Chapter Text
She didn't like him.
She didn't like the way he walked through the halls of Winterfell, much less how he used to talk to every guard as if he were that castle's Lord. Ned would say she was exaggerating, as she often did, and remind her that this was also his home. Her husband was good, but whenever their conversation turned to that bastard, Catelyn would feel something stirring inside her. She didn't know what that was.
Guilt. Regret. Memories from the past.
But she didn't like that boy and his dark Stark hair. His gray-colored eyes, more Stark than any of her children. Ever since that baby had arrived at that castle, Catelyn knew that, just as the sun would rise the next day, he was a threat to her own children.
One day, she was certain, he would take Winterfell and claim it as his castle. One day, she was certain, he would destroy everything she held dear.
However, as long as she had strength, that boy would not have a mother. Or a family. Or even a place to belong.
As the days passed, that boy was also growing up quickly, getting taller than Robb, sparring with him, becoming his best friend and rival. Some would say he was just as old as Robb, others... well, others had to shut up, for Lord Stark's fury had indeed reached those loose tongues. Catelyn had some doubts about that, sometimes that boy seemed older, but it might also be that Stark look about him.
They were severe-looking people, with a hint of melancholy behind those dark eyes. She could see that same thing in her husband's eyes. Hardened people they were, for sure, and underneath all that snow, there was fertile ground where she had lived for many, many peaceful years.
Watching them from the tower where her husband's solar and their bedchambers were built into the same environment, Catelyn frowned while being watched by Ned. Her jaw was tense, for with every movement of the sword that went toward Robb, old fears returned to haunt her all over again.
He knew what she was thinking, although there were certain rules in place.
He's my son, he told me once. As if I could ever forget that.
“Robb is getting better,” she said quickly, disguising her contempt towards that bastard.
Ned nodded quickly, a proud smile taking over his thin lips, standing next to his wife.
Through large stained glass windows, they watched the young men train with their respective knights, the ones who trained them in specific ways and fields. It would be her wish that those blades would split that bastard in half, finally leaving her worries behind. His body would be burned and his ashes thrown away somewhere else, but not Winterfell.
“He's strong,” he agreed, caressing her shoulder covered by a thick layer of wool, either from the dress she had chosen for that morning or from the scarf wrapped around her neck. “I was thinking about sending him to the Vale, to Jon Arryn's vassals. He would like that, a new generation taking over those hills and mountains, like me and Robert.”
Catelyn nodded slowly, but at the same time it made her heart ache. She moistened her lips hesitantly, after all, that would leave Winterfell without an heir, and that was something she couldn't do. That bastard was just waiting for the perfect moment, she knew it since the beginning, since he was a baby.
“I would rather have him here, Ned,” she spoke after a moment, choosing her words wisely. “We should find a good bride for him. Fourteen days of his name, Ned. We were younger than that when everything began. It's time.”
Her husband's hand fondled her protectively over the dress, sliding down her shoulders and right arm, holding her hand right after.
Ned intertwined his fingers with hers, cold as the North, and when she turned her blue eyes to him, she understood that he could read her like an open book. There was nowhere to hide; he always knew whatever she was worried about.
“We shouldn't force relationships on them,” Ned began calmly, caressing Catelyn's left cheek warmly. “Let them choose who and what they want, aye?”
Oh, she didn't like it.
She didn't like when Ned used his soft and tender voice to convince her of something her feelings were quite certain of. However, he always got what he wanted, being the husband she had always dreamed of, even if he hadn't been her first choice.
But this time, as she watched those two boys sparring, something definitely bothered her, something that was hard to ignore. She could feel something coming, she could smell it in the air and around her. Catelyn narrowed her gaze at them, unaware they were being closely watched, until that bastard looked to the side, breaking into a carefree smile.
A happy one.
Catelyn bit her bottom lip, for she didn't need to know who was walking toward him. There was only one specific someone in that castle who could make that boy smile like that, and before she could even think of her younger daughter's name, Arya crossed the castle courtyard quickly, hugging him tightly.
She never hugged me like that. In fact, she doesn't hug anyone but this boy.
Catelyn frowned once again, in a mixture of jealousy and resentment.
Arya, with her messy tangled dark hair, seemed to be telling some kind of story to that bastard, who smiled from ear to ear, calling Robb right after, and so her youngest daughter apparently told the same story. They all laughed, and then, when Catelyn turned her attention to Ned, he also had a pleasant smile on his face.
It was the same smile he had when he was remembering the past, reliving memories of a family that had also been happy within those walls. That's how Ned spoke of his older brother and older sister. Banquets filled with laughter, warmth, and joy. Those were very different times, very different things, and they were gone. Burned to the ground.
“I don't like this friendship with Arya,” she said without hesitation, letting her own frustration speak louder, drawing a judgmental look from that man. They had already talked about that same subject countless times, never reaching a point where both of them would entirely agree. “She's young, and needs to understand how the world works, Ned. She's rebellious and stubborn, doesn't usually attend sewing classes, and it seems that every time I look, she's covered in mud and in the company of this... this... boy.”
Those dark Stark orbs observed her closely, juggling and judging her own feelings and fears.
“Jon is a good boy, Catelyn,” he spoke firmly. “He's very protective of his siblings, as you can see. Arya looks up to him, and I'm thankful for that. The days will pass, but she'll have her own castle to look after in a few years, and then the past will be behind them. Good memories of simpler times. Yes, that's how I see it. Let a child be one.”
Catelyn had her doubts about that. That bastard was the one who could make Arya listen, but also the only one who could demand something from her, which made Catelyn think about her own childhood with Petyr Baelish and Lisa. At some point, she considered him a brother, someone who was part of the family, until he quickly proved to her that his feelings weren't the same.
Unlike her husband, she wasn't blind.
That boy was a bastard, and bastards always wanted revenge. Bastards always wanted what shouldn't belong to them.
She didn't like the easy smile that took his lips when Arya drew near.
She also didn't like how they were always together, whether in each other's bedchambers or around the Godswood. They were always laughing about some private joke, talking about something only they knew. They might change someday, but until that fateful day arrived, Catelyn would suffer from the possibilities of a future she wasn't looking forward to.
For just as she was certain that the sun would rise the next day, she was also certain that his dark Stark eyes lingered too long on her daughter, watchful and eager to please, sparkling intently at every spoken word. She could see it since those two established a friendship, when they were nothing more than babies and toddlers to each other.
Catelyn could see it, she could smell it in the air.
He knows what he wants, even if he doesn't know it yet.
Catelyn knew that one day, that boy would realize what was already happening. His eyes were always looking for her around that castle, too eager for her attention. That bastard always knew where Arya was, and sometimes Catelyn was thankful for having him whenever that wild she-wolf stubbornly refused her duties. They both had a soft spot for each other, and his dark eyes were always seeking her out, looking around.
Vigilant. Watchful. Obsessed.
Then, still watching those two embrace amid the summer snow falling on the courtyard of Winterfell, Catelyn turned her back on them.
I'm going mad. Maybe Ned is right, I'm seeing things that shouldn't be there. They're siblings, and we're not Targaryens.