Love enough for any woman

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.

[ned-cat]

Hi all! I'm just popping in to say I'm not ignoring the prompts I have received (there are currently 7 in my inbox) but I've been on holiday, which still continues, and I probably won't be writing anything before I'm back home next month. But I haven't been beheaded or attended any disasterous weddings so I'll be able to get back to writing when I have time. :)

[ned-cat]

Ned/Cat- Cat is plagued with a fever whilst pregnant with their second child, Sansa, the first pregnancy Ned is actually with Cat for. As she is ill, Ned is hit with the sudden realisation of how he actually, truly, desperately cares for Catelyn, and is not merely bound to her through marriage, but through adoration and developing love

Sorry this has taken so long. It ended up a bit longer than I had thought! Cut for length.

It had been that damned merchant, Ned thought, grinding his teeth as he paced the corridor outside of his wife’s chamber. The traveling Dornish man had visited a week ago with some new fabrics from the south and Catelyn had spent an hour with him making purchases. She would, after all, be soon needing new dresses to accommodate for her growing belly. The man had been sweating rather an unusual amount, but nobody had thought much of it at the time since the day had been uncommonly warm and he had been traveling since daybreak. Now Ned was certain it had been fever, perhaps even some form of the dreaded sweating sickness.

 The thought gave him pause as he recalled cases of the sweating sickness in the Vale where death had occurred within hours of outbreak and he felt a cold hand gripping at his chest as he thought of Catelyn and their unborn child. Her face had been so pale and feverish when he had found her in her chambers. As pale and feverish as…No, he thought fiercely, forcing the memory of his sister’s face out of his mind. Not Catelyn. I will not lose my wife and child.

 Their child, Ned thought, a fresh wave of worry rushing over him as he thought of the new, still so fragile life growing in Catelyn’s womb. Only yesterday she had assured him he would soon be able to feel the babe’s movement if he pressed his hand on the bump that was just starting to become visible. He had forgotten all decorum then and placed his hand on her belly at once, full of wonder at the life they had created together. He had remembered himself soon after and begun to apologize for his forwardness, but she had silenced him with a smile, laying her own hand on top of his to hold it in place. He had not felt any movement yet, but Catelyn’s reassuring hand and the simple knowledge of their babe growing inside her had been enough.

 With a sigh, Ned let his thoughts return to the present and he glanced again towards the door that still separated him from his lady wife and the life she carried. He had not argued when Maester Luwin had sent him away, but now he wondered if perhaps he should have been more adamant about staying. Surely he could not be of any less use inside the room as he was here, wearing a trail on the old stone floor outside of his wife’s chamber.

 Several times Ned had already paused by the door, his hand reaching forward as he was about to knock, and just as many times he had let his hand fall back and resumed his pacing in growing frustration. Even after almost three years of marriage, he still often felt uncertain about entering his wife’s chamber uninvited. After spending the first year entirely apart and the second almost as distant to each other as if they still were apart, it had only been during this last year that true warmth and companionship had slowly begun to grow between them. But the connection they had built still remained frail and tentative, and sometimes Ned wondered if it would ever be any different.

 He knew Catelyn would always do her duty by him, and he had sworn he would endeavour to do the same to make up for the way he had shamed her. To win her trust with time and patience was all Ned dared to hope for in return, but there were times when he watched her playing with Robb or, most recently, when her hand would go to her belly and she would smile lovingly at the life that had not even taken shape yet, that he wished that one day she might look at him the same way.

As the memories of Catelyn’s smiling face filled Ned’s mind, he leaned back against the wall and allowed his thoughts to wander to the many nights he had sought her in her chambers and found her warm and willing in his arms, despite the cool formality that remained between them during the days. Those nights the look in her eyes was not the love that shone in them whenever she looked at Robb, but there was unmistakable hunger there that he knew was mirrored in his own.  She was beautiful to him, but Ned knew it was far more than her beauty that he had come to admire. She was his wife and he….Ned’s thoughts came to a sudden halt as the door he had been guarding flew open and Maester Luwin stepped out, his expression grave.

 “What is it? How is Ca…how is Lady Stark?” The words rushed out of Ned’s mouth before he could even put on his lord’s face.

 The older man looked at him for a moment in silence, his expression unchanged.

 “I’m afraid Lady Stark has a very high fever,” he said at last. Ned had already guessed as much and so he waited for the maester to continue. “I’m afraid it’s too early to tell the nature of the fever, but I believe we should treat it as a potentially contagious one and try to contain it within her chamber. I have engaged two maids to care for her and will continue to attend to her myself, but I believe everyone else should be kept away.”

 “I want to see her,” Ned replied flatly.

 “My Lord, I don’t think it…”

 “I have already been in her company when I found her ill. I must already have been exposed.”

 “You were in her chamber only briefly,” the maester reminded him. “There is a good chance you have not been infected and there’s no reason you should risk yourself further, my Lord.”

 “No reason?” Ned replied. His voice betrayed little emotion, but inside he could feel his frustration turning into anger. “Lady Stark is my wife,” he spat, more vehemently than he had intended. “She carries my child. I have every reason to be with her.” Then, checking himself again he added: “I understand we must contain this, but I am already involved. Let the care of my wife remain between you, the two maids, and myself. Nobody else will be risked.”

 Maester Luwin bowed his head in silent acquiescence, perhaps seeing no point to argue further. “What of your son?” he asked simply.

 Ned took in a deep breath. Robb, he thought with a painful sting. Was he to have two motherless boys to care for? No, he pushed the thought aside again. He would not lose Catelyn. He could not lose her.

 “I will not go near either of the boys as long as there’s any chance I might carry the same fever that ails Lady Stark,” Ned replied, including Jon in his thoughts as well. “They must be protected.”

 The maester nodded. “I will take measures to ensure their safety,” he replied. “At the moment I do not believe anyone else is infected, but I would keep the boys away from the Great Hall at least today and tomorrow. If this is an outbreak, I believe other cases should start appearing during the course of this day. We will know more by tomorrow.”

 “I trust you to take the measures that need be,” Ned replied gravely. Then he glanced at the door that Luwin had closed behind him. “May I go in now?”

 “You may if you will,” the older man replied, looking at Ned intently. “Lady Stark should sleep, but I fear she is currently too restless in her fever to do so.”

 “Is there anything I can do for her comfort?” Ned asked. He hesitated a moment and then added: “I would be with her alone.”

 The maester looked at Ned only a moment before he spoke: “I have instructed Mell to keep Lady Stark’s head cool by drenching a piece of cloth in cold water and wiping her brow with it every few minutes. I shall return soon with a draught that should ease her more and help her sleep. Until then there is not much else to be done.”

Ned nodded gravely. “Thank you,” he said simply as he pushed the door open. “I shall remain with Lady Stark until you return.”

 The sight that greeted Ned inside was no more encouraging than the one he had left behind when Maester Luwin had first entered the room and ushered him out. Catelyn had been dressed down to a light shift and all furs on her bed had been pushed aside – a sight almost as startling as the terrible paleness that persisted on her face. A maid – Mell, Ned recalled Luwin mentioning her name – stood hovering over the bed, pressing a wet cloth against her lady’s forehead exactly as the maester had instructed. When the girl turned around to find Ned standing by the door, she looked startled but did not move from her position.

 “You may go now,” Ned said curtly, stepping forward towards the bed.

 “My lord,” the girl said, dropping into a deep curtsey.

 “I will attend to Lady Stark until Maester Luwin returns,” he continued in a softer tone, motioning for the maid to get up.

 “Yes, my lord,” she replied, wasting no time as she straightened her legs and hurried towards the door, her eyes fixed on the floor.

 Ned stood still and watched the girl until she was out of the room. Then he turned to look at Catelyn again. Her eyes were closed but she appeared not to be truly asleep, struggling instead somewhere between delirium and consciousness.  Silently Ned moved to sit by the bed, taking Catelyn’s hand into his and noting it was both hot and sweaty.

 “My lady?” he addressed her gently.

 At the sound of his voice she opened her eyes and turned slowly to face him, but even as Catelyn looked at him Ned could not be sure that she truly saw him. Her blue eyes were unfocused and glazed with fever.

 “Catelyn?” he whispered, squeezing her hand a little more tightly in an attempt to engage her. This time she blinked several times, as if trying to focus on what she was looking at. Then something like recognition appeared on her face and her eyes became more focused.

 “Ned…” she sighed, her voice barely audible. Ned smiled sadly at the sound of his name that she still used so rarely. He leaned forward to brush a damp strand of hair from his wife’s face, noting with increasing alarm that her head appeared to be even hotter than her hand.

 “Shh,” he said gently, taking the cloth the maid had left behind and dipping it in water before pressing it against Catelyn’s brow. “You should rest. Maester Luwin will bring you something soon to ease your discomfort.”

 “Ned,” she said again, growing more agitated. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 “Sorry?” Ned repeated in confusion, running his fingers tenderly through her messy hair, “You have no reason to be sorry.”

 “Our babe,” Catelyn said, a tear falling down her cheek even as her hand went to her belly. Silently Ned pressed his hand on top of hers, realizing he had not remembered to ask Luwin about the baby.

 With a start he realized too, that even though he worried about the child, he worried at least as much about the mother, and not only because of the child she carried. The mere thought of losing Catelyn pressed heavily at his chest and Ned knew that it was a fear reserved for Catelyn alone.

 She was all he could ever have asked for in a wife, but even beyond that Ned realized that he had come to rely on her very existence. She was his wife and the mother of his son, but she was also his lover and his companion. It was her opinion he sought on nearly all matters of his household. It was her smile he cherished in those stolen moments he caught her playing with Robb in the nursery or the courtyard. It was her body and her scent that filled his senses both in his dreams and when he was in her presence.

Ned knew not when it had happened, but at that moment he knew with absolute certainty that he had come to care for his wife in ways he could hardly have expected. She was not only his wife. She was Catelyn….his Cat.

 “Our baby will be fine,” he said at last, choking slightly on the words but wanting to reassure Catelyn even while he could not be sure himself. “You will both be fine,” he added resolutely, sending a silent prayer to the gods that it would be so. He would do whatever it took to see her back to health.

 His words seemed to give Catelyn some comfort and she closed her eyes again briefly, her hand still resting protectively on her belly.

"Our baby," she repeated, but her voice was calmer now as her fingers laced with Ned’s over her belly.

 “Our baby,” Ned echoed, and in that moment his heart was filled with love.

[ned-cat]

[ned-cat]

if you feel like it maybe a quick regency romance au for ned and cat.

Ned disliked balls. He had no aptitude for dancing and no particular wish to be introduced to young ladies who were more interested in his yearly income than what he had to say, and who often enough ceased to find him interesting at all once it became known that he had an older brother who stood to inherit the family estate.

If his thoughts were bitter, Ned preferred not to examine his motives, but perhaps there was irony in it that the only young lady he might have wished to dance with had been linked to that same brother since the beginning of the season.  At least among the town’s gossips, an engagement between Mr. Brandon Stark and Miss Catelyn Tully was spoken of as a near certainty. Ned had not asked his brother whether this was true, but he knew well enough that if their fathers had their way, the engagement most certainly would take place. It was, after all, a suitable match on both sides.

Still, while she remained Miss Tully, Ned could not altogether cease to think of her, nor could he stop his eyes from following her on the dance floor as her hand was claimed time and time again, even when Brandon was not present.

And Brandon was not present nearly as often as Ned thought he ought to be.

Ned disliked balls, but when his eyes rested on Miss Tully and he saw the bashful smile appear on her lips as she met his gaze, he could not recall why.

No, he was not bitter. Miss Catelyn Tully was simply not meant for younger sons.

[ned-cat]

You can't imagine how happy I am to find this place! I've looking for this for ages! I'm in love with you blog.

Aww, thank you! I'm glad you like it. :)

[ned-cat]

Are you still taking prompts? Cause if so I'd love to see an AU with Ned and Cat as revenge-seeking zombies, a.k.a. Lord and Lady Stoneheart.

“My lord,” his lady croaked as she looked at the prisoners he had brought in. Her hands were clasped tightly over the gash on her neck as she struggled to form the words  “You…kill…Lannister. I…kill…Bolton.”

Yes, he thought grimly. Death was what these men deserved and death was what they would be dealt.

As he gave a silent nod of agreement, he could feel the rough stitching around his neck give way, recalling too late the precarious way in which his head had been re-attached to his shoulders. Before his hands could move, he felt the weight of his head beginning to fall forward, a distant echo of what had happened before. He closed his eyes, preparing for the inevitable, but instead he could feel a pair of cold, slender hands on his cheeks, readjusting the head before it could take a fall.

Without her hands on her own neck she could not speak, but his eyes sought hers, and in that moment it mattered not that her face was scarred or that his was ashen, or that her hair was white and brittle or that his head was in constant danger of falling off his shoulders. To the world they were Lord and Lady Stoneheart, but in her eyes he could see a reflection of the man he had once been, and his eyes saw her the way she remained in his heart that was supposed to be of stone.

"Cat..." he gave voice to the name he could recall, a whisper from a world that no longer existed.

She did not speak, but she smiled.

[ned-cat]

I've received a few more prompts and just wanted to let you know I'm working on them. I'm not sure yet how soon I'll be able to post, but I'm definitely working on them. :)

[ned-cat]

fluffy domestic modern au? c:

Sorry this took a while. My only excuse is that my first attempt at moden au Ned/Cat needed a little thinking. :) Cut for length.

"Good morning, beautiful," she heard Ned whisper in her ear in that raspy morning voice of his that she liked to think belonged to her alone, and her lips curved into a smile. She had missed him.

"Go back to sleep," she hushed softly, turning around to face him. Catelyn had already been asleep when he had climbed into their bed late at night after a long business trip and she knew he could not have slept for more than a few hours. Even now, with his eyes still closed, he appeared to be only half awake.

The lack of sleep, however, did not seem to deter Ned. "Will you stay in bed with me?" he asked drowsily, his arms wrapping a little more tightly around her body.

"Your children will want breakfast," Cat sighed, but made no actual effort to free herself from his embrace.

"It's still dark," he protested, pulling her closer still.

She made a sound that might have been a muffled giggle before retorting: "I don't know if you've noticed, but it’s winter and we live in the north.  I don't think the sun is going to come up at all."

Ned chuckled, burying his face in Catelyn's hair and proceeding to plant soft kisses down her neck. "All the more reason to stay in bed all day, then," he reasoned.

"Oh is that why you wanted us to live here?" she teased, moaning softly as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot on her skin. Maybe the kids could wait little longer.

"Honestly?  Yes,” he breathed between the kisses that had begun moving further down Catelyn’s body.

She turned her head sideways to hide her smile. Her silence, however, brought Ned to a sudden halt and Catelyn could not help but laugh at his concerned expression when he looked up at her, now wide awake.

“Cat? You know that’s not really…” he began apologetically, but Catelyn cut him off with a kiss.

"Silly," she only said as they parted, smiling at the lingering uncertainty on his face. Ned looked at her for a moment with those grey eyes of his, as if trying to detect any serious reproach hidden beneath her teasing. Finally his face melted into a smile again.

"You know that's not the only reason," he replied at last before rolling her over on top him. "Just one of the main reasons."

“Oh is that so?” Catelyn raised her eyebrows. As Ned’s lips crushed against her own in response, she decided the kids could very well do without breakfast for at least another thirty minutes. Perhaps even forty-five. Her husband was home and he was starving, and so was she.

[ned-cat]

You said you wanted a Ned/Cat fic prompt---maybe "Ned has PTSD because of Robert's Rebellion and has nightmares/episodes. Cat comforts him. Maybe something based around 'war is hell, and it must be.'"

Okay. A) this became a bit longer than I had expected and B) it might not be exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you still enjoy it. :) Here goes:

(cut for lenght)

The cry of agony in the night had made Catelyn’s blood run cold, but as she surveyed the room and saw nothing but the still unfamiliar walls of her new home in Winterfell, she wondered if she had truly heard anything. Perhaps she had simply fallen asleep at last only to wake up to some foreign sound from outside, her imagination adding the rest. It would not have been the first time.

She was just about to settle back against her pillows, having pulled her furs just a little more tightly around her body, when the unmistakable sound of a man’s voice rang through the walls again, stopping her cold.

Robb, she thought desperately, springing to her feet at the thought of some unknown danger threatening her babe, but by the time she had made it to the door of her chamber, she could hear nothing but the sound of absolute silence around her again. Her heart still pounding, Catelyn reasoned that no intruder would be able to get this far into the keep without causing more chaos. If something was amiss, she could not be so completely unaware of it. Still, she knew she could not rest now without seeing Robb.

Stopping only to wrap a fur around her shoulders for warmth, Catelyn quickly made her way to the nursery where she found her young son sleeping soundly in his cot, looking perfectly healthy and content. The wet nurse assigned to keep watch lay slumbering peacefully in her own corner, and Catelyn saw no reason to disturb the woman. Even the boy in the other cot appeared to be sleeping quietly. Whatever sound she had heard, it could not have come from the nursery.

With a parting look at her own sweet babe, Catelyn backed out of the nursery as quietly as she had entered. As she was crossing the corridor to return to her own chamber, however, the frightening cry of agony pierced through her ears again, this time so clear and so close that she could no longer mistake either the source or the owner of the voice.

Her husband. Her quiet, steady husband was crying out in what sounded like great pain or fear, but even as Catelyn strained to listen more closely, she could hear nothing to suggest the presence of anyone else.

For a moment she swayed on her spot, unable to decide whether to return to her own chamber or follow the cries to her husband’s rooms. Thea idea of going in uninvited had little appeal for Catelyn who had not entered her husband’s chamber since the day of her arrival three moons ago, when he had given her a tour of the Great Keep.  And yet, who if not the Lady of Winterfell should go into the Lord’s chambers in the middle of the night to see what he was about? For surely, if she could hear his cries, it was only a matter of time until others would be aroused by the noise as well.

Bracing herself against what she might find, Catelyn tiptoed her way across the corridor to the door she knew led into her husband’s private rooms. When her knock received no response, she pushed the door open and was met with a cool breeze that sent a shudder down her body.  For a moment she hesitated, wondering if perhaps she ought to return to the warmth of her own chambers after all, but she had come too far to back away now. Wrapping the fur a little more tightly around her shoulders, Catelyn entered her husband’s room, holding her breath as she slid past the heavy, wooden door.

The room was dark and cold, as uninviting as anything Catelyn could have imagined, for there was no fire to keep it warm or to provide light. Still, with her eyes already adjusted to the dark, she could see well enough in the moonlight that shone through the windows. Her husband – naked and only partly covered by furs – lay in his bed in restless sleep, his lips moving to form words that Catelyn could not quite make out. On his forehead droplets of sweat glistened in the moonlight, completing the look of feverish agitation.

“My lord?” she whispered, but he did not react to her voice. “Eddard…Ned?” she tried, stepping a little closer.

As she approached, her husband began yelling again, his voice bringing Catelyn to a halt, but soon enough it became apparent to her that his words were directed at someone she could not see.

“No!” he cried out, his hand reaching for something in the air above him. “Please!” Then, his voice suddenly sank and Catelyn could only barely make out the last words he muttered: “I promise.”

Catelyn could not keep watching. “Ned please,” she whispered again, softly but firmly, walking over to his bed and placing a hand on his forehead. She was startled to find that his skin was burning up under her touch, and as Catelyn ran her hand soothingly through his damp hair, she wondered what could possibly be causing her husband such feverish nightmares.

She thought fleetingly of the bastard’s mother but resolutely pushed the thought aside when Ned whimpered again in his sleep, now seemingly terrified of something.

“Shh,” she soothed, smoothing his tangled hair with her fingers. “You are in Winterfell. Everything is alright. You are home.”

For a while Catelyn continued in the same manner, repeating simple words of home and safety as her hand continued to soothe his skin, and after a time she began to believe her efforts were not without effect. Whether it was the touch of her hand or the tone of her voice, her words seemed to eventually calm him down. However, when Catelyn moved to leave, she suddenly felt his hand on her wrist as if he were not asleep at all.

“Please don’t leave me,” he croaked, his hold of her wrist firm and yet still surprisingly gentle. “Everyone else has,” he added more quietly, lost in his restless slumber again.

For a moment his eyes had been open but still Catelyn felt certain he had not truly seen her. Looking down upon the man who so little resembled the solemn husband she knew, Catelyn smiled sadly at the realization he must still be lost in his dreams and nightmares.

Her husband who had brought a bastard with him from the war would not ask her to stay. Catelyn felt the sting of the thought but, refusing to dwell on it, she pushed it firmly aside to the place where she kept all her thoughts of the bastard and his mother. If she stayed only until he slept soundly again, he needed never know she had been in his chamber at all.

“I won’t leave you,” she whispered, sitting down on the bed and cradling Ned’s burning head on her lap as she once again ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. If she could not be who he wanted her to be in the light of day, at least for now she could let him believe she was who he needed her to be.

By the time sleep took her, Catelyn could not tell how long she had remained awake, nor could she be sure whether the last word she heard her husband mutter had been “Can’t”…or “Cat”.

[ned-cat]

Thanks for the prompts I've received so far. I have another one I'm currently working on, and I'm also still open for more. It might take me anything from a few hours to a few days to respond, depending how busy I am, but I would be happy to stretch my writing muscles a bit. :)

[ned-cat]

Prompt: correspondence during the Greyjoy rebellion

Catelyn, he writes.

I am glad to know you and the children are well, all three of them.

Catelyn’s hand moves to rest on the bump she can no longer hide and she smiles as she feels the movement inside, their third one starting to make his or her presence ever harder to ignore.

I remain unharmed and look forward to hearing from you again.

Yours, Ned.

Catelyn smiles, her eyes drinking in Ned’s familiar hand as much as they feast on his simple words, rejoicing in the knowledge that he remains safe for another day. It’s not lost on her that to a stranger these two short lines might seem almost trivial, but she alone knows that they contain as much emotion as that solemn face of his that she had once thought cold.

There is much she would like to write in return, but when Catelyn later picks her quill to scribble a response, it’s in the same brief and efficient manner that would give little away to any interceptors. Their love is theirs alone, and there’s plenty of room between the lines.

[ned-cat]

Anyone want to throw a Ned/Cat prompt at me?

[ned-cat]

so I added a bit of red hair to this image of Michelle Fairley in Ironclad and I'll be damned if this didn't just become a picture of Ned and Cat in Winterfell.

[ned-cat]

[ned-cat]

She Is Not Winter 1/1 (Ned x Cat drabble)

This just sort of wrote itself last night. Some Ned x Cat early marriage angst and feels, I suppose. I hope you enjoy. :)

He watches her from afar, as he so often does, his beautiful wife who can’t seem to bear to look at him in return.

Ned can’t really blame her, either. Not after he has dishonored her in the worst possible way, presenting her his bastard son on the same day she had presented him the trueborn son she had born in his absence. No wife could have done more than she had, bringing the child into the world while a war raged around her - and all of that Ned has repaid with dishonor. He feels a pang as he remembers how she had looked when he had first seen her at Winterfell. He recalls easily enough that mixture of pride and joy and hope on her face when she had placed Robb in his arms, and even more vividly he remembers how that look had left her face, to be replaced with a cold mask of icy politeness that she still wears now. Ned knows he deserves nothing better from her, but still he longs to go back to that short moment where their little world had consisted only of him, her, and their beautiful infant son – and that hope they both shared of a future together.

Two months have already passed since she settled in Winterfell, and for two months she has not spoken to him, barely even looked at him, except to discuss matters of the household. It should please Ned, perhaps, that for all she must hate him, she has not once shrunk from her duties as the lady of his keep, but if he is honest to himself, it often makes him feel even worse. The spring they had rejoiced in the year before has turned out to be a false one, and Catelyn spends hours poring over books and accounts, making sure they have enough resources to last the winter that still stretches on. She bears the cold, and she bears the whispers, even as Ned tries not to hear them, but still she can’t bear to look at him, and he cannot bear to see her so unhappy.

And yet, as if the gods would wish to punish him, Ned finds that he likes to look at her all the same, and even more than that he longs to touch her. She is dutiful enough to welcome him in her bedchamber whenever he chooses to enter, but her downcast eyes and lack of encouragement make the act little more than a fulfillment of duty on both sides. He wishes it could be more than that, but even his own enjoyment is quelled by her lack of response. He longs to know every inch of her body, but he has no wish to force his attentions on his lady wife beyond what he knows they are both duty-bound to do as husband and wife.

What his mind does when he remains in his own chamber to seek his pleasure alone is a different matter. It is only unfortunate that lately his mind often seems to drift to that place even in broad daylight when he happens upon lady his lady wife within the castle.

  “My lord?” Her voice is distant even as she stands right in front him, but it is enough to startle Ned. He is not sure when or how she has crossed the hall without him noticing, but he realizes he must have been lost in his thoughts for some time, for there appears a flicker of concern on the beautiful face he had moments ago admired from afar. It’s not much but still it’s more than nothing.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he begins to apologize for his lack of attention, but words fail him as they so often do in her presence.

“I only wanted to tell you the kitchens are running low on wood,” she says, not waiting for him to speak. “More should be brought in before the next snow storm or we will eat raw meat.”

Ned nods his head absently, unable to tear his eyes off her face now that she is so near. “I will see to it,” he replies at length, but when she makes to leave, he reaches out his hand to stop her. “Catelyn,” he says, and she freezes on the spot. Whether it is for the use of her name or the hand holding her arm, Ned cannot tell.

“Please,” he adds, and it is that word, or perhaps it’s the tone of his voice, that makes her turn her eyes at him at last.

“Is there something you would have me do, my lord?” she asks. Her face is still ice, but her voice is not. It trembles slightly as she pronounces his title.

I would have you smile and be happy, he thinks, but he cannot speak the words. They would sound absurd. He cannot command her to be happy in this life he has dragged her to.

“I…” he says instead, not sure what had possessed him to stop her in the first place. He shakes his head then. “Nothing, my lady. I would only have you know how much I…how much everyone at Winterfell appreciates everything you do.”

She looks at him for a moment and Ned wonders if he only imagines that she is close to crying. She blinks once and then twice, as if something is caught in her eye, but then she stands again a little straighter and merely nods her head in acknowledgement of his words.

“I thank you, my lord,” she says quietly before turning to leave again. This time Ned lets her go and watches her retreat from the hall with hurried steps that almost turn into a run before she is out of his sight.

She is not winter, Ned finds himself thinking. He’s not sure what has inspired the sudden thought, nor what it really means to him, but he keeps turning it in his head for a good while until it dawns on him.

The coldness is not her. It’s only an armor she wears. And it’s not impenetrable. No armor ever is.

When wood arrives hours later, freshly chopped from a nearby forest at Ned’s orders, he decides it’s not merely wood that Winterfell lacks. In truth, wood is one thing they surely have enough of, for burning and praying alike. It is stone and glass he must send for.

A sept, Ned thinks, as he enters his solar and reaches for a scrap of parchment to write on. A sept is what Winterfell lacks and a sept is what he must build for his lady wife.

[ned-cat]

[ned-cat]