Chapter Text
Winter had come.
With no warning. The white sheet had rushed in like the silk train of a hurried bride’s wedding dress and suddenly settled on the floor that was the northern lands. It had come before the white ravens were sent which meant even the Citadel hadn’t anticipated it.
The last winter Catelyn had lived through she had been a young girl in Riverrun. Thinking back on it now, the white powdery dusting of snow across the grasslands could hardly be called a winter.
Not like this bitter biting cold. Stepping outside was nearly a death sentence. And she supposed it was only the people’s commitment to living by the promise of the Stark words that Winterfell survived at all. They lived off of the stores of a short harvest, rationing food to the extreme.
People starved inside the castle as easily as they did in Wintertown.
They’d not received a raven in nearing three moons.
“Too cold for the birds to fly,” Maester Luwin had explained in that even tone of his despite looking older and stressed. His words only ached Ned. He was the Warden of the entire North and yet he had no idea of what was happening outside his castle walls.
People were dying every night. Many of the smallfolk that they’d allowed inside if only to preserve them, had been lost.
Catelyn ran a hand softly through Robb’s hair. Her sweet boy. Her only child. She was awake only because of the flood of warmth that she’d felt in her sleep. For a moment she blushed in shame, fearing she had made water in her sleep. Instead she woke to find blood seeping between her legs. She’d felt no physical pain which did nothing to assuage the pain in her heart at losing yet another babe.
She did not bother to wake Ned and tell him. They, her son and her Lord husband, were both sleeping easily enough and she would not wake them only to disappoint them as they shared in her failure.
There was little to be done. She wasn’t eating enough. Barely enough for one. Not nearly enough for two.
Three babes. The first had made itself known not long before Winter set in. The stress had been too much and she’d delivered at only six moons. The brutal opening to the Winter, they had lost many, ravens had run rampant detailing massive loss of life, including her own child. The babe, a boy lived for two days with haggard breathing, a small thing that could fit in her palm. Ned had been there through the short and ineffectual birth. He’d said a soft prayer for their dead babe to the Old Gods.
She had cried too long and hard to even choke out a prayer to the Stranger and the Mother. Ned had taken that up as well, despite not worshipping them, he had learned all the prayers of the Seven during his time in the Eyrie. And he’d heard the Stranger’s prayer for lost souls often enough on the battlefield.
The second she lost whilst taking a bath. The pain had been great. She had just told Ned about the new babe the day before and in their exuberance had lain together. When she lost it he had not been able to hold her gaze for a sennight, fearing he was at fault until Maester Luwin had explained.
This last one had only been two moons gone in her womb and she hadn’t even noticed the pain.
She hadn’t told Ned she carried. Nor had the Maester examine her. Perhaps... had she made it another moon.
She felt a horrid woman. A horrid mother, thankful she’d been pregnant if only to keep her supply of milk active for Robb. Robb who was fully child and being fed milk from his mother’s breast again to save the scarce solid foods for the adult men and women.
The bed creaks and she feels Ned’s sigh as he awakens. She hadn’t moved, concealing the sticky liquid beneath her. Her husband’s chaste lips across her shoulder makes her tense before he rises. With his back turned she chances a look at him. He’s gaunt. He wobbles a bit as he takes a step and it angers her. He still has duties despite the cold that now sweeps through the castle. But he’s not eating enough either to keep his energy.
Mainly because of that boy.
The woman that had been nursing her own babe and had taken to nursing Jon had perished a moon before. There wasn’t any other woman to act as the bastard’s wet nurse, most caring for multiple babes or children already, so Ned began sharing his own food with the boy.
It had insulted Catelyn. That the bastard ate solids, from her Lord Husband’s own plate and his trueborn son relegated to drinking mother’s milk like the smallfolk.
But it was foolish of her to carry the anger. She knew he would not simply watch the boy starve.
Ned throws on his shirt and cloak and as he steps into the hall she sees him stagger again.
He’s too weak.
When the sound of his steps disappear down the corridor, she is quick to move. Barely disturbing Robb, she removes the stained furs and sheets from the bed and drops them in a pile for her maids. She hastily replaces them and tucks a still slumbering Robb back in. She cleans herself and readies for the day though she slinks back to Robb’s side for a moment.
Standing, she catches sight of herself in the vanity mirror. Her dress is ill fitting, the material hanging off of her nearly emaciated body. Her once beautiful auburn hair is neat but dull in color. She grabs a strand and sees its split at the end. Her skin is pale and the only thing about her that could be considered plump are her breasts. She tries to smile but it doesn’t reach her blue eyes, giving the impression that she is simply gritting her teeth.
How she ever thought this body could carry a child she knows not. She grabs a cloak for warmth but mostly to cover the sight of her body wasting away from others’ eyes. Vanity aside, she is still Lord Stark’s wife and the Lady of Winterfell. She still has her duties.
She knows what she must do even if she really doesn’t want to.
Stepping into the hall she’s hit with the unwelcome cold air. The springs that warm the rooms are nearly overcome by this winter’s cold. Rooms had to be consolidated in order to give greater warmth to smaller areas. It was why Robb now slept with his mother and father.
She grabs a servant on her way to a colder hall. She hesitates only a moment before stepping into the room she sought out.
It’s cold, almost as cold as the hall. On the small bed is a mound of furs as she steps closer she notices the steady vibrating movement.
“Cora,” she asks to the servant. “Does he normally shiver like this?”
“Lord Stark asked us to place as many furs as could be spared-”
“Cora-”
“Yes, my Lady.” Cora was a young thing. Dark hair with a skin tone just a shade too dark to be considered northern. She had hailed from White Harbor but being the port that it was, she could hazard a guess that her blood harbored foreign lineage as well. She may have blended in the Manderly’s domain but here she stood out. Catelyn would not be surprised if her difference was what led to her being the designated keeper for the boy.
The bastard was shivering almost uncontrollably in his sleep. He slept in his cloak, most likely an older one that he’d outgrown by the look of it, and half a dozen furs but still nothing chased away the chill.
“Snow.”
She speaks but gets no response. Frowning, she repeats it louder and his eyes open slowly. It takes only a moment for them to widen when he sees who it is in his room.
“La-Lady Stark,” his teeth are chattering as he tries to lift the heavy furs off of him. He slides off the bed to his feet keeping most still wrapped around his body. “Pardon. Good morning Lady Stark.”
He fumbles through greetings, glancing up then down at his feet and she allows it considering he’s probably not fully awake.
“How many springs run to this room?”
“None directly,” Cora answers promptly, “they were shared with Lord Robb’s room. We kept two running to the young Lord’s room for some heat here.” Catelyn looks around, there’s no fireplace in this room having been converted from servants quarters. It was meant to house Robb’s future personal servant or squire. For now, it served as the bastard’s frozen bedchamber.
Not that a fire could do much. Most small fires were quickly overwhelmed and snuffed out.
“I want them redirected to the colder servants quarters.”
“My Lady?” The servant is staring at her curiously. She ignores the bastard looking up at her. “Both of them?”
“You heard me. And,” she grabs at one of the ratty furs he left discarded on the bed in mild disgust. “Wash and distribute these as needed. Make sure the boy’s clothes are packed up as well.”
Cora hesitates only a moment before curtseying and doing as she is bid. Neither women look at the boy. Catelyn inspects the room as Cora strips the many layers off of him.
The boy’s belongings are sparse, the most of his non-essentials being gifts from his Lord Father that Catelyn only learned about after the fact. She does spot something of interest, a wooden carving atop his lone dresser. It was a misshapen, ugly thing but she remembered Robb had made one as well, when Luwin had taken them down to the carpenter for one day in lieu of regular lessons. They had both attempted to carve wolves but the bastard had not the natural talent for it unlike her Robb and the neck had been made too curved and the snout too long. The bastard settled for calling it a dragon, Robb had told her, though Catelyn assumed it was to cover his mistakes. Robb’s had been lost or broken some moons back but clearly the bastard had no shame in keeping his monstrosity.
A subtle cough from Cora pulls her from her musings. The bastard says nothing, still looking at the floor and rubbing his now chilled arms. Satisfied she signals him to follow her with a snap of her fingers.
The boy is silent save for his smaller footsteps as he trails behind Catelyn. Arriving at her room she smiles to see Robb having just woken and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. She reaches the bedside.
“Good morning, sweetling.” Robb is quick with hugs mumbling a response into her neck.
“Jon?” he asks brightly and it’s only then she realizes the bastard has yet to enter the room. “Jon, what’s wrong?” The concern in Robb’s voice is what forces her to look at him.
The bastard is standing there silent, a steady stream of tears running down his face. For a moment Catelyn pities him. She has never seen a child cry in silence. But the boy does it, so like Ned with his dark curls falling over his eyes and he keeps his head down and shoulders slumped.
Robb crawls off the bed quickly before running to him. Just as quick to hug the bastard as if he was his own true brother. He tries to coax an answer from the bastard but he just shakes his head. Robb turns and looks to her as if expecting her to do something about the moody child.
“Come inside, both of you and close the door.” The heat is escaping and she has little time for the bastard’s tears. Had he a nightmare he was recalling? That was Ned’s responsibility. Robb is quick to pull his brother through the threshold though he makes no further movement inside after the door is closed behind him.
“I don’t want to die, Robb.”
It’s almost too soft. Die? A nightmare then.
“You’re not going to-”
Suddenly the bastard pulls out of Robb’s hold and falls to his knees.
“Please Lady Stark I’ll work if I must. I’ll do anything-” she’s taken aback at his addressing her in such a pleading voice. “Anything you wish, please don’t put me out. I don’t want to freeze to death! Please-”
Before Catelyn can even understand what the boy is blubbering about her own son jumps in.
“Mother! Jon can’t be put out! It’s too cold! Don’t kill Jon!” Kill Jon? What was he on about? ”I’ll help him work! We’ll be good!”
“Stop it! Both of you!” She snaps which only leaves both boys crying and hugging each other though only Robb is actually weeping. It’s only then that Catelyn realizes how the little fool must have mistook the morning. “Why do you think you are going to die, Snow?”
He breathes in a shuddering breath that’s more a silent sob.
“You had Cora turn off the springs. I know other people need them but can I stay with the servants at least? Please I’ll-”
“Stop it.” Though the idea is intriguing, her mind was made up. “You’re not to die, boy. At least not yet.” Not that she hadn’t asked it of the gods before when he was younger. “You’ll stay in here from now on. To consolidate the heat in the castle.”
The twin looks of shock and confusion are almost humorous. Almost.
“Cora will have your clothes moved here. You will bathe here.” She swallows before continuing, her throat having dried. “You will sleep, here.”
The bastard looks confused but Robb wipes his tears, facing brightening quickly.
“Jon!” He throws his arms around the bastard’s shoulders. “We’ll all be together!”
The bastard however does not share in his enthusiasm though fortunately he has stopped his tears.
“Thank you, Lady Stark,” he says getting to his feet, barely noticing Robb’s grip on him.
“And another thing,” she starts knowing this is the hardest part for her and she curses herself for ever making that promise to the gods to save the boy. “You’ll not eat from Lord Stark’s plate anymore.”
“Mother,” Robb cries out indignant, “he’ll starve!”
“He will not.” She reaches up to her back to undo the laces of her upper bodice. “Lord Stark requires all of his food and then some. You will eat as all the other children do.”
“My wet nurse died, my Lady,” he says somberly lowering his gaze even more. She wonders if he’d grown close to the dead woman and her child.
“I am aware. As you will be staying with us it is only logical you share with Robb.” She loosens the last lacing quickly pushing down her dress to free her breasts. Both boys and the children in the castle had grown used to this, knowing it was now the normal way to feed the non working children. “Come now, I am certain you need to break your fast.”
The bastard looks puzzled as if she has proposed an impossible riddle for his childish mind to solve.
“My Lady, is this not improper-?”
“Do not speak to me of propriety, bastard!” she snaps insulted that a child of ill make would dare to question her. “Now, you will feed or you will starve. It matters not to me but you will not eat of my Lord husband’s rations.”
Robb stays silent watching curiously between his bastard brother and his mother.
The boy walks slowly and Catelyn sees it as akin to one walking to the gallows or as if he fears her mother’s milk might produce poison.
Finally he stands before her, gulping heavily. With Catelyn not bending in the slightest to give him easier access, he struggles between tilting his head up and keeping his gaze on the floor or rather away from her. Robb notices his plight.
“Get on the bed, silly,” Robb teases him now joining them and giving the bastard a boost. Now on his knees, Catelyn remains ramrod straight counting down the moments before she feels as if she’s violated her own dignity.
His light finger touch is cold and causes her to hiss in displeasure. He pulls his hand back quickly. Then he leans forward, lips puckered, maintaining his balance on his knees.
“Do not bite,” she warns just before he latches onto her left nipple.
She shivers in disgust but remains still as the bastard takes his fill. Robb sits beside him smiling at the act in wonder. Even so young he recognizes the change that this is. Unbidden, she feels a flare of warmth encompass her if because her only child might find a bit of joy in the cold world they’ve found themselves. It is easier, keeping her eyes on Robb, it helps her to forget who it is that suckles from her.
The bastard pulls back, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She’s certain he’s not drank enough but she would rather it be over quicker.
“You may feed after Robb twice a day,” she says as Robb takes his place and drinks from her right breast. “If you do not show, I will not be responsible for finding you.”
“Thank you, Lady Stark,” he says again, this time less despondent.
Ned is understandably confused and concerned when he returns to their room only to find both his sons on the floor playing together.
The arrangement however has him peppering kisses over her, gracious, and she allows it if only to lessen the guilt she feels about keeping secret the child she’d just had the servants wash away with the sheets.
Maester Luwin is surprised when he comes to grab Robb for his lessons and finds Jon as well. He ushers the boys to his temporary quarters with an unasked question in his eyes.
Though tired most likely due to blood loss and feeding both boys, she still has duties to keep the castle running, though they have lessened she makes it her business to check in on their guests and servants, make sure rations haven’t been exhausted and that the ill and dying are tended.
Though not a septa in the slightest, some of the families take heart to see their Lady praying for their departed family members’ souls.
“You may pray to the Seven, my Lady,” a sweet albeit dirtily clothed child said to her. She had two younger siblings cuddled to her as Cat sat with them and their grandfather who was giving up his last breaths. The elderly did not weather the cold well. Most having been lost in the initial onslaught. But as food grew scarce and warmth even scarcer the few left seemed to go in the night.
“Does your family keep the Seven?” It was extremely rare to find a northerner that didn’t worship the Old Gods.
“No, milady, but I know you do.” Cat gives her a grim smile.
“You’re quite thoughtful, child. But I know a prayer simple enough for the Old Gods to appreciate.” It earns her a genuine yet teary smile. The three children go to their knees surrounding their grandfather’s bed as Catelyn begins to pray aloud softly.
She leaves soon after the man pats his eldest granddaughter’s hand and gives up his ghost.
The servants are basically self managed now, Catelyn needing to check in with the most senior of them for status each day.
Ned sometimes leaves the castle, a dangerous pursuit though he bundles himself and takes an entourage of men to share body heat as he checks on Wintertown.
She returns to their rooms much later in the evening, darkness having already fallen and the boys already back in the rooms. Robb and the bastard have created a fort of blankets and furs and for a moment Catelyn fears they are the soiled blankets from the morning. They are not and she breathes a sigh of relief alerting them to her presence.
“Good evening, Mother,” Robb greets, poking his little head out from the fort. The bastard steps from behind the chair holding up part of the fort.
“Good evening, Lady Stark,” he says demurely.
“Good evening, Robb,” she answers, carrying her small plate of food to the bed. Robb eyes it greedily but says nothing. He’s long since learned not to beg from her plate once she explained that she would not be fit to feed him if she could not keep her own energy up. But she knew he tired of his liquid only diet.
His loss of baby fat concerned her but he was no worse than most the other children.
Her gaze sidles to the bastard who despite having eaten some solids is even smaller than Robb.
The boys lose interest in her dinner and go back to playing in their fort. Her dismal dinner is finished quickly and she hardly feels the hunger abate. It’s ever present, though her shame has lessened at constantly hearing the rumble of her empty belly in the presence of company. Everyone is near starving. Everyone’s stomach grumbles.
Everyone is tired but they still do their duty to the best of their ability.
“Robb,” she says placing her plate down on a side table and sitting against the headboard.
Robb needs no more explanation, as he quickly scurries out from the fort and climbs onto the bed. Unlike the morning he situates himself in her lap, her arms coming around him snuggly. He doesn’t hesitate as he begins to suckle on her right teat.
Catelyn sighs, content to be feeding her son. Feeling at home and warm despite the cold. Her mind drifts not thinking on anything but only feeling. It’s a comfort, some base instinct she supposes that makes this feeling, this duty of feeding her son as being the most important. The highest necessity. The most...purposeful.
Only once he’s finished does she come back to herself and remember she cannot simply drift off into contented sleep with Robb in her arms.
The bastard, ever quiet has moved towards the bed though he has not climbed up. He hesitates as if he expects her to have changed her mind since the morning.
“I’ll not wait all evening, Snow,” she says her voice cold as she reluctantly releases her son. He scoots away as the bastard scrambles up. He’s smart enough to know he will not receive the same comfort as his half brother. On his knees he leans forward-”The other one.”
He had gone for the same breast. It’s unfortunate she now thinks of her left one as being tainted.
If she survives this winter and gives Ned more babes, she’s certain none of her children shall ever suckle from the left again.
Again the bastard stops drinking before taking his fill. So be it, she thinks and his mouth is barely removed before she begins to conceal herself again. Robb, knowing it’s time for sleep immediately starts to snuggle into the blankets on the bed.
The bastard slips off the bed to the side and goes toward the fort.
Robb rustles again scrambling off the bed to follow.
“Robb,” she calls him, bewildered, before his feet even touch the ground. “It’s time to sleep, not to play.”
“I wish to sleep with Jon, Mother.”
The bastard has already hidden away amidst the blankets and she realizes the fort was meant to be his bed.
“Nonsense, you will sleep here in the warmth with your mother and father.” Her son’s pout is adorable but she hasn’t the energy to try and placate him. Though it’s on the tips of his lips to ask, he doesn’t ask the bastard to join them, thankfully. He’s under the blankets in moments cuddling up to her side.
“Will you tell us a story?”
“What would you like to hear?”
“Can you tell us about the Ice Dragons?”
Catelyn stiffens a bit at the request.
“I’m not sure I can do that story its proper justice as Old Nan can.” He pouts his lip again as if to beg but she cuts him off. “What if I told you one about a brave Prince? Would you like that?”
“Does he fly an Ice Dragon?”
Thinking quickly she says, “No, but he rides a strong stallion he calls, Dragon. Will that suffice?”
Robb nods quickly and she begins the story, weaving details as she goes and massaging a thumb through her son’s auburn curls.
By the time Ned joins them, she’s nearing the end of the tale and Robb is fast asleep. Ned says nothing but smiles at them both, exhaustion still evident in his eyes. He comes to her side of the bed and leans down to kiss her softly. He leans down and does the same to Robb’s forehead, he doesn’t stir. Then she watches as he goes to do the same to his bastard.
The bastard who has not yet fallen asleep.
“Good night Lord Father,” he says sleepily and she watches as the tuft of black hair shifts with his movements. “Good night, Lady Stark,” he mumbles but she can’t bring herself to say anything in response. “Thank you... for the story…”
Then there’s silence as she hears the lightest of snores come from him, only a slight stutter in his breathing.
Ned gets into bed trading quick stories about their day but he too falls asleep soon leaving Catelyn staring ahead in the darkened room.
Only then as her family sleeps does she let the grief consume her and the tears fall.