When my husband brought that baby home from the war, I couldnāt bear to look at him, didnāt want to see those brown strangerās eyes staring at me. So I prayed to the gods āTake him away, make him dieā. He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. Iād condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didnāt even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods āLet the boy live. Let him live and Iāll love him. Iāll be a mother to him. Iāll beg my husband to give him a true name, to call him Stark and be done with it, to make him one of usā.