Chapter Text
Catelyn Stark was proud to say that her family was reasonably normal, thank you very much. As normal as it is possible for a wizarding family to be at any rate.
Her husband, Eddard Stark worked at the ministry in the Department of International Magical Cooperation and they had an eighteen-month-old son, Robb and a three-month-old daughter called Sansa. In her opinion, there were no finer children in the seven kingdoms. They both had a shock of bright red hair, ate anything that was put in front of them, slept through the night and Robb had already shown great promise with magic.
She was also blessed to have a husband who was brave enough to support the war but sensible enough not to launch himself onto the front lines. They had already lost Eddard’s father and brother, both of them were brutally murdered by the Night King hunting Ned’s sister Lyanna who had either been kidnapped or voluntarily joined the White Walkers (the Night King’s followers). When Ned had heard of his father and brother’s deaths he had attempted to join the aurors to avenge them but Catelyn had reminded him that he had two young children and extremely average duelling abilities.
It took an extraordinary Wizard to stand against the Night King. He was the most feared wizard in the seven kingdoms- sadistic, brutal and seemingly no one was able to identify who the horrific masked monster truly was. Hundreds of magical and non-magical people had been horrifically murdered by the psychopath. If they were lucky, he gave them a quick death with the killing curse. If they were unlucky, it would be fiendfyre and they would be roasted alive. The only man the Night King showed any reluctance to kill was Barristan Selmy, the hero of Duskendale and headmaster of King’s Landing Academy. Whispers said that Selmy is the only man that The Night King feared and Catelyn could only hope that it was true, she dreaded the thought of raising her children in such violent and fearful times.
It was a cold and crisp November morning. There was frost on the ground and a distinct chill in the air. Catelyn pottered around the kitchen sending eggs and bacon flying into a sizzling frying pan. Ned was in his usual sombre mood and Catelyn took it as a positive sign that no bad news had arrived overnight. Ned and Catelyn had met during their first year at King’s Landing and whilst she had initially been enthralled by his older (and much cooler) brother Brandon, by fifth-year she had been head over heels in love with the quiet, reserved Ned. Like many young couples during a time of conflict, they had married straight out of school. Rhaegar and Elia, who had been in the year below them, had followed their example and now had three-year-old Rhaenys and six-month-old Aegon. Many had thought that it was scandalous for the Minister’s son to wed and procreate at such a young age but Rhaegar and Elia had been a couple for so long that it had seemed ridiculous to Catelyn to think that they wouldn’t get married.
At half-past seven, she kissed her husband goodbye and woke Robb and Sansa. After breastfeeding Sansa and scourgifying the kitchen after Robb both ate and bathed in his porridge, she prepared her children for the day’s errands. A trip to the markets in Wintertown and then flooing to Riverrun to visit her father and brother. It was just as she had finally wrapped Robb and Sansa in the necessary five layers each and strapped them into their buggy that the fireplace roared green and her brother-in-law Jon Arryn tumbled out of the fireplace. In Catelyn’s opinion, Lysa, her sister, had married the elderly pureblood in an attempt to one-up her. Jon Arryn was kind, intelligent and considerate but too old to genuinely attract a young girl, barely out of school.
“Unca Jon!” Robb babbled with joy.
Arryn absentmindedly ruffled Robb and Sansa’s hair before turning to Catelyn with a serious expression on his face.
“The Night King is dead.” He said seriously, sinking into a chair and gratefully accepting a large mug of steaming hot tea.
“Dead?” Catelyn said stunned, “But who? And how?”
Catelyn could scarce believe it. Some of the greatest wizards of the age had been unable to defeat the Night King- Gerold Hightower and Jonothor Darry had both been viciously murdered and they had been elite aurors.
Arryn looked grim, “We still don’t know for certain who he was. What we do know, is that last night he attacked the Red Keep.”
Catelyn gasped, “The Red Keep? But the Minister and his family!”
Robb wriggled in the pushchair, trying to make sense of his mother’s reaction.
“Aerys is dead.” Arryn said starkly, “As are Rhaella, Rhaegar, Elia and Aegon.”
“What about little Daenerys?” The youngest Targaryen was three months younger than Robb and it chilled Catelyn to the bone to imagine something so horrible happening to her own children.
Arryn gave a confusing half-smile, “Daenerys is alive. How I cannot say, but the evidence suggests that the Night King tried to kill that little girl but somehow couldn’t.”
“You mean after the hundreds of people that that monster killed, he somehow could not kill a little girl?”
“It certainly seems that way.” Arryn murmured, “I must return to the ministry. With all the chaos, I suspect that Tywin will try to take charge.” He stepped back towards the fire before looking back, regretful, “I’m afraid that I cannot promise that Ned will be home on time at all this month, we’ll need all hands on deck.” Then he smiled wanly and stepped back through the flames.
Catelyn was baffled. She scooped Robb and Sansa out of their pram, numbly stripping them of excess clothing.
“Nan!” She called.
An extremely old and ugly house-elf popped into view beside her. She wore a strip of wolf fur around her torso, enough to cover the bare essentials but not enough to be considered clothes. Nan had been in the Stark family for four generations and was an immutable part of life at Winterfell.
“Yes, Lady Stark?” Nan croaked.
“Take Master Robb and Miss Sansa into the playroom and ensure that they are occupied.” She directed.
“Of course, Lady Stark.” With a click, Nan levitated the two children in front of her out of the room.
The moment that they were out of sight, Catelyn sank down into a chair and allowed the enormity of what had happened to envelop her. The Night King was defeated. The Minister and his family had been murdered in their own home. Aerys and Rhaegar, who had been powerful wizards had been slaughtered, and yet somehow Daenerys Targaryen had survived. Catelyn hoped that wherever the child was, she was being cared for. Like so many witches and wizards would that day, she raised her cold cup of tea to ‘the-girl-who-lived’. Little did Catelyn know that the next morning she would be awoken by a devastated husband, a small bawling bundle and a note that contained a single sentence ‘His name is Jon’.