(First‑person, Catelyn Stark)
The days after our quarrel were heavy with silence. I moved through Winterfell's halls with Robb in my arms, and though the people bowed and smiled, I felt their eyes upon me. They saw the Lady of Winterfell, but I felt like a stranger in this cold stone keep. The godswood whispered with leaves I did not know, the air smelled of earth and pine instead of river and rain, and in the nursery, a boy with dark hair and gray eyes slept beside my son.
Jon Snow.
I had not spoken his name aloud, not even to myself. To do so would be to give him place, and I could not. He was Ned's, but not mine.
A week passed before Ned came to me. I had half expected him to storm into my chambers the night of our quarrel, but he did not. He buried himself in maps and councils, in the endless work of lordship. I told myself I did not care. Yet each day that passed without a word from him was a stone laid upon my heart.
When the knock came at last, I was startled. "Who is it?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
"Eddard, my lady. May I come in?"
I hesitated, then opened the door. He stood there, solemn as ever, a roll of parchment in his hand.
"Of course, my lord," I said, colder than I meant. "This is your castle. You may come and go as you please."
He shook his head. "No. These are your chambers. I would not enter without your leave."
That pricked me, though I tried not to show it. I stepped aside, and he entered.
"I have been avoiding you," he said, his voice low. "I thought you still angry with me, and I used my duties as excuse."
I looked at him then, at the man who was my husband, the father of my son, the lord I had sworn to follow. He was not Brandon, the brother I had been promised, but he was mine now. And I found, to my surprise, that I did not want to fight him.
"It is I who should apologize," I said. "I have thought on your words, and I see now I was wrong. Jon is no Blackfyre. He is only a boy. Family, Duty, Honor—those are our words, and I forgot them. I will help you make him a good man, a good brother."
Relief flickered in his eyes, though his face remained grave. "I am glad to hear it, Catelyn. I had hoped you would be my partner in this."
Then he unrolled the parchment. "And I bring you a gift. I want you to feel that Winterfell is your home. I have drawn plans for a Sept, here within the castle walls."
For a moment, I could not speak. A Sept. My own place of prayer, of light and song, within these cold halls of stone and weirwood. I traced the lines of his drawing with my fingers, and a smile came unbidden to my lips.
"Thank you, my lord," I whispered. "This is… more than I expected. I did not think you would care for such things."
"I do not," he admitted, with the blunt honesty that was his way. "But you do. And that is enough."
He told me he had written to Lord Manderly, asking for a Septon to serve us. He spoke of masons and carpenters, of where the Sept might stand. I listened, and for the first time since I came to Winterfell, I felt seen.
When he reached for my hands, I let him take them. "Please, Catelyn," he said. "Call me Eddard."
"Then you must call me Catelyn," I answered.
And when he kissed me, I did not turn away. That night, he did not sleep in his own chambers.
Yet even as I drifted to sleep beside him, Robb's soft breath in the cradle nearby, my thoughts strayed to the other child—the boy with the gray eyes, sleeping alone in the nursery. I told myself I would learn to see him as Ned did, as family. But in the quiet of the night, I wondered: could I ever truly love him as my own?