@astaporfreed
Mayhaps she might once have cared for the fate the Freys had sealed for her, but with the last of her children gone before her eyes, her sweet boy, her dear Robb, murdered before her eyes at her own brother’s wedding, what did life matter? What did any of it matter? The madness of grief had taken her over for a time, she knew, for much of her memories at the Twins were vague and dark and beyond her reach, but she had scars along her arms, scars down her cheeks, that she had been told she had caused herself, scratching at her own skin violently as she lay crumpled before the body of her son.
They had been fond of retelling that tale until she had grown numb to everything but the wish for death...but even that they had not granted. The Lady of Winterfell fetched a high price all told, for the slaver who wished to add notoriety to his collection she supposed...she cared not. She only wanted this life over; Ned and her children were waiting for her....but it was hard not to be drawn a little from mournful reverie when surrounded by others who also suffered, other slaves, including a young woman, a woman who had a son as Catelyn once had.
“A sweet fruit for a sweet boy,” She offered to little Theo the slice of strawberry she had managed to secure into her sleeve without notice, “My sister and brother and I would oft sneak cakes from the kitchen as children; it is a skill you never forget” Catelyn explained as she looked to the Mother...and if she was caught, a beating mattered nothing to her, and if it made a little boy smile, then it was worth the price.
