he hoped that he gave her at least some joy in their marriage bed, whether he was the husband she had wanted or not.
As the next dish was served, he took comfort in the fact that she had not let go of his hand.
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“Here, Ned! Put your hand just here,” Catelyn grabbed at her husband’s hand which had been lazily trailing through her hair after their lovemaking and placed it on the flesh of her gently rounded belly.
“What?” he asked her, and she wanted to laugh at the puzzlement in his eyes.
“Just wait,” she told him. “No, a little lower. Here.” She pushed his hand down slightly.
“My lady, if you’d like me to attend to your pleasure once more, I assure you I am willing,” he said teasingly, moving his hand much further down than she’d intended him to, “but I may need a bit more time before I can manage anything else.”
“Ned!” she admonished him, slapping at his hand. “I want you to feel the babe!”
“What?” he asked her again, all teasing go out of his voice and his eyes moving to the curve of her belly.
He’d been fascinated by the changes in her body as the babe had grown within her womb, and now at four months gone and with a noticeable roundness to her middle, he seemed to find her more desirable than he ever had. That pleased her quite well as she’d found herself embarrassingly wanton in her own desire for him since the nausea of the earlier months had passed.
“Is something wrong?” he asked in alarm, and she couldn’t help laughing at him.
“No, my lord. I only thought you might want to feel your child move.”
The expression on his face then was one she would have gladly frozen in time to keep with her always for it melted her heart. Watching him fall in love with a child he could not see or hear or touch or know anything about had astonished her since she had first told him of her missed moonblood all those weeks ago.
“Truly?” he asked her. “I can feel it?”
“Yes. Now give my your hand before he stops kicking.”
“Kicking?” Ned asked delightedly, as he allowed her to position his big callused hand over her belly. “He kicks you from the inside? And I can feel it?” His grey eyes were alight with excitement.
“Shh. Now wait.”
They only had to wait a moment before she felt it again. She’d felt it for some days now, but had waited until she was certain he would feel it easily before speaking of it, for she did not want to disappoint him. At the soft little kick against the wall of her belly, her husband’s face underwent the most beautiful transformation she’d ever seen. If his expression before had melted her heart, the one he wore now remade it into something more alive and full than it had ever been.
“My gods, Cat,” he said in a voice thick with emotion. “Our babe . . .our babe is moving inside you. I . . .” He closed his mouth tightly as if his heart was too full to speak, and Catelyn actually felt his hand tremble against her belly.
“Yes, Ned,” she softly. “That is your babe. Your child grows within me, my lord, and you can see that he is strong.”
“Or she,” Ned said.
“It could be a daughter,” she admitted. “But I do hope for another son.”
“A son is always a welcome thing,” he said, and she smiled at the fact that he had taken neither his eyes nor his hands from her belly. “But I would welcome a daughter as well.” He did look up at her then, and he smiled. “A beautiful daughter who looks like her mother,” he said. “I would cherish her well.”
Catelyn felt the tears fill her eyes, and she found herself unable to speak so she gently ran her fingers over his bearded cheek as he turned his attention once more to her belly, laughing out loud in joy and amazement as the next kick came.
Oh gods, she thought to herself as she watched her husband’s delight in their unborn child. As much as she tried not to admit it, as much as she reminded herself that he loved another, Ned Stark had begun to fill her heart in ways that she might still refuse to name, but could no longer pretend to ignore.
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Ned knew well enough that his wife had been nearly insatiable in her bedchamber of late. He’d worried about her sudden assertiveness enough that he’d actually gone stammering to Maester Luwin to inquire if there were any danger to the babe if the two of them were too vigorous in their marital relations. The good maester had somehow managed to keep a straight face and assure him that there was no danger, and that in fact, expectant mothers sometimes experienced a rather increased desire for their husbands. Thoroughly embarrassed by the entire conversation, but much reassured, Ned had allowed himself then to simply relax and enjoy this particular aspect of childbearing.
Yet, he still was surprised when Catelyn suddenly grabbed his hand from her hair and pressed it against her belly just above her thighs. His breath had scarcely stilled from the lovemaking they’d only just finished. Still, he was not one to deny a lady, and he smiled as she informed him that she needed his hand lower.
“My lady, if you’d like me to attend to your pleasure once more, I assure you I am willing,” he said to her, as he moved his hand to rest over her sex, “but I may need a bit more time before I can manage anything else.”
To his surprise, she smacked him, pulling his hand away.
“Ned! I want you to feel the babe!”
It took him a moment to process her words as his mind had already been focused on how to please her during the time he knew it would take for his cock to stiffen once more. “What?” he asked her, suddenly alarmed. He stared at the roundness of her middle where his babe rested, hopefully safe from all harm. Could the maester have been wrong? Had they hurt the babe somehow?
“Is something wrong?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.
She actually laughed at him. “No, my lord. I only thought you might want to feel your child move.”
He’d barely begun to feel angry at her for laughing when he was overwhelmed by a completely different emotion. My babe is moving? He’d watched Catelyn’s belly grow with endless fascination. He’d noted the changes in her breasts and subtle things like the darkening of her nipples and the faint brown line that was appearing on her abdomen. But he had never thought of the babe as moving around within her. The thought of it made his breath catch.
“Truly?” he asked her. “I can feel it?”
The smile she gave him then was breathtaking. He never ceased to be amazed by how completely shattered he could be by simply looking at his wife sometimes.
“Yes. Now give my your hand before he stops kicking.”
“Kicking?” He had a sudden image of his child with tiny feet, pressing them up against the inside of Catelyn’s flesh and kicking as if he wished to escape. It brought a smile to his face, and he turned all his attention toward his wife’s belly and allowed her to place his hand where she wished. “He kicks you from the inside? And I can feel it?”
“Shh. Now wait.”
At first nothing seemed to happen, but then he felt it. A soft little nudge, as if Catelyn’s flesh had suddenly attempted to jump into his hand. Then another, even stronger. My child, Ned thought. He felt elated and terrified and altogether besotted by the tiny creature that continued to kick at him through the warm barrier of Catelyn’s skin.
“My gods, Cat. Our babe . . .our babe is moving inside you. I . . .” He could barely breathe, much less speak so he simply closed his mouth tightly.
“Yes, Ned,” his wife said softly. “That is your babe. Your child grows within me, my lord, and you can see that he is strong.”
Strong indeed, he thought, continuing to stare at the place where his hand rested on his wife‘s belly in awe. Then he realized she had said ‘he.’ “Or she,” he reminded her, thinking that after Robb and Jon, he might quite like a daughter.
“It could be a daughter,” she said slowly. “But I do hope for another son.”
“A son is always a welcome thing,” he acknowledged, “but I would welcome a daughter as well.” He looked up at his beautiful wife then and imagined her with a baby girl at her breast with blue eyes and hair like flame. “A beautiful daughter who looks like her mother,” he said. “I would cherish her well.” As I cherish you. Gods help me, I do cherish you, Cat.
He held her gaze a moment as she reached up to touch his face, and his heart leapt at the tender gesture. He knew she did not love him, but she did care for him. She was not made for lies, and he could see the tenderness in her face. He thanked the gods that she could find it in her heart to offer him that much. Heart full, he turned his attention back to the unborn babe they shared, and could not hold back a joyful laugh as the babe kicked him once more.
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She felt enormous and ungainly as she moved through the castle. Ned still stayed with her every night, rubbing her sore back and assuring her she was beautiful. Some nights they even made love still, although it had become a rather cumbersome undertaking she feared. She was grateful for his careful and kind attention to her even if she didn’t always believe the pretty things he told her.
Mostly she was ready for this babe to come. Maester Luwin had told her it could be as long as another moon, but it might just easily be within the next fortnight. While she grew ever more impatient, it seemed her husband grew ever more fearful. She had assured him the babe would be well. She was strong and healthy and had little trouble bringing Robb into the world--well, aside from the terrible pain, but she chose not to dwell on that. Still, she could see the worry in his eyes when he looked at her, and she hated that he feared her unable to bring his child safely into the world.
She’d managed to waddle back from the Great Hall to her chambers after the midday meal, and now she stood running her hand over the exquisitely carved cradle that Ned had proudly presented to her a fortnight ago. He’d had it made specially for this new babe, and Catelyn loved the carved direwolf pups that chased one another all around its surface.
A childish shout of glee caught her attention, and she walked to her window. It had snowed the night before, and little Robb had begged her to take him out to play. As she was too exhausted and achy and generally miserable to even contemplate such a thing, Ned had agreed to take him, and she could see them now. Robb stood in snow nearly up to his waist clapping his hands as Ned rolled an enormous snowball out--likely to serve as the base of a snowman.
The other boy was there, too, of course, although she tried hard not to look at him. He stood beside Robb, and they laughed together as they watched Ned work. A few moments later, Ned seemed satisfied enough with his snowball to stop and look up at them. He opened his arms wide, and they both dove forward, barely able to move their tiny bodies through the deep snow. Ned swept them both up in his arms, and they all fell down laughing into the snow.
It should bring me joy to watch my husband and son play, she thought angrily. Yet, she was nearly in tears. That made her even angrier. She knew it was the babe in her belly that made both her temper and her tears flare more easily than they normally did. But it was the boy outside in the snow with Ned’s face that was the source of both her anger and sorrow. How she wished Ned would send him away! But she knew, of course, that would never happened. He must have loved you fiercely, she said silently to the unknown woman. For nothing I can say will move him to be parted from your son.
She couldn’t watch them at play any longer, and so she attempted to busy herself with small tasks about her room. She wasn’t certain how much time had passed when she heard the knock on her door. “My lady?”
Her husband’s voice irritated her in her current mood, and she made herself take several deep breaths before replying, “Come in, my lord.”
His cheeks were reddened from the air outdoors, and he still had snow in his hair. She could never get him to keep his head covered unless it was bitterly cold. She’d thought he might have brought their son to see her, but he had not.
“Where’s Robb?” she asked him.
“Still outside,” he said with a laugh. “I couldn’t get the boys out of the snow. Harwin and Jory are out there chasing some boys around and they said they’d look after them, and bring them in before they freeze. I wanted to check on you.”
“Robb is only three. Do you trust those men to look after him?” She sounded snappish and she knew it.
“I do,” he said gravely. He didn’t comment on the fact that she only asked after Robb. He never did. “Our son is quite safe with them. How is your back, my lady? You were moving very slowly when you left the Hall.”
She sighed. “I do everything slowly now. Would that this babe arrive quickly so that I might become myself again.”
He smiled sympathetically at her. “Poor Cat,” he said. “I am anxious to have the babe here as well, but even more anxious that you and the babe be well.”
“We will be, Ned,” she said, feeling badly about snapping at him when he had come here for genuine concern about her.
He came to where she sat and stood beside her massaging her shoulders. “Does that help?”
“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning her head forward that he might massage the back of her neck as well. “It’s wonderful.” When she opened her eyes, they fell upon the cradle. “The cradle is wonderful, too. Our son will sleep very comfortably in it.”
“So you have told me daily since I brought it here,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Although it may be our daughter who sleeps comfortably in it.”
“So you keep saying,” she said, nearly purring under the touch of his fingers. “But I still pray for a son.”
He chuckled, a low rumbling sound in his throat. “Why do you wish for a son so badly, Cat? We have a son, and I almost think I would next prefer a daughter.”
“You cannot have too many sons,” she said with a sigh, as he leaned her slightly forward in her chair that he might massage lower on her back. “The more heirs you have, the more secure Winterfell will be. And I would like Robb to have a brother at least close to his own age to play with. If this child is a girl, he’ll likely be five or more before the next son could be born.”
His fingers stilled suddenly, and she realized what she’d said. Damn, she thought. She hadn’t meant to be cruel or to reproach him. Honestly, she hadn’t. She simply never thought of the boy as Robb’s brother for all that she knew her husband did. Robb does, too, she thought bitterly. Too young to even begin to understand the meaning of the word bastard, her son loved the boy as a brother because that is what Ned had taught him to do. And she did resent it. And Ned knew she did.
Still, her words now had been merely thoughtless rather than resentful, and she sought some way to warm the chill she could feel had crept into the room, but she couldn’t apologize for her words. She did want Robb to have a brother. And to her mind, he did not have one now.
The silence between them stretched on. When she felt Ned remove his hands from her entirely, she turned and saw that he walked to the window. He stood there, presumably watching Robb and the bastard playing with his men.
“Robb loves him,” he said softly, not looking at her.
She didn’t pretend not to know whom he meant. “I do not prevent him from doing so,” she said.
He turned to face her then, and she saw no anger in his eyes. Only sadness, and the plea she could see there from time to time. He would not ask her to accept the boy. He had no right to ask it of her, and he knew it. Yet, he wanted it. She could see it so plainly at times. No, my lord, she thought. I cannot give you that. This one thing I will withhold from you. I have given you my hand in marriage, my body, and my trueborn children. But I cannot give you anything for this boy. Anything else you ask, I will give you. For I have already given you my heart.
She kept her eyes locked with his in spite of the tears that she knew now filled them. Likely he thought them tears of anger, and perhaps they were, at least in part. But mostly they sprung from the deep sadness of knowing that she did love him (for she had stopped pretending to herself that she did not), and that while she would give him so much, the thing he wanted most of her was her acceptance of another woman’s child. The woman he would not name. The woman he had loved.
No, Ned, she thought sadly. I can love you knowing you will never love me in return, but I cannot give you that.
After what seemed an eternity, he turned slowly back toward the window and sighed. “I should go and bring them in,” he said gruffly. “Jory and Harwin will look after them all right, but they’ll likely not realize how much more quickly a small body gets cold.”
He looked back at her, and she nodded her agreement.
“Shall you stay here until the evening meal?” he asked her.
She nodded again, still not trusting herself to speak.
“Would you like me to come and escort you to the Hall?”
She nodded yet again, and then forced herself to answer him. “Yes, my lord. I would.”
It was his turn to nod, and he took his leave without coming to kiss her or even touch her again. When he left the room, Catelyn wept.
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Ned Stark laughed loudly as he rolled about in the snow with his two boys, so alike in size and weight in his arms, but so unalike in appearance. Robb’s bright curls and angelic face made him smile, and every time his son looked up at him with Catelyn’s blue eyes, Ned felt a bit more of his heart leave his body and take up residence somewhere within his little boy. Jon’s dark hair and brooding grey eyes put everyone else in mind of him, Ned knew, but he saw only Lyanna, always Lyanna. To look at Jon was to simultaneously feel tremendous joy and heart wrenching grief. And always the guilt. He tried to keep it buried deep, and to let the boy know only his love and pride in him, for the gods knew Ned had chosen a difficult enough path for the child to walk. He would not have Jon carry his own burdens as well.
“Boys, I think we should go inside for a bit,” he said, as they finally surveyed the snowman he had constructed for them. They claimed to have helped, of course, but the help of three year old boys was much more a hindrance, he had discovered.
“No!” came the expected shouts of protest.
In truth, neither of them looked too cold to remain outdoors, but they were too small to be left unsupervised, and he wanted to see his wife. These last days of carrying the child were hard on her, and she had not looked comfortable at all when she’d left the Great Hall. He could ease her by rubbing her back and sometimes her feet and ankles. He wanted to see if she had need of him.
And he was terrified of what might happen when she went into childbed. He knew it was ridiculous. He had been absent the entire time she had carried Robb, and she had been perfectly well. But he had been here all along for this babe, save a few very short unavoidable trips to nearby places. He would be with her when her pains came. He couldn’t stand the thought of something terrible happening to her, and he quite irrationally thought that his presence offered her some protection. Knowing it was irrational did not make him feel it any less.
“We must go in and see your mother,” he told Robb, hoping that at least he could be swayed by this argument for he was devoted to his mother. At the tender age of three, Jon already understood that Lady Catelyn was not his mother, and indeed had little to do with him. That made Ned unspeakably sad, but it was his doing, not his wife’s.
“Mother’s fine!” Robb insisted, bouncing up and down and tugging on Ned’s arm. Apparently, even his son’s normally strong affinity for his mother was not enough to overcome the attraction of so much fresh snow.
He heard laughter behind him, and saw Jory Cassel coming up with Harwin. The two of them had been leading a rather raucous snowball fight involving quite a few of the boys from the castle. “We’ll take the little boys, my lord,” Jory assured him goodnaturedly.
“Sure we will,” Harwin agreed. “We’ll teach them to throw snowballs better than anyone.”
The boys both jumped up and down and expressed enthusiasm for this prospect, and Ned sighed. He did want to see Cat. “Don’t keep them out too long,” he admonished the two young men.
“We won’t,” they assured him.
“And keep an eye on them. Robb, in particular. He has a knack for getting away from people.”
Jory and Harwin had already swooped the boys up at this point, so Ned simply shook his head and headed back to the Great Keep. He removed his cloak and gloves in the entryway, stomped the snow off his boots, and headed directly to Catelyn’s room. When she bid him enter, he found her seated in one of the high backed chairs, looking tired and not entirely well.
“Where’s Robb?” she asked immediately, and she sounded a little out of sorts. She’d been out of sorts more frequently than usual these past two weeks, and he reminded himself that she did not feel at all comfortable with their babe grown as big as it had. He still marveled that her body had the capacity to stretch so much.
“Still outside,” he said with a laugh. “I couldn’t get the boys out of the snow. Harwin and Jory are out there chasing some boys around and they said they’d look after them, and bring them in before they freeze. I wanted to check on you.”
“Robb is only three. Do you trust those men to look after him?” Her voice was sharp as she snapped at him.
“I do,” he assured her. “Our son is quite safe with them.” They both are, he thought, not that you’d ever ask about Jon. He cursed himself for the uncharitable thought. He was allowing her irritation to provoke him. “How is your back, my lady? You were moving very slowly when you left the Hall.”
She sighed. “I do everything slowly now. Would that this babe arrive quickly so that I might become myself again.” He could hear her making the effort to speak less sharply, yet her frustration with herself was quite obvious.
“Poor Cat,” he said. “I am anxious to have the babe here as well, but even more anxious that you and the babe be well.” I cannot lose you, he thought, and fought back the terror that sometimes gripped him when he thought of her going to childbed.
“We will be, Ned,” she said gently, but confidently.
He could see the tension in the set of her shoulders and he strode across the room to stand behind her. Kneading those tight shoulders with his large hands, he asked her, “Does that help?”
“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word and leaning forward to expose the nape of her neck. Smiling, he reached beneath the thick copper braid to massage there as well. “It’s wonderful,” she told him.” After a few moments of silence as he rubbed at the knots along her neck and shoulder blades, she murmured, “The cradle is wonderful, too. Our son will sleep very comfortably in it.”
He swallowed a laugh. She had not stopped thanking him for the cradle since he’d given it to her. “So you have told me daily since I brought it here,” he said. “Although it may be our daughter who sleeps comfortably in it.”
“So you keep saying,” she said, her voice a soft, contented purr that made his heart skip a little. “But I still pray for a son.”
He couldn’t quite bite back his laugh at that. She was so persistent in her expressed desire for another boy. “Why do you wish for a son so badly, Cat? We have a son, and I almost think I would next prefer a daughter.”
“You cannot have too many sons,” she said with a sigh. He leaned her slightly forward so he could rub lower on her back while he listened to her give her dutiful speech about heirs. “The more heirs you have, the more secure Winterfell will be. And I would like Robb to have a brother at least close to his own age to play with. If this child is a girl, he’ll likely be five or more before the next son could be born.”
Her words froze him. He’d been ready to tease her about her determination to give him more heirs than old Walder Frey had, but he had not been prepared for those words. Robb has a brother, he thought. Whatever Jon’s true parentage, he is Robb’s brother. You can see it whenever they’re together. She didn’t see it that way, though. He knew she didn’t. And she will ever resent me for bringing Jon here.
She had frozen, too--had gone still and stiff beneath his hands, and he pulled them away from her. He had a momentary flare of anger, wanting to rebuke her for the spiteful words. Yet, he could never put out of his mind the night when she had asked about Jon and his mother with nothing more than a wife’s natural curiosity. He had more than rebuked her then. He had terrified her. And he would never do that again, however cold and resentful her words might be to him.
He walked away from her to the window. He could see the men and boys playing in the courtyard below. It appeared that Jory and Harwin were now tossing Robb and Jon rather than snowballs, and the two little boys were laughing loudly enough to be heard all the way up here if he listened carefully. He wished she could see them and feel what he felt. But he knew she never could. He had put all of them in this place, and he feared that Catelyn could no more care for Jon than she could ever love Ned himself.
“Robb loves him,” he said almost to himself, as he watched the boys in the snow.
“I do not prevent him from doing so,” she said.
No, you don’t, he thought. You would like to, but you don’t. You obey me in every command I’ve given about Jon, allow our son to be in his almost constant company, and withhold nothing from him but yourself. And I am selfish enough to want you to give that as well.
Sadly, he turned to look at the woman that he loved. I do love her, he admitted silently to himself, although he would not allow her to ever know it, for she would not desire his love. She was far too fair minded a person to ever wish to receive what she could not return. He looked at her and wished that things were somehow different, but he did not know what he could do differently. He had no words then, fearing he might speak with anger that she didn’t deserve or ask something of her he had no right to ask. So, he only looked at her for a long time. And she met his eyes. The tears he saw in her blue eyes broke his heart, but he felt a fierce pride in the way she held his gaze in spite of them. His wife had never feared to face things head on.
Knowing she would never look away, proud creature that she was, he turned back toward the window, not really looking out it. “I should go and bring them in,” he offered her, knowing that she truly wanted Robb indoors. He could send the boy here with one of the maids as Catelyn was likely quite tired of his company at the moment. “Jory and Harwin will look after them all right,” he added by way of explanation, “but they’ll likely not realize how much more quickly a small body gets cold.”
He turned back to look at her and she only nodded.
“Shall you stay here until the evening meal?” he asked her.
She nodded again, still silent.
“Would you like me to come and escort you to the Hall?” he asked, desperately hoping she’d say yes. Honestly hoping she’d say anything.
She nodded yet again, but then spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, “Yes, my lord. I would.”
Grateful that she could offer him even that, he nodded briefly and left her room to go back outside and retrieve his boys, praying to all the gods he knew that he could find a way to love the woman who fate had so generously given him without continuing always to hurt her.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The pains were so close together now, she felt that she got no time at all to breathe between them. They had put her in her bed, stripping her clothes from her and propping her legs up in a most unladylike manner. Still, Ned would not leave, and it killed her for him to see her like this. She had managed not to cry out for a long time, but now she couldn’t help herself. It hurt so much, she couldn’t breathe if she didn’t scream. She wondered almost hysterically if something were wrong. She recalled that it hurt when Robb was born, but she didn’t remember it being like this. Old Nan had told her once that women forget the true pain of childbirth in the joy of their children, because if anyone remembered it as it truly was, no woman would ever have more than one child. Catelyn couldn’t imagine forgetting pain like this, but she hoped the old woman was right. Please gods, she prayed desperately. Let there be nothing wrong with my babe.
Another pain wracked her, and she clenched her teeth tightly together, praying that Maester Luwin would tell her to push, but he did not. A feral sort of scream came from somewhere deep inside her, and she saw Ned pale slightly where he stood beside her.
“Get. Out. Ned!” she hissed, able to get out only one word on each panting breath.
He looked at her with those grey eyes of his, reaching down to grip her hand, but not speaking until the pain had passed.
“Do you truly want me to go, Cat?” he asked, sounding rather sad and a bit frightened.
She had certainly been grateful for him earlier when the pains first started. He had walked with her tirelessly, stopping whenever she wanted, and holding her up when the pains took her sharply enough that she could barely stand. He had not flinched when her water had broken, although she’d expected him to leave then. He continued to hold her tightly against him and walk with her, heedless of the fluids that rushed from her body onto both of their legs. When it had finally been time for her to take to the bed, he’d put one arm under her hips and bodily lifted her there by himself, in spite of her being the size of an ox. She didn’t want him to go, she realized. But she didn’t want him to see her like this, either. How would he ever look at her again?
“Lord Stark,” Maester Luwin said reasonably before she could answer him. “This is your wife’s task. The man’s part is long done, and a man’s place now is to wait.” He looked at Ned, and added, “Outside this room,” just in case that wasn’t clear to her stubborn husband.
“You are a man,” Ned said remarkably calmly, “And she is not even your wife.”
He made no move to go, and before Catelyn could add anything to the conversation, another pain gripped her, and speech was impossible. She screamed again and became vaguely aware of the fact that she was gripping Ned’s hand so tightly now that surely his fingers would lose sensation.
When that pain passed, leaving her panting, but somewhat able to think, she said, “You should go, Ned. It isn’t right for you to see me like this. I am . . .”
“Beautiful,” he said, in that calm, deep voice, and she looked up at him in disbelief. “Beautiful and brave. But if you want me to go, Cat, I will.”
He should go. A lady’s lord husband should not see her like this. I should be ashamed. I should be . . .Her thoughts were interrupted by another pain, this one even sharper than those that had come before, and she was seized not only by the pain of it, but by the terror that something was wrong--that the babe could not be born--that she and the babe would die. “Stay!” she heard herself scream as the pain coursed through her. “Please, Ned!”
She sounded weak and craven to her own ears, and she hated it, but her husband immediately sat down upon the bed, placing himself behind her and wrapping his arms around her that she might push back against him when the time came. As the waves of pain receded, he whispered into her ear. “I’ve got you, Cat. I’ll not leave you. I am right here, my love, and I will never let you go.”
She turned her head to press her face against the rasp of his beard, finding comfort in the feel of it just as she did in the feel of his arms around her. She was past caring what anyone thought of her. She was frightened and in pain and she needed him here. She needed his hands and his voice to help her through this. Suddenly she struck by the words that voice had spoken. I am right here, my love.
Surely, she’d not heard that. She was nearly out of her head. With the next pain, the maester finally told her to push, and she did push for all she was worth, braced against her husband’s solid body. He kept his lips close to her ear, continuing to speak encouragements. “Push, Cat! I’ve got you, my love! Hold on to me! That’s it, my love!”
She lost track of what he was saying, but he continued to call her his love. He called her Cat as well, but not once did he call her ‘my lady.’ He also pressed kisses to her head, and at least twice as she sweated and grunted and pushed, she heard him call her beautiful.
Finally, after an indeterminate period of time where nothing seemed quite real except for the pain, the pushing, and Ned’s strong arms and quiet voice; and she honestly feared she was going to die, she pushed one last time and felt her child slip from her body and into the world.
Desperately, she waited for the cry and when it came she began to cry herself.
“A daughter, my lord and lady,” Luwin said. “A beautiful, healthy daughter.”
Catelyn laughed through her tears then, thinking that she didn’t truly care that the child was a girl if only it was alive and well. She realized then that Ned had made no move to see the babe. He remained behind her with his arms tightly around her.
“Are you well, my love?” she heard him ask, and while all her fears had fled with the sound of her daughter’s cry, she heard fear clearly in his question. She turned herself to face him, and nearly cried out again at what she saw in those beloved grey eyes. He was terrified--not for the babe, but for her. He was looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in all the world, and she nearly could not speak when she saw it.
Her limbs felt liquid but she shakily raised a hand to his cheek. “I am well, Ned. Truly, I am. Go see your daughter, my lord.”
“I can wait,” he said, holding her more tightly, and for a moment, Catelyn feared that he was disappointed in the child’s sex after all. But then he said, “I will see our daughter only when I have seen to my lady and know you to be truly well.”
She cried then. She couldn’t help it. She knew it would alarm him, and it did, but she couldn’t stop the tears as she lay against her husband’s chest and tried to absorb the knowledge that he loved her. For his words and the expression on his face could mean nothing else.
Thank the gods that Maester Luwin had sense enough to see Ned’s distress and assure him that she was fine, and that women frequently wept after giving birth. He seemed to accept that and simply held her while she calmed herself. “Bring me our daughter, Ned,” she said when she could speak again.
He kissed her gently and then went to get the babe from a girl who had wrapped her in clean cloths. Catelyn could see a dusting of reddish hair on the girl’s scalp and felt a momentary disappointment that she had apparently produced another child with more Tully looks than Stark. Then she looked up at her husband’s face as he held the babe who looked so impossibly small in his arms. He appeared transfixed. As anxious as she was to hold her daughter, she found herself content to simply watch her in the arms of her father. I love you, she thought, as she looked at them together.
Finally, he looked up at her. “She’s perfect,” he said. “She’s you.”
He brought the baby to her and laid her in her arms before sitting beside her on the bed. The babe truly was beautiful, and when she opened her eyes they were a perfect Tully blue. Catelyn loved her instantly and deeply. “Hello, Sansa,” she said, tracing the perfect features with her finger.
“Sansa?” Ned said, raising a brow.
She smiled up at him. “I’ve studied the Stark family tree, my lord,” she said to him. “I thought a Stark name fitting for our first child born at Winterfell.”
He nodded. “It is a fitting name,” he agreed. “And a beautiful one.” He smiled at her. “Such a beautiful girl deserves a beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning into him. “Thank you for staying with me. I am sorry I was weak and frightened and . . .”
“You were beautiful and strong,” he said. “And it is I who should thank you, my lady.” It is ’my lady’ again, Catelyn thought.
“Why should you thank me?” she asked him.
He looked at her as if the answer were obvious. “For my children, of course,” he said, smiling at her. “Thank you for my children, my love.” He looked at her very intently then. “And for yourself.”
Maester Luwin had finished whatever he had need of doing with her and had moved away from the bed. The maids were busy with cleaning the mess upon the floor. Catelyn held tightly to her newborn daughter and looked up at her husband. Letting go of what she held back so tightly for so long, she repeated softly, “My love.”
He looked hesitant then, almost as if he feared his words had been unwelcome. She decided then to be truly as brave as he’d kept telling her she was. Leaning close to him, she put her lips to his ear and whispered so that only he could hear, “I love you, Ned.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Get. Out. Ned!” The words struck him through the heart. She spoke as if she hated him, and he steeled himself against the pain of that because only her pain mattered at the moment. He’d thought it nearly impossible to bear watching her suffer when he’d walked her round and round the room, holding her up as her knees buckled with the some of those pains, but that had been nothing compared to the suffering etched on her beautiful face now.
My gods! He thought. No wonder most men prefer to wait far away from this. He couldn’t escape the knowledge that he had caused her to suffer this pain, and he give anything to be able to suffer it in her place. She’d first asked him to leave when the bag of waters had broken. It had startled him, to be sure. He’d not been entirely convinced that great rush of fluid didn’t herald something dreadfully wrong, but he had been unconcerned by it once Maester Luwin assured him it was part of the normal process, because the fluids spilling at least seemed to cause her no pain. Cat, however, seemed to fear he would be disgusted by it in some way.
He’d convinced her he was unbothered, and she’d continued to allow him to walk with her, but after he’d lifted her into her bed and the maids had undressed her, she’d become rather more strident in her requests that he go, as if he hadn’t seen her naked body countless times before. Her cries of pain frightened him far more than her irritation at him for remaining, so he had stayed in spite of the odd looks from the maids and even Maester Luwin’s not very subtle suggestions that he needed to remove himself. He couldn’t shake the terror that something terrible would befall her nor the absurd notion that he had to remain to protect her from whatever it was.
This time, she sounded as though his presence in the room actually brought her more pain, and that was something he certainly had no wish to do. He waited until this pain had passed and then asked her, “Do you truly want me to go, Cat?”
Before she even had a chance to respond, the infernal maester piped up again. “Lord Stark, this is your wife’s task. The man’s part is long done, and a man’s place now is to wait.” After a pause, he added,“Outside this room,” as if Ned had somehow missed all his previous statements to that fact.
He respected Luwin a great deal, but the man’s confident attitude that he knew better what Ned’s wife needed than Ned himself possibly could rankled him. The reminder that ’his part was done’ rankled him further--as if he needed reminding that he had put Catelyn in this position. “You are a man,” he told the man coolly, “And she is not even your wife.”
He had no intention of leaving this room unless it was undeniably his wife’s expressed wish, and while the venom in her previous outburst still stung, he hoped it had resulted more from her pain than any true reflections of her feeling for him. His wife may not love him. She may even resent him over Jon Snow. But he did not believe she hated him, however hateful she had sounded. No. She held some genuine affection for him. He had seen it.
Before Catelyn could speak after the maester’s unwanted opinion, another great pain gripped her, and she gripped his hands so tightly he could feel her nails digging deeply into his flesh. I cannot leave her, he thought. Whatever her desires may be, she needs me here.
When that pain passed, she finally answered him, although her voice was nearly gone, “You should go, Ned. It isn’t right for you to see me like this. I am . . .”
“Beautiful,” he interrupted before she could tell him all the terrible things she thought she was in this moment. “Beautiful and brave.” He swallowed hard and forced himself to say the rest. “But if you want me to go, Cat, I will.”
She appeared to be thinking about his question, although possibly she was only trying to catch her breath when another great pain seized her. They were coming very frequently now, and he wondered desperately if that was normal. The damned maester looked annoyingly calm about it all, so he supposed it was.
This one appeared to be the worst yet for a look not only of unbearable pain but pure terror now appeared on Catelyn’s beautiful face. She screamed loudly, but this was no wordless shriek. She cried out the word,
“Stay!” Her terrified eyes found his, and she clenched her teeth together before crying out just a bit more softly, “Please, Ned!”
That was all he needed to hear. Maester Luwin and the maids and all their sensibilities be damned! He sat down upon her bed and slid himself behind her, gripping his impossibly brave and strong wife tightly with both his arms, pulling her back to rest against him. He held her as long as the pain did, neither speaking nor relaxing her grip until he felt her body relax into his.
She was shaking and crying when this one left her, and he put his lips to her ear to whisper, “I’ve got you, Cat. I’ll not leave you. I am right here, my love, and I will never let you go.”
He didn’t truly know what he said, only that he had to make her feel safe and protected. She had to know that nothing would tear her from him. She was beautiful and magnificent, and stronger than he could imagine anyone being, but she would not do this alone.
She didn’t speak, but she turned her face to his, nuzzling against him as she sometimes did just as she was falling asleep at night. He kissed her damp skin and held her there, willing his strength into her to supplement her own, even as he thought her strength in this put his to shame.
She looked up at him once, eyes wide with some unspoken question, but he had no time to ponder it because another pain took her, and her hands dug into his arms as he held her tightly once more. Luwin said something to her that he only half heard, but she must have understood it because she let go of him to grip the backs of her own thighs and tensed her entire body.
Again, he had the fleeting terror that something had gone terribly wrong, but then he realized the maester had told her to push. It must finally be time for the child to be born. His heart began racing as he was seized with fear for both of them, but he kept his lips pressed to her ear, kissing her and speaking words of encouragement which were surely nonsense. At one point, he heard himself saying nothing but, “my love, my love, my love” as if it were some form of prayer.
The pushing seemed to take forever, and he could do absolutely nothing to speed it along or ease her pain. He told her she was beautiful. He told her she was brave. He would tell her to push when the maester did. He simply wanted it to be over and her to be well and safe and free of pain.
Finally, when he was convinced she was exhausted beyond the ability to push anymore, the maester asked her for one last push, and she found the strength somewhere. Then she gave a cry that sounded more of triumph and relief, and he saw to his astonishment that the babe had been pushed from her body into Maester Luwin’s waiting hands.
It seemed still and looked a dusky purple color. Oh gods! he thought desperately. It’s dead! The babe doesn’t live!
Then the maester raised it up and it gave a cry--a soft pitiful sort of sound and then a much stronger one. Ned watched the child’s skin color become lighter and pinker with each wail, and his heart--which had surely stopped--started beating again. He couldn’t see the babe’s face, for the maester held it with its back toward him, but he noted it had fine wisps of fiery hair. Like Cat, he thought with great pleasure.
“A daughter, my lord and lady,” Luwin said. “A beautiful, healthy daughter.”
He heard Catelyn laugh at that in spite of the fact that she was still crying and he tightened his arms around her once more as Luwin handed the babe to one of the waiting maids. He was vaguely aware of the girl cooing over the child as she turned away with her before he turned his attention entirely back to his wife. He’d heard her laugh, but Luwin remained at the foot of the bed peering between her legs as if all was not accomplished yet and that frightened him.
“Are you well, my love?” he asked her, praying that she was. He tried very hard not to think about Lyanna. His sister had successfully birthed her baby, but had died some time afterward, and he could not escape the memory of that bed of blood.
Catelyn turned to look at him, and her expression held something rather like awe as she studied his face. He imagined she was as awestruck by the arrival of their daughter as he was, but she seemed to be concerned for him. That shocked him. She was the one who’d suffered. She was the one who’d triumphed so spectacularly in the most difficult battle Ned had ever witnessed. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She was so beautiful. So incredibly precious to him. You are everything, he thought.
“I am well, Ned,” she told him. “Truly, I am. Go see your daughter, my lord.”
“I can wait,” he said, realizing that as anxious as he was to hold his child, he was far more anxious to know that Catelyn was no longer in any danger at all. She looked disappointed somehow or worried, and he held her more tightly as he said in a firm voice, “I will see our daughter only when I have seen to my lady and know you to be truly well.”
She started crying in earnest then. Actual sobs racked her body instead of the silent tears which had been falling rather steadily. Terrified, he held onto her as she cried against his chest and looked helplessly at the maester for fear something was terribly wrong with her.
“The Lady Catelyn is quite well, my lord,” the man assured him. “It is quite common for women to cry a great deal after giving birth. It is a fairly strenuous undertaking for them, I fear.”
Ned thought that ‘fairly strenuous undertaking’ might be the greatest understatement he had ever heard, but if the maester meant that Catelyn’s sobs signified no great difficulty for her, he was satisfied with that.
Sure enough, after a few moments, she stilled in his arms, and looked up at him to say, “Bring me our daughter, Ned.”
He kissed that lovely, tearstained face not caring who was in the room to see, and then he rose from the bed to go to his daughter. The two maids had wiped her off and wrapped her in clean cloths. He had been correct about her hair color. She actually had quite a bit of the fine auburn hair now that he saw her up close. One of the girls put her into his arms, and he had a moment’s terror that he’d drop her or crush her. He’d never held anyone so tiny. He’d never known anyone so tiny could be so perfect. Her face was still pink from where she’d been crying, but it was plain she’d have her mother’s fair complexion. Her tiny features were indescribably beautiful, and when she freed a hand from her wrappings waving it about in front of him, he grasped it in his own, gazing in wonderment at each tiny, but perfect finger.
Then she opened her eyes and gazed up at him, and his heart stopped once more. Her eyes were as blue as a summer sky. Tully eyes. Catelyn’s eyes. Slowly he raised his own eyes from that tiny pair of blue eyes to gaze once more into the identical blue eyes of her mother.
“She’s perfect,” he said. “She’s you.”
He brought the baby to her and laid her in her arms, making certain she had the strength to hold her before she let her go. Then he sat beside his two ladies on the bed and watched as Catelyn discovered her daughter. He knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful than his wife and daughter together in all his days.
“Hello, Sansa,” Catelyn said softly, tracing the babe’s face with her finger.
“Sansa?” Ned asked, surprised. They’d spoken of names, but hadn’t truly decided upon anything. He’d suggested that she might like to name the child for her mother if they had a girl. He hadn’t know she’d ever even heard the name Sansa.
She smiled up at him. “I’ve studied the Stark family tree, my lord,” she said to him. “I thought a Stark name fitting for our first child born at Winterfell.”
How he loved her. For a moment, he was too overcome to speak so he simply nodded to gain a moment before replying, “It is a fitting name. And a beautiful one.” He smiled at her. “Such a beautiful girl deserves a beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning into him. “Thank you for staying with me. I am sorry I was weak and frightened and . . .”
“You were beautiful and strong,” he said almost sternly. He was tired of hearing her denigrate herself. He thought it unlikely he would ever witness such a display of courage again. “And it is I who should thank you, my lady.”
She looked at him as if she honestly didn’t understand. “Why should you thank me?” she asked him.
“For my children, of course,” he said, smiling at her. His heart had never been as full as it was now, and he had to make her understand how much she had given him. “Thank you for my children, my love.” Oh gods. I called her love. The words had come to him quite naturally, and it struck him that he’d been calling her the same since he’d climbed into the birthing bed behind her. Realizing he’d already said more than he’d ever intended, he added one thing more. “And for yourself.” She was after all the greatest gift he’d ever received, even if she had never been meant for him. He supposed she deserved to know that at least.
She didn’t respond right away. She looked first toward the foot of the bed, and Ned realized she was looking for Maester Luwin. He’d quite forgotten that anyone else was in the room as he’d sat there with his arm around his wife and daughter. The maester had moved away from the bed, though.
Catelyn looked up at him then, blue eyes wide and a slight smile on her lips as she repeated two of his words. “My love.”
He swallowed. Oh gods, he thought. Don’t let her feel guilty or beholden. I can cherish her even if she does not love me. She needn’t feel compelled to give me what she cannot.
The slight smile remained on her face, however, as she leaned close to him, careful of the babe in her arms. She put her lips close to his ear and whispered, “I love you, Ned.”
For a moment, he was convinced he had misheard her. Then he feared she felt compelled to speak what seemed an appropriate response to his own clumsy words. But when she drew back and smiled up at him, it was there on her beautiful face. It shone brightly in the blue eyes he’d delighted in seeing on his son’s face and now would delight in seeing on his daughter’s. Catelyn loved him. It didn’t seem possible, but it was there. She was there--looking at him with all the love and warmth he knew her to possess.
He decided this once not to question his good fortune. Just this once, he refused to think about what he deserved or didn’t. He loved Catelyn, and she loved him. He’d never have believed it possible, but here they were, holding each other, holding their daughter, and holding onto the truth of a love he doubted either of them had expected.
Bereft of words, he bent his lips to hers and kissed her softly, but deeply--a kiss that spoke of a thousand more kisses to come in a future that lay open before them in a way that it hadn’t before today. He could only think of one thing more they needed at this moment.
When he finally pulled his lips away from his wife’s, he called out, “Maester Luwin, please send someone after young Robb. I should like him to meet his new sister.”
Catelyn smiled brightly at him then, and Ned Stark knew that no winter had ever been warmer than this one.