Catelyn I

The raven came on autumn winds.

Light snow was already falling, powdering the ramparts of Winterfell. Catelyn Stark shut the window to keep out the chill. She was watching and waiting, as she had before.

Her husband had ridden to war again.

There'd been no word from Castle Black for some time. Last they heard, Lord Commander Mormont fell to an assassin, which the black brothers named inhuman. How much was fancy and how much truth, she couldn't say. After that, silence.

Silence also from the Umbers of Last Hearth. If they had sent a raven, it did not get through. The Karstarks of Karhold managed but one.

"They're here!" it read.

Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall, had somehow made it over, or under. Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower reported Castle Black lost. The wildings passed into the Seven Kingdoms in their hundreds and their thousands, tens of thousands. None were prepared. They burned through The Gift like a fever, and fell upon Last Hearth in force.

Packs of raiders fanned out, murdering smallfolk and storming holdfasts from one end of the North to the other.

Eddard, her lord husband, called the banners. This time, not only her husband rode to war. Her son Robb went with him, and the bastard, Jon Snow.

Theon Greyjoy fell in battle, she was told, smashed by a giant's club. Mance Rayder had somehow gathered to himself an army out of myth. It was difficult for Ned to rally his swords, what with the awful weather, but there was no choice but to march.

A great battle was fought along the rain and sleet-swollen tides of the Weeping Water. The raven from the Dreadfort brought tides of victory. Thanks to Robb's wolf and Jon's, it pained Catelyn to admit, her Eddard was able to track and trap the bulk of the wildling host. There was a terrible slaughter, yet Northern steel won through in the end. Mance Rayder's giants, mammoths, and savages had their backs pinned against the river, and they died in their tens of thousands.

Yet the North was not safe. Such men as Ned left behind did not dare to ride out of sight of Winterfell's walls. Small parties of reaving wildings were everywhere. Only the wolves risked open ground.

Four wolves remained for her four youngest children. They walked the walls, suspicious and alert. At night, they left through a postern gate to hunt together. Fiercely intelligent and bigger than seemed natural, the ancient totem of their house was the only comfort Catelyn had.

The wolves will protect my babes, as they protected Ned and Robb in the battle.

And now the king was coming! How could they feast a monarch after the Starks stripped their land bare to fight a war? Things were tight already, and Catelyn was seriously considering seeking a creditor to borrow coin. As it stood, it was doubtful they could last a long winter.

Long winters followed a long summer, or so the maesters said.

Hand of the King? Now? A great honor, to be sure, but could the North spare Ned? Could she? It would pain her husband to hear of Jon Arryn's death, Cat knew, but he had been old, taken by an autumn chill. 'Twas only natural. Yet, yet, there was something about the year that felt unnatural to her. Wildlings had made it through the wall before, but never like this. Had the Old Gods of the North sent the wolves to see her family through a terrible trial? Catelyn fed the fire in her hearth and shivered, though Winterfell's walls radiated the warmth of the earth below.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

***

"I should like to see Robert again," her husband said boyishly, when she brought the news to him in the frigid godswood. Light snow crunched beneath her feet as she approached.

Ned returned to her whole and unharmed, but there was a new darkness in Robb's eyes.

He's killed, for true, Catelyn thought. Men changed after their first battle. Her boy had been forced to grow up at last, younger than she would like.

"The letter said the king's party would be smaller than usual, one hundred men only: knights, squires, and men-at-arms. He brings only his eldest son, the crown prince. That is some comfort. Feeding the whole court would be quite beyond us."

"Yes," Eddard agreed. "Knowing Robert, they'll ride hard up the Kingsroad. He still writes me at times. The old stag fights in melees even now, you know, crown or not. Ah, Robert hasn't changed at all."

Her husband spoke fondly of the man, full of nostalgia from their boyhood at the Eyrie. "And the son?" Cat asked.

"Strong lad, Robert says, and passing clever. Mayhaps he'll be fast friends with my boys."

"Mayhaps," Cat repeated doubtfully. There were many stories about the prince, some more fanciful than others, but she liked not the rumor of his closeness with the imp. Tyrion Lannister could not be a good influence on any boy. Not only that, King Robert openly kept a mistress, for all to see. Of course, his ability to publicly slight his Lannister queen showed a certain strength, but surely the son would be wroth for his mother's dishonor.

King's Landing is a debauched and filthy place.

"Do you mean to accept?" she asked uneasily.

Eddard sighed and set down the blade Ice he had been cleaning. "Refusing a king is a hard thing. I'll hear him out, at least. That much I owe him for riding north to meet me in person. We'll take the measure of Joffrey as well. I've heard many good things about Robert's boy."

Eddard would only wish to hear good things about his friend's son. Mayhaps he closes his ears to the bad, she considered.

"As you say, my lord," she agreed. "A plain feast, we can manage, but there must be a long discussion with Maester Luwin about our finances."

Her love's face fell. "Well do I know it. This war has been short and sharp, yet it came at the worst possible time. The Realm still bleeds. Leaving now seems to me impossible."

Yet Eddard had done the impossible before, Catelyn noted ruefully. She did not want him riding south again, yet it was not her choice to make. The king would be here soon.