#catelyn iv

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Catelyn IV

Visenya’s Hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers.

Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century.

The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong.

And above it all, frowning down from Aegon’s high hill, was the Red Keep, seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archer’s nests, all fashioned of pale red stone.

Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it.

Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.

Yet now the banners that flew from its battlements were golden, not black, and where the three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

[ladystoneboobs]

[Cat, to Brienne:]"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. [...]" -Catelyn VII, aCoK

ok, this is another thing that makes me feel like i'm taking crazy pills bc i never see it talked about with all the implications behind it. so if anyone is more versed in androgynous medievalish clothing, feel free to correct me here, but my thinking is if unannounced visitors mistook arya for a stableboy, would that not mean she was wearing boyish riding garb, trousers and all? bc if she was running around with messy hair and a dirty gown, wouldn't she more likely be seen as a female servant? if my reading is not wildly offbase that does not jibe with the idea of arya being terrorized all day by both septa mordane and her mother to be more ladylike. rather, this limited freedom to be mistaken for a servant could suggest that pragmatic catelyn was picking her battles with arya too, not forcing her to always appear prim and proper on days when they were not expecting any guests to see her. catelyn "despaired of ever making a lady of" arya, though neither she nor ned could abandon the goal, which could mean a more measured approach, not exhausting herself by going after arya for every unladylike move she made, especially when she was still a prepubescent child. the quote above starts a paragraph which ends with catelyn feeling "as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest" after saying she thought arya was dead like bran and rickon, after no word of her since ned's arrest. in that context of grief, i think all her words about arya should be read as coming with bittersweet fondness, just being honest about their problems, not sugarcoating any of it.

but let's compare catelyn's trials with arya, including her often running around looking like a stableboy, to arya's interactions with lady smallwood, somehow seen as an even better mother-figure than her own mother, whom arya found easier to comply with bc of her kinder manner. first of all, lady smallwood's efforts to make arya ladylike included two baths and two dresses in one day after arya and gendry ruined the first dress, before finally giving her boy's riding clothes to leave in. i would argue a full second bath was unneeded when they could have just washed the dirt off her face and hands, and, furthermore, that both the dresses were an impractical waste when she knew arya would be riding back out with the outlaws and could not look a highborn lady when doing so. idt pragmatic catelyn would have gone to all that trouble just to make arya look ladylike for a few hours when there were no other ladies around. as for the claim that arya found it easier to comply with her? no, that's just flat-out demonstrably false. the text says she was "forced" into a tub and "they insisted" she wear girl's clothes. what room did she have to refuse as a hostage in a stranger's castle? she certainly felt no compunction about fighting gendry in the acorn dress she'd been forced into, and only felt bad about it afterward when lady smallwood talked about her dead son.

now, let's move on to the only canon quotes we have from cat to/about arya in arya's pov.

"Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith." -Arya I, aGoT Her father had hunted boar in the wolfswood with Robb and Jon. Once he even took Bran, but never Arya, even though she was older. Septa Mordane said boar hunting was not for ladies, and Mother only promised that when she was older she might have her own hawk. -Arya V, aCoK Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. -The Blind Girl(/Arya I), aDwD

in the first quote we don't know catelyn's reaction to septa mordane's rude disapproval of arya, certainly not if she agreed with it. what we do know is she was not interested in only hearing endless praise of sansa and wanted to hear if arya had made any progress. although admittedly that was a vain hope, which ignored arya's true strengths and the possibility that she could never master and enjoy needlework the way catelyn did.

the second quote better shows the difference between arya's mother and her septa. catelyn does not criticize arya for wanting to hunt boar nor dismiss her interest. instead she tries to mollify arya and accomodate her desire with the promise of a future hunting hawk. that this was a promise, not just an idle thought, suggests this would have happened in due time and could have been a bonding activity for them if the plot hadn't intervened.

the third quote is definitely a backhanded compliment and doubly unhelpful in comparison to sansa, but at least it shows catelyn did not think one of her own daughters was ugly. she thought both were pretty even tho sansa was the more admired as traditionally beautiful, and she thought arya's looks were held back by her messy hair and clothes. (useful to remember for those fans who like to keep track of how many characters called arya pretty vs. how many call her ugly.)

yes, it is a bad sign that arya genuinely wondered if her mother would want her back, dirtier than ever in her disguise as a peasant boy. their relationship definitely had faults which the adult parent must bear responsibility for. but we must remember that arya also worried if robb would pay a ransom for her, and was most ashamed about the people she'd killed, and couldn't bear the thought of ned knowing all she'd done. and we must keep in mind that even ned never openly gainsaid septa mordane on-page either, and that arya desperately wanted to renunite with her mother and felt confident gendry could stay with her if she vouched for him with her mother. that confidence would seem completely unwarranted if their mother/daughter relationship was as utterly bad as some fans make out.

[kingcunny]

thinking about how sansa and cat have so much internalized violence while arya has had to actually Do the violence, but is the one afraid cat wont want her back…

[kuorena]

The white tears and the red ones ran together until her face was torn and tattered, the face that Ned had loved. Catelyn Stark raised her hands and watched the blood run down her long fingers, over her wrists, beneath the sleeves of her gown. Slow red worms crawled along her arms and under her clothes. It tickles. That made her laugh until she screamed.

requested by @divorciada and @springwolves

[dipperscavern]

GEORGE MARTIN I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD YOURE GOING TO WAKE UP IN THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE

what the fuck do you MEAN LADY CATELYN HUNG BRIENNE??? FUCKING PODRICK?? WHAT THE FUCK

THIS IS A BAD DREAM. SOMEONE PINCH ME GODDAMNIT

[ihaveastorminme]

Every time littlefinger calls cathlyn "catt", i want to slit his throat

[translannisters]

Diversity win! This literal prison colony is also a metaphorical prison Also: we examine the exact dialectical relationship between Littlefinger and Satin, and Ned Stark invents the "Let Baratheon Be Baratheon" campaign slogan Chapters: Catelyn IV, Jon III, Eddard IV

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Devotion

Summary: He loves his wife so dearly and still he has loved Robert for as long as he can remember. He despises Robert for knocking on their door so late at night and yet he follows him outside

Did someone say nedbert fic? Did someone also say nedcat fic? Probably not but that’s what I have for you. Enjoy!

Catelyn’s skin was so soft as he kissed it. He could feel the smell of her hair as he nuzzled her nose into the crook of her neck. The sweet, somewhat flowery scent. The scent of his lady.

The way she flushed red as he kissed her, it never grew any less lovely. Starting at her cheeks, travelling down her neck and over her chest. It rose and fell with every breath she took, increasing in speed as her breathing quickened. Quick, shallow breaths escaping slightly parted lips. Perfect lips.

Her eyes gleamed as he opened her robe, let his lips run down her chest. Gently he kissed every inch of her that he could reach, ran his tongue over every mark and line that bearing their children had left on her, listened to the way her breath hitched as he hit a spot she liked particularly much. He lingered there until her hands in his hair forced him lower. She had only so much patience.

He placed a kiss just beneath her navel before standing upright again, looking into her eyes.

“I do love that stomach of yours” he told her.

The lines that had turned almost silver since Rickon’s birth never ceased to strike him as the most beautiful thing. He loved how soft all their children had turned her, how one could tell she had given him heirs.

“So put another child in it” she said, smiling. “It would be even more beautiful then.”

She took his hands, slowly backing towards the bed with him following. Never did she look away from him, never did her smile leave her lips.

As she sat on the edge of the bed he kneeled before her. For a moment he turned his face up, drank in the sight of her. Stronger than any wine he had ever tasted. Her hair falling over her shoulders, gleaming like fire in the light of the heart. Her flushed cheeks, her soft smile.

“My love” she sighed. “You are going awfully slow.”

“Am I?”

He placed a quick kiss on the inside of her knee. Barely had he leaned away again before she had woven her fingers into his hair once more. He expected her to bring his mouth to between her legs where she so clearly wanted him to be, but instead she leaned down to kiss him.

“Make love to me” she whispered as they parted. “Please.”

As he stood up and began to undress she shed her robe and threw it to the foot of the bed. Taking one’s clothes off required no large amount of intelligence, but his hands seemed to grow worthless as he looked upon his wife.

Though soon he was in her arms, settling between her legs. Was there a sweeter feeling than the pleasure of their bodies joining? Was there a prettier sound than Catelyn’s soft moan as he pushed inside her? Was there a more beautiful sight than seeing her tilt her head slightly backwards, her lips parted and her eyelids heavy?

The thought barely had time to disappear from his mind before someone knocked on the door.

“My lord, the king–“ began a soft voice.

Desmond was interrupted by a banging on the door so hard Ned for a moment feared it would fall of its hinges.

He heard how Catelyn drew a sharp breath beneath him, though not from pleasure. When he looked at her he noticed she had turned her eyes towards the door, looking at it like a frightened deer.

“Ned!” shouted a man on the other side.

There was no mistaking Robert’s voice. If only Robert had not been king. If only he had been the man Ned knew in his youth, the friend he had grown up alongside. If only he had been simply Robert.

“I know you’re in there!”

Catelyn had pushed him off her before he had time to move himself.

“What an honour to have the king knocking on my door” she muttered as she reached for her robe again. “I wonder whatever reason he could have for it.”

Ned had to walk naked through the chamber to take his own robe from the wardrobe. After having wrapped it around himself he threw a glance at Catelyn to make sure she was covered. She was once again sitting on the edge of the bed, that time with the robe completely covering her body and a rather disgruntled look on her face. Her hair was still somewhat messy from the pillows.

“Good evening, Your Grace” Ned said as he opened the door. “How come you knock on my wife’s chamber door so late at night?”

“I want to speak with her husband.”

Despite that it was so late at night Robert did not appear to be drunk. There was not even a slight slur as he spoke, he didn’t sway on his feet. During the king’s time in Winterfell he hadn’t been sober once, at least as far as Ned was aware.

It was strange to see him so calm after he had almost beaten the door off its hinges. Maybe he just didn’t know how to properly knock. There was so much force in him.

“Can we not speak on the morrow?” Ned asked.

He would rather go back to his bed and his wife. Most nights he spent with her he made sure they knew he would rather not be disturbed. Not always because there was something to interrupt the way Robert had, but because he enjoyed having a calm night with his lady. At that very moment all he wished was that Robert had respected what poor Desmond told him. It had been almost two weeks since he and Catelyn had last found peace enough to lay with each other.

“I’m the king and I want to speak with you now.”

“I’m sure my lady wife–“ he began, only to be betrayed by the lady wife in question.

Catelyn had left the bed and moved to stand beside him. He could feel her place a hand on his lower back.

“He’s all yours, Your Grace” she said.

Her hand on his back said something else. Though she had little choice. Robert was a king. Ned could protest because the king was his friend, she could not. He wished she had let him talk Robert out of it.

“Might he dress first?” Ned asked.

If he was to leave the chamber he wanted more clothes than a robe.

Robert looked at him for a moment, his eyes turning downwards as if he hadn’t really noticed Ned was wearing nothing but his robe.

“In this seven times damned cold you’d freeze your cock off if you didn’t. And we wouldn’t want that, would we, Catelyn?”

Ned was surprised at the chuckle that came from his wife at that.

“No, it would pain me” she said.

Catelyn had never been ashamed of particularly much, merely proper. Aware of how she presented herself without being dismayed at most everything. His sometimes rather bawdy lords had taken a liking to her quickly after she became their lady. And still Ned was taken aback by her reaction.

“Not more than it would pain me” he told her.

Robert laughed at that. His laugh was as loud and booming as ever, even as he wasn’t drunk.

If he had to choose there were other parts of him he would rather lose to frostbite. A couple of fingers he could do without, he’d like to keep his manhood.

“I’d have to dress in black for mourning” Catelyn said.

Once again Robert laughed. Ned could feel himself smiling, somewhat against his will. Catelyn gave him a look that tattled on just how satisfied she was with herself at the moment before drawing back into the room again. As he looked at Robert again he heard how she opened a drawer of her dressing table.

“Black never was my wife’s colour so to spare her from having to wear it I’ll get dressed” he told Robert. “I shall be with you shortly.”

“I’ll be waiting for you outside the keep.”

He only had time to close the door and turn back to face the room again before Catelyn’s lips were on his. One hand in his hair and the other opening his robe again.

“What are you doing?” Ned managed to get out.

“Twice he’s taken you from me, and soon he’s doing it again” Catelyn said rather firmly. “He can wait a little while, it will not kill him.”

“You want me to go south with him.”

Even before Lysa’s letter she had urged him to go, told him it was necessary. For the future of their house, for all it could give them, he had to go south. And after the letter it was to protect Robert and uncover the truth.

“I wish he had never come here, but I know you have to go. You couldn’t refuse his offer.”

He leaned down to catch her lips in another kiss. They had already spoken about it, he felt no desire to do so again. And it would be unwise to keep Robert waiting for too long. Catelyn seemed to agree with him.

The sense of urgency took the enjoyment out of it, at least for him. And he noticed as he tried to make Catelyn reach her pleasure with a hand that it took much longer than it usually did. The frustration was apparent on her face even after he managed to touch her in a way that made her come undone. As she pushed him to his back and straddled him it was hard to think of anything but that she didn’t look very satisfied.

“Catelyn, we don’t–“ he began.

If she didn’t want it he didn’t want to do it.

“No, I need it.”

He couldn’t remember it having been so bad since they grew close with each other. Since it had been so much more duty than pleasure. His body told him it felt good but his mind seemed to be of a different opinion, he had to focus to be able to come at all. Even as she seemed to use every trick she knew.

They stay joined for a moment after he had finished and Catelyn seemed to soften then. As she leaned down and kissed him before moving away. He was glad for that kiss.

Ned was silent as he dressed, his wife was just as silent. She pulled the furs over herself and turned her back to him, he would have believed her to be asleep if it hadn’t been for that her breathing was wrong. It had started so good, he had liked it so much, slowly taking in every inch of her. Then it had all been ruined. He felt somewhat filthy for a reason he could not say.

“I will not object should you wake me upon your return” she mumbled just as he was about to leave. “If that is your wish, of course.”

Usually those words would have him seeing the beauty of it before him. His mind spinning, dreaming of how he would come back to find her still wet and wanting for him, how he would take her again. He would most likely feel it later. When he came back knowing what she had promised him.

“Hopefully I won’t be long.”

The sky was clear above them, the moon and the stars watching over the castle. The clear nights were the coldest, whatever reason could Robert have for wanting to go outside? He had done nothing but complain about cold and summer snows since he arrived there.

Robert stood and looked up at the starry sky with a member of his king’s guard next to him. Only as Ned came closer to them did he see it was Ser Jaime. One could never escape the damn Lannisters.

“Robert” Ned said.

He had meant to call him by his royal title, but his name was what had escaped. It seemed he would never get used to it.

“Leave us, Ser Jaime” Robert said instead of greeting Ned in return.

“Your Grace, it is my duty to–“

“Ned, when was someone last murdered within your castle walls?”

Then Robert looked down at him, his eyes could have been stars. He had been so handsome once, what had happened? Was it the throne that had made him so or had it been inevitable? Was it grief over what had happened during the war that had made him resort to drinking? Or had he always been to fond of the pleasures of life?

“Hasn’t happened during my time as lord” Ned responded. “Not in my lifetime, I believe.”

Not that he could remember. Though there had been no kings to visit in his lifetime.

“And do you believe your people to be loyal to their king?”

He knew the people of his castle, almost as if they were his own blood. They wouldn’t harm a king, even a southern one.

“I do.”

“Listen to Lord Stark and leave us.”

The hand that rested on the hilt of his sword seemed to grip a little tighter.

“Yes, my king.”

The bitterness in Jaime’s voice shone through, at least to Ned.

Robert began walking away, seemingly without a clear plan as to where. Ned followed him, but glanced over his shoulder at Ser Jaime. He had moved to stand by the doors to the keep together with the household guards, seemingly opting to not go inside. He had to be cold in that armour, it wasn’t meant for the North.

“Cersei has started asking to return south sooner than planned” Robert told him.

“I’m not surprised.”

While she remained civil at least in front of Catelyn she had also made it no secret that she disliked the north. Too cold, too dull, too stern. Without colour and life. Ned would have taken offence if it hadn’t been for that many people of the south shared her opinion.

“She’s a thorn in my side, the golden bitch.”

“And still you need her.”

Robert might have disliked his queen, but she was still his queen. Her children were Robert’s heirs, the eldest would be king after him.

“I need her family’s money.”

That couldn’t be denied.

“Do you love Catelyn?” Robert then asked.

Was there another word for it? She was his Cat, had been so for years. He appreciated her company more than anyone else’s, didn’t see the appeal in other people’s beds anymore. She was the one he desired, the one he felt safe with. It had been that way for years.

“I do” he said.

After all their years together, after everything they had slowly built, how could he not? They had made children, given each other love.

“You didn’t marry her for love.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He had married her for her father’s armies. The rest had come later. Of course he hadn’t been happy about leaving her behind in Riverrun during the rebellion, she was his wife after all, but he hadn’t really missed her. When he left her to beat back the Greyjoys as she was expecting Arya it had hurt. He had missed her, spent the nights thinking about the day when he could be back in her arms again.

“When did you know it was love?”

Maybe during the Greyjoy rebellion. Maybe when she placed Sansa in his arms for the first time. Maybe when she kissed him after he told her he was to build her a sept. Maybe when he returned from the Greyjoy rebellion and they made love to each other from sunset to sunrise.

“You have an awful lot of questions.”

And Ned didn’t have an answer to all of them. When had he known it was love? He couldn’t say. He couldn’t remember the first time he had thought of that he loved her. He couldn’t remember first time he had told her he loved her. He just knew he did.

“It feels unfair you get to love your wife while mine gives me nothing but hell” was Robert’s response to that.

“You are free to love whoever you wish, you’re the king” Ned reminded him. “And your queen has given you children, they cannot possibly be hell.”

“You get to be happy in your marriage, you don’t understand.”

No, he didn’t understand. He was aware of that Cersei Lannister wasn’t as sweet as she looked, he understood Robert wasn’t happy with her. But the misery of their existence together that he had glimpsed during their time in Winterfell, that he didn’t understand.

“Your marriage to her certainly hasn’t stopped you from looking elsewhere.”

Ned almost believed the whores in Wintertown had grown richer than he was during the royal visit. According to Catelyn both Tyrion Lannister and the king were generous in their payments. She had overheard it from two of the women in the kitchen as she went there to search for Bran and Rickon. ‘Soon we’ll be able to raise the taxes without them complaining’ she had muttered.

“Though I will never share a life with someone worth loving. The fucking Targaryens took that from me.”

In the end everything always came back to Lyanna. No matter where they turned, no matter where they walked, it was always her. And even she was just a fantasy for him. She hadn’t wanted to marry him, especially not after he had his first bastard.

“You didn’t know her like I did” Ned said. “You don’t know what they took from you.”

He braced himself for the anger that would flare up in Robert as he said it, though nothing came. The fury of the Baratheons stayed calm.

“We should have been family, you and I. Not spend the rest of our lives apart from one another. You up here, buried beneath winter snows and I stuck in that city forsaken by the gods.”

As they turned around a corner Robert stopped and looked at Ned once more. A visible shiver went through his body and he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. It must have been the largest cloak Ned had ever seen. Golden with a crowned black stag embroidered on it. A cloak for for a king.

“When you return to that city I’m coming with you.”

Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He didn’t want to leave Catelyn and two of his sons behind in Winterfell, he would despise every moment of it. King’s Landing wasn’t where he belonged. Though still there was a small joy in knowing it would mean less of a burden for his friend. He had known Robert since they were boys, loved Robert since they were boys.

“That’s the only relief I have” Robert chuckled. “Knowing it will be you and I again. Gods, those were better times.”

“Well, they were certainly easier.”

Everything had been so easy. Spending their days doing whatever they wanted, taking every chance they got to drive Jon halfway to madness. He was sure Catelyn would have been wide eye and stuttering had she got to know half of it.

“Less of a charm to it now that Jon won’t be there to yell at us when we take things too far” he added.

“In his last years it was mostly the other way around, but damn I miss the man.”

And Ned hadn’t even been there when he died. It had been years since the last time he saw Jon Arryn. And now Jon Arryn was dead and all that remained of his youth was Robert.

“As do I.”

Ned looked up at the clear sky above them, at the stars. Did Jon look down on them from one of the seven heavens he had believed in? Did he know? Did he fear for Robert as Ned did?

Suddenly Robert had taken him by the arm and forced him to look down again.

“I’ll never let you leave me again, Ned” he said.

“Was it me who left you? I’m not the one who came out of the war a king.”

“You left me down south.”

“I became Lord of Winterfell, I had no choice.”

“You could have had a seat on my council.”

“And who was to govern the North? My boy of less than a year? My southron bride?”

“I don’t care, damnit, I care about having you by my side.”

“And I will be.”

Many years ago they had walked different paths and Ned had been sure of that he would never be side by side with Robert again. Though there he stood with Robert holding his arm. There was a desperation for in his eyes Ned could not recall having ever seen before. Anger, joy, grief, lust, fear, he had seen it all. But he hadn’t seen desperation.

There were traces of the beauty he had possessed in his youth still left in him. His eyes were the same, clear and blue. His hair and beard black as coal. As Robert held his arm they were so close to each other their breaths became one cloud between them when they looked at each other.

“Like when we were young” Robert said.

“Like when we were young.”

Except for that it was different, so very different. Or maybe it was Ned that remembered it wrong. Neither of them were shaven clean anymore, and Robert’s body against his didn’t immediately feel right. It could have been all the years with Catelyn that made it so. Though they were not so unlike each other, there was a hunger in them.

Robert moved his hands to Ned’s shoulders as they kissed, held onto him as if he would suddenly disappear. Ned didn’t know when he had grabbed the front of Robert’s clothes, burying his fists in the fabric, he just knew he was doing it.

He was the king’s man, was he not? The king’s hand. What was he to do if not serve? If not show Robert his devotion?

Before he knew it Robert’s hands on his shoulders had pushed him down on his knees. Gods, he was strong. Not as strong as he had been when they were young, but still enough for it to be impressive. Strong enough for Ned to be in awe.

It had been so long since Ned kneeled for a man. Since he had wed Catelyn he had stayed loyal to her, even if he in the beginning had been somewhat put off by the idea of her. She was a woman, he had never been very drawn to them. Though he had found that women worked as well as men, at least she did. She was the only woman he had ever been with. The only one he had loved.

Still he didn’t hesitate, moved his hands up to undo the laces of Robert’s breeches. With his gloves on it was somewhat hard, but he managed it. He knew neither of them could take off their gloves in the cold, but he would have liked to feel the roughness of Robert’s hands again.

He was already hard when Ned wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and took the tip into his mouth. The taste of salt as he licked off the fluid that had already spilled from him was somehow surprising. He had forgotten he somehow enjoyed it.

Robert grabbed his hair, forced him to take him deeper. He had to suppress the urge to gag, stopped for a moment to breathe through his nose so that he wouldn’t suffocate. He was rusty.

Though Robert didn’t seem to have anything to complain about. At least as far as Ned could tell from the sounds he made when he began moving his head. Running his lips and tongue up and down his cock.

Robert was rather rough, didn’t seem to consider Ned’s comfort at all, he didn’t care so much. He had always been rough, Ned had never minded. As he came close to reaching his pleasure he began thrusting into Ned’s mouth and once again he almost gagged. For a moment he wondered what it was that made him different from the whores of Wintertown then and there. Could it be anything but love?

“Ned” Robert groaned, tightening the grip on his hair.

Then Ned moved away, sitting back on his heels. He was out of breath as he looked up at the king.

“I’m too old to swallow” he told him.

His knees were aching. Soft snow covered the ground and still it hurt to kneel. His neck had also seen better days. Since last time he had grown old.

Robert finished himself with a hand as Ned found his feet again. As it was all over he felt cold. He had left Catelyn in her bedchamber only to go and do that. And while he couldn’t say he had not enjoyed it he knew it was all wrong.

“Too old to swallow, but the years have not taken your skilled tongue from you” Robert said, sounding just as out of breath.

“I have maintained it.”

He bent down to brush snow from his clothes. It had already began to melt, leaving wet patches on him.

Catelyn was also rather fond of his tongue and he didn’t mind using it. There was a pleasure in pleasing, in tasting and listening to what it made the other feel.

“I don’t know if I envy you or Cat more.”

Ned was fairly certain of that he himself didn’t envy neither Robert nor Cersei in the least. He missed Robert, he did. Though was it right? What he had done, was it the right thing? Most likely not. But then and there it had felt good.

“Why would you envy her?”

“Your hers, are you not?”

Ned had never known Robert to hesitate about taking what he wanted. Why was he saying that when he had already taken Ned? He was leaving his home, his wife, to serve Robert.

He couldn’t look at Robert any longer, turned his back to him. He waited until the king had laced up his breeches before he began walking back towards the keep. The night didn’t seem so pleasant anymore, the stars must have judged him.

Robert followed him, silent for once. All Ned heard was his heavy steps, the snow that creaked under his feet.

Ser Jaime was still standing by the doors to the keep, Ned didn’t look at him as one of the guards opened the door so he could enter.

“The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair” Jaime muttered as Ned passed him.

“Better that than a kingslayer.”

All the way up until when he was about to pass her door he was certain of that he was walking towards his own bedchamber. He could not join her in her bed after having pleasured the king with his mouth. Though she had to be asleep by then. He knew his wife, she had probably been asleep before he had closed the door behind him. He didn’t want to be alone. It was selfish.

Just as he had suspected Catelyn was asleep when he entered her chamber. Curled up underneath the furs, just as she had been when he left her. Lost in her peaceful slumber, unknowing. His wife, his Catelyn. What had he done?

He undressed as quietly as he could, did everything to avoid waking her despite that he knew she always slept heavily. Ever since Rickon no longer needed her attention at night she had been near impossible to accidentally wake.

He didn’t take her into his arms, merely slipped into the bed beside her and turned his back to her. It would have felt wrong to do so as if nothing had happened. Though of course he had barely settled before she had turned to him in her sleep and laid an arm over him, her hand resting on his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to push her away even as the betrayal hung over him like a sword above a doomed man’s neck. Instead he took her hand, weaved their fingers together, held them over his heart. The familiarity of it was almost overwhelming. How was he to survive leaving her behind in Winterfell?

“Too tired?” she sighed.

It took a moment for him to realise she was awake, that she was not merely mumbling in her sleep.

“Exhausted” he responded gently.

She moved even closer to him, pressed herself against him. Even as she had been beneath the furs she was cold.

“Me too.”

He felt how she placed a gentle kiss on his neck before letting her head rest against the pillows again. A moment later she had drifted off to sleep once more.

She had told Robert Ned was all his, that was most likely not what she had meant.

[coollikeacaterpillar]

“It is no disgrace to miss your shot,” her uncle told her quietly. “Edmure should hear that. The day my own lord father went downriver, Hoster missed as well.”

Edmure missing his shots because he was grieving is something that is so understandable. Clearly. Nobody in the books is laughing at him. The show took this moment and made it the butt of a joke at Edmure’s expense again. Just another reason to hate the show. 

[gendrie]

gurm ending arya i in agot before arya and catelyn had a chance to actually interact on page was so stupid and fucked up i hate him 

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Catelyn IV

“Lord Baelish tells me that I have you to thank for bringing me here.”

Varys giggled like a little girl. “Oh, yes. I suppose I am guilty. I hope you forgive me, kind lady.”

He eased himself down into a seat and put his hands together. “I wonder if we might trouble you to show us the dagger?”

Catelyn Stark stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. He was a spider, she thought wildly, an enchanter or worse. He knew things no one could possibly know, unless…

“What have you done to Ser Rodrik?” she demanded.

Littlefinger was lost. “I feel rather like the knight who arrives at the battle without his lance. What dagger are we talking about? Who is Ser Rodrik?”

“Ser Rodrik Cassel is master-at-arms at Winterfell,” Varys informed him. “I assure you, Lady Stark, nothing at all has been done to the good knight. He did call here early this afternoon. He visited with Ser Aron Santagar in the armory, and they talked of a certain dagger. About sunset, they left the castle together and walked to that dreadful hovel where you were staying. They are still there, drinking in the common room, waiting for your return. Ser Rodrik was very distressed to find you gone.”

“How could you know all that?”

“The whisperings of little birds,” Varys said, smiling.

“I know things, sweet lady. That is the nature of my service.” He shrugged.

[ladystoneboobs]

wrt valonqar speculation, if the valonqar is allowed to be someone else's unrelated younger sibling, let's stretch that to use the "but maester aemon said gender doesn't matter in hv" clause to mean the valonqar is not even restricted to being a younger brother either. that makes just as much sense as noting the prophecy says the valonqar, not your valonqar. what if cersei is killed by someone else's sister who keeps a lannister vendetta list? no, i don't mean arya stark, dummies. i mean her undead mother, lady stoneheart!

but catelyn was an eldest child, not anyone's younger sibling you say? wrong! "Her two older brothers had both died in infancy", meaning she was actually a younger, thirdborn child. if the valonqar is not restricted to cersei's own brothers, and could be younger siblings in general, why not count someone who was a younger sister only to two dead brothers she never knew? of all the non-lannister younger siblings, did anyone else specifically dream of strangling cersei? ("dream of riding to King's Landing and wrapping my hands around Cersei Lannister's white throat and squeezing until her face turns black." compare that to the valonqar prophecy of "the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you." why else would grrm ever repeat the unique phrasing of "white throat" in such a way? obviously it has to mean something!) and the chapter where cat speaks of her dreams of choking cersei (Catelyn V, aCoK) comes right before her chapter revealing the existence of two dead elder brothers (Catelyn VI, aCoK). that can't be a coincidence, people! grrm wants us to connect those two facts in the back of our minds, so when the true valonqar is revealed it will be shocking but make perfect sense in retrospect to those few of us who have been paying attention.

c'mon now, folks! who has a higher lannister threat level: the former lannister dog who killed his brothers' goons only in self-defense and became a lamed dog; the knight of flowers who has only ever killed baratheon soldiers, his own men included; some child whose little hands probably can't strangle anyone; or the spirit of vengeange hunting down all frey- and lannister-affiliated enemies, who had cersei lannister near the top of her hit list before her death? i rest my case. accept no other non-lannister valonqar substitutions.

[worlds-best-sippycup]

This is such a good Catelyn song (well this, and the original, but esp this)

[a-fire-of-ice]

Catelyn really won the lottery after freeing Jaime. Rob lost them the Freys and Edmure screwed over their war tactics so Catelyn's mistake is the least of their worries

[oathkeeperoathbreaker]

In Communion, Part I

It was full dark before they found the village. Catelyn found herself wondering if the place had a name. If so, its people had taken that knowledge with them when they fled, along with all they owned, down to the candles in the sept. Ser Wendel lit a torch and led her through the low door.

Within, the seven walls were cracked and crooked. God is one, Septon Osmynd had taught her when she was a girl, with seven aspects, as the sept is a single building, with seven walls. The wealthy septs of the cities had statues of the Seven and an altar to each. In Winterfell, Septon Chayle hung carved masks from each wall. Here Catelyn found only rough charcoal drawings. Ser Wendel set the torch in a sconce near the door, and left to wait outside with Robar Royce.

Catelyn studied the faces. The Father was bearded, as ever. The Mother smiled, loving and protective. The Warrior had his sword sketched in beneath his face, the Smith his hammer. The Maid was beautiful, the Crone wizened and wise.

And the seventh face . . . the Stranger was neither male nor female, yet both, ever the outcast, the wanderer from far places, less and more than human, unknown and unknowable. Here the face was a black oval, a shadow with stars for eyes. It made Catelyn uneasy. She would get scant comfort there.

She knelt before the Mother. “My lady, look down on this battle with a mother’s eyes. They are all sons, every one. Spare them if you can, and spare my own sons as well. Watch over Robb and Bran and Rickon. Would that I were with them.”

A crack ran down through the Mother’s left eye. It made her look as if she were crying. Catelyn could hear Ser Wendel’s booming voice, and now and again Ser Robar’s quiet answers, as they talked of the coming battle. Otherwise the night was still. Not even a cricket could be heard, and the gods kept their silence. Did your old gods ever answer you, Ned? she wondered. When you knelt before your heart tree, did they hear you?

Flickering torchlight danced across the walls, making the faces seem half-alive, twisting them, changing them. The statues in the great septs of the cities wore the faces the stonemasons had given them, but these charcoal scratchings were so crude they might be anyone. The Father’s face made her think of her own father, dying in his bed in Riverrun. The Warrior was Renly and Stannis, Robb and Robert, Jaime Lannister and Jon Snow. She even glimpsed Arya in those lines, just for an instant. Then a gust of wind through the door made the torch sputter, and the semblance was gone, washed away in orange glare.

The smoke was making her eyes burn. She rubbed at them with the heels of her scarred hands. When she looked up at the Mother again, it was her own mother she saw. Lady Minisa Tully had died in childbed, trying to give Lord Hoster a second son. The baby had perished with her, and afterward some of the life had gone out of Father. She was always so calm, Catelyn thought, remembering her mother’s soft hands, her warm smile. If she had lived, how different our lives might have been. She wondered what Lady Minisa would make of her eldest daughter, kneeling here before her. I have come so many thousands of leagues, and for what? Who have I served? I have lost my daughters, Robb does not want me, and Bran and Rickon must surely think me a cold and unnatural mother. I was not even with Ned when he died . . .

Her head swam, and the sept seemed to move around her. The shadows swayed and shifted, furtive animals racing across the cracked white walls. Catelyn had not eaten today. Perhaps that had been unwise. She told herself that there had been no time, but the truth was that food had lost its savor in a world without Ned. When they took his head off, they killed me to.

Behind her the torch spit, and suddenly it seemed to her that it was her sister’s face on the wall, though the eyes were harder than she recalled, not Lysa’s eyes but Cersei’s. Cersei is a mother too. No matter who fathered those children, she felt them kick inside her, brought them forth with her pain and blood, nursed them at her breast. If they are truly Jaime’s . . .

“Does Cersei pray to you too, my lady?” Catelyn asked the Mother. She could see the proud, cold, lovely features of the Lannister queen etched upon the wall. The crack was still there; even Cersei could weep for her children. “Each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven,” Septon Osmynd had told her once. There was as much beauty in the Crone as in the Maiden, and the Mother could be fiercer than the Warrior when her children were in danger. Yes . . .

She had seen enough of Robert Baratheon at Winterfell to know that the king did not regard Joffrey withy any great warmth. If the boy was truly Jaime’s seed, Robert would have put him to death along with the mother, and few would have condemned him. Bastards were common enough, but incest was a monstrous sin to both old gods and new, and the children of such wickedness were named abominations in sept and godswood alike. The dragon kings had wed brother to sister, but they were the blood of old Valyria where such practices had been common, and like their dragons the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men.

Ned must have known, and Lord Arryn before him. Small wonder that the queen had killed them both. Would I do any less for my own? Catelyn clenched her hands, feeling the tightness in her scarred fingers where the assassin’s steel had cut to the bone as she fought to save her son. “Bran knows too,” she whispered, lowering her head. Gods be good, he must have seen something, heard something, that was why they tried to kill him in his bed.

Lost and weary, Catelyn Stark gave herself over to her gods. She knelt before the Smith, who fixed things that were broken, and asked that he give her sweet Bran his protection. She went to the Maid and beseeched her to lend her courage to Arya and Sansa, to guard them in their innocence. To the Father, she prayed for justice, the strength to seek it and the wisdom to know it, and she asked the Warrior to keep Robb strong and shield him in his battles. Lastly she turned to the Crone, whose statues often showed her with a lamp in one hand. “Guide me, wise lady,” she prayed. “Show me the path I must walk, and do not let me stumble in the dark places that lie ahead.”

Finally there were footsteps behind her, and a noise at the door. “My lady,” Ser Robar said gently, “pardon, but our time is at an end. We must be back before the dawn breaks.”

Catelyn rose stiffly. Her knees ached, and she would have given much for a featherbed and a pillow just then. “Thank you, ser. I am ready.”

[jedimaesteryoda]

One trend I've noticed a lot lately in the speculation of Tyrion meeting Daenerys is how he'll influence her. The argument often is that Tyrion will encourage her more "fire and blood" destructive tendencies when they get to Westeros. However, this view is often one-sided as it's always about how Tyrion will influence Daenerys but never about how Daenerys will influence Tyrion.

"Daenerys, I am thrice your age," Ser Jorah said. "I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors." That angered her. "Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?" He stiffened. "I did not say that." "You say it every day. Pyat Pree's a liar, Xaro's a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin . . . do you think I'm still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?" "Your Grace—" She bulled over him. "You have been a better friend to me than any I have known, a better brother than Viserys ever was. You are the first of my Queensguard, the commander of my army, my most valued counselor, my good right hand. I honor and respect and cherish you—but I do not desire you, Jorah Mormont, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me, so I must needs rely on you and you alone. It will not serve, and it will not make me love you any better." -ASOS, Daenerys IV

Daenerys is not the sheltered child Aegon was who Tyrion could easily manipulate as shown when she called out Jorah for trying to isolate her from other men. Even Tyrion admitted to Aegon, having never met Daenerys that "she is strong" and "fierce." Daenerys was more worldly at 14 than Aegon is at 16. Even as a small, frightened girl at age 13 in the beginning of the series, she had more street smarts than her adult brother Viserys and has shown to be a prodigy in the series. Tyrion would not be able to manipulate her easily, especially since would initially be wary of him for being a Lannister.

Tyrion at the end of the day would be serving as her subordinate, him being largely dependent on her. Tyrion largely is the way he is because of the toxic family he grew up in. The Lannister vision has no idea of a Good Society, it's just pure self-aggrandizement by any means necessary. As the adage goes, rot always starts at the head. The monarchs Tyrion served as Hand, Joffrey and Cersei, were both cruel, incompetent tyrants with senses of entitlement that outweighed their actual abilities. They also had no concept of the duties of a monarch to their subjects, and instead just abused their power over others, including sexually. The one who actually ran the show for the Lannister regime, Tywin, was a cold, abusive Machiavellian who brutalized the smallfolk and his children, seeing them as pawns in his schemes. Tyrion could be cunning and brutal, because it was both encouraged and necessary for the winner-take-all, dog-eat-dog world of the Lannister court. It was an environment designed to bring out the darker side of his nature.

However, since the beginning we saw hints of the lighter side of his nature such as when he gave emotional support to Jon and designed a special saddle for Bran. He even helped Catelyn when they were attacked by the mountain clans even though she kidnapped him. In A Clash of Kings, we see hints of Tyrion wanting to be something other than the cold Machiavellian like his father when he stands up for Sansa when Joffrey beats her, and he has Morec killed and Slynt sent to the Wall for killing Barra, wanting to "do justice." In A Dance with Dragons, he risks his life to protect Aegon and even in his lowest he looks out for Penny even though she is a complete stranger to him.

Daenerys is a foil to Cersei, whose ruling philosophy is expressed in the statement "Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?" Daenerys tries to live up to the image of an ideal monarch who protects the weak. She liberates the oppressed from slavery and tries to protect them, even performing acts like tending to those afflicted with the bloody flux herself, marrying someone she doesn't want and putting her plan of going to Westeros on hold to achieve peace. Working as Hand to Queen Daenerys, Tyrion may find himself in a change of pace in a different environment where for once his more positive tendencies are encouraged with his fondness for "cripples, bastards and broken things."

In short, in cutting himself off from his toxic family, Tyrion may actually find a new beginning in service to Daenerys. He's the Machiavellian polymath and court politician she needs, and she's the competent, idealistic monarch he needs.