Work Text:
“I’m fine, Catelyn. Go back to sleep.”
Cat watched him roll onto his other side, away from her. The breadth of his back was higher than the Wall itself, so she turned her back on him too, to shelter from its cold shadow.
Ever since they started sharing a bed again, the air has been stale between them. Their peace was fragile, held by threads thinner than hair for almost a year since his return from the war with the boy in his arms. It might not have been a thread. It could’ve been a rope, thrice knotted, thrice over, holding them and their new family together. But the moment Ned placed that boy in a cradle next to his true born son…Catelyn could not bear it. And Ned would not listen to her pleas.
The frigid air was not a matter that kept him from her bed before, she was his wife, and he was free to bed her as he pleased. Even if he wasn’t pleased to do it often. Only once a week he came, and he never lingered in her arms, or her bed. And that was when she wished to speak to him properly on the matter of the boy. He would roll off her, pull on his clothes and walk out with a muttered goodbye and a half slammed door, a cold draft in his wake. And every time her pleas wrapped around her throat, tight like a noose. It tightened the longer she considered it. She was his wife, she had to remind herself. She was the Lord of Winterfell’s wife, but when did being a wife ever mean anything? I could have married a shepherd’s wife and my words would have meant all the same. A woman’s words would always turn to dust in a man's ears, when the man has only heard the bite of steel and the screams of dying men, he cannot bear the sound of peace.
She supposed she pitied him, but that was a placating lie she told herself, watching the sweat on his back dry, and his shoulders rise and fall with even breath as the night wore on, while her thoughts grew weary and tired. She fell asleep to the sound of her husband’s screams, ringing in her head.
The next few days passed without incident. Ned made no indication he wanted to discuss that night, and Catelyn made no effort to approach him during the day. She had done her duty by forgiving him. She needed not comfort him, especially when it was so clearly unwanted in the first place. They could live like this. They could be happy in the same place without the matter of being happy together . Did she not abandon her home to live at his side, and give him an heir? Did she not forget Brandon for him? Did she not vow to remain faithful to him, and kept that vow, even if he did not honour her the same? Yet they live on.
If the gods were cruel, if she did not have Robb, she feared her heart would grow hard and cold like her husband’s, but her boy only made it beat with a fiery passion. She would fight for her son’s place as Heir of Winterfell, she would fight her husband if needed. If not yesterday, then tomorrow, she would make Ned see that Family came first, true blooded Family. They are all that remain in the end. For now, he will only show her Winter, in all its polarising faces.
Despite her determination to abide by her distance, he did not stop coming to her bed again. And it grew more frequent. From once a week, to twice, to
thrice, to an entire seven nights by her side. And some nights, he would not bed her. He would hold her until she slept, tight in his big, strong arms, tucked under his chin until the scent of him faded into a dream. His warmth was startling, and pleasant, and she welcomed whatever heat she could get from his skin, even if she could not understand his presence. Time wore on, weeks of this new development. And where silence once lingered, tentative words took root. Whispered nothings in her ear as she slept, sweet endearments as she came apart around him, and rarely sober, honest words, when both were unflinchingly wide awake late into the night. She learned of his childhood, the games he loved to play with Benjen in the godswood. She learned he hated loud chewing, or speaking with a mouthful, and that Brandon found this most amusing in their youth. She learned that he disliked dancing, that he was so horrible at it, that one time he stumbled over so many delicate feet in a single dance that his father yanked him off the floor himself. She learned that she enjoyed these moments when the laughter flowed easily from her belly while he smiled at her. A smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made them sparkle.
So she was surprised at her own surprise when she discovered that her day no longer involved Robb, and just Robb. That she caught herself thinking of Ned. Of his quiet solitude on the godswood after taking a life, if his old wounds were hurting that day, if he dressed warm enough for the weather. She did not plead with him again.
It seemed she was thawing. Her bitterness, settling somewhere dark and buried within her, where the guilt scratched and chafed her raw.
And yet, some days, her thoughts lingered. On the weeks after his return, on their fall out, on the night she woke to her husband yelling in his sleep. But she did not ask Ned about his nightmare, because it did not happen again. Some nights, she made sure he fell asleep first just to watch him, to trace the smooth lines of his face and ensure they stayed that way. To confirm that it was a one night occurrence borne of a once tumultuous marriage.
That is why Catelyn smiled as she tucked herself into bed alone, knowing that her husband would soon join her as soon as he finished up in his solar, and they would rest together. The bed was cold without him, even after she shut her window, but she did not worry. Soon Ned will be there to warm it up. But the minutes bled into hours, and Catelyn could not keep herself awake. Eventually her eyes drooped shut, and she vaguely recalled a whisper of worry at her husband’s absence, one that was quenched by a dream of summer and rivers.
She woke in the night with a jolt, knowing something was wrong. Her window was open, cold air spilling from it in tides, making her shiver. Thick mist formed from her mouth from between chattering lips. Her eyes hazily moved around the black and blue room, blurry with sleep. The moon was past its zenith, and yet her husband was not in her bed. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, and wrenched the covers off her, welcoming the ice that drenched her awake.
The walk to Ned’s rooms grew colder and darker by the step. She wrapped her arms around herself, regretting taking the journey barefoot. When she reached his doorstep, she stopped, hesitating. She had never seen his room. I am his wife. She reminded herself. But did that word change anything between them? They spoke to each other softly in the confines of her room, perhaps his room was his haven away from his duties, including her. The thought made her ache, but still, she turned away. It was only when she placed her hand on the stone walls, did she come to a sudden halt. It did not just feel colder there, it actually was colder in this part of Winterfell. The stones in her room were never that cold, even with fire running low in the hearth. She glanced back warily at her husband’s door. Then, with renewed vigour, she picked up the hem of her nightgown and marched back. She did not even have the time to knock, the door opened revealing Ned, shirtless and purple eyed Ned.
He blinked several times, clearing the blur from his eyes. Her heart melted. He had only just stopped shaving for her sake, but the dark stubble on his jaw and the inward curve of his shoulders made him haggard beyond his years. He was shivering.
“Cat.” He said, surprised. His voice was rough from sleep, or from something else. Dread settled into her chest, taking him in from the bruises under his eyes, to the sweat running down the valleys of his chest.
“Ned.” She sighed, “What-Why didn’t come to bed?” She grimaced as she said the words. He was free to sleep in whichever rooms he desired, and was under no obligation to tell her about something as common as keeping a separate bed for the night. But she could not ask what happened to him, he would not answer her in any meaningful way.
He did not seem surprised by her question, but he stiffened his shoulders like he expected a fight. It hurt, but she stood her ground. “I did not wish to disturb your sleep, My Lady.”
“You were unsuccessful.”
He straightened.
“Are you angry with me?”
Catelyn averted her eyes, took a deep breath, “May I come inside?”
Ned looked at her for a long moment, and she did not know what he was thinking. It was as if the months they’ve spent together turned to mist before her eyes. Still, he opened the door wider, and stepped to the side to let her through. She held her breath walking past him, and didn’t release it until the door was shut and he stood in front of her by the bed.
His room was tidier than hers, she noticed. It smelled like him, like leather and woods and the musky scent of a fireplace. His desk was littered with papers and unfinished letters, and the lamp was still on. He had opened his window, letting the brisk night air bite at her fingers and bare toes, something assumed he only did in her chambers which he claimed were too warm for the Stark men. If the sweat on his body was any indication, he had just opened it, he had just woken up.
“Are you well, Cat?” Ned said, breaking the silence. She glanced at him. A cold draft gusted through the room, she wrapped her arms around herself. He stepped closer to her.
She took a step back, “Are you well, husband?”
He stopped, a hand in the air reaching for her dropped back to his side. He stared at her long and hard, clenching his jaw. But he only swallowed and turned away from her.
Catelyn found the last of her pitiful patience mist along with anything she knew of her husband. She threw her hands up, huffing an incredulous laugh, “Gods be good, Ned! Am I to believe all Stark men must choke on their words if they come from the heart. Will this be my son’s fate under your guidance?”
“Our son. Our son, Catelyn.” He whips towards her, eyes blazing.
She starts, stepping back, “That is what harrows you, my error in wording?”
“Yes. That is what harrows me.” Ned took a large step closer, so fast she had no time to step away. His eyes bulged in their sunken pockets, the pupils constricted as if staring into a pit of darkness, “My son is a hostage in my wife’s arms. He is so far away from me, it haunts me even in my sleep.”
Catelyn steps closer, and looks up so they are nose to nose. Molten, fiery rage courses her veins, far removed from the icy deflections he aims her way. “Listen to yourself, husband. You cannot face your own mind, so you turn the blame on me. I can take your indiscretions with a heavy heart, gods know I have, but I will not let you accuse me of depriving our son from his own father.”
He flinches at the mention of his infidelity, as if she offended him. “ Let me?”
“Diversions are unbecoming of you, Ned. You are no man built of desert sand so as to remain blind beyond what’s right in front of you for the sake of your own pride and ego.”
He growled, turning away and grabbing a fistful of the sweaty strands of his hair. She watched him, helpless, confused by his own emotions, and she pitied him. She truly pitied this man she once thought built from stone and iron who could not bend his own will for his sake.
“You dreamed of Robb tonight.” He didn’t answer her, but it’s all the answer she needed. Her breath wavered, “Did I take him from you?”
He paused for only moment, “No. No, It was my doing.” His back was still to her, muscles quivering, “Some…choices I’ve made, that I do not regret in daylight. They unfold in the night like a cursed scroll I do nothing to stop.”
Catelyn swallows an outburst, but her blood thrums. He has kept secrets from her, it was hardly news. Dangerous secrets, ones that would put Robb on the chopper’s block? The thought of it turned her stomach inside out.
He turned back, as if hearing her thoughts. His face was red, and his chest was gleaming like he’d emerged from a fight. Through the fog that clouded his eyes, she saw the fear, and solitude he kept from her. The effort it took to say his next words. “I do not know what comes next. It is easier to believe what I see, even if what I see is in the darkness.” His voice broke, “What am I not seeing, wife?”
She looked up at him, and it burned like it would on the brightest day of Winter. The words stuck like stones in her throat, “Me.” His jaw clenched, maybe he expected that answer. She hesitated, then reached for the clenched hand at his side, pulling it to her chest over her pounding heart. He watched her, lips parting as she breathed her words over his warm skin, “I have always been here, Ned. Beside you. Since our wedding day, I’ve been bound to you-”
“Bound to me , not to my pains.” He tried to pull his hand away, but she held fast.
“You and your pains.” She pried his fingers to spread flat on her chest, “And whatever fears ail you in the night. Whatever kept you from coming to me tonight and every other night we spent apart.”
His eyes flickered over her face, and when he gently pulled his hand away, she let him. He sat on the edge of the bed facing her, resting his head in his clasped hands. A shaky sigh left him, Catelyn stiffened thinking he was about to cry, but his voice was as clear as rain when he spoke. “I am haunted by memories, Cat.” She swallowed, and dropped to her knees in front of him, where his eyes met hers. They were red rimmed, hollow and dark. “I can’t talk about it-I can’t think about it.” He breathed a deep, hot breath into his palm, “The darkness-” He shook his head, the air of shame thickening around him.
Catelyn reached for him, and he fell into her arms, shaking. She knew he would not weep, but the terror would simply leech from his skin while she held him close. Her heart ached for her husband, who was not cold or unfeeling, but a man who had seen terrors and held them close to his heart. Her heart sang with fear, for her son, who’s threatened by a danger she’s unaware of, and likely won’t ever be. But she kept on stroking Ned’s damp hair and rubbing his stiff back, until it felt like hours had passed, and the darkness was chased by rays of sunlight sprinkled through the room. She nuzzled his neck and whispered into his ear.
“Come back to bed, Ned.”
His head came away from her neck. He avoided looking at her, but he looked at the window, where golden flecks danced in the air. A breath left him, the gust of a new day. He turned to her, looking lighter than a feather as the sunlight brightened his face. All of his sharp edges melted away.
Catelyn was standing up, pulling him to his feet, but he tugged on her arm, stopping her. His eyes were soft, he licked his lips before asking. “Did I…hurt you when I woke you that night? I- I know I move-” Catelyn put her fingers on his lips and drew him up, so that his body was aligned with hers and she could look up at him. He nodded, but he didn’t smile.
“It’s better with you. Lately it feels like most things are, but this, me and my pains…It’s been better” He said, “It’s not as real. And I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”
They’re simple words but they warmed Catelyn’s chest, cracking her open, thawing whatever sourness remained in her. She suppressed a halfway giddy smile, and eyed the shape of his face, “Maybe that’s for the best.”
His lips twitched, and he nodded more surely, “Yes. Maybe it is.”
They would be woken in less than an hour, so they did not sleep. They spent the hour in Ned’s bed, with his fingers twirling the auburn strands of her hair, and her hand stracing the scars on his chest. They did not speak of his nightmares, and they didn’t need to. While she calmed his fears, she would not ask what they were, and while he held her close, she knew he would never answer her if she did.
This warmth was enough for now, she was content. And perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps one day he would tell her, when she wasn’t the Shepherd’s wife, when she wasn’t the Lord of Winterfell’s wife, when she became Ned Stark’s wife, the only one he loved.