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“You look tired cat,” Ned whispered next to her. She sighed and gave him a small smile. In her arms, little Dacey squirmed. Catelyn kissed her forehead. “Stay with me, little one.” She told the child and watched as Ned looked away quickly.
“But I want to dance again!” her eyes watered. Her face was so alike Sansa and Arya that she could not help but to smile. She wondered how Ned managed to look away from her. Darcy was Ned’s blood, he could love her the way he had loved his own fake bastard, she thought bitterly for Catelyn could not recall when Ned had ever held the child even.
Perhaps, because Darcy was in truth a bastard, not to be kept hidden and protected from the word, that her husband found it difficult to love his grandchild.
Catelyn shook her head. She knew better than to doubt whether Ned loved his grandchild or not. It was the guilt and shame of his failure instead that had made his heart cold. But his response had left cracks so wide between Sansa and him that sometimes, she feared the hurdle could never triumph over.
For Catelyn herself, the child looked too much like her daughter for Catelyn to not love.
When she had first held Dacey, the baby looked so much like Rickon and Arya that Catelyn had all her hatred melted out of her heart at the sound of a single cry.
The child was all Tully and Stark. She did not have a hint of her monstrous father. When she had swayed the baby as gently as she could, under the happy gaze of Sansa who lay on her bed leaning on Arya’s shoulders, a part of her had wondered back then if this love for blood-despite the stain of being a bastard- was what droved Ned to not be parted with Jon Snow despite the risk he posed for his own children.
Catelyn understood this love back then even but could not forgive him for her own humiliation.
Now, she still had not forgiven the man beside her for his lie.
“No, see? No babies are dancing anymore.” At Dacey insistence, Catelyn had asked Bran and later Rickon to dance with her. Dacey had even spent so much time holding the end of Arya’s dress too before Catelyn whisked her away.
“I’m not a baaaby. I’m Dacey.”
“If you leave, Grandma will feel lonely.”
Dacey frowned, “No, don’t be a lonely grandma.” Catelyn hugged her tighter, “Yes, grandma is never lonely with you.” The child looked away and Catelyn distracted her with a small wooden toy on the table.
Dacey had to stay with her tonight, and away from Sansa just for the wedding.
Music played all around her. So many musicians had traveled back with Ned after his visit to King Renly. Sansa had always loved Music. She remembered the time when that one old singer had somehow stumbled his way into Winterfell. How happy Sansa had been that whole day, listening to one song after another and learning all the words and tunes as fast as she could.
Catelyn felt her throat tighten. How many dreams had she seen for Sansa? How many dreams had Sansa seen for herself? All of them, gone. Because Catelyn couldn’t protect her child.
What would she give to be able to pretend that the man Sansa had married tonight was someone other than the boy her husband had once lied and claimed as his own son? To pretend that the child in her lap was not the bastard daughter of Sansa but one trueborn? Catelyn sometimes wondered how much easier it would have been even if Dacey had been a bastard but born out of love. Foolish, traitorous, naïve love but love all the same. Not horror.
Catelyn sighed again. Sansa looked beautiful as she stood beside the basta- her husband- her hair was open and parted to one side, hiding her missing ear, with little pearls shining in the red. Her dress was white and grey-blue, the colour of Dacey’s eyes, with weirwood trees, wolves, and fish scales stitched with a red and black thread. A homage to the boy’s true parents.
Sansa could have still done better than him, Catelyn knew, this boy who set out to make a whole new house. She was beautiful still, despite the scars left behind on her face. Instead of diminishing her beauty, it had given her a sort of regal look. Stripped of her girlish charm, Sansa had the look of an old northern queen. But perhaps, it was all through the eyes of a mother.
Her daughter deserved happiness. She deserved love. Not a husband who would cringe to even touch her. Even though Sansa had stated that it was what she wanted, Catelyn still wished her daughter knew love. Despite what had happened, there were still many offers for Sansa’s hand by men who would not be haunted by the knowledge of what they were once to each other. Though not by heirs, instead of by second or third trueborn of old, prestigious houses of the North and even Riverrun. Even then, they were men who could keep her happy.
But none mentioned Dacey.
All of them wanted to pretend as if Dacey didn’t exist. They wanted Sansa to pretend as well.
Not Jon Snow though.
This was the last night that Dacey would sleep as a Snow, as a bastard. Tomorrow, she would wake up as Dacey Whiteflye, the name the boy had chosen for himself. Legitimatized by the King’s decree at the boy’s request who had been too worried about how refusing a cripple's request would look to the court.
Catelyn followed Sansa with her eyes. Jon and she moved slowly with the song. The singers had wisely chosen a soft melody to play for Jon to follow with his crippled leg. He barely held Sansa’s hand as the two pretended to dance and even from such a distance, Catelyn could still make out the awkwardly forced smile on Sansa’s face and the huge gap between them. It was painful to know that this was the life that her daughter had chosen. Both of them would suffer if Jon Snow decided to honor his vows too as Sansa had planned to.
But it was her girl’s choice. It was the boy’s choice too. If Sansa was ready to spend her life like this for Dacey’s happiness then perhaps so was Jon Whiteflye. Seven knows Catelyn did not doubt the former bastard’s love for Dacey regardless if the reason alone was guilt.
“Grandma, Look!” Dacey held her collar and shook Catelyn out of her thoughts, “Mama and Jon dance!” the child exclaimed and before Catelyn could even move, Dacey was on her feet and running towards the newly wedded couple.
“Dacey wait!”
But she did not. Catelyn lifted her skirts and by the time she got to Sansa, Sansa had already taken Dacey in her arms. “Ah sorry.” Catelyn muttered, “Come on Dacey. Leave your mama be.”
“It’s alright, mother,” Sansa replied and kissed Dacey’s forehead as Catelyn reached out to take her back in her arms.
“But, Mama! I want to dance with you and Jon!”
From the corner of her eyes, Catelyn saw Jon smile. “Sansa, let her.”
“Are you sure?” Catelyn asked before she could help herself, and the boy nodded. A look passed between Sansa and Jon that she could not read – it was a surprising thought to know that they could read each other - but then, Sansa nodded as well and Dacey clapped her hands.
My buddle of joy, Catelyn thought and pinched her chubby cheeks, nodding at Sansa before she left back to her seat. After she settled and excused herself for rushing off, she glanced back at the pair.
Sansa held Darcy while Jon held the girl’s hand. Together, the three swayed with the music. When Jon lifted Darcy’s hand, Sansa circled her around. The girl clapped before she lifted one of her small and placed it around Jon’s neck, bringing Jon and Sansa far closer than they had been before.
They did not seem to mind. A stupid giggly kind of smile had taken over the two.
For the second time that night, Catelyn felt tears in her eyes. They looked happy. Sansa, her baby girl, looked happy. How long had it been since she had seen Sansa smile so fully? So completely?
She felt a hand on hers. Edmond squeezed it, “They might make it work, Cat.”
She smiled through her blurred eyes and squeezed back. “They might.”