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Winterfell was not Winterfell without her husband. It was so strange to Catelyn to be alone, to wander through the corridors by herself and to take her meals in silence, merely surrounded by her servants, particularly after the sun had set, as with Ned she had formed the habit of eating late, long after they had kissed their children good-night.
The children… They were too young to understand where their father had gone, would ask for him night by night and night by night she would tell them the same, would tell them that he had ridden South to serve the king, that perhaps one day there would be a song about his courage, sung in the entire realm…
Their youngest, Arya, was but a babe, oblivious to the occurrences around her, unaware that her father was leagues and leagues away but how glad she was for it, how at peace she found herself in the moments she was holding her within her arms, at times unwilling to ever release her. And Robb… Sansa… How much they had grown and yet how little they were still, in such need of protection and too young to learn about war, too young to learn about battles… One day they would be forced to face the world, to perhaps look into the eye of war, but the time had not yet come and Catelyn would do everything to preserve their innocence, their carelessness as long as she was able to.
How despairingly she desired to make a promise to them, to promise that soon he would return, that he would return at all, but how could she? How could she possibly speak out what burnt so upon her lips and yet not know whether or not it was the truth, how could she possibly consider betraying her children’s trust at such a young age, by raising hope within them, only to find it shattered by the time they learned the truth? No. No, she would not, could not promise what lay beyond her power to promise but she smiled, smiled at them with such affection as she began to tell quiet tales of their father’s bravery, her voice slowly fading into silence as she noticed that sleep had gently taken them.
Of course she worried. Of course Catelyn worried, worried for her husband every day, every night, kneeling down in the small sept Ned had given order to be built for her to pray to each the Seven for his safe return… She would even visit the godswood, feeling a stranger, an outsider as she sat down beneath the heart tree yet closing her eyes to feel the Old Gods amongst her, and to plead for their mercy. Of course she worried… Of course she worried as they had spent six years together in Winterfell, six years of such peace, such bliss… Six years until Robert had called once more, torn him from his home once more, once more given order to go into war…
It was his duty to go, not only a matter of honour, a matter of loyalty but also of friendship and yet Ned had waited, had awaited the day of little Arya’s birth despite Catelyn’s urging him to leave, despite her concern… He had waited, had waited merely to hold his youngest within his arms, his youngest that resembled him so beyond belief, had waited to kiss his wife good-bye as she lay weakened within her bed and ridden South the same night, long after darkness had fallen.
Winterfell was not Winterfell without her husband. It had long become her home, had long lost its coldness, its unfamiliarity and become her home, her beloved home that at times she so foolishly believed to know better than she had known even Riverrun. But it was not the same without him, was not the same without her Ned as never before he had left her behind for longer than a day, as never before she had been alone…
She had not forgotten about the first time he had gone into war, had not forgotten that indeed one time before he had left her behind, and yet she had still been in Riverrun then, had not yet travelled North with him and stayed within her girlhood home, frightened and overjoyed at once as there was a child growing within her, as by the time of his…
She had not forgotten, had not forgotten about anything as how could she possibly forget? How could she possibly… But it would not be the same. It would not be the same, as hadn’t they scarcely known each other then? Hadn’t they been strangers to one another and so young still? Of course it would not be the same… The past years in Winterfell had changed them, had changed them both… They had grown to love each other, had grown to love each other so beyond words, had grown to be not only husband and wife but also best friends, confidants. How afraid she was for him…
Winterfell was not Winterfell without her husband, was not Winterfell without her Ned. But the raven bearing the message of King Robert’s victory arrived before dawn, reaching Catelyn as soon as Maester Luwin deemed it an appropriate time to knock at her bedchamber’s door, unaware that she had woken from her sleep mere minutes before, causing her to tremble with joy.
He would return to Winterfell after nightfall and she promised herself to wait for him, making a silent vow to wait until once more she would hear his quiet steps resound within the corridors, promised herself that she would not grant sleep to take her until she was certain that he was here, that her Ned was here…
But weariness had overwhelmed her fast, had caused her to fade mere minutes after she had closed the door behind her back and laid down within her bed, had caused her to believe it to be a dream at first as heard his steps so close, as though he had entered her chamber, a dream as she felt his gentle touch upon her skin…
Briefly, only briefly she opened her eyes and there he was, there he was right beside her… Ned. He was here, truly, he had returned... He was home at last.
