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Chapter Text

When Meredith is seven her uncle Brynden takes her away from her lessons with the Septa, an action that surprises the young girl as she and her uncle have never spent much time alone together over the course of Meredith's young life. Even so she sets aside her work and offers the older woman a curtsy before following her uncle out of the room and into the corridor. It's only then that she notices the pile of clothing in her arms. 

Boy's clothing, Meredith learns when her uncle presses them into her own waiting grasp. 

"Change little trout," Her uncle commands with a gentle smile, "we've much to do today." 

Meredith merely nods before darting into her private chambers to change and Brynden waits in the corridor across from the heavy oak door. She changes quickly, stripping out of her own dress and sliding into the clothes given to her. A blue tunic made of light material and a pair of scratchy trousers. There aren't any shoes so Meredith slips her feet back into the pretty silk things she's so used to wearing before slipping back into the corridor. 

Her uncle merely nods when he sees her and extends a roughened hand which Meredith takes without so much as a thought, soft fingers curling tight and possessive around her uncle's, as it is not so unfamiliar a gesture that she would shy from it. Then her uncle is guiding her through the castle, past servants and knights and Maester Vyman who smiles kindly when he sees her. 

Eventually, her uncle pushes open a door and leads her out into the midday heat of the Riverlands. 

"Where are we going, Uncle Brynden?" Meredith finds herself asking as her uncle leads her further and further away from the castle. 

Not far enough away to offer her any true discomfort, and a guard follows them as they leave the gates besides, but far enough to make the little girl's brow furrow in her confusion. 

Brynden merely smiles at her, eyes alight with something sweet. 

"Have you ever seen the Red Fork, Meredith?" uncle Brynden asks, helping to steady her as Meredith climbs over a particularly shaped rock. 

"Once, with Papa." 

Her papa had taken all of his children to the river banks, even little Edmure who had only just turned three years the week before, and he'd taught all of his daughters to skip flat stones across the oddly still waters of the river while Petyr Baelish had tried to entertain them with daring feats of bravery as he danced along slick stones. When he'd fallen off one such stone and into the mud he'd done nothing but laugh at his own clumsiness and rise to wipe the muck from his face. It had been a good day. 

"Your father and I were taught to swim in those waters, did you know?" 

"No uncle Brynden." 

"Ah, well, I suppose my brother has other more interesting stories to tell." 

Meredith doesn't know what to think of the strange distance in her uncles eyes. She knows she is not fond of it. 

"Will you be teaching me to swim then uncle? Like you and papa were taught?" She asks after a long moment, glad to see that strange gleam flee from her uncles bright eyes. 

"Yes, little trout, I will teach you to swim, just as I have begun to teach your sisters." 

"What of Edmure?" 

"He is still too young as of yet but when he is older I will teach him too." Uncle Brynden tells her. 

"Oh," Meredith brushes hair out of her face and turns to smile up at her much taller uncle, "will you teach us other things as well then?" 

Uncle Brynden laughs, hard and loud, "And what would you like to learn, little trout?" 

"To ride! And to sew like Cat sews! Oh, and perhaps how to run faster so that when Petyr demands we race I can always beat him." Meredith declares with a firm nod of her head. 

In the distance she can hear the babble of water moving over stones and the splash of birds dipping their talons into the river to catch their lunches. They are nearing the Red Fork and her uncle is smiling so fondly at her that it makes Meredith so very, very happy to have pleased him so. She decides, in the abstract way that all children decide something, that she will be her uncle's favorite niece and that he will always smile this fondly at her no matter the reason. 

"I cannot sew, Little trout, but I can teach you to ride if you so wish. But first I will teach you to swim." Her uncle replies, already reaching to remove his sword belt so that he can lay it across a flat rock. 

Meredith is quick to kick off her shoes, one landing a bit too close to the water but far enough to be safe from the risk of the current dragging it off. Not that Meredith thinks it will, the water of the Red Fork is still and calm, the current only visible when her uncle steps into the Tully-red waters and his tunic flares out behind him as the current tugs gently at the cloth. 

There is a rock buried in the mud of the riverbank, Meredith climbs atop it and musters up the courage to leap into her uncle's waiting arms. 

He merely smiles at her hesitance. 

"The water is calm and I am here," he promises when Meredith turns to glance at the man waiting a ways back. "I will not let you drown." 

"Fish cannot drown." Meredith recites, having heard her Septa say such once before. 

"But little girls do. Which is why you must learn, Meredith." 

The hair growing from his head is streaked with grey but the red that remains there is the same shade that colors the water around him. Meredith swallows and moves forward to dip the toes of her right foot into the water. It is then, when her eyes are downward and her attention is fixated on something else, that her uncle springs forward to pull her into the river. 

A startled cry spills from her lips as she scrambles to grab hold of her uncle's wrists, scared he'll release her to the mercy of the river and whatever lies hidden in the murky waters, but his grip remains firm under her arms and slowly, so very slowly, Meredith relaxes in his grasp. Her uncle smiles at her, lowering her little frame into the water until the current pulls at her hips and the dip of her back. 

Then he guides her to lie flat in the water which soaks her body and turns her hair a similar shade to the wine a servant had spilled at dinner the night before. Meredith can just barely see it from the corner of her eye. 

"You will float before you swim, it is the easiest thing to learn." Her uncle says, his grip loosening slightly beneath her arms. 

Panic bubbles in her chest, causing her to thrash and send water up into her eyes. 

"Calm Meredith, calm." 

His voice is soft, it is the tone he uses when speaking to his horse, and Meredith forces her body to stop moving. 

"Good... Now, imagine air in your stomach trying to escape through your belly button." 

A childish giggle escapes her but Meredith does as she's told, lying in the water watching as the clouds above her head form pretty little images. She doesn't realize her uncle has let go of her until the current begins moving her along, then she is being yanked to the surface by her chortling uncle who praises her and tells her how she's taken to the water like a true fish. 

They spend several more hours in the river. Meredith's swimming is far from graceful and consists of more splashing then moving but her uncle promises that she is improving and that one day, if she continues to practice, she will be a better swimmer then even he. Meredith laughs at that, tells him that no one can be better then him- except for her papa- but begs him to teach her more. 

He promises more lessons, promises to speak to her father about getting her a horse, and Meredith smiles the entire way back to the castle even though her body shivers near the point of violence as the wind chills the water still dripping from her. 

"I've a gift for you, little trout." Her uncle says in way of greeting nearly a week later when she meets him for her swimming lesson. 

"Oh! May I see it Uncle Brynden? May I?" She pleads, clasping her hands before her as if to beg. 

Her uncle laughs, "Come along then, let's not leave it to wait." 

Uncle Brynden turns on his heel but instead of making his way toward the gate he moves for the stables instead. Something hot takes root in Meredith's little chest. Something that tastes like the sweets her mother bought her once from a merchant who'd traveled from Dorne. It will take her some years before she can associate such a sensation with excitement. 

Not, of course, that it matters for when they enter the stables and uncle Brynden leads her to a stall near the back of the stables all thought of candies and Dorne slip from her mind to make room for the dappled horse that stands eating in the corner. Her uncle flips the latch keeping the stall closed and makes his way to the horse, carefully taking hold of its halter and leading it to where Meredith now stands at the door. 

"I spoke to your father and he agreed that it would not hurt to allow you a horse." Brynden explains but Meredith is too busy smoothing her hand along the side of his neck to care much for his words. 

"She is mine?" 

"He, Meredith, it is a he. I have found that gelded horses are easier for me to break." 

"You plan to break him yourself?" 

"I already have... To be honest I had intended to keep him for myself." 

The admission does not bother her, perhaps it should. Either way, the gelded horse is hers now and she will love him unconditionally. 

"May I ride him?" 

"Now?" Her uncle laughs and when Meredith nods he ruffles her hair. "Tomorrow perhaps, today we have other plans." 

And so Meredith leaves the dappled horse to his meal of hay and oats with a hesitance that makes her uncle chortle happily as he leads her away from the stables. 

By the time she is four and ten Meredith is more familiar with her uncle Brynden's smiling face then that of her own father's. Over the years he has taught her to ride as well as any man in Riverrun and swim better then any other Southerner, and once she'd mastered such activities and began traveling beyond the walls of Riverrun her uncle Brynden had begun to teach her archery as well. An activity that had not necessarily pleased any of her family members. 

Her father had spoken to Brynden privately, her sister Cat had told her that it was not proper for ladies to shoot, her brother Edmure had remained oddly stone faced, and her sister Lysa had glowered at her and refused to utter a word in Meredith's presence for two weeks before their father reprimanded her for her behavior. Thankfully, Petyr had been their to soothe the tension between the three sisters, joking and tugging gently at curls until all three had forgotten whatever bitterness that had taken hold of them. 

Until, of course, Petyr kisses her sister. 

Petyr Baelish has always been her friend, brought to foster in Riverrun when Meredith was six and he four. He'd always been closest to Catelyn, a fact which had always annoyed Lysa who was closer to Petyr's age then any of her other siblings. Meredith had never thought ill of Petyr before, not even as his gaze began to linger on the forming curves of her sister's body, not when he began pledging himself to Catelyn, not even when Lysa had told her that Petyr had confessed his love to her. 

It had all be nothing but words to her, meaning little more than nothing to her when she had other things to occupy her time. 

The it happens. 

Rain floods the rivers and the ground becomes too soft to ride on forcing Meredith to remain well within the confines of Riverrun. It's not so bad, she has Catelyn and Edmure after all and both of her beloved siblings keep her well entertained when her river and her horse and her bow cannot. This is the first time she spends so long inside and it makes her fitful. So she does her lessons without complaint, even if her needlework will never be as fair as Catelyn's, and when those end she runs off to find Catelyn or Edmure. 

She finds her sister first, rushing down the long corridor toward her with a dazzling smile and bright eyes. 

"I am betrothed!" Catelyn exclaimed, her giddiness dripping from her lips like the sweetest honey. 

"Truly? To whom?" 

"Brandon Stark! Father only just told me! Apparently he and Lord Stark have been in agreement to unify our houses for years! Isn't it exciting?" 

A certain tightness takes hold of her. 

As the child of a great Lord Meredith has always known that it is her duty to marry well. Marry a noble lord with a pretty smile and move to his home and care for his family. It is not a thought that repulses her. In fact, Meredith looks forward to having a family of her own one day, but it is the idea of watching sweet Cat go that makes her happiness for her sister a bittersweet thing on her tongue. 

"I am so happy for you, Cat." Meredith breathes even if her tongue feels like lead. 

"You will come to visit me? You and Lysa both! Oh, it will be so lovely! Perhaps I will name one of my daughters for mother? Do you think it possible?" Catelyn asks, too excited to linger on one thought for too long. 

Before Meredith can say anything in response her sister is skipping off down the corridor to find others of their family and relay the news to them. Meredith does not wish to see Lysa's face when the news is broken to her as it is likely not to be a pretty one full of delight. Not when there is so much jealousy in Lysa directed at Cat. Instead, Meredith turns to make her way to her own chambers. 

She reaches her chambers without running into anyone else and slips into the silent room with a hearty sigh. Everything is just as she left it that morning; her bow left on the small table where she takes her meals and writes her letters, a book left forgotten on the bed, a pearl necklace lying atop her other jewels in the little chest that keeps them protected. 

Everything is as she left it but there is a sense of offness that Meredith can't quite place. So she moves to the bed and gathers her book, a little legend about the Red Priests in Asshai, her father hadn't wanted her reading it. Said that the content within was much too dark for a girl of Meredith's age and temperament. She'd stolen the book anyway, tucked it between her tunic and her belly and raced for her room before Vyman realized Meredith had managed to steal the weathered book from the table full of books he'd taken from the library. 

It's an interesting read, though, Meredith doubts many of the stories are true.

Some time later, and surely a good few hours have passed as the sunlight drifting in through the window has gone from soft gold to burning copper, a knock pulls her from her musing about blood sacrifices and the Lord of Light. 

"Enter." 

The door swings open for the briefest of seconds to allow her visitor to slip into Meredith's room before swinging shut once more. In the fading light of her room Lysa stands rosy cheeked and bright eyed. Meredith doesn't think she's ever seen her sister look so pleased and she wonders why her sister is so delighted. 

"Oh Meredith, you'll never guess what's happened!" Her younger sister cries as she throws herself onto Meredith's bed. 

"Cat is betrothed." 

"No silly Meredith! This is far more important than all that!" Her sister giggles as she leans closer to whisper, "Shall I tell you a secret?" 

"Well, you must now mustn't you?" 

"Petyr has kissed me. He is such a sweet kisser, it was not even unpleasant when he stuck his tongue in my mouth!" 

Meredith tries not to display her shock to openly. 

"He kissed you?" 

"Oh yes! Right beneath the great oak growing just beyond the gates!" 

Anger at the boy's boldness burns hot in Meredith chest. This is not the first time something like this has happened, though it was much more common when they were younger and played at kissing in the privacy of the godswood and shadowed alcoves. As they got older the games became less frequent, as Petyr's gaze began lingering on Catelyn too long and too often Meredith stopped entertaining his games at all. Too uncomfortable with the feeling that what they had been engaging in was wrong. 

As she'd gotten older and the Septa assigned to teach her of her marital duties had informed her about intercourse and how a woman got with child Meredith became even more uncomfortable with the games Petyr had so loved to play. 

Lysa should know better than to let him kiss her as the news will enrage their father should he ever find out and Petyr should know better then to toy with Lysa so. It is obvious that the feelings the younger girl has for the boy from the Fingers is not something that should be encouraged as it will only lead to her being heartbroken and, quite possibly, a bitter hatred for her eldest sister. 

"I am... Surprised that he would be so bold as to kiss you in the open." Meredith finds herself gritting out, not wanting to alienate her sister or destroy her happiness. 

"It was terribly romantic." Lysa breathes. 

And without hesitance Meredith reaches out to take her sister's round face between her fingers as she begs, "You will be careful, yes? I understand you're not a simple girl but if anything were to happen that would compromise your virtue father would be beyond furious with Petyr." 

It's a manipulation in its rawest form but it works its magic as best it can. 

Lysa's eyes widen a great deal and she nods her head almost stupidly as she cries out, 'Of course! Of course I will keep this quiet! Father mustn't know! He would punish poor Petyr if he ever found out! Oh Meredith, promise you'll not tell a soul!" 

She's going to regret it, she already knows this, but her sister has never looked at her with just joy or devotion or even kindness and Meredith finds the steel around her heart melting into a puddle in her chest. 

"Very well, Lysa, I promise." 

With a exuberant squeal Lysa launches herself at Meredith, pressing a chaste kiss to the older girl's cheek before flying from the room and into the corridor, leaving Meredith to stare at the spot her sister had only occupied moments before. 

"Do you think it's true?" Emure asks years later when Meredith is only just seven and ten. 

News of Lyanna Stark's kidnapping has spread across the Seven Kingdoms far too swiftly and the whispers are not pleasant. People say she was taken by the Prince and two of the Kingsguards, weeping and begging and broken. Meredith doubts this as she's heard how Brandon Stark speaks of his younger sister and while she does not love her sister's betrothed she likes him well enough to know that he would never lie about his siblings. 

If he claims Lyanna Stark has the wolf's blood then it is not likely she was so easily stolen as the nobility and small folk of Westeros seem to imply in their gossiping. 

This does not, however, mean that her disappearance will not cause trouble for those living in Westeros. Already there is word of Robert Baratheon's fury, only just kept at bay by the knowledge that at this moment Brandon Stark and his father ride south for King's Landing. 

Meredith sighs as she steps over loose stones, the current of the little stream she and Edmure frequent tugging insistently at her ankles. The girl makes sure to keep herself steady as she weaves over the smooth, slick stones as she moves closer to where her little brother sits on the banks. 

"I do not know, Edmure. It is possible." Meredith says. 

For a moment it is silent before her brother speaks again, "Do you think Lysa will be well enough to come with us soon? Father said she is unwell." 

"You shouldn't be speaking of such things with father, Edmure." Meredith reprimands. 

There is not bite to her words and Edmure merely rolls his eyes at her. Meredith allows it, not wanting to tell him the reason their sister has been so ill as of late and knowing that the best way to keep him from asking questions is to annoy him. Though, Meredith is very worried for her sister. Weak willed and flighty though the girl may be. It is, by technicality, her fault that Petyr begot a child on her but Meredith does not think it her sister's fault that she is ill. 

No. That fault lies with her father. 

For while it was Lysa's blunders that landed her in Petyr's bed when she knew it to be improper, it is her father's anger that prompted him to give Lysa Moon Tea poorly made. After her sister had fallen ill all those weeks ago Meredith had gone to the Septa and asked why her sister would be so ill from something so commonly used, thankfully her Septa had taken some amount of pity and had spoken as truly as her propriety would allow. It will be a wonder if Lysa is ever able to have children after this whole ordeal. 

Meredith hates her father for what he's done to Lysa. If she had taken the tea willingly things might have been much different, but instead he had used his daughter's blind trust in the fact that he would take care of her, his family, to abort her babe without her knowledge. 

It is a cruel, twisted thing Hoster Tully has done... But even so Meredith cannot blame him. Not when it was Lysa's own foolishness and Petyr's yearning for Catelyn that got the youngest Tully daughter with child in the first place. 

Petyr Baelish has ruined her sister, has ruined whatever happiness Lysa might have been able to find, and it is Petyr that has earned the full force of Meredith's hate. 

"Have you spoken with Uncle Brynden?" Edmure asks after a brief while. 

"No, should I have?" 

"I suppose not. He didn't have much out of the ordinary to say when he spoke to me this morning." 

Meredith is not surprised. Edmure is only three and ten, he does not understand the politics of Nobility while he spends much of his time with their father, watching him as he leads the Riverlands, Meredith suspects her uncle is spending so much time with Edmure because the boy needs more then just their father. 

"Is it about your lessons? I thought you were enjoying them." Meredith says. 

Edmure shrugs, looking almost bashful when he finally musters the courage to speak. "I enjoy my lessons with Ser Desmond but I feel as though I'm making no progress." 

"That will change in time, Ed." 

"You are already an accomplished marks-woman!" 

"Ha! Marks-woman you say? Edmure, I am decent enough with a bow... You make me sound far better then I actually am." 

"You still shoot better then a number of the boys Ser Desmond trains." 

"Boys, Edmure, one day they will be men and shoot far better then I ever will." Meredith lowers herself to sit on the banks next to her beloved brother. "One day you will wield a bow better then I." 

Something softens in his eyes, causing Meredith to smile brightly and nudge the younger boy with a damp elbow. 

They stay like that for several hours, serene and blissfully unaware of the war brewing under their noses. The two Tully children play in the stream and muddy their clothes and only return to the Castle, and their father's amused smiles, when the guard that always accompanies them says that it is time to return. And the sky is painted a brilliant red that will one day forever remind Meredith of blood and torture and broken promises. 

But today is not that day. 

And Meredith, first of her name, of the great noble house of Tully only thinks that the sky reminds her a bit of Catelyn's hair or the ruby earrings her father had gifted her when she'd turned one and ten. It is a fleeting comparison, gone before it can even truly form in her mind, lost to the joy that surges through her when Edmure pulls on one of her wild curls and races off toward the castle in the distance with Meredith running close at his heels. 

Chapter Text

"Will you not eat, Cat? The cook prepared a special treat for you." Meredith coaxes, stroking back the tangled mass of her sister's fiery hair. 

Catelyn merely sobs, her face twisting to press against the soft fabric of her pillow. Whether it is for her own comfort or to hide her pain from others Meredith is unsure, but her heart aches for her beloved sister who has locked herself away from the rest of the keep since news of Brandon Stark's death reached Riverrun mere days ago. The lack of care her sister is showing herself is beginning to show. 

Pale skin nearly translucent, lustrous hair tangles and greasy, deep bruises forming beneath her eyes causes the blood shooting through the whites surrounding her irises to appear even more vibrant then her hair has ever been. 

Meredith moves to pull the lid off of the dish one of the serving maids brought up only moments ago. 

"Please, sweet cat, for me? You must eat something, it will help." Meredith promises even though it feels like a lie. 

"I am not hungry." Catelyn's voice is so incredibly hoarse. 

"Only a few bites, I promise." 

It takes a moment for her sister to respond to the coaxing but eventually Cat moves to sit at the edge of her bed and Meredith is quick to press the bowl of porridge into her sister's trembling hands, helping her spoon more and more of the thick substance into her mouth until Catelyn has eaten most of the porridge. Then Meredith is setting aside the bowl before turning to pull her sister from the bed. 

Catelyn allows Meredith to guide her to the tub the maids had filled, the water is lukewarm at best by now but Catelyn needs to bathe and at this point it doesn't matter if the water is steaming or no. She lights a fire and prompts her sister to remove her nightdress as she does so, watching from the corner of her eye to ensure Catelyn's compliance. 

Thankfully, Catelyn handles her grief better then Lysa did. 

There is no wailing, no screaming, so clawing at her belly or at her sisters. There is only a sorrowful glint in her sister's pretty eyes as she strips for her bath. Meredith turns her attention back to the fire, the slosh of water moving the only thing that tells her Catelyn has stepped into the tub. 

"Would you like to go on a walk with me today, Cat?" Meredith asks as she moves to kneel beside her sister, reaching for the bar of soap and dipping it into the water as her sister leans back to wet her hair. "I think it would do you good." 

It might put color back in her sister's cheeks, might put some spark back in her eyes, it might do a lot of things but Meredith doubts she will leave her bed this day. Which is fine, better then what Lysa has been doing these past months. What is a day spent in bed mourning someone you love when you could be wandering the castle looking lost and angry, spitting and raving and yowling at people as they pass you by. 

No. 

This is not the best option but it is preferable. Let Catelyn mourn her dead lover and in time it will be different. In time she will heal. 

Meredith distracts herself from her thoughts by rubbing sweet smelling oils into her sister's hair before reaching for a fine toothed comb which she uses to untangle the fiery red strands. She hums all the while, some nonsense she must have heard in passing for she hardly remembers the words, only the tune. It is soothing in its own way, gentle almost, and when paired with the soft lemongrass scent of the oils soaking into her sister's hair Meredith finds herself near to nodding off. 

She is saved from such a fate by a gentle knock upon the door. 

"One moment!" She calls, already rising and making her way over to the door. 

It's easy to pull the door open a crack and slip her head out without revealing Catelyn's vulnerable form behind her. 

"Yes?" 

The serving girl waiting in the corridor bows her head, eyes lowering just slightly as she say, "Your Lord father wishes to speak with you, Lady Meredith." 

"Thank you, I will go to him in a moment." Meredith promises before slipping back into the room and shutting the door. 

Catelyn is still sitting in the bath when Meredith moves to kneel beside her, a gentle smile tugging at her mouth as she reaches out to stroke Catelyn's hair. The older girl must have rinsed her hair because it's slicker then it was moments ago and there's water beading on the tip of Catelyn's nose. 

"Father wishes to see me, will you be alright on your own for a bit? If not I can have Wylla come." 

Wylla is Lord Utherydes Wayn's cousin, a girl more to Meredith's age then Cat's and yet the two girls have always been rather fond of one another, but when Catelyn refuses to have the other girl come and keep her company it is with a respectful nod that Meredith moves to gather a linen cloth and a dress for Catelyn before heading off to find her father. 

He is likely in his Solar as it's where he tends to see the members of his more immediate family. Claims it's more personal. Meredith isn't going to argue whether it's more personal or not, all she really thinks about whenever she visits her father's solar is that he only really summons her for a private audience when something important has happened, and then Meredith is to worked up to think about how inviting her father's solar might be. 

This time isn't much different. 

Meredith makes sure she is the epitome of Southern Nobility, a carefully crafted mask hiding the discomfort she is beginning to feel as she makes her way closer to the door that separates her father from the rest of the castle. When she reaches said door Meredith takes a moment to smooth out her own gown and push a wayward curl behind her ear before tapping her knuckles against the oak. 

"Enter!" 

And so she does, pushing open the door with more confidence then she feels and smiling when she sees her father already moving across the room. He embraces her even before the door shuts, brushing a hand down the back of her head and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple before pulling away to offer a warm smile. Something warm settles in Meredith's chest. 

She might not have agreed with her father's actions regarding Lysa and her bastard but... He is still her father. He is still the same man who stood her on the top of his feet so that he could dance her around the hall when she'd still been too young to properly dance, he is still the same man who kissed her palms when she'd tripped and scrapped the tender flesh of her hands. He is still her father and Meredith will forever love him. 

These little shows of affection only prove to remind her of that. 

"Mare, you're looking well." Her father says after a moment. 

Meredith shuts the door, ignoring the pet name Edmure gave her when he was a small boy, and moves to sit at the table near the fireplace. 

"I am well, and you? I know you vistited the Maester recently." 

"The aches and pains of a body well beyond its prime, worry not." Her father sits across from her, blue eyes bright. 

They share the same eyes. Tully blue with a darker line separating the iris from the whites, small pupils that make their eyes appear alert and entirely too focused, and the outer corners slightly up tilted. Cat shares there father's eyes as well, as does Edmure. The only Tully child to be an exception of the rule is Lysa and even then her eyes are still Tully blue. 

Meredith does notice, however, that her father's eyes seem watery and bloodshot. Either he is not sleeping well or he is falling ill. 

"As long as you continue to see Maester Vyman." Is all Meredith says. 

"Your concern is touching, Mare." 

A moment of silence passes in which her father observes her. There is nothing cruel in his gaze so Meredith does not attempt to make herself seem any more proper then she already appears. She merely lets him watch her for a few minutes before speaking again. 

"You wished to see me." 

"Yes," her father's eyes harden a bit, "as you know Lord Stark is dead." 

"Does this have to do with Catelyn then? I don't see any other reason you would wish to speak with me."  

A mighty sigh, vaguely exasperated but not quite, "An agreement was reached before Lord Rickard's death. Your sister would marry Brandon Stark and in doing so our houses would be unified. Now that Lord Rickard and his heir are dead Winterfell will pass to Eddard Stark and I am reluctant to have your sister wed him." 

"Why? Catelyn will do her duty." Meredith states, so sure in herself that there is no hint of questioning in her tone. 

"Yes, that is why I am reluctant to have them wed." Her father leans back, runs a hand over his jaw, and sighs, "Eddard Stark is Lord of Winterfell and is marching South with an army of Northern Soldiers, he intends to keep the agreement between houses Stark and Tully... Jon Arryn has also shown interest in an alliance as well." 

"You want Lysa to marry Jon Arryn then? I understand your concern with Catelyn but I think it's unfounded and ridiculous, she'll do what is required of her... Lysa will not be so easily convinced." 

Another long moment of silence before her father says, "Jon Arryn is aware of your sister's situation and has agreed to marry her regardless." 

"Well, I suppose if you believe it is for the best..." 

"It is, he will offer her a proper title and a comfortable life. Perhaps one day she will give him a sons and daughters." Her father says. 

"And what of Eddard Stark? You said you were reluctant to have him marry Catelyn. Is there any particular reason why?" Meredith inquires. 

She has a sneaking suspicion she already knows the answer. Catelyn is her most beloved sister but Meredith can admit there are faults in her sister's character. The eldest Tully child is too quick to judge, to quick to cast blame, and madly in love with Brandon Stark. Whatever joy she might find in Winterfell will always be paled by the ghosts that linger where only Catelyn might see them. 

Catelyn is also, without a doubt, their father's favorite daughter. 

It is not a fact that necessarily bothers Meredith as she knows her father loves her dearly, and where his affection for Catelyn may be amplified Brynden Tully loves Meredith best of all his brother's children. 

"Meredith, I have no intention of marrying your sister to Eddard Stark." It is said so gently that Meredith almost misses what her father does not say. 

"You want me to marry Eddard Stark then? Is that wise? I know that the agreement you struck up with Lord Stark was between Brandon and Catelyn specifically but surely Lord Eddard would expect the original agreement to be upheld to an extent." 

The red in her father's hair shines like copper has he shakes his head. "Lord Stark is an honorable man who will uphold the original agreement between his father and I but he showed no signs of offense when I suggested he marry you rather then your sister." 

"I see." 

"Remember our words, mare." Family, duty, honor, "By doing this you are both honoring and protecting your family." 

"Yes, father." 

Something sad settles in her father's eyes. 

Meredith just feels vaguely numb, neither upset nor elated to learn of her newfound betrothal. Years ago her father had entertained the idea of a betrothal between Meredith and the heir of House Yronwood, obviously nothing ever became of such ambitions but there had been a time when Meredith had looked forward to it. To seeing Dorne and the sand and perhaps even lands beyond Westeros. 

What is one extreme when compared to another? 

Instead of sand and sweat and sapphire skies Meredith will merely have to adjust to snow and chill and morning the color of a grey feather. 

"When will Lord Stark be arriving?" Meredith asks. 

"In a moon turn." 

"That is not so far away." 

"It is enough time to prepare." 

"Yes," Meredith agrees, "I suppose so." 

Without much thought Meredith rises from her seat, makes her way around the table, and presses a chaste kiss to her father's cheek before pulling away. She does not need to be dismissed, her father would have added more to their conversation or told her to sit if there was more to be said, so there is no worry that her father will reprimand her for leaving as she makes her way out of the solar and into the hall. 

Neither of her sisters are happy to hear of Meredith's betrothal. Lysa because the thought of marrying a man twice her age is more an insult to her pride then anything and as late the youngest Tully daughter has begun to rely on nothing but her pride, she rages as silently as she can and refuses to speak to both their father and Meredith for the rest of the day. This is hardly a bother to Meredith as the younger girl has been lashing out like this for months. 

Lysa's anger is not what saddens her. 

Instead it is Catelyn's worry and her own disappointment that makes Meredith feel so incredibly guilty for not trying to persuade their father to marry Cat to Eddard Stark. And as the days pass and the castle prepares for the small retinue of Northern soldiers making their way to Riverrun Meredith's agitation must become incredibly obvious for Edmure notices it and runs to tell their father after Meredith assures him that it is nothing and that she is merely tired. 

Later that night Catelyn shows up at her chamber door. 

The eldest Tully girl has improved a great deal in the past few days since hearing about Brandon Stark's murder. There is color in her cheeks again and the sorrow in her eyes does not seem so harrowing. 

"May I come in?" Catelyn asks, looking pointedly beyond Meredith's shoulder. 

"Of course, my apologies." Meredith mutters, stepping to the side and pulling the door open a bit wider so as to allow her sister to enter before shutting the door. 

"I'm not angry with you." Catelyn says suddenly, eyes never leaving Meredith's. 

"I never thought that you were." 

"Perhaps not but I want to make sure that my actions have not caused you undue harm." Catelyn takes a deep breath and continues, "I am not upset that you will be marrying Eddard Stark and becoming Lady of Winterfell in my place. I am merely... I loved Brandon Stark and the King robbed me of a life with him. That is why I am upset about your coming nuptials." 

"If you would prefer that I marry after the war or not at all I will speak to father immediately." Meredith replies. 

"There is no need. I've spoken with father already, he and I are in agreement that this marriage will be good for you and beneficial to our house." Then Catelyn is reaching out and taking Meredith's hands in her own. "Do not let my sorrow effect you so, Meredith, I am so very happy for you... And I am thankful to you as well." 

"You have no need to be thankful, Cat." 

"By marrying Eddard Stark you are saving me from any more grief I might experience as his wife. While I do not think Eddard is a bad man he is not his brother and it is unfair to compare them but I find myself doing so anyway." 

"Cat I-" 

"I would, however, avoid Lysa for the time being. She is not pleased to learn of her betrothal to a man older than even our father." 

"How is she?" 

"Lysa is Lysa." 

Meredith doesn't need that reminder. 

Of all her siblings Lysa is the most predictable, and that in Meredith's opinion makes her the most dangerous. Because she's so easy to offend, so quick to judge, and more then capable of making a slight to her being out of nothing. Lysa will never forgive their father, this is predictable, it is what she does with her anger that makes her dangerous. 

Unfortunately the only ones who seem to see that are Uncle Brynden and Meredith herself. Everyone else thinks that Lysa's anger will pass in time. Obviously, they don't know Lysa as well as they like to think. 

Meredith turns her attention back to Catelyn, who has moved from standing before her to rummaging through the small chest of jewels on the bureau where Meredith keeps her small clothes and shifts and stockings. This is not the first time Catelyn has done this, gone through Meredith's things to see what she likes best, so the younger girl merely lays herself across her bed and watches as her sister goes about her task. 

"Have you decided what you will wear to your wedding?" Catelyn asks after a moment, there are several jewels laid before her. 

"The green dress I had made three moons ago." 

"The one with the lace work?" 

"Yes." 

It is a simple dress. Modest in its cut with a neckline that shows only her collarbones and the slightest hint of her breasts, the lace that trims the sleeves and decorates the bodice is dyed a near gold color. It happens to be Meredith's favorite dress. 

"You will look very pretty... Perhaps you will let me assist you on your wedding day? I have always loves braiding your hair." 

"Yes, Cat," Meredith finds her voice oddly hoarse, Catelyn hasn't braided her hair in years, "I would very much like that." 

Something passes in the space between them, a warm something that makes Meredith feel incredibly sad when she thinks of leaving Catelyn and travelling to the North. They are not the closest of siblings but Meredith loves Cat, and the fact that she will never truly belong in these wall after her marriage hits her like a punch. Oh, she will always have a home here but once she gives Eddard Stark her maiden's gift and bears him a son it will be different. 

Things are always different after such things have happened. 

Meredith just hopes that this sudden sense of homesickness fades enough that she is not a blubbering mess of the day of her wedding. 

When Catelyn leaves, with promises to help Meredith with her embroidery, Meredith kisses her sister upon her rosy cheek and smiles at the older girl who rolls her eyes and smile back before disappearing down the corridor. Meredith waits a moment before shutting the door and preparing herself for bed. 

"What is it like to lay with a man?" Meredith asks an older serving maid the day her husband is set to arrive. 

The woman has had three healthy children, a boy and two girls, and she has always been incredibly kind to Meredith. Acting as a sort of mother when her own passed and her Septa could offer no real information then that which she had been taught. 

Amara doesn't seemed phased by Meredith's question and continues setting out her breakfast on the small table. 

"Has your septa not spoken of this to you?" 

"Oh, I know how it is done... My Septa made sure I was aware of that much... But will it hurt terribly?" Meredith asks, voicing her question softly lest someone else overhear her should she speak to loud. 

The older woman raises a dark eyebrow, looking entirely unamused by Meredith's naivety. 

"It may, the first few times, if you are unprepared." 

"Unprepared?" 

"Yes. Unprepared... Has your Septa really not spoken to you of this?" 

"I was told that it would be uncomfortable and that I would bleed." 

Amara mutters something about idiot septas under her breath before turning to Meredith. "You will feel discomfort but I doubt you will bleed. It is likely you have already lost your maiden's gift with as much as you take that blasted horse of yours out." 

"Oh, I see. Is that an issue?" 

"Shouldn't be. You haven't bedded a man so you are technically still a maid. It just means you won't bleed all over the bed covers." 

Heat blossoms in the younger girl's cheeks. 

"And... And what of being... Prepared." 

"Prepared. Aroused. By the gods has your septa taught you nothing?" another muttered curse before, "If your husband is not a complete fool he will attempt to arouse you before taking you. It will prepare you for his penetration." 

"What if I do not find my husband appealing?" 

"Then you close your eyes or look over his shoulder and pretend he is someone else." 

"Amara! How can you be so crass!" 

The woman shrugs and says, "I've brought three babes into this world and I have bedded my husband far more then that. I know things that I doubt your Septa has ever experienced. Trust me, it is better to be aroused. If pretending your husband is Aegon the Conqueror or Florian arouses you then so be it." 

Meredith wrings her fingers and tries not to meet the older woman's gaze, it is likely she will find nothing but soft amusement there but Meredith is so terribly embarrassed and maybe she shouldn't have asked but... But... Her Septa has not told her of being aroused or being prepared. Meredith finds this new information too important not to pursue. 

"And how would one know if one were aroused, as you said?" Meredith practically squeaks. 

"Well, a more obvious sigh is that you will become slick between your thighs," Amara pauses and stares at Meredith for a long moment. "May I speak freely Lady Meredith?" 

"Oh, certainly! I would not have asked if I had not wanted your opinion on the matter." 

"Very well," Meredith notices the first sparks of agitation in her maid's eyes, as if she is afraid of offending Meredith. "It is all well and good to be married but might I suggest becoming more familiar with your own body before your husband becomes familiar with it? There is a great deal of pleasure to be found in this life and some of it can take place in the bed." 

It's not that Meredith is unfamiliar with the idea. She'd once sought to explore her body, when it was at the awkward transition between youth and adult, but her Septa had nearly caught her and Meredith had been too mortified to think of trying again. But perhaps there is some merit in doing so. If Amara is suggesting it then perhaps it is worth trying. 

Amara's opinion is, after all, of high value to Meredith. 

"Yes, but only at night when you are unlikely to be caught." Amara cautions. 

And it is with a fierce blush and a squeak that Meredith nods her head and says, "I shall consider it." 

Thankfully Amara does not laugh, nor does she seem to judge Meredith for her curiosity. The older woman merely nods her head, tells Meredith her breakfast will grow cold and that her uncle would like to see her when she'd finished, and leaves the room with a small bow of the head. The head does not leave Meredith's face until much later that morning. 

Late that evening when Riverrun grows quiet and dark Meredith lies in her bed, fingers skimming over the peaks of her breasts and tentatively between her legs where the curls there have dampened and her thighs quiver. She bites into her lip, bites back a moan that threatens to spill out when her middle finger brushes a hard nub that sends shivers through her body. 

Heavy breathing and soft whimpers escape, prompting Meredith to glance at the door to ensure no one has heard and come to investigate. 

She feels too hot beneath her covers and oddly chilled whenever she manages to find the courage required to throw them off and expose herself to the pale moonlight filling her room with soft pale glow. 

Meredith keeps an eye on the door as she drags her fingers across her body with a bit more force, a bit more purpose, chasing the pleasure that is making her thighs twitch and her stomach quiver, quiver, quiver. And then it hits her. A sharp bite of pleasure that has her back bowing and fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her body. The pleasure lasts for a moment longer then Meredith expected but the after effects make her lids heavy. 

Without much thought Meredith pulls the tunic she sleeps off of the pillow she'd laid it on and pulls it over her head before rolling onto her side, aware from the door, and allowing herself to catch her breath. She isn't aware that she's fallen asleep until Amara wakes her the next morning looking like she knows something extremely private and is amused by it. 

Meredith finds herself incredibly flustered by can't help but that the older woman for her advice. 

"Come now, child, I was only answering your questions." Amara laughs, eyes dancing. "Let's not waste time on secrets. You're husband is on his way. Should be here by supper." 

"He is not my husband yet, Amara." Meredith sighs. 

"Ah, but he will be soon and then you will have other pleasures to think about." 

Meredith's answering squawk is nearly drowned out by the older woman's boisterous laughter. 

Chapter Text

The day Lord Stark is due to arrive at Riverrun, Meredith finds herself a mess of nerves and worries. She tries to distract herself with embroidery and when that doesn't work she takes a book from the small shelf in her room but the simple action of reading does nothing to soothe her. What she wants, what she needs, is to take Roham from the stables and go riding along the riverside. 

Unfortunately, her father has ordered her to remain within the walls of Riverrun where she is safe from Targaryen Loyalists who might try to take her and either drag her to King's Landing as a political hostage or kill her and send her body to her father as warning. Neither is a fate Meredith wishes for herself, so she had submitted to her father's orders with little more then mild fussing. 

It hadn't been this bad before, the boredom. Usually Meredith could find something to do that would take her mind off of how restless she felt. Now Meredith finds herself pacing back and forth across the floor of her bed chambers, muttering under her breath, and without much thought moves to grab the heavy cloak draped across the foot of her bed. Once it's wrapped around her shoulders and the hood is secured Meredith strides from her bed chambers and into the chaos of the corridor beyond. 

She is halfway to her destination when she is stopped by her uncle Brynden and she cannot help the joy she feels at seeing him. Ever since his return from the Battle of the Bells where he'd fought against the royalist forces only two days prior her uncle has been discussing battle plans and other such things with the Lord of Riverrun. Meredith had only seen him briefly upon his return but the fact that he was unharmed during the battle lifts a weight from her shoulders whenever she manages to catch a glimpse of him.  

"Uncle Brynden," she greets with a bright smile, "I did not expect to see you so soon! How goes things?" 

The older man smiles, a bit more thinly but no less kind, and says, "Supplies are being readied and weapons sharpened. All should be ready a fortnight after your Warden of the North arrives with Lord Arryn." 

"Lord Stark is not my anything, Uncle Brynden. Not yet in any case." Meredith can feel heat creeping up her neck and wonders how blotchy she looks, wonders if her uncle finds amusement in her discomfort. 

"Where are you going, Meredith? Your father has instructed you to remain within Riverrun." Her uncle says, perhaps only just now noticing the cloak or choosing now to bring it up. Either way, Meredith is thankful for the change of subject. 

"I was heading toward the ramparts, would you like to accompany me?" 

"In this weather?" 

Meredith glances at the window, beyond the sky is a light gray and rain is falling in fat drops. Thankfully it is not a hard rain and Meredith will suffer no discomfort if she spends a few quiet moments outside. She turns back to her uncle. 

"I am... Restless." Meredith admits, her uncle's eyes soften a great deal. 

"Very well, but I suggest you return to your chambers within an hour. The sky is growing darker and it would not do for you to catch your death of cold." 

Then her uncle is gone, striding down the hall in a way that makes him appear larger than life. Meredith wishes she had his confidence, his ability to simply command respect from others. But then, if she had such skills Meredith wouldn't know what to do with them anyway. So it's with a shake of the head that the young Lady turns and makes her way to the ramparts. 

Rain has long since stained the ramparts a darker grey then they typically are and the stone shines wetly in the dim light offered by the sun hidden behind angry, grey clouds. Meredith pulls the hood of her cloak higher over her head and leans against the crenelation, careful not to fall through any of the little gaps between the stone. Once she's settled against the stone, arms growing wet from where the rain hits them, Meredith turns her attention to the single road leading from Riverrun. 

Soon her husband-to-be will travel down that road, mere hours from now he and a host will be arriving down that road. To wed her and bed her and give her a new name. 

Meredith pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing the flesh until she can almost feel it growing red beneath her teeth. 

To say she is nervous would be an understatement, to a degree. Meredith has never truly left the Riverlands before and while she knows how to run a household she never suspected she would be wed off to someone as influential as Eddard Stark now is, because she's a second born child but hardly the only daughter. And besides, Cat has always been the one that caught the attention of others. Cat is also the one their father so dotes on, taking her with him when he travels to other houses and when she was younger sitting her on his lap when he wrote his missives. 

With a huff Meredith drops her head into her hands. 

Gods, she finds herself wishing she were more like Cat with her perfectly demure smile and polished manners. Meredith's no slouch herself but she's also not what one would think of when envisioning a proper Lady. But then, perhaps it is not so bad? The women of the North aren't exactly perfect by standards set in the South. The Mormont women are known to carry blades and wear men's clothes. Perhaps Meredith will not be so out of place in the North. 

"What are you doing out in the cold, sweetest sister?" Edmure inquires from somewhere behind her causing Meredith to jump near out of her skin. 

"I could ask you the same." 

"Why, I am seeing to the well being of my most beloved sister of course." 

"Don't let Lysa hear you saying that, she hates me enough as it is." 

Edmure, who at some point had come to lean against the merlon beside her, frowns before reaching to slick his hair back from his eyes. 

"She is angry because you are to marry Lord Stark?" 

"And become Lady of the North while she is to marry a man older then even our father." 

"Would you like me to speak with her?" 

Meredith shakes her head, "Don't bother. It won't do anyone any good to try and talk Lysa out of her ire." 

"But it is unfair to you." 

"Life is full of unfairness, Ed, best not let it bother you too much." 

Something flits across her beloved little brother's face, something like irritation, but it fades soon enough and in its place settles a certain type of melancholy. 

"Your husband-to-be arrives today, tomorrow night you and Lysa will wed, and then once this war ends you will be off to your respective homes." Edmure says it sadly, as if the thought of her leaving is a terrible one. 

And perhaps it is, Meredith has always been Edmure's favorite sister and they share many fond memories of youthful adventures both within their ancestral home and beyond its walls. When she and Lysa are gone it will only be Cat who remains, for a short time at least, but Cat will not sully her skirts with the red mud from the riverbanks nor will she practice shooting with Edmure. 

"I will not leave for some time yet, Edmure." 

"And only if your Lord husband is not killed in the fighting." 

"Ed, don't say such things." 

"It's true, is it not? If he dies you will remain as you won't have given birth to an heir... I'm sorry, I've upset you. I seem to be doing a lot of upsetting today." 

Instead of replying to such a statement Meredith merely reaches for her brother's hand, holding it tight even when the rain begins to chill her fingers. It is the best comfort she can offer. The best comfort she knows. For words are wind and easily misinterpreted and sometimes... Sometimes physical contact is so much better then muttered words. 

They stay like that for some time before Edmure pulls her back into the keep with the excuse that he is growing hungry and that it is too cold to leave her in the rain. Meredith allows him to escort her to her chambers and allows him to press a chaste kiss to her cheek before leaving him in the hall. Once safely tucked into her own room, the door bolted to ensure her privacy, Meredith strips out of her cloak and as she's walking past her vanity to hang her cloak before the fire Meredith catches her reflection in the mirror. 

A strong, square jaw more suited for a boy in Meredith's opinion then a girl, dimpled cheeks and a rosy mouth, the top lip smaller then the bottom... There's a scar just above her eyebrow where she'd hit her head the first time her gelding had thrown her from her saddle and another above her temple which she got when she and Edmure had been sneaking around where they aught not have been sneaking and Meredith's foot had slipped. 

It is a moment of insecurity in which Meredith wonders if her husband-to-be will consider her attractive. 

She does not possess the classical Southern beauty of Catelyn nor does she have the sweet innocence of Lysa. Amara once said that there was a steadiness to Meredith, a sense of endurance, of strength. Meredith doesn't see it but she doubts Amara would lie to her in such a way, but then, she'd been very small when her maid had said it. 

With a sigh Meredith turns her attention away form the mirror and the auburn haired lass staring back at her through Tully eyes. It won't do her any good to fret over her appearance for it is what it is and nothing save dyes and special creams will change it. 

Later that afternoon Amara arrives with several maids carrying steaming water. Meredith lets them pass through the door and into her chambers where they quickly go about filling the small tub tucked away into a small side room just off of Meredith's bed chambers. Amara watches them with a critical eye before shooing them off when their task is complete and the bath is full of steaming water that smells faintly of honey and cinnamon. 

"Into the bath," Amara commands as she readies oils and creams and soaps on a little stand she's set beside the bath, "before it gets cold." 

Knowing better then to argue Meredith strips out of her clothing, tosses the pile near the door, and carefully steps into the water. She dunks below the surface when Amara tells her too as well, and comes up already attempting to wipe the water from her eyes while her maid begins lathering her hair with soap. 

"Why so much fuss?" Meredith asks after Amara has helped her rinse the soap from her hair. 

"Your Lord Stark will be arriving soon." 

"I'm sure he will have me whether I smell lovely or no." 

"But I'll not have you smelling like a ruffian, girl." 

There is laughter in Amara's tone and Meredith smiles as she takes the cloth that is offered to her, washing her legs and belly and her arms while Amara carefully wraps her hair in another cloth to dry. Once her hair is out of the way Meredith leans forward so that Amara might help her with her back. Her maid works quickly, efficiently, leaving nothing but clear skin behind after she's dipped the cloth in the bathwater to rinse away the excess soap. 

it's a quick process, bathing, one the two of them have practiced for years. 

So when it's time to step out of the bath to dry Meredith does so with ease. She is given a small cloth to dry with and then a robe to where while Amara guides her to sit at the vanity where the older woman will brush sweet smelling oils into her hair until it is soft and gleaming. 

Meredith spares herself a moment's glance in the mirror before pulling a small chest of jewels closer to chose what she will wear this evening. She decides on a simple strand of pears to wear around her neck and wrist. She feels that anything else would be too flashy and anything less would make it appear as though she did not care. This is simple but not underwhelming. 

Amara seems to approve as she hums thoughtfully. 

"The blue dress with the high collar tonight." 

"You think?" 

"You've yet to wear it and I'm sure your father will be pleased to see you in something that isn't made of cotton or leather." 

"But the blue one?" 

"You look lovely in blue, my Lady!" 

"Perhaps the grey one? It is the color of Lord Stark's house after all." 

Amara stills, the comb in her hand halfway through Meredith's fiery locks, and it is then that Meredith knows she will be wearing the blue dress with the high collar and ivory buttons down the back whether she likes it or no. 

She sighs, "Very well, the blue one." 

"A wise decision, My Lady." 

Neither of them speak for some time after that. Amara continues combing through Meredith's hair until it's bone dry and gleaming prettily in the light while Meredith gnaws on her bottom lip until it's swollen and red. If the older woman notices she says nothing, instead she weaves and braids Meredith's hair into a simple Riverland fashion. Then she takes the pearls from Meredith's hand and carefully maneuvers the strand over her hair. 

Once it's settled Amara moves to grab the dress she's decided Meredith will be wearing to the feast. 

It's easy enough to slip into, even with her corset restricting her movements, and after Amara has done up all of the buttons on the back she allows Meredith to examine herself in the vanity's small mirror.

"A vision." Amara says, having likely seen something cool in Meredith's face. 

"Thank you, Amara... Have you seen Lysa and Cat?" 

"Lady Catelyn is preparing herself for Lord Stark and Lord Arryn's arrival." Amara speaks without meeting her eye. 

"And Lysa?" 

"Your sister refuses to leave her chambers." 

Meredith purses her lips. She might not agree with how her father treated Lysa's situation or how he rid her of her child but Meredith thinks that Lysa should at least be aware that her marrying Jon Arryn and leaving Riverrun might be best for her. At least she will be Lady of the Vale and mother to more children if she allows it. She will not have to suffer living in their father's home for the rest of her life when their father is unable to find her a husband. 

For their father has been trying to find her a husband closer to her age and status but with word of Lysa's lost innocence having spread throughout the Riverlands and beyond... Well, Walder Frey had offered one of his sons, the youngest one, but not even Meredith would stoop so low as to have her sister marry one of Walder Frey's ilk. The man is a weasel with eyes that linger where they should not and hands that wander. 

Her uncle nearly removed Walder Frey's head from his shoulders when the Tully's traveled to the twins for Walder's most recent marriage and his eyes had followed the scoop of Meredith's gown in hopes of catching sight of her breasts. 

In comparison to Walder Frey, Lord Arryn is... Well, Meredith doesn't blame her sister but she certainly doesn't support her actions either. 

"She will be in attendance when the Lords arrive, of this she has no choice." 

"Your father?" 

"My uncle. He's grown tired of Lysa's behavior." 

"As most tend to do." Amara says with a wicked grin. 

Apparently Lysa's attitude is beginning to wear on more then just her immediate family. 

With a shake of the head Meredith moves to the wash basin where a small container of tooth powder and a rough-spun cloth waits. She wets the cloth in the basin, dips a bit of it into the mixture of herbs and salt and a bit of charcoal, and begins scrubbing at her teeth. After a bit she spits what's left in her mouth out into the basin and sets aside the cloth before turning to let Amara see her smile. 

"Presentable?" 

"Absolutely lovely, My Lady." 

Heat creeps up Meredith's face as she replies with a soft, "Thank you." 

"Now, off you get. Your husband-to-be is arriving soon and I suspect your father will want you to be there to greet him." 

"My father will hardly notice if I'm late... Especially if he's dealing with Lysa." 

Instead of dignifying that with a response Amara removes her apron and uses it to smack Meredith on the rump as the younger woman trots past. There's a muffled squeak and cry of, "Amara!" before the door to the chambers shut and the maid in question is left to her duties. 

"You look lovely, Little Trout." Her uncle says in greeting when Meredith steps out of the keep and into the courtyard. 

"Thank you, Uncle Brynden." Meredith replies as she steps up to wrap her arms around her beloved uncle's neck. 

He smells like the soap he so favors and boot polish. It's a sharp scent, one that sends tears to Meredith's eyes, but it's a comforting one as well. One Meredith hopes she will be able to smell again after the war. When she finally pulls away her uncle is looking at her with something very much like concern burning in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Meredith manages to choke out, suddenly feeling very silly. 

"It's alright, Trout, I understand." Her uncle places his roughened palm upon her head and smooths it back across her hair. "Now, Lord Arryn and Lord Stark will be arriving soon. Go stand with your siblings." 

"Has anyone seen Lysa?" Meredith eyes, eyes drifting to where her father and siblings are standing. 

Brynden Tully's eyes go incredibly dark and he shakes his head, "She should be arriving any minute now seeing as your father gave the guards leave to break down her door and drag her out in her night clothes should she refuse to be present for her husband-to-be's arrival." 

"Oh... I see." 

Meredith isn't sure what to say to that and her uncle seems more annoyed then angry which is good because her uncle will never allow the guards to drag Lysa out looking like a common whore. Meredith would never allow them to drag her out looking like a common whore. But their father's anger with Lysa can only be soothed so much, she is lucky he has not come to collect her himself. 

For there would be nothing anyone could do to stop whatever hateful words Lysa would spit at their father, and no one would be there to stop her father from reacting poorly to it. 

Let them squabble and hate one another, Meredith thinks as she allows her uncle to guide her to stand beside her siblings, but let the worst of it be done after this war is won.  

She knows better then to hope for such things but hope for them she shall. 

"A vision, sister!" Emdure cries when he sees her, ducking down to plant a sloppy kiss upon her cheek as he is wont to do with any of the three young Ladies he is allowed to show affection for. 

"And you look half-way charming, Edmure." Meredith retorts, wiping her cheek of spit, "Did you actually take a bath." 

"Funny, for a moment I almost thought you to be a proper Southron Lady." Edmure quips back. 

Meredith opens her mouth to fire back something harsh but not cruel, it is the game they love to play after all and why should she not indulge in such games, when her father turns to shoot them a look that freezes Meredith's voice in her throat. It is the first time she has seen her father truly out and about in two weeks, Maester Vyman must have decided he was well enough to be out to greet their guests. 

"Stop your bickering, children, our guests arrive any minute now." 

"Yes father." Both Edmure and Meredith demure, eyes downcast and faces hot. 

Beside her Catelyn huffs a laugh beneath her breath which prompts Meredith to nudge her a bit harshly when their father's eyes are no longer upon them. Catelyn merely offers her an impish little grin before turning to face the gates. 

Then the courtyard falls silent save for the rustle of leaves and the sound of horses in the stable and the occasional sharp breath. Even Edmure, who is so full of life and laughter and restless energy refuses to move as they wait for the scout to announce their guest's arrival when he sees them from his position on the ramparts. Slowly, oh so slowly, Meredith begins to feel her muscles loosening and tightening and loosening again as she waits. 

She almost misses when Lysa is deposited between her and Edmure. The younger girl looks disheveled but she's been freshly bathed and wrangled into a dress of green silk. Meredith would think her sister quite lovely if it weren't for the ugly look spread across her features. 

Someone, Catelyn, reaches for her hand to give it a tight squeeze when Lysa shoots her a glare harsh enough to kill a man. 

Meredith's attention is ripped from her sister when the scout calls out, "They're approaching, My Lord!" 

And then the gates are being lifted and the drawbridge lowered and Meredith feels her stomach flop once before lunging up into her throat. She squeezes Catelyn's hand a bit tighter then lets the girl's hand go as the first of the Host from the Vale and the North arrive in the courtyard. 

Together, the Tully household falls into a respectful mix of bows and curtsies. All save Hoster and Brynden Tully who remain standing. 

"Lord Arryn, Lord Stark, welcome to Riverrun." Hoster Tully greets, voice strong despite the illness that had been leaching him of his strength just days before. 

Chancing a glance up, Meredith catches sight of two men who have either pushed their way forward through the host or had been at the very head the entire time. Likely the latter, neither seem the type to hide within the ranks of soldiers they deem expendable. 

One, the one Meredith knows is Lord Arryn, is a fair bit older then their father. His shoulders are broad, his hair is an odd mix of grey and white, when he speaks with her father Meredith notices that he has a few teeth missing, and the skin of his hands and closer to his hair is beginning to dapple. All in all, for a man nearly three times her sister's age he is not... Grotesque. Meredith certainly doesn't envy her sister for the match their father has made for her but Meredith finds herself thinking that she could have been married to a man much less respectable, a man with Frey features, a man with more bastards then common sense, a man who would go out of his way to disrespect Lysa for her foolishness. 

Jon Arryn is not the worst Lysa could do and he seems a kind enough man from what Meredith has witnessed thus far. 

So it is with a less heavy heart and a resolve to give the man a chance her sister never will that Meredith turns her attention away from Jon Arryn and too the man riding beside him. 

Eddard Stark is not as attractive as his brother Brandon had been described as. His face is long and solemn, his hair reaches his shoulders, and there is a seriousness in the way he carries himself that would make Meredith avoid him if she were younger and less aware of the situation. But his eyes, oh his eyes, they are certainly the prettiest part of his face. Grey like wet stone and framed by a curtain of thick black lashes. 

She is pulled from her musings of Eddard Stark and his pretty, pretty eyes when he dismounts his destrier alongside Jon Arryn and allows Hoster Tully to lead him into formal introductions. 

"My Heir, Edmure Tully." Hoster's voice is beginning to roughen but none mention it and Edmure bows his head respectfully before their father's attention moves to Lysa, "My youngest daughter Lysa Tully," the girl in question curtsies but her face is a sheet of ice and Meredith refrains from reaching out and pinching her side as she used to do whenever her sister was being especially petulant, thankfully none of the lords take offence. "And finally my daughters Meredith and Catelyn Tully." 

Both of them drop into another curtsy before rising to offer soft smiles. 

There are eyes burning into Meredith's face and when she glances to the left she finds herself staring right into the eyes of Eddard Stark, to which she blushes and ducks her head in semblance of a curtsy. 

She is saved from doing anything embarrassing by her uncle who has stepped forward to stand beside Lord Stark and Lord Arryn, "Come my Lords, we'll have servants see you to your chambers. The journey to Riverrun could not have been an easy one and I would see to your comfort before dinner." 

Ah yes, dinner. Where Meredith and Lysa will be permitted to speak with their husbands-to-be and form a semblance of familiarity before the wedding tomorrow evening. 

"You've our thanks, Lord Brynden." Jon Arryn replies, and then he and Eddard Stark are being guided into the keep and their meager belongings are being pulled from carts to be taken to their chambers. 

Meredith watches them go with a small frown. 

Once they've disappeared within the shadows of the keep Lysa whips around to glare murderously at Meredith before storming off to her own chambers. 

"Ignore her," Catelyn urges, "she is merely upset." 

"I am not angry with her, Sweet Cat." Meredith promises. 

Because she's not, not really. Neither of them had any control over whom they marry. While Meredith had tried to dissuade their father it had never been something she had any say in and so she had been promised to Eddard Stark in place of Catleyn, which could have very likely caused some chaffing to Lord Stark's honor, while Lysa had been accepted by a man who did not seem to mind the fact that she'd been dishonored. 

It does not mean that Lysa's anger at her is not hurtful. 

"Very well, shall we retire to my chambers before dinner?" Catelyn inquires, reaching up to fix one of the curls that has escaped to bounce around Meredith's head. 

"I would like that." Meredith replies. 

And so the older girl links her arm through Meredith's and guides her through the keep. Neither of them speaking until Catelyn has shut the door to her room and ordered the guard standing beyond the door to not disturb them until it is time for dinner. And while they discuss less important things like dresses and jewels and how to style Meredith's hair the younger girl cannot help but think of the solemn faced man with the incredibly sad grey eyes.  

Chapter Text

Dinner is an affair. Neither good nor awkward, it simply is. They eat roasted quail and wash it down with Arbor Gold, for desert they have lemon cakes which are Catelyn's personal favorite but Meredith can't seem to find the strength to choke down any of the damned things when her husband-to-be is sitting beside her. She wants to speak with him, create some sort of fondness before their wedding tomorrow evening but Edmure is discussing the North with Lord Stark and Meredith is too busy trying to keep an eye on Lysa as the younger girl is all but spitting fire at the man who will be her husband tomorrow to butt into the conversation. 

They're halfway through the meal, for which Meredith is thankful because it means they can retire to their chambers as there are no plans for dancing or merrymaking, when Lord Arryn pulls her into conversation. Meredith is relieved, of course, as it means she can distract him from Lysa's venomous glares. 

"Your Lord Father tells me you are well versed in music." Lord Arryn remarks. 

"Not so well versed as Lysa or Catelyn, I'm afraid. My talents lie in far different places." Meredith says. 

"Oh? Do you take after your uncle then?" 

"In some ways, yes." Meredith takes a sip of her wine before continuing, "Uncle Brynden was the one who taught me to ride and to swim." 

Lord Arryn is not an attractive man but his laughter makes him seem younger. His is a kind laughter, not the laughter of someone looking to mock a young woman for her interests outside of music and needle point. 

"Your uncle is a fine man to have taught you such arts. Though, i doubt being able to swim will do you much good in the North." 

"No," Meredith agrees, hoping she doesn't sound as sad as she feels at the reminder, "I would suspect not." 

"I am sure Ned would take you riding if you wished it. He is perhaps not so accomplished a rider as Brandon was but I've yet to meet anyone with a steadier hand." Lord Arryn says. 

Meredith smiles, "I'll take your word for it, My Lord." 

Behind Lord Arryn Lysa rolls her eyes and digs into her quail. Lord Arryn either doesn't notice the tension rolling off of the youngest Tully daughter or being careful not to make it worse by acknowledging it. Because acknowledging Lysa's anger would make it worse. Which saddens Meredith because her sister might have been happy with her marriage if she weren't allowing her anger toward their father to rule her. 

Thankfully she's staying out of the conversation, opting instead to eat her meal as quickly as is polite and excuse herself. Meredith sighs through her nose before turning back to her own meal. Switching between eating and speaking with Lord Arryn while her brother and uncle keep Lord Stark entertained. Speaking with Jon Arryn is easy, he's rather intelligent and seems fairly easy to get along with. At some point Lord Stark manages to engage himself in their conversation, but only when Lord Arryn claims that he'd been a mischievous boy in his youth. 

Meredith laughs when polite but finds the conversation incredibly uncomfortable as she'd have liked to hear such stories from her husband-to-be and not the man that took him in as a ward and should be attempting to speak with his own soon-to-be bride. 

So when dinner ends Meredith excuses herself with a smile and allows Edmure to guide her from the hall. 

"Do you approve?" Edmure inquires after the doors to the hall have disappeared behind them. 

"Of Lord Arryn or Lord Stark?" 

"Lord Arryn of course, you barely spoke a word to Eddard and you've always been too protective of Lysa... Even when she doesn't deserve it." 

"Edmure, Lysa will always deserve our protection." 

"Even when she is cruel to you?" 

Meredith doesn't respond to that, instead choosing to ask her brother's opinion on Lord Stark. Their conversation is halted by a polite little clearing of the throat that has Edmure nearly jumping out of his skin. Meredith can't help but smirk as she levels her little brother with a look before turning to meet the eyes of none other then Lord Stark himself. 

She offers a curtsy and a, "Lord Stark." 

"Lady Meredith, Lord Edmure." 

Edmure turns back to Meredith after the initial greetings between himself and Lord Stark, takes her hand, places a chaste kiss to her knuckles, and excuses himself with some piss poor excuse of having forgotten to ask their uncle something rather important at dinner. Meredith watches him march right back down the corridor leading to the hall where they'd taken dinner, silently admiring his commitment,  before turning to Lord Stark. 

"Do you require anything, Lord Stark?" She asks, watching as red tints the apples of his cheeks. 

It's barely noticeable but it's there. Meredith finds it endearing, knowing that he's just as affected by her and she is by him. Because he is handsome. Perhaps not in the ways of Rhaegar Targaryen or his brother but there's a handsomeness to him all the same. A sweetness in his eyes that make them appear almost like fog. Meredith wonders if all of his emotions can be seen in his eyes. 

"Might I escort you to your chambers, Lady Meredith?" Lord Stark asks her. 

"If it please you, My Lord." 

He offers his arm, the right one as is expected of him, bent at the elbow and Meredith takes it gently. When he brings his elbow closer to his side Meredith politely tightens her grip o his arm, smiling sweetly when he clears his throat and begins walking down the corridor. 

Conversation is civil and neither of them speak of the war, or of their marriage, or of anything else that might sour the goodwill between them. By the time they've reached the door to Meredith's chambers they've discussed Riverrun and Winterfell and more about the Eyrie. Lord Stark is surprisingly open about it all, telling her about the Wolfswood and how he and his siblings would sneak off to play there as small children. In return Meredith tells him about how she taught Edmure to swim in the river and how the two of them along with Catelyn would play on the banks. 

He smiles softly at her as he places a kiss upon her knuckles. 

"I bid you good night, Lady Meredith." He says, stepping away to place distance between them. 

"And I you, Lord Stark." 

Then with one last smile at the solemn faced Lord, Meredith slips into her chambers and shuts the door. 

She wakes the next morning to someone flinging themselves across her bed and onto her body. It's Catelyn, Meredith knows because Lysa would never do such a thing as she's still so angry with Meredith and Edmure would rather pour water over her then fling himself at her. So it's with a loud groan and a shove at the body pinning her to the bed that Meredith rolls over and opens her eyes. 

"Good morning, Catelyn." Meredith greets the older girl. 

"Good morning, Meredith, are you ready to break your fast?" 

"What time is it?" 

"Nearly noon. Don't worry, father and Uncle Brynden have been entertaining Lord Stark since early this morning so you haven't been missed." 

Meredith frowns anyway. She never sleeps so late unless she's ill or she's been up far too late the evening before. Having gone to bed at a fairly reasonable time Meredith hadn't expected to be woken so late or to be woken at all as she usually wakes before Amara comes to her chambers. 

"Oh, that's good I suppose." 

"Come now, get up." 

Catelyn tugs at the bed covers until she manages to expose most of Meredith's body to the chill, causing the younger girl to scowl as she moves to get out of bed. 

"What are we eating?" Meredith asks, assuming that Catelyn hasn't eaten yet. 

"Amara insisted that you eat well so the cook made us bread with honey and cheese, porridge, and bacon. Fruit was sent as well, if you'd like some." Catelyn says, already preparing their plates at Meredith's small table. 

"What type of fruit?" 

"Plums and pomegranates." 

Meredith smiles when she catches sight of the aforementioned fruit. Both of which happen to be Meredith's favorite, though neither of which are typically had with breakfast which means either her father had them sent up or Catelyn requested them personally. She makes sure to leave some of each fruit for Catelyn should she decide to have some as well. 

The two of them settle at the small table, eating and laughing and discussing the preparations taking place for the ceremony only hours away. They'll be marrying in the Godswood under the heart tree and in the eyes of the Old Gods. Lysa hadn't been thrilled by this as she'd kept the Faith of the Seven since she was a small girl and in her eyes any marriage outside of the Sept would not be a true marriage. 

Personally, Meredith doesn't much care. She'll be marrying Eddard Stark and there are no Septs in the North. Not that that bothers her either, she has every intention of taking the Old Gods as her own when she goes to Winterfell. 

"Are you nervous?" Catelyn asks at some point, causing Meredith to almost choke on her water. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Nervous, about tonight? The bedding?" 

Oh, that. 

Meredith isn't sure how to respond to that. She's been to several weddings, seen just as many bedding ceremonies, and has participated quite hesitantly in two. In the sense that she's never been bare before a man, let alone a group of them shouting bawdy comments, Meredith is nervous about it... But she's also not? She knows none of them will hurt her or touch her in any way that will make her feel violated. 

"I'm not sure." 

"Well, Edmure will be there if you need him." 

"I doubt it will come to that, Sweet Cat." 

The older girl shrugs, "Perhaps not but he'll be there all the same." 

"And what of you? Will you be there to protect my husband?" Meredith laughs. 

"Oh no, I should think that it is the other ladies who must protect him from me." 

"You're horrible." Meredith says, giggling childishly when Catelyn wiggles her eyebrows at her suggestively. 

Hours must pass as the two of them sit at that little table, eating and laughing until Amara enters the room with a bundle of green fabric and almost gold lace. She smiles as she lays the dress out across one of the chairs before going off in search of jewels and shoes. Meredith watches as the older woman sifts through her little chest of jewels, pulling hair pins and rings out and examining them with a critical eye. The ones that don't please her end up back in her chest with the rest of her jewels. 

"It's about time for you to be getting ready, Lady Meredith." Amara says. 

"Oh, of course." Meredith pushes away from the table and makes her way over to where her jewelry and clothes are laid out. 

The dress is freshly pressed and washed, the shoes are a simple green slipper to match the dress, it's all very subtle so as not to clash to terribly with her maiden's cloak. She'd considered wearing blue or red, something in her house's colors, but she'd chosen the green because not only is it her favorite dress but it's her most beautiful as well. It'll also separate her from Lysa who will be wearing blue. The only part of her ensemble that represents her house apart from her maiden's cloak is the hair pins Amara pulled. 

Red and pale blue crystals shaped to look like maple leaves and baby's breath. 

Meredith remembers that her uncle had gifted them to her upon her last name's day. She's only worn them once or twice since then but Meredith loves them. While they certainly won't match her dress they'll look swell in her hair. Or so Catelyn claims when she guides Meredith to a chair so she can start on her hair. Nimble fingers weave a simple braid around the crown of her head and another smaller one a bit further back, both of them bleed into a simple bun at the back of her head. 

The braid and bun are secured with the pins Amara chose. 

"It's lovely." Meredith breathes as she runs her fingers oh so carefully over the pins peaking out of her hair. 

"You're lovely," Catelyn corrects. "Now, we haven't got much time so it's best you let Amara take care of the rest." 

"Where are you going?" Meredith asks. 

"Well, I can't go to your wedding in my nightclothes can I?" 

"You aren't in your night clothes..." 

"Close enough to it." 

And then she's gone, Amara bolting the door behind her so that no one can enter without their permission while Meredith prepares for her wedding. 

"Alright, out of those clothes." Amara commands and Meredith nods as she begins stripping out of her night clothes and leaving them in a heap on the floor. 

There's a small stool in the middle of the room and Meredith steps up onto it at the older woman's prompting. The chill in the room is quickly forgotten when Amara begins rubbing sweet smelling oil into her skin. Meredith thinks it smells like oranges and cloves, much more enjoyable then Lysa's roses or Catelyn's lilies. It also leaves her skin feeling like satin. 

Once Amara's done rubbing the oil in Meredith steps down from the stool, walks over to the bed, and starts stepping into her smalls and her shift while Amara gets her stockings and corset ready. Thankfully Amara doesn't tighten the corset so much that Meredith can't even breathe, she even makes sure it's tied in such a way that when someone goes to remove it tonight they won't have to cut the laces away. They probably will, it's why Amara chose one of her older corsets, but she does it all the same. 

After the corset it done up Meredith pulls on her stockings, tying them off under the knee with grey ribbon so that she can dance without having to worry about them slipping down her legs. She then steps into her slippers before raising her arms so that Amara can help her into her dress. 

"Lord Stark certainly won't have any difficulties tonight." Amara says, causing a brilliant red blush to stain Meredith's cheeks. 

"Don't be crude." 

Amara laughs at her but doesn't push it any further. Instead she goes over to a small chest and pulls the maiden's cloak that Catelyn had made her as Lysa will be wearing their mother's cloak. A peace offering of a sort, one that fell short seeing as Lysa had grumbled and seethed about the fact that she was to wear hand-me-downs. Meredith had been incredibly offended on their mother's behalf and had offered to take the cloak instead. Lysa had huffed and told her that she wouldn't let Meredith be seen in such a thing. 

So Catelyn had made Meredith a maiden's cloak instead. Silk and careful embroidery with blue and red jewels sewn in to look like scales. It's absolutely amazing. Meredith had cried when she'd first seen it. She doesn't think it's any less beautiful the twelfth time she looks at it as Amara pulls the cloak out of the chest and shakes it out. 

"It's heavy." Meredith says as Amara settles the cloak across her shoulders. 

"Not as heavy as your husband's will be." Amara remarks. 

"... Do you approve of Lord Stark, Amara?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"Of course it matters. Most of my family approves of Lord Stark but I find that even if they didn't I'd still be married to him." 

Amara crosses her arms, furrows her brows, and stares at Meredith for several long moments before saying, "Lord Stark seems kindly enough. A terrible liar but I shouldn't think that would be a problem. I think that in time you'll be happy." 

"How do you know that he's a terrible liar?" 

"Men like that, honorable men, they can't lie to save their lives. Half truths are more they're method of choice." 

"Is that a personal opinion?" 

The older woman smirks, "Hardly." 

Meredith shakes her head but doesn't comment on it. What does she know? Amara has far more experience with people then Meredith does and Meredith values Amara's opinion. Especially when she's never once in her life lied to Meredith. So she lets the conversation drop and instead turns to look at her reflection. 

Red and blue have always been the Tully colors. Normally a woman marrying into another family would wear a dress in the colors of her house, but not Meredith, who chose the green and gold for several different reasons. It looks good. Meredith had worried that the green would clash but it's pale enough and subtle enough that it doesn't. There's a noticeable difference certainly but nothing that makes Meredith want to change into something else. 

She's smoothing down her bodice when someone knocks at her door. It's more then likely her uncle coming to escort her to the Godswood. While she checks her appearance one last time Amara gives her uncle entry into her room. 

"You look like your grandmother." Her uncle says in greeting.

"Thank you, Uncle." 

"Come, it's time." Brynden says as he offers his arm, and Meredith takes it, squeezing her uncle's arm and curling her fingers into his sleeve, and taking comfort in his steadiness as he begins leading her through the Keep. 

The Godswoods of Riverrun are bright and airy, filled with elms and redwood trees and wildflowers with streams of clear water scattered about. Nothing has been done to enhance the beauty of the Godswoods aside from the required maintenance put in by the gardener. The paths are clear of overgrown bushes and flowers, which means the older man who tends to the gardens and the growth inside of Riverrun has tended to the Godswood before the wedding. 

Beside her Lysa is practically stomping down the path, gravel crunching beneath her dainty blue slippers. It's sad to see her sister so miserable, so angry, because Lysa has never been an ugly girl. Quick to judge and hard to soothe, yes, but never had Meredith thought her ugly. The deep blue of her dress and the sapphires in her hairnet would make her even prettier if she weren't scowling and glaring at everyone. 

Meredith turns her attention away from her sister. Focusing instead on the heart tree that has come into view and the men standing beneath it. 

The first person Meredith sees is Lord Stark. He's standing between a taller man and Lord Arryn, tall and proud and solemn, wearing dark grey and black and a cloak lined with white fur. The man beside him is holding another cloak, smaller then Lord Stark's with fine embroidery and the same white fur lining the inside. He offers her a smile and enough though it's a subtle little twist of the lips it's enough to endear him to Meredith, even if just a bit. 

When her uncle is close enough to him Lord Stark steps forward and asks, "Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?" 

Distantly, Meredith is aware of Lord Arryn asking the same. Distantly, she becomes aware of the fact that Lord Arryn keeps the Old Gods. 

"Meredith of house Tully comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?" Her uncle's voice is sharper, louder then Lord Stark's is. 

"Me, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I claim her. Who gives her?" 

"Brynden of house Tully, Knight of the Gate, uncle of Lady Meredith of house Tully." Her uncle then turns to her and Meredith swallows to clear her throat. "Lady Meredith of Riverrun, do you take this man?" 

"I take this man." 

Suddenly her uncle's hand is gone and in it's place is Lord Stark's. His hand is steadier then her uncle's and warmer too. It is not a soft hand, there are less scars on Lord Stark's hand then on her uncle's. But it is a good hand, Meredith supposes, as good as a hand can be in any case. She allows the man to guide her to kneel before the heart tree and bows her head for the required moment of silent prayer. 

She's not sure what to say to the Old Gods but she hopes for a happy marriage, hopes that she is able to form some sort of relationship with her husband. She wants children too and she wants her husband to love her as she wants to love him. 

When the moment of prayer is over Lord Stark helps her to rise and when she's steady on her feet Meredith turns so that he can remove her maiden's cloak and hand it off before draping his house's bride's cloak over her shoulders. Like Amara said it is heavier, meant to protect the wearer from the sharp cold of the North's climate. Meredith finds it comforting. 

And just like that she is no longer just a Tully. 

Just like that she is Lady Meredith Stark, Lady of Winterfell and the North. 

Eddard, for surely she can call him that now that she is his wife, has taken her hand in his and has not let it go even though he has barely glanced her way since draping his cloak over her. The pad of his thumb is rough though, calloused from years of wielding tools Meredith has never wielded herself, as he runs it across her knuckles. A tender gesture meant to reassure and comfort. 

Those who have come to witness the ceremony smile politely, offering their well wishes as the newly wedded couples make their way back toward the keep where the feast will be held to celebrate the joining of Meredith's house to Lord Stark's and Lord Arryn's. Perhaps it won't be as grand as it would have been had they not been in the middle of a war but Meredith doubts it will be anything less then acceptably indulgent. 

"Do you feel any different, Mare?" Edmure laughs as he spins her around the room later that evening. 

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." 

"Being the Lady of a great house, do you feel more Lady-like?" 

"I feel like I could box your ears and not have anyone reprimand my actions." Meredith retorts, smiling wickedly as Edmure looses some of the red in his cheeks. 

He's drank too much ale, or perhaps wine, Meredith's not sure which he's been drinking more of but Edmure's still rather young and has yet to choose his drink of preference. Meredith wouldn't be surprised if he'd had too much of both in the past few hours that the feast has been going on. 

"You wouldn't." Edmure gasps, horrified. 

"Oh but I would, right here in front of everyone! Oh what would Father's men say if they saw it, hmm? Little Edmure Tully brought to heel by his beloved elder sister." 

"You, big sister, are wicked." 

"I am, thank you for noticing, as if you haven't had the past twelve years to figure it out." 

Edmure smirks as he spins her around again, the high table where her father sits discussing politics with Lord Arryn flashing by all too quickly. Meredith doesn't see her husband at the table, which is a relief because she'd left him there to songs ago and had felt rather bad about it, but looking for him now the young Lady finds her solemn faced Lord dancing with Catelyn. 

It's an awkward, stilted thing, as if Lord Stark isn't quite sure what to do with himself. 

"Worried?" 

"About what?" 

"Catelyn and your husband. He is rather dashing is he not?" 

"You are such a little shit." Meredith whispers, shoving playfully at her brother's shoulder as he dances her about the hall. 

Edmure laughs impishly and twirls her past Lord Stark and Catelyn, both of whom glance at the laughing pair as they dance by. Meredith wants to think that there was something joyful in Lord Stark's eyes as he looks at her and she offers a sweet smile before Lord Stark disappears from her line of sight due to Edmure's vigorous twirling. And by the time the song ends Meredith's head is spinning from perhaps a bit too much wine and her little brother's overzealous nature. 

The seven-and-ten year old laughs as Edmure places a chaste kiss to her knuckles before leaving her in the company of a Northern man to save their little sister from the high table where she looks frightfully bored, or so Edmure claims when he departs. 

It is then that Lord Stark comes to her. He makes light conversation with Lord Umber before turning to Meredith, appearing less solemn in a way as he offers his hand. 

"May I have the next set, My Lady?" 

"Yes, it would please me greatly." 

So Lord Stark, Eddard, takes her hand and guides her onto the floor where he falls into the steps of the dance with a hesitance that suggests he's not so familiar with the pacing and movement as he would perhaps like to be. But he tries anyway, and it endears him to Meredith a great deal. He only steps on her toes once, which doesn't bother Meredith as Edmure steps on her toes quite often when they dance together but results in a fierce stammer of apologies from her husband. 

Meredith just smiles at him, spinning away when this particular dance dictates and moving back to allow his hands to rest firmly on her waist. If his thumb hesitantly slides over the lace covering her bodice Meredith will never say. 

"I must apologize," her husband says in the middle of their dance, causing Meredith's brows to furrow. "I am not so good a dancer as Brandon." 

"I never danced with your brother. I've no comparison to make between the two of you, My Lord." Meredith replies. 

"You may call me Ned, if it please you," her husband says, a faint sort of pink coloring his cheeks. "We are married after all." 

"Then you may call Meredith, but never Mare." She smiles widely as she speaks, which earns her a smile from her husband. 

"I take it you're not overly fond of the name." 

"Not at all. It was Edmures doing. You see, when he was a boy he couldn't say my name properly and began calling me Mare instead of Meredith. While certainly not the worst thing he could have chosen to call me I was never particularly fond of it." 

"Then I'll not call you by such a name." Eddard Promises. 

"And I shall like you all the more for it." 

The laughter that spills from her husband's mouth is reserved, not the hearty boom of her uncle nor the impish chirp of her brother. It is a softer, sweeter thing, more a rush of air spilling forth from between his teeth. Meredith finds it fitting for one such as Eddard Stark. It'll certainly pair well with her natural roar. Or so Meredith thinks, she's never compared her laughter to anyone else's so what does she know? 

Either way, she likes Eddard Stark's laugh and would very much like to hear more of it. 

Later that evening when Meredith's Lord husband has been stolen away by her uncle and Meredith has been passed into the arms of a northern lord by the name of Howland Reed, a kind eyed man with a soft voice, the bedding is called for. Possibly by one of her father's men, either way it matters not, for Howland Reed's eyes go terribly wide as a man sweeps Meredith off of the floor and into his arms. 

She lets out a yelp of surprise and moves to grasp hold of the man's shoulder while he laughs boisterously, spinning her around to face the group of men who have come to surround them. Soon enough the group have carried her out into the hall where they begin removing her clothes. 

It is the slippers that go first, dainty things that they are, and then her stockings. A man is pulling at her laces, being surprisingly careful not to rip them despite the urging of the men around him to get it done with. A glance behind her show's Howland Reed's flaming cheeks and furrowed brow. He does not meet her eye and Meredith doesn't mind it so much as she might have. 

Once the laces have been loosened the dress is pulled from her body and held aloft by a giant of a man in unfamiliar colors. Surprisingly, there is no fear of the men around her, not even when one of them removes a small blade and hooks it beneath the laces of her corset before tugging it toward him with near enough force to cause Meredith to stumble. There is a nervousness, yes, what woman wouldn't be nervous? But there is no fear, because these men are her father's men, are her husband's men, and none of them are reaching out to touch her breasts or bring their hands to the place between her legs to laugh about her readiness or lack there of.

She suspects, that both her uncle and Lord husband made their expectations quite plain. 

After her corset is pulled from her body a man Meredith vaguely recognizes carefully pulls her shift is pulled over her head, the fabric snagging very briefly on the pins holding her hair in place before coming free, it knocks the pin loose but doesn't remove it all together and Meredith plucks both out of her hair before anything can happen to them. 

"My apologies, My Lady," Ser Desmond Grell calls drunkenly after he remarks about the curve of her rear. "I'm terribly sorry." 

Minutes later a man pulls her smalls from her body, leaving her naked and exposed to the men who've swarmed around her. One man, a northern man with honey colored eyes, stares at her breasts for far longer then Meredith is frankly comfortable with. Thankfully they reach the chambers she'll be sharing with Eddard for the duration of his stay and the man who'd carried her out of the great hall lifts her up once more to walk her into the room and deposit her onto the bed before leaving. 

She takes the few silent moments she has to place her hair pins onto the small writing desk in the room. 

By the time she's turning back around to make her way to the bed Eddard is shoved into the room by a gaggle of women who chortle and make bawdy remarks as they pull the door shut. 

Eddard's cheeks are flushed and his eyes are hard. Meredith doubts it has anything to do with the fact that this is the first time they're standing naked and vulnerable before one another. 

"I hope you were treated well," Meredith jokes in an attempt to shake off the unease growing in her stomach. "The woman of Riverrun have a very hands on approach I've heard." 

That stoniness that had settled in her husband's eyes somewhere along his trip to their new chambers fades into warm mist as he replies with a soft, "I was treated fairly well then. And you? Were you treated well?" 

"Far better then I expected, honestly." 

Meredith isn't sure what to do with her hands. Frankly, she's not entirely sure what she should be doing right now. Should she go to him? He's staring at her like he expects her to do something. Meredith shifts back on her heels as Eddard's gaze drifts from the curve of her lip to the dip of her collar bones to the rise of her breasts, down the flat plane of her stomach and to the firm musculature of her thighs before allowing his gaze to meet hers again. 

Something warm settles in the pit of Meredith's stomach as he steps closer to brush his fingers over the soft just of her cheekbone. That familiar bite of passion that Meredith has become so well acquainted with in the past weeks flaring sharply when Eddard moves to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. 

His kiss is a tentative thing at first, a soft brush of his chapped lips against her softer ones. It grows firmer when Meredith steps closer to him and reaches out to place her hands against his ribs, fingers curling just enough to urge him a bit closer. He tastes like the spiced beer her uncle is so very fond of. Meredith sucks in a sharp breath when Eddard's mouth slips away from hers to trail along the curve of her jaw and down her neck to her collarbone. 

Beyond the door someone is shouting about getting her ready. 

Meredith finds it terribly easy to ignore the japes and bawdy remarks when her husband's teeth scrape against her nipple, when his hands trail from her waist to the back of her thighs. He lifts her easily, her smaller stature easily handled as Eddard carries her back to the bed she'd vacated not so terribly long ago, and after he's placed her among the bed coverings and pillows his lips continue their assault on her body alongside his hands. 

Soon enough Meredith is a gasping, panting mess. Dragging her nails across her husband's shoulders as he slips his fingers between her legs, groaning, almost keening, against her neck when he's met with wet heat. 

"I'll be gentle." He promises, eyes hazy and blown wide. 

Then her is pulling her so that her legs are hooked around his hips so that he might enter her without restriction. It doesn't hurt, a bit uncomfortable perhaps but there is no pain. Meredith keens as her husband pushes into her, back arching as a low keen slips past her lips. Eddard kisses the exposed flesh, tongue darting out to taste the sweat beading there, moaning sharply when Meredith clenches down on him. 

His fingers slide across her skin as he takes her, plucking at her nipples and slipping between them to tease her before moving away. 

All too soon Meredith is moaning his name like a prayer, "Ned, Ned, Ned." 

Release comes quickly for both of them. Ripping Meredith's breath from her in a sharp cry as her body tenses and shakes and quivers. Above her Eddard is unmoving, breathing harshly into her hair, his weight heavy but not entirely unwelcome as it presses her into the bed. When he rolls off he takes her with him, only stopping when he's stretches across the bed with Meredith tucked against his side. 

His skin is slick with sweat, both of them are slick with it really and Meredith isn't sure she likes it but she does enjoy the warmth of her husband as he holds her close, fingers trailing over her shoulder. 

"What happened?" Meredith asks, breaking the silence that has filled the room after their coupling, "In the hall? You seemed angry." 

Beneath her cheek Eddard's shoulder tenses, the muscle flexing, but he does not push her away nor does he speak. Instead he picks up a fiery red curl and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. 

"One of my bannermen said something I did not take kindly too." 

"About me." 

A pause, "Yes." 

Meredith doesn't say much after that, merely blinks up at her husband to find him watching her through mist-warm eyes. It's comforting, knowing that there is at least some fondness for her. Without much thought Meredith closes her eyes and presses close to her husband, sighing softly against his chest when he shifts to grab a blanket and pull it over them both. 

Chapter Text

She wakes before him, what a funny thing really, to wake before another person. Waking early isn't an incredibly uncommon thing for Meredith, she does it every day, but to wake before someone she's sharing a bed with? That's not so familiar a territory. So she takes a moment to study her husband before slipping out of bed and to her trunk where she pulls out a pair of small clothes, a pair of breeches, and a tunic which she changes into after cleaning herself up a bit. 

Sneaking out of the chambers she's now sharing with Eddard Stark is far easier when she's not afraid of waking him. 

Eddard Stark appears to be an incredibly sound sleeper. 

Once she's in the corridor Meredith greets one of the guards standing near the door, smiling sweetly at him and greeting him with kind words, after he's given his acknowledgement with a somewhat surprised looking smile Meredith makes her way to the kitchen where she finds Amara sitting at a table preparing the morning meal. 

"You," she tells Meredith when she catches sight of her, "are not supposed to be here." 

"And where else should I be if not here?" Meredith asks. 

Amara tuts as she steps away from her task to begin another. Walking over to the stove where she's preparing breakfast. She places bacon and eggs and a few links of sausage on a plate before moving to fill a bowl full of porridge and sliced apples. Honey is poured into the porridge, cinnamon too, and then the plate is being pushed into Meredith's hands. 

"Since you won't be dining with your husband I suppose my company will have to do." Amara mutters as she wipes down her hands, "Eat. I want your plate empty. The bowl too." 

Meredith lowers herself into a chair that's been set around the table against the back wall where servants peel potatoes and sort through vegetables. She eats with gusto, Amara's cooking has always been amazing but after last night's events Meredith finds that now it tastes a great deal better now then it's possibly ever been. So she eats until there is nothing left to eat, smiling kindly when Amara snatches her dishes away before Meredith can offer to take care of them. 

She has spent so much time in the kitchens. 

Always sneaking in when she was younger to give treats to Lysa and Edmure when they deserved them. She'd eventually begun visiting the kitchen when the servants were awake, somehow managing to endear her to them with her kindness and her willingness to help when needed. Still, some things had never been acceptable in the eyes of the servants and so some things Meredith doesn't know.

She still offers to help though. 

It's probably why she's even allowed in the kitchen anymore when Edmure and Lysa are not. 

"May I ask how it was?" Amara asks after a moment. 

Sunlight is streaming through the window. It won't be long before someone else comes. 

"I enjoyed it..." 

"But?" 

"I had suspected him to be chaste." 

This earns her a loud snort from Amara and a disbelieving, "Chaste? Oh darling girl, no. He might not dishonor you now that you've wed but every man wets his cock eventually. I'd be surprised if Lord Stark hadn't had a whore or two in his bed before taking you, considering the company he keeps." 

"It surprised me is all." 

Amara stares at her for a long moment. 

"Does it bother you?" She asks and Meredith shakes her head. 

"Not so much as it probably should." 

"Does that bother you?" 

Meredith doesn't think so. 

"I'm thankful I suppose... That Lord Stark sought out others. I don't think last night would have been half as enjoyable if he hadn't done so." 

And with that said Amara nods slowly and picks up her knife to return to her previous task. Meredith watches her for a long moment, shakes her head, and decides to change the subject. If she wants to talk about Eddard Stark with the woman then the two of them can do it in the privacy of Meredith's bedchambers when her Lord husband isn't around. 

Slowly, the kitchen begins to fill with servants. Many of them greet Meredith with brilliant smiles and warm wards. But as the kitchen grows more crowded and Meredith finds there is nothing that needs her limited expertise, the young Lady of Winterfell rises and bids Amara goodbye before leaving the kitchen in search of something more productive to do with her time. 

Maester Vyman is a shrewd man but kind enough. He'd been introduced to Riverrun after Maester Kym's death and he had never turned Meredith away when she came to him with her curiosities. In fact, he'd been rather enthusiastic about allowing Meredith to help him on occasion. 

Which is why she's more then happy to help the man boil strips of cloth for bandages and carefully packing away containers full of creams and tonics.

And it's while Meredith is carefully coiling now died bandages into carefully made rolls that Edmure enters the Maester's chambers. He smiles fondly at her as he makes his way over and lowers himself onto a stool. 

"Maester Vyman has recruited me to help my beloved little sister." Edmure explains as he pulls a small crate closer to himself so that he can begin putting away various items. 

Soon a comfortable silence settles over the two as they finish packing up the supplies Vyman has prepared for the men who've come to Riverrun. By the time they've finished there are several crates full of tonics and ointments and other such supplies. All of which are fairly recognizable to Meredith seeing as Maester Vyman has always been relatively tolerant of her curiosities. 

Once everything is packed Meredith and Edmure each grab a crate and make their way toward the courtyard where a wagon will be waiting to be packed full of supplies that will follow Lord Arryn and Lord Stark farther south. 

"Have you spoken to Catelyn today?" Edmure inquires after they've left the Maester's tower. 

"Not this morning, no... I assumed she would have spent the morning with Lysa." 

This makes Edmure scoff, "You assume incorrectly. Lysa hasn't left her chambers all morning." 

"Well, I suppose it's her morning. Lysa can spend it however she wishes." 

Edmure shoots her a mischievous smile before carefully nudging her with his elbow. 

"And why have you not locked yourself away with your new husband, beloved sister? I heard Lord Stark was rather surprised to see you gone this morning." 

The heat that spreads across Meredith's cheeks is absolutely due to the implication Edmure is so obviously making. However, she is a proper young Lady and Meredith will not fall victim to Edmure's mischief. Instead she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. 

"I'm a Lady of Riverrun, Edmure, and so there are many tasks that need my attention." 

"Catelyn and Lysa are also Ladies of Riverrun." 

"And Lysa has decided to spend time in her own company." 

Edmure snorts but refrains from saying anything further. 

Word travels fast among the serving folk and if Lysa were to even catch a hint of what either of her siblings have said, especially if it were anything about her, then it would make all of their lives just a bit harder. 

All conversation about Ladies and chores dies when the two Tully children reach the courtyard. 

There are several men milling about and Meredith smiles at them all they pass, especially the men who fight beneath her husband's banner. They're her men too now, in a sense, and some of them might not return to their homes after the war. The least she can do for them is offer kindness and compassion wherever she finds the need for it. 

One of the men, a giant of a man with a wild brown beard, offers a curt nod as he passes and Meredith feels something warm bloom in her chest. 

Her mother had once told Meredith that a good Lady cares not only for her husband's house but for those who live under him protection and his rule. Inspiring loyalty through kindness and love is not so difficult a concept to understand, really, it's the application of such a concept that Meredith thinks is a bit harder to master... But she thinks that if nothing else she can inspire acceptance among the Northern Lords. 

Without much thought Meredith hands her crate to Edmure once he's climbed into the wagon and sets down his own. 

"Excuse me," a voice says behind them, "Lady Meredith? Lord Tully has sent for you." 

Meredith turns to smile at the young page standing behind her and nods, "Thank you." 

The boy bobs a little bow before stepping back, patiently waiting for her to finish her task so that he can lead her to her father. 

"Thank you for your help, Edmure." Meredith says. 

"Of course, would you like me to get the other crates?" 

"If it isn't too much trouble." 

"None at all, sister mine." Edmure chortles. 

And Edmure's smile is fuch a sweet thing that the older girl can't help but feel lighter upon seeing it. Meredith offers a smile in return before shaking her head fondly and turning to follow the page back into Riverrun. 

"Do you like Lord Stark, Meredith?" Her father asks once Meredith has settled in the chair opposite his own. 

Over the past several days Hoster Tully has regained much of his color. It brings Meredith a great deal of relief as she'd begun to grow worried for her father as his illness had shown no sign of relenting. 

"I find Lord Stark very honorable." Meredith remarks. 

"Honorable? Is that all?" 

"What else would you have me say, father? I know very little about my husband and we've not had time to remedy that. Therefore my thoughts on him are very simple." 

Not an exact lie. 

Meredith doesn't know Lord Stark well but she thinks he's a kind man. She doubts their marriage will be terse or bitter. If nothing else he will treat her well and provide her with fond memories. 

"There will be time enough for that later." Her father says, but his eyes are soft. 

Soft because they both know that there is a very real chance her husband will not return to the North, a chance that Robert will lose and those who supported him will be put to the sword. It's a terrible thought. Meredith hopes that it remains that, a thought. 

"I called you here not to discuss your husband but to discuss what will be expected of you now that you've been married." 

"Of course." 

"You'll be expected to stay at Riverrun until after the war." Hoster says. 

"And should my husband die and I do not provide an heir?" 

"Should such a thing happen we will find you another suitable match... Perhaps a Dornishman? I know you weren't opposed to the idea of marrying a Dornish Lord." 

"It will help that my lack of a maidenhead won't be looked down upon." Meredith comments. 

Her father shoots her a look but doesn't move to reprimand her for her remark.

"This is war," her father says, reaching out to take her hand, "but I would not have you think that I will not ensure your comfort and safety should the worst happen." 

"I know, father." Meredith manages to say around a mouthful of emotion. 

Hoster Tully is a good man, caring, but he had not been overly affectionate with his children. Not like their mother had anyway. Meredith is not used to kisses on cheeks and weathered hand holding her own. So it's almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. But there was never any doubt in Meredith's mind that her father loves her and her siblings. So his declaration to care for her is soothing, acting as an anchor to keep Meredith from drowning in the turmoil of her emotions. 

So it is with a gentle smile that Meredith moves to press a chaste kiss to her father's wrinkles cheek. 

"Thank you, father." She says after she's pulled away. 

"Of course, dear girl." Her father's voice is calm and his eyes impossibly blue. "Of course." 

Chapter Text

"We'll be heading south soon." Eddard remarks later that evening. 

Meredith glances over her shoulder, fingers working steadily to pull the long strands of her hair into a braid, and nods slowly. 

"In a few days I've heard." She says as she ties off the end of the braid with a black ribbon. 

It's part of a set Lysa had bought her for one of her previous name's days. Lysa had been so delighted when she'd given Meredith a small chest full of vibrantly colored ribbons of various lengths and widths. Some had embroidery on them, an assortment of animals and plants from Westeros and distant lands beyond her reach, but some had been bare of any decorations. This one had been the simplest of the set, likely due to the fact that one would be expected to wear it during a time of mourning. 

But Meredith has never much cared to that assumption. So now she wears it to bed each night in an attempt to help calm the wildness of her hair each morning. It works, for the most part anyway. 

"Yes, we're to meet Robert at the Trident." The remark is a off handed one and Meredith purses her lips. 

"The Trident?" 

"Yes. Robert intends to meet Rhaegar Targaryen there." 

Oh. 

She knew this day was coming. 

Soon her husband and his men will march west to the Trident, and if the gods favor them south to King's Landing. It is a war that has become unavoidable thanks to both Robert's inability to let this injustice done by the Targaryens stand and then due to the fact that the Targaryens themselves will neither surrender nor apologize. But not all Targaryens are the cause of this war. 

And Meredith cannot, will not, let herself be persuaded to believe otherwise. 

Elia and her children are innocent in this. 

They did not ask for Aerys' madness or Rhaegar's wandering intentions, and yet, they will be the ones to suffer the worst.

Does her husband know this? 

Does he care? 

"What will you do with Elia and her children, should Robert win this war?" Meredith finds herself asking her husband. 

The question seems to startle her husband. This, in turn, makes dread pool in Meredith's stomach. 

"Elia and her children? They will be sent South to Dorne." Eddard replies after a long moment and it forces a panicked burst of laughter from Meredith's mouth.  

Because how can he think that Robert or his forces will just let Elia and her children go back to Dorne? How can he possibly think that they will be safe from harm in King's Landing where they are already suffering under Aerys' thumb. 

"How can you be so naive as to think that? Elia is a Princess and her children are rightful heirs to the Iron Throne! They are about as safe as a babe in a lion's den." Meredith snaps. "And what of Viserys? Rhaella? Will they be put to the sword or banished with no way to provide for themselves? Have any of you thought of how this would affect the lives of the innocents involved in this war?" 

Her husband stares at her for a long moment. Meredith can't tell what he's thinking but his eyes are a dark, stormy grey. If she didn't feel like her statement was completely justified she would have been vaguely terrified of the look on her husband's face. But her questions are completely justified and therefore she will not be cowed. 

Children should not be a casualty of war and their mothers should not have to fear for their lives. 

"Aerys may be mad and his son may have stolen your sister but those children and their mothers do not deserve to suffer because of that." Meredith says, softer this time. "Eddard, they are innocent in this and to punish them for crimes that are not their own is beyond cruel." 

He just doesn't understand. 

The two of them have been sharing a marital bed every evening since their wedding night. There's a chance, a very big chance, that Meredith has conceived. Her and Ned's child may be growing in her womb as they speak and never once in her life has Meredith been more terrified. Not even the time she almost drowned in the Red Fork when she was nine. 

If Robert's rebellion fails and Aerys survives there's no telling what will happen to her or the babe she might be carrying. 

Several seconds pass before her husband bows his head in her direction. 

"I'll do all in my power to ensure the lives of Elia, Rhaella, and their children." 

Somehow, that's enough. 

When Eddard and his host leave Riverrun Meredith waits until his horse has disappeared from her line of sight before allowing her shoulders to slump and her chin to droop just the faintest bit. Catelyn stands beside her, hand curled around her own, and remains with her until Meredith decides it's a bit too chilly to remain outside any longer then she already has. 

Lysa had come to see her Lord husband off but she'd only stayed long enough to be polite. 

Lord Arryn hadn't seemed all that bothered with her chilliness, in fact, he'd seemed to be rather accepting of it. Meredith supposes that if nothing else it's a good thing seeing as Lysa will be throwing quite a bit of chilliness his way over the duration of their union. If he is willing to tolerate it then maybe her sister's married life will not be so terrible as she once thought. 

"Come, we'll retire to my bed chambers and we'll have Amara to bring us some honey cakes? Perhaps cider? I know you like honey cakes and cider." Catelyn says, reaching up to smooth back Meredith's hair. 

It's a tender gesture. 

One Meredith takes far more comfort in then she should. 

"I think I might even be convinced to play with your hair." Catelyn adds conspiratorially. 

"Thank you, Catelyn... I'd like that." 

They've seen so little of each other over the past few weeks. Both too busy with their own tasks to truly spend any time together. Some of it has to do with the amount of time Meredith's spent tending to her Lord husband's forces as well as her marital duties. It's rewarding in its own way but Meredith has missed spending time with Catelyn and Edmure. 

"I would as well." Catelyn says, fingers curling around her own. 

Then the older girl is leading Meredith through the keep, down the familiar path leading to Catelyn's chambers. By the time they reach the door Meredith is less chilled then she was moments earlier and her muscles less tense. Catelyn smiles at her as she pushes open the door to her chambers. 

Catelyn's chambers are far more colorful then Meredith's. 

A tapestry made by their mother is hung on one wall, the vibrant woodland image a startling contrast to the pale walls around it. There's a painted wardrobe against the wall opposite her bed and a couple of chests beside it, both are near to bursting with the colorful silk and velvet gowns that Catelyn takes such pride in making for herself. Even the drapes hanging around the bed are shockingly bright despite the Tully influence. 

Without much thought Meredith throws herself on Catelyn's bed. 

The bed covers smell of sage and lemongrass. 

They smell like the scented oils their mother used to wear. 

A dip appears in the bed as Catelyn moves to sit beside Meredith. Neither of them speak as the older girl begins unweaving the somewhat complicated series of braids that Meredith had managed to wrestle her hair into earlier that morning while Eddard watched her from the bed. 

"You've such lovely hair, Meredith, I wish you'd wear it loose more often." 

"If I wore it down all the time it'd become a pain." Meredith remarks blandly, voice muffled by the bed covers. 

"But it's so lovely... I'm sure Lord Stark found it just as beautiful as I." Catelyn chortles. 

Blindly, Meredith lashes out with her hand which only makes her sister laugh when the flailing appendage connects with her thigh. 

"It's so bland in the North. Brandon never thought so but he was born in the North and only left when it was expected of him but I've heard stories..." 

Meredith thinks that Catelyn would say that the Riverlands if the most beautiful region in all of Westeros and if anyone tried to disagree she'd likely be rather aggressive in her attempts to persuade them. It doesn't leave her with much room to talk in Meredith's opinion. 

"It can't be that bad." Meredith turns her head to stare up at Catelyn, the older girl looks faintly amused. 

"I assure you it is. Only snow and mist and grey skies. Very bland, don't you think?" 

It sounds lovely. 

Meredith smiles as she casts her sister a glance. "I think it sounds interesting." 

Her sister merely shakes her head and threads her fingers through Meredith's hair, twisting and weaving the strands into something far too intricate for Meredith's tastes. 

"You'll be the most beautiful woman in the North and your husband the envy of all men." Catelyn remarks softly. 

"You jest." 

"No," Catelyn shakes her head, "I do not." 

Meredith isn't sure why she's so uncomfortable with the idea of being the most beautiful girl in the North but it's not a thought she favors. In fact, it's rather terrifying. She knows what men and women say of beautiful women. Meredith doesn't think she wants to carry such a mantle as Cersei Lannister or Ashara Dayne. But she does not say as much to Catelyn. Instead she smiles impishly and allows her sister to make of it what she will. 

In the nights following Eddard's departure Meredith dreams of a world filled with ash. There are bodies, torn apart and burnt to a crisp, littered across the now barren land that Meredith had once called home. The rivers run red and thick like blood, ash billows up into the air whenever Meredith takes a step, and the terrible screams of people dying is all that fills the air. 

Meredith finds herself stumbling along, calling out for someone she's never met. 

And despite not having any type of response Meredith begins sprinting toward a large shadowy mass that has risen up from the ground in the near distance. 

Faster and faster she runs, lungs burning with the ash she's breathed in, and yet the mass only seems to get father away. Crying out Meredith runs faster, eyes burning as she screams one name. 

Suddenly there's a terribly rumble and the shadowy mass is twisting and turning until a dragon stands before her. It looks ill, scales missing and eyes milky, but Meredith is scared of the dragon's image. No, she's more terrified of the little red haired child trapped beneath the dragon's claws. There's no blood, no burnt flesh, but Meredith still feels irrational fear for the child who's face she cannot see. 

"Please!" She finds herself sobbing. "Please!" 

The dragon's laughter is like boulders falling and there is a singular, sharp cry before her child disappears behind broken fangs. 

Meredith wakes and barely has time to roll out of bed and make it to the chamber pot before she's emptying the contents of her stomach. Heaving almost violently as the memories of her dream chase her into her waking hours. 

It has been the same dream plaguing her since Eddard left for the Trident and Meredith cannot help but feel like something is to go terribly wrong despite knowing that her dreams are just that, dreams. 

With a final heave Meredith finishes emptying her stomach into her chamber pot. 

Once she's certain she won't vomit again Meredith rises, makes her way over to the basin of water, and wets down a rag. She wipes down her forehead and neck to rid herself of sweat and cool down her heated flesh before wiping her mouth. This is the first time she has ever become ill after one of her dreams, making it a mildly concerning thing. She'll talk to the Maester in the morning though, no sense in waking him at this hour. 

Meredith trembles as she climbs into bed and pulls her blankets up to her chin. 

She wishes Eddard was here, if for no other reason then to assure herself that he is alive and well. 

Sighing Meredith closes her eyes and prays to the Old Gods and the New. 

Please, she thinks, keep Lord Stark from harm and show mercy to Elia, Rhaella, and their little ones. 

There is no response but Meredith thinks the Gods must have heard her for when she sleeps she does not dream of burning cities and dying babes again. 

Chapter Text

"Are you ill?" Amara demands when she enters Meredith's room to find her retching into the chamber pot. 

Over the past week Meredith has been unable to keep anything down, her meals always come back up at some point whether it be evening, morning, or midday. She hasn't spoken to the Maester yet.. She's afraid he'll confirm what Meredith already suspects and it's a terrifying thought so she just hasn't gone to see him. But as she can't seem to keep her meals down she has resorted to light meals and morning spent abed. 

When she doesn't respond to Amara's question the older woman walks over and pulls Meredith to her feet once she's stopped heaving. 

"Have you spoken to the Maester?" Amara demands, because she likely suspects what it is that's made Meredith so sick. 

Suddenly Meredith is crying, great heaving sobs that rattle her frame and leave her short of breath. 

"No." She manages to utter between breath. 

"It's nothing to be afraid of." Amara promises as she pulls Meredith into a firm hug, allowing the younger woman to sob against her shoulder. "I've brought many babes into this world and you're mother brought many as well. You've nothing to fear." 

"I've everything to fear." Meredith gasps out. "My people are in the middle of a war, if my husband falls and the Targaryens win then Aerys will likely come for me and my babe. I will be unable to protect them and I will be forced to watch them die!" 

Meredith sobs harder and Amara rubs her back and smooths down her hair. It is a tender gesture, one Meredith might have gotten from her own mother when she was younger. And soon enough Meredith finds herself with no more tears to cry and a dear friend whispering soothingly into her ear. 

"If such a thing happens I will see you safely to Bravos. When we get there we will find you a wealthy husband to love you and your babe and you will be happy there until you die of old age surrounded by your children and your children's children." Amara promises which earns a watery laugh from Meredith. "Now, when was the last time you bled?" 

"A sennight or so before Lord Stark's arrival." Meredith breathes. 

Amara nods. 

"Then it's likely you're with child... You must speak with the Maester at some point to be sure." 

"I know, but I'm afraid." 

"The first one is always frightening. But in time it will be less so." Amara pats her hand and smiles pleasantly, "Now, let's get you something to eat." 

Swallowing hard Meredith shakes her head. 

"I won't be able to keep it down for long." 

This makes Amara snort and shake her head. 

"You'll be just fine, I promise." 

And before Meredith can protest the older woman is guiding her out of her bed chambers and down the corridor toward the kitchen. Seeing as many of their soldiers traveled south with Eddard and her uncle there are only a few guards peppered about Riverrun, just enough to keep the people remaining in the Keep safe from anyone who might wish to attack. Mostly it's just servants and Meredith's family remaining. 

Most of the servants barely bat an eye when they see Meredith, rather disheveled and puffy eyed, take a seat at the table where the kitchen staff tend to prepare vegetables and fruits for meals. 

One of the younger servants offers her a cup of tea and a smile before disappearing from the room upon Amara's orders. 

"Have you broken your fast?" 

"Yes." 

"Then I'll make you something light." 

And so while Amara prepares the food Meredith sips at her tea, thumb tentatively brushing across her stomach. There's no bump yet, no way to really tell that there may or may not be a babe growing in her womb, but Meredith can't stop herself from acting as if there is. 

Maester Vyman confirms her pregnancy a few weeks later after Meredith's missed another bleeding. He tells her what she needs to avoid eating and doing anything strenuous during her pregnancy and gives her a tonic to help with the nausea. Then he sends her on her way. Not long after her visit to the good Maester all three of Meredith's siblings come to congratulate her on her pregnancy. 

Meredith gets the impression that Lysa's only there because Catelyn and Edmure dragged her along. But when Edmure and Catelyn offer their congratulations Lysa merely presses a jar of clear oil into her hand and mutters that it's to help keep her skin from stretching when she begins to show her child. Knowing that it's the only thing Meredith is going to get from Lysa at the moment the older girl presses a chaste kiss to the younger girl's cheek and thanks her. 

It has to hurt, knowing that Meredith will be able to keep her babe when Lysa was unable to.

She won't begrudge her sister her hurt feelings, especially when she's not said anything cruel to Meredith in regards to the babe growing in her womb. 

"I still need to tell Lord Stark." Meredith tells her brother and sister after Lysa has walked away. 

"Do you think it wise to send a raven at this time?" Catelyn asks. 

There's always a chance Meredith could lose the babe or her raven could be shot down by Targaryen sympathizers. 

"No, but I would feel better about telling him." Meredith says. 

"You could always wait until you're further along," Edmure offers. "By then we may have a better idea of whether or not Robert will win." 

"That's treason, Ed." Catelyn reprimands softly which makes their brother roll his eyes. 

"Like that matters anymore." 

"Enough, both of you," Meredith shakes her head and levels them both with a look, "I appreciate you coming but the last thing I want to think about right now is how if Robert loses I will likely lose this babe as well." 

Edmure blushes brightly while Catelyn nods once to show she understands Meredith's concern. 

Soon after Edmure departs to train in the yard, likely having been driven away by Meredith's reprimand, while Catelyn lingers to discuss all of the things Meredith will likely need at various points in her pregnancy. Most of the items can easily be made but there will be some items they may have trouble getting their hands on if fighting spreads to different areas of the Riverlands. 

"I'd be honored if you let me make a blanket for the little one." Catelyn says as she follows Meredith into her chambers. 

"Why would I stop you from doing so?" Meredith asks, placing the gift from Lysa on the stand with her pitcher and wash basin. 

Catelyn smiles brightly as she takes a seat on Meredith's bed. 

"I thought that you'd rather do that yourself." 

"Oh, no. Your stitching is so much better then mine." 

This makes the older girl blush rather prettily and clear her throat gently. 

"Would you prefer Tully or Stark colors?" Catelyn inquires. 

"I will gladly accept whichever you choose, Sweet Cat." Meredith says, carefully lacing her fingers with Catelyn's. 

"You may regret saying that." The older girl laughs. 

And Meredith shakes her head, "Never." 

Because Catelyn is her sister and Meredith knows that her sister would never purposefully do anything to hurt her or disappoint her. It is not in Catelyn's nature, as it is not in Meredith's to degrade her siblings in any way. Whatever Catelyn gifts Meredith with it will be stunning in its beauty and Meredith will be honored to be given such a gift from such a talented woman. 

"Rhaegar Targaryen is dead." 

Meredith looks up from her dinner to stare at Edmure with wide eyes. 

"I beg your pardon?" She hears Catelyn ask. 

"Robert killed him," Edmure pants, he must have run all the way from the rookery. "Smashed his chest in with his war hammer." 

The siblings share a look among themselves and the room grows tense. 

With Rhaegar dead it's likely Aerys will go to new extremes to win the war... Or at the very least attempt to prevent anyone from taking King's Landing. It's unlikely he'll win the war seeing as without Rhaegar many of the realms still loyal to the Targaryens will turn their backs on Mad King Aerys. 

Meredith sips at her water, hand resting on the small swell of her stomach. 

It's only been a little more then two moons but Maester Vyman said that it wasn't uncommon for new mothers to show their pregnancy within the first two or so moons of their pregnancy. Her bump will grow more pronounced in the next few moons. At the moment it's nothing noticeable to anyone who isn't aware of her pregnancy and Meredith is still able to wear most of her dresses. 

"They're heading to King's Landing." Edmure says, ripping apart the tense silence with a soft voice. 

Meredith suddenly feels very, very ill. 

She knows her Lord husband is a man of his word, she's heard nothing to prove otherwise, and so she knows he'll stand by his pledge to do all he can for Elia and Rhaella and their children but... She can't say the same for Robert or Tywin Lannister. 

Pushing aside her plate Meredith rises from the table. 

"Excuse me," She says to her siblings as she steps away, "I'm afraid I've begun to feel a bit ill." 

"Do you need me to fetch Vyman?" Catelyn asks, her worry clear on her face. 

"No, I'll be perfectly fine in a little bit." She smiles reassuringly before turning on her heel and leaving the hall. 

She doesn't go directly to her chambers like she might have any other time. There wont be any solace found behind four walls so Meredith makes her way to the Gods Wood of Riverrun and kneels beneath the Heart Tree where those weeping red eyes seem pin her to the ground. It's comforting, in its own way, and so Meredith remains there until the sun begins to set and the sky is painted with soft blues and bold pinks. 

Moons pass without so much as a raven from her husband or uncle. 

Meredith tries to understand. It's a long journey to King's Landing and if Robert's army meets any resistance then there will likely be a battle of some sort to delay them. So it isn't unexpected, not hearing anything, but that doesn't mean it's comforting. 

If something has happened to Meredith's uncle or her Lord Husband they may not hear word of it for some time. 

Sighing tiredly Meredith rises from her bath and carefully steps out so that Amara can help her dry off. Once the skin of her stomach has been sufficiently dried Meredith takes the jar of oil from Lysa, removes the lid, and carefully massages the oil into her skin while Amara turns her attention to Meredith's hair. 

"It won't be long before the babe comes." Amara remarks as she helps Meredith into her clothes. 

"Only a few more moons." Meredith agrees with a smile. 

"Have you thought of names?" Amara asks as she begins lacing up the back of Meredith's gown. 

Meredith adjusts her sleeves as she says, "Robb, I think, for a boy. Sansa for a girl." 

"Why Sansa?" 

"I figured Catelyn would want to name her babe for our mother and I liked Sansa well enough. It is different from what I am used to." Meredith admits. 

"A beautiful name for a beautiful girl." Amara agrees before she guides Meredith over to the vanity where she motions for Meredith to take a seat. 

Once Meredith's seated Amara begins combing out her hair, carefully applying various oils to the strands to help with the tangles. Meredith feels herself relax as the older woman works through her hair with careful, practiced hands. 

"What if it's a boy?" Meredith finds herself asking. 

"Then it will be a very handsome boy." Amara replies as she sets the comb aside. 

Meredith watches through the mirror as Amara carefully weaves red-gold strands of hair around Meredith's head. The dampness of the hair will result in a pretty curl once it's dried as Meredith's come to learn over the years. Once Amara's done braiding the older woman steps back so that Meredith can rise from the stool. 

"What are your plans for the day?" Amara asks as she turns to gather up the bath supplies. 

"I haven't the faintest idea." Meredith says after a moment of consideration. 

Her original plan was to write to her uncle Brynden to inquire after his health and the state of things in the south but after that? Meredith isn't quite so sure what she's going to do. Perhaps she'll spend some time in the library. It really just depends on what needs to be done and whether or not she can do such things in her current condition. In all honesty, she's found herself going a bit mad, being trapped behind four walls all of the time. 

"Perhaps you could come to the kitchens? Some of the servants have gifts for the little one." Amara remarks. 

"Oh," Meredith twists to look at Amara with wide blue eyes, "Amara, they didn't have to do that!" 

Guilt gnaws at Meredith's stomach. 

She never expected gifts from anyone but her sister, and even then she only expected it because she knew Catelyn would be beside herself with joy at the prospect of being an aunt... But the servants? She never would have ever expected them to give her anything. 

"You've always been kind to them My Lady. They are doing this because they are happy for you... Humor them." Amara winks at her, "Besides, I'll be there and I've a gift to give you myself." 

Shaking her head Meredith rises from her stool and takes Amara's hands in hers. 

"They have always been kind to me, Amara, it is no burden to repay such kindness with my own." She replies before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to Amara's weathered cheek. 

The older woman waves her off with a snort of laughter. 

"Enough of that, you've got quite the day to see to. Come to the kitchens after supper and you'll receive your gifts."  

"Very well, I'll see you then." 

Amara nods once before gathering up her things and striding from the room. 

Meredith waits until the door is shut to grab her bow and a quiver of arrows, her cloak, and a bracer for her wrist. Once she's situated Meredith leaves her own room and makes her way to the training yard which has been strangely empty over the past few moons due to the fact that many of the more experienced soldiers have left. The guards on duty rarely train when Meredith can watch them and so she takes advantage of the quite as often as possible now a days. 

It's nice, quite, it gives Meredith a moment to focus on her own work without having to worry about anyone commenting on her being in the yard in her current state. 

With a low sigh Meredith notches an arrow, takes up her stance, and lets loose an arrow. 

She smiles when it sinks into the target just left of the red circle in the middle. 

The rest of her day passes quickly. 

Meredith has gotten good at killing time not that there's no Uncle Brynden to keep her company, no swimming in red rivers to keep her mind occupied, no scenic rides to keep her adventurous spirit satisfied. 

Being a mother was supposed to settle her wild nature, that's what she's always heard fathers and mothers tell their rambunctious daughters. Something about being responsible for another life or the like. While Meredith is aware that she needs to be careful with her body the little one in her womb has done nothing to calm or soothe her wildness. 

So she's had to find ways to entertain herself and more often then not that means spending hours at a time hyper-focusing on tasks. 

When supper rolls around Meredith's fingers ache with the amount of times she accidentally jabbed herself with her sewing needle but she's satisfied with the work she's gotten done with her child's wardrobes along with little swaddling clothes and thicker blankets to keep her son or daughter warm and comfortable when they eventually travel to Winterfell. 

Supper consists of chicken bathed in sage and lemon, bread, cheese, and honey cakes - a craving of hers as of late, one the cook has never failed to satisfy. Meredith sips at a glass of water as she eats a healthy serving of each item. The tonic Vyman had given her to help with the sickness has allowed her to enjoy larger meals. Something Meredith will be forever thankful for. 

Later, it's Amara that greets her in the corridor and leads her to the kitchen where a handful of servants are waiting with bright smiles and open arms. 

She's ushered into a chair and given a glace of sweetened fruit juice as opposed to the mead everyone else is drinking. 

Meredith can't help but smile as she sips at the red liquid in her cup. 

"It's not much, My Lady," one of the serving maids, Tildy, says as she presents a small chest to Meredith, "but we've all been working on it since Amara told us you were pregnant." 

Tildy came from the Reach, traveled to the Riverlands with her husband and found herself in Riverrun. A sweet woman with a gentle disposition that always made the people around her smile. Meredith's never spent as much time with Tildy as she has with Amara but she does enjoy the blonde's company. 

Reaching out Meredith pulls the chest into her lap, smiling brightly at the men and women around her, and flips up the lid. She gasps when she sees the carefully arranged contents of the chest. 

Little carves figures - ladies and knights and an assortment of animals - along with a few cloth dolls, a little wooden house, and a large blanket made of brightly colored yarns. Meredith sniffles as she removes a little wooden Lady from the depths of the chest. 

"Thank you, I... I love them." Meredith wipes at her eyes. 

"We wanted to give you something before you left and seeing as we don't know if it's a boy or a girl there's a bit of everything in there." Tildy says. 

"I can never thank you enough."

This time it's Tildly's husband, a beast of a man named Tom, that steps forward. He smiles kindly as he places a hand on his wife's hip. 

"You can thank us by coming home every once in a while. We'd all love to see the babe." 

Meredith nods enthusiastically, seeing no issue with allowing her child to be seen by the men and women she considered something close to her friends. She grew up with these people, they watched her grow, cared for her in their own ways. Why would she ever deprive them of the kindness they've never failed to show her. 

"It's unlikely I'll travel North before the birth," Meredith strokes her thumb over the carefully carved face of the figuring as she continues talking. "If I'm correct there should be a period of time in which I can't travel so you'll all be able to see the babe before I go North." 

She receives a series of laughs, pats, and promises to entertain the little one whenever she needs a moment to herself. 

Another hour or so passes before Meredith decides it's time for her to retire back to bed. While her days are nearly as busy as she would like she finds herself retiring earlier then is typical as the last moon of her pregnancy draws near. Amara sees her back to her chambers, toting the little wooden chest despite Meredith's protests. When they reach Meredith's chambers the older woman follows her in, puts the chest at the foot of her bed, and offers a bright smile. 

"You'd best be getting to bed." Amara commands as she pulls back Meredith's bed covers. 

Meredith smiles as she slips out of her dress, incredibly thankful that her pregnancy has allowed her to forgo the stays she's typically expected to wear under her clothes. Once she's stripped down Meredith grabs the oil from the vanity, pours some in her hand, and rubs her swollen stomach down until the oil has warmed and absorbed into her skin. Once all that's done Meredith slips into her night clothes. 

Before retiring for the night Meredith leans forward to kiss Amara on the cheek. 

"Thank you," She says to the older woman who just smiles and shakes her head. 

"To bed with you! You've had a busy day and the little one is likely tired." 

"The little one is currently dancing on my bladder." Meredith remarks blandly. 

Amara snorts. 

"Better then not dancing at all." The older woman moves to the door. "Good night, My Lady." 

"Good night, Amara!" 

The door shuts with a soft thump and Meredith is left alone to blow out her own candles, place a log in the fire, and crawl into bed where she lays for several moments in the darkness running gentle fingertips over her stomach, smiling when a tiny foot presses against her fingers. 

Chapter Text

"A Maester has come from Winterfell." Lysa remarks one morning when she finds Meredith in the library. 

Glancing away from the book in her hand Meredith raises an auburn eyebrow at her sister and snaps her book closed. 

"A Maester?" 

"Yes." 

"From Winterfell you say?" 

This makes Lysa roll her pretty blue eyes and say, "Yes Mare. You've got ears. Use them." 

Ignoring her sister's snide little remarks Meredith places the book off to the side and levels her sister with a look. Lysa has always been snippy, more so now that Meredith's babe is soon to come, and so it's easy to ignore her when she acts this way. 

"Do you know why he's here?" 

"No, father sent me off to find you though." 

"Very well... Thank you, Lysa." 

Fiery strands flutter as Lysa pivots on her heel and storms out of the library. 

Meredith rolls her eyes, gathers her discarded book, and quickly makes her way to the Great Hall. If her father's called for her it's likely he's receiving this new Maester in the Great Hall, especially since he's been feeling better as of late. Gathering her skirt Meredith begins a careful descent of the stairs - she's sure to take even steps and place her foot fully upon the stone before moving to the next step. She's heard horrible stories of women slipping while traveling down a set of stairs and loosing their babes. 

Once she's successfully descended the stairs without injuring herself Meredith begins the short trip from the library to the Great Hall where two guards stand watch. Meredith smiles at both and they respectfully bow their heads before one - Daevyn - pulls the door open to reveal her father, her siblings, Maester Vyman, and three unfamiliar men. 

"I apologize for my tardiness." Meredith says as she strides through the room to where her father sits upon his seat. 

When she reaches him Meredith places a chaste kiss upon his cheek, uncaring of the unfamiliar eyes on her, before stepping off to join her siblings to the right of their father. Edmure raises an eyebrow at her and tilts his chin toward the Maester, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Meredith ignores his childish antics, unwilling to encourage him in the company of strangers. 

"It's quite alright, Meredith." Her father says before motioning toward the Maester. "This is Maester Luwin of Winterfell, he has traveled here to help you through the birth of your child." 

Meredith bows her head toward the man despite her confusion and smiles politely, "Thank you Maester Luwin, your dedication to House Stark must be a fierce thing for you to travel so far South during a time of war." 

The man's small, kind eyes gleam as he bows at the waist causing the links in his chain to clink together. 

"As I am the Maester of Winterfell I thought it best to travel south to assist Lady Stark with the birth of her child. It is a great honor to see such new life into this world and I'd not miss a single birth if I could help it." 

He seems a kind man, this Maester Luwin, with his weathered face and steady hands. Meredith has yet to meet a Maester she distrusts and this one does not make her stomach clench unpleasantly. Smiling, Meredith offers a curtsy. 

"You've come at a good time then. I've only a moon left before the babe comes." Meredith glances over each of the men, noticing their travel soiled clothing and weary gazes. "You must be tired... I'll have someone see you to your rooms and a hot meal sent to you." 

A series of thanks follows her statement and Arvin, one of the guards, disappears through a side door to see to Meredith's wishes. Soon after Amara appears and guides the three men from the room. Once they're gone Meredith turns to Vyman. 

"Did you send for them, Maester Vyman?" Meredith asks curiously. 

The Maester nods slowly. 

"I did. It would be best if the Maester of Winterfell were here to see you through your first birth as he will be the one to help through all the others." Vyman remarks. 

"Of course." 

A fierce little kick makes Meredith glance down at her rounded middle, hand drifting to rest on the swell. Her babe kicks again, just as fiercely as the last time and Meredith cannot help but to smile in pure wonderment. 

"Are we dismissed father?" Lysa asks, eyes trained on anything but Meredith. 

"Aye, be gone with you lot. I've much to speak to Maester Vyman about." 

The four siblings bid their father farewell before making for the door. Once out in the corridor Lysa disappears, practically racing away from the other three Tully children without so much as a backwards glance. 

Edmure scoffs at her behavior before turning to Meredith. 

"You'll name him for me won't you? Edmure Stark. Has quite the ring to it." 

"Yes," Meredith rolls her eyes fondly at the younger boy, "Edmure Stark is exactly what I plan on naming my babe. If it's a girl I will name her Mure and she will be the prettiest little fish." 

"You mock me." 

"I tease you." 

Her brother smiles broadly before wrapping an arm around Meredith's shoulders. Edmure guides Meredith down the corridor, Catelyn following behind with a fond chuckle. Meredith twists to wink at her older sister before turning around to watch where she's going. 

Maester Luwin is a good man and Meredith quickly grows a fondness for him. 

He tells her of Winterfell, of her husband, of her goodbrother. Tells her stories she's never heard before and then politely tells her that he is not so good a story teller as Old Nan. Meredith thinks he's a rather good story teller and tells him as much whenever he seeks to say otherwise. 

They develop something of a friendship. 

Meredith has never truly been friends with a man before aside from her brother and Uncle Brynden. It's a strange thing but Meredith enjoys the good Maester's company more then she probably should. But if anyone thinks it's odd of her no one dares to remark about it to Meredith or any of the other Tully's within the Keep. 

"Does it snow often in Winterfell?" Meredith inquires one morning as she and Luwin make their way to the great hall to break their fast with the rest of Meredith's family. 

The man nods slowly. 

"Aye, Lady Stark, it snows a fair bit... It will snow more in the winters but there is typically a light blanket of snow here and there." 

"It sounds lovely." 

Maester Luwin casts her a glance and smiles. 

"I dare say that it is." 

"And what is Winter Town like?" 

"Near to empty during the springs and summers, near to bursting during autumn and winter." Maeter Luwin shuffles further down the corridor. "It lies just beyond Winterfell's main gate and the people are incredibly loyal to House Stark... Many of the men have left to fight under Lord Stark's banner." 

"And the rest? How are they managing?" Meredith asks. 

"They manage as best they are able." 

Just like everyone else. 

That bit remains unsaid but means no less to the young Lady as she thinks it over. 

Many people are dying due to the war, Meredith is no stranger to this, but she still worries for those who are unable to properly care for themselves because they have no idea how. At least the common folk are taught practical skills; planting and hunting and surviving. Not many people are are lucky. Even some of the common folk are still starving to death despite the skills they're taught. 

Sighing, Meredith tucks a wayward strand of red hair behind her ear. 

"I hope the war ends soon." She says after a moment. 

"As do I, my Lady." 

"I fear it won't end well." 

"War never does." 

"No," Meredith replies a little bitterly as she thinks of all the lives lost and upturned, "I suppose it doesn't." 

They don't speak of the war or Winterfell or the babe for the rest of the walk to the great hall. They remain in a companionable silence that stretches between them even as they are met with Meredith's family and more servants. Meredith is thankful for it. She doesn't think she'd be able to stomach speaking any more of the war seeing as her stomach is beginning to roll. 

As of late she's been repulsed by the smell of roasted duck and crazing blood oranges. 

And that's what her morning meal mostly consists of. The occasional slice of toast and a glass of fresh water doing nothing but making her craving for the delightfully red fruit that's been harder and harder to come by as of late. 

Blood oranges are not a necessity despite what Meredith would like to think and so much of the produce still making its way to Riverrun is more localized. But her father, wonderful man that he is, has made sure to at least acquire a small crate of oranges every other month. 

Meredith digs her thumb into the soft flesh and peels the orange open. 

She ignores the way her thumb comes away dark red in favor of popping a chunk of orange into her mouth.

A low rumble startles Meredith from her sleep, the room brightening for a single moment before returning to darkness. 

There'd been no signs that it was supposed to rain. Meredith's never been scared of storms before and she's certainly not afraid now but... She hadn't expected it to be storming. With her heart pattering in her chest Meredith rises to fetch herself a cup of water. A firm press against her stomach makes Meredith want to roll her eyes. It never seems to rest, her child. 

Maester Luwin suggested that it could be due to the fact that Meredith is so close to the time in which she should give birth. 

And isn't that a terrifying thought? 

Meredith's hands tremble as she pours water from a pitcher into a cup. 

There are many who die in the birthing bed and many who die of fever after. Meredith had never thought that she herself might be one of those poor women but the closer she gets to giving birth the more terrifying the prospect is. 

"You'll be fine." She whispers into the dark, unsure if she's trying to reassure herself or the babe she's currently cradling through her swollen middle. 

Sighing, Meredith moves to return to bed. 

She only gets about halfway before warmth spreads across her legs. Swallowing thickly Meredith glances down to find that the front of her nightdress is wet and the stone beneath her feet shining bright with each flash of lightning that splits the sky. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

There's no pain, Meredith had expected there to be pain. She shakes as she pulls her dressing gown around her body so that she can make her way down the long corridor to Maester Luwin's chambers so that she can wake him. While she'd been hesitant to have the man so close before she'd even had the child she's now more than thrilled about it now. Especially when it means she doesn't have to shuffle all the way to the Maester's tower. 

Knocking patiently on the door to Maester Luwin's room Meredith waits for the greying man to gather his bearings. 

She doesn't have to wait long. 

Not two minutes after Meredith has disturbed his sleep Maester Luwin is opening the door to stare at her through wide, worried eyes. 

"My Lady, has something happened?" He asks as he allows his eyes to roam over her body. 

"I believe the babe is coming." Meredith says which makes Maester Luwin's back go straighter then a pole. 

"Are you certain?" 

"My water has broken." Meredith replies with a sagely nod. 

Maester Luwin nods before waving her back toward her room. 

"Go back to your chambers My Lady. I suspect you'll have some time before the labor truly begins. I'll fetch you some milk of the poppy to help with the pain when it comes." Maester Luwin promises. 

"Will you send for Amara as well, Maester Luwin? I'd fetch her myself but..." 

He pats her shoulder gently and nods, "Of course. Now off with you." 

Meredith offers a hesitant smile as she begins making her way back to her own chambers where she begins stripping the bed of its coverings so as not to sit idle. New owns will be placed on the bed before Meredith begins to labor, even so, Meredith places the linens off to the side on top of a chest in case they're needed. Once the bed has been stripped Meredith goes to light a fire in the fireplace. 

By the time she's finished stoking the fire and has risen from her knees Amara has slipped into her room with a pile of linens carried in her arms. 

"You've excellent timing, child." Amara mutters as she begins laying the covers on the bed. 

"I apologize for waking you." 

The older woman waves her off. 

"Don't be." She say, "I wasn't sleeping anyway." 

"Oh?" 

"Had a feeling something would be happening tonight. Just didn't know what. Now come on, off with that dress." 

Carefully pulling the soiled night dress off of her body Meredith wonders if this will be the last semblance of calm Meredith has to find comfort in. Once the dress has been removed Amara helps her into a clean night shirt that she must have brought with her. It's a plain thing that only remains on Meredith's body thanks to the drawstring that pulls the neck tight. 

It's comfortable at least, and as modest as is practical considering... 

Meredith grits her teeth as a subtle twang rocks through her body. 

"You're first will take longer then the other," she hears Amara say, "several hours in fact." 

"When do you suppose I'll go into labor?" Meredith asks. 

"Hard to say really." 

"Do you think it'll happen before the sun rises?" 

"It's unlikely but not impossible. No two women are the same, Meredith. Your babe could come in an hour or in ten. It just depends on the will of the Gods." 

With a low sigh of vague annoyance Meredith makes her way back and forth across the room. 

"I'm frightened." She admits after a moment. 

"Most women are." 

"What if I don't survive the birth or I catch the fever after? I don't want to leave my child without at least knowing it." 

Amara's eyes are kind and warm as she moves to cradle Meredith's cheeks in her palm. 

"You'll do just fine Meredith. I'll not let you die in the birthing bed nor will I let you catch the fever." 

"Do you promise?" 

"I swear it by the Old Gods and the New." 

It's a silly thing to place such comforts in an empty promise but Meredith does it all the same. Even when she knows that Amara has no way of keeping her alive should anything bad happen to her during her babe's birth. The most she can do is help ease Meredith's suffering... Still, having the verbal confirmation that everything is going to be fine, that she's going to live to see her babe grown and to have more, is a comfort that eases something that had been constricting in Meredith's chest. 

"Thank you, Amara." She breathes as her eyes go watery. 

"Of course, lovely." Amara wipes her hands on her aprons. "How about we get you something to drink, yes?" 

Meredith nods as she follows Amara across the room to the small table where a pitcher and her cup sit. Amara fills it before passing the cup over to Meredith who sips at it tentatively and watches as the older woman smiles at her. Once the cup is empty Amara takes it and sets it aside. 

"Now, the best thing you can do is relax. Nothing bad is going to happen to you and the child hasn't even begun to come yet." 

"I want to remain standing." Meredith whispers, still a bit apprehensive. 

Amara just smiles as she says, "Of course."

Hours pass and soon the sun is painting the sky beyond the window a lovely dove grey color that fades to black in areas. The storm still hasn't passed but it's faded enough that the thunder doesn't seem to rock the Keep as it had earlier. Meredith sucks in a deep breath and counts the seconds as more light filters through her window. 

Pain has begun to spike through Meredith's body, radiating up her spine and causing a heavy film of sweat to break out over her body. The labor pains had started merely an hour before the sun had risen and eventually Maester Luwin had given her a bit of milk of the poppy to help ease some of the pain. Not all of it, mind, he'd been hesitant to give Meredith any more than strictly necessary. 

Meredith breathes deeply as Amara instructs while Maester Luwin prepares everything he'll need to help her through the birth. It'd a daunting task, birthing a babe, but Meredith trusts Maester Luwin well enough and she knows Amara won't let anything bad happen to her so long as she can help it. While Meredith is fearful of what's to come there's some comfort to be had at least. 

She lays back in the bed, back propped up by the many pillows Amara has piled behind her. Maester Luwin adjusts her legs the way he needs them before easing her skirt up to see how far along she is and how much time until the baby truly starts coming. Meredith tries not to feel embarrassed about it, having someone who isn't her husband see her so intimately, because Luwin is a Maester and Maesters help people. There is nothing to be embarrassed about right now, she's merely having a baby and that's something to be treasured. 

"It's time, my Lady." Luwin says as he pushes her skirts up around her swollen middle. "Be ready to push." 

Fear makes Meredith swallow hard but her determination makes her square her shoulders and take hold of the linens beneath her. She will not lose this babe and it will not lose her. There are so many things in this world that could take her life from her but this? This will not be one of them. 

So she pushes when Maester Luwin tells her to push, gritting her teeth and letting out noises more suited to a beast than a young Lady. She pushes and pushes and only stops when Maester Luwin tells her to. Amara dabs at her forehead with a damp cloth while she whispers words of encouragement to her until it's time for Meredith to resume pushing, then Amara allows Meredith to squeeze her hand so tightly that the younger woman fears she may cost the other her fingers. 

And it goes on for hours. 

Meredith is drenched in sweat, the milk of the poppy has begun to wear off, and there's so much pain that she almost can't even feel it anymore. Through it all Luwin and Amara remain a calming presence, soothing when needed and firm when necessary. 

Meredith pushes harder, eager to get the babe out and for her torment to end. No one ever said having a babe would be easy but she thinks that women aren't told about just how painful it can be. At least Maester Luwin is kind enough to help ease her pain, as well as try to prevent serious damage to her body. She watches, vaguely horrified, as Maester Luwin pulls a knife from somewhere and watches as it disappears between Meredith's legs. 

"The head will tear you, my Lady, if we do nothing." and then he is using the blade to cut her. 

Sobbing, Meredith pushes harder, harder, harder until her cries are replaces with the desperate ones of new life. 

She sucks in lungfuls of air as she collapses back. Amara tells her she did wonderfully before moving to clean the babe while Maester Luwin tends to Meredith; ensuring that she passes the afterbirth and sewing up the areas he had been forced to cut. Meredith doesn't understand why she was so embarrassed earlier, she'd much rather have Maester Luwin with her then anyone else. 

"A boy, Meredith, a strong little boy." Amara whispers as she appears beside Meredith holding a squirming, slightly damp bundle of cloth. 

"May I hold him?" She asks, voice thick and soft in equal measures. 

"Yes, yes Meredith, of course you may." 

And then her son is being placed in her arms, her little boy, nothing more then a mess of pink skin and unsettled eyes and a few wispy strands of red. Meredith doesn't even realize she's crying until she turns to Maester Luwin. 

"His name is Robb." Meredith says before turning back to the babe in her arms. 

"My Lady, it is not customary to name babes so young." 

"I don't care. His name is Robb, tell my family that he's strong and healthy." She commands, eyes only on the little boy searching for nourishment. 

Without thought Meredith frees her breast and adjusts Robb so that he might suckle. A quick glance up shows that Maester Luwin has moved off while Amara has shifted to finish cleaning Meredith's nethers so that she can smear a cool paste about the skin that is freshly stitched. 

"To keep infection away and take care of the pain." Amara explains. 

"Oh." 

Meredith turns back to Robb, smiling foolishly even though his attention is no longer on her. 

"You did well, Merdith, I'm certain Lord Stark will be very pleased." 

Even if he were Meredith can't bring herself to care about what he thinks. He wasn't here through this birth, he never suffered her mood swings or her cravings, he never paced beyond her door, and he wasn't here for the birth. If he wants to say anything to Meredith about how he is pleased or attempts to tell Meredith what to do next time she will simply tell him to be rid of himself. 

"He's so small." 

"Most babes are." 

As Robb suckles Meredith's eyes begin to droop. She's so tired, her body trembling with the strain she's been put under over the past few hours. Amara must see it because she smiles. 

"Lift your hips Meredith." Amara says. 

Meredith does so and Amara pulls the soiled, folded blankets out from under her before Meredith's hips fall back to the bed. 

"There, now you may sleep Meredith." 

"What about Robb?" 

Amara's smile is kind as she promises, "I will personally see to Robb's care and when the time comes I will bring him back to you." 

Meredith clings to Robb for a few moments before reluctantly allowing Amara to pull him away. She watches as the older woman moves to sit in the rocking chair near the fire, eyes never leaving the two of them until her lids grow too heavy to remain open and Meredith is lulled into sleep. 

Chapter Text

Robb, Meredith likes to think, will look a fair bit like a Tully when he's grown. While many of his features have yet to distinguish themselves on his face the hair sprouting from his head in wispy auburn curls show very little chance of growing darker as he ages. Amara claims that it's a sign; Meredith's children looking more like her than their father seems to prove that of the two Meredith's blood is stronger, it's a claim Meredith always dismisses with a laugh and a wave of her hand. She hopes that the next child she bears has a more traditional Stark look if for no other reason than she genuinely does think Eddard's eyes are lovely. Of course, having a more traditionally Stark looking child would also likely bring her husband some joy as well. 

Meredith hasn't heard much from her husband. Many of the letters she has received have been from her uncle Brynden, who speaks of her Lord Husband's accomplishments on the battlefield as well as his health. Meredith supposes that when one is leading an army there really isn't much time to spend writing letters to a woman he barely knows, she just hopes that when Maester Luwin's letter reaches him to inform him of Robb's birth. 

Sighing, the young Lady readjusts the wrappings around Robb and rocks from foot to foot as she looks out at the green beyond Rivverrun from the ramparts of the keep. A chill had settled in the air the evening before and Meredith had been unwilling to allow Robb to suffer for it, so she'd wrapped him in soft linen and the colorful yarn blanket so that he might be more comfortable during their daily walk about the Keep. Maester Luwin had said that a nursemaid had been found and would gladly take Robb should Meredith ever have need of her but she has no problems with carting Robb around Riverrun or holding him during meals, though, she does allow the other woman to take him during the nights when Meredith is in need of uninterrupted rest. 

"Meredith? Have you been out here all this time?" 

Turning to smile at Catelyn the younger girl shakes her head, adjusts Robb in her arms, and says, "No. I've only been here a few moments. I wanted to stretch my legs is all." 

In truth Meredith has begun to feel trapped within the walls of Riverrun as she's unable to go for rides or swim in the river as she once did to pass time before the war. Now that she's had a child it's even more dangerous for her to be caught beyond the protection of her father's Keep and while Meredith understands it she still hates it. If circumstances were different Meredith thinks she might not feel this way. 

"Is Robb sleeping?" when Meredith nods Catelyn smiles, "May I hold him?" 

"Of course you may, sweetest Cat." 

With practiced movements Meredith shifts her son into her sister's arm, watching fondly as Catelyn coos at the child's sleeping form. Of all her siblings Catelyn is the most fond of Robb. Edmure isn't quite sure what to do with him and Lysa, well, Lysa's been nothing but sweet to Robb but there's always a hurt in her eyes that Meredith can't bear looking at. She has never limited any of her siblings interactions with Robb but she does wish Lysa didn't appear so wounded whenever she held her nephew. 

"He's so small." 

At only three weeks Robb is still a small thing but now his complexion has settled into something a bit more pale than the angry red he'd been born with initially. He's still red but Maester Luwin has assured her that it's nothing to worry over. Babes, he claims, are often either a bit yellow or a bit red after they've been born but he should grow out of it as he ages. Meredith hopes it fades a bit faster than typical as she'd like to be able to wrap him in colors that don't run the threat of making him appear angry. Robb is such a sweet boy, so gentle and calm, she's hate to have appearing enraged at the general populace. 

Soft grunting of a child makes Meredith move closer to Catelyn so that she can look over her sister's shoulder as Robb wakes. He wiggles in her grasp and his little nose scrunches up as if to start crying but her sister is quick to being singing soft tunes that quickly appease the boy who soon begins making incomprehensible babbling murmurs at either her or Catelyn. Meredith likes to think Robb is making those noises for her but she's not going to just presume these things. 

"I'm going to miss him so much when you go off to Winterfell." Catelyn whispers as she rocks Robb in her arms. 

"That won't be for a while yet, Cat." 

"Lord Stark's army is marching for King's Landing... I wouldn't be surprised if you were sent to Winterfell sooner rather than later." Catelyn says. 

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Maester Luwin thinks it best to wait until Robb is older to travel so far North." 

A strong boy he may be but an infant none-the-less. At only a few weeks Robb is nowhere near fit to be traveling such long distances in uncertain conditions and Meredith had readily agreed with Luwin when the older man had said that it would be best to wait to hear from Lord Stark before traveling North to Winterfell. This way Robb should be old enough to handle the journey with less risks to his health. Honestly, Meredith is content to stay at Riverrun so long as it means Robb is safe and well. Winterfell is not going anywhere, it's sitting in the North waiting for it's Lord and it can wait a little while more. 

"Lord Stark will be so pleased, Meredith." her sister says, "Robb is such a strong boy, and so well behaved." 

Meredith hmm's softly as she moves to lean against the rough stone to watch her sister play with Robb until the boy begins to fuss and wriggle in her grasp. Before he can begin crying Meredith steps forward to take Robb from Catelyn with a gentle smile. The older girl releases him to her without so much as a complaint, allowing Meredith to go about soothing her son without having to try and justify her actions with Catelyn. Misty eyes stare up at her for a long moment as Robb's mouth twists around the little noises of displeasure falling from his mouth. 

A quick check shows he's clean, Meredith quickly rules out him being too hot or too cold, and so she decides that he's probably hungry which ushers her back toward her chambers where she can nurse her boy in peace. Catelyn follows, chattering away despite Robb's increasingly unhappy noises, and the moment they reach Meredith's chambers the older girl is quick to settle on the bed while Meredith settles into a padded chair near the window where she frees a breast and presents it to Robb. While he nurses Meredith turns to Catelyn and smiles. 

"Do you not prefer to use the wet nurse?" Catelyn inquires softly but with no judgement. 

"No. I would have my children know no breast but my own unless necessary." Meredith says. 

"What will you do when he begins to teeth?" 

"Suffer." 

Sharp laughter erupts from Catelyn's mouth and causes Meredith to smile widely at the older girl as she continues to giggle behind a pale hand. Meredith continues to nurse Robb as Catelyn tells her about the war, none of it is all that interesting as it's the tidbits of information their father deems appropriate to tell her, but it's more than Meredith has been told and so she can't be too picky. Supposedly, Robert Baratheon's army is closing in on King's Landing. Meredith can only wonder at the chaos that will bring when the war reaches Aerys. Absently, Meredith strokes the downy soft hair sticking straight up from her son's head as Catelyn continues to speak of Dorne's neutrality, which has apparently hurt her chances of being married off to a Dornish Lord as their father has grown tired of their lack of action. 

But what would he have them do? To side with Aerys would be to side with a man who has tormented a Princess of Dorne since before Rhaegar even noticed Lyanna Stark, and to side with Robert's army would be to condemn that same princess and her children to death. For Aerys would surely punish the Dornish princes for their disloyalty. Is that what their father wants? Elia and her children dead so that there are two less legitimate heirs to the iron throne? Feeling sick, Meredith eases Robb off her breast and adjusts her clothing before rising to gather the cloth she uses when tending to his post-feeding needs. She tosses the rough fabric over her shoulder, props Robb up, and gently taps his tiny back with her hand as she paces the length of her room. 

"Do you think my children will be as well tempered as yours?" Catelyn inquires after a moment, talk of war clearly no longer an interest to her. 

"I think that with you as they're mother they'll be nothing but perfect Lords and Ladies, well-mannered and true." Meredith's comment pleases her sister for Catelyn offers a beaming smile before leaning a bit closer. 

"Once the war is over I suspect father will search out a suitable match for me." Catelyn says, though her tone is chipper there is something sad in her eyes. 

"Perhaps it is for the best. Father will be able to spend more time looking for someone of a gentler nature that would please you more than Brandon could have." 

Catelyn's eyes narrow as she says, "Perhaps." 

Without thinking of the consequences, because there will be consequences, Meredith reaches out to cup her sister's cheek in her palm and offers a tender, "Brandon Stark loved you to the best of his ability but he would not have been the husband you wanted. He was too wild, sweetest Cat, and he liked his freedom... Perhaps this is best, to be given the chance to find true happiness with someone who will not take you for granted." 

"Well, father will chose my match when the time comes," Catelyn says as she rises from the bed. "I'd best be off. I promised Lysa I would help her with her stitching." 

And with that Catelyn disappears from the room in a swirl of blue silk and fiery hair, leaving Meredith standing in her chambers alone while Robb empties his stomach onto the cloth covering her shoulder. Sighing, Meredith lays Robb on the bed for a moment while she tosses the soiled cloth into the basket Amara will wash tomorrow morning. When she returns Meredith smiles down at the misty eyed babe attempting to make noises at her. 

"At least you'll be forced to listen to me when you get older." Meredith laughs as she pulls Robb into her arms. 

Children tend to listen to their mothers and fathers far more often than sisters listen to sisters but Meredith knows that there will come a time when Robb no longer needs her guidance. Somehow, the thought hurts more than it has any reason to at the moment. Robb is still a babe yet and has many years to grow before he's old enough to step out from beneath his mother and father's careful teachings. Meredith still finds herself dreading the day Robb decides he no longer needs her advice or wisdom though. Sighing, Meredith begins the trek to the kitchen. She needs to speak to Amara about these things. Hopefully the other woman can offer her council because it's clear Meredith is in need of it. 

She gets halfway before a man in dull robes comes bustling around the corner looking out of breath and nervous. Maester Luwin never looks anything but calm so it's a bit startling to see him so disheveled now. 

"Maester Luwin? Is everything alright?" Meredith asks as she shifts Robb in her arms. 

Maester Luwin nods and says, "Aye my Lady, I've simply come to pass on the letter I received from Lord Stark." 

A small scroll is presented to her then and Meredith takes it with a tight smile. Maester Luwin has never opened her letters before, today is no different, but Meredith is forced to wonder if perhaps he received his own missive. One that has caused some distress. Nervously, Meredith slips the roll of parchment into Robb's coverings for safe keeping. 

"Are you alright, Maester Luwin? You seem unsettled." Meredith says to which the elderly man shakes his head. 

"I am touched your concern, my Lady, but I assure you I've suffered no distress." 

Liar. 

Meredith nods though, and offers her well wishes, before turning to make her way back to her chambers where she'll be able to put Robb down and read her letter from Eddard in private. Why would Luwin lie to her? Because he likely didn't want anyone overhearing his conversation with her. While Meredith trusts several of the men and women in the keep she knows better than to trust all - or assume that just because they're loyal they won't turn their backs on her family should their own be put at risk. Her chamber door shuts with a heavy thunk behind her. It sounds ominous. Meredith bites her cheek as she lowers Robb into his cradle, the heavy oak cool but not uncomfortable considering the amount of cushioning provided by blankets and feathered pillows. With one last lingering smile Meredith pulls the letter from Robb's blanket and moves to the small table where she sits facing Robb should anything happen. Carefully, she breaks the seal on the letter - a small dollop of red wax with no signature seal - and unrolls the parchment. 

Once, twice, three times she reads Eddard's letter. Unable to comprehend what it is she's seeing until well after she's allowed the parchment to fall from her fingers and onto the floor where it slides across the smooth stone to disappear under the table. 

Maege Mormont. 

Eddard has sent Maege Mormont ahead to King's Landing in the hopes of removing Elia and her children before war reaches the city. He'd written that he trusts Maege a great deal, claims she'll keep silent on the matter, and promises that she'll see the Dornish trio safely to the North - or to Eddard's encampment where she will be able to keep them hidden among her soldiers. It is a dangerous plan. Should anyone find out Eddard will surely be put to the sword. Oh Gods. Scrambling out of her chair, Meredith dives beneath the table to snatch up the scrap of parchment she'd dropped and makes for the fireplace. She's never been so thankful for the chill in her live. Without it, she would have had to come up with a plausible excuse as to why she lit the fire. Lips press into a firm line as Meredith tosses the letter into the fire, watching as it shrivels and burns to nothing in the flame. She contemplates her husbands actions. 

Should Maege fail in this endeavor it is likely they will all be put to the sword. Whether by order of the Mad King or Robert, Meredith doesn't know, neither are going to take such an action against them likely. The Mad King because he's mad and Robert because he's so desperate to kill off the Targaryens that he'd slaughter innocent children without a care. Meredith swallows thickly. There are other things to consider as well; Elia is sickly, this is well known, and it is possible that she could die from illness on the road or through a fight should anyone come across her attempting to escape the city. Then what will be done with the children? Who will take them? Meredith would gladly claim them as her children were it possible. Had she been born a man it would have been... Getting them back to Dorne would be best. Elia would be safest there with her brothers and the entirety of her kingdom willing to die to protect her. But how to do it? Meredith has never met the Princes, she has no tie to them, she only knows one person in Dorne who could be considered a friend and would their relationship be strained after this? Perhaps not. But there is always the possibility that Meredith contacting the ruling family in Dorne could be perceived as a threat. 

Regardless of what might happen to them should things go south, Meredith can't help but respect Eddard all the more for what he's doing. She'd never considered him a bad man, nor had she thought of him as anything other than a man attempting to avenge the wrongful deaths of his brother and father, but she'd also never expected them to be friends until much later in their marriage. Honestly, she'd also never expected Eddard to take into account her opinion on the treatment of Elia and Rhaella, and their children. It means more than Meredith thought it would. So much more. This will likely damage whatever relationship Eddard has with Robert, Meredith knows, for the survival of a Targaryen child will go against everything the Baratheon Lord is attempting to accomplish. But surely he'll be reasonable enough to understand the value of keeping Elia and her children alive right? Rhaella and her children are related to him as well. Would Robert really kill a child? A member of his own family if there was a reasonable way to prevent it? Meredith drags her tongue over her bottom lip and wonders if maybe she's giving him too much credit. Rhaegar and Aerys she understands. The one because he stole Robert's love and the other because he is truly mad, but children? Babes? Elia has only just had a babe. How old is Aegon? A year? Younger? Meredith huffs as she moves away from the fire and walks over to Robb's cradle. 

He's sleeping, his little face smooth with unawareness. 

Meredith observes him for a long moment - feeling for Elia and Rhaella, both of whom may never have the opportunity to see their own children grow into adulthood - before she makes for the desk where her stationary waits. Her letter to Eddard is a bit stilted. What does one say to the man who is risking his life for her peace of mind? She certainly can't risk sending a letter thanking him for his actions as it'll mean his death should either side intercept it. Biting down on her lip Meredith begins penning a simple missive thanking Eddard for his thoughtfulness in the hopes that it will appear as though she is replying to a lover's note as opposed to a treasonous one. When her letter is finished she blows on the ink to dry it quicker and the minutes that tick by are agonizing. When she thinks the ink has dried Meredith taps the very tip of her fingernail against her name and when it doesn't come away stained she rolls it up and seals it with a large dollop of wax. It'll deter less experienced people from attempting to open it should there be a spy working more directly under Eddard or anyone else in Robert's army. With her letter written but with no way of sending it Meredith sits at her writing desk and stews. Ravens are intelligent creatures but she doubts any of the Ravens at Riverrun will be able to identify Eddard Stark's camp, let alone his personal tent. It's far too dangerous to send it off with a soldier. 

Parchment crumples beneath her fingers as Meredith clenches down. 

How silly of her. To think that she could send a missive to Eddard thanking him when the act could very well mean his head on a pike. Robert Baratheon would surely be opposed to the idea of any Targaryen surviving who might be able to take his throne should he win, and the Mad King certainly wouldn't allow Eddard to live should he catch wind of it. Too gone in his madness to see that rescuing the children - and hopefully Elia - from King's Landing before the fighting reaches it is a good thing. 

Her letter too soon goes up in a surge of flame as she tosses it into the fire. 

This, she thinks dryly as she watches the fire eat away at the evidence of her own foolishness, is going to change everything.  

Dorne has been kept in neutrality due to Elia's status as a political hostage, anyone with a brain can see it, should she disappear from the castle it will give the Dornish the opportunity to choose a side. But which side will they choose? The Targaryens? Who have openly shamed Elia, tortured innocent people, and caused a war? or Robert? Who will take the throne should Rhaegar die and by doing so will have the opportunity to claim the lives of his children? War is a slippery slope. It makes monsters of even the kindest people. 

Meredith runs a hand through her hair. 

"There's nothing to be done about it." She tells the fire, "It's in the hands of the Gods now." 

The silence that meets her is vaguely ominous. 

Days pass. 

Meredith finds herself falling into a routine. She wakes every morning, tends to Robb, visits with her family and friends, and tries to keep herself amused while she waits for news from Ned or her Uncle. There's a certain comfort that can be had in the monotony of it. Mindless work allows Meredith to pull away from the worry beginning to frazzle her nerves. Taking in dresses, embroidering, and practicing her archery has done a great deal to keep her sane. 

The cotton in her hands is a soft blue, Meredith has spent the better part of the past three days embroidering roses onto the hem is thread-of-gold. It's the last skein she has of he prettily colored threat it but Meredith isn't planning on embroidering the entirety of her dress, just the hem of the sleeves and the neckline. with the likelihood of her going North becoming greater and greater Meredith has been forced to convert what she can of her wardrobe with the materials available to her. She's been working on under-dresses for the most part, taking fine linens and cottons and doing with them what she can. Maester Luwin offered to send a missive North to see if any of the last Lady of Winterfell's gowns could be of use but Meredith had declined the offer as politely as she could... it feels wrong to her, wearing the clothes Ned's mother used to wear and making them her own without his consent. They are, after all, his mother's close and Meredith refuses to believe she has any right to what was never hers to begin with. Besides, the Riverlands have never been particularly hot. Meredith's wardrobe may not be all that appropriate for the North's climate but it's not like she's going to freeze to death either. Layers, that's what she keeps telling herself she needs. Layers. So she makes under-dresses and shifts and stockings and makes them as pretty as her heart desires because she can, and all the while her sisters keep her entertained when Edmure cannot. 

Lysa has come around, mostly due to Robb's presence in the keep, and Meredith thrills at being able to spend time with her little sister after so many weeks of subtle tension. 

Meredith finishes off her rose, puts her needle and thread to the side, and rises so she can hold her work against her body. 

"How does it look?" She asks, causing both sisters to look up. 

"It's lovely, Meredith." Catelyn says, sweet and soft and lovely. 

"The color doesn't suit you." Lysa replies, eyes drifting back to Robb who gurgles in her lap. 

It's not meant as a jab... she doesn't think. Lysa isn't exactly wrong. The blue is a strange sort of grey-green mix that only just passes for a muddy blue. It's far from an ugly color but Meredith knows it's not really something that will match her coloring. But it's an underdress. The most anyone is going to see of it is the neckline and the sleeves, and if she manages to pair it with a deeper green or even another color it might not look that bad. Meredith bites her lip and picks up a sleeve. 

"Oh hush! Meredith, it's lovely." 

"It does rather look like vomit, doesn't it?" Meredith finds herself muttering, the longer she looks the longer she despises the dress. 

Catelyn gives her a look before snatching the dress from her hands with a snipped, "If you're going to act that way I can find someone who will appreciate it." 

"Did you dye the fabric yourself Catelyn?" Lysa asks, and when their sister's eyes go wide she continues with a soft, "I don't see how Meredith not liking a silly dress is offensive to you." 

"It was mothers." 

"And I'm certain mother never wore it either." 

Catelyn huffs before shaking out the dress and holding it up to the light. She examines it with a critical eye, shoulders sagging after a long minute as she says, "It truly is a ghastly color." 

"Give it to Celia Wayn," Lysa tells her, "I'm certain she'll love it." 

Celia Wayn is the Steward's youngest child and not exactly a pleasant girl. She reminds Meredith a bit of a bad lemon in terms of personality but they've never had any issues between them. Meredith is far too old to be her playmate or companion so it's not like either of them has had the opportunity. Meredith purses her lips as she takes the fabric back. 

"I feel like that's a bit cruel." Meredith remarks, because the color of the dress wouldn't suit Celia either. 

Lysa turns away from Robb to level Meredith with an unimpressed look, "She called you a toad." 

"Lysa! Don't say such things!" Catelyn chastises but the younger girl merely shrugs her shoulders. 

"Fine, if you're so against giving it to Celia why don't you repurposed the fabric? There's enough there that you could possibly make stays." Lysa reaches out to check the length and width of the skirt with one hand. "Or maybe some stockings? You could even but up the bodice for ribbons to hold your stockings up." 

That isn't a bad idea actually. No one would see the stockings and if they did who cares if the color is a bit off? As for stays? Well, the only person who would be seeing those are Ned and Meredith doubts he knows the first thing about matching the color of fabric to your own features for maximum visual appeal. It's a shame she's wastes so much thread-of-gold though. Sighing, Meredith takes back the dress and sets it across her lap. 

"I'll figure something out." 

Lysa shifts Robb in her arms and moves to the table where Meredith has laid out various items of clothing. Most of them are items from her own wardrobe, but some once belonged to Catelyn or even their mother. Items that have been outgrown or fallen out of style. The fabric is at least salvageable and that's all that really mattered to Meredith. 

"What's this?" Lysa asks, somehow managing to pull a pretty wool gown out of the mix. 

"I believe it was one of mother's." Catelyn replies, because clearly if it wasn't her own and Meredith had never worn it before then who else would it belong to. 

"It's very pretty." Lysa's fingers brush over the maroon fabric and Meredith smiles. 

"Keep it if you'd like, I'm certain I can find something else." She tells her younger sister, delighting in the way Lysa's eyes go wide with joy. 

"Truly?" 

Meredith simply nods and then watches as Lysa carries the gown over to her own seat next to the fire. It's draped over the back of the chair so that Lysa can put Robb in his cradle. He settles unhappily but settles as Catelyn reaches out with a foot to begin gently rocking him back and forth. 

"I think I'll embroider silver doves on it? Do you think it'll look pretty?" Lysa asks. 

"I don't have any silver thread," Meredith remarks as she sifts through her threads, "would grey work? Or perhaps a white?" 

Conversation flows for a long while and soon the three sisters find themselves slipping into mindless embroidery. Only this time it isn't so mindless. Because somehow thinking about getting Lysa silver thread has lead Meredith to thinking about how poor trade has been due to the war, which gets her thinking about when the war will end, which means sooner than later Meredith finds herself wondering if Maege Mormon got Elia out of the Red Keep. She doubts her husband would keep it from her should Elia and her children be in his camp but the possibility of his messenger raven being shot down has become an inevitably as the war gets closer and closer to King's Landing. 

Meredith hisses as she jabs her embroidery needle into her finger. 

"Be careful." Catelyn chides. 

Metal fills her mouth as Meredith presses her bleeding finger against her tongue. She hasn't pricked her finger embroidering in years and of course it would happen now. It's almost like a sign. Meredith laughs bitterly as she pulls the damaged appendage out of her mouth for inspection. For a sign it's not all that ominous. The bleeding has already stopped, only a tiny bit of blood smeared where her spit still wets her finger. Meredith rolls her eyes as she wipes her hand on the cloth folded up in her basket and sets back to work. 

Chapter Text

It rains the day her father receives a raven informing him that the Mad King has died, run through by Tywin Lannister's eldest son, and that a temporary council has been established to determine a new King. While her father mutters about Kingslaying and the audacity of the man, Meredith wonders at the logic of it all. Her father has sent men to war against the King, he's involved himself in the murder of men and women he's supposed to be loyal to, and he's angry because a man - boy, really, Jaime Lannister isn't much older than Cat and hardly battle hardened - has been forced to choose between a mad man and an entire nation? There's likely more to it than that. Aerys has never been a kind man as far as Meredith is aware and the silent feud between Tywin Lannister and the King is well known. Jaime only did what the other Lords of Westeros were trying to do... but then... Jaime makes for the perfect scapegoat. 

"What of Elia Martell and her children?" Meredith finds herself asking, the quiet of her father's solar oppressive. 

"The Mountain killed her and her children." Her father says, sounding disturbed but not surprised - or saddened by the deaths of three innocent people, Meredith notices with a sort of bitter acceptance. 

Meredith feels sick to her stomach. 

A letter never came from her husband saying whether or not Lady Mormont was successful in her mission. To send one would be incredibly dangerous and would ensure not only the deaths of Elia's children - should they have by some miracle survived - but anyone involved in their attempted rescue. His first missive had been so incredibly foolish that Meredith hadn't even realized how foolish it was until after she'd burned it away to ash. So no, Ned wouldn't have sent another letter... but would he have let her know if he'd been unsuccessful in saving those children? It would be easy enough, Meredith supposes, to find orphaned children to replace Elia's with. Horrible as the action would be, Meredith can't say she wouldn't do it if it meant protecting her own children. A blonde baby boy with no distinct features and a small girl with dark hair wouldn't be hard to find in King's Landing. No one would know the difference if they'd never seen the children before. Meredith doubts The Mountain would even be bothered to pay enough attention anyway what with the rumors of his violence being passed around even before the war. The auburn haired woman settles Robb in her lap and plants a soft kiss at the crown of his little head. If it had been her in Elia's situation, well, the truth of the matter is that Meredith wouldn't have hesitated to use a decoy. If it meant keeping Robb safe? Meredith presses her nose to downy soft whisps and breathes in. 

She hopes to whichever of the Seven will listen that Ned was able to save those children. If for no other reason than to keep them safe from the brutality of the Mountain and Robert Baratheon's war. 

"So what happens now?" Lysa asks, eyes never leaving her needle work. 

"Well, a King will need appointing." 

"Are there any candidates?" Catelyn asks. 

Their father glances at the letter once more and frowns. 

"I'm sure discussions are being had." 

"Do you think Tywin Lannister will be put on the throne?" Meredith asks, to which her father frowns at her, "It's not secret he acted as King when Aerys was... unwell... the Seven thrived under his guidance one way or another." 

Silence. For a moment. Then her father scoffs, "Tywin Lannister will never sit on the Iron Throne, the best he can do is offer that daughter of his to whoever the Lords choose... and even then he'd have to be unwed." 

She and Cat share a look. 

Lysa continues with her stitches. 

By the Seven Meredith hopes Eddard isn't put on that Throne. Cursed as it is. No one royal has ever been happy, no one who has ever ruled from King's Landing has lived a good life. Meredith can handle the politics of the city, she can handle the lies and the deceit and the people waiting like vultures to pick you apart. She's been doing it for years. Playing the Game as only a woman born to the South is able to do. It's a game she'll teach her children to play. All of them. Girl and Boy alike. None of her children will be ignorant to the Game and the cost of loosing it. Her husband won't be pleases, she knows this, but better that their children are prepared than ill equipped. The North had been safe from the attention of Aerys and the rest of the Targaryens - and the rest of the South - because of house far away they were, the lack of resources, and the absence of political threat they held. But now? Depending on who is put on the Throne the North may very well become a political powerhouse. 

Meredith can play the game with her husband, guide his steps when the need arises, but she won't be able to do that for her children. Not consistently. So they'll need to learn for their own sake. 

Eddard can be as mad as he wants at her. 

This isn't something she'll be dissuaded from. 

"You look pale, Meredith." Cat says, fingers drifting across her brow. 

"I'm tired. I think I'll see Maester Luwin." 

Her father dismisses her without so much as a second thought and Meredith is quick to leave the room in favor of seeking out the quiet Maester who has become something of a good friend to her during his stay. But Meredith doesn't make the trek to the Maester's tower where Luwin is sure to be working, instead, she makes her way to the Godswood. She wants quiet. What better place to get that than the one place most of Riverrun refuses to enter? Besides, her children will be raised with the Old Gods. She might as well get them used to the stillness, to the strangeness of those eyes carved into the Heart Tree. 

Eyes that seem to follow her no matter which way she turns, no matter what path she walks. 

Always watching. 

Meredith kneels before those ever watching eyes and settles Robb so that he too can look into those eyes. 

And she prays. 

Prays for Elia's soul, prays for her children, prays for every person lost because of Rhaegar Targaryen's foolishness, prays for Eddard and Lord Arryn and their men, but most of all, Meredith prays for herself. Selfish as that may be. She prays that her child will grow old and grey, prays that any others she has will do the same, prays that she'll never have to watch them suffer or flounder or perish. She prays for a future she isn't sure will happen and begs the Gods for whatever Mercies that will bestow upon her, her husband, and their family. 

Perhaps not so selfish. 

Meredith bends so that she can press her forehead to Robb's head. 

Time passes. 

She knows she needs to return to the Keep, go back to her chambers and tidy Robb up and have food brought to her while she and Luwin make preparations for her to travel North to Winterfell. It needs to happen. She can't stay here forever. With the war over it's safer for Meredith, Maester Luwin, and a small host of soldiers to Travel North where she'll be given time to familiarize herself with the inner workings of Winterfell and settle in as the Lady of the great Keep before her husband and his soldiers return home. Every Noble Lady goes through it. Meredith knows what will be expected of her. She's nervous, of course, she'd been an idiot if she wasn't, and the sooner she talks to Luwin the better everything will be.... but still... she likes the solitude of this place.

Eventually Meredith finds herself wondering back down the path leading to the Keep. 

Days pass. 

Her father insists that with the war won and Lord Stark due to return but currently stuck in the Capitol it's time for Meredith to go North to Winterfell. Apparently letters are sent and her safety discussed by not only her father and her husband, but by her uncle as well. Meredith doesn't care one way or the other. There are enough men who had been kept back at the Keep to allow a small envoy should she end up traveling to Winterfell without her husband... which ends up being the decision her father makes when he calls Meredith into his solar to discuss how comfortable she is with the idea. It's not particularly traditional, but it's also not expected of her to remain either, she tells her father as much. He agrees. His eyes dark as he tells her that under different circumstances he wouldn't mind sending her off without her husband's escort, but it's uncertain whether Eddard Stark will remain in the South for a considerable time or if there will be Targaryen Loyalists waiting on the roads. So letters are sent between the men, Meredith is confronted, and another week passes before it's decided that Meredith will go North to Winterfell without her Lord husband.  

So preparations are made. 

Soldiers are gathered. 

And soon Meredith Stark finds herself traveling alongside Luwin at the middle of the small pack, Robb wrapped in blankets and secured to her chest, as they make their way North to Winterfell. Meredith has traveled before, of course, but she's never traveled this far before. She and Measter Luwin sit in the small wheel house her father had prepared for her and try to pass the time with amicable conversation, playful jokes, and shared questions. No Lady's maid has been sent off with her,  decision on Meredith's part that had irked her father something terrible and has now left her with only Luwin's steady presence as company. Amara had offered to go, so had a few of the other younger women working in her father's Keep, but Meredith has never had a Lady's maid before - Amara acted as one from time-to-time but that wasn't her sole duty. It might have been an inappropriate decision to make but Meredith knows there will be young women at Winterfell who can be given the position. Besides, the only time Meredith will need elaborate hairstyles or dazzling jewelry or extravagant dresses is if she ever travels South to the Capital, which she knows won't happen in her immediate future, giving her plenty of time to help train a new Lady's maid if she ever needs one.

Meredith pats Robb's back and hums softly to him. 

"Now, Lord Stark's brother Benjen will meet us at Winterfell along with a few other members of the Keep's staff." Luwin is telling her, hands folded in the billowing sleeves of his robes. 

"I see," Meredith looks out the window, "have you heard from my husband?" 

Maester Luwin nods slowly and says, "Only a brief missive. I sent a raven inquiring as to when he'll be returning, he believes it will be within the next two months. With Robert on the Throne there's no reason for him to stay." 

Meredith nods slowly. 

They'd all heard about Lyanna Stark's death, vague as reports of it had been. She knows Ned will want to bring his sister's body home to lay it to rest in the Winterfell Crypts, and to do that he'll need to be home well before her body is taken by the elements. Embalming can only do so much. 

"I'm glad." she swallows. "He hasn't responded to any of my ravens." 

She's sent three. 

None of them demanding to know what happened to Elia's children. 

Meredith only wants to know if Ned's alright. She supposes it's nice that he's sending ravens to someone, even if it isn't his wife. Maester Luwin even lets her read the missive when she acts about it. Short and to the point. Meredith doesn't expect anything less of her husband. Still, she's a little annoyed that he hasn't responded to anything she's sent him. Which may be selfish of her.... considering. 

Sighing, Meredith settles back into the cushioned seat of the wheelhouse and strokes Robb's hair as he drools all over her neck and the collar of her over coat. Sweet boy. Meredith moves him to her other shoulder in the hopes of drying out a little bit before the weather gets cooler and she's forced to endure the discomfort of cold, wet clothing. Maester Luwin smiles at the face she makes as Robb wiggles and babbles incoherently before returning to his previous task of soaking his mother's clothes. 

It's going to be a long trip. 

The Courtyard of Winterfell is full when Meredith's small party arrives. Meredith pulls her cloak tight around Robb to protect him from the chill before stepping out of the wheelhouse behind Maester Luwin - who helps her down with a steady, warm hand and gentle smile - and makes her way to the tall man bowing politely to her alongside the rest of the men and women serving Winterfell. Benjen. Meredith's never met the man herself but she assumes that it's him due to the fact that he's striding over and offering his hand with a soft, "You must be Lady Meredith." 

"Aye," She smiles, "and you're Lord Benjen." 

"I am." 

He's got kind eyes. Warmer than Ned's to be sure, but not as pretty. Meredith smiles a bit more kindly when he steps away after kissing her hand and turns to the crowd of servants now staring at her through narrowed eyes. Distrustful. Meredith doesn't blame them. It was a Southern King that had killed their Lord and his eldest son, and a Southern Lord that had called their new Lord to battle. Distrust is to be expected. So Meredith makes sure to smile sweetly at all of them and prays that these men and women can one day come to accept her as their Lady. 

"This is the new Lady Stark," Benjen addresses the crowd, "I expect you to treat her with all the respect and kindness you had my mother." 

Meredith is then introduced to the head of the servants - a man named Kassee - and several other more influential members of the staff before Benjen orders her things taken to her chambers. Meredith notes that he technically says, "the Lord's chambers." but doesn't comment on it. With tasks given the staff begins dispersing and the dark haired man guides Meredith into the Keep where it's quite a bit warmer. Once they're inside Benjen begins showing her around, pointing out notable places and telling her how to get where. Meredith doesn't mind. She likes being able to stretch her legs seeing as there hadn't been many chances to do so while she'd been traveling outside of needing to relieve herself and Maester Luwin's insistence that she get her blood flowing. 

Besides, Winterfell is lovely. 

Benjen is good company. Young, but kind and well mannered and his eyes are soft as he tells Meredith that Robb will be afforded many opportunities here in the North. She believes him. What would she know about the opportunities afforded to children born in the North? Being born the first born son of the North Warden already affords Robb opportunities many others wouldn't receive, and perhaps being born North of the Neck allows children the types of entertainments Meredith would have dreamed about having as a child. She strokes Robb's back as Benjen begins talking about the layout of the great Keep and where Meredith will be able to find the Crypts, the Gods Wood, the Library, the Great Hall, and any other area she might need to know about. It's a lot to take in. Eventually Meredith comes to terms with the fact that she'll just have to wonder a bit before she becomes accustomed to everything. She sighs. 

She's shown a few more sights, introduced to a few more people, and then she's taken to the nursery where Robb and any possible siblings he'll have will be tended to until they're older. Benjen says that a wet nurse can be found in Winter Town should she requires one. It's obvious he doesn't particularly enjoy that thread of conversation from the way he chokes it out and blushes furiously as he says it, but Meredith isn't bothered by the offer. She politely informs Benjen that that's very kind but she'll discuss such things with Maester Luwin later today. The boy's relief is almost amusing... but not amusing enough for Meredith to torment him. So she changes the conversation and asks where the Lord's Chambers are and how far from the nursery it is. As it turns out, the Lord's Chamber is only a few doors down from the nursery to allow quick access to the children should either the Lord or Lady need it. Benjen doesn't say it like that, of course, but Meredith can't see any other reason for it. In Riverrun the nursery had been practically on the other end of the Keep. She'd slept in the nursery until she was ten and deemed old enough to care for herself. She'd been thrilled to have her own chambers away from Lysa and Edmure, sweet as they were, and hadn't been bothered by the extra space and the almost-too-oppressive-silence of the stone room. Meredith doesn't know how Eddard was raised, doesn't know if he was kept in the nursery for a time or if that was just a parenting choice specific to her own parents. It's something they'll need to discuss. 

A tour of the nursery shows Meredith sturdy craftsmanship, well made furniture, supplies for changings and washings and other such actives, and a view of the land beyond Winterfell's walls that is simply gorgeous. The lack of larger beds tells Meredith that it's likely her children will be given their own rooms when the time comes for other babes to inhabit this space. 

Smiling, Meredith returns to the hall where Benjen is waiting. 

"Thank you for all your help today, Lord Benjen. I truly appreciate it." She tells the boy, who beams at her and informs her that since they're now related she can call him Benjen if she's comfortable with it. 

"Is there anything else you'd like to see? I understand the trip must have been exhausting, if you'd like to rest I can have food brought to your solar." Benjen says to her after a moment. 

"I think that'd be wise. I'd like to speak to Maester Luwin before I retire, however." 

"Of course, I'll take you to the Maester's tower." 

Benjen makes sure to lead her down the easiest, most recognizable paths so that she doesn't get lost along the way. Meredith makes note of the more eye catching decor and soon finds herself climbing the stairs with Benjen to Maester Luwin's rooms. Benjen leaves her with the Maester with a promise to send a maid up to escort Meredith anywhere else she'd like to go. It's very sweet, his concern, and when he leaves Meredith turns to Maester Luwin. 

The two of them discuss getting a wet nurse for Robb for when Meredith isn't able to care for him due to her duties as Lady - which is terrifying as she'd spent most of her time with him since his birth - and Luwin gives them both a brief check over to ensure the journey and the touring of the Keep hasn't caused them any harm. He claims Meredith should take the time to rest and that he'll see about finding her a wet nurse. Meredith thinks he's too much of a worrier for his own good but promises to do as he asks once they've finished their conversation, which turns from the medicinal to the humorous as Maester Luwin begins recounting his time at the Citadel. Meredith thinks that they would have been good friends had they met - and been the same age - during his youth. At some point Meredith decides that it's time for her to get some rest and leaves Maester Luwin with a smile and a promise to come to him should she or Robb begin showing signs of illness. Which he takes with a pinched brow and slow nod. Before she goes she places a chaste kiss on his temple, then makes her way to the corridor where a young blonde woman is standing. Her name is Lara. She shows Meredith to to her chambers, helps her turn down the bed and offers to help Meredith with her nightly routine. Meredith thanks her but politely refuses. She doesn't tell Lara that she's exhausted, that she's been around too many people for too long a period and needs space, that she just wants to eat and feed Robb and go to bed. 

When she's finally alone Meredith strips out of her day clothes, leaving her in nothing but her slip, she eats her meal of stew and bread, and then she settles in the large chair by the fire so she can feed Robb when he shows signs of being hungry. 

Tomorrow will be a new day and she'll have plenty to see to. 

Best get her rest in now while she has the opportunity. 

Chapter Text

The first day Meredith wakes up in the Lord's chambers of Winterfell it's still dark beyond the small window and sweat soaks the hair at the back of her neck. Swaddled in too many layers and unable to find an escape, Meredith finds herself growing rather frustrated with the day. Thankfully, she manages to get herself out of the mess she's made of the bed and wonders over to the water basin to wash her face and neck of the sweat. She then wipes down her underarms. Soon after she's finished a knock comes from the Solar door, which Meredith is quick to answer as she expects there's much to do today and wouldn't want to keep anyone waiting too long. She smiles warmly at Lara, who enters the room carrying a tray. Meredith brushes her hair out of her face and closes the door as Lara places the try on the table. 

"Thank you, Lara." Meredith says as the girl uncovers the tray to reveal porridge, some bacon, and some berries. 

As she eats Meredith direct Lara to lay out her clothing for the day. A new shift - one that isn't damp with sweat - as well as stockings, stays, a soft blue under dress, and a thicker dark blue over dress. Meredith eats quickly so that she doesn't keep Lara from any of her other duties. All she really needs help with are the laces on her stays, which Lara laces up with ease before helping Meredith into her other clothes. Once she's dressed Meredith pulls her hair back into a braid and ties it off with a grey ribbon. She turns to Lara. 

Today she'll be meeting with Benjen to go over her duties as Lady of Winterfell, which means Benjen's workload is about to become much less burdensome. 

Meredith already knows she'll be in charge of keeping the ledgers for the time being, looking after the food stores, tracking the household finances, and seeing to the needs of those living in Winterfell and anyone else struggling in the North. It's a big task. Meredith understands the importance of it all. Thankfully, being born a Lord Paramount's daughter left Meredith with only the best of educations in regards to such things. Numbers are easy enough. Meredith likes numbers... well enough, in any case. She thinks she'd prefer to be out riding today or spending the day with Robb but neither of those are entirely feasible. Later, after her business is done, Meredith will see to Robb. Maester Luwin had assured her that the woman tending to Robb has been caring for babes for House Stark for a good many years now. Meredith thinks that the older, grey woman with very few teeth had been harmless enough, but her age had made Meredith a bit nervous. Maester Luwin, understanding her hesitations, had suggested that perhaps a younger maid be present so as to learn from the older woman as it'll be likely Meredith will give birth to more children later on. A satisfactory enough compromise. It's not that Meredith has anything against the older woman, so it's not like her handling of Robb is the issue. Meredith's just worried about something happening to either of them that could result in someone getting hurt. 

"Lord Benjen has asked that you be brought to the library." Lara says as they begin making their way through the Keep. "The Lord's offices are kept there and most of the business you'll be seeing to will be kept there." 

"Have you worked at Winterfell long, Lara?" Meredith asks, to which the other girl nods. 

"My family has worked for House stark for many generations." 

"Do you like it here, Lara? Are you and the others treated well?" She asks, because she knows that not all Lords are as respectful to their servants as they should be. Even a man who claims to be honorable can be horrible to people he sees as less than him. 

Lara looks over at her and frowns. Meredith keeps her face open, keeps her expression kind, so as not to distress the other woman. Eventually Lara must decide something because she turns away from Meredith and continues walking down the hall. 

"We're treated very well here. Lord Rickard was a good man, he treated us fairly." Lara gathers her skirts a bit so as not to trip on them as she leads Meredith us a short flight of steps, "Lord Stark has always treated us well, no one complains." 

"Good. That's good." 

Meredith doesn't like seeing people hurt or belittled or treated poorly for something as detrimental as what class they were born into. Meredith likes being a Lady of nobility, she likes not having to do physical labor, which is why the mistreatment of the men and women who do that labor for her makes Meredith uncomfortable. She's always tried to treat the people who work for her well. She's made more friends through this action than she thinks most other Ladies of the Westerosi nobility have. Who better to be friends with then the men and women no one bothers to pay attention to? A bit cruel, perhaps, but Meredith is not a fool. She's a woman. Her power in this world is tied to her ability to manipulate outcomes. While she respects servants too much to manipulate them in the way some other Lords and Ladies might, she'd be an idiot to not try and use some of their knowledge to her advantage. Still, the best kind of servant is a loyal one. Meredith has gained no loyalties from these people and their mistrust of Southern folk won't make it possible for her to do so through pretty words and false action. Meredith is a protector. She protects her people, her child, her husband, her family. She's never lusted for power or a throne or even an illusion of control over the masses, all she's ever wanted was security. A good life full of good memories. Simplistic compared to the whims and fancies of others perhaps. 

They continue on in relative silence. Meredith doesn't mind. There will be plenty of talking later on that she won't be able to avoid. These few, precious moments of silence are good enough for her. It allows her a few moments to gather her thoughts as she makes her way to the library, where they find Benjen hunkered over a desk when Lara quietly guides her to a side room off the main library - which will receive a thorough investigation later on when she has time. 

"Ah, Lady Stark, come in!" Benjen uncurls himself, rising to his full height to motion to the chair positioned opposite the grand oak desk where papers and books and ledgers are spread. 

Meredith bids Lara a good dark before taking her seat at the table. 

Benjen passes her a ledger with a thin smile and says, "These are the ledgers containing food store records. This will also be where inventory of goods is kept as well as what we'll need for the next rotation and what we don't." 

The ledger is full of various notes and numbers, most written in a hand she hardly recognizes. The more recent entries are without a shadow of a doubt Benjen's. He did a good job keeping everything organized from what she can tell so far. Meredith sets the ledger aside for another. 

"These are the household finances. You'll see to the budgeting of the Keep for a time, perhaps longer, should you wish it." 

Should my brother let you. 

Meredith doesn't take it to heart, those unspoken words. Most woman aren't left to tend to the Keep's budgets unless they prove themselves proficient enough with numbers to warrant it... or such is the case in the South. Meredith doesn't know enough about Northern culture or the North's view of women to say with confidence that Benjen isn't being entirely truthful. It could be that when Eddard returns Meredith will be left to adjust the budget for as long as she likes. In which case it would become her husband's responsibility. Meredith takes another ledger, listens to Benjen explain the importance. And then she sits quietly with her good-brother as she goes over years worth of bookkeeping to get a better sense of how Winterfell works. 

Most of the goods are imported. Specific spices and food goods, silks and velvet, dyes, glass, exotic goods. Goods that can't be grown in the North. Wool and lumber make up a good deal of the exports that come out of the North. Meredith thinks that needs to change. Too much dependence on Southern Lords could lead to disastrous consequences should the North ever be cut off. Meredith thinks this will need to be something that's brought to Eddard's attention. As much as their marriage will secure certain advantages to the North, it wouldn't be enough to keep the entirety of the North warm and fed should there ever be another true winter lasting more than a handful of months. But how to secure trade with other countries? How to further develop the North's independence from the South? Meredith doubts the North will ever pull away from the South completely, not if the rumors of Robert Baratheon being put on the throne are true. But who knows? War is a funny thing. It puts things into perspective. 

Hours pass in this vein. 

Meredith reads over the ledgers, taking note of anything she thinks is important, occasionally asking her soft-spoken good brother what his thoughts on a certain topic are. His answers are occasionally halting. Still a child. She has to remind herself that Benjen Stark is the youngest of his siblings and the responsibilities he's been taking on that can't be entirely seen to by the castellan. Meredith doesn't doubt Benjen's knowledge of the North, not entirely, but she takes everything he says with a grain of salt due to his lack of experience. Which... may seem a bit hypocritical of her. Meredith thinks that given a little more time and a few more lessons Benjen would be perfectly capable of handling the Keep on his own. The only difference between them is that Meredith's entire education has been based around being able to take care of a Keep in her husband's absence and being able to raise competent heirs. Her father made sure her education was thorough, her uncle made sure she was ruthless about it. 

Catelyn had always been dutiful in their lessons, taking everything the Septa said to them without question. She excelled at sewing and being a gracious host. Catelyn's love of the feminine arts serving her so very, very well because it carried over in ways. 

Lysa had never shirked her duties, but Meredith knows she never quite had the eye for numbers that Meredith had. She excelled at music. Her ability to sing and weave fine compositions nearly on par with Rhaegar Targaryen... in Meredith's opinion. But her distaste in politics will one day cause her problems when running the Eyrie. 

Meredith won't say she's better than either sister. She knows she isn't. Their individual talents have all served them dutifully. It's just that Meredith likes numbers, she likes politics, she likes playing court games that don't have lives at stake. Her uncle had seen that. He'd seen that aptitude for political maneuvering that her father had been trying to instill in Edmure, so he'd pulled her to the side and he'd begun instructing her privately. Nothing serious, nothing important. Just the occasional redirecting she needed to be able to thrive in a court. And now here she is, finally dipping her fingers into everything her father and uncle had been preparing her for. It's exhilarating, it's terrifying. Meredith knows it might not last forever. 

Food is brought to them, Meredith wonders if Benjen has been spending his days cooped up in the library for him to be so nonchalant about his meals. Meredith won't begrudge him his systems. Meredith eats her meal and never takes her eyes off her tasks, dutiful in all things. Even the things that bore her. Eventually Benjen tells her she can go, that he's stolen enough of her time. When Meredith goes to protest Benjen shakes his head and smiles. 

"Go, explore Winterfell, spend time with your son. There isn't much left to do, you've taken on the brunt of the work today." He assures, young face doing nothing to mask how tired his eyes look. 

"Thank you Benjen, if you need anything don't hesitate to call on me." Meredith tells him as she rises. 

"I'll be done in the next hour or so." Benjen holds up a stack of sealed letters, "Missives to respond to and all." 

Meredith offers a soft smile before leaving the room. 

It takes her a bit of time to find the family wing again. She uses the desire to familiarize herself with the Keep whenever she gets too turned around and has to ask a servant to help her get back to more familiar territory. They all seem relatively happy to help. Quiet, but kind. None of the men or women she encounters throughout the day are overly abrasive. She manages to start conversation with a few; asking if they're comfortable and whether they're treated well and how they're families are doing if they have any. No one seems to trust her enough to voice complaints, if they have any for surely they must have one or two, and Meredith tells herself that by the year's end she'll be on friendly enough terms with the household staff to ensure they feel safe enough coming to her with their problems. It'll take time and a great deal of effort, but the North has been far more welcoming to her than some other Southern Houses. Fools these people aren't, but cautious? Yes, Meredith thinks they have every right to be that. 

Unfortunately, her thoughts on getting in the good graces of Winterfell's servants causes her to loose track of where she is. Again. 

Winterfell seems a great deal larger than it really is when you're lost and unfamiliar with the Keep... which is already impressively large. Meredith forgets, now and again, that at one point the Starks were Kings and Queens and that this is their ancestral home. Like Riverrun is for her family or like Highgarden is for the Tyrells. 

"My Lady?" 

Meredith turns to find Lara staring at her, eyes wide and surprised. 

"Oh! Lara, hello!" 

"What are you doing down here, Lady Stark?" Lara glances at the basket of folded cloth in her hands, "this is where we come to do the washing." 

"Oh, I see..." Meredith looks around, "I'm a bit lost." 

"I can see that." 

There's laughter in Lara's tone and Meredith finds herself smiling a bit bashfully at the other girl as she slips into a room and passes off her basket of laundry to whoever is waiting. 

"Might be best to find you a guide for a time then. Wouldn't want you wondering into the crypts, or Gods forbid, the hot springs... wouldn't want you to boil to death now would we?" Lara asks and Meredith shakes her head quickly. 

"I certainly wouldn't find boiling to death all that entertaining." Meredith remarks to which Lara laughs. 

"Well, come along then. I'll see you to wherever it is you're going." 

"Oh, the nursery." 

"Seeing the little Lordling are you?" 

"Yes, I miss him... this is the longest I've been apart from him. It's strange." 

Lara leads her to a set of stars and motions for Meredith to follow her. 

"He's a good lad, quiet. Winifred adores him." 

"Winifred?" 

"Ah, yes, you haven't met. She's the girl who's been lookin' after your wee one when Old Nan isn't able." Lara smiles and leads her through a door, "she's a good girl. Kind. Her pa owns the tavern in winter town." 

Meredith's relieved. It's a bit silly, taking the word of a woman she hardly knows, but Lara's pleasant and she seems reasonable enough. Meredith can't see why she would lie about what type of a person Winifred is. It wouldn't gain her anything. Should Winifred do anything to Robb after Lara claimed the other woman to be kind and good it would be her head on the block as well... possibly. Meredith is merciful, she doesn't like needless death. But if anything happened to Robb? To any children she might have? Heads would roll and she'd be the one to send them on their way. 

As they make their way through Winterfell Meredith makes sure to ask where they are, what parts of the building can be reached from this particular hall, and any specific notes to make about the structure should she ever get lost again. Lara answers her dutifully and doesn't stop answering until they reach the door leading into the nursery, at which point Meredith thanks Lara and sends the girl off to finish whatever tasks she might still have for the day. As she leaves Meredith slips into the nursery where she finds a tall woman with a thick head of unruly black hair and pretty hazel eyes rocking her babe. An older woman - old nan - is sitting in a corner chair carefully embroidering a square of cream colored cloth. Meredith smiles politely as she makes her way closer to the one who must be Winifred. 

"Good afternoon my Lady," Winifred drops into a wobbly curtsy and smiles widely, Robb begins making noises in her arms, "The little Lord has been very happy today! He's eaten well and is sleeping through his naps." 

"Thank you, Winifred, has he slept this afternoon yet?" 

"No my Lady, I was trying to put him down now." 

Meredith smiles at the girl, unable to stop herself when faced with such sweet openness, and says, "Thank you, I'll take him from here." 

The other girl doesn't hesitate, easing the babe into Meredith arms with gentle noises when Robb begins fussing. It's sweet. Meredith decides that she rather likes Winifred, for as little as she knows of her. Once Robb is secured in her arms, Meredith makes her way over to the rocker and sits down. Her boy is getting big. At nearly six whole moons Robb is a mess of baby rolls, reaching limbs, and downy curls. His eyes are still that murky-un-settled blue of a newborn but Meredith likes to think they'll be more Ned's grey than her blue. It'd be a sweet sort of combination, she thinks, with his burnished copper curls and those pretty grey eyes that Meredith likes so much on her husband's face. Meredith smiles as Robb's chubby little fingers grab onto her own. 

Gods she loves him. 

If the only thing that comes from her relationship with Eddard Stark is Robb then Meredith can't find it in herself to be anything less than absolutely thrilled. 

Meredith adjusts her babe so she can hold him closer to her face and laughs at the random cooing noises coming from him. Meredith doesn't know much about children outside of what her Septa used to tell her growing up, but Meredith knows Robb is reaching more physical milestones every day. Already he can hold his own head up and move it around. Meredith wonders if he'll be a silent terror when he gets older. Like she and Edmure supposedly were. Always getting into trouble, always causing mischief, always causing a fuss. Meredith grimaces a bit. It's a good thing she likes activity if Robb's going to be anything like her... but what if he's like Ned? What was her husband like growing up? Was he quiet? Benign? Docile and sweet tempered? Easy going? Meredith knows so little about him. She knows he's quiet, she knows he's smart, she knows he'll listen to her concerns - because he listened to her concerns about Elia didn't he? - but what else does she know about him? Meredith doesn't know his favorite color or his favorite food or whether he likes to dance. Which isn't all that important to his character but Meredith realizes that she doesn't know about this interests of his and it's unfortunate that they never got the opportunity to court properly.   

Eddard Stark is a good man. Meredith is happy to have married him. Would she have liked to have chosen him or have him choose her? Yes, yes of course, but it's not a requirement. Meredith wouldn't say she's in love with Ned Stark. Never so soon, never with so few interactions between them... but there's a fondness there. A desire for the possibility of one day being able to say that she loves Ned Stark. 

Meredith startles a bit when a weathered hand curls around her chin. 

Old Nan stares at her through dark eyes for long moments in which neither speak. They look so much more youthful than the rest of her, which is parchment thin and haggard in appearance. When the woman smiles those eyes brighten a bit. 

"You're a strong one. I can tell." Old Nan eventually says, releasing Meredith to nod at her. "You're strong, your babes will be strong, the North will be strong." 

"Oh, erm, yes. I suppose." 

What does one say to Old Nan when she gets like this? Is she mad? Is she some sort of prophetess? Meredith holds very little value in such things but perhaps.... Meredith finds herself offering a tight smile to the other woman. 

"You'll do well here, girl. We do not need another simpering maid." This time Old Nan is fierce and cold. 

"Another simpering maid?" 

"Aye, there was a girl before you. Lovely, kind, she would have withered here and taken the North with her." 

Meredith has no idea what Old Nan is even talking about, doesn't think to ask, because the old woman nods once more before turning and shuffling out of the nursery with her dark shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. Meredith waits for her to leave before slumping in her chair, Robb pressed carefully to her chest. 

Strange woman, she thinks quietly to herself before rising and leaving the room lest Old Nan come back to confuse her more. 

The safe place to go to the Godswood. Neither she nor Robb have had the opportunity to see them yet and it would be good to introduce Robb to his father’s Gods. So she makes a detour to the Lord’s Chambers to find a thick enough quilt to bundle Robb up in order to protect him from the bite of wintery chill lingering in the air. She even wraps herself in a heavier cloak than she normally would. Meredith hopes that in time she’ll get used to the chill, being raised South of the Neck she’s unaccustomed to this type if weather. When she’s properly bundled up Meredith gathers her son and slips out of the Lord's chambers. 

Finding the Godswood is easy enough when there are people willing to direct her to them. No one offers to go with her, likely because praying to one's Gods is a private matter. Meredith appreciates it. The Godswood at Riverrun had never truly been considered a Holy place. The only thing keeping the people of Riverrun from treating the designated space as anything other than another garden is how close the keep is to the North. But here? In the North where the Seven have such a weak presence in comparison? Meredith's skin prickles as she slips into the Godswood, the thin layer of snow that's accumulated on the ground crunching beneath her feet. This place is old, and quiet, and still. Meredith feels like she's being stalked. The feeling doesn't go away as she kneels before the Heart Tree, with it's weeping, mournful face and it's bloody leaves. 

This is Robb, blood of your blood, Meredith isn't sure how to pray to the Old Gods. There are no prayer books, no specific hymnals to remember and sing, nothing to guide her through the process like there is with the Seven. So Meredith settles for simply... talking. He'll be the next Lord of Winterfell.... I hope that Ned gets to meet him. I know the war is won and Robert on the throne but... 

Obviously, Meredith wants her husband home. Theirs might not be a love match but he's treated her kindly and he's shown her a respect other Lords haven't. She wants Ned home if for no other reason than to have someone she recognizes in this unfamiliar world she's married into. She also wants Robb happy, she wants him to grow up with a father to guide him, she wants him to grow up with siblings. Meredith sighs through her nose and adjusts Robb to face the tree. 

Leaves rustle above her head. 

The Lady of Winterfell finds herself praying. 

For Ned, for his lost family, for Benjen. She prays for Robb's safety and for the safety of any children she might give Ned later in their marriage. Meredith even finds herself praying for Elia Martell's soul and for the peaceful rest of her children - rumors are both are dead, Meredith hopes beyond hope that such a thing isn't true... she thinks Ned would have told her if it was. With Robert on the thrown and a Lannister Queen it would be politically smart to extinguish the previous line of succession, but with so little news of how the children died... Meredith closes her eyes, breathes through her nose, tries not to cry. 

Elia was never her friend, they never knew each other well enough for that, but no woman deserves the fate Elia was given. Raped and slaughtered like a rabid dog. Meredith doesn't know the details. Her father had refused to tell any of the girls and the rumors she's heard are hardly reliable because it's all second-hand knowledge. But Elia Martell is dead. Her body sent back to Dorne split in two and supposedly cradling two small bodies - both equally brutalized. Meredith prays to the Old Gods that this is a lie. That if nothing else those children died quick and they died clean. Meredith curls herself around Robb. Gods, the horror those children must have faced... the horror Elia faced having to watch and knowing she couldn't change it. 

Sick to her stomach, Meredith stares into the bleeding eyes carved into the Heart Tree's ashy bark and begs mercy for all the people wronged in this war.

Robb squirms in her arms, little baby noises spilling forth from his throat, and the world around them shivers. 

If nothing else let it be over. Let Robert have his throne and Tywin Lannister his power and let Ned come back safe. Let him come back and find happiness here in whatever way he can, Meredith blinks, the leaves rustle, and let my children grow strong and wild in the way Northern children are whispered about in the South. Let them have that protection at least. 

Temperament, she knows, isn't the same from child to child. Similar. Perhaps. But Meredith was the wildest of her siblings, Catelyn the most dutiful, Lysa prone to flights of fancy but kind in her own ways, and Edmure... well, their brother is like any boy nearing adulthood. Sure of himself and immature and unseasoned, but he's a good person. Meredith knows he'll be a fair Lord when the time comes. But still, the point is made. Robb won't have the same temperament of any siblings she might give him, but she hopes that they're more Northern in their attitudes. 

What is it the Southern Lords say about Northern children? 

Ah, yes. 

Savages, the lot of them, best left up in the North where they're less likely to taint the civilized children. 

Meredith will take that wild savageness if it meant them being safe. 

More rustling overhead. Meredith stares at the tree before her and wonders if the Old Gods take more of an active role than the Seven - all of whom Meredith has worshiped since infancy. She finds herself a bit unsettled by the prospect, finds herself wondering if she was a fool for coming here. She finds herself wondering if the concept of mercy and kindness is different for Gods - beings who have molded the world and will live on well beyond its end - in comparison to a mortal's concept of such things. This hasn't been anything Meredith has truly thought of in the past, raised as she was to pray to the Seven and never question their judgment. This feels different. The bite of winter chill at her knees as she rises from the ground has Meredith wincing. She's made an active decision to pray to the Old Gods, a dangerous decision on her part when she knows so little about them. 

Around them the world is still. 

No more rustling. 

No more bird sounds above their head. 

No more gentle forest murmurs telling her that life is thriving here. 

There's nothing but her and the snow and those weeping, bloody eyes. 

Meredith dips her head in silent goodbye before departing, Robb pressed tight to her chest. 

When she gets back to the Keep Meredith makes her way to Maester Luwin's tower. He's her closest confidant and her most trusted friend. While she doubts she'll voice any concerns to the Maester, she knows that he'll find some way to distract her from her thoughts. Maester Luwin's good at such things. Knowing when people are upset and finding subtle ways to comfort them is a skill Meredith has yet to perfect the way he has. It might also be good for Robb to see Maester Luwin as well. Travel can sometimes be hard on babes, this Meredith knows, and the shift from Riverrun to Winterfell might have been harder on her son than it was on Meredith or the Maester. Always better to be over cautious about such things than not cautious enough. Besides, socialization will also be good for Robb. 

Comfort is a strange thing and it's found in strange places. 

Meredith finds her comfort tucked in a corner of a room with Robb in her lap, listening to Luwin talk about the reorganization of the Maester's tower as he prepares tea for them. It's a calming sort of air that settles over them. Meredith feels distant from the stresses of moving North and assuming the role of Lady of Winterfell because Maester Luwin doesn't treat her like she's the Lady of Winterfell. Oh, he treats her with all the respect a woman of her station deserves, but he treats her the way he treated her in Riverrun. Softly, kindly, careful to correct her when she makes a mistake. Meredith appreciates that. She appreciates him. And so she pends as long as possible in the man's presence, only leaving when the hour grows late and Meredith begins to feel guilt over monopolizing the good maester's time. When she leaves she does so with a soft smile and an offer to help Maester Luwin with anything he might need, which he waves off. 

"You've more important things to tend to than an old man's concoctions, My Lady." Maester Luwin says, the smile on his face bright. 

"The offer stands none-the-less." 

With her piece said Meredith leaves, making her way back through the great Keep to the nursery where she hands Robb off to Winifred before making her way to her own chambers to retire for the evening. 

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark is returning home to Winterfell. 

Benjen is the one to tell her; softly, words a heartbroken murmur as they break their morning fast. Ned is coming home, bearing their sister's body but not their father's or their brother's. It's a solemn morning. There's no celebration of a Lord's safe return, not feasts to be prepared, no entertainment to be had. This is not a celebration of life, it's a mourning of those lost. 

Lyanna Stark. 

Brandon Stark. 

Rickard Stark. 

Even Ned and Benjen are mourning the lives they lost to Aerys Targaryen. 

Meredith hates the relief she feels at not having to worry about hosting a feast at such short notice. The guilt over her lack of mourning confuses her as well. Lyanna was never her friend, Brandon was never hers, and Rickard was never anyone to her but another Lord she and her sisters had to learn about. Meredith doesn't mourn these people the way Ned and Benjen do, and there's nothing truly wrong with that. Three grieving Nobles won't do the North any good in its current state of being. But Meredith still feels guilt over not feeling the same gut wrenching sadness as Benjen - and likely Ned - because she is fond of them and their pain isn't pleasant for her. Which only makes her angrier because there's really nothing to be guilty about. So to distract herself from this mess of feelings Meredith tells Benjen to take some time for himself, that she'll tend to the ledgers and the more menial tasks so that he can take a moment before everyone arrives. He refuses, of course, because there's too much to see done before their arrival. Meredith understands. 

Still, she takes on as many rolls around the Keep as possible. 

Easier now after nearly a moon as Lady of Winterfell than it had been. 

The servants are more receptive to her. The friendship she's formed with Lara and a few of the others has paved the way for her to build lasting relationships with the others as well. Meredith uses that to her advantage. None of them fight against her orders or mutter about Southern ways when she kindly asks them to see rooms prepared for possible guests and a light meal made ready, she also asks that a path to the crypts be made more easily accessible. Meredith doubts that with as long as it's been there will be a coffin instead of an urn but... there are ways to preserve a body for that amount of time. Meredith isn't sure what the stance in the North is when it comes to "befouling" corpses but some Lords in the South find the act of preserving disrespectful at best. The common thought is that if one can't get a corpse back to their ancestral graves before the body rots then they might as well burn the body and bury the ashed. Meredith doesn't care one way or the other. When she dies, she just hopes she's taken care of quickly. If for no other reason than ensuring her loved ones won't have to see or smell her rotten corpse. What difference is it to her how they take care of her body? She'll be dead. 

Alas, such is not always the way with people.

Meredith spends her day trying to make Ned's return as easy for him as possible in whatever way she can. 

A seamless transition from the battlefield to Winterfell. 

She knows it won't do him any good. 

Uncle Brynden used to tell her stories about men who come home from war but never truly leave the battlefield. It started after she'd become a woman, after she'd bled and her ability to marry became a defining factor of her life. Being the daughter of a Warden had limited her prospects a bit to other Wardens or simple Lords of high standing position. Brynden had made sure to pull each of his nieces aside and tell them that while not all men are violent, some can become so. He'd meant it as a way for them to prepare themselves for any possible violence done against them, because Brynden had seen more fighting and the results of it than even her father had. Meredith knows that he'd only wanted them to be prepared for the possibility of having to defend themselves. Meredith doesn't know if Lysa or Catelyn had asked for the reasons a man could become violent, but she would bet that he had because he hadn't balked when she'd brought it up herself. 

Drink, poisons, madness, fear. 

Meredith had asked why fear would cause a man to become violent with his wife. She'd been young then, more naive to the world's workings, her uncle had placed both hands on her shoulders and offered her a sad smile. 

"Some men," he had begun in that gruff, slow way of his, "see too much fighting and too much violence, and it never leaves them. It dogs their steps and haunts their dreams. Sometimes it even comes to them in their waking hours. I've known men who've been lost to their ghosts, caught up in those fever dreams of battles and enemy men." 

"What happened?" Meredith remembers asking. 

"Sometimes nothing. Sometimes they grew angry and lashed out at those around them." 

"Have you ever..." 

And her uncle's eyes had gone a sort of hazy that told her he was thinking of something in the past. 

"Once." 

Meredith hadn't asked again. 

She wonders now, years later, standing on the parapets of Winterfell, if it had been part of the reason he'd refused to marry the Redwyne girl. Meredith wonders if Ned will be dogged by the war the way her uncle had warned her some men are. Would he grow violent? Meredith breathes in chilly, winter air and shudders. She'll kill him if he does. Gods forbid she ever let a man strike her out of anger and not have her retaliate in kind. Especially now that she has children. Gods have mercy on any man that thinks she'd roll over and show her belly like a dog beaten one too many times. Courtesy, her sweet Cat is convinced, is a woman's weapon. 

Poison, Meredith is certain, works just as well. 

Gods, she finds herself thinking, please don't let it resort to that. 

But perhaps her fear is unfounded. 

Perhaps Ned will be haunted in that distant, sorrowful way that can blunt over time. Violence isn't always the end of all other violence. 

Meredith returns to the Keep and her duties. The hours passing quickly as she tends to the needs of her new people. When she sees Benjen again he tells her a raven has arrived from Moat Cailin, that the armies of the North are beginning to split and go their separate ways now that they've passed the Neck. He tells her it'll be a day or two before Ned returns home with his own men. Possibly sooner if he and his men decide to push on. Which Benjen thinks is likely considering the circumstances. The household falls into a fury of activity. Somber though the atmosphere is, Meredith can tell that many of the people within Winterfell are glad to have their Lord and their families back. Meredith understands. She's happy Ned is coming home as well. The days pass slowly. Anticipation and nervousness making the hours drag along. Morning into night into morning back into night. Meredith finds herself with little to occupy her time. Even Maester Luwin seems to be suffering as she is. 

Then Meredith is woken well before her usual time by Lara, who tells Meredith that Lord Stark will be arriving by the midday bells, which ring through Winterfell and Winter Town to tell the residents of both the hour. Meredith rises slowly. 

"I'd like a bath ready for Lord Stark when he arrives." Meredith says to Lara as she glances between a dark grey-almost-black dress and a gown of wool dyed the palest blue Meredith has ever seen. 

"Yes, My Lady." 

Meredith chooses the grey dress as it's the best fit for the situation. Today is a day of celebration and mourning. Meredith won't disrespect Ned or Benjen's loss by wearing something too vibrant. It wouldn't sit right with her. Especially when she doubts her husband or good brother would say anything about it other than that the color suits her. Meredith has known both long enough to say that the likelihood of either being upset with her choice of dress is slim, which only makes her decision to wear the grey seem more fitting. Besides, Meredith had her pops of color here and there. A blue ribbon woven through her hair, pearl earrings that shift between pink and orange in its uneven shape. 

"Would you like me to fetch the little Lord?" Lara asks as she gently dabs orange blossom oil against Meredith's pulse. 

"No, let him rest for now. I'll get him when Lord Stark is closer to the Keep." 

"Aye, My Lady." 

"Do you know where Ser Benjen is?" 

Lara blinks at her for a moment before shaking her head, "I don't. It's possible he's in the Godswood." 

"Thank you, Lara." Meredith rises as the other girl steps back and away. 

She grabs her cloak - a sturdy fur-lined thing dyed a deep blue - and slips it over her shoulders. Meredith fastens the clasp at the front as she follows Lara out of the Lord's Chambers, which Lara shuts behind her before offering a low curtsy and disappearing down the corridor. Meredith doesn't bother to wonder where the other girl is going as she likely has tasks to see to before everyone arrives. Meredith makes her way to the Godswood. Pulling her hood up over her head when she slips out into the courtyard. Today's a bit chillier than typical. Meredith ignores the chill as she makes for Benjen's hiding place. When she finds him, Meredith pauses. 

Benjen Stark is curled around himself at the base of the Heart Tree, looking every bit a boy of fifteen as opposed to the almost fully grown man he's been carrying himself as. Meredith is half tempted to go back the way she came. This isn't meant for her eyes. But Benjen is her friend and she has no doubt he would attempt to comfort her had she any need for it. Meredith squares her shoulders and makes her way to the the Heart Tree, kneeling at Benjen's side. 

For a moment everything is silent. 

Still. 

Meredith stares into those weeping eyes and prays for Ned and Benjen's comfort. 

"Is it horrible of me to be angry?" Benjen asks her, voice hollow and so soft Meredith almost doesn't hear him. 

"I suppose would depend on why you're angry." she says in return. 

Benjen's eyes remain on the face carved into the Heart Tree, face lacking any expression other than sorrow. 

"Father wanted to unify the North and the South. It's why he sent Ned to the Eyrie... and why he betrothed Lyanna to Robert. He thought it would benefit the North, but Lya was so angry. She wanted Northern skies and a Northern Husband if she had to have one at all. Our father knew this, knew she wasn't happy, and he still went through with it." Benjen lets out a watery breath and turns to face her, "She should have stayed in the North. She would have been happy here, Rhaegar would have never stolen her from the North. None of this would have happened." 

Meredith reaches out to grasp Benjen's hand. 

"It still would have happened, Benjen." Meredith tells the devastated boy. "Aerys was mad, he was burning people alive for asking permission to build irrigation systems for farmland. This war was a long time coming. Your sister's kidnapping, your father and brother's murder? It just gave the Southern Lords the excuse they needed to rally. None of this is your father's fault, or Lyanna's, or Brandon's... not even Robert's." 

"But if we'd just stayed-" "-it wouldn't have stopped anything... My father refused to send me or my sister's to King's Landing when Aerys' condition got worse. He and Uncle Brynden had to find ways to placate Aerys so that he didn't send soldiers after my father or come up with an excuse to have us executed for treason... Aerys would have eventually turned his attention North." 

Beside her Benjen is quiet, still, the lines of his body stiff with anger. 

Meredith runs her thumb over his knuckles. 

"It's alright to be angry. None of this is fair and none of you deserved anything that happened to you... just... don't be angry at the wrong people." Meredith offers a thin smile, "Be angry that no one did anything sooner." 

"Do you think Rhaegar would have been a better King than Aerys? If something had been done sooner?" 

Sighing, Meredith says, "I don't know. Probably not." 

The two are quiet for a long moment. 

Meredith returns her attention to the Heart Tree. 

Benjen does the same. 

"I asked Ned to try and save Rhaegar's children," Meredith tells Benjen, but feels like she's admitting something sinful to the Old Gods instead. "Elia too, but I knew that children would be easier to get out of King's Landing than a Queen." 

"Why?" 

"Because they were children. They didn't murder anyone or steal anyone's sister or ask their father to cause so much division. Rhaenys and Aegon were innocent." 

Benjen clothes his eyes, "What did Ned say?" 

"He sent Maege Mormont and some of her soldiers to King's Landing." Meredith shrugs, "I don't know if they succeeded. I doubt it. No one's said anything about a missing Targaryen and with Elia dead..." 

Benjen laces his fingers through hers. 

"Maege Mormont's forces weren't listed in the names of the Northern procession." Benjen remarks. 

"What does that mean? Are they dead?" 

"No. There's a list of lost soldiers, I was kept updated." Benjen offers a thin, watery smile that looks pained on his face, "Bear Island is small. It yielded less than a hundred good soldiers, any that have died were easily identified as Mormont men." 

"So it's possible?" 

"Maege Mormont is one of the most dangerous women I've ever seen." Benjen's smile is sharper this time, "it's why Jorah Mormont gave her command of his men when banners were called. If Ned sent her off it's likely she got to King's Landing." 

Which means that either the children are safe or lost. 

Meredith doesn't know how to feel about that. 

"Thank you, Benjen." She says to her good brother, who nods. 

The two lapse into silence and remain in the Godswood together for a fairly long while. Meredith's foot is nothing more than a sensation of tingling from kneeling for so long and by the time Benjen finishes his prayers - or his seeking of comfort - he rises and offers his hand to Meredith to assist her. She takes it with a grateful smile and then leaves the Heart Tree behind as Benjen gently guides her from the woods. The courtyard is bustling with activity by the time they reach it. 

Apparently, Ned and his men are making better time than anyone suspected. 

Meredith bids Benjen a brief goodbye, promising to be back before the household has assembled in the courtyard and then goes to find Robb. If she takes more time than strictly necessary to do so than that's no one's business but her own. When Meredith reaches the nursery she finds Winifred and Old Nan arguing about what to dress Robb in. Winifred thinks something light as he'll be wrapped in so many blankets and furs, Old Nan thinks that he should be presented in a more traditional way - bare flesh and fur. Frankly Meredith agrees with Winifred, and when she says as much - startling both women - there's a distinct look of haughty smugness on Winifred's face as she goes to slip Robb into a linen smock. Meredith smiles at Old Nan, strange bat that she is, and promises that when the next Stark babe is born they can talk about traditional presentations. Right now they just don't have the time. So Robb is dressed and wrapped in a heavy fur before Winifred passes him off to Meredith, who smiles and thanks her before leaving the room to return to the courtyard. 

People quickly step out of her way as she makes for where she can see Benjen standing in front of the more influential members of the staff. 

He looks uncomfortable. Stiff. Like he hates being the only one at the head of the masses. 

Meredith understands. 

Normally there would be others standing beside him. A father and brothers and a sister. 

A good sister and nephew will have to do this time around. 

"Scouts arrived a few minutes ago," Benjen is fussing with his cloak, "Lord Stark and the others are about ten minutes from arrival." 

"Of course..." 

Benjen stills, Meredith stills beside him, and Robb makes those unintelligible noises babes often make because they don't understand what tension is. When Benjen finally turns to her he looks startled. 

"Does he know about Robb?" 

What? 

"Yes..." Meredith frowns, "What does that have to do with anything?"

Maester Luwin appears in her peripheral vision looking slightly out of breath and red-faced. 

Benjen smiles wide. All teeth.

"I guess one good thing is going to come out of today." Benjen remarks wistfully. 

The tension leaves Meredith and she smiles alongside her good brother, but soon a horn is sounded and the warm bubble of delight in her chest disappears. Meredith adjusts Robb in her grasp as she gates begin to open. Beyond the gate, outlined by the hazy blue-grey of the North's landscape, is a dark mass. Soldiers. Meredith watches the banners cutting through the air and wonders whether Ned is at the front of the procession or closer to the back - that's where the car carrying Lyanna's body and the ashes of the other Starks would be kept. Meredith shivers as the sound of horses and wagons grows closer. There will likely be injured men, starving men, sick men. Meredith presses Robb closer to her breast. She knows he wouldn't remember such things, but she doesn't want his first real sight of his people to be one of blood and death. 

Breath leaves her as Eddard Stark rides through the gates of Winterfell flanked by two men in boiled leather and mail. 

Meredith hadn't realized how worried she was until then. 

She runs her gaze over her husband, looking for any sign of injury or sickness. There's none. But that doesn't mean there aren't differences. Ned's hair is longer, there's something like a beard beginning to shade his jawline - though it's hardly as impressive as Greatjon Umber's had been, and he looks older. Not even in the way one would suspect. It's been over a year since they've seen each other. Meredith knows he's grown older... but this? There's something about the way he carries himself that makes him seem older than his years. 

Some men leave the war, but the battlefield never leaves them. 

Meredith aches for Ned, for everything he's lost, for the boy he was and the man he is and what will never be. 

She falls into a curtsy alongside every other person standing in the courtyard as Ned carefully dismounts his horse and approaches, but she and Benjen rise much quicker than the staff. 

There's a strange lump in her husband's cloak. 

One he's careful to keep covered as he makes his way across the yard. 

Meredith catches Ned's eye, smiles, and Eddard Stark stiffens - the lump in his cloak shifts. Beside her, Benjen stiffens. And Meredith doesn't need him to tell her what her husband is hiding under his cloak... protecting under his cloak. Meredith steels herself, distances herself from the hurt and the betrayal and the humiliation she's feeling because now is neither the time nor the place for such things. Now is the time for the Lady of Winterfell to greet her Lord and welcome him back into the fold. Not is the time to use her courtesy as armor. 

"Hello Ned." Benjen says when his brother stops in front of them, "You look like shit." 

Ned smiles, Meredith sucks in a quiet breath. 

"It's good to see you, Ben." Ned reaches out with his left hand to clasp his brother on the shoulder, "How have you been?" 

"Good, good. I've been good." liar. "Your Lady Wife was a great help to me these past few months... almost wish you'd sent her up sooner." 

Fuck you, Benjen. 

Meredith was content to let Eddard and Benjen ignore her presence for the time being, but now with attention firmly on her Meredith offers a smile she knows doesn't reach her eyes and tries not to be too much of a massive bitch. You don't know the situation, she tells herself, you don't know what's going on. But she has a good fucking idea considering the fact that her husband is looking at their son and the expression on his face is absolutely one of guilt. 

"My Lord, we're glad to see you home well and safe." Meredith says, careful to keep her tone even, "This is your son."  

"Robb." 

"Yes, My Lord." 

Eddard reaches out, fingers a ghost's breath from brushing her son's downy soft hair, but then he pulls away suddenly as a sharp, startled cry sounds from the lump under his cloak. It's a babe. Meredith already knew that, or suspected at the very least, but this confirmation is like a blow to the ribs. She tries not to feel hurt by Eddard's betrayal. He owes her nothing. He's freer in their marriage than she is, if this was Dorne no one would even question it. Meredith swallows the hurt. He owes her nothing, he owes her nothing, he owes her nothing. 

Meredith knows her smile is tense. Benjen's sympathetic glances and uncomfortable shifting only confirms what she already knows. 

How long will it take before her father sends her a letter? Her sisters? What will they say? Nothing good, she already knows this. Her father will ask about line of succession and leave hidden jabs for her to find in his meanings. Catelyn will be equally angry but for different reasons - ever the romantic - and Meredith doesn't blame her. She doubts Lysa will send a raven. She might, but Meredith isn't counting on it. 

"There's much for us to discuss." Eddard is saying to her. 

Meredith bows her head and says, "We do, My Lord." 

Across from her Eddard wilts. 

His name is Jon Snow. 

Apparently he's Eddard's firstborn son by a woman named Wylla, the fact that he's got a bastard's last name should be a comfort to her. It isn't. Because Jon is of an age with Robb and looks every bit a Stark that her own trueborn son does not. Jon Snow is long with delicate features crowned with a mop of dark curls, he's got Ned's nose and his mouth and it wouldn't hurt as much if his eyes were grey as a dove's wing. Grey like a winter sky. 

Grey like the world around them are Meredith sits in the nursery with her son and his brother. 

Meredith watches both children and knows she doesn't have it in her to hate Jon Snow. 

What would she hate him for anyway? He's a babe with a dead mother and a life of hardships laid out in front of him. In a way Jon Snow reminds Meredith of Lysa's child. The one she wasn't able to keep, the one that their father stripped from her womb. Only... this child has an opportunity to live. He has an opportunity to grow up happy and loved and safe... so long as Meredith allows it. Which she will. She already knows she'll be hard pressed to deny this quiet, solemn eyed child anything. Which only makes her angrier at her husband. 

In the crib Jon begins to fuss and Meredith scoops him up before he can wake Robb. 

"Hush little love, you're safe." Meredith whispers to the whimpering child and stroke's his hair. 

The nursery door creaks open. 

Meredith doesn't turn to acknowledge her husband. 

Because who else would it be? Benjen had made himself scarce after they'd all dispersed from the courtyard, she'd dismissed Winifred and Old Nan for the evening, Lara had quietly asked Meredith to summon her should the need arise, and Luwin is likely asleep. At this hour she should be asleep as well, but where would she go? She's too angry with her husband to sleep beside him and having her things moved would only cause gossip. Meredith presses her lips together and rocks the babe in her arms. Let him be the one to break the silence. Let him be the one to crack first. 

"Meredith, I'm sorry." He says to her, voice low so as not to wake the children. 

Meredith, angry and hurting and trying to hold herself together, turns to look at him with the light pressing in from the moon outside. 

"Do you even realize why I'm angry with you?" She asks. 

"He's of my blood, Meredith." Eddard's tone is bitter, "That is the last I'll say of it." 

"I'm not angry that you brought Jon here, or that you took a lover. You didn't owe me anything, it's not like we've been married long enough to inspire genuine personal loyalties." She watches him flinch and smiles a shark's smile. All teeth, no gentility. "I'm angry with you because it would have taken you five Gods damned minutes to write me, to tell me that you were bringing another child into our home. Instead you humiliated me." 

"I never meant to-" "-No? You're funnier than most give you credit for, Lord Stark. Although... this hardly an entertaining matter." 

Her husband presses closer, but stops when Meredith distances herself in kind. 

"You humiliated me today by not warning me. It's a humiliation because I was unprepared, unaware, and unsuspecting of Jon while the entire Northern Army was aware. But what's worse than that? Perhaps the fact that people talk, people talk and my family - alongside every other Lord and Lady of Westeros - is going to be made aware of his presence, not by me, but by rumors and gossip." Meredith swallows back her tears and bites out, "I'm not mad about Jon - and thank you, by the way, for showing just how little you've bothered to learn about me from any of our previous interactions. I'm furious because of the blatant disrespect you've shown me today." 

Across the room Eddard is still and his face twisted into something that looks like sorrow? Remorse? He doesn't get to feel remorseful. Not about this. Not when it was his actions and his decisions that put them in this situation. Meredith wants to hate him for this. Maybe it's the fact that she can't bring herself to do it that makes her all the angrier. Meredith refuses to forgive him though. He was fully capable of writing to her. He had every opportunity to write to her about Jon and his plan to bring her home and... and he didn't. Meredith is an idiot. A foolish girl who thought herself smarter than she is because she'd thought that her husband had respected her to some degree. Meredith had thought that his willingness to listen to her and his honor and his general kindness would have at least made him something of a friend to her. Obviously she was wrong. It hurts more than it should. Eddard Stark owes her no loyalties, he owes her nothing. They're married, this is true, but a marriage doesn't need respect and love so long as there's an heir. 

Meredith had... well... she'd hoped her marriage to Eddard would be different. 

"I never meant to disrespect you, Meredith." He's saying to her, sounding so desperate and hurt that it makes Meredith sick, "I never thought this would happen." 

She looks away from him. 

Jon's face is smooth and innocent in sleep. 

Just another child hurt by his father's actions. 

Meredith refuses to be the hurt he has to endure. 

"Tell me something." She demands and from the corner of her eye she watches her husband snap to attention. 

"Anything," the promise is more a plea than anything. 

"What happened with Maege and Elia's children?" 

Deafening quiet. 

Then, softly. 

"Maege and three of her men managed to spirit Rhaenys out of the Keep." 

"But not Aegon?" 

"No." 

"Where is she?" 

Ned shifts closer with a stupidly hopeful look on his face as he says, "I sent her South to Dorne with Maege." 

Angry and hurting and full of malice toward the man who had hurt her so willfully, Meredith looks to Eddard and watches him for a moment. She wants him to hurt the way she's hurting, wants him to know that she's not angry at Jon but at him. Fuck house unity, fuck anyone who gossips. Fuck Eddard Stark and his honorable heart and his soft gazes and the way he'd crushed all of Meredith's hopes and dreams to dust in a matter of seconds. 

"Well," she finds herself drawing out in a voice dull as sea glass, "at least you managed to do right by someone." 

Then, she returns to her seat in the rocker next to the crib and ignores Eddard's soft, comforting murmurings until he sighs and leaves the nursery. It isn't until he's gone and the door is shut and Meredith is certain that it's just her, her ghosts, and her boys that she allows the tears to come. She weeps for the girl she was, weeps for Jon, weeps for Rhaenys, weeps for the happy, lovesick future she can no longer see with Eddard when she closes her eyes. 

Chapter Text

"Letters have arrived for you, My Lady." Lara says, appearing in the library office with a grim looking face. 

Meredith's jaw aches and it takes conscious effort for her to pry her teeth apart enough to ease the tension causing it. Nearly three weeks after her husband's return and only now the ravens are arriving? Meredith doesn't know if her family was trying to be sensitive or if they just didn't have as good of a network as her father thought they did. The quill in her hand is set to the side so that Meredith doesn't accidentally blot the ledger beneath her hands. Lara takes it as a sign to fully enter the room, take a seat at the desk, and hand over the letters. Meredith doesn't even bother reprimanding her for the impropriety of her actions. 

Over the past few weeks they've grown closer. 

The tension between Meredith and Eddard is palpable, Lara has become something of a confidant with her sharp wit and soothing manners. Meredith appreciates her discretion, her loyalty, but she knows that had she reacted any other way to Jon - perhaps attempted to throw him out into the streets or have his taken care of - then their relationship would be entirely different. Lara's like that. Fiercely defensive of children. Meredith likes that about her. They can be fiercely defensive of the boys together. 

"Who are they from?" 

Meredith looks at the seals, frowns. 

"My father and sister." 

"Oh fuck, I bet they're happy." Lara leans back in her seat and Meredith's jaw begins to ache again. 

A moments passes before Meredith breaks the seal of her father's letter and begins reading. 

Hoster Tully demands to know about succession. Who will be Lord of Winterfell? Has Ned Stark legitimized his bastard? How could she allow this to happen? He even tells her that it's best for her to befriend of the boy, gain his loyalties, make him love her - so that if anything ever happens and the Northerns decide to make him Lord Stark, Meredith and her children will be protected. Meredith sneers at the letter before breaking into the other. Her sister is righteously angry, but not at Meredith, which is a fucking relief considering the majority of their father's letter contained veiled comments about Meredith's inability to please her husband and her lack of a more Northern son. Perhaps if Meredith had been a better woman Ned Stark wouldn't have strayed. 

Catelyn's anger is more directed at Eddard. She calls him all sorts of horrible things - a scab and a lecher and a poor husband - and tells Meredith that she's been betrothed to Jaime Lannister - who's been released from his vows upon Jon Arryn's request - and that if Meredith ever needs to get away from the North she's more than welcome at the Rock. Meredith isn't sure how Jon Arryn managed to get Jaime Lannister out of his vows, it'd be something to ask her husband about if they were speaking more than a few terse sentences to one another. Meredith almost regrets lashing out at her husband... if for no other reason than she's out of the loop and curious as all hells. Meredith places that letter with the other and turns to Lara. 

"Father is thrilled," Meredith drawls out sarcastically, "so thrilled, in fact, that he's insulting my ability to keep my husband." 

"That seems... a bit much." Lara offers, looking perturbed. "And the other?" 

"Catelyn's offered me a place in her future husband's house should I ever want to leave." 

This time Lara goes quiet. 

"Would you? Leave? I suppose you're more than welcome to do so now that Robb and Jon..." 

"No, I wouldn't leave them." 

Lara nods slowly and asks, "Have you spoken to Lord Stark?" 

"And tell him what? He's aware I'm upset with him and he's aware of the reasons. He hasn't sought me out to apologize so I don't see a reason for tempering my anger to appease him." 

Across from her Lara nods slowly, looking a bit too sad for Meredith's liking. Which is strange. She has no reason to be sad about the marital issues going on between Meredith and Lord Stark... but perhaps the unrest between the Lord and Lady of Winterfell is putting a strain on the staff? Merdith needs to rectify that. The issue between herself and her husband are a private matter. Meredith hasn't allowed it to affect her duties and she'll be thrice damned if she allows her husband to become troublesome for people who have nothing to do with their argument. 

"Is everything alright, Lara?" 

"Will you tell Lord Stark about the letters?" 

"I don't see why I would. The damage is done and there's nothing to be done about it now." Meredith swallows, "How are things going for the servants?" 

Lara rolls her eyes and says, "Well, I suppose. No one's complaining. They like that Lord Stark is back, like that the war is over, most of them think they can get back to their lives now." 

"Can they not?" 

"May I speak frankly, My Lady?" 

Meredith levels the other girl with a look and then finds herself smiling. 

"I've never stopped you from speaking your mind before." 

"I think you should speak with Lord Star," Lara begins, "not to reconcile if you're not ready for it, but the servants are talking and it's nothing bad but they're all worried." 

"What has them worried?" 

"They're scared they're going to lose positions, be treated unfairly, scared that the turmoil between the Lord and Lady will cause discord within the household." Lara rolls her eyes, "A bunch of shit if you ask me but they're getting nervous." 

Meredith sighs. She hasn't spoken to Ned in any sort of length. Which is foolish on her part as he knows more about the happenings of King's Landing than Meredith herself does. Knowledge is power, Petyr used to always tell her sisters. Meredith sighs, nods, and returns to her ledgers. 

"I'll speak to Lord Stark later today." Meredith promises, knowing Lara will handle any fretting servants as she needs to. 

Lara doesn't linger. She excuses herself with a polite curtsy and a smile that Meredith thinks is a little too soft for the situation then disappears. Meredith continues to work on the ledgers, drafting letters to other Lords and Ladies, and sifts through her duties until she has nothing left to use as an excuse to not see her husband. Still, she double checks everything and lingers far longer than she has to in the quiet library of Winterfell. Best to go in with a clear head than to berate her husband to the point of him giving her useless information she can't do anything about... besides, she wants to know more about the Rhaenys situation. It was kept far too quiet. Robert would have spread the word about a missing Targaryen had she escaped and if she'd died then... well... Meredith knows the story of Elia and Aegon's death. Raped and brutalized and beyond recognition. 

Meredith checks the ink on the ledger, finds it dry, and closes the book. 

She needs to speak with her husband. 

They aren't friends, Meredith is still too angry at him for that, but she knows that a House openly divided is a house open to attack. Meredith smooths out her skirts as she makes for the door. She refuses to be the reason her House is put at risk... even if the cause is Eddard's foolishness. Slowly, she makes her way out of the library. She has no idea where Eddard will be. His duties have been numerous since his return, only made bearable by Meredith and Benjen's combined efforts, and her husband has taken to quietly distancing himself from her. Which is good, Meredith doesn't like being in his presence anymore than she absolutely has to at the moment. If it weren't so important that Meredith and him go over the happenings of the King's Court then she absolutely would not be seeking the man out. 

Family, duty, honor. 

Meredith's jaw clenches painfully. 

Family... Robb and Jon, obviously, and Benjen too. New family, found family. Family she loves dearly. Meredith wants them safe, and how can she do such a thing if she's playing the Game like a drunkard playing Cryvasse? Going into the Game as a player and being unprepared is what gets most players slaughtered. Meredith and Petyr used to talk about it when they began learning politics. Petyr had kept his thoughts close, Meredith had done the same, but she'd learned something very important from their seemingly trivial conversations. The first being, Petyr enjoys the idea of spies. Meredith can see the benefit in them but money and personal loyalties only go so far. Meredith far prefers different avenues of gaining and giving information. Spies aren't always controllable. Meredith refuses to gamble blindly with her life. 

Duty... what is her duty? To be Lady of Winterfell, to give Eddard many heirs, to be a good wife and a good mover and an ever graceful Lady of Westeros.  Catelyn had been far better at being able to recite her duties. Meredith knows her duty, she'll do them well. Duty above all, above all duty. Meredith wants to smack her head against the stone wall until she no longer has to balance her personal beliefs and her obligations. 

And honor? What is honor? Is it honorable of Meredith to shun her husband for the disrespect he showed her? No, but what room would he have to argue with her about honor when he so happily disrespected her and humiliated her in front of the whole of Westeros. A child is not the father, Meredith knows, but Meredith has seen the strife a man's proof has caused within households. Sometimes it results in nothing, sometimes people get killed. Meredith presses her mouth into a firm line and tries no to think about that. Part of the reason her father had insisted she make Jon love her is for that very reason... but why do children revolt if they're raised in loving environments? They don't. Does Meredith's inability to stomach having to do her duties with Eddard put Jon and Robb at risk of an unhappy childhood? Will it lead them down dark paths? Meredith tastes blood. 

She relaxes her jaw. 

A passing guard is easily stopped and he offers to escort her to her husband when she asks where he is. The walk is quiet, Meredith doesn't say anything to the man and he says nothing to her in return. Meredith practices evening her breathing as they trek through Winterfell. By the time they reach the room her husband has sequestered himself away in Meredith is as calm as she's ever going to get. So she dismisses the guard and waits until he's out of sight before knocking on the door to announce her presence. A long moment passes, Meredith begins to wonder what the fuck Eddard is doing behind the door for him to take so long, but then the door swings open to reveal an exhausted looking Lord Stark. Meredith takes a moment to observe him and finds that the unnatural wrinkle on his cheek suggests he must have fallen asleep. She'd woken him. Good. Meredith almost smiles at that. 

"My Lady... is there something I can assist you with?" He asks, sounding hopeful but also hesitant. 

Meredith nods and says, "Yes. I've a much clearer head today and I've decided that we need to talk." 

Pale as a ghost, Eddard steps to the side and allows Meredith into the room. She watches as he shuts - and bolts - the door behind them. A bit odd but not exactly unreasonable considering the nature of the topics Meredith intends to bring up. Meredith takes a seat in one of the chairs, arranges her skirts, and waits for her husband to settle as well before saying anything. It takes him a moment. Clearly he hadn't been expecting Meredith to come searching for him - why would he? - and now that she has they're going to be discussing difficult topics. And Meredith is going to make them difficult. Once he's settled Meredith leans back in her chair to put a bit more distance between them. 

He's got this stupid look on his face. This sad, hopeful, exhausted thing that makes the small part of Meredith that clings to her affection for him ache. She turns away from him, refusing to fall victim to that face any more than she has. 

"What did you want to discuss?" Eddard asks, sounding nervous. 

"I wanted to discuss Rhaenys Targaryen. You said you got her out of the Red Keep but news of her escape hasn't spread, which it should have, and no one's claiming her among the dead Dragons. It's like she's completely disappeared and I'd like to know what happened for you to have managed that." She says, which makes her husband deflate a bit. 

Was he hoping she'd ask about Jon? Why on earth would he want her to ask about Jon? That's the only think Meredith can think of that would make him react in such a way as it's the main problem in their marriage at the moment - his treatment of her. 

Eventually Eddard sighs, runs his hand over his face, and says, "Robert has so much hate for the Targaryens... It only got worse after he killed Rhaegar, and it worried me that he'd do something foolish to Elia and her children for no other reason than that they were related to the man who stole my sister. So I sent Maege ahead of us, told her to slip away with a small group and travel as hard as their horses could manage. I did it because Maege is a fair woman, she wouldn't have hurt those children because of their father's actions." 

Eddard gets quiet. 

Meredith doesn't push. 

"I didn't know they'd managed to get into the Red Keep... not until after they'd left again. Elia and Aegon had stayed behind, because it would have been too obvious and Elia had hoped that their presence would curb the Mad King. Maege wrote that she didn't have time to argue her about it and took Rhaenys when she was told to." Her husband rolls his shoulders and pauses for a moment, looking distant, before continuing. "By the time we'd reached King's Landing Elia Martell and Aegon were both dead. Gods, Meredith. It was horrible. Lannister men wrapped Elia and Aegon in red cloaks to hide the blood from Robert but it was... it was everywhere. There was so much of it and it soaked through the fabric and stained everything it touched... and Robert... Robert didn't even act like he was repulsed." 

"That's horrible." 

Because it is. 

Children should be mourned when they die. Not treated like animals in a show, put on display to be poked at and prodded by dumber creatures who lie to themselves about not being savages. 

Eddard's gaze is sharp. Meredith ignores it. 

"We knew Rhaenys couldn't return to the Keep once Maege got her out, I also knew that if word got out that she'd been saved - and that somehow it was my men who did it - then she'd be even more of a target and our people would suffer. So Maege took her back to Dorne where she'd be safe and I pulled Robert aside when I had the chance. I begged him to see reason. We fought for a while about it. He wanted Rhaenys dead, of course, and I tried to tell him that this one act of mercy could be the start of his reign - that it would be looked upon far more favorably than if he'd slaughtered her... Robert still wasn't convinced and I..." Ned sighs, "I told him Lyanna wouldn't have wanted him to hurt and innocent girl in any way that she herself might have been." 

Meredith nods. 

"What did he say to that?" 

"He called me a treacherous cunt and demanded I leave." her husband offers a sharp, bitter laugh that sounds a little watery to Meredith's ears, "I managed to get Jon to talk to him about it. Supposedly they fought about it for hours before Jon managed to convince Robert to bastardize Rhaenys Targeryen and send her south to Dorne. His reasoning when I asked about it was that no matter what tie to royal blood a bastard might have it's still not enough to hold against a King's true born heirs." 

"Robert is related to the Targaryens isn't he?" 

"Through a grandmother." Eddard tells her, "A better claim to the throne than a bastard's." 

Meredith nods. 

Good, this is good. 

"Does Doran Martell know you're the one who sent his niece back to him?" 

"I'm sure Maege has claimed the Starks are the reason the girl lived." 

Meredith nods. 

Doran Martell is a good man if rumors are true. His brother is a fair bit harder to say anything about but Meredith knows that he follows Doran's rules. By giving them Rhaenys it will either tie their allegiance to the North or at the very least they'll owe a debt to House Stark, one Meredith has every intention of claiming should the time come. She doesn't expect anything grand from the Princes, nothing more than a sort of grudging politeness, but she hopes Doran and Oberyn Martell remember the North should anything bad happen. 

"Why was Jaime released from his vows?" Meredith asks, causing Eddard to jolt, "My sister says that father has arranged her marriage to Jaime." 

This time her husband smiles a bit, clearly amused. 

"Jon's doing. He's managed to convince Robert that having a King Slayer in the court wouldn't be favorable. I think some of it was also to appease Tywin." 

"He has a Lannister Queen on the throne and now he'll have his perfect Lannister heir as well." Meredith remarks. 

"Perhaps." 

Meredith nods a bit before asking which Lords have been assigned to the King's Council and other such things. None of which are absolutely necessary for Meredith to know at the moment but definitely important for any schemes she might have later on down the line. Meredith rolls the signet ring around her finger as she and Eddard discuss the happenings of the world now that Aerys is dead. Which also includes their children. Meredith and Ned need to establish some ground rules for them as well... which will be awkward for him. Another reason she wants to do it now when his discomfort is so fresh.... but perhaps not this second. Meredith's stomach twists unpleasantly when she goes to bring up fostering and keeping her babes close to home. It feels almost like a betrayal to Jon - sweet Jon, who isn't a pawn and shame on Meredith for almost using him as such. 

She needs to leave. Now. Before she says or does anything hurtful. 

Meredith refuses to fall to the same level as her husband - no matter how intentional. 

So she excuses herself calmly and makes for the bolted door, only stopping when her husband appears to help her with the heavy iron lock. 

"Meredith I.... I know you have no reason to believe me but I wasn't lying when I said I never meant to hurt you." Eddard says, fingers curled around the lock, keeping her in the room with him and their issues. 

"It doesn't matter." Meredith pulls away from her husband, because he's too close and Meredith can't find the air she needs to breathe, "You made your choices. Jon's an innocent in this, if you're worried I'll treat him poorly you're mistaken." 

"I'm not worried you'll treat him poorly." Eddard says, fingers brushing red hot across her cheek. 

"Then you haven't got any reason to keep questioning my actions." 

His hand doesn't retreat. 

Meredith wishes it would, to the point that she's half tempted to bat his hand away form her... but his eyes are soft and sad and Meredith aches too. Because this isn't what she wanted. This is the type of marriage she wanted. She wanted something sweet and good, the kind of marriage where people are happy, loved. Meredith didn't want a marriage ruled by hurt and deception. Which is quickly becoming the marriage she's destined to have. Meredith pulls away from Eddard. 

"If you'll excuse me, My Lord, I've duties to attend to." 

"Of course, forgive me for keeping you." Eddard says as he steps back and pushes back the bolt. 

Meredith rushes out of the room before her husband has stepped entirely out of the way and doesn't look back to see if he's still standing there watching her leave. Instead she walks the twisting, winding paths of Winterfell until she comes to the parapets. She stays there for some time, chilled but happy to be away from the eyes that seem to watch her no matter what she does or where she goes. 

Here, she can breathe. 

Meredith thinks that's the end of it. 

Eddard can be assuaged of his worries and Meredith is free to pretend that the hurt he delivered upon her did less harm than it did. Meredith doesn't know if she'll be able to trust Eddard again after this and she certainly doesn't know if he'll get comfortable and begin disrespecting her left and right. Meredith refuses to be another woman disrespected by her husband with no way out and no way to stop it. Well, there are ways to stop it but Meredith doesn't think the Northerns love her enough to ignore her murdering their Lord. 

Things settle a bit. 

Then the gifts start appearing. 

A bold of lovely blue silk. 

A new bow. 

A new quiver for her arrows. 

Her favorite treats at meals. 

Meredith doesn't touch any of them, well, except for the honey cakes. She eats those because they're her favorite and typically a requested item, that begins appearing more and more frequently throughout the week. Meredith suspects she knows where they came from. Eddard's shy, it makes sense that this would be his way of attempting to apologize or smoothing the tension in their relationship... it's just... the gifts are lovely, they show great craftsmanship and tell Meredith that if nothing else Eddard has taken some sort of interest in her hobbies... the problem is that Meredith feels like the gifts are cheap. Not in terms of money. Never that. The bolt of silk alone must have cost a great deal of coin - which Meredith has no idea where Ned managed to get it because nothing is amiss on the ledgers - and that's not even mentioning the price of the supplies needed to make the other gifts. Meredith knows they cost a bit of money, but it feels like her husband is throwing these gifts at her in an attempt to appease her. Which is wrong. If this is Eddard's apology then Meredith wants an actual apology... not a mess of items placed in her private chambers when she isn't there. 

Annoyed, Meredith stomps through Winterfell in search of Benjen. 

He'd know if Eddard was the one planting the gifts and he'd be able to tell Meredith before she makes an ass out of herself. 

Benjen Stark is in the training yard when she finds him, hacking away at a straw-stuffed dummy. There is no Master-of-Arms lingering to watch, no one around to correct his stance, which means he's just out blowing off steam. Meredith takes the opportunity to move closer. 

"Benjen." She calls to announce her presence before she steps too close and gets stabbed by the practice sword. 

Live steel is always dangerous no matter how blunt it's been made. 

When her good brother turns to look at her Meredith smiles. 

"Might we have a word? It's important." 

"Yes of course," Benjen turns to face her, "what's troubling you?" 

"I believe your brother has been leaving me gifts." Meredith begins. 

"Isn't that something girls like?" Benjen asks, looking oddly confused. 

Meredith reminds herself that he's still a green boy and new to interacting with women. 

"I would find it much more pleasing if it didn't seem like the gifts were a way of Eddard apologizing without saying he's sorry." 

Benjen winces. 

He'd been there when Eddard had told them about Jon's mother. He'd been there to witness the tension and the biting words, but not the quiet screaming that had taken place in the nursery only hours later. 

"I see." 

"Yes, do you have any idea what's happening?" 

"You think I know?" 

"I think you and my husband are close." 

Benjen wilts a bit before saying, "It's not an apology. Ned's a good man, he'd apologize in person like father told him to." 

Meredith doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. 

She's still angry. 

"Oh." 

"But that doesn't mean Ned didn't want you to have them! He could be making up for lost time or maybe he'd gotten you the gifts on the road and with everything that happened... well..." Benjen cuts himself off sharply and breathes deeply through his nose. 

"Thank you Benjen, I appreciate your honesty." 

Her good brother sags and nods before Meredith turns away and returns to the Keep, not wanting to discuss much more with the green boy returning to his ventings. He's a good man, Benjen, kind, but Meredith isn't his wife and he has no business getting into the middle of her business with Eddard. His insight was appreciated but that's all. Meredith tugs on the hem of her sleeve as she makes her way out of the chilly, Northern air. 

This will be something she and her husband discuss. 

The gifts are lovely but far too extravagant. Meredith doesn't understand their purpose and she doesn't understand why he wouldn't say anything to her about them. Men. Meredith thinks all men are idiots. She should be thankful that she got the attentive one. 

Meredith rolls her eyes are she rounds a corner, unaware of Ned Stark's gaze as it follows after her longingly. 

Alone in her private quarters - the ones she quietly had Lara move her things to - Meredith sits by the fire and watches as the logs burn, Robb and Jon are wiggling around on the floor. Meredith keeps an eye on them to make sure they stay on the colorful yarn blanket and away from the fire, but she doesn't disrupt their strange game. Only listens as they grunt and garble at one another. 

Gods, they're getting so big. 

Meredith's happy to see some of Jon in Robb's face, subtle features that cement them are relatives. 

Messy curls and noses and brow bones aside, the two pass well enough for brothers that Meredith feels better about Robb looking more Tully than Stark. No one can say Meredith only gave Ned Stark fish instead of wolves. Her eyes roll away from the children to the letter on the table. Another from her father, less angry this time but still not kind enough for Meredith bother responding to... besides, she already knows what it'll say. 

Catelyn is getting married, going to Casterly Rock to be the next Lady Lannister and he wants to know if she'd be able to make the trip south for the wedding. Meredith knows she won't be able to for a number of reasons. The first being Catelyn won't accept a bastard (or a scandal) at her wedding. The second is that Meredith doesn't want to go South, she's already settled in Winterfell and is finally enjoying herself... in some way. It's still not as familiar as Riverrun but Benjen has promised to take her ridding. There's too much for her to do as Lady Stark to justify traveling so far South. It's not like she'd be willing to leave the children either. That's something Meredith refuses to compromise on. 

Where one goes, the other follows. 

Meredith pinches the bridge of her nose and tries not to get too annoyed at this whole situation. 

"You're father is trouble, my lovelies." Meredith tells the children, who ignore her in favor of their babbling game. 

Doesn't make it any less true. 

What is it they say? The quiet ones are the ones you have to watch out for? Yes, Meredith finds she agrees with the statement completely. 

She hopes neither of her children grow into that dangerous sort of quiet. It just wouldn't do. Lively as they are now, Meredith wants to see that sort of joy become something more vibrant... so long as they don't end up like Brandon. Meredith doesn't think she could handle raising another Brandon Stark. Though it might be amusing to see what kind of mischief the little Brandon would be able to get into. Meredith can only imagine. She and Edmure were little terrors; stealing food from the kitchen and hiding washings and switching around portraits and other markers around the Keep to confuse people. Meredith thinks that such antics would be even more effective in a place like Winterfell. 

Meredith laughs. 

She laughs and laughs and laughs until she begins crying, and then she continues to cry softly into the quiet of her chambers until her tears are spent and the tightness in her chest that's been lingering all week seems a little less oppressive. 

Chapter Text

"Ned is looking for you." Benjen tells her, sliding up behind her in the training yard. 

Meredith eases the hold she has on her bow so that she can slip the arrow back into her quiver without having to worry about accidentally firing it at anyone. Benjen smiles at her as she turns to face him. With only the two of them in the training yard at the moment there's a distinct sense of being trapped. It's no secret that Benjen has been attempting to bridge the gap between his brother and good sister. Meredith could respect his attempts if they didn't often result in her being trapped in the same room with Eddard with no escape possible. Which wouldn't be so awful if her husband would attempt to talk to her and actually apologize. Instead he stares at her forlornly and asks her how she's fairing and Meredith hates it. She wants Eddard to rage at her too, just a little bit, just enough for her to know he's feeling something. But that's not what happens and she's taken to avoiding both men as much as possible. 

Being Lady of Winterfell makes it very possible on the busy days. 

Less possible on days like today where Meredith did too much work the day before and now has to find ways of entertaining herself. 

"Is that so?" 

"Yes, it's something about the boys." 

Meredith goes absolutely still. 

Jon and Robb have been unwell the past few days. Nothing serious. Maester Luwin had assured her that their illnesses were typical of young children who hadn't been exposed to enough sickness to build a tolerance for it. Meredith had accepted his explanation, though she hadn't stopped fretting over the boys, not until she'd been kicked out of the nursery by Old Nan - who had muttered about letting the illness run its course and Meredith getting some actual rest. The safety boys are the only things Meredith and Eddard seem to be capable of agreeing on anymore, so she doesn't hesitate to shove her bow and quiver at Benjen before rushing toward the keep. Her good brother is many things but he's not cruel. He wouldn't use the children as a way to push Meredith's hand. Which means that her husband is looking at her because of something serious. That terrifies her. 

None of the servants stop her as she speeds through the Keep and soon Meredith is striding into the nursery slightly out of breath and panicked. 

What she finds unnerves her. 

Her husband is standing next to Maester Luwin with Robb in his arms, the wiggling mess of fiery curls looking absolutely tiny in his father's arms, while Maester Luwin frets at Jon - who is not held by anyone and is making strange noises in the crib. 

"What's wrong?" Meredith demands, shutting the door to the nursery behind her as she makes her way to the two men. 

"Fever my Lady." Maester Luwin says to her. 

"How bad is it?" 

The Maester's eyes carefully blank as he says, "The fever is high, I've treated him as best I can but now it's only a matter of whether or not the fever will break." 

"Is it contagious?" Meredith asks, careful to keep her tone steady, "Are other children in the Keep at risk?" 

Because there are many. 

Children ranging from little more than a week to the sturdier age of ten run the halls of Winterfell. It wouldn't do for any of them to catch the sickness and continue to spread it. Meredith tries not to glare at her husband when he turns to stare at her. After so many weeks of openly caring for Jon one would think Eddard Stark would actually believe his wife when she tells him that she means the little one no harm but clearly there are some things that one cannot get through his thick skull. Meredith keeps her attention on Luwin in an attempt to level her thoughts. 

"No, I don't believe so." Luwin's fingers graze Jon's forehead, "I believe the rest of Winterfell will be safe from the fever." 

"What can we do to keep him comfortable?" 

"Keep him cool and well hydrated. I'll prepare a proper concoction to help treat the underlying illness." Luwin says to her. 

Meredith nods and goes for the door. 

When she was younger Meredith remembers catching Red Spots, the fever had been the worst of the symptoms she'd faced outside of the itching and Meredith remembers Amara tending to her diligently. Cool, damp cloths laid across her forehead and her armpits, a near constant supply of ginger-lemon water, and Amara's soothing presence at her side had made the experience bearable and Meredith has every intention of ensuring Jon's illness does not force him to suffer needlessly. 

the Lady of Winterfell quickly spots a guard - who claims himself as Wyll when she asks for his name - and sends him off to the kitchen with instructions to have a maid sent with cool water and rags. When she returns to the nursery both men are arguing in hushed tones. 

"Will he live?" her husband asks. 

"If the fever breaks i see no reason he wouldn't," Luwin sighs, "the problem comes with the fact that if the underlying illness is anything more than common we may run into problems." 

Her husband sags. 

Meredith doesn't know if it's relief or resignation. 

"Is it possible this will affect his health in the future?" Meredith inquires, causing Luwin to shake his head. 

"Not if the illness is a mild one." 

Nodding, Meredith slips between the two men and begins carefully easing Jon out of his extra layers. Luwin has already stripped him of the heaviest one, leaving Jon in only a thin linen wrap, his smalls, and a pair of woolen socks. Meredith strips him down to everything but his nappies and then moves to crack the window. It's cool in Winterfell, the weather chillier than Meredith is used to but the nursery is kept warm by not only the natural heating caused by the hotsprings but also the fire blazing away in the hearth. Meredith knows that the room needs to be cooled a bit for Jon's comfort, while it won't break the fever the chill will hopefully keep him comfortable. Meredith returns to the small group gathered around the crib and watches as Jon's little pink face twists as he wakes. 

He begins to sob, great heaving wails that tug at Meredith's heart. 

She scoops him up immediately, pressing him to her chest so she can tuck his little head beneath her chin, then she begins to rock. Jon still cries, his discomfort outweighing any Meredith can truly give him but he cries harder when she shifts his sweaty little frame about, clings to her like she's going to drop him if he doesn't. Meredith would never, of course, but it just proves how desperately his little mind if clinging to what little it understands of comfort. 

Meredith paces the nursery with the sobbing babe while Ned and Luwin talk in hushed tones. 

Eventually, Luwin leaves. Striding out of the room with Robb in his arms, leaving both Lord and Lady Stark in the nursery with their ill son. Meredith pats Jon's back as she rocks to and fro, careful not to be too aggressive with her handling of his little body. He continues to sob. Meredith presses kisses to his heated temple. Eddard watches them for a long moment before stepping closer. 

"Luwin is taking Robb to Old Nan." Her husband tells her. 

Meredith nods slowly. 

"A good choice. Wouldn't do to cause either babe more distress than they have to handle as it is." 

Eddard nods, dark hair brushing the top of his shoulders. 

His eyes look so terribly sad. 

Meredith doesn't want to look at his sad eyes anymore. 

"If you've thing to do, My Lord, I can handle this." She tells him, offering him a way out. 

And her husband... doesn't take it. Not at first. Instead he reaches out to cradle the back of Jon's sweaty head and then he moves closer to press a firm kiss to Meredith's temple. Then he's gone and Meredith is left in the nursery with a screaming babe and a flutter of confused feelings. She swallows hard. Rock Jon. She and Eddard haven't shared a bed in moons, both due to the war and his own idiocy. Meredith's things had been moved to the Lady of Winterfell's chambers, a room closer to the nursery than the Lord's and a homey, if not as large, as her Husband's. Neither of them have shared any intimacies outside of Robb's conception and this one lingering touch. For some reason, the kiss Eddard had given her feels far more intimate than Robb's conception. Not generally, Meredith isn't a fool, but this act seems more emotionally inclined. 

It feels almost like an apology. 

Or perhaps the start of one.  

Isn't that what Meredith wanted? A genuine apology not prompted by her anger or any conversations held between a husband and his wife? Hadn't she wanted Eddard Stark to come to her first, with the intent of asking for her forgiveness? Meredith would give it to him. Their relationship would never truly be mended, not in that instant, but she would have been able to accept his apology and begin the tremulous task of rebuilding the trust lost between them. She wants a happy marriage with happy children and happy people. She wants the reassurance that comes with knowing a husband and wife are working in unity for the betterment of their family. 

While she may not agree with the man's goals - and certainly not his methods of obtaining them - Meredith can admit that Lord Tywin Lannist had what Meredith wants... in his marriage anyway. Meredith wants no other shared similarities with the man. 

Jon sobs against her, the dampness on her dress a mix of sweat and tears and drool. Meredith paces a little closer to the window and smiles at the young maid who enters the nursery with cloth and a large pitcher of water. Meredith doesn't waste time. She takes up a cloth and dips it into the pitcher, mildly surprised by how cool it is, and wrings out the cloth with one hand. When the water has all but been forced out of it, Meredith lays the cloth across the back of Jon's little neck and winces at his whimpering cry takes on a more terrified edge - unsuspecting of the coldness as he clearly was. 

Meredith finds himself humming as she runs the cloth across the back of Jon's neck and around his head. It's a tune from the Riverlands, one the smallfolk tend to sing. Meredith had learned it from Alfryd - a boy who worked in the kitchen - and she thinks the tone of it will settle Jon... even if only a little bit. Meredith adjusts her grip on Jon and pulls him away from the wet spot he made of her clothes. It'll have to be laundered, if the watermark doesn't come out of it then Meredith will make it into liners for her moon blood. Meredith doesn't see why it would be an issue but she's had dresses ruined by water before. It's not an impossibility. Meredith isn't overly attached to any of her gowns though, so the ruin of this one isn't the end of the world. 

Time passes. 

Food is brought to her, a light meal of cheese and fruits and bread that Meredith can pick at while she tends to Jon - who falls asleep from the exhaustion of his crying - and Meredith is thankful for it. With Jon sleeping she settles into the chair closes to the crib and picks at meal. The apples are sweet, paired well with the sharper bite of yellow cheese. Meredith eats her fill and sips at the wine also brought for her. Watered down though it is the tang is nice and it settles Meredith's fraying nerves. 

She doesn't know how long she stays in that room with Jon, switching between soothing and resting, but when her husband strides through the door Meredith knows it's been a fairly long while. 

"Maester Luwin is almost done with his tincture." Eddard tells her, carefully avoiding her eye, "Would you like me to watch over him for a time? I've had a bath drawn for you." 

"Thank you, my Lord." 

Eddard shucks his cloak, lays it across the back of a chair like its nothing, and carefully eases Jon out of her arms. 

it strikes her then, with a painful sort of clarity, that despite his flaws Eddard is a good father. Which is better than most men. Neither of them will be a perfect parent, but it's nice to know that Meredith won' be the only one putting effort into how they raise their children... it also makes her realize that is she stages her requests as being for the good of their children Eddard is unlikely to tell her know. Meredith is pleased with it. She hands of Jon with a wince, her arms aching, and waits until Eddard is adjusted before slipping from the room with every intention of washing the sweat off and seeing Robb. 

Lara is waiting in the Lady's chambers when she arrives, an arrange of oils and scrubs laid out on a little stool next to the tub. Meredith offers her a tired smile as she kicks off her boots. 

"Lord Stark said the little one was ill." Lara says as she moves to help Meredith out of her clothes, "You've spent the day with him, it's a noble thing my Lady." 

"No more noble than any other woman tending to their children." Meredith tells her, naked as the day she was born and trembling with exhaustion. 

Lara helps Meredith into the tub and smiles when Meredith sinks deeper into the steaming water that smells like lemons and something floral. 

"Still, tending to a sick babe is no easy feet. Heard the little one crying as we were carrying up the water. Poor thing." Lara begins untying Meredith's hair, "Thought you might want a bit of a moment from it." 

"I didn't mind." 

"I don't doubt it, but you're still allowed to be tired." 

Meredith doesn't argue with her because, frankly, she is tired. Tending to Jon wasn't an issue for Meredith but her arms ache from carrying him without reprieve and her head is pounding from the sound of his tears. Meredith loves Jon, loves him fiercely, but this is the first sickly child she's ever cared for and it's staggering. Meredith trembles in the water and moans softly as Lara begins brushing through her hair. She uses a sweet smelling oil and her gentle touches paired with it send Meredith into something of a doze. Lara's fingers are magic, truly. The Gods have blessed her with magical fingers and Meredith thinks she would pay the other girl her weight in diamonds if it meant having her continue rubbing her scalp the way she is. Alas, Lara soon finishes cleaning Meredith's hair and presses a soapy cloth into Meredith's hand, which she uses to scrub herself clean while Lara prepares a clean bucket of water to rinse her with when she's done. 

Clean and feeling slightly better, Meredith allows herself to be rinsed and helped from the tub so she can be patted dry and dressed in her nightgown and a heavy day robe. Meredith's hair is braided back and tied off with soft ribbon. Meredith smiles at Lara. 

"Thank you." She says to the other girl, who bows her head. 

"Of course. Shall I have supper brought up?" 

"Yes, but I'd like to see Robb." 

"I believe he's with Winifred. I'll send her up with food." Lara says. 

Meredith smiles. 

The other girl disappears from the room and Meredith settles by the first with a heavy sigh. Her feet hurt. Meredith glares at the boots she'd opted to wear for the day and decides that they're terrible. Hardly fit for being on for long periods of time. Meredith drops her head back against the chair and groans. She'll go to Jon after she spends a bit of time with Robb. It isn't fair to spend the entire day with one child and spend no time with the other. Meredith knows they're too young to remember something so trivial but she still feels back about it. 

So when a knock at her door signals the arrival of her son Meredith is up and across the room in a matter of seconds, swinging the door open to reveal Lara with a tray and Winifred with Robb. Meredith coos at the babe as she picks him up, delighting in the way he babbles so delightedly at her. Meredith snuggles him close, presses kisses to his little nose and his cheeks. 

"Is there anything else, My Lady?" Lara asks, to which Meredith says no. 

Winifred lingers, makes herself small by tucking herself away in the corner while Meredith spends time with Robb, obviously waiting for a dismissal. Meredith instead invites the younger girl to dine with her and ignores the hesitance of her approach in favor of plastering kisses upon her son's little cheek. Meredith adores him, truly, and he's getting so big. 

Meredith shares her tray of meat and finer foods with Winifred as a peace offering. Soon she'll have to return to the nursery to tend to Jon and Winifred will be left to tend to Robb. It's hardly an appropriate payment for the time she's spent tending to Robb but Meredith thinks a good meal is certainly a start. Meredith breaks bread with the woman who's been tending to her son and makes idle conversation as the babe babbles in her lap. Winifred is good company. Meredith likes her. But soon it's time to say goodbye to her boy and the other woman, who smiles as she disappears from the room. Meredith takes a moment to compose herself before returning to the nursery, a small tray of lighter foods carried with her. 

When she arrives at the nursery Meredith finds her husband staring at Jon's sleeping form, he looks terrified. It makes Meredith feel horrible for all the hurtful things she's thought about him in the past few hours. Quietly, so as not to wake Jon, Meredith makes her way to Eddard's side. 

"How is he?" She asks, placing the tray on the small table in the room. 

"He just fell asleep," He tells her, "Maester Luwin brought him some tincture and said he'd be back to administer more." 

"Would you like to pass him over?" Meredith asks, to which her husband shakes his head. 

Carefully, Meredith lowers herself into the only other chair in the room. 

It's quiet for a while, the only sound coming from Jon. Merdith watches her husband and the babe, watches how they interact, and it's so... it's so gentle. Her husband treats Jon like glass. It's sweet. 

With nothing to do Meredith and Eddard are left sitting in the dim light offered by the fireplace. It casts strange shadows on the wall and Meredith knows it comes from the designs welded into the grate. A way for children to be lulled to sleep in the middle of the night when their mind wakes them and they're left to settle themselves with wild imaginations of fancy. Meredith watches as leaves dance across the ceiling. She thinks something like this would have been nice to have in Riverrun. 

"I want to apologize to you." Her husband says, and after weeks of frigid communication and malice Meredith is ready for the words but finds herself unprepared for the emotional turmoil they throw her into. 

"For what?" She asks. 

"Lying to you." Her husband looks away from Jon, stares at her through dark grey eyes. 

Meredith swallows. 

He should be sorry. 

Eddard Stark humiliated her, publicly, and had the audacity to act like it didn't matter to him that he'd done it. Meredith has every right to be angry with her husband. Especially after everything. So she sits silently and waits for him to continue because she refuses to aid him in this. As it turns out, she doesn't have to. Eddard must have been stewing this few a while for there's nothing in his face to suggest anything other than pure remorse. 

"I lied when I told you Jon's mother was named Wylla," Eddard sucks in a deep breath, "I wasn't sure how you would react to all of this and by the time... by the time I was sure it was safe you were so angry with me - rightly so, of course - and I had no way of making any of this better..." 

"Was it Ashara Dayne?" Meredith knows they'd had something of an affection for one another. 

Catelyn had often remarked on Brandon's foul encouragement of Eddard's attempts to woo her, said it wasn't fair of him to push Eddard to do such a thing when it was unlikely such a high ranking Dornish girl would wed a second son. Meredith had thought it cruel of her sister to say such things when she herself couldn't even be bothered to cut Petyr Baelish loose. Meredith hadn't ever felt threatened by Ashara, had hardly thought of her, and even now it doesn't matter who Jon's mother was... is... it doesn't matter. Because Eddard owed her nothing. Men are slaves to their lust, slaves to their desires, just as women are. Meredith isn't fool enough to think that a single night of pleasure and a week's worth of interactions could sway a man to completely loyalty. Even Eddard Stark is not a God. Meredith refuses to hold him to promises not made. Still, she's curious. 

Who was Eddard's lover? 

And why was she kept secret? 

Ashara and he had never been shy from what Meredith has gathered, claiming Jon as another woman's son seems excessive when the woman is dead and buried and her reputation is no longer an interest to anyone but her family's memory. 

So who then? 

Meredith wracks her brain and draws a blank. 

Ashara Dayne is the only woman she can think of that Eddard would have taken for a lover, but even then it doesn't make sense that he would lie about Jon's mother in such a way. To insist he's the son of a lowborn girl of no worth mentioning? Seems strange for someone to do when they cling to honor so tightly.... and then it hits her. Amara had said Lord Stark would be a terrible liar. Meredith hadn't understood it at first but perhaps she does now. The lie in and of itself isn't an issue. What's the issue is the fact that her husband's story doesn't quite track. 

Jon would have had to be convenience either around the same time or just after Robb was, meaning he would have had to still be in the Riverlands. Meredith hadn't thought to put two and two together, but if her husband had been unfaithful before her uncle's forces and his split then Uncle Brynden would have known of it and actions would have been taken. Which means Jon's mother would have had to be a very well kept secret during those few weeks after their marriage, or, she would have had to have been pregnant before. But that would make Jon the eldest of his sons and Eddard had insisted Robb was born first... thus putting Jon's conception into more question. Why would Eddard lie about this? Why now? Why Jon? 

Meredith gnaws at her lip and frowns. 

Then it hits her. 

Eddard wouldn't have lied about Jon being born of a common woman. There wouldn't be a reason to lie about such a thing. The reason one lies about a babe is to keep it safe or to deny its existence and clearly Eddard isn't doing the latter, but he had no reason to believe Meredith would hurt Jon otherwise he wouldn't have brought him North. So why? Why, why, why? 

Lyanna. 

No one spoke of what killed her. 

Eddard had been so insistent on sending the remains of her body home that he'd only been required to give a cause for her death. What he'd given Robert - and the rest of the Kingdom including his family - was that Lyanna Stark died in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Rhaegar wouldn't have killed Lyanna just to kill her, what would have been the point of stealing her then? Meredith feels sick. 

Sometimes... sometimes women bleed in the birthing bed and the bleeding doesn't stop until the mother's heart stops beating in their chest. 

"Is he Lyanna's?" Meredith asks, cold. 

Because if Jon is Lyanna's that means he's Rhaegar too and if Robert ever found out... oh Gods. Robert would slaughter Jon, and not even his relation to Lyanna Stark would be able to save him from the King's wrather. Jon would be killed like Aegon was killed, because a dragon is a dragon and babes grow into men. And men grow into threats. 

The room is silent as the crypts below Winterfell. 

"Aye," the quiet whisper comes, "I promised to keep him safe." 

A new sort of anger builds. 

Meredith is still annoyed about being so publicly humiliated, though she understands why it would have been dangerous for Eddard to say anything... but that doesn't mean he couldn't have told her about Jon's parentage. Perhaps it's an irrational anger. Annoyance? This isn't the same type of rage Meredith had felt toward Eddard when he'd shown up in the nursery that first night. Hardly. This is a low burning anger closer to sharp annoyance than the burning inferno that had made her want Eddard to hurt the way she was hurting. By not telling Meredith she'd been unable to plan fail-safes, unable to ensure her family's safety should someone find out, and then Eddard had taken so fucking long to tell her that... no. Meredith takes a deep breath. 

She can still be annoyed at Eddard. 

She can still make him beg. 

Their relationship is tremulous at best but this will not be what breaks them. Not when Eddard has finally told her the truth.

"I'm still mad you didn't warn me," she tells him, "but I understand why you didn't.... this is a secret that will go to the grave." 

Eddard stares at her for a long moment before nodding. 

Chapter Text

Knowing that Jon is Lyanna's boy makes things a little easier, helps lessen the strain placed on their marriage, for no other fact than that Meredith knows that she would have done the exact same thing if she'd been in her husband's shoes. Spiriting the child North, lying about his parentage, claiming him to be a bastard, all of it she would have done if it meant keeping him safe. There would have been no way for Eddard to pretend Jon is his trueborn brother. Not with it being nearly impossible to ensure her own family's silence. Still, the fact that he hadn't warned Meredith beforehand still grates on her nerves... though... a little less sharply now that it had originally. And slowly their marriage gets a little better. 

It starts with awkward meals shared in the privacy of her husband's solar, then Eddard starts appearing in the places she tends to frequent, and soon enough the two of them are working on business in the Lord's Solar in the library. Benjen seems happy - as do the rest of the Keep - but he doesn't try anymore of his silly attempts at getting Meredith and Eddard alone anymore, which is nice. Meredith thinks the thing that's really pulling their marriage out of the turbulent waters it had been trying to die in, is Ned's honestly and the children. It's easy for one to feel fondness for the father of her children when he's so good to both of them. Eddard Stark doesn't treat Robb any better than Jon, nor Jon any better than Robb, each child he bestows the same attention upon. It bodes well for any children they might have in the future. Meredith wouldn't want any of them suffering the indignity of having to fight for their father's affections. Children shouldn't have to do such things. They should be loved, well cared for, and accepted into the fold no matter their age or placement in the ranking of nobility. Some men just aren't good at raising children. It's unfortunate, but it's not untrue. If nothing else Eddard will be a competent father. 

Meredith looks away from the ledger she's been working on to watch as her husband continues writing a letter to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Apparently the two are discussing supplies needed, problems with the fortifications of the watchtowers, and Wildling movement. Meredith doesn't know enough about the people living North of the Wall so she's staying out of that as she doesn't want to step on anyone's toes. 

Something's been on her mind for a while now, Meredith just hadn't been willing to ask when they hadn't really been speaking to one another and not feels like as good a time as any seeing as it's just the two of them. 

"Why did you try to bribe me?" Meredith asks, watching as the quill in Ned's hand comes to a stop. 

"I beg pardon?" 

"Bribe me, with the gifts?" 

Ned frowns for a moment, brows furrowing, then he seems to realize what Meredith is talking about and blushes a a shade a few tones darker than Meredith's hair. It's quaint... even if Meredith doesn't understand why he's blushing the way he is. 

"Oh, those, yes..." Ned puts the quill away, likely to keep it from dribbling ink all over the parchment beneath it, "they weren't meant as a bribe." 

"They certainly seemed like it." Meredith comments, unbothered by the look her husband levels her with. 

"I apologize for that, then, I hadn't intended to use them as such." Ned offers a tight smile. "I acquired some the bow and quiver during the war and I had thought that perhaps you might like them... Robert had suggested getting the silk from King's Landing... because girls like... silk." 

The words grow stilted and careful. Meredith tilts her head to the side and frowns at her husband. Is he worried about insulting her? Meredith doesn't see why he would. She enjoys embroidering things and she likes wearing pretty gowns. Maybe it isn't the fact that he brought an entire bolt of silk back but that his gift had been seen as a bribe? Meredith thinks that's probably the more likely of the two. She looks out the window to their left, catching sight of a bird tearing through the sky. It's a lovely thing with red wings. Meredith watches it for a moment before it disappears from her sight. 

She turns back to Eddard. 

"You have to admit the timing wasn't favorable." She tells her husband. 

He nods and says, "Yes, I realize that." 

"I... I appreciate the thought, truly. The bow is lovely." 

Ned smiles. 

Meredith likes his smiles. They're few and far between but there's a warmth there was Meredith isn't quite used to seeing on Ned's solemn face. She finds that despite how difficult the last few moons were for them, Ned is a good friend to her. They've got so many issues to work through; trust to heal and bridges to rebuild, but Meredith doesn't have the anger in her anymore to be truly angry... not like she had been originally anyway. 

"It gladdens me to know you enjoy it." 

They fall back into silence. 

Eddard sees to his letters and Meredith revisits this moon's inventory so she can adjust the amount of what needs to be ordered. She finds it ridiculous that the North is paying so much money for necessities that could be seen to through proper investment of crop seeds, harvesting methods, and food storage. Arkus - the cook at Riverrun - had delegated servants to canning produce that can in mass during the more productive harvests. When done properly the preserves lasted moons - sometimes even years depending on what was canned or pickled. Meredith doesn't see why these methods aren't being used in the North. The weather is always a fair bit colder but during the longer months it shouldn't be too difficult to adjust what produce is planted. Winter crops in the cooler months and summer crops in the summer. The turnover rates for the fields would be relatively productive and if all else fails glass gardens could be installed... though... that might be too expensive to ship so much glass North. 

A glass maker could be brought to the North. There are plenty of natural materials that could be used and it would add to the list of things that can be exported from the North alongside the lumber, meat goods, and animal by products. Those of the North's largest exports, everything else is relatively less prominent. Meredith taps the feather of her quill against her mouth and wonders whether or not she could convince Ned to let something like this happen. Obviously, the trend would have to start at Winterfell as the glass garden is already set up and the forges more capable of handling the work that would have to go into making glass.  There are other places that could be built up to suitable standards. Ancient ruins, small villages, port towns. Meredith isn't as knowledgeable about the North as one of the lands own people might be but she knows enough of the layout to claim that the resources of the North aren't being utilized. 

There's a reason the Reach is so rich with goods and it isn't just because the soil is rich and the weather sustainable. 

Meredith goes back over the list of goods that will need to be bought and thinks about ways to optimize the North's vastness and it's people. 

Respectful as she might be of Rickard Stark, he hadn't made the best decisions when it came to trade agreements with the other kingdoms of Westeros. They're paying too much for grain, specifically the amount being brought in. Meredith stares at the numbers, takes a moment to compare yearly loss and profit values of the past few years, and determines that Rickard Stark was a fool. She's heard about his desire to unify the North and South - which is a respectable desire and a good political one when handled effectively - but he'd fumbled when it came to handling Olenna Tyrell, who runs her son and therefor the Reach with an iron hand. Meredith has only met the woman once and while she respects the woman, she doesn't really trust her. 

But she suspects no one really will seeing as the Tyrells are Targaryen supporters. 

Pressure behind her eyes leads Meredith to pinch the bridge of her nose, quill dangling loosely between her fingers. 

"Is everything alright?" her husband asks and Meredith looks up to find him staring at her. 

He looks concerned. 

Meredith isn't sure she should tell him exactly what's going on. Obviously he'll need to know about the problem so they can fix it but how does one tell their spouse that their father was a fool? Meredith puts her quill back in its stand and slides the ledger closer to Ned so he can look at it. 

"The North is paying too much money for too little foodstuffs from the Reach." Meredith explains, careful not to insult the late Lord of Winterfell, "Agrarian communities have been producing nearly two million bushels of grain over the past few years, the turnover rate for their fields is incredible, but they prices the North is paying isn't worth the hassle of getting the produce from the Reach to the North." 

She watches as Ned runs the numbers, stumbling a bit here and there. As a second son his education was extensive, but no where near as extensive as his brother's had been and it shows. He'll learn of course, this isn't exactly the most difficult thing in the world when you have competent people willing to help you, but it must be difficult for him to reconcile with the gaps in his education when compared to Meredith's own. Eventually, Ned looks up from the ledger. 

"Do you think the Reach is attempting to rob us?" Ned asks, something dangerous in his eyes. 

Meredith shakes her head, "Hardly. Those agreements were made between your father and Lord Tyrell, they're a product of poor political maneuvering and a lack of establishing equal trade. It happens." 

"What would you suggest doing?" Ned asks her, and Meredith is kind of surprised by that. 

"You're being serious?" She asks, because most men she's met tend to brush off the intelligence of women. 

"Of course," Ned begins, "My mother often hand a hand in determining the best trade agreements with my father... after she died I suppose there was going to be errors." 

Meredith blinks, blinks again, nods. 

"Very well," She settles in her chair and begins, "Firstly, I would finish out this year's contract with the Reach and then I will send a raven to my Uncle. I think the North should establish better trade deals with the North, our lands are fertile and we've never experienced drought the way some of the more Southern regions have and we've large enough rivers to for irrigation when water is in shorter supply." 

"What would you have the North offer in exchange?" Ned asks. 

"Furs, textiles, lumber, mineral resources. The list of the North's resources aren't endless but there's high value to the ones the North does have." Meredith drums her fingers against her thigh, "I would offer equal trade with the Riverlands and then sell excess goods to other regions." 

"But not trade with them?" 

"Outside of the Reach and the Riverlands the other regions don't have much to offer the North when it comes to necessary goods... besides, with proper measures taken the North could be relatively independent from regional trade within the next ten or so years." Meredith tells him. 

And so begins the discussion of what uses the Northern lands have outside of lumber, mining, and textiles. Meredith and Ned spend several hours going over what resources could be produced in the North, from livestock to minerals, and how those resources can be profited off of at a later date. Changes in crops are discussed, the sturdiness of livestock, how men with crafts can be moved North to train apprentices who will stay long after their master have left to further expand upon the goods the Northern people have to offer. With his more practical knowledge of the North, Ned tells Meredith which ideas have a possibility of succeeding and which don't and why. The conversations spiral and twist off into different topics but the vein of it all is still the same. 

How does one make the North not only an entity separate from the southern regions but also a political powerhouse in its own right? 

Meredith knows the idea of making the North independent from the crown makes Ned uncomfortable, she understands, it's not like she's attempting to make him declare independence anyway. Meredith just wants the North to be sustainable so that when she and Ned are rotting in the ground their children don't have to suffer the worry that comes with not being able to keep one's people alive. 

Spring is upon them, Maester Luwin thinks it will be a long one and the summers even longer still. It will hopefully give them enough time to establish better yields for the North so that when winter does come again the famines come later. Meredith isn't fool enough to think there won't be issues, that people still won't starve, but at least this way the trade with the southern regions will be a supplement, not a dependency... a political marriage would help with that. 

Loathe as she is to betroth children Meredith can understand the benefit of searching for possible matches now. Meredith won't betroth any of her children against their will but she is willing to manipulate them a bit if the political match is the best for them... or if their possible lover is a right prick who deserves the stock more than a title. Meredith wonders how loyal some of the other houses are and figures that if nothing else her children will be smart enough to recognize possible dangers and adjust accordingly. 

"Come," her husband says after a long moment, "it's growing late." 

Meredith nods and begins putting away her things, Ned taking a moment to do the same, and then when everything id tidy the two of them leave the Lord's solar. 

Ned doesn't offer his arm. 

Meredith is thankful for it. 

"I believe we've missed the evening meal." Meredith remarks as they pass some of the servants, all of whom eye the two curiously out of the corner of their eyes. 

"I believe you're right." Ned says, laughing a bit. 

It's a soft sound, almost hesitant. 

"I'll have food sent up." Meredith offers as she goes to turn down a corridor that she now knows leads to the kitchens, she's stopped by Ned's fingers curling softly around her wrist, thumb stroking the sensitive skin over her veins. 

"Dine with me, Meredith... if it pleases you, of course." 

The last meal they shared together privately was in Riverrun all those moons ago. Meredith has been studiously evading moments that would leave her and Ned alone in the same room for the obvious reason that she'd been too angry at him to even play at civility. Now that she knows the truth and the anger has faded to vague disappointment in her husband, Meredith isn't sure what do to. 

Mending the rift between herself and Ned is crucial at this point as her husband's only wrong was not warning her - which Meredith begrudgingly understands now that she knows the circumstances of Jon's birth - and his own inability to communicate properly... as well as Meredith's quick temper. Perhaps she should have taken a moment to breath before allowing herself to become so angry with Ned. But now that the anger is gone and their children are growing it's time to establish their marriage as a strong one before their children are old enough to recognize any hostilities. Wouldn't do for either child to think themselves at fault, which is bound to happen at some point when they overhear the gossip that revolves around Jon. Meredith refuses to let either of her children suffer that indignity. 

So she finds herself agreeing to a shared meal in the face of Ned's joy. 

His hand drifts from her wrist, calloused fingertips dragging along her palm and causing Meredith to shiver a bit, then his fingers are lacing through her own and the warmth of Meredith's hand is nothing in comparison to the warmth of his. It's nice. 

"Shall we?" Ned asks and Meredith smiles a bit at him. 

"Lead the way then." She tells him, which earns her a slight chuckle from Ned before he's guiding her down the corridor. 

The moment they're through the door to Eddard's chambers they're on one another. 

Meredith isn't sure what lead to this, well, that's a lie. She understands perfectly well what lead to her being lifted and pinned against the closed chamber door as Ned nibbles at her lip and kisses the space beneath her jaw... though... it seems a bit surreal that the simple act of forgiving Ned's deplorable communications skills is what's lead to this. Ned's fingers dig into the back of her thighs and Meredith whimpers as drags his teeth over her decolletage. Ned pulls her off the door, fingers digging into the backs of her thighs as he carries her across the room to the table, on which she's promptly deposited. Meredith pants as Ned tangles his fingers in her hair and kisses her. 

"You're beautiful," Ned says to her as he pulls away just enough to speak. 

His fingers pull at the leather keeping Meredith's braid in place, freeing the fiery locks and skillfully unweaving the vaguely southern style Meredith had chosen for herself that morning. 

Meredith smiles a bit as she reaches for the laces of her dress, fumbling with the knot for a moment before she manages to get it undone. Ned helps her out of her dress with a reverence Meredith hasn't seen from him before. The dress is tossed over the back of a chair, her stays follow, leaving Meredith in her shift and stockings. Ned's smile takes on a wicked edge as he drops to his knees before her. For a second Meredith thinks Ned is going to use his mouth on her, kneeling on the floor as he is, and she's a bit surprised when Ned tenderly begins untying the ribbon keeping her stockings in place.

Warmth travels up her leg in the wake of Ned's hands, fiery and pleasant and Meredith trembles has his fingers brush her smalls before pulling away. The delicate silk of her stockings being pulled down her legs adds a different sensation to the mix.

"Ned!" Meredith gasps out when the wet heat of Ned's mouth meets the inside of her knee. 

"So beautiful." Ned breathes as he rises up onto his feet, smiling. 

Meredith reaches up to brush dark hair behind his ear, thumb grazing his cheekbone. 

She leans forward to kiss him, softly, sweetly, pouring as much tenderness into the action as she's capable of. Ned groans softly into her mouth and begins pulling Meredith's shift up, up, up, until she's forced to pull away from him so that he can ease the fabric over her head. 

Ned steps back. 

Meredith shivers in the slight chill of the room and leans back to rest on her hands. 

They watch each other for a long moment before Ned surges forward, gathers her up, and carries her into the bed chamber where he drops her at the edge of the bed. Meredith sits up a bit to watch as Ned settles at the end of the bed, one hand holder her leg over his shoulder and the other tracing gentle patterns against her hip. 

"Is this alright?" He asks, "I'll stop if you're uncomfortable." 

"No... I like it." 

Ned smiles at her, kisses the inside of her thigh, sucks a bruise into the skin. 

Meredith swears as Ned uses his tongue on her. Wet and hot and pliable as he feasts like a man starved. Sucking and laving at Meredith's body, fingers soft and firm on her leg as he uses the other to slip two fingers inside of her - the stretch is a sweet ache that earns Ned a whimpering moan, which in turn earns her a rumbling groan. 

"You're so wet for me," Ned says before blowing gently against her sex, the chill making her shiver, "so good for me. Such a good, pretty wife I have." 

"Yes," Meredith agrees, she can be a pretty, good girl. 

Especially if it means Ned won't stop using his tongue and his fingers on her, easing her closer and closer to an end, which ends up crashing over her when Ned hooks his fingers upward and presses against that spongy part of her that makes her toes curl. Ned rides her through it, whispering soft words of praise and pressing kisses to her hipbone as Meredith pants and twitches beneath him. When she catches her breath Meredith begins tugging at Ned's shirt, struggling to pull it over his head without accidentally tugging his head around - because no one likes that - as her husband toes off his boots and fumbles with his trousers. Eventually Meredith gets the cotton over his head. She rubs at Ned's shoulder as he eases up her body, pressing kisses and sucking bruises into her skin. 

Meredith smiles softly as he settles into the cradle of her thighs, cock brushing through her folds to rub her pearl. 

"Do you want this?" Ned asks against her breast, rocking back and forth as he tugs a nipple into his mouth. 

The woman trembles, arching into Ned's touch as she babbles out a soft, "Yes, yes!" 

Ned rubs a calloused thumb against her pearl and eases back so he can watch as he slides into her. 

Meredith isn't sure where any of this is coming from.  The last time they'd shared a bed it had been a bit awkward, a tentativeness that comes will all first time experiences coloring their interaction. Meredith wonders if Ned got himself a lover while he was at war and promptly decides she doesn't care when he uses his grip on her hips and his own leverage to seat himself inside of her with enough force that Meredith sees stars. She likes it, this newfound skill, and decides that this is going to be a common practice among them. Sex. Meredith decides that she very much enjoys sex.

Especially when Ned's pouring his attentions over her body. 

Kissing her neck, suckling at her breasts, thumbing at her pearl as he fucks her. 

But the best part is what he breathes in her ear. 

"Pretty girl." 

"Sweet girl." 

"Good girl." 

Ned says it like a prayer and Meredith finds herself crashing into yet another climax as Ned continues thrusting inside of her. 

"You're so beautiful," He says, a whimper of breath that dances along Meredith's cheek. "So fucking beautiful." 

He gets her through another climax, thumbing at her and sucking at the places he's learned she likes best, and by the time Ned finishes inside of her Meredith is a panting, trembling mess with not a bone in her body. 

The two of them lay there for a moment - Ned seated inside of her and Meredith trembling beneath him - before he rises, makes his way to the small basin of water, and returns with a damp cloth that he uses to wipe away the mess that's been made between her thighs. Ned disappears again right after and Meredith tries to remember how to use her legs again. She still hasn't figured it out by the time Ned returns, which is fine because he seems more than happy to help easy Meredith under the furs and follow behind. 

Once they're settled Ned pulls her into his arms, tucks her head beneath his chin, and threads his fingers through her hair. 

"Stay," he whispers, "please." 

And Meredith does. 

Somehow she doubts she'll ever be able to truly leave him. 

Chapter Text

"Oh my loves!" Meredith cries as she scoops a teetering Robb into her arms and nuzzles his face, "How are you today? Mamma's missed you so much!" 

From where he's clinging to the side of the crib, Jon grunts at her. Little childish coos that make Meredith's heart melt a bit. He's such a lovely child. So sweet and solemn. Meredith wonders if it's something he'll carry into his adulthood and if people will mistake Rhaegar's nature for Ned's... she also wonders what that says about her husband and the man that stole his sister. How similar in their nature are they? If Ned had been raised differently would he have turned out like Rhaegar? A womanstealer? She doubts it. Besides, there's no point in lingering on such thoughts as they've got no worth or weight in the world. 

Meredith smiles as she exchanges Robb for Jon and peppers kisses across his head. 

She's been given a free morning. The workload she and Ned handled the day before freeing up her time, and Ned's as well but there's always something for the Lord of Winterfell to see to. Meredith had told her husband to find her if he ever needed her for anything. 

"What would you like to do today my sweets?" Meredith asks, dancing Jon about the nursery with a happy little grin, "Would you like to visit the Godswood? Or perhaps you would like to steal food from the kitchens? No? Hmm. I know! How about I let you crawl your little hearts out? Old Nan says you're growing quite good at it." 

Her babes don't say anything, they just stare at her with their big eyes and Meredith smiles as she gathers them both into her arms. 

The nursery is too small to really engage the children in any sort of play, but her chambers aren't, and some careful rearranging of furniture will give them plenty of space to crawl and shuffle about to their heart's desires. Which is something Old Nan says they enjoy doing. Crawling. The old woman claims that soon they'll be walking and talking and giving Meredith grey hair with how ornery they'll be. Meredith both dreads the day and delights in it. Already her boys have grown so big, the similarities of their faces coming forward in the newfound definition of their eyes and the slant of their mouth. They look like brothers. Meredith is thankful for it. Had she the ability to do so Meredith would claim Jon as just another of her babes, a twin in Robb, but she knows her own father would never allow such a lie to thrive in Westeros. At least this way when the boys are older Meredith will be able to sit them side by side and point out their shared features - even if they aren't any of hers - and remind them that no matter what the two of them are blood. Brothers. No one can take that from them. 

With a bright smile Meredith gathers Robb into her arms and carries both children to her chambers, where she sets them up on a fur spread out over the floor and sits to watch them explore their new surroundings. When they're older Meredith will take them on more thrilling adventures. She'll teach them to ride and to swim - which will likely require a visit South to see her uncle Brynden as the rivers and lakes North of the Neck are far too cold for children to be learning in. For now though Meredith is content to sit on the floor and watch as Jon and Robb wonder aimlessly around her chambers.

Robb is a freer spirit than Jon, Meredith learns, quicker to branch away from the padded fur in his desire to crawl around Meredith's chamber. Jon lingers on the fur, pacing its length but rarely ever venturing farther than a few feet. 

Occasionally he'll turn to stare at Meredith, those big grey eyes of his terrified. 

Meredith coos, "What scares you so, my little love?"

Jon doesn't respond. 

Meredith hadn't expected him to. 

The woman reaches out to brush dark curls from his face and smiles before leaning back on her hands. 

Eventually Robb wonders back to them, babbling in the language of babes and tugging at Meredith's skirt. 

"Bored, aren't you?" Meredith asks both children, "I can't blame you. It must be terribly unexciting to be a babe." 

Robb crawls into Meredith's lap, presses his face into her thighs, and then rolls onto his back. Jon stares and stares and stares some more until he too crawls up into Meredith's lap, completely ignoring the boy he tramples in favor of the long braid Meredith has pulled over her shoulder. He tugs on it. Meredith winces and carefully untangles his little fingers. 

"Now, that wasn't very kind." Meredith shakes her head. "You mustn't pull on a Lady's hair, Jon, it isn't a Lordly thing to do." 

Behind her comes a soft laugh and a gentle, "I don't know, you seemed to like it well enough." 

"Hush your mouth! Such things shouldn't be discussed in a child's presence." Meredith chides her husband, who scoops Robb off of her lap and settles on the floor across from her. 

"Come now Robb, tell your mother you don't understand a word I'm saying. Not a word. No thoughts behind those eyes of yours." Ned whispers conspiratorially with her son. 

"Are you saying my son's a fool?" Meredith asks, which earns her a bark of laughter from Ned. 

"Gods no, if anything your son's too smart for the lot of us." Ned smiles at Robb, "I've a feeling the kitchens will be short many sweets by the time he's a lad." 

Meredith uses her foot to kick Ned in the shin, not hard, just enough for him to laugh even harder. 

She rolls her eyes. 

"I take it you've managed to find yourself a free moment." Meredith says. 

"Aye," it's said more seriously, "unfortunately the Lords of the North have begun offering their daughters." 

"Already?" Meredith asks, shocked, because she might entertain the idea of looking for suitable matches but she would never force a marriage on her children at such a young age if at all. 

"I believe they're nervous I'll have another Southern woman brought North for him." Ned offers, then winces a bit. 

"I suppose it's a reasonable concern." 

Ned looks at her and shakes his head as he says, "They understand the necessity of our marriage, Meredith, and they'll accept you one day... I believe the concern stems more from my father's actions." 

"What do you intend to do about it then?" Meredith asks, fully prepared to fight Ned's decision to betroth any of their children. 

He must know it too because he raises a placating hand and moves Robb to sit in his lap. 

"I've been speaking to Benjen about his options. I fear he wants to go to the Wall." Ned says. 

"And you don't want him to... so are you pushing him to marry then?" Meredith asks. 

"Is it wrong of me?" Ned asks her, eyes wide, "I fear for Benjen's safety should he go to the Wall or beyond it. The Free Folk are not kind to those living below the Wall and I don't wish to loose anymore of my family... but I fear that by forcing him to wed I may do just that." 

"What would his options be if he wed? Would you make him a Lord? Would you give him a position at Winterfell?" Meredith sighs, "If he accepted the marriage and were to wed an only child to a noble house he'd become Lord one day." 

"I think I would like to keep him close." 

"So a steward? Master at Arms?" 

Ned looks miserable. 

Meredith can't say she blames him. 

To be the one who decides whether one's brother were to leave for a dangerous occupation or remain against his wishes would be devastating. Meredith understands why he would do such a thing but it certainly doesn't make it any easier. Though, if she were being honest. Meredith doesn't want Benjen going North to the Wall for several reasons, one being that as Ned's brother he's one of the more loyal of Ned's confidants and honor bound, but the main reason is that Meredith doesn't see any benefit to sending him so far North where he'll be forced to renounce his ties to his family and his people. No. Meredith won't be seeing Benjen go to the Wall. 

"Would you like my honest opinion, Ned?" She asks. 

"I would." 

"Don't let Benjen go to the Wall. What good would do any of us? There are plenty of thieves and rapists and law breakers sent to the Wall that a Lord's son isn't going to add anything to their numbers. Besides, the Free Folk may be a problem but Benjen would be more helpful to his family here in Winterfell than he might be at the Wall handling a few starving men." Meredith stretches out her leg. "Convince him to stay, but don't order him to do so as it'll only damage your relationship with him." 

"House Forrester has a daughter of marriageable age as does House Karstark." 

"A Northern marriage would soothe any concerns of the Lords." Meredith remarks, Jon begins to fuss in her lap. 

"Aye." Ned rolls his shoulders. "House Forrester has control over the largest forest of Ironwood trees in the realm, House Karstark is a cadet branch and has had many prosperous marriages." 

"Stay away from the Karstarks then. If they're a cadet branch and they've got a certain loyalty already established there's no point in trying to buy their loyalty now. Who are Bannermen you know have conditional loyalties or that you think an eye should be kept on." Meredith advises. 

"I would say the Boltons, but Roose Bolton only has a son - Domeric - and no sisters." 

"Don't they like to flay their enemies?" 

"It's an outdated practice." Ned grimaces. "They haven't done it in years." 

A no then. 

Meredith doesn't think she would enjoy listening to someone prattle on about how their ancestors - some very recently dead - went about skinning people alive for information or punishment. She knows Benjen wouldn't like it either. 

"Who else?" 

"House Ashwood perhaps? Or Crowl of Skagos." 

"Are they prominent families?" 

"I wouldn't say so, no, they wouldn't offer anything substantial to a union." Ned offers, looking annoyed. 

Such is the issue with political marriages. What can one person offer the other? What can one House do for them? Meredith would say that marrying a daughter of a Lord less likely to be entirely loyal would be the best way to go, but doing so puts the Stark family at risk of assassination attempts and betrayals. Fostering children of those houses would be best. 

Meredith thinks the best solution for this would be to marry Benjen to the daughter of a lesser Lord and offer him a position in Winterfell as well as lands from one of the abandoned strongholds. It would be easy enough to refurbish one of the castles. Especially the older ones build of stone and ancient rock. Less rot to deal with. But Meredith isn't a carpenter so she can't be certain. It would cost more money to have a castle build anew but if done properly a new lordship would bring new profits to the North. There are several strongholds that would be suitable for Benjen to run if it's his desire to do something for the good of the North that drives him to go to the Wall. Be the Lord of such a stronghold would give him a sense of purpose while also playing into his sense of duty. 

But which stronghold? 

The answer comes to her like a blow. 

"What about Moat Caillin? It's still functional isn't it?" 

"The wooden Keep rotted away nearly a thousand years past, but yes, I suppose... the three towers are still standing along with the battlements, the outer and inner curtain walls, and the Gatehouse." 

"So all that would need to be rebuilt is the Keep itself?" 

"I'm sure there would be other renovations that would need to be done." 

Meredith bounces Jon in her arms and listens to his gurgles as she thinks her next words over carefully. 

"How profitable do you think it would be for the North to invest in such renovations?" She asks. 

Ned's brow furrows but he says, "The Moat has never been taken from the South, it offers a certain amount of protection to the North and I would say that if it were to be rebuilt it would be beneficial to the North in times of war." 

"Then why don't we do this," Meredith sets Jon in her lap and rocks side to side with him as he gums at her hand, "Task Benjen with the reconstruction of the Keep, make him Lord of Moat Caillin when the time comes, and have him marry later on. This way you don't have to corner him and you don't have to worry about him going to the Wall." 

"Craftsman would have to be relocated from the South. I don't believe we've enough men to handle the amount of work it would take to rebuild the Keep." Ned tells her. 

"I would suggest Oldtown then, or Braavos." 

Ned is quite for a long moment. Meredith allows him his thoughts and turns her attention to Jon, who has begun dozing off in her arms. 

Eventually Ned placed Robb back on the fur and says, "I'll talk to Vayon Poole. He'll have a better understanding of the finances such an endeavor would require." 

"Can I be of assistance in anyway?" Meredith asks. 

Ned smiles and Meredith thinks he might be joking when he says, "You can try to convince Benjen to stay in Winterfell." 

He then rises, walks over to her, and kneels down to kiss her chastely before disappearing from the room. 

Meredith waits a moment before gathering the children and taking them back to the nursery so that she can go and find Benjen. Her Lord husband might have been joking but Meredith thinks that she's more than capable of convincing her good brother not to go to the Wall. It's a woman's skill. Manipulating men is something most women learn in their earliest years, though some grow out of the skill - like Catelyn, who wouldn't be able to manipulate anyone to save her life and as a result shuns the use of it by other women. 

Benjen, sweet boy that he is, doesn't have the life skills to see past Meredith's tactics. 

"Benjen?" Meredith calls to the boy, who looks up from the horse he's brushing to smile at her. 

"My Lady, may I help you?" 

"I'd like a word Benjen... I've heard something disturbing and I'd like to speak with you about it." She says, sounding nervous and terrified even to her own ears. 

Benjen perks up, something serious stealing over his features, and he hands his brush to a stable boy before making his way over to Meredith. The two don't linger and Benjen quietly guides her to a quiet area where no one is lingering. They don't go to the Godswood, not together, as it may invite rumors of impropriety and that's something neither of them are willing to suffer. So Meredith allows Benjen to settle them in the shadowed spaces of the training yard where people will see them but not hear them and Meredith takes a steadying breath in the face of Benjen's concern. 

"Is everything alright, Meredith?" 

"No," she tells him, "Eddard told me you want to go to the Wall, I want to know why." 

"He told you?" 

"Aye, he did." 

Benjen's face grows dark, his eyes darker, but he looks at Meredith - who makes sure everything about her face is soft with worry and maybe even a little bit of fear - and the thunder dies. Benjen sighs. 

"There's no reason for me to stay, Meredith." he begins, "You've had Robb and Ned is Lord of Winterfell and I'm... I don't have a reason to stay." 

"Who told you that? What would make you think we don't want you here? Or that you're unnecessary to the prosperity of this family? Was it me? Have I done something to make you feel this way? If so i'm sorry, I never meant for my presence to make you feel unwelcome or unwanted." 

"No! No, no, no, that's not it at all! I swear it!" Benjen looks terrified, then he reaches out to place a hand on her shoulder, "The Wall offers me a way to protect the North without leaving it. Ned will be so busy here in Winterfell raising his family and keeping our people safe that he won't have time to deal with the Wildling raids or their attempts to come South of the Wall." 

"And you think you will?" Meredith grabs his wrist, "Benjen, we've just come out a war. You've both lost so much, I don't understand why either of you are willing to give up more! Ned will let you go, he will, and he'll suffer all the more for it." 

"Ned won't suffer Meredith." Benjen says, but he sounds unsteady. 

Meredith presses on. 

"He will. I'm not a Northern woman, I offer political stability by being here but I know nothing of the North and its people. Ned will try and teach me but he'll have his own duties to see to; Lords to manage and law breakers to handle and people to ensure the safety of and what will I be doing? Fumbling around in the dark possibly setting flame to everything Ned works so hard for?" Meredith takes a deep breath, "But that's not the worst of it. As a woman I lack the power you and Ned have, I don't deny it, but I do have some power within my own household. I can keep my family safe within these walls, I can't keep you safe at the Wall." 

"Nothing will happen to me," Benjen promises, trying to soothe, "I'll be fine!" 

"Words are wind, Benjen! You want to go and live with men who are known to rape and murder, that's why they've been sent to the Wall! What do you think will happen when they learn that Benjen Stark - a man who's brother helped overthrow a King some of those men likely admired - is living under the same roof as them? If you go to the Wall you renounce this family and the protection we can give you. If something happens and you're murdered Ned won't be able to do anything!" 

Benjen pales. 

Meredith knows it's a low blow to bring family murder into this but she's not letting Benjen go to the fucking Wall. 

Let him despise her for it later if he wishes. 

Meredith grabs hold of both of Benjen's hands, pours as much desperation into her body language as she can, and continues on. 

"What do you think that would do to him, Benjen? If he lost you?" She asks, then she begs, "Please, don't go to the Wall... Not now at least. Let the wounds caused by the war heal over first, let scars fade, and then if you want to go to the Wall I won't stop you. But Benjen, you have you're entire life ahead of you right now and the possibilities of what you can do are so endless." 

"Did Ned put you up to this?" Benjen asks. 

She has to remind herself that he's still a boy. 

Benjen Stark is a green boy who's been playing at a grown Lord for the better part of a year and it's not his fault that he feels like his life is falling apart around him. Meredith can almost see why the structure the Wall offers is so appealing. But only just. Benjen wants the wall because it gives him purpose. Meredith thinks that for a boy of barely six-and-ten it would make sense to go there. 

"No. He told me you wanted to go and voiced his concerns, but I'm here of my own volition." 

"Why?" 

"Honestly? Because you're my family, Benjen, and if there's one thing I will be unwaveringly loyal to it is my family. Ned, Robb, Jon, you. I would burn the Wall down if anything happened to you there, damn the Free Folk, damn the Northern Lords. You're more important to me than a gods damned sheet of ice." 

"The Wall is important." 

"For what? Keeping the Free Folk out of your brother's kingdom? Last I checked they were still managing to get here. If you really want to help the North and protect it, then you'll stay." Meredith hisses.

Benjen flinches, then, ever so slowly, he meets her gaze. 

Meredith softens. 

"We haven't know each other long, I admit that, and I understand why you might not believe me but..." Meredith smiles and hopes it seems hopeful and sad in equal measures, "I want my children to know their family. It's unlikely they'll meet my own sisters or any children they might have, I won't be able to go South to visit my uncle or father with them in the way I would like, and I want them to have more than just me and Ned should something happen to us." 

"Nothing will happen to you." Benjen tries to reassure them both and Meredith shakes her head. 

"Words and winds, Benjen, words and winds." she squeezes his hand, "Just promise me one thing?" 

"What?" 

"Think about what you going to the Wall would mean for Ned and our children before you make any decisions." 

Benjen nods once and Meredith strokes his cheek before she curtsies and leaves him standing alone in the shadows. She hopes that with as family oriented as the Stark appear to be and his own mixed feelings Benjen will be easily swayed to stay for Ned and their children. If not she's more than willing to take the blame for any political marriage Ned decides to set up for Benjen as it will look like a hysterical woman attempting to keep her family close. Meredith honestly doubts it will come to that though as Benjen is a boy and easily manipulated. 

As she had focused her concerns for Benjen going to the Wall around Ned's response to something happening to him and her own fear that her children will be left defenseless should she or Ned die, Benjen will feel duty bound to stay. Which will in turn make it easier for him to get his head out of his arse as he gets a little less green. 

She hadn't been lying when she said she would let him go later on in his life if he decided to. 

Benjen is his own person, not her pet. 

But he's still a boy now and incapable of making such life altering decisions without a clear head. 

Meredith slips back into the Keep and wonders if Benjen will feel so useless once Ned starts to really put him to work. She doubts it. Maybe he'll want to run away to Braavos or one of the other Free Cities if it means never having to work again. The Lady of Winterfell almost laughs at that as she makes her way to the Lord's Solar where her husband is likely to be working with the Steward, Lord Poole, so that they can discuss the plan for Benjen. 

If she also wants to spend a little more time maneuvering her husband than that's her business and her business alone. 

Chapter Text

Meredith was bred and born a Lady, a daughter of a Great House with the responsibility of carrying legacies pressing down on her shoulders. From a young age she was taught to dance, sew, and run her household in the hopes of being more appealing to her future husband. It had been her father who had given her the ability to wield her mind like a weapon but it had been Uncle Brynden who taught her to wield the blade. She isn't fool enough to think she's skilled enough to go after someone like Ned - or Gods forbid, Robert Baratheon - but she understands her weaknesses and that makes her dangerous. 

Which is why she isn't overly concerned when Ned tells her that a few of the Northern Lords are coming to witness the Libation - a Northern tradition in which a child's blood is spilled on the roots of the Heart Tree as a way of further connecting a child to the Old Gods. It's an old tradition. One Meredith had balked at when Ned had brought it up... well, he hadn't really brought it up in civil conversation. 

He'd seemed rather angry the evening before, stalking around the Keep and snarling at anyone who came too close. Meredith, having never seen this type of behavior from Ned, had demanded to know what had happened. Ned had coolly informed her that some of the Lords - Bolton and Karstark specifically - had brought up concerns about Robb's loyalties. 

Too Southern, they'd apparently said, too likely to drag the North back into a Southerner's war. 

It had been Roose Bolton who suggested the Libation. Which hadn't surprised Ned any as he'd told Meredith that Lord Bolton participates in a bloodletting every room, earning himself the moniker Leach Lord. Word has since spread, rumors and whispering darkening the eyes of the Lord of Winterfell. They want blood, want the security that bleeding a child all over the roots of the Heart Tree will supposedly offer them - and who knows, maybe it will Meredith isn't unaware of the demands of Gods - but won't they be in for a surprise? They want Robb's blood so badly? Her children's blood? Fine, they'll get it... Robb's blood, Jon's blood, her own. She'll spill it over the roots of the Heart Tree and demand their unwavering loyalty in the eyes of the Old Gods, she's make them bend the knee just as Torrhen Stark bent the knee to the Targaryens. 

The audacity of these men. 

Meredith grinds her teeth and seals another letter. 

"What are you doing Meredith?" Ned asks, coming up behind her and pressing his nose against the curve of her neck. 

"I'm preparing to put a leash on Roose Bolton." Meredith mutters as she presses Ned's signet ring into the red wax keeping her letter closed. 

Ned hums, "This is about the libation." 

"Yes." 

"It's an outdated tradition, Meredith, and unnecessary for Robb to participate in." Ned promises her, lips drifting over her skin. 

Despite the fact that anyone could walk in on them Meredith doesn't stop him. Instead she keeps writing even as Ned's fingers begin to drift down her side, up, over the swell of her thigh. Meredith leans her head back and stares at Ned. 

"Maybe not, but this isn't something that's going to go away. You married a Southern Lady and the Lords don't like that. They think I'm going to push for Southern marriages - which I'm tempted to do now by the way - and betray the ways of the North." She bites out. 

"But you won't." Ned tells her, pulling away. 

"No... but that doesn't mean that these aren't biases Robb and any other children of ours are going to have to face." Ned's fingers drift to Meredith's neck as she speaks, kneeding out the tension there. "So I'm going to stomp out this little disquieting before it goes anywhere." 

"How do you plan to do that?" Ned asks, sounding entirely too amused. 

"I thought I'd take a page out of Tywin Lannister's book, just without all the death." Meredith's head rolls forward as Ned presses against a particularly tender spot, "They want Robb's blood? Fine, they'll have it, but they're getting Jon's too... and my own. And as we're bleeding all over those roots I'm going to press them into a corner and force them to make a decision." 

"What decision is that?" 

"Bend the knee and remain loyal, or bend the knee and betray the Starks and see what happens then." Meredith bites out. 

Ned presses a soft kiss to her jaw, sweet and barely there. The chastest of contacts they've had since their initial meeting.  Meredith wants to shrug him off, wants to push him away and demand to know why he isn't more upset about this, but she keeps her temper. Ned isn't at fault here. He'd assured Meredith that he would never force their children to follow through with some of the more brutal practices of the Northmen, the ones that he grew up hearing stories about but never actually participating in himself, and she doesn't doubt that if she said no Ned would raise hell and eart to keep the Lords of the North from ever demanding such a thing of her again. Besides, he isn't the type to rage openly. Meredith doesn't even think she's ever seen him angry before - the one incident during their bedding aside - and she thinks it's a good compliment. 

Meredith is fierier than her husband, quicker to anger and less easy to appease. Ned is the calmer one, the one people are more likely to slight due to his quiet nature. Both of their anger is terrifying... but Meredith can recognize that Ned's rage would be far more terrifying than her own due to the fact that he's so much calmer than most of the people Meredith knows. 

"And what would you do if they ever did betray us, Meredith? Slaughter them?" Ned asks carefully. 

She remains silent. 

Behind her Ned sighs. 

"You may want to include House Dustin then as well." Ned recommends, fingers trailing across her shoulder as he moves to sit in the chair opposite of her. 

"House Dustin?" 

"Aye. Lord William Dustin is dead now and his body lost to the sands of Dorne. His wife, Barbrey, does not have a pleasant history with our House." Ned says, though his eyes are dark. 

Meredith can't recall a Lord Dustin, frankly, she doesn't think they've ever met. But something in Ned's face tells her that something happened in the South. What? Meredith can't say. She wants to know though, desperately. 

"What happend?" 

"To Barbrey or Lord Dustin?" 

"Both." 

Ned stares at her for a long moment, then says, "Barbrey was Brandon's lover, mean spirited and unfit to rule, my father refused the offer of her hand many times. Eventually word of her impropriety spread, not such a terrible thing in the North, but in the South? Father had been entertaining the idea of a union between your sister and my brother for some time at that point and when the whispers started spreading south?  He had her married to Lord Dustin's heir immediately." 

"And her husband?" 

This time something in Ned's eyes spark dangerously. 

"He said something about you that I didn't particularly care for." Ned tells her. 

Intrigued, Meredith leans forward a bit. 

The only time Meredith can recall anyone having said anything about her was at their bedding ceremony. Meredith hadn't asked for details then, trusting that Ned's anger was well justified. As it hadn't been directed at her, Meredith had no reason to think she needed to pursue it. Now she wishes she had.

"What did he say?" She asks. 

"He said that the sight of your breasts made him wish he'd never been weaned." 

It earns a laugh from Meredith, which in turn earns her a sharp look from Ned. 

She giggles for a moment, astounded and amused and amazed in equal measures. Meredith can understand why Ned would be angry. The fucking audacity of the statement alone would be enraging but from one of Ned's own men? She stares wide eyed at her husband before bursting into harder laughter. 

"I didn't think it was amusing." Ned growls. 

"It's not," Meredith promises through her laughter, "I'm just amazing that he said that to you!" 

"Well, he'l never say it again." 

That. 

That sobers her pretty quickly.  

"Did you... handle it?" Meredith asks, canting the tone of her voice low. 

Ned's eyes are flinty and grey like a thunder cloud as he breathes, "In a sense." 

It makes more sense why Lord Dustin's bones never returned North. 

Meredith swallows hard. 

"I'll make Lady Dustin my major concern then." She says. 

Because if Ned was willing to do that for her and they'd only just met then what would a woman married to a man for several years with more bones to pick than an angry wolf do? Meredith can't say whether or not Barbrey Dustin would harm her children but Meredith doesn't intend to let the woman close.... or maybe she will. 

A plan, dark and dangerous, begins forming in her mind. 

The Boltons would be the obvious threats to her family but only because of the power struggle. Give Roose Bolton the recognition he wants and Meredith is sure his loyalty will be more easily ensured. But a woman working on hatred and bitterness? Meredith doesn't believe in controlling people through fear. It's too messy, too ineffective. But Tywin Lannister is the most feared man in Westeros because of his ruthlessness. 

Meredith has every intention of becoming Lady Dustin's personal Tywin. 

She smiles a bit at Ned. 

"Look how far we've come," she fondly remarks, and laughs softly when Eddard blushes. 

Neither of them say anything more about Barbrey or William Dustin. It's not important for Meredith to know what happened to the man and as of this moment there's nothing she can do about the man's wife. It's a long game she's playing now, one Meredith has every intention of winning, and the road she's traveling if rife with secrets not her own. Let Eddard keep him. Gods know Meredith has secrets of her own. As long as he'll continue to support and defend her - which she's certain he will now that she knows he may or may not have been involved in the death of a man who verbally humiliated her - then Meredith has no reason to press him on his secrets. 

So they fall into peaceful silence as Meredith finishes sealing off the letters she's written for the Lords and Ladies of the North. 

"It used to be that back before Torrhen Stark knelt all of the Kings and Queens of the North would spill their blood for the Old Gods," Benjen tells her, eyes staring into the weeping face of the Heart Tree, "Some used to say that if a man died after that it was the Old Gods ways of thinning out the weeds." 

"You're not making me feel any better about all of this." Meredith snaps. 

Benjen shrugs. 

It's been strange, the dynamic between the two of them. 

Between Meredith hounding Benjen for wanting to go to the Wall and whatever it is Ned has said to him, Benjen had distanced himself a bit from both herself and Ned. Maester Luwin says that it's not unreasonable. Benjen is working through his grief and they've successfully taken away his personalized distraction. With time and a fair bit of healing, Benjen will come around. 

Meredith doesn't think Benjen is trying to avoid them but she can agree that he doesn't seem as chipper as he typically is. She almost feels bad for stomping on his emotions the way she had but... he's still talking to her and he's not going to the Wall so clearly he's not so resentful of her that he'd do anything to spite her. 

"Rumor is Roose Bolton bleeds all of his children the minute they're born, cuts them open and spills their blood across the roots of the Weirdwoods." 

"That's horrible." 

"Oh, he's not trying to kill them... though I suspect that probably doesn't help the wee one when they're sickly. He's only got one son you know, Domeric, he's currently in the Vale." Benjen looks to her, "I've heard from Denyl Moss that he got a Miller's daughter pregnant. He says the child is... odd." 

"Odd?" 

Benjen shrugs and says, "I don't know much about children but apparently he doesn't bond with anyone and that he's a terribly angry child... not that I blame him with a father like Roose." 

"I take it you're not fond." 

"No one is, really, Roose wants to be important and he values the Old Ways, but he's vicious and untrustworthy. People tend to be more suspicious of him than accepting." 

Meredith... can't say she blames them. she supposes she'd be suspicious of the man as well. 

"Well, I suppose not all children are happy." Meredith remarks. 

The trees around them rustle, leaves jostling in a gentle wind that feels almost like a caress across her shoulders. Meredith shivers and pulls her fur-lined cloak tighter around her shoulders to defend herself against the early evening chill that's risen up. Beside her Benjen shakes his head. 

"Best get inside before you catch cold, Lady Stark." Benjen tells her. 

"Don't stay out here too long, Benjen." Meredith demands, not willing to argue with her good brother about whether or not she'll stay with him in the Godswood. 

Her good brother says nothing but Meredith hadn't really expected him too considering he's hardly speaking to her or Ned anyway. Meredith merely pats his shoulder before turning and making her way back toward the keep. 

Over the course of the past moon Meredith's things have slowly relocated to the Lord's Chambers. It started with dresses and other items that would make it easier for Meredith to make herself presentable after a night of fucking, soon it became other things as well; books and chests and trinkets. Thinks that have no reason being in Ned's space until suddenly they are and Meredith is once again sleeping beneath the heavy pelts covering the bed she slept in for weeks upon her initial arrival to Winterfell. Ned doesn't seem to angry, in fact, he stares at her more often than not with this peculiar look on his face. Like he can't believe she's actually there after everything that happened between them. 

Meredith sometimes watches him too. 

Like tonight. 

Meredith sits in front of a polished mirror and attempts to wrangle her hair into a braid as she watches Ned carefully tend to his sword - not Ice, the hulking mass of Valyrian steel that tends find its peace on their wall - and tries not to stare at his hands for longer than she should. Ned doesn't seem to notice that she's staring, though, and that's a good thing because Meredith would be mortified if he caught on. She fishes a ribbon out of the little case of them and ties the end of her braid off with the thanks of muscle memory alone. With her hair braided Meredith rises and makes her way over to the bed where her side has already been turned down for her. Once she's settled in Meredith contents herself with watching as Ned finishes up his self-appointed task and rises himself. He changes into a clean tunic and a looser pair of trousers, his clothes from today carefully folded and placed atop the stool he'd been sitting on moments before. 

He disappears for a moment - Meredith isn't sure why - and returns with a soft smile that she returns as he climbs into bed beside her. 

Meredith blows out the candle next to her side of the bed as Ned does the same and room plunges into darkness. 

It takes them both a few moments to settles but when they eventually do Meredith finds herself tucked against Ned's side, her head on his shoulder, his fingers drawing lazy circles over her arm. Meredith finds herself dozing almost immediately. 

Ned presses a kiss to her forehead. 

"Good night." Meredith mumbles against the linen tunic hr husband is wearing. 

Her husband mumbles something against her hair, hot breath fanning across her crown, but Meredith doesn't quite pick up on it. She makes out something about sweet dreams and maybe an endearment but it's spoken in a tongue she doesn't know and Meredith doesn't want to shatter whatever air has settled around them. So she merely cuddles closer to Ned and closes her eyes. 

Slep takes her quickly and Meredith dreams of bloody palms and ancient white roots stained crimson. Red, mournful eyes staring at her through the haze of smoke and light offered by a controlled flame. Meredith thinks she should be afraid, thinks she should run, but she merely presses her bleeding hand against the smooth bark and watches the blood carve a river through the snowy Weirwood. 

Chapter Text

"There's a letter from Casterly Rock addressed to you, my Lady." Lara tells her as she slips into the Lord's Solar. 

Meredith looks up from the mass of missives that have arrived from the Northern Lords - all of which state which Houses will be coming to Winterfell when for the Libations that will be held when the boys reach their first year - and takes the offered letter with a smile. Meredith wastes no time breaking the Lannister seal, carefully unrolling the parchment until she can see the expensive red ink that the Lannister pay far too much for. 

The letter itself is from Catelyn. 

A sweet thing saying that it was such a shame not to see Meredith at her wedding, but that she understood, and perhaps one day they might visit again so that their children can meet. Meredith knows her sister isn't referring to Jon in this. It goes on to describe the beauty of Casterly Rock and how wonderful her new home is and how handsome her husband is. Meredith smiles. She is happy for Catelyn, after everything that happened with Brandon - and even Petyr to some extent - she deserves to be happy in any way she can be. Meredith loves her sister and she hopes that the Westerlands live up to all of the older girl's expectations. 

Meredith places the letter aside, she'll write to Catelyn in a bit after she's finished marking down which Lords are coming and when. Three moons doesn't give Meredith much time to prepare Winterfell or her staff for this type of host but Meredith's never been one to back down from a proper challenge. If the Northern Lords want to gawk at Meredith as she bleeds all over their Old Gods then Meredith will give them something to truly gawk at. 

"How is the staff handling the preparations?" Meredith asks, Lara folds her hands in front of her. 

"Honestly? They're nervous. Libations haven't been had in centuries... not since before Torrhen Stark bent the knee... the fact that the Northern Lords are demanding this makes them worry about possible discontent." 

"I believe it was Lord Bolton and Lady Dustin that originally demanded the Libations." Meredith points out as she breaks the seal of yet another letter. 

"Aye," Lara nods solemnly, "it brings ill tidings." 

"Don't worry. I'll handle Lord Bolton and Lady Dustin." Meredith remarks and when Lara raises a pale eyebrow she continues, "They want to find a weakness in House Stark through me and my children. I'll give them none to find. I will, however, make them regret ever having attempted such a thing."

"May I ask how?" Lara asks. 

Meredith places the letter in her hand aside and says, "They want blood? Very well, I'll spill it all over the Heart Tree and the stones of Winterfell if I have to." 

Lara looks suddenly ill. 

"You would violate guest rights?" 

"No. Never that. I would never raise a finger to either Lady Dustin or Lord Bolton in violence while they're guests in my home." Meredith assures the other woman. 

She knows better after all. The South may not be as superstitious as the North but that doesn't mean Meredith grew up ignorant to the same sort of stories. They may have been written in a different hand but the theme is still the same. Meredith knows what will happen to her should she go against Guest Rights. She's no fool. However, those rights may keep the strangers in her home safe from harm but they don't keep them safe from Meredith herself. She wasn't kidding when she said she'd spill blood everywhere she had to in order to assert herself as Lady of Winterfell and secure the safety of her children. 

There are plenty of abandoned Keeps, plenty of children to foster, plenty of people to move on the Chyvasse board. 

Meredith need only find the opportunities and work with them accordingly. 

One good thing about being in a nation full of strangers is that no one knows your tells. Meredith is just as much an outlier to these people as they're attempting to make themselves to her. They only know their own perceptions of the other and it's that ignorance Meredith is banking on. If they don't realize how she's playing the game then they won't have any way to stop it until it's too late. Meredith has no truly ill intentions on any of the Lords or Ladies coming to sup and sleep in her halls, not really, but that doesn't mean Meredith isn't willing to play dirty either. Ned will play the honorable Lord attempting to appease his people. Meredith is hoping that by keeping him in the dark about some of her more violently inclined plans he won't speak out against her - it also gives him deniability should things go terribly, terribly wrong - but he's agreed to do his part with the Lords of the North so long as Meredith is able to handle Lord Bolton and Barbery Dustin. Both of whom Meredith has very specific plans for. 

"Do you think the Lord will settle after this?" Lara asks, quietly but there's no hesitance in her tone. 

Meredith blinks at her and shrugs, "Perhaps, or perhaps not. I can't speak for the men who bend the knee to my husband but I would assume that when their libations are had and my loyalties assured they'll be less likely to rise against my children in the future." 

A moment passes. Two. Meredith finishes the last letter and tells Lara to bolt the door before taking a seat in the chair opposite of her. Once the other woman is settled Meredith leans back and rolls her shoulders while Lara watches on. Kind as she is Meredith isn't entirely sure she can trust Lara the same way she trusts Amara and the other servants of Riverrun. The gathering of the Lords will be something of a test for her and her loyalties. If Lara proves entirely trustworthy then Meredith will pull her into the fold. If not, Lara will be kept at arm's distance and fed only the information  Meredith is willing to feed her. 

"What do you know of Lady Barbery's heir?" 

"Lord Beric?" 

"Yes, Lord Beric." 

"He's a babe really, only a few years older than Robb." Lara frowns, "I haven't heard much about him honestly, only that Lady Dustin adores him fiercely." 

Sounds fitting. 

Meredith nods absently to herself as she organizes her paperwork. 

Lady Dustin is a mother and Meredith can't guarantee that her ill will toward House Stark would be tempered by taking her child to foster in Winterfell. If anything, it could make the situation much worse than it already is... but what to do? He can't remain with her, not if she's going to whisper poisoned promises in his ear. A scorned woman is a dangerous woman but a man hungry for power? Meredith thinks of Tywin Lannister and frowns. 

"Do something for me, Lara." She says. 

"Yes?" 

"I want you to begin spreading whispers of a possible fostering to the other servants." she drums her fingers on the desk, "should word slip out to the Lords of the North then it's possible we can make it seem like their idea..." 

"Are you hoping to make them more amicable to the idea of leaving their children with you?" Lara wonders, eyebrow raised toward her hairline. 

"Perhaps," Meredith shrugs, "I need the Northern Lords to remain loyal to my children. They're more willing to do that if they think that their own hold a certain favor." 

Lara nods, "I'll make sure the news spreads." 

"Thank you," Meredith smiles, "you may go." 

The other woman doesn't wait for further comments from Meredith, rising smoothly and making for the door before disappearing out into the corridor. Meredith waits until she's entirely sure Lara is gone before leaning back in her chair and frowning. 

No. 

She won't foster Beric Dustin. Not yet anyway. It wouldn't do anything but cause further animosity from Lady Dustin, which is the last thing Meredith wants at the moment. Unfortunately, it's unlikely Lady Dustin will fall for honey words and gentle smiles. Not with as angry as she is toward House Stark... but then... there's always the fact that it isn't her - or even her children really - who Lady Dustin is angry with. It's Ned. Sweet, vicious Ned who might not have murdered a man but certainly didn't stop his death and for what? A few drunken remarks about the state of his wife's body? Meredith warms at the thought. Just a little. It's nice knowing Ned had defended her against such taunts so soon in their marriage... even if only because honor demanded it. 

What to do, what to do? 

Meredith supposes she could always threaten Barbrey Dustin... in the way she's able to that is. Guest rights and all that. Still, guest rights don't protect Meredith. Nothing is stopping her from throwing herself off a tower and accidentally crushing Barbrey Dustin on the way down. Morbidly amused, Meredith rises from her chair and makes her way from the Lord's Solar. 

While she won't do something nearly as unreasonable as throwing herself from the ramparts or some other part of Winterfell, Meredith thinks there's still something to be said about the idea. Meredith won't put herself in harm's way, not truly, but if she can scare Barbrey Dustin just enough.... well, blood is something women contend with all their lives. Blood from the birthing bed, moon's blood, Maiden's blood. Blood, blood, blood. What else does their life consist of but spilling it for the happiness of others? Meredith smiles. What's a little more blood spilled and doled out in the grand scheme of things? 

Deciding that a quick discussion with Maester Luwin is in order, Meredith turns on her heel and makes her way in the opposite direction she'd originally intended to go, smiling serenly all the while. 

Moons pass. 

Winterfell becomes a flurry of activity as chambers are prepared, meals planned, and items organized in preparation for the soon to be arriving Lords of the North. Meredith stands in the middle of the storm and commands it all with practiced ease. Compared to some of the celebrations she had a hand in planning at Riverrun this is nothing new. In fact, there's far less to worry about this time than any other time Meredith's been in charge of organizing the staff. It's rather entertaining, really. 

Ned, bless him, tends to stay out of Meredith's way. He handles the tasks typically assigned to the Lord of Winterfell but leaves her be to handle everything she deems herself capable of handling. It's very sweet of him. Meredith wonders if it's because he wants to be involved in the scheming as little as possible or if he recognizes that she's more than capable of handling the staff and all the preparations on her own. Meredith likes to think it's a bit of both. Still, the lack of true interacts between them throughout the day have left them only their evenings to spend together. Meredith finds more and more of her things in Ned's chambers as the days pass and soon her private chambers are bare save for the furnishings. It's not long before Meredith finds herself sleeping exclusively in Ned's personal chambers. Sometimes they have sex, sometimes they just lay together and bask in each other's heat. And sometimes, like tonight, Meredith finds herself curling protectively around both Jon and Robb as they settle in for sleep, Ned curled around the other side of them. 

"They're getting big." Ned remarks softly after the boys finally settle. 

"Yes, they'll be talking soon." 

"And walking and running and causing all sorts of mayhem." Ned laughs. 

Meredith smiles sleepily into the darkness. 

A hand moves to settle on her cheek, fingers twining in the soft curls around her ear and temple. She blinks at Ned's face - invisible save for the sliver of silver lit by the moon glow seeping in through the window - and moves her head to press a chaste kiss to her husband's palm. He hums in the darkness, a deep rumble of sound that makes Meredith's skin pucker. 

"I spoke with Luwin." 

"About?" his silence is her answer, she sighs. "It'll be fine." 

"It's dangerous Meredith." 

"I'm aware." 

More silence. 

"I've contacted your uncle." Ned tells her and Meredith frown at his shadow. 

"Why would you do something like that?" She asks blandly, genuinely confused. 

Uncle Brynden is more a father to her than her own father, this is true, but she hardly expects the man to leave Riverrun and make the journey to the Winterfell to... what? Protect her from Lady Dustin or Lord Bolton? Aren't there guards enough for that? Meredith's grown a repor with a few of them. They're certainly not friends but Meredith thinks she can trust them to keep her safe within her own home while there are strangers mulling about it. So why contact Uncle Brynden? 

"Truthfully?" Ned asks, then continues before she can say anything, "I'm nervous about the libations, Meredith. I don't like that the Lords are demanding this - much less at the suggestion of Roose bloody Bolton and Barbrey Dustin... it makes me feel better knowing you have someone here entirely devoted to the state of your wellness while I'm unable to remain with you." 

"You worry too much." Meredith says, in part to lighten the mood. 

"You don't worry enough." 

"Oh on the contrary. I worry quite a bit; about you, and the boys, and any other children we might have... but I trust Luwin and I trust you, but most of all I trust my own capabilities." 

"Humor me in this then." 

Meredith is silent for a moment, lulled by the sensation of Ned playing with her hair and running his thumb gently over her cheekbone when it suits him. It's nice. Meredith thinks she could easily remain in this bed, this little cocoon of warmth and safety, for the rest of her life. Unfortunately that's impossible. Meredith can also understand why Ned is so worried. With so many people milling about in their home it isn't a guarantee that no one will try to harm her or the boys while Ned is distracted. Capable as she is of holding off one or two men Meredith knows for a fact that a large group would easily overpower her. 

So she swallows her pride and nods slowly. 

"Very well," she says, "but you can't stop me from handling Roose or Barbrey." 

Ned snorts. 

"I'll allow you to handle Lady Dustin, I want you nowhere near Roose Bolton." He tells her. 

Little hands coil around her fingers in the darkness. 

"Afraid he'll poison me?" 

"Yes, actually." 

It grows quiet after that. 

Meredith says nothing about confronting Lord Bolton, but she does curl closer around the boys in order to tuck herself closer to Ned, who wraps his arms around all three of them and holds them tight. She decides in that moment that she'll only interact with Roose Bolton where people can see them or in Ned's presence. She'll keep herself as safe as possible with everything going on. If not for herself and the boys then for her husband - because he's clearly worried about this if he's asking her to not confront Roose. 

Eventually the silence becomes stillness, which oozes into that heavy-lidded exhaustion that sinks its teeth in just moments before sleep claims a person. Robb and Jon are pressed against her stomach and side, forcing her to twist in such a way that allows them the best comfort while simultaneously putting a bit too much pressure on her ribs. Meredith fights the urge to groggily play with downy-soft curls and smiles when Ned curls closer to her so that she isn't forced to adjust anymore than necessary as he goes to embrace her. 

"Good night,fy nghariad." Ned whispers, breath ruffling Meredith's hair. 

Meredith hums, nuzzles closer, and slips into quiet slumber. 

"Good night." 

"The Lords will be arriving soon." Ned remarks a week later over their morning meal. 

Benjen, who sits beside him, leans forward to stare at Meredith and says, "I don't understand why you're doing this." 

If nothing else comes from this whole situation at least Meredith and Ned now have Benjen back on their side. Apparently the political unrest among the Lords and their whispers of demanding blood had been enough to spook Benjen into realizing just how important it is to have him South of the Wall. Moat Caillin will take years to rebuild - even with the help offered by the King, who Meredith thinks is trying to mend his tense relationship with Ned - but hopefully having him in a position of power with his own servants and subjects will add House Stark a bit more power should they need it. Meredith also has plans for a number of other Keeps that have been abandoned over the years... it's unfair of her to not offer all of her children positions of power, man and woman alike. 

Still, Benjen's irritation at Ned and Meredith trying to wrangle him has shifted to irritation at Meredith and Ned for allowing the Libations to take place. It's amusing to see it, honestly.

"It'll be perfectly fine. Maester Luwin will be drawing the blood and we both trust him with the boys." Meredith says with a benign smile. 

Benjen huffs. 

"I don't think that's what you should be worrying about." He declares, "What happens if Roose Bolton were to poison you? or... or one of the Woolfields did something?" 

"The Woolfields are loyal." Ned points out, unaffected. 

Another thing Meredith adores about her husband. He'll question her privately, call her on her more dangerous plans in private, but never once has he spoken against her publicly. 

"But that doesn't mean they aren't ambitious cunts." 

"Benjen, enough." 

The dark haired boy scowls a bit, returns to his meal, and then turns back to Meredith with a soft, "Do you think the Lord will be happy with you bleeding all over the Heart Tree?" 

"They'll be happy she's done it and thankful I'm more tolerant than our father." Ned says, quiet and with an edge of warning. 

Meredith hasn't asked what Ned plans to do with the Lords. Their discussions over who they'd be more receptive to had obviously made it abundantly clear that Ned would have to be the one to interact with the Lord of the North on a more open field. Meredith's work would have to be sneaky, a subtle sort of poison that settles deep in the bones before anyone realizes something is amiss. She sips at her water and smiles a bit when Ned's hand falls to rest on her thigh. 

"And what if Bolton makes things worse?" Benjen demands hotly. 

"I'll handle Roose Bolton, Benjen, he's a man after all... not a God." Meredith says, Ned's fingers curl tighter into her flesh. 

Not nearly tight enough to bruise, but just tight enough to leave her wondering. 

Meredith cuts her sausages into smaller bites to distract herself while Ned and Benjen argue quietly over the quality of their plan to participate in the libations. Neither of them seem overly upset so Meredith doesn't see a reason to get involved to try and mitigate the situation. Their voices drop low, making it near impossible for even Meredith to hear what's being discussed, but eventually Ned nods as though he's pleased and rises from his chair. He places a chaste kiss on Meredith's temple before disappearing from the Hall. Meredith turns to Benjen. 

"You worry too much, Ben." She says to her good-brother, who frowns at her like she's an idiot. 

"Just be careful with Roose Bolton." Benjen tells her, not even waiting for a reply before he too leaves the hall. 

Deciding not to Linger, Meredith finsihes her own meal, leaves the hall, and makes her way to the Lord's office where she left a bit of work the day before that needs to be seen to. Once she's finishes she'll find the boys and take them outside for some fresh air as it's warm enough for them to be out for longer periods of time. It'll be good for them. Besides, Meredith needs to see how everything is being set up in the Godswood anyway for the Libations and she might as well kill two birds with one stone. Nodding to herself, Meredith slips into the Lord's office and shuts the door firmly behind her. 

Chapter Text

The day the Lords of Winterfell are set to arrive Ned helps Meredith dresses in a pretty grey-blue dress with silver wolves embroidered along the skirts, there's a matching fur cloak that she pairs with it and a pair of supple leather boots that are well hidden under the full skirt. The homage to House Stark will be better received by the men coming into her home than vibrant Tully blues or lavish silks. Meredith does, however, brush her hair until it shines and then carefully weaves it into a more elaborate braid commonly seen in the Riverlands, peppering her mother's pearl hair pins throughout the braids and twists. It's a pretty pairing to be sure. 

Meredith is trying to make these men respect her. 

They won't do that if they think Meredith is putting on Northern clothes and wearing Northern styles in order to make herself appear more Northern. 

So she does her hair, makes herself as lovely as she can, and then stares into Lara's eyes as the other girl applies castor oil to her lashes and a rogue to her lips. They avoid adding too much color to her face as the chill will do that on its own. When she's finally ready Meredith leaves the bedchambers she shares with Ned, makes for the nursery where the boys are being wrangled into fancier clothes than they're used to wearing. Meredith smiles as she moves further into the room where Wynafryd and Old Nan pause a moment to bow their heads and smile. 

"How are my boys this morning?" Meredith asks, the sound fo her voice drawing the attention of both children. 

"Muh.... muh... muh...." Robb babbles, little tongue struggling with her name. 

He's already calling Ned 'Da' and it's very sweet, Jon as well, but both boys seem to have trouble with the softer pronunciation of 'Ma' or 'Mother' which Ned assures her theyll figure out. 

"They're swell, my Lady." Wynafryd tells her, "we'll have them dressed and ready in just a moment." 

"Excellent, when you're finished take the boys to the courtyard with the rest of the welcoming party, I need to speak with Maester Luwin." Meredith informs them, and the two women nod their heads and Meredith smiles fondly at them before turning and once again making her way down the corridor. 

Maester Luwin is waiting for her when she enters his tower. 

He looks distressed, pale and skittish and not at all the epitome of calm Meredith knows him to be. It's understandable of course, what Meredith has asked him to do is dangerous for them both. Shutting the door firmly behind her Meredith steps further into Luwin's tower and the Maester sags. 

"I don't like this, my Lady." He tells her, fingers drifting over the hidden slits in his robes where his pockets are tucked away. 

"I know... but once this is over I hope to never have to ask you to do something like this again." Meredith tells him. 

Watery grey eyes stare at her for a long moment before Luwin finally sighs and digs a small vial out of his pocket. The liquid on the inside is a distasteful sort of brown hue that makes Meredith grimace. She takes the vial when Luwin presses it into her palm. 

"An antidote for most poisons, the common ones of the North at least, I can't say any attempts would be made with them but take it now to be safe." Meredith does as she's told, gagging slightly at the foul, muddy texture at it slide over the back of her tongue and down her throat, Luwin takes the vial and continues speaking, "Try not to injure yourself today. The antidote is most effective when it has time to work before one is poisoned but it causes the blood to thin." 

"What happens then?" Meredith asks. 

"It means if you cut yourself you'll bleed more then you should." Luwin sighs, "Small wounds shouldn't be anything to worry about but larger one may be an issue." 

The two of them stare at one another for a very long moment. Meredith fingers the pristine white fur of her cloak and nods slowly. She'll just have to make sure to wear something darker colored beyond her initial greeting of the Lords... just to be safe. Meredith clasps her hands in front of her. 

"I appreciate all of your help Maester Luwin." She tells the grey man, who nods slowly. 

"My loyalty is to House Stark, should you need my services I am duty bound to do all in my power to assist you." He tells her, but his smile is soft and familiar and Meredith can't help the spike of fondness that lances through her when she sees it. 

"I should go find Ned, we're to participate in guest rights and I think the Lords and Ladies of the North should be arriving soon." Meredith says, brushing out her skirts and stepping toward the door. 

"I believe Lord Stark is in the Hall." Luwin tells her, already turned back to his work table. 

Meredith smiles one last time at the man before she pulls the door open and begins her trek to the Hall. 

Whenever she passes a servant they bow their heads to her, demuring and smiling and quiet, Meredith offers them all polite smiles when they meet her eye but otherwise continues on her way to the Hall where she finds Ned talking to Vayon Poole. Both bow to her - Ned less severely than Vayon - when she settles beside them. Their conversation is dull. Revolving around guest rights and making sure the bread, salt, and water is ready for when the first Lords arrive. Which happen to be Jorah Mormont and his Lady Aunt - who has apparently managed to get to Bear Island without being accosted by any Iron Born or Wildlings. Meredith won't lie and say she isn't excited to meet the other woman. When their conversation finishes and Vayon Poole leaves the Hall, Ned turns to her and smiles. 

"You look lovely, my Lady." He says to her, placing a chaste kiss upon her knuckles before he turns her to the front of the hall where another wolf throne has been set up beside Ned's. 

Her husbands way of telling the North that Meredith is just as much one of them as any child born to Northern parents is a subtle one. He gifted her a cloak of white bear fur from Skagos, gives her relatively free reign of his keep, tasks her with duties fundamental for the survival of Winterfell, and now he places her at his side on a throne of carved wolves when in all rights she should stand at or just behind his left shoulder. Meredith swallows the heavy lump in her throat and allows Ned to guide her to her throne. 

"Traditionally," Ned begins with a smile, "there is only one seat for the King or Queen of Winter... or for the Lords and Ladies of House Stark.... but I thought that for this you deserved just as much a claim to the North as I do." 

Meredith's fingers brush over the dark wood of a snarling muzzle and smiles softly at her husband as she says, "I'm sure your Lords of the North are going to love this." 

"As they should. You're a good woman, Meredith, one of the best, and the North is honored to have you at her defense." then, with all the reverence of a man in love - and ignoring the eyes of the people trying to watch him - Ned urges Meredith to take her seat at his side. 

Settling back against the hard oak Meredith wonders how he managed to get this done in such little time but doesn't think on it for too long as Wynafryd and Old Nan appear with the boys. Both women take their places at the left of Meredith, careful to keep shoulder-to-shoulder. Meredith hadn't wanted Jon placed anywhere but right next to her own son, a child of her choice but not of her blood. Ned hadn't disputed it, though he'd looked a little glassy eyed when she'd brought it up.

Dangerous waters the two of them are wading through. 

Dangerous waters indeed. 

A dark eyed guard arrives to tell them that the Mormont party has been spotted, it sends the staff into a frenzy to finish their current tasks and either disappear or line up against the wall until they're called to escort Lords and Ladies to their designated chambers. Meredith makes a conscious effort not to stiffen or shift in her discomfort. She keeps poised, still, reminds herself that it was Catelyn who had to face down Tywin Lannister... she's just facing down the entirety of the North. Not much of a comparison she's aware - one man versus a hundred? Laughable - but it helps ease some of her worry. 

The doors to the Hall swing open to reveal a small party of men and women dressed in deep green and leather. A man leads them into the Hall, swarthy and covered in hair, he looks hulking in comparison to the shorter women striding alongside him. Meredith knows the man is Lord Mormont and the blonde woman to be his Glover wife, but she can't seem to bring herself to care much when she's in the presence of Maege Mormont. 

Maege Mormont is short statured and muscular, the definition in her thighs not at all hidden by the breaches she wears. Even her hands looks strong. A warrior's build on a woman's frame, Meredith might have thought it unappealing at one point in her life but seeing it now? On a woman with eye greener than pine and hair dark as a raven's wing despite the silver peppering her temples? The hardness of her is tempered by the little dark haired girl clinging to her fingers. 

"Welcome, Lord and Lady Mormont, I trust your travels were uneventful." Ned greets when all three are stopped before them. 

Maege bows alongside her brother, her daughter haltingly falling into a strange mix of curtsy and bow before straightening and bowing herself, fingers still white knuckled around her mother's. 

"They were, my Lord, the war seems to have made even the bandits weary." Lord Mormont says. 

Ned nods and a servant steps forth with the bread, salt, and water. 

Meredith watches as each of the Mormonts take a bit of bread and salt it before eating the offering, washing it away with a hefty sip of water. In the South guest rights are a drawn out affair. Fancy words of greeting, extravagant displays of power, and the underlying threat of possible violence lingering on the tongue. It's different from the North, where the rights are had in a quick affair and without any of the fanciness Meredith is used to having to witness. And when guest rights have been had Maege Mormont takes her daughter and guides her over to one of the long tables and sits them both down where Meredith presumes they mean to watch the rest of the proceedings. Jorah Mormont does the same after a moment, looking a little less sure of himself, but he and his Lady wife do settle just moments before another Lord is announced. 

And so the day progresses. 

Some of the Lords and Ladies hardly give Meredith any more than the customary greetings when they bulk up the courage to talk to Ned, some don't even do that, and some simply take their bread and salt with a polite smile in their Lord and Lady's direction and slip off to one of the long tables where they too watch as the other Lords and Ladies take their rights. 

Meredith makes a note of which Lords seem more open to her. 

Great Jon Umber, Howland Reed - who's grin is the widest and the kindest, Desmond Grell, and Wyman Manderly. 

Most of them had been at her wedding, they're stripped to bare and deposited her in her chambers for her bedding, and though the situation itself had been uncomfortable none of the men had done anything particularly unpleasant. Meredith wonders if their acceptance of her stems from that evening or if they'd seen her in the days following attempting to help with the war where she could. Either way, Meredith will take their loyalty as t means one less person to persuade. 

And the day passes. 

Lord after Lord. Lady after Lady. 

No one is impolite and no one makes Meredith's skin crawl. 

Not until Roose Bolton and his son Domeric come striding into the Hall. 

Both share the same tall stature and dark hair, though Domeric is healthier appearing than his father, and the same milky pale eyes. Meredith doesn't shiver, but it's a close thing. Especially when Roose Bolton continues to stare at her the way he does. Like he's peeling back the layers of her skin and taking a long look at her insides. It's in that moment that Meredith understands exactly why everyone has been telling her to stay away from Roose Bolton. This doesn't change anything, of course, Meredith's still going through with her plans, but there's a certain amount of greater understanding now. When Domeric Bolton smiles at her - soft and surprisingly sweet for a boy of only seven - Meredith finds herself smiling back before he's ushered away by his father. 

"Lady Barbrey Dustin and Beric Dustin have arrived." Benjen tells them, voice hushed so that only they can hear. 

Meredith stills. 

Barbrey Dustin, who wants her husband dead. 

Barbrey Dustin, who is the largest threat to House Stark outside of Roose Bolton. 

Barbrey Dustin, who isn't like anything Meredith expected. 

She's a pretty woman despite the anger on her face. Dark brown hair and soft features and dark, dark eyes. She wears the colors of her house and her hair beneath a widow's veil. Meredith finds that despite everything she's heard about the woman Barbrey Dustin isn't at all intimidating. It's almost enough to earn a laugh from Meredith. She won't undermine the woman's intelligence, never that, but she'd been expecting something.... different... when it came to the woman's appearance anyway. Something wild and dangerous, not this dolice creature standing before them. 

"Lord Stark." Barbrey Dustin greets through gritted teeth, "I'd present my son Beric, Heir of House Dustin, to you." 

It sounds more like a threat. 

"Aye, Lady Dustin, he'll make a fine Lord." 

Before them Lady Dustin preens and bristles in equal measures, the boy standing beside her smiles wide but is quickly ushered off before he can say anything. Meredith pities him in a way. Such youthful innocence threatened to be snuffed out by Barbrey Dustin's rage. Meredith somehow manages to catch the other woman's eye and notes that Barbrey doesn't seem nearly as hostile toward her - or the boys - as she had seemed with Ned. It's strange, but Meredith thinks she understands. It wasn't Meredith or the boys who left Lord Dustin's body in the South, nor was it Meredith or the Boys who forbid Barbrey from marrying Brandon Stark. No, it was Ned and his father. Meredith isn't fool enough to think she or the boys are safe from the other woman but she thinks that maybe she can understand the reasoning behind Barbrey Dustin's anger a bit better now. 

Meredith turns her attention from the woman as Ned announces that the Libations will take when the moon is at it's highest point and that any business that needs to be discussed will be discussed beforehand or later the next day. Some of the Lords seem put out by it but Meredith understands. With his piece said Ned dismisses the Lords and Ladies, and they file out of the Hall in relatively quick procession. Going to take their rest or find their own entertainments Meredith can't say, but none of them seem overly upset as they trudge out of the room and soon it's the Starks and one Maege Mormont waiting in the Hall. 

"Well," Maege begins when the door shuts with a heavy thunk, "that was a load of horse shit if I ever saw one." 

A smile spills across Meredith's face as Ned offers his hand and leads her closer to the other woman. 

"Maege, I'd like to present you with my wife, Lady Meredith Stark." Ned says and Meredith doesn't get a chance to curtsy before Maege is taking her by the chin and moving her head every which way. 

"Got yourself a strong one, Ned." the woman tells him before releasing Meredith with an impish grin. "Not that I'm surprised. You were raised by the Blackfish right?" 

"In a way I suppose so." 

Maege nods and says, "He's waitin in Winter Town. Thought it best not to come in with the rest of those bleating old cunts... can't say I blame him. Lot of talk among the Lords, Ned, not all of them are happy with this arrangement." 

"They were happy enough when it meant troops and food and medicine for their wounds." Ned snaps, eyes tight. 

The woman shrugs and crosses her arms as she says, "Twats, the lot of them. Always wanting something but never worrying about the consequences not the outcome. Marry a Southern daughter for their benefit? Very well... but have babes with the girl and give her a position of power in the North and they balk." Maege then points at Meredith, "I hope you're a hardy one, girl, you'll need it if you're going to deal with the lot of them." 

"But not you?" Meredith asks a bit distainfully. 

Maege smiles, all teeth. 

"Never much liked killing babes, glad to see someone with a similar mindset." the older woman tells them, which makes Ned stiffen, no one says anything else though as Maege stretches out her arms and rolls her neck, "well, I'd best be looking after Dacey. Girl's something of a handful now." 

She doesn't wait to be dismissed, simply nods once before turning on her heel and striding out of the Hall. 

"She seems nice." Meredith remarks once the woman is out of sight. 

Ned smiles at her, "I think she likes you." 

"Well, at least someone does." Meredith laughs, which makes Ned smile grow a bit larger.

The two linger in the Hall for a moment longer before Ned decides that he should probably go and talk pleasantries with a few of the Lords, he promises that after the evening meal the two of them will sit and go over everything that's supposed to happen tonight. Meredith isn't worried and the information will be nothing new, but she can tell it would put Ned at ease to discuss it once more so she agrees with a soft smile before reaching up to cup his cheek. 

"Be careful." She tells him as he moves to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist where the knife will soon slice her open so she can bleed over the roots of his religion. 

"You be careful, Meredith," he pulls away from her, "I'll send for your uncle, until then please don't do anything reckless." 

"Reckless? Me? No, I'm far too calculated for anything like that." Meredith says. 

Ned rolls his eyes at her but his smile is soft. 

Meredith clings to the thought of it as he leaves her in the Hall. 

"Uncle Bryden!" Meredith cries, flinging herself at her uncle and burrying her face in his shoulder. 

Her uncle crushes her to him, hugging her tightly for a long moment before setting her back on her feet. They both take a moment to observe one another. Uncle Brynden has a new scar on his chin but otherwise looks unharmed by the war. Meredith hasn't seen him since before he left and it's comforting to know that despite the time that's passed he hasn't changed much. She wonders if there's anything about her own appearance that sets him aback. 

"How is the North treating you Meredith?" Brynden demands, tone hard, "Your husband tells me that you have agreed to these Libations despite the fact that he's warned you against them." 

"He didn't warn me against them, uncle, he said they weren't necessary." Meredith remarks. 

"Because that makes it so much better." Her uncle pauses for a moment, runs a hand through his hair, and sighs quietly before looking at her, "It's done now I suppose." 

Meredith can't help but smile at her uncle, who remains just as surely as he had before he'd left Riverrun. It's good to see him again. Meredith hadn't realized just how much she missed her uncle until just now and the the fact that Ned had sent for him - and that Uncle Brynden had come without hesitance - fills her with warmth. She takes his offered arm and allows her uncle to lead her out of the Lord's Office where he'd been escorted to and where Ned is notably absent. Meredith tries not to worry about it too much as it's likely he's just seeing to the preparations of the Godswood. 

"How is father?" Meredith asks once they're out in the corridor. 

it's polite conversation and no one will think anything of it if they come across the two of them. 

"You're father is well, his lungs have cleared and he's stronger now. I think the worst of it has passed." Uncle Brynden says, which doesn't mean much as father is always catching ill. 

"And yourself? How have you been?" 

"I'm perfectly fine, keeping myself young by chasing after your brother." Uncle Brynden smiles, "He wanted to come, you know, but his duties and lessons prevented it." 

"I would have gladly hosted him." Meredith replies, to which her uncle snorts. 

"You've a son now, can't distract yourself too much with a babe and a man almost grown." Brynden says, to which Meredith frowns. 

"I've two sons, uncle." 

He stares at her, "You can't mean the bastard." 

Something dark blue and very human shaped shifts at the corner of her vision, ducking back into an off shooting corridor before it's seen, Meredith takes the opportunity for what it is. 

"Jon is my husband's son, therefore he's mine. You're my uncle and I adore you, but I won't have you speaking ill of either of my children." She tells him. 

"But he's not your son." 

"By who's decision? I'm not your daughter but you've always treated me as though I was, who decides whether or not I get to claim Jon as my own in that way? I'm the Lady of the North am I not? Don't I get to choose who's deserving of my loyalty and care?" 

Uncle Brynden frowns at her and says, "He could be a threat to Robb's lordship." 

"Lordship. Is that all men think of? Jon will be raised as my son and I'll love him as my son, and if he should be given a position of power in the North then I would hope that it be one that benefits not only my House but my people as well." She says, canting her voice a bit louder so it carries. 

This time Uncle Brynden's eyes dart about. 

It isn't normal for Meredith to discuss private matters so openly. They both know this. Meredith has always kept such things close to her chest, quiet, carefully concealed. It's out of character for her to discuss something like this so openly, though not terribly out of character as Meredith remembers being actively against their father's treatment of Lysa's own child. 

"Well," her uncle begins, "I suppose your father can't be too upset then." 

Family. Duty. Honor. 

Meredith nods and turns to begin walking again. 

"I'm loyal to my husband and his people, I'm participating in the Libations to prove to them that I mean no harm and that my children will be raised as one of them." Meredith says, pace carefully slow. 

"Will you raise them with the Seven?" Brynden asks. 

"No. They'll be raised with the Old Gods." 

Uncle Brynden has never been a religious man so the admission isn't a dangerous one. Had it been her father or Catelyn whom she told Meredith knows it would have resulted in a truly nasty argument. Which is another thing Meredith has realized would have doomed her sister's marriage to Brandon Stark. Meredith would have fought against worshiping the Old Gods, to the point that it would have caused so many bitter arguments between her and Brandon that eventually resentment would have grown. At least in the Westerlands Catelyn will be able to practice her faith with confidence and contentment. 

Meredith had been the best pick as Lady of Winterfell as she's more willing to adapt to her surroundings than Catelyn has ever been. 

"It'll please your husband." Her uncle says. 

And this time, despite the ears listening and the tension around her uncle's eyes Meredith can't seem to conjure up anything but genuineness when she says, "It will please me as well." 

Later that evening Meredith finds herself sitting at the High table with her family, their voices almost drowned out by the bawdy rumble of voices from the long tables situated below them. Meredith enjoys herself, enjoys the laughter and the noise and the liveliness of the Keep as it's filled with people taking their fill of mead and specially prepared meats. 

Apparently everything their eating tonight has religious significance. Meade and Spiced Mulled Wines, smoked venison, and a cake that's almost like honey cake but spicier.  Meredith eats everything Ned tells her to and drinks her wine without complaint despite not really finding any taste for it. If eating these foods will satisfy the Lords then Meredith will eat it without hesitancy if only to prove to herself that she's better than any of them think she is. Thankfully it seems that the few men who actually like her presence at their Lord's side have managed to ease some of the distrust. Howland Reed and the Great Jon have apparently been singing her praises; talking about all the medicines she'd made sure got to the carts and the clothes she'd made or mended for the Northern soldiers when she had time, or the wound she'd helped Howland tend to, which Meredith doesn't remember doing but won't deny for fear of making the kindly Lord look like a liar. 

By the end of the feast Meredith's flushed, too hot and skin a bit tingly. 

Ned is quick to escort her out when the meal ends, guiding her through the halls and to their chambers where he bolts the door behind them and turns to Meredith with burning grey eyes. 

Meredith, Gods help her, smiles impishly and moves to sit on the table. 

"I don't know what was in that wine," she begins, "but it wasn't just spices." 

"I had Luwin slip a tincture to help with the pain." Ned admits, fingers dancing over Meredith's ribs. 

"Mhm. Is this what you meant by discussing the Libations?" 

Ned smiles and shakes his head, "As much as i'd love to I'm not going to fuck you here on the table." 

"Shame." Meredith sighs, "What are you going to do then if not ravish me?" 

Laughing, truly laughing, Ned pulls away a bit. 

"I'm going to help you get dressed." then he smirks, "Or perhaps a better word is undressed." 

"Naughty, naughty." 

Meredith watches as Ned seemingly produces a shift from thin air. it's made of dark wool and unembellished, with a long skirt that will drag on the floor and sleeves that end at her elbows. Plain. Meredith had thought to wear something a bit more lively. 

"Back when the Libations were common practice it was thought that we come to the Gods with nothing but our skin. I'm sure many of the Lords would like to see you naked and bleeding all over the Heart Tree - it's one of the reasons I think Bolton wanted this so badly seeing as there are other practices we've stopped participating in - but I'd rather keep you covered." 

"Jealous are we?" Meredith asks, in part to cut the tension. 

"Very." Ned stares at her through burning eyes, "You're my wife Meredith, my Lady and the mother of my children, I'd do horrible, dishonorable things for you... all you'd have to do is ask." 

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I don't want you to do anything horrible or dishonorable for me." Meredith remarks, and it earns her the softest look she's ever seen from Ned. 

"That's why I would do it, Meredith." He tells her. 

After that Meredith doesn't say anything. 

Instead she allows her husband to help her out of her fine white cloak and the equally fine clothes underneath, bearing her inch by inch until she's standing in their chambers naked and shivering, Ned's fingers brushing across her body. 

"In the old days a man would bathe his wife in milk and honey and take her at the base of the Heart Tree." Ned tells her as he eases her into her new shift. 

Meredith's mouth goes dry. 

"Is that... is that something you would want?" She asks, the warmth she feels different from the warmth the wine provides. 

"Perhaps not the milk and honey bit." Ned tells her as he leans in close to place wet kisses along her shoulders and the exposed length of her neck. 

They'll do it then, if Ned's desiring it. He's always pleasuring her, feasting on her body and leaving her weak as a newborn calf in the wee hours of the morning. Never once has he insisted on anything, pressured her to do something she's uncomfortable with, and... well... there are ways to ensure no one would see. Meredith swallows hard as Ned's teeth graze her skin. 

"You're lovely." Ned says, fingers deftly plucking pins and ribbon out of her hair, releasing the strands. "So lovely that I something think you aren't even real, that this is all a dream and one day I'll wake up to learn that father and Brandon were murdered." 

It douses the heat, not the admission per say but the tone of his voice certainly. 

Meredith turns in his arms and holds his face in her hands. 

"Listen to me," she says, "everything I do I do for you, for the boys, for any children we might have together. Where you go I would follow, your battles are mine, and it would take the Gods might to keep me from you... do you understand?" Meredith asks, fierce and desperate. 

It's not a lie. 

Meredith would crawl through the fires of all seven Hells and then some for Ned if he asked it of her. 

Not because she's his wife and she's bound to him, not because she feels obligated to do so, but because despite Ned's flaws - and there are flaws - he's a good man and he loves her. Meredith loves him. And she'll be thrice damned if anyone thinks they can take that away from them. With a soft smile Meredith leans forward to kiss Ned, savoring the taste of honey mead as he digs his fingers into her hips. 

Moments pass in that quiet space of their chambers before Ned pulls away, forehead dropping to rest in the crook of her neck. 

"We should go." says, heat ghosting over her breast. 

"We should." Meredith agrees. 

Neither of them actually pull away from one another until a servant comes to tell them that it's time. 

Chapter Text

Ned's hand is warm around her elbow, his tunic rough beneath her palm, and Meredith takes comfort in that as he carefully wields that ancient, ancient blade. Valyrian steel rends her flesh, slices through it like a hot knife through butter and allows her blood to well up and pour from her body, burning ruby bright on the white roots of the Heart Tree, gleaming in the light offered by the row of torches that had been set up for the Libations. Meredith watches as the tree itself seems to suck up the blood, the residual red hue remaining but the liquid quality seeming to dissipate the longer its left on the tree. One might say that's common of blood when it dries, nothing so bothersome about that. Meredith can't say she agrees. Because there's something strange about this whole situation, something almost ethereal in its nature. So she stares at the blood as it drips down from her writs in jewel-tones and tries not to think about the odd shapes being cast in the darker parts of the Godswood by the torches surrounding her. 

Jon and Robb have already bled, their wounds far less severe than Meredith's on account of her being an adult. Frankly put. No one wants to risk a babe's life for something like this so no one had questioned it when Maester Luwin had merely drawn a small amount of blood to be mixed with a fair bit of Dornish red to be poured across the roots of the Heart Tree as the babes cried and squirmed in their father's arms. Meredith sucks in a deep breath, the world spins a bit around her. 

The Lords and Ladies of the North are still and quiet. 

Meredith shivers. 

Ned, sweet Ned, is murmuring something in the Old Tongue. His voice a heavy, rumbling and unfamiliar in it's tone. His thumb traces over the inside of her elbow as he guides her to face the Lords and Ladies of the North who have come to see a silly southern woman spill her blood for their Gods and their own entertainment. Meredith stands tall, stands like the tree behind her - deep rooted and unbending - and stares at the men and women who serve her husband. 

"A promise must be made to the Gods," Ned says, "as is tradition." 

Meredith knows that the typical promises run in the vein of eternal loyalty to one's house, one's people, and one's nation, none of which Meredith is hesitant to pledge herself to, but she has something else to add. So she allows herself to be placed before the weeping face of the Old Gods, her blood staining the roots beneath her, and bows her head in reverence. Expectations, expectations, so many expectations. Meredith thrives on them. 

"I, Meredith of House Stark, come before the Gods of Old to pledge my allegiance; to my husband, to my children, to my allies, and to those who fall under my protection," different words. A hushed sort of apprehension falls over the Lords and Ladies behind her and Meredith continues with a shark's smile, "I pledge my devotion to House Stark and an unholy terror upon anyone who would try to do us harm. I pledge myself as a Lady of the North and a wraith in the night... before the eyes of the Old Gods I swear it and so shall it be, from this day, until the end of my days." 

It isn't as dramatic as Meredith had hoped but she thinks that instead of forcing the Lords and Ladies to bend the knee her promise of untold violence against anyone who moves against her or her family will be acknowledged. Besides, Meredith has another reason for it as well. A pledge to the Gods promising retribution for any wrong doings against her and her family should technically mitigate the taboo of violence done under the banner of guest rights. While Meredith would never actually harm someone while a guest in her home - unless under the most grievous of circumstances - that doesn't mean that she can't goad them into more treacherous waters. 

Barbrey Dustin and Roose Blonton come to mind. 

Little children playing a game they don't understand. 

Meredith will chew them up and spit them out before they even realize it. 

With a somber face Meredith allows Ned to help her off her knees, his fingers wet with her blood, and once she's steadied Maester Luwin comes with bandages smeared in a fine green-tinted paste which burns when he plasters it to her injured arm. With it not being terribly deep and cleanly done, there's no immediate threat to her health. Without proper stitching it will likely scar, but Meredith doesn't know if she wants it to or not. If it scars, a short pink-silver line running across the inside of her forearm then it may act as a way to remind people of this moment. She smiles softly at Luwin as he ties the bandages in place. Then Ned is there, shucking his heavy fur-lined cloak and draping it over her bare shoulders, fingers gently pulling her hair out from beneath the heavy collar before his hand moves to rest at the small of her back for the briefest of moments. 

The crunch of summer snow beneath boots has Meredith turning to look at the burly, red-headed man making his way to her. He's wearing a black and silver jerkin, his hair slicked back and looking more orange against the dark colors than red, his face is scarred, his eyes dark, and Meredith watches through stunned eyes as he takes a knee before her at the base of the Heart Tree. Even Ned - from the brief look she shares with him - seems a little surprised, like this hadn't been part of the plan. Meredith tries not to tense when the man begins speaking. 

"I, Damyn Cerwyn, brother of Medger Cerwyn, Lord of Cerwyn Castle, pledge my sword and my skills to Lady Meredith Stark of Winterfell." he bows his head, but his eyes remain fixed on her face. "I pledge myself as her sword, her shield, and her arrow, from this day until the end of all days." 

"You honor me, Ser," Meredith says, and it seems to be enough because the man flashes a boyish, crooked grin at her before rising and taking his place just behind her shoulder. 

Soon after the Lords and Ladies of the North fall into celebrations. The majority content enough at the moment for ignore the Southerness of their Lady in favor of the son she's given them and the promises she's made at blood stained roots. It's strange. Meredith thinks there should have been more to it than there was. Bleeding and promise making are all well and good but Meredith gets the sense that something isn't... entirely as it should be. But Meredith also doesn't understand the Old Tongue, whatever Ned said during the Libations could very well have been the epitome of tradition and she would never know... so she supposes that as long as Ned seems content - and he does seem rather pleased with himself - then Meredith won't worry too much about the happenings of the Libations and will rather focus on the two people she had intended to wrangle to begin with. 

Meredith turns to Maester Luwin, "Would you see the children to bed? Old Nan and Wynafryd should be able to assist you." 

The elder man nods slowly and Meredith places tender kisses upon both babe's little forehead - Jon clings to the curls that hang loose around her shoulders - before he quietly turns and begins making his way from the Godswood with the children. He and her Uncle will stay with them until Meredith comes to them later on tonight, steel and tonics and antidotes ready for immediate use if the need arises. Ned had told her she was being too paranoid, that no one would dare try anything tonight, but Meredith thinks that if one man and woman were able to convince the entirety of the North that Meredith and her babes need to bleed for their old Gods then it's not unlikely that they'd be able to convince a few others to do something violent.  

Guest Rights be damned. 

Meredith waits for the boys to disappear before she allows herself to be pulled into the crowd of celebrating Lords and Ladies, Ned and Borick at her back, and the atmosphere is so different compared to the one when the Lords and Ladies first arrived that Meredith finds herself shocked. There are still hesitations, still moments where a man will quiet for a moment or a woman will gaze at her through suspicious eyes, but it doesn't linger and for the most part everyone is civil. Meredith quietly slips deeper into the mass, extracting herself from Ned and Damyn so easily that it should be terrifying. But Meredith remains calm, remains smiling, remains unbothered as men come to introduce themselves and tread the find line between propriety and salaciousness. 

Then, she finds herself before Lord Bolton. 

"Lady Stark." The man greets, blue eyes so pale they almost appear milky. 

Meredith falls into a curtsy respectful of both their statuses and when she rises she doesn't immediately avoid his gaze or smile, instead she merely looks at him, takes him in, ingrains every bit of his behaviors to memory and holds them tight. 

"I should thank you, Lord Bolton," Meredith begins with that lemon-cake sweetness that she remembers cloying in her mouth, "had it not been for you i wouldn't have known about the Libations until much later in my marriage I should think... though, that's unsurprising. I fear that Southern Ladies have something of a bad reputation North of the Neck, we're raised to hard in different ways than Northern Ladies you see, and sometimes the repercussions of it are long reaching." 

Roose Bolton smiles at her and Meredith wonders if it's a genuine look or if he's just such a bland man that he can't be bothered for a look that isn't half-hearted at best. 

"A shame, then." He says, and he's gauging her, Meredith knows he is. 

She smiles, honey and venom dripping from her mouth. 

"Don't be. You've a Northern wife, no? I'm sure she hardly even blinked when you told her Domeric would partake in the Libations as well," Meredith doesn't smile when she sees the sudden tension in the man's shoulders, "I understand why a man so dedicated to the Old Gods would be worried about a Southern woman coming and possibly bringing down their wrath upon the North." 

"Yes," Roose Bolton says stiffly, "my dedication runs deep." 

"As does mine, Lord Bolton... It's a shame, really, that people tend to underestimate such devotions, don't you think?" Meredith asks. 

"Aye, my Lady, it is." Roose Bolton agrees. 

"Of course, you have the advantage of being naturally intimidating. A man from House Bolton with such bloody history? An advantage if I ever saw one, unfortunately I have no such boons... none save the intelligence my Lord Father instilled in me and my rage." Meredith smiles, teeth and narrowed eyes, "You understand that don't you? How dangerous it is to underestimate the rage of a mother." 

This time Roose Bolton's own eyes narrow as he says, "My own mother was frightfully protective of her children." 

Yes, and all but one died. 

Meredith is not the late Lady Bolton, she is not Barbrey Dustin, she is not a woman playing a game she understands but doesn't have the means to win. Meredith is the Cyvasse player, not a piece on the board. Best for Roose Bolton to learn that quick lest he find himself in treacherous waters once more. She'll be forgiving just the once as there's no reason to make unnecessary enemies. 

"Then we've an understanding, Lord Bolton." Meredith curtsies, "I fear I've taken up so much of your time, please, enjoy the celebrations Lord Bolton." 

She doesn't wait for him to say anything, simply turns on her heel and walks back into the crowd.

Carefully avoiding the tall man who unexpectedly swore himself to her and her own husband, Meredith looks through the crowd. She smiles and converses with Lords and Ladies who come to her, presenting herself as the embodiment of feminine grace and gentility and even manages to make a few of them laugh with her more bawdy, unexpected jokes. But never once does she stop looking for Barbrey Dustin. And the night drags on, the celebrations shifting away from the Godswoods a bit when a servant comes to inform them that the kitchen have prepared alcohol and food. It's as the crowd is shifting that Meredith spots her. 

Barbrey Dustin isn't praying, no, that would be too odd, but she is standing beside the Heart Tree and her eyes never leave the weeping face of the Old Gods. 

Meredith slinks closer, closer, closer. 

Stopping only when she can smell the oil Barbrey puts in her hair - it's piney - and for a moment Meredith feels pity for the woman. Not pity enough to stop her from doing what must be done, but pity enough to realize that under different circumstances the two of them might have been friends of a sort. Cut from the same types of cloth and thrown out into a world crueler to women than it has any right to be. Meredith understands Barbrey's rage to an extent. Brandon Stark was never hers but he had played with her heart in some way if she thought she'd be Lady of Winterfell, and then to love one's husband and not be able to put him to rest? Meredith... Meredith understands the rage... even if she can't allow it to fester anymore. 

"I've never felt closer to a God," Meredith finds herself saying truthfully, because Barbrey doesn't deserve a lie, "I think the Seven have their merits but the Septons tend to loose the point of their teachings during the sermons. Here I feel closer, seen, I suppose." 

Barbrey Dustin stares at her through dark eyes, "The Old Gods are the only Gods I care to speak of." 

"Just because they're the only Gods you keep doesn't mean the experiences of others are any less worthy of being heard." Meredith reprimands her, but kindly. 

"Does your Lord husband share such sentiments?" Barbrey asks, tone a bit softer, but no less bitter. 

Meredith shrugs and says, "My Lord husband has been good to me... better than I expected considering the circumstances." 

Silence. 

Bitter, dangerous. 

There's no one to witness them but the trees, the stars, and the Gods. 

"I'll be honest with you, Lady Dustin, I didn't come here for civil conversation." Meredith finally says. 

"No," the bitterness is thicker, meaner, spat from between iron teeth to lance through Meredith, "I wouldn't expect anything less of you." 

"I know you dislike my husband, and honestly I can't say I blame you for it as I would feel the same were our roles reversed," Meredith turns to face the woman and hopes her face is as cold as her voice sounds when she says, "but hear me when I say this. Should you so much as touch my husband, touch my children, revolt against them even, then I will find you and I will kill you. Hurt you in ways you never thought it possible to hurt, and when that's over, when I've had my fill, I'll dump your body into the fire and scatter your ashes in the wind." 

Barbrey turns to face her, face hard and full of rage, she spits, "You're violating guest right, Lady Stark, not particularly intelligent of you considering the Lords of the North hardly trust you." 

This time Meredith finds herself laughing, "Guest rights? You think you can hurl your own veiled threats and assume I won't do something similar because you're Northern and I'm not. Lady Dustin, you're a fool." 

Meredith steps closer, Barbrey doesn't move, not until Meredith reaches into the hidden slit in her shift and pulls out a small blade from the straps of leather Ned had helped secure to her thigh before they left. It's when she sees the blade that Barbrey steps back, eyes darting behind her as if looking for someone else to bear witness to the breaking of guest rights done by Lady Stark. Meredith isn't bothered. Ned promised he'd get all the Lords gathered up. 

Besides, Meredith has no intention of going for Barbrey Dustin. 

"You thought you would be able to ruffle enough feathers over Ned's marriage to me that you could... what? Over throw him? Stir up hate? Get someone to make him hurt the same way you hurt?" Meredith asks, bringing the knife up, "Did you think that because I'm a Sourthern Lady that I would role belly up or beg you not to harm my child? Or had you hoped to create division between Ned and myself by encouraging the Libations? Quickly Barbrey, I haven't got all day." 

The woman in question glares at her but says nothing. 

"Listen to me very carefully, Barbrey Dustin, I'm not wilting flower. I'm not unseasoned maid. I was raised by a warrior, molded by a player in the Game, and I am not afraid of you or Roose Bolton or any other Northern Lord who thinks that because I'm not Northern I'm weak or vulnerable to their manipulations." 

Barbrey flinches back, eyes going wide, wide, wide as Meredith brings the blade up to her own neck. 

With carefully precise movements that Meredith spent hours going over with Maester Luwin, the Lady of Winterfell slices into her own neck. 

Pain, for a moment, then warm wetness spills over her neck, across her bosom, seeping into her shift and plastering it to the shape of her right breast. The cut isn't deep, Meredith knows, but the concoction Maester Luwin had given her helps to the create the illusion of severity. 

Meredith moves to Barbrey, who steps back into the roots of the Heart Tree and then the trunk of that tree. 

Above them, red leaves rustle in a wind Meredith hardly feels. 

She smiles at Barbrey as she presses into the other woman's space. 

"If I'm willing to do this to myself, Lady Dustin, what makes you think that I wouldn't do it to you?" Meredith asks, softly, sweetly, "I've sworn an oath to protect my family, my allies, and my people, but I've also sworn to the Gods that I would unleash a hell fire the likes of which my enemies have ever seen if they hurt me or mine. And you've attempted that. Subtlety to be sure, but if you ever try it again there will be no where for you to hide, no where far enough to save you from me, even in my death I would find you, hound you, make your life so miserable that you'd beg for death, and even after the last breath has left your body you would never know peace.... Remember that, Lady Dustin, for I'll only forgive you this once." 

Then, with a sunny smile, Meredith steps away from Lady Dustin, carefully slips the knife back into her skirts, and leaves the Godswood. 

With everyone in the Great Hall there's no one around to stop her from making her way through the Keep to the nursery where Luwin will be waiting with her uncle. Warrior and healer, Meredith wonders if they two of them are getting along. She thinks they should, both men are protectors in their own way and loyal to their families... in their own ways. 

Meredith winces a bit when she catches sight of herself in a window. 

There's blood smeared all across her neck and collarbones, the wound oozing and raw looking. Meredith doesn't hesitate to tear at the sleeve of her gown until it pulls off in a rough strip which she folds a few times before pressing to her neck. The pain is worse now than the initial cut. Meredith grimaces a bit at that. Hopefully the wound isn't worse than she thinks it is, Ned will have something to say about it regardless - because she'd only told him about confronting Barbrey, not her plan to slice into herself - and if the wound is dangerously close to the vein or too deep he'll rage for hours. 

Shit. 

Meredith grumbles at her own sloppiness as she makes for the nursery. 

When she reaches the intricately carved door, Meredith knocks three times, pauses, and knocks again. It's the knock she and Edmure used whenever they wanted to get into a bit of mischief. Uncle Brynden might not be overly familiar with it but he'll recognize it all the same. And sure enough, not a second after Meredith's dropped her hand then the door is sliding open to reveal the irate face of her uncle, which only grows more panicked when he sees the blood. 

Another person Meredith will have to listen to as they curse her recklessness. 

Surprisingly, he keeps quiet as he ushers her back into the room, sliding the bold into place and then turning to guide her into a chair next to the fire. 

Her babes are asleep, curled up in their crib, sharing the blanket the servants of Riverrun had taken such painstaking efforts to craft. Meredith's chest aches as Maester Luwin eases the cloth away from her neck. 

"How is Amara?" Meredith finds herself asking her uncle, "I haven't heard from her in moons and I didn't want to ask earlier in case..." 

"Amara is well, ruling the servants with an iron fist... she misses you." 

Meredith nods, tears welling in her eyes. 

She misses Amara too, would have brought her North if the would didn't have a family of her own and responsibilities in Riverrun that made it too difficult to pull her away. It's comforting to know that the other woman misses her as well as she's the closest thing to a mother Meredith has had in such a long time. Minisa Whent was a good woman, kind, but Meredith was young when she passed and her father was so distant after. Amara and Uncle Brynden were her guiding forces when it mattered and for that Meredith will love them in ways that she, frankly, might not be able to love her own father and mother. Which isn't to say she doesn't love them. Because she does... just... in a different way. A less fiercely dangerous way. 

Maester Luwin tuts as he examines her wound. 

"It's deeper than it should be, Lady Stark, you're lucky to have misses the jugular." Luwin says before he tilts her head just so and begins the process of cleaning the wound, "It will likely need stitches and I can't say that it won't scar." 

"Seems I've acquired quite a few over the past hours." Meredith replies calmly, to which Maester Luwin and her uncle frown. 

"Why did you do it, Meredith?" Uncle Brynden asks. 

Maester luwin smears something into the wound, it burns, but Meredith says nothing as she watches him prep his needle and threat. 

"There are some things that only women understand Uncle," Meredith begins, taking careful breaths as Luwin begins sewing her up, "Women like Barbrey Dustin are fierce, and their anger is dangerous, but they only understand the danger of others and their own choices when blood is involved. I spilled mine thrice over, first through Robb and then from my own body, and each time I made a promise that I would do anything in my power to protect my family." Meredith blinks at her Uncle before she asks, "And what's blood, Uncle Brynden, when you spill it for the defense of your family." 

Neither of them speak much after that, though her uncle does offer her a bitter sort of smile. 

Luwin finishes stitching her flesh back together, cleans the wound once more, and then carefully secures a bandage so that it won't be displaced by anything that might jostle it. 

"You should get some sleep, my Lady," Luwin says. 

"I should go to the celebration..." 

"Looking like that?" Her Uncle demands, "No, you'll go to bed and if anyone asks we'll tell them you wanted to check on the babes. No one in their right mind would take offense to that." 

Meredith frowns, nods, and allows her Uncle to guide her to her bed chambers where he quietly murmurs that he's proud of her. Then he ushers Meredith into the room and doesn't leave until she's shut the door behind her. Meredith takes a moment to press her forehead against the cool wood before she goes to remove the ruined shirt, clean the drying blood from the rest of her body, and climb beneath the heavy furs where she curls up on her side and slips off without so much as a second thought. 

She's woken by hands on her, warm and calloused, and Meredith only startles for a moment before she realizes that it's Ned rolling her onto her back and carefully pulling the bandage away with trembling, fumbling fingers. Terror. The look painting his face is something akin to terror. Regret pangs through her, a nasty feeling welling in her chest as she realizes that while she expected his anger, she never expected terror. Not from Ned. Not from the man who's trusted her so fully and never asked any questions when it came to some of her plans. It was a horrible thing for her to do, scare him this way, and Meredith knows she'll have to apologize for it as soon as Ned is in a calm enough state to listen. 

Which isn't now. 

Because his pupils are blown wide, his brow furrowed, his mouth pressed into a twisting line, and his entire body trembles. 

Meredith, with steadier hands, reaches up to carefully pull away the bandage Maester Luwin had done. 

She has no idea what the sutures look like as she never bothered looking at them but they must be prettily done because some of the tension eases out of Ned's body, slowly, slowly, until his body is left trembling and his head drops to rest against her chest, right over her heart. And still, he trembles, muttering something in the language he was raised speaking, fingers curled tight around her sides. 

Afraid. 

Ned Stark is afraid. 

Meredith clings to him then, curling her arms tight around his shoulders despite the way it pulls at the wound on her arm. 

"It's alright," she whispers, soothing and calm, the same voice she uses for Robb and Jon when they cry, "I'm alright." 

Quiet. 

Nothing but rattling breath. 

Then, "What were you thinking? Do you realize how dangerous that was?" 

"I do." 

"Then why, Meredith, why would you do it?" Ned pulls away, cages her body with his arms and legs, eyes burning in the dark, "Do you realize that a little deeper and you could have died? Do you realize just how badly this all could have ended? I understood wanting to confront Roose and Barbrey, I allowed it, but I would never have allowed you to do so if I'd known." 

"And that's why I didn't tell you." Meredith replies, wincing a bit. 

Anger disappears as Ned rolls off and begins checking her over for other wounds, inspecting the ones she has with a more critical eye. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else? Headaches? Loss of balance? Blurry vision, um, dry mouth, delirium?" 

"Are you trying to ask if I've been poisoned?" 

"Damnit Meredith, answer the question." Ned growls, fingers flexing at her hip. 

"No, I never let Roose Bolton close enough to poison me and Barbrey didn't inflict this wound." She promises. 

"I gave you that knife so you could defend yourself from them," Ned hisses at her, "not so you could try to kill yourself." 

Meredith reaches up and runs her thumb over Ned's cheekbone. 

"I'm sorry, Ned." she says to him, "I should have told you everything. It was cruel of me to trick you into this the way that I did... I didn't realize it would scare you when you heard and I'm so, so sorry for that." 

Ned takes a deep breath, sighs, then he says, "I found out from a servant. They told me they saw you wandering to the Nursery, bloody, and that you looked unbothered. Barbrey may be a hateful woman but she wouldn't harm you under guest rights... but I didn't know what was going on and then I got here and say the shift and the cloth you used to wash the mess away and it was so much Meredith. So much blood." 

His voice cracks at the end. 

And Meredith realizes that it's more than just his fear of her. 

Once, her uncle told her that some men find it hard to leave the battlefield. That the horror dogs their steps for the rest of their lives. Ned is one of those men. Perhaps not as negatively effected as some, but definitely touched by the terror's he saw fighting Robert's rebellion, and no matter now unknowingly she'd done it, Meredith brought it back in some way. The horror, the fear, the memories of blood. So, with an aching heart, Meredith pulls Ned close and hold his tight. 

"I'm sorry," she says, voice thick with tears, "I'm so sorry." 

"Don't do it again, Merdith, never again." Ned half begs, half demands. 

It's a promise Meredith won't make. 

She'd bleed for him and their children a thousand times over and never regret a single moment of it. 

"I promise I'll be more careful from now on and that I won't keep anymore secrets from you." 

It isn't a good enough promise, they both know it, but it seems to be enough because Ned merely holds her tights and rolls them so that Meredith is draped over his body. She doesn't try to move away or ask him to loosen his grip. Instead Meredith just settles more comfortably against Ned's body and helps him arrange the furs so that they cover them both. It's uncomfortable, Meredith knows because there's no way for her to lay without her arm going dead or her back twinging, and she's sure Ned isn't breathing properly, but he doesn't complain and neither does she and soon they're both slipping off into sleep. 

Three days later Meredith wears a high collared gown in Stark grey with dark blue scales sewn into the bodice. She smiles politely at Barbrey Dustin as she says goodbye to her son, who stands between her and Lady Dustin with a sunny smile as he receives his mother's goodbyes. It had been Ned's idea to foster Beric Dustin despite Meredith's claims that it could make Barbrey hate her more. He hadn't cared, simply stated that if Barbrey was going to continue to think of ways to move against their family then she might as well have consequences to consider to. Meredith would never allow any harm to come to sweet Beric Dustin while he's in her care and she doubts Ned ever would try to harm the child, so at the end of the day it's an empty threat. 

But it's a threat all the same. 

One Barbrey is under the assumption holds more weight then it ever truly will. 

When the older woman is done pressing sweet kisses to her son's head and telling him much she'll miss him and how much she adores him,  Meredith steps forward and places her hand on Beric's shoulder. 

"Your son will be well cared for, Lady Dustin." Meredith tells the other woman, who's eyes blaze for a moment before she lets out a shaking breath. 

"He'll be Lord of Barrowtown one day," the warning misses. 

For what does Lady Barbrey have now? A child, yes, but one Meredith with nurture and guide far from the hateful whispers of his mother. Beric will grow loyal to the Starks as they raise him as one of theirs and love him and cherish him and teach him the ways of the world. With no one to whisper hatefully in his ear, Beric has no reason to one day rebel against them. Barbrey Dustin knows this. She has a Ladyship over Barrowtown but her heir in now a ward of the man she hates and a woman who threatened her with pain beyond death. There's nothing for her to gain from stirring up more trouble, not when she feels the Starks may be using Beric as something of a political hostage. Which isn't the case necessarily, but isn't entirely untrue either. 

Beric Dustin may be something of a political hostage but he's a child and innocent of his mother and father's wrongs. Meredith will treat him as one of her own and perhaps one day the rift between them will mend. But for today, Lady Barbrey is afraid for her child and Meredith refuses to taunt the terrified woman. So she remains quiet as Barbrey says her goodbyes and places chaste kisses upon her precious son's cheeks. 

And when the time comes for her to leave the walls of Winterfell, Meredith takes Beric's hand in hers and offers a smile before turning to watch as the procession of people from Barrowtown mount their horses and go. The last of the Lords and Ladies to leave after the Great Libations. Roose was the first. Barbrey the last. Meredith knows she's made an impression on both. 

"Come along, sweetling," Meredith says to Beric, who turns to look at her with wide hazel eyes, "we'll go to the kitchens and get you a treat yes? I'm sure this is all very strange to you." 

The little boy hesitates a moment before his little fingers curl even tighter around Meredith's fingers and she takes it as a sign to guide him back into the Keep. 

Chapter Text

A moon passes, two, and things settle once more in Winterfell. 

Beric is a delight. Sweeter than his mother by a great deal and quick as a whip. He thrives in his lessons with Maester Luwin and Ned, taking to the material like a fish takes to water and flourishing beneath their tender, careful guidance. The boy's also sweet to Meredith, following her around the Keep when he doesn't have lessons and letting her teach him the bow, and asking her questions about the South with that sort of boyish curiosity that tells her his interest is more in it's differences from the North than an actual desire to know about it. Which doesn't bother Meredith any. So she tells him stories that'll satisfy his curiosity and smiles when he spins some of them into games to play. A sweet boy, sweeter than his mother by leaps and bounds. Meredith's honestly surprised. 

But perhaps that's the way of things when it comes to parents and their children. 

Gods know Robb and Jon are going to be vast different if their current behaviors are anything to go by. 

Robb's already toddling around, stumbling on his feet and babbling incoherently as he forces not only Wynafryd, but his parents, to chase him through the halls of Winterfell. Meredith's heart melts a bit whenever he calls her 'ma' or when he looks to Ned with his pudgy little cheeks and his grasping hands held aloft as he demands to be held. Ned always complies, of course, swooping their son up into his arms and carrying him wherever Ned had been going originally. 

In opposition, Jon is still crawling, seemingly undetermined to start taking his first steps despite Meredith's best efforts. Maester Luwin says that some babes take longer, that it doesn't mean anything is wrong or will be, just that some babes don't walk until sometimes into their second year. Meredith hopes that Jon walks before then but knows that once he does Meredith will have two little ones to wrangle. Despite not walking, Jon has begun talking, spitting out words and lilting phrases that shift between total comprehension and mindless word spewing. Meredith doesn't correct him whenever he calls her his mother either, just smiles and scoops him up and peppers his little cheeks with kisses that leave him giggling. 

Ned never tells her to correct him either. 

Meredith thinks that Ned likes when he calls Jon her son, thinks that he likes that she's willing to become the mother his sister's son so desperately needs in his life. They've talked about legitimizing him. In the quiet of their shared chambers where there aren't ears to overhear or eyes following them about. Ned voices his concerns about Robert, about Dorne - who have been too quiet since Elia's death, and about the Targaryens who managed to flee Dragonstone and go to the Free Cities where Robert's rage has no hold over them. Meredith understands Ned's concern, of course, whatever affection Jon might have for Lyanna it wouldn't be enough to temper his rage. Not in this way. Meredith would never expose Jon as a Targaryen, would never throw him to the lions and the wild beasts like that, but Snow only offers him so much protection. With a legitimization he'd be able to hold a Lordship in one of the castles that Meredith plans to have reestablished, or he could go to the Free Cities, or Dorne, and if he wanted he would be able to wed any woman he wanted - noble and common alike. Meredith doesn't care. She just wants her babes happy. 

Because Jon's just as much hers as Robb is. 

Just as much as any other babe she has. 

She won't delude herself into thinking there won't be mutterings that will lead to insecurities, her family will certainly have something to say about it, but Meredith is a Lady of a High House now and her own woman to boot. If she wants to have Jon legitimized then that's her decision to make. Not her father's, not Catelyn's, not the world's. Hers and hers alone. Asking Ned for his support is just a formality at this point... and since he approves there's no reason for her not to at least try. 

So a missive to Robert Baratheon is drafted and sent off on the leg of a large black raven. 

Meredith watches it go with her heart in her throat and prays to the Old Gods and the New that he will legitimize her son. 

"Ma, ma, ma pick me up." Jon urges, tugging at the end of her skirt. 

Meredith looks away from her embroidery into the pleading grey eyes of Jon and smiles as she sets aside the hoop in order to scoop him up into her arms. 

"Hello, sweetling, how are you today?" She asks, gently tapping her finger against his nose. 

Jon leans back, his tiny fingers curling tight around hers so he doesn't topple off her lap as he says, "I'm hungry." 

"Oh? What would you like to eat, sweetling?" Meredith asks, running the pad of her thumb over his soft knuckles. 

Her boy makes a show of scrunching up his features, dark eyes darkened further by the furrow of his brow, then with a happy smile he declares, "Tarts!'

"Tarts? The blueberry tarts?" Meredith asks, to which Jon nods. 

"Very well," Meredith tells him as she rises, not bothering to grab the basket full of embroidery pieces as Lara will grab them and return them to her chambers, "we'll have to find your brother so that he can have some as well." 

Jon nods seriously, as if not asking Robb to join them would be the greatest of offenses. 

"He's with papa." Jon tells her, which doesn't surprise her. 

When Ned isn't doing the more physical aspects of his duties as Warden of the North he can often be found in the Lord's Solar with one of the boys or with Beric - who has begun taking his lessons with Ned at Meredith's insistence that the boy needs to had some sort of loyalty or admiration for Ned outside of blind duty. Out of everyone in the Keep Ned and Damyn are the men Beric looks up to the most and Meredith tries to foster those admirations as much as possible. Today is Ned's day, tomorrow Meredith will send Damyn off with Beric for some lesson or another. It'll give the older man something to do in any case. 

Meredith doesn't understand why he pledged himself to her. 

When asked he'd merely smiled, shrugged, and said that being the sworn shield of Lady Stark is an honor and that it also gives him purpose outside of serving at Cerwyn Castle. Meredith chalks it all up to a desire to do something outside of his family but Ned assures her that it's more than that. Even though he won't explain why exactly that is. Meredith can't comprehend why a man like Damyn Cerwyn would want to follow her around during the day and occasionally go riding with her when Meredith finds the smallest sliver of free-time that allows her the ability to sneak off with her horse. it's ridiculous... but he's good with a mace and Meredith won't deny that the added weapon is a bonus when it comes to the possible defense of her family. 

Still, having him follow her around aimlessly seems cruel. 

So she allows him his free time to do as he pleases and only calls upon his services when she leaves the walls of Winterfell. 

Which means there's no one to really judge her as she baby talks Jon and makes her way to the Lord's Solar where she finds her son and her husband's ward both sitting in a large, overly plush chair while Ned spreads maps and papers across his desk. 

"Seems riveting." Meredith remarks as she goes over to ruffle both Robb and Beric's hair. 

Ned looks up from the maps, smiles. 

"Incredibly." He sounds exhausted. 

Meredith smiles before she moves to stand in front of Beric, who blinks up at her with his dimpled grin. 

"Alright sweetling, let's get you something to eat." She says, ruffling thick, dark hair. 

"But it's not mid-day." Beric says, sounding nervous. 

Meredith shrugs and ushers him out of the chair before helping Robb to his feet. Once everyone is up Meredith leads them from the room with the promise of food and a smile to Ned, who watches her with those warm, warm eyes of his. Meredith thinks she'll grab something for him as well, or have it sent up at the very least. The man works himself too hard and Meredith wonders if he's even eating properly outside of the evening meal when they're actually able to eat together. Meredith shuts the solar door behind her and makes for the kitchens with the boys toddling at her heels. Robb's fingers grip onto her skirt for stability as he navigates the corridors, Meredith makes sure her steps are in pace with his own and slow enough not to accidentally trip him. 

Their little group makes their way to the kitchens. 

Smiling at the servants - who've seen this enough times now to know not to be worried about the sudden appearance of their Lady and her children - and discussing what they might do afterward. Beric wants to show her a new trick he's learned while studying with Rodrik Cassel. Meredith tells him that after they've all eaten and the boys have been put down for their naps she'd be glad to follow him out to the yards and watch him. 

He doesn't stop smiling all through his meal. 

Meredith wonders at the differences between her methods of mothering and Barbrey's own. 

It isn't... well, it isn't to say Barbrey Dustin's a bad mother, Meredith doubts that she's a bad mother, but perhaps it's more to do with the fact that she's lost a husband and has had to take up the mantel of a ruling Lady on top of her mourning period. It must be hard to balance mourning, governing one's people, and raising a child. There's no doubt that Barbrey loves her boy and loves him dearly, Meredith would never claim otherwise, but there's something about the way Beric preens under her kindest attentions that makes Meredith wonder if Barbrey's been ignoring him a bit, or at the very least not spending the same amount of time with him she did before her husband's death. 

She feeds him another tart and listens to the children babble and wonder if fostering Beric serves more purpose than to just leash Barbrey Dustin. 

She wasn't lying when she said she'd let Ned fuck her in the Godswood. 

They haven't discussed it in length, haven't talked about it at all since the night of the Libations, and Meredith hasn't brought it up again not because she's worried that Ned will deny it - which he might if he feels like it's improper or dishonors her in any way - but because she wants it to be a surprise. Special. She's been planning it for weeks. 

For the most part everything is relatively simple.

After a few weeks of careful observation Meredith noticed that the Keep settles into silence about an hour or two before midnight, the only people wandering the corridors being the guards, which means the Godswoods will be empty. It's a bit chilly out, truthfully, but nothing completely intolerable. There's no snow on the ground anyway. And Meredith doubts that it'll really matter if it's a bit chilly if the two of them are going to be fucking. Realistically, everything she needed for the actual surprise hadn't been all that time consuming to acquire. 

What had gotten her was the dress she'd been making for the occasion. 

The blue silk Ned had given her after the war hadn't been put to use. Meredith had originally intended to use it for a dress for her daughter or for something for herself should she ever travel South to visit Catelyn or Lysa. Inspiration had struck her, however, when she'd been mending some of her own clothes just over a fortnight ago. She'd dug through her trunks in search of some excess material she could use to let out the bust of her favorite under dress when she'd stumbled upon the underclothes Amara must have slipped in at some point while packing her things. They'd been based on the more provocative styles of the Free Cities and Dorne, where more revealing dresses are favored. Clearly these aren't nearly as... extravagant... but they'd been made for Meredith to wear when she believed she'd be married to a Dornish man and had wanted to grow more accustomed to the styles worn in the harsher environment. 

Meredith hadn't thought the creamy colored fabric appropriate for such things but she'd thought that Ned might appreciate them all the same. 

So here she is, slipping into carefully embroidered small clothes that barely do anything to cover her body. The fabric is snug around her hips and ribs, comfortable, but it clings like wet cloth to her breasts and bum. The silvery flower embroidery she'd spent weeks slaving over is the prettiest bit about it in Meredith's opinion... though she'd be willing to bet Ned will like the style more than anything. 

With a wicked sort of grin Meredith slips into the night gown she'd made to match - Meredith had wanted to save as much of the blue silk as possible so that one day she might tease Ned with a proper gown to remind him of the night, so her current gown hardly covers her knees and is just as clingy as everything else. Once she'd dressed Meredith applies a bit of rogue to her mouth and cheeks, slips on one of Ned's larger cloaks, steps into a pair of slippers, and leaves their shared chambers to go search for him. Which won't take long as Ned's been pulling later nights in his solar as he tries to set up everything he needs for a port on the western shores of the North. Nothing's come of it yet, the two of them are still trying to make plans for it, but Ned seems to think it'll work so he's been throwing himself into his work. 

Meredith thinks it might also have to do with something else but she isn't sure and doesn't want to push. 

If Ned isn't telling her then it means it's nothing serious. 

"Is everything alright, my Lady?" A man asks, causing Meredith to jump a bit and clutch her husband's cloak tighter around her. 

Her heart beats violently against her chest as a young man blinks at her, unsuspecting and surprised. Meredith chuckles a bit and says, "Apologies. I hadn't heard you approach. Everything is fine, I'm simply looking for my Lord Husband." 

The man nods and tells her, "I believe Lord Stark is in the Lord's Solar... would you like me to escort you?" 

"No, thank you," Meredith shifts under the man's unassuming gaze, "I'll leave you to your duties." 

"Yes, my Lady." 

The man turns and walks down the corridor. 

Meredith takes a moment to swallow the heavy lump forming in her throat - a giggle, nervous though it may be - and darts off in the other direction towards the Lord's Solar where she indeed finds her husband curled over a series of ledgers and parchments. There aren't any open inkwells, so Meredith thinks Ned must be finishing up for the most part. She smiles as she steps further into the room, knocking gently upon the door to alert Ned to her presence. 

"Meredith," he sounds alert, "what are you doing here? It's late." 

The door shuts behind her with a soft but heavy thunk. 

Meredith doesn't throw the bolt. 

Not for this, not for what she has planned. 

She smiles though as she moves closer to Ned, kneading his shoulders and sucking soft kisses into the side of his neck. 

"It's late." She says, voice a bit rough. 

Ned leans into her touch and says, "I know." 

"I think you need to take a break." She tells him, slipping away to to begins gathering up the papers and closing up the ledgers. 

From his vantage point behind her Ned can't see her nightgown, can't see the revealed skin, can't see the way heat crawls up Meredith's neck from her chest. She sets the last of the ledgers to the side of the desk, Ned's hands on her hips, and turns to take lean against it. Meredith catches the exact moment Ned sees the clothes hidden beneah his cloak. Catches the way his eyes widen and go dark, catches the way his breath comes in deeper and faster, catches the recognition that flashes through his eyes when he seems to get a proper look at the fabric of her newest dress. 

"Meredith." He says, fingers reaching out to drift over blue silk. 

The woman in question smiles as she undoes the clasp at her throat and lets the cloak fall to the floor at her feet. 

Against her side Ned's fingers spasm, like he hadn't been prepared for the true glory of her first surprise. She smiles as she moves to settle in his lap, knees on either side of his hips, her hands moving to rest on his shoulders as his clutch desperately at her hips. Meredith tilts her head back a bit when Ned leans in to press a wet kiss to the space above her collarbone. 

"You're beautiful." Ned tells her, making Meredith flush. 

"And you've been ignoring me." Meredith tells him, which earns her a rough laugh. 

Ned's fingers graze over her hips, her stomach, up to the the swell of her breast. He places another kiss on her shoulder, another, another. 

"I apologize, I hadn't realized my little wife was so neglected." Ned murmurs against her skin. 

"You could always make it up to me." Meredith retorts as she pulls away, sliding off his lap and leaning against the desk. 

Obviously Ned thinks she's going to hop up on the desk and spread her legs, any other time she might have done so. But she has plans for tonight that don't involve her getting fucked on his desk. Still, it's something else watching Ned fall to his knees in front of her, fingers and mouth dancing across the skin of her thighs which are now revealed by the bunched fabric of the gown. She allows him a few lingering kissed on her inner knee before she gently shoves him away. 

"Sadly, I hadn't planned on fucking you tonight." Meredith jests, careful to make that very clear in her tone, "I just wanted to tell you that it's getting late." 

"Is that so?" 

"Yes, there are only a few guards running about." 

"I see." 

"Well," Meredith rises from the desk and makes for the door, "I just wanted to inform you of that.' 

She gets as far as the door before Ned's voice - a deep, rumbling growl that sends a violent shiver down her spine - stops her. 

"What are you doing?" Ned demands, and Meredith turns to find him on one knee next to the desk, his fingers curled tight around his cloak. 

"I'm going back to bed, my Lord." Meredith says, smirking wickedly at him as she begins pulling the door open. 

Ned lunges forward, Meredith's already out in the hall before he reaches her, sprinting through the silent corridors of Winterfell with Ned hot on her heels. He's gaining fast. Meredith can't help but laugh a bit as she takes a sharp left out of the corridor that leads to the family wing and toward a side door that will take her to the court yard. She doesn't stop even when she hears Ned's hissed curse. So very, very close. Meredith slows just enough to slip out the side door, sticking close to the shadows cast by the Keep to stay out of sight as she makes for the Godswood. 

A quick glance is cast over her shoulder when she finally reaches the edge of the tree line. 

Silence. 

Meredith and Ned stare at one another from their respective places. Her in her thin nightgown and Ned in his tunic and breaches. He's gotten rid of his cloak at some point. Meredith pants, smiling, and steps back into the trees - which is all Ned needs to signal the beginning of a different kind of game. Everything happens so quickly. One moment Meredith is sprinting down the path that leads to the Heart Tree, which she reaches just seconds before Ned bursts into the clearing behind her, and the next she's being laid out on the ground by Ned. 

Burning hands glide over her legs, fingers locking tight around the back of her knees, and Ned uses the leverage to pull her close enough the he practically drags her into his lap. Meredith whimpers as he moves his hands to her hips and uses them to to keep her still as he shifts forward to crowd into her space. 

"Oh you, lovely, filthy girl." He breathes against her clothes breath, "So good and sweet for me... did you make this? it's very pretty..." 

Ned's fingers bunch the skirt of her nightgown around her hips, pulls the tight little thing up her body and - with a bit of her help - over her head. He leaves it around her arms, which he lays out over her head with a firm order to keep them there before he turns his attention to her underthings. 

"Naughty girl, were you trying to show off?" Ned asks before he leans down and sucks a pebbling nipple into his mouth, sucking through the silk. "What if someone had seen you? What if someone had dared to touch you?" Ned blows warm air against the wet spot. 

Desperately, Meredith attempts to rock her hips up against Ned. Searching for that sweet pleasure she's grown so accustomed to getting from him. Instead of touching her like he's usually wont to do, Ned merely laughs against her breast and turns his attention to the other. By the time he's had enough of teasing her through her clothes Meredith is a shivering, pleading mess of sweaty, too hot skin and desperation so sharp it hurts. 

"Please," she begs, half a sob as Ned tugs gently at the ribbons keeping the piece in place. "Please, please, please." 

Ned nips at the side of her breast, laves his tongue over the skin between then, and laughs softly, "You plead so sweetly for me, precious girl... is this what you want? For me to take you here where the Gods can see?" 

Meredith whimpers, finally managing to get enough friction to provide some sort of relief to the ache. 

It's not enough though. Ned's only giving her just enough to make the pleasure seem paltry in comparison to what he's doing to her. Meredith groans, drops her head back, arches into his touch. Rough fingers brush over that little bundle of nerves and Meredith shrieks. 

"Poor thing, so desperate." Ned's fingers press a little rougher. "I'll take better care of you, pretty thing. You're so good for me; I told them so, you know... I told them you were perfection... never lied, pretty thing, not once." 

Pleasure seizes her up, draws her muscles taut like a bow string and leaves her a whimpering pile of limb when it becomes less painful. 

Meredith twitches as her husband presses a soft kiss to her shoulder. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, tone softer, less forceful. 

"Yes." she manages to gasp out. 

"Good," Ned's gentile caressing takes on a harsher feel, "because I'm far from done with you." 

There's a moment where Meredith can see the consideration in Ned's eyes and wonders what she must look like; breast bared but only barely, slick-soaked and trembling, hazy eyed. Ned must like it because he groans as he pulls away from her, inching down her body, pausing only long enough to ease her smalls down to her knees so he can use the silk to lock her legs in place over her shoulders as he ducks between her legs. 

"There's a saying in the old tongue," Ned's voice falls into the rough, harsh tones of a language Meredith doesn't understand, "it essentially means that there's nothing so sweet as that which is given to us by the Gods..." Ned's tongue drags across her, soft suction around her bundle causing Meredith to sob and clench at her nightgown. "You must have been sent by them... sweetest thing I've ever tasted." 

Meredith barely gets a moment to prepare herself before Ned is sealing his mouth over her and bringing her to ruin again, and again, and again. Each climax growing more and more intense until Meredith is struck dumb by it. Pain and pleasure seeping into one another, becoming unrecognizable, leaving behind nothing but the need for more. More of Ned, more of this, more, more, more, and when Ned pulls away from her Meredith can't decide if she's relieved or not. Warmth blossoms in her chest when Ned presses a kiss to her trembling thighs. First one, then the other. Licking the salt of her sweat off and smiling at her with dark, dark eyes. 

Fingers threat through his hair, thumb brushing his cheek, Ned presses his face into her palm before pulling away to duck under her smalls and crawl his way up her body. 

"Can you give me another? Just one more? I'm afraid I've been incredibly selfish, keeping you all to myself," she tastes herself on his tongue when he kisses her. "Can you give me one more, sweet girl? A tribute to our gods?" 

Meredith isn't sure about what the exact tradition is - frankly, she doesn't have the presence of mind to really think about it - but she knows that it must be incredibly important to the religious traditions of a North ruled by Winter Kings and Queens. Isn't that why Meredith came here? Weak kneed but deliriously happy, Meredith's voice comes out shaky as she says, "Yes, one more." 

And the smile she receives is sweet compared to the filthy grin that soon paints her husband's face. 

"Good girl," Ned murmurs, hands on her hips, "good, sweet, precious thing." 

Then she's being rolled over onto her stomach and guided up onto her knees facing the Heart Tree, whose eyes seem to stare blisteringly at her and Ned from the pale white bark. Meredith trembles as Ned presses close, fingers threading through her hair and guiding her head to the side to he can such a bruise into the scar left behind from her confrontation with Barbrey. It's still tender as it's only just healed completely, the scab flaking away to reveal shiny pink skin, but Meredith thinks that it's nice. 

Meredith cries out as Ned fucks himself into her, hard and fast, the sound of his body meeting hers incredibly loud in the quiet clearing. His free hand tugs at her nipple, one then the other, and then drifts down to the source of her pleasure. He's gentler this time, this touch feather light, and Meredith finds herself babbling incoherently soon enough. Begging him to stop, begging him not to stop. Too much pleasure all at one and soon Meredith finds herself hurtling into yet another climax; fingers digging into rich soil, body trembling, scream blunted by Ned's mouth as he slots himself against her. They stay like that for a long moment as Ned releases himself inside of her, fingers lazily drifting over her body, and when he finally pulls away Meredith slumps onto the ground. Too exhausted to do much more than whimper as Ned pulls out of her. 

Over sensitivity takes root almost immediately. 

Grass beneath her knees is too rough, the silk still clinging to her body too wet, the pleasure turning into a pleasant enough ache but an ache none the less. She allows herself a moment to collect her breath while Ned does.... whatever it is he's doing. Meredith can't see him through the heavy haze of pleasure-pain tears, but she hears him moving around not far away. 

Something warm and heavy settles over her shoulders just before Ned is lifting her up into his arms like they haven't been fucking in the woods for the past however many hours. Meredith nuzzles into his chest despite this, tucking herself under his chin and listening to the rumble of his voice as he tells her how good she did for him and how proud he is of her. Meredith almost rolls her eyes at him but the praise is... nice... so is the reassurance. Meredith dozes off a bit as Ned carries back to wherever it is he plans on taking them. Wrapped in the warmth of her husband's cloak and damp from sex. 

"I need a bath." Meredith says, which earns her a snort from Ned. 

"I'd say so," he kisses her temple, "we'll get you one as soon as possible." 

Meredith hums aceptingly before sleep carries her off. 

"Is it true that you told them I was a perfect?" Meredith asks the next morning as she leans her head back against Ned's chest, lavender scented bath water sloshing a bit as she moves to adjust. 

Ned rolls his eyes and says, "Of everything that's what you'd want to know." 

"I'm just curious if you actually told all the Northern Lords that I'm the most perfect woman you've ever met." Meredith laughs.

Though she is genuinely curious. 

Ned's fingers run gently over her arm, tracing patterns she doesn't know, and he eventually admits, "The Old Tongue doesn't have translatable words in the common tongue, but I essentially told them that you were my Lady, chosen by the Gods and tried by them, that you were deemed perfect for the role of Lady of the North and therefore I saw you as nothing less than my equal." 

"Seem bold." 

"You've given me a son, Meredith, bore the uncertainty of that alone and with more honor than some might have... you've not only given me a son but provided a mother for another son of mine as well. You've acted as a defender to them and this house on more then one occasion and I'm honored that the Gods chose to unify our fates." He tells her, serious and quiet. 

Meredith smiles, presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw, and says, "I bet they loved that." 

"I bet the majority of them didn't give two fucks as long as they got a chance at seeing your breasts." Ned retorts, a little too bitterly. 

But she doesn't say anything about it. 

Simply chooses to settle back against the warmth of her husband's chest and allow the warm water to soothe her aching body. 

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark was never supposed to inherit the Lordship of Winterfell or the title of Warden of the North, not truly. He'd been born and raised for the purpose of inheriting should something terrible happen to Brandon or their father, but as the true Stark heir had survived the uncertain years of his childhood and thrived into his adulthood, it had become increasingly obvious to everyone that Ned was never going to Inherit. So he'd accepted the fact that he'd likely become a steward in his own home or marry a Northern bride with a claim to Lordship and no brother. Ned hadn't been upset about it, others in his position might have, but Ned was always content in his life. Even when he was sent to the Eyrie to be fostered by Jon Arryn as a boy no older than eight name days. He'd made good friends in the Eyrie and enjoyed the little freedom that being a second son offered and he loved his family with everything he'd had.

Then Lyanna ran away with Rhaegar Targaryen and the entirety of the realm assumed she'd been kidnapped, taken from her tent in the dead of night and spirited away to be raped by another Mad King-to-be.

The weeks that follow are full of tension and fear as Rickard Stark tries to formulate the best strategy to get their Lya back, and like good sons Ned and Brandon never falter in their obedience. So when Ned's told by his father to return to Winterfell with Benjen and wait until the time came to either rally troops or prepare for Lya's return. Weeks drag on. Ned returns to Winterfell, plays at being a Lord for a Keep he was never taught to truly manage and prays every day for the safe return of his family. Time passes on. 

Days after day, night after night. 

No letters. 

No news. 

Then one day a raven arrives from Jon Arryn carrying the news of the murders of Rickard and Brandon Stark. 

A raven from King's Landing arrives only hours later. 

Bend the knee as Lord of Winterfell and suffer only your stripped title of Warden of the North or die, he remembers the missive - short thing that it was - like it's been burned into his brain. A brand that's never properly healed over and continues to ooze anytime Ned tries to forget it's presence. 

So Ned, a boy of ten-and-nine with no true experience in ruling or leading soldiers into war, rallies his father's banner men to answer the call of Robert Baratheon's justice. 

He's titled Warden of the North on the mutilated remains of his father and brother's bodies and bears the weight of everything such travesty heaps upon his shoulders; a sister to save, a brother and father to avenge, a people to protect, and a country to salvage. And so he meets Robert's Legion at the Bloody Gate where they wait for Jon Arryn. It takes days for the army to amass itself to anything truly threatening and by the time the three Lords have gathered their forces Aerys Targaryen is demanding for the other realms to bend the knee and defend their King or die by dragon fire. The same fire that had taken the life of his father - and the first time Eddard Stark takes a man's life he wonders if the boy had enlisted in the King's army to save his own family... the same way Brandon had strangled himself trying to save theirs. It becomes apparently obvious after that bloody little battle that they need to gather the forces of Hoster Tully, who has remained suspiciously quiet since their rebellion started. 

At the Crossroads Inn Jon commissions a letter; he asks for Robert's terms, asks what they're willing to give, and then when Robert refuses to even look at a betrothal contract between one of the Tully girls and himself - twistedly loyal to Lyanna as he is - Ned steps up to take yet another thing that should have been Brandon's. Catelyn Tully. 

They'd met at Harrenhal and a few times before that. Ned had never paid her much attention outside of the distant sort of curiosity when one meets a good sister, but he remembers that she'd been a pretty girl with a pretty smile and a sweet sort of wit. Brandon had disliked the Southern gentility of her but Ned thinks... Ned thinks that he can learn to live with it if it means he'll avenge his family. Jon's pitying smile is supposed to be reassuring, or so Ned thinks, but the fact of the matter is Ned will do his duty one way or the other. Ned will uphold the betrothal contract between Houses Stark and Tully because it's what's expected of him. So he steadfastly ignores the way Jon and Robert look at him as they all sign their lives away on the parchment that's to be sealed and sent to Hoster Tully. 

Another week passes. 

Ravens fly between all the realms as Lord's attempt to negotiate peace and Robert demands war or Lyanna and Ned tries to to drown in the guilt beginning to gnaw away his insides the longer it takes to get his sister home. Until finally Hoster Tully's raven arrives and Ned learns that it isn't the eldest Tully daughter that Hoster has decided Ned will marry. No. It's the middle daughter instead, the one he's never met and only vaguely remembers hearing about in a passing comment made by Catelyn at Harrenhal when Brandon had asked after his betrothed's family. Catelyn had said that her sister was kind and gracious, a perfect Southern daughter, and while Ned doesn't think that's much to base his opinion on he thinks that gracious and kind is far from the worst thing a Southern girl can be. Ned will do anything in his power to avenge Brandon and their father, even going so far as to marry Catelyn with her barely hidden distaste of the Northern culture and a bit too much rigidness - as he expects to find in his too-be-bride when he remembers how Catelyn had said her sister mirrored her in manners.

He finds himself pleasantly surprised by his betrothed when they finally meet, because not only is she lovely - and she is, standing there with that red hair of hers and smiling so sweetly at him despite Ned not truly deserving it - but she's so much more than Ned had been expecting. Foolish of him, he knows, but he'd honestly been expecting the more commonly seen Southern Woman to meet him at the Heart Tree and lay in his bed, sneering and spitting barely hidden insults. Instead Meredith Tully offers her respect to his Gods and so adamantly defends not only Elia and her little ones, but Queen Rhaella and her's as well. And in that quiet moment shared in her chambers Ned feels... justified. 

Justified because he'd felt that way too. 

It hadn't been Elia or Rhaella's fault that their husbands were mad and foolish and willing to burn the realm to a husk for their green. It isn't been their children's fault that Robert's rage was unrepentant and cruel. They don't deserve the brutality that will inevitably befall them in this war and even Ned's distaste for Targaryens isn't able to excuse Robert's actions or words when it comes to them. So when the time comes for him to leave and Ned thinks back on that night he knows that Robert won't like what he's about to do. 

He pulls Maege Mormont aside one night well before they reach the Trident where Rhaegar is supposedly waiting for them. 

"Spirit them away," he tells her, "take them, kidnap them if you must, but those children are innocent of Rhaegar and Aerys' cruelty." 

And Maege, who has a babe of her own waiting for her at Bear Island, nods quietly before leaving without so much as an, "At your leave." 

She's gone by morning alongside a small group of her men and a handful of supplies that go unnoticed to all but Ned and a Howland Reed. Neither of them say a word. Neither of them have to. Children are precious things in this world, untouched by the cruelty of it, and sometimes the best way to protect them is by less honorable methods. No one is the wiser to Maege Mormont's disappearance as their troops finally arrive at the Trident.

The ensuing battle is bloody and lasts longer than Ned likes. The fighting never truly ends, bodies might be pulled from the bloody banks but even that quiet moment is full of violence. Ned doesn't remember much of that battle. Only knows he slaughtered so many people - innocent and guilty alike - because their horrified eyes haunt him in his dreams and sometimes even in his waking moments. When Robert finally manages to kill Rhaegar and scatter his troops it's a relief. But Lyanna isn't in Rhaegar's tent, she isn't bound and gagged and brutalized like Ned was preparing himself for. She's no where near the battle, likely never was, and so Roberty leads them further South. 

Along the way there's more war, more killing, more bleeding, and more faces to join the ones that follow Ned as he goes with Robert to King's landing in the hopes of finding where Lyanna is being kept. 

Then Tywin's son slaughters the King and Ned can't really bring himself to care about the boy's act of treason because he's not a hypocrite, but he doesn't stop Jon from naming him King's Slayer because he frankly doesn't care. Not when he's forced to look upon the bodies laid out at Robert's feet by Tywin Lannister and his golden son; Gentle Elia with her body cleaved in two and her face a mask of terror, little Aegon and the clinging, mushy remnant of what had once been his silvery head. 

Ned almost empties the contents of his stomach onto his shoes when he sees the way Robert stares at their mutilated corpses and just... there's no remorse, no pity. Nothing but cool anger and indifference to the suffering of innocent people. Even the way he sends their bodies to Dorne is an act of political maneuvering as opposed to genuine respect for the dead. 

Silk and finery but no true justice against for them. 

Ned leaves King's Landing with a small party the moment he learns where Lya is being kept and doesn't wait for Robert. 

Days of hard riding and listening to William Dustin bemoan the lack of a woman warming his bed with the same look in his eye he'd had the night he'd taken liberties with Meredith does nothing to improve Ned's mood or lesson the building tension. The more Ned listens to Lord Dustin, the more he has to see that look in his eye, the more Ned wants to unleash the anger and the hurt and the helplessness he's being feeling since King's Landing on William. He only keeps himself from doing so because infighting won't save Lyanna. 

Turns out, nothing will save her. 

She's so pale when Ned finds her in that tower; the blood she'd lost staining her bed covers and making the room smell like iron. Ned thinks of Meredith for a horrible, horrible moment and finds himself wondering if his own wife has suffered this torment while giving birth to their son as he kneels at Lyanna's side and promises he'll never let anything happen to her babe. 

Lyanna Stark dies crying, begging, and Ned will never forget that for as long as he breathes. 

It all goes to shit from there. 

"Dragon Spawn," William Dustin says when he sees the babe tucked in Howland's arms and the dead girl wrapped in bloody cloth in Ned's, "not even Stark blood will be able to temper it... best to leave it here then. Mercy, compared to what the Baratheon boy will do." 

One moment Lord Dustin is remarking on whether or not it would be considered mercy or kin slaying and the next Howland Reed is thrusting a bloody knife deep into William Dustin's neck. He and Ned both watch as the dark haired Lord chokes on his own blood, gurgling and spewing red onto the hot sand around his head. 

He dies in agony and Ned can't bring himself to place William Dustin's body next to his sister's on the cart. 

So he and Howland leave him in the sands to rot in the sweltering heat of Dorne.  

Later that night when the two are forced to stop in a small village they play at being common men searching for a local healer, who promises to tend to Lya's corpse while her supposed husband and good brother rest at the nearest in where a wet nurse can be found for Jon. She's a motherly thing, Wylla, and she tends to Jon with such skill that Ned feels like a drunkard playing at dice in comparison. 

"What will you tell your wife?" Howland asks quietly. 

"That he's my blood." 

He can't very well lie to Meredith. Love her, he may not, but Ned can't bring himself to dishonor Meredith in this way. Lying is messy. It makes a mess of everything and Ned's only doing it now because it was Lyanna who asked it of him and how can Ned refuse her? Lyanna, the sister with too much wolf's blood and not nearly enough sense... but his sister none the less.

Gods, if he and Meredith ever have daughters he's making sure they grow up smarter then Lyanna. 

Running off with Rhaegar fucking Targaryen, Ned rubs furiously at his eyes and scowls at the wetness that lingers on his fingers, what was she thinking? 

Two days later they gather Lya's prepared body fromt he healer, pay him a hefty price in gold, and send a letter to King's Landing with news of Lyanna Stark's death before Ned and Howland begin the trek back North.

His return to Winterfell isn't announced with trumpets or banners, nor met with the cheering of small folks or the laughter of children, it is nothing like Robert's had been in King's Landing when news of Aerys death and Robert's rule had reached the terrorized masses of the common folk. There's no joy in this moment. Nothing but the mournful whisper of lingering winter winds over Northern hills and the whimpering of a babe too lost in his discomfort to be soothed even by Ned's careful - though fumbling and unskilled - efforts. Even the men who have followed him back to Winterfell are solemn. A distinct lack of enthusiasm or relief permeating the air like a stench. Ned can't even blame them. Everything had gone to shit during the war and how can Ned blame any of the men fighting under his banner for being reluctant to return home when Ned himself feels vaguely ill upon seeing the castle he'd never truly gotten to call home rising up into the sky. 

The hore beneath him ambles on, uncaring of Ned's reluctance, and soon enough he's being carried through the main gate into the courtyard of Winterfell where his brother and wife are waiting to meet him alongside the servants and lesser Lords sworn to his house. 

Benjen looks well, paler and thinner than last they saw one another but considering everything that's happened Ned isn't actually all that surprised. His brother carries himself the same and smiles sadly at him when they make eye contact. Ned aches at seeing such a familiar look of despair reflected back at him in Benjen's face and curses Lyanna's foolishness.

Any other Lord. 

Any other man. 

Hells, she could have run off to the Free Cities to avoid marrying Robert... but a Targaryen? A married King-to-be with madness in his blood and no regard for the consequences of his actions? Ned almost laughs at the irony of it. For all Lyanna had despised Robert's blase attitudes and his disregard for his actions and his reckless behavior she'd been more than willing to choose another man with the exact same qualities. Only a crown had separated Robert and Rhaegar, and Lya hadn't seen it... or maybe she had... Ned can't decide which is worse. 

Jon's weight is heavy against his arm. 

Meredith, Gods, he hadn't known what to expect when it came to her but it certainly isn't soft eyes and an even softer smile. 

Like she's genuinely relieved that he's come hom. 

He hesitates a moment, stares, Jon shifts in his arm, and it's in that single moment that Ned watches something shift in his pretty wife's face. It isn't... rage... per say. Ned thinks it's something softer, something less like a venomous snake preparing to strike and more like a cat attempting to assuage it's own curiosity before something bag happens. No anger, no malice, simply a sort of dead eyes stoniness that makes Ned feel even more sick upon seeing it. Because Meredith had been so kind when they'd last spoken, she'd laughed with him and shared trivial personal information and spoke to him in ways he hadn't expected of Catelyn Tully's sister In the dark of their shared chambers at Riverrun Ned had seen himself one day caring very deeply for Meredith, maybe even loving her. So he'd clung to memories of her smile and her laughter and kept the ravens she would send close even if he wasn't able to send any of his own. He used them to distract from the screaming and the pain and the way his tent always seemed to close in on him in the dead of the night when it felt like the world was trying to tear itself to shreds. 

Hate, there may not be, but Ned won't put it past Meredith to perhaps change her opinion on the matter later on after he's explained the story he and Howland had come up with and so later that evening Ned seeks her out when he returns to his chambers expecting to find her and is instead met with nothing but empty, dark space. While he's never once thought Meredith would ever hurt Jon - why would a woman who advocated for the safety of Targaryen children harm a babe? - he's concerned none the less. Ned just isn't expecting to find Meredith cuddling his sisters son - his bastard - and whispering sweet things to him, which is what he finds in the silvery light pressing in through the windows and the thought of Meredith holding Jon in the same manner she'd held theirs makes something in his chest loosen. 

Jon is safe enough with her. 

Ned never doubted it, not really, but the reassurance is rattling. 

Unfortunately, Ned seems to have made an even bigger mess of things that he'd initially thought and the ensuing argument between them is blistering in it's intensity. 

"You humiliated me today by not warning me." Meredith had snarled at him, softly enough that Jon wouldn't wake, "It's a humiliation because I was unprepared, unaware, and unsuspecting of Jon while the entire Northern Army was aware. But what's worse than that? Perhaps the fact that people talk, people talk and my family - alongside every other Lord and Lady of Westeros - is going to be made aware of his presence, not by me, but by rumors and gossip." Ned shifts forward, stops when Meredith steps away, "I'm not mad about Jon - and thank you, by the way, for showing just how little you've bothered to learn about me from any of our previous interactions. I'm furious because of the blatant disrespect you've shown me today." 

Shame stills his tongue, keeps him from stepping forward, stops him from trying to actually explain what's going on now that there are less ears and less doubts and Lyanna's eyes no longer staring at him from Benjen's sorrow-stricken face. So he leaves Jon with Meredith because it's clear she isn't going to do anything and retreats to his chambers with his tail securely between his legs. 

Meredith never returns to their chambers and Ned can't bring himself to do anything but accept the fact that he's just as foolish as Lya ever was.

Days pass. 

Ned finally catches a free moment to properly meet his son, his true son, and marvels at how much of Meredith he can see in the little boy's face; blue eyes, auburn curls, freckles spattered across the bridge of an upturned nose. Tully. Robb looks more Tully than Stark and Ned can't even bring himself to be even a little disappointed that there's none of himself to be found among his wife's features because it means that while Robb had been blessed with Meredith's sharpr, more Southern beauty - no long face and heavy brow for Robb it would seem - he lacks any of the traits that will remind Ned of the family he's lost. Which he knows isn't something to be thankful for but... Gods, he's thankful none the less. Because Jon looks so much like Lyanna that Ned known there will never be a time when he looks at the boy and doesn't see his dead, foolish little sister. The pain will grow distant one day and Ned will never treat Jon poorly because of it, but the reminder will always be there. 

Robby won't have that. 

Something else to thank Meredith for if she ever speaks to him again. 

She's been avoiding him. 

Rightfully so... but the longer she distances herself the harder it is for Ned to find ways to talk to her without making himself into more of a horse's ass than he already had the day she'd come to his personal solar to discuss Rhaenys and Dorne. Ned hadn't meant to accuse her of mistreating Jon. Never once had anything like that ever crossed his mind, not when Meredith treats Jon in the same manner she treats Robb; loving and doting and never once disdainful. No. Ned would never accuse her of mistreating Jon. But how does one thank their wife for loving a boy who by all accounts they should be wary of? Despise even? Ned's honestly surprised by how quickly Meredith claimed Jon for her own.

Most noble women wouldn't take so kindly to a base-born child in their homes and Ned doesn't understand how he's managed to find a wife as accepting of his supposed bastard as Meredith is. 

So he watches her. 

Grows fond of her. 

Fumbling for words and trying to think fo ways to explain, because he wants a happy marriage. Ned wants, with the desperation of a man dying and looking for salvation, the type of marriage his mother and father had before Lyarra Stark's untimely death. It wasn't perfect, Ned knows that, and he'd like to have something better than that but... Gods, he wants something gentle with Meredith. Something untainted by the war. Which is looking like less and less of a possibility the longer they spend apart and barely speaking. 

Then Jon gets sick and Meredith doesn't hesitate to care for him. 

So Ned, despite everything in his mind screaming at him to protect Lyanna's boy, decides to tell Meredith, in a way. It slips out suddenly, a fleeting thought of sharing turns into him letting it slip that he'd lied about Jon's mother. More a spur of the moment type of reveal than a planned one. In the moments that pass between him telling her and Meredith's mind running endless possibilities, Ned feel like he might vomit. 

"Is he Lyanna's?" Meredith asks, colf. 

Her eyes blaze for a moment, blue fire in the shadows. Ned watches her face smooth out from its confusion to something terrifying. For a moment he has to remind himself that Meredith - who berated him for ever questioning the Targaryen children's innocence - isn't going to hurt their son. 

Still, the room is silent as the crypts below Winterfell where the Starks are laid to their final rest. 

"Aye," the quiet whisper comes, "I promised to keep him safe." 

A moment passes. 

Two. 

Then, "I'm still mad you didn't warn me, but I understand why you didn't.... this is a secret that will go to the grave."

Later that evening when Ned returns to his chambers he spends the rest of the evening feeling oddly hopeful for the future. Something he hasn't found himself being since Aerys Targaryen slaughtered his brother and father. 

Things get better for them after that. 

Ned learns things about his Lady wife that he hadn't known or even thought to learn of her while in Riverrun. 

She likes honey cakes and while her humor is dry - and sometimes a bit mean - it's never unwarranted nor unable to make Ned smile a bit. Her favorite color is yellow, her favorite jewel pearl, and she hates putting her hair up in unnecessarily because the weight of the style and accessories pulls at her scalp and gives her headaches - which means that often times she wears her hair down and free or in simple braids or unadorned styles. But most important of all, Ned Stark learns just how terrifyingly intelligent his wife is. 

There are many intelligent women, most of them more capable of leading than some of their male counterparts, and Ned will never disrespect any woman by thinking them fools based on nothing but their sex. He knows better. He just hadn't realized that Hoster Tully would encourage such intelligence in his daughters... then he remembers that Brynden Tully had been the one to truly raise Ned's wife, not the sickly man Ned remembers seeing at his wedding. 

So he finds himself giving up more responsibilities to Meredith. 

Nothing strenuous, just the tasks he knows she'll enjoy the challenge of and be able to manage appropriately. 

The first time they work together Ned can't help but think about how much he enjoys being in her presence, basking in the quiet warmth of just being with her, and later that evening when she allows him to feast upon her for the very first time it's a... well, frankly speaking, the best thing Ned can compare it to is a religious experience. And that night he holds her close to his chest despite the uncomfortable heat they produce and numbness that slowly deadens his fingers. 

"They're worried about a Southern bride," Maester Luwin tells him one day when the ravens begin arriving, "When Brandon had been in line as Lord of Winterfell it was one thing; he was raised in the North and a Southern bride wouldn't change much... but as you were fostered with Lord Arryn I fear it may have caused some upset." 

Ned wants to spit, rage, throttle Roose fucking Bolton. 

It hadn't mattered to any of them when Ned was signing his life away for the war, securing supplies for his men and their people at the cost of his own ability to decide his life. But now that he's got a son and a wife ruling at his side it's suddenly a problem that she was raised Southern? Can the Riverlands even really be considered a Southern region? Truly? It's the closest to the Northern border, closer than the Eyrie even, and Meredith is more Northern in her temperament than Ned was expecting. So why is it a problem now? 

Because Roose Bolton thinks that with Rickard and Brandon gone he can weasel favor away from Ned with rumors and whispers of bad omens. 

Unfortunately for Roose, Meredith hadn't balked when she'd heard about the possible demand of Libations. 

Ned's never seen Meredith this angry. 

She rages for days in that quiet way of hers that's more worrisome than if she'd scream and cry and curse Ned's people. Instead she's quiet, still, the coldness in her face a constant reminder of just how seriously she's taking this situation. Which is why he knows better than to try and dissuade her from attempting anything stupid with the Leech Lord, who's known to have a certain affinity for poison. Despite knowing better, Ned allows Meredith to scheme, to position his people on her invisible board of Cyvasse for the thrill of it. 

All the same, Ned sends for Brynden Tully. 

As Lord of Winterfell Ned has a certain amount of power over the Lords through his title alone, it's not nearly enough power that genuine respect would offer him though and so in order to keep Meredith alive Ned sends for Brynden Tully... and Damyn Cerwyn too. 

Damyn is of an age with Ned and they used to play together as boys when Rickard Stark would hold his yearly summits for the Lords and Ladies of the North. Ned trusts the Cerwyn's as their honor has never been questionable and their loyalties to House Stark unshaken, but Damyn he sends for specifically because it's no secret the man craves something more than to be a steward of Cerwyn hall or a Master of Arms. It's surprising he didn't attempt to go North to the wall like Benjen had tried doing in all honesty... but it allows Ned an opportunity to get the Lords of the North on Meredith's side, or at the very least perceive her as a proper Lady of Winterfell. 

Ned doesn't doubt his wife's ability to play politics. She grew up in the South with Hoster Tully, a man not known for his prowess on the battlefield but instead for his political savageness - which had helped to keep him and his people out of the way of Aerys wrath when he grew more and more unstable. 

Meredith won't have any trouble appeasing his Lords and Ladies. 

But the additional shock of a Cerwyn bending the knee to act as a sworn shield? 

It's a long shot, but Ned sends the raven all the same and asks for a private word with Damyn when he comes to Winterfell. 

"Lord Stark?" A young woman Ned vaguely knows as a member of the staff catches his attention as the men in the hall drink their weight in honey mead and mulled wines, she looks pale, nervous, Ned frowns as he leans closer. "It's the Lady Stark, I saw her coming in from the Godswood bleeding somethin' fierce." 

Ned goes still, all semblance of amusement or joy fading at the girl's words. 

"Where was she going?" Ned demands, already rising to his feet. 

"The family wing I believe." The girl says, voice barely heard over the heavy thrum of noise.

Without a word Ned turns and slips through the side door leading to the servants corridors. 

When they notice he's gone the Lords will likely assume he's gone to bed his Lady Wife - typically tradition after the Libations of Olde - and when they notice Benjen will step in to entertain and maneuver to the best of his ability as a Green Boy. Seeing as he doesn't know much of Meredith's play outside of appeasing the Lords Ned has no doubt Benjen will handle the situation accordingly. Besides, Ned's more concerned about his wife than the state of his men.  The girl had said she was bleeding. 

How badly? 

How was she injured? 

Ned doesn't recall Meredith ever mentioning potentially harming herself while speaking to any of the Lords or Ladies coming to Winterfell. So does that mean that someone harmed her? If so, who? For a horrible, horrible moment Ned's back in the war. 

Blood on his hands, blood in his mouth, dripping into his eyes from a wound on his head. His feet slip in blood-soaked dirt, the screams of bleeding, dying men drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Then there's the image of Lyanna; bloody bed clothes clinging to her skin, the never ending spread of crimson that leeches more and more of her color away the longer it goes. A midwife had made her comfortable, given her milk of the poppy, but there was pain in her eyes and her hands had shook so violently as she passed him Jon that Ned wonders if it was even working. 

He walks faster, practically running now. 

Late as it is there aren't many servants to meet him, the ones lingering in the corridors are quick to make themselves scarce when they see him, and soon Ned is taking a sharp turn and bursting through a door tucked away in an alcove of the family wing. Ned kicks the heavy wood shut behind him and continues on his way until finally, finally, he reaches the door leading to his and Meredith's chambers, which give no resistance as he practically kicks the door in. 

There's a pile of bloody clothes on the floor - they reek of iron - and Ned ignores them completely in favor of charging into the room where Meredith is curled up on their bed. She's not pale like Lya or any of those dying men had been, she looks comfortable, and there's a bandage at her neck that tells him she went to see Luwin. The frenzy dims but doesn't die and Ned's quick to crawl up her body until his knees are caging her hips so he can roll her over onto her back and carefully attempts to peel away the cloth covering the wound. His fingers fumble, too clumsy to get a grip on it without hurting her, so he's almost relieved when she reaches up to pull it away herself. 

"It's alright," she whispers, soothing and calm, the same voice she uses for Robb and Jon when they cry, "I'm alright." 

To be fair, the wound doesn't look bad. 

A bit inflamed, maybe a little too red, but it isn't hot and the stitches can be seen through the thin layer of whatever substance Luwin used to disinfect her injury. 

Ned trembles. 

"What were you thinking? Do you realize how dangerous that was?" 

"I do." 

"Then why, Meredith, why would you do it?" Ned pulls away, cages her body with his arms and legs, eyes never leaving hers, "Do you realize that a little deeper and you could have died? Do you realize just how badly this all could have ended? I understood wanting to confront Roose and Barbrey, I allowed it, but I would never have allowed you to do so if I'd known." 

"And that's why I didn't tell you." Meredith replies, wincing a bit. 

Anger disappears as Ned rolls off and begins checking her over for other wounds, inspecting the ones she has with a more critical eye. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else? Headaches? Loss of balance? Blurry vision, um, dry mouth, delirium?" 

"Are you trying to ask if I've been poisoned?" 

"Damnit Meredith, answer the question." Ned growls, fingers flexing at her hip. 

"No, I never let Roose Bolton close enough to poison me and Barbrey didn't inflict this wound." She promises. 

"I gave you that knife so you could defend yourself from them," Ned hisses at her, "not so you could try to kill yourself." 

Meredith reaches up and runs her thumb over Ned's cheekbone. 

"I'm sorry, Ned." she says to him, "I should have told you everything. It was cruel of me to trick you into this the way that I did... I didn't realize it would scare you when you heard and I'm so, so sorry for that." 

Ned takes a deep breath, sighs, then he says, "I found out from a servant. They told me they saw you wandering to the Nursery, bloody, and that you looked unbothered. Barbrey may be a hateful woman but she wouldn't harm you under guest rights... but I didn't know what was going on and then I got here and say the shift and the cloth you used to wash the mess away and it was so much Meredith. So much blood." 

His voice cracks at the end.

Knowing that she's safe and relatively unharmed takes some of the edge off, not all, but enough that when he lays down and pulls her into him there's no feral desperation driving his actions. Only fear and relief and that sick, cloying feeling of oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods. At least she's safe. He tells himself that she won't do something so foolish again as he strokes her hair and takes her reassurances, but the truth of the matter is that when it comes to his wife Ned's like a partially blinded man running through a dark tunnel with a sword and a single candle to light his way. He can see well enough to get the vaguest idea of where he stands but there's never any true guarantee that Meredith isn't going to do something unexpected. 

Gods, he hopes that if they have daughters they're not as bold in their recklessness as Meredith is. 

He wants children. 

Technically, he wants more children. 

A whole pack of little half-feral wolf pups with their parents color and their mother's intelligence but their father's caution. 

Watching Meredith with the boys makes him want it desperately and the night in the Godswood only solidifies his desire for it. The two of them haven't been careful about their sexual activities. Ned's a bit surprised that Meredith hasn't gotten with child again... but Luwin knows how to make moon tea and Meredith's made no indication of wanting children so perhaps that's why. Still, Ned wants it. 

He didn't get to be there for Robb's birth, not those strenuous months. 

Ned should have been here to run Meredith's ankles when they swelled into discomfort and get her whatever treat her heart desires and offer his hand in the birthing bed so that she might break all of his fingers and threaten to break more if he ever touched her again. That's what happens isn't it? Robert has enough bastards that he's got stories about the happenings of child birth. The only real experience Ned has with it is from animals and Lyanna. Even so, Ned thinks it would be nice to experience it with Meredith... though he never actually brings it up because watching Lyanna bleed to death in the same bed she gave birth to Jon in isn't something Ned wants to see with Meredith. Not her. Never her. 

So he says nothing even though he watches her pepper kisses upon their son's cheek and swing Jon around and play pretend with Beric when she has the time. Yearning is something Ned is quickly growing accustomed to and it's horrible. Yearning, like a knife to the side - twisting, twisting, twisting until it catches on something it shouldn't. 

Weeks pass. 

Days go by and they fuck like wildlings whenever they get a chance. 

In between his duties and the time he spends with his lovely wife, Ned prays at the roots of the Heart Tree, which is where Meredith finds him one particularly warm day when Ned's gotten the majority of his work done for the morning. 

"Am I interrupting?" Meredith asks, startling him a bit. 

She looks beautiful in lavender hues. 

Ned thinks he should get her another bold of it in different textile. 

"Not at all... join me?" 

Her smile is gentle as she settles down beside Ned and says, "I've news from King's Landing." 

"Oh?" 

"Mhm, Robert doesn't understand it - neither does the majority of my family - but he's decided to honor my request for him to legitimize Jon." 

Surprise is a domineering emotion, then a giddy sort of joy. 

Robert's never been particularly level headed but maybe their argument about what Lyanna would have wanted from him when it came to the lives of children had struck a particular chord.... or maybe it's just the fight he and Ned had. Maybe this is his way of trying to apologize. Either way, Meredith's gotten what she wanted so that's something. 

"I'm surprised he listened to you." Ned remarks to which Meredith shrugs. 

"I told him that there was no guarantee I'd have more male heirs to carry the Stark name." Meredith says, and Ned reaches out to take her hand in his. 

"You could give me a hundred daughter Meredith and I'd gladly name each one my heir." Ned promises before bringing her hand up to place a chaste kiss at her knuckles. 

She smiles, sunlight painting her face. 

"I guess we'll see about that in the next eight or so months." She says. 

Silence. 

Ned frowns a bit against her hand as he thinks over what she's just told him. 

"You're with child?" He clarifies. 

"Yes, Measter Luwin confirmed it this morning." Meredith tosses her hair over her shoulder, "Be prepared to hold my hair back as I empty my stomach. Your son was a terror, I felt like I was constantly fasting."  

Meredith pulls a face which makes Ned laugh, and laugh, and laugh until he's falling backward and dragging Meredith with her so he can pepper her with kisses and whisper adoration in her ear for no reason oother than to show that he loves her. 

Chapter Text

Meredith thinks this pregnancy will be easier than Robb's had been. 

Morning sickness doesn't claim her nearly every hour of the day but she craves Lemon Cakes like it they're never going to be made again. Which is horrible because Meredith hates lemon cakes. Thankfully, the disgusting nature of her cravings are offset by the lesser amounts of swelling and immobility she's suffering. Nearly four moons and she's already beginning to show. it's too soon though to have anything interesting to show her boys. A rounded stomach isn't much fun for them... not when they hardly understand the concept of a child coming from inside their mother. 

They're excited about possibly having a brother or sister. 

Now that they're both a little older it's a novel concept for them. Siblings. Meredith wonders if they'll be as happy when the babe's born and too small to play with or truly interact with. Will they be as excited then? Meredith leans against the railing of the covered bridge that passes over the training yard as she watches her good brother run after his nephews. They're so big now, a handful really, and Meredith's thankful that she's got some sort of practical experience raising little ones because it would be hell on her otherwise. 

Meredith rolls her shoulders back until something in her spine pops softly under the pressure, easing some of the tension that has been building since she rolled out of bed that morning. If Ned were here she knows he'd offer gentle touches, fingers digging softly into the small of her back along her spine, or across her shoulders, nothing daring or improper but certainly enough to offer some sort of comfort. He's gotten rather good at tending to her whims over the past few moons since her declaration of pregnancy in the Godswood. Meredith's favorite is when they sit together in the Lord's Solar tending to their own business and Ned will allow her to rest her feet in his lap while he rubs soothing circles into her ankles. 

Maester Luwin is suggesting Meredith take time to herself, ease away from her duties for a time, but Meredith doesn't like being idle. 

There's only so much embroidering or benign reading one can take before boredom sinks its fingers into them. And Winterfell isn't like Riverrun. There are no rivers to swim in, no villages quite close enough to visit in a leisurely ride through the country, no specifically Southern activities to distract oneself with. Festivals and balls is something Meredith finds she misses quite a bit, especially now that she's running out of things to keep herself busy with. 

Oh, the North has its festivities. Great parties full of laughter and music and a style of dancing that Meredith would never have been taught by her purely Southern bred Septa. Meredith's never been to any of these festivities personally, the one opportunity she had was taken by her own act of brevity so many weeks ago, but Lara and another serving girl named Niamh - a sweet girl of five-and-ten with eyes warm and deep as freshly tilled dirt and hair that dances between a dark auburn and a rich brown - teach her the steps of some of the simpler dances, acting as her male partner when the time comes. Lara tells them they should just get Lord Stark to teach her and Niamh always rolls her eyes before telling Lara that that's a terrible idea. 

"It's supposed to be a surprise." the youngest of their trio snips as she swirls her heavy grey skirts around her ankles, freckled skin flashing briefly, and twirling into a strange half-bow. 

"For who? Her husband? The man's already fucking her, don't know why he can't see her stumbling through a dance." Lara says, and laughs when Niamh kicks her slipper off so that it hits the blonde in the knee. 

Huffing, Niamh turns to Meredith with a frown. All of her attention is on the barely hidden swell of Meredith's belly, which seems to get bigger and bigger each day. Meredith doesn't remember if Robb grew this fast or if her body's acclimating to this pregnancy far easier than it had for her first. Either way she's going to have to start wearing pregnancy stays and she hates them. They always rub across the top of her belly in irritating ways - not painful just annoying - and it it were up to Meredith she'd rather go without. Her regularly stays have been properly fitted and made for her tastes and body, with softer fabrics and colorful embroidery and reeds instead of bone stiffening the boning channels. Unfortunately, pregnancy stays are typically made in mass because it's too difficult to continuously make new ones in time to meet the body's requirements. It's also impossible to tell how a woman's body will change throughout her pregnancies. One pregnancy might mean her belly swells before her breasts do or maybe her stomach remains relatively small until later on. 

Meredith's going to mourn, truly mourn, the day she can no longer fit into her normal stays. 

"Don't worry, little one," Niamh mutters towards Meredith's middle, "I'll teach your mother to dance, that way when it's time for the festivals your father might be so impressed with her dancing he gives you another sibling." 

"That's not how it works, Niamh." Lara snorts, which earns her a glare. 

Meredith laughs. 

She trusts Lara a bit more now that she had initially, still not quite friends, but Meredith thinks they could be. Now that the Libations are over and the Lords of the North aren't so suspicious of her, Meredith has no reason to assume Lara could possibly be selling information to anyone... well, anyone but Meredith's husband anyway. It's a good sign. Meredith thinks Lara's loyalty is for the North - if it isn't entirely for house Stark - and so far their goals are aligned. Lara's too bold, too self-aware, to be a pawn in this Game of Life and Death. Which makes her dangerous. Niamh on the other hand, doesn't seem to care much about the Game as it is. She's content to tell stories and tend to the Glass Garden and live in shades of sunshine. Kind. Meredith will never begrudge Niamh her kindness, if anything, Meredith's a bit thankful for it. 

It's nice being able to talk to someone without worrying about whether or not they mean to use her for something. 

"I know how it works, Lara, I have three younger sisters." Niamh rolls her eyes and looks to Meredith, "She seems to think I'm simply, Lady Stark." 

"A crime if I ever knew one." Meredith admits sagely, which makes Niamh smile that dimpled smile of hers. 

Soon Meredith finds herself being carefully walked through the steps of another dance. Niamh is a wonderful dancing instructor; calm and slow to explain and never seeming even a little frustrated when Meredith misses a step - perhaps purposefully - that makes her stumble through the rest of the dance. She's got a good head on her shoulders and Meredith thinks that when she learns Southern dances Niamh would be a perfect dancing instructor for Meredith's children. They'll need instructors after all. Meredith would rather have people she can trust educating her babes than a stranger from Oldtown who will likely try and teach her charges that their Nothern upbringing is savage and wrong. 

Meredith knows there will need to be a balance when it comes to how her children are taught. 

Too much Southern qualities will alienate them in the North. 

Too much Northern will make them pariahs in the South. 

Maybe her children will want to stay in the North, learn to live a traditionally Northern life and never steps foot south of the Riverlands for as long as they draw breath, and that's fine. Perfectly fine. Meredith will support that wholeheartedly... but what if they want to go South? What if they want to travel beyond? Meredith's children will not be ignorant of the world. She'll not suffer them for fools. 

So she'll cultivate their educators like the finest gems and bring them into the fold. 

Niamh will be a good one to keep close. 

And so she allows Niamh to teach her a few more steps before claiming her ankles are beginning to hurt and departing for the evening. Even if things don't pan out with Niamh as a dancing instructor, it'll be nice to have her as a friend. 

Maester Luwin's fingers press gently against her swollen abdomen, his watery eyes sharp as he feels for something Meredith can't even begin to comprehend. It's grown routine for them, ever since Meredith's first pregnancy. 

He comes to her chambers at the first and last day of every month - sometimes with Ned, sometimes not -, strips down to her smalls, lays down on the bed, and quietly waits for Luwin to tell her if something seems to be out of place after he's gone through his process of checking her vital functions and then seeing if the babe has done anything un-babe-like. 

Today Ned stands at her side with his hands folded behind his back and stares intently at the spattering of freckles that dot Meredith's hip just above where the cotton fabric of her smalls don't quite cover. It almost looks like he's watching Maester Luwin, would from the older man's perspective certainly, but Meredith knows he isn't because the one time he meets her gaze and she smiles he blushes hotly and doesn't meet her eye again until the red has gone out of his ears. It makes Meredith smile even wider as she turns her attention back to Luwin. 

"Is everything alright?" Ned asks as the Maester pulls Meredith's shift back over her middle to give the illusion of modesty. 

Meredith watches Luwin intently as he nods. He doesn't look upset or worried, nor cautious like he had during the first few months Meredith had carried Robb. It seems he's more confident in how Meredith's body handles pregnancy and knows what to expect from these monthly visits. 

"I would say everything is in order," Luwin tells them with a soft smile. "The babe looks to be growing faster than normal, which could mean there are twins. It's possible that the babe's simply going to be large but in either case it's important to meet the nutritional needs of the babe or babes." 

Ned and Meredith share a brief look before Ned asks, "What would you recommend." 

"I would recommend Lady Stark consume more milk, lentils, peas, beans... salmon, but no other fish... eggs and chicken." Maester Luwin nods slowly, "These are things Lady Stark and I have discussed once before, so it's hardly new knowledge and I would say that she's been rather exceptional about picking out the foods best for her pregnancy, I would just recommend perhaps a bit more." 

Meredith nods. 

Whether she's having one babe or two matters little to her. It's whether or not her babe is healthy that concerns her. Meredith's been careful about the foods she's been consuming the past few weeks - outside of the occasional imported spicy items that had made Ned choke when she's offered to share - and she doesn't mind adjusting her meals to fit the guides Luwin has provided. She hums thoughtfully as she runs her hand over her bump, wondering at the gender of the possible babes in her womb. She hopes - a bit privately - for a girl. A little winter jewel for the North. Meredith wouldn't be unhappy with another boy or two, of course, but she thinks it would be nice to have a daughter too. At this point, however, only the Gods would be able to tell whether she's to have a boy or a girl so there's no point in fretting over it. Though, Meredith does suppose she should start making more clothes if it's possible she could be having two babes. 

"My mother had complications during her last pregnancies," Ned pauses, Meredith frowns because she knows that he isn't just thinking of Lyarra Stark, "is there anything we can do to prevent such things during Meredith's pregnancy?" 

Maester Luwin shakes his head and says, "Perhaps bed rest during the last few months of her pregnancy should any issues arise. In my honest opinion I doubt Lady Stark will suffer too greatly with this pregnancy while she carries. I'll prepare for birthing complications should they arise but I'm confident Lady Stark will carry to term without issue." 

Ned nods once before escorting the man to the door, returning seconds later to lay down at Meredith's side with his hand resting on her middle. 

"Twins." Meredith mutters, half in jest. 

"We'll be grey by the time they're two I'm willing to bet." Ned intones as his thumb brushes lazy strokes across Meredith's flesh. "Does your family have a history of twins?" 

"Aye, they pop up occasionally. It's said that my mother's mother was a twin, the only one to live past her infancy... but a twin all the same." 

It's quiet for a time, neither of them willing to break the softness of the moment, but eventually Meredith's forced to roll over onto her side to relieve some of the more intense pressure building up on her lungs. Ned smiles as she rolls to face him, leaning forward a bit to nuzzle his face against hers a bit. Meredith reaches up to gently scrape her nails across the back of his neck and smiles sweetly when he shivers a bit beneath her touch. 

"I'm excited to meet them." Ned murmurs. 

"You'll be terribly thrilled when they're screaming at odd hours of the day," Meredith rolls her eyes, but she's smiling sweetly at Ned and he laughs alongside her. 

"I remember when Benjen was a babe. Mother had a wetnurse so we rarely had to deal with his hunger cries but there were moments where his discontent wouldn't be soothed by even our mother." Ned pulls her against him and kisses her temple, "You said Robb was an easy babe, perhaps they will be too." 

Perhaps. 

It's impossible to say what a child's temperament will be when they haven't even been born yet. Robb may have been a quiet babe but that doesn't mean anything when it comes to his siblings. Robb and Jon may be the only sweet, quiet children Meredith has out of the lot. Gods, it would be her luck that the twins - if there is more than one - are going to be half-feral. 

She'll need to write to her family. 

Catelyn will be excited by the news, as will their father and uncle, Meredith doubts Lysa will be pleased and thinks that it might be best not to say anything to the other girl about the pregnancy until she's heard about one of Lysa's. It isn't a well-known fact that Tansy Tea can cause problems when it comes to a woman's body but it's a fact none-the-less. Meredith wonders if Lysa will have problems carrying babes, wonders if her sister will want to hear about the successful pregnancies of her sisters when her own was stolen from her. Meredith sighs quietly and decides that she won't contact Lysa for the time being. Perhaps later, after she's had the babes as the news will surely spread, but for now Meredith will keep the news to herself. 

"If you have twins... what would you name them?" 

"Hm?" 

"I know it's a bit early to be naming them, but twins are always born a bit early, and I just thought it would be nice to go over names." Ned remarks, flushing a bit. 

And it never fails to amaze Meredith that her own husband is so excited about the prospect of being able to experience these few fatherhood firsts. Honestly, Meredith hasn't thought much of it. She still likes the name Sansa and it's far enough away from Ned's more recent female relatives that it shouldn't cause any pain for him while also leaving her own mother's name free to use for Catelyn or Lysa. But for a boy? Meredith hasn't really thought of it. 

"I like Sansa, if we have a girl." She says, tilting her chin to meet Ned's eye. 

"And for a boy?" 

"I hadn't thought of it, honestly." 

"We could name him after your uncle." Ned suggests, but Meredith shakes her head. 

It would be nice to name one of her boys after her uncle, but it wouldn't be appropriate. Not when her own father is still alive... but it's sweet that Ned recognizes just how much Meredith loves her uncle and treasures his role in her life. 

"Would you," Mereidth swallows, "would you like to name him after your father? Your Brother?" 

Ned's face goes partially cold. Not in a bad way exactly. He just seems distant. Like the faint outline of the wall that creates a sharp line across the far-off horizon if Meredith looks North from the top of the broken Tower. He eventually shakes his head. Meredith doesn't need him to say more. 

"What about Torrhen?" Meredith asks and Ned frowns. 

"They say Torrhen's name is cursed." 

"It's just a name, Ned, and Torrhen Stark wasn't anymore cursed than you or I." 

He was a King put between a rock and a hard place. 

Either relinquish his crown to the Targaryen invaders or watch his people burn. 

Personally, Meredith doesn't think it's much of a choice. She'd give up hundreds of crowns and titles if it meant keeping her babes and her husband safe. Hells, if Meredith could go back to when it all started she'd have gone to Rhaegar's tent and slit his throat from ear-to-ear if it meant he wouldn't be able to spark Robert's Rebellion. 

"Torrhen and Sansa." Ned rolls the syllables around on his tongue a moment before laughing, "The North is going to love you for that, you know. A true dedication to your husband's house you have." 

Meredith hits his chest with an open palm and laughs when he falls backward with a wounded sounding grunt. 

Though, she can't say he's wrong. 

Meredith takes Jon's hand and places it against her belly beside Robb's and Beric's, careful to arrange the little hands so that everyone has a chance of feeling the babe kick. 

Now that she's father along it's easy to believe Maester Luwin may have been on to something when he said she could be having twins. Nearly six moons in and it's very obvious that she's much larger than she had been when she'd been pregnant with Robb. No one seem displeased with the prospect, though. Despite being the one who will eventually have to give birth it's not nearly as daunting this time around as it had been the first time. 

"Mamma," Jon whines, little fingers curling into a fist, "I don't feel anything." 

"Patience, dearest love, your siblings are fitful little things." Meredith remarks. 

Seconds later, as if to prove her point, something presses against her causing Robb and Beric to gasp loudly. 

"I felt it! I felt it!" Robb cries, smiling wide. 

Jon glares at him and holds a finger to his mouth like the quiet will make something happen. Meredith ruffles her son's dark curls before gently turning to Beric. 

"How are your lessons?" She asks and the boy smiles. 

"Maester Luwin says I'm excelling at my numbers." 

"This is good," Meredith smiles. "I'm sure your mother will be very proud when you tell her in your letter." 

Beric doesn't exactly beam but his smile is bright enough that it could have burned itself into her retinas. 

With so little contact between mother and son it's nice to see that Beric is having positive feedback from his mother, who hasn't said anything suspicious in the letter Meredith has been having Maester Luwin check before they're passed on to Beric. Wouldn't do to have her saying something to him about the Starks without them knowing. Oh, she makes her jabs there she can. It's likely she knows they're monitoring her letters to Beric and so occasionally there are more chaffing remarks that a child simply wouldn't understand tucked among the doting praise and sweet promises of a mother who misses her son. 

Meredith's skin is thicker than Barbrey seems to think it is, however, and so she doesn't bother with retaliating against the other woman. 

Perhaps when Beric is older, but not now. 

"I hear you'll be starting lessons with Ser Damyn soon." Meredith says, which earns her a nod and a string of words that barely sound human in their excitement. 

Damyn has promised to teach Beric to ride. In part to teach the boy and in part to give him people loyal to house Stark to look up to. It's all one big power move but Meredith's simply grateful the man hadn't said anything when she'd asked him to teach Beric... it must be terribly boring tending to a Lady of Winterfell's safety when the most dangerous thing she does is go to the archery range to practice. Sweet man Damyn may be, but a man he is. So she gave him the task of teaching Beric and hopefully it doesn't blow back in her face. 

Beric seems excited in any case, going on and on in that way children tend to do when they're most excited. Meredith likes listening to him talk about everything that excites him and it's nice to know that he's enjoying himself here. 

Jon's hand presses harder against her stomach. 

"Gentle, love." Meredith chides, carefully bringing his hand away from her bump. 

He pouts, grey eyes going big, big, big. 

"I'm sorry." He intones, which earns him a peppering of kisses across his cheek. 

"Just be more gentle next time." Meredith reminds him before turning back to Beric to hear the rest of his story. 

She watches from the corner of her eye as Jon carefully ghosts his tiny palm back to her belly. 

It's good that her boys understand the importance of gentility. If they're going to be big brothers they'll need to understand how to play with babes. How to handle them in any case. Gentle, soft touches. Nothing too harsh or too rough, wouldn't do to hurt the babes now would it? Meredith casts a brief smile to her boys as Beric finishes his sting of words. Meredith wonders if her boys will be the same way; talkative and excitable. She doesn't doubt it as children do what children are wont to do but it's a curious thought all the same with as quiet as Jon is. 

Absently, Meredith rubs her hand on the opposite side of her belly and smiles sweetly to herself when something presses faintly against her hand. 

Dearest Sister, 

I offer my congratulations on the news of your pregnancy. I'm certain your Lord Husband is very pleased. Your last letter mentioned the possibility of twins, of Meredith that's so exciting! I wonder if they would take your coloring or Lord Stark's? Robb looked so much like you last I saw him that I find it hard to imagine any other little ones without a similar look about them. 

Perhaps when the children are older you'll come South to visit me at Casterly Rock? You and the little ones would love it here Meredith. It's so warm and the Rock is lovely. My Lord husband would offer no objections to your company as I'm certain it would relieve him to know I'm being well taken care of. I think he worries... some of the Westerland Maidens are unhappy with their Lord Lannister marrying his heir to a fish - the more polite epithets I've come to receive from them - and I'm afraid to say I haven't made very many friends. But perhaps if you traveled South that would change. You've always been so good at speaking to people, Meredith, it's something I wish I was so accomplished at. Lady Genna is kind to me but I'm sad to say we aren't friends. 

I miss you and Lysa terribly. 

Should you wish to bring the little ones with you when you come - and I suspect you'll want to bring the bastard as well, and even if I don't understand how you can tolerate him I understand you've too big a heart - I'll have no expense spared to see to your comfort. 

Your loving sister forever and always, 

Lady Catelyn Lannister of Casterly Rock. 

Meredith rolls her eyes a bit as she tosses the opened letter into the small chest of the letters she keeps from her family. Catelyn, bless her, is a sweet girl but she's a bit of a fool when it comes to playing the Game. Which is unfortunate considering she's married to the heir of the biggest player. 

Oh well, she'll learn when the time comes. 

No sense in Meredith trying to educate her half a world away when Catelyn doesn't even really want her advice anyway. 

With a sigh Meredith closes the chest and looks down at her swollen middle. 

"Your aunt's a bit silly." She whispers, trying not to sound too harsh. 

But really, it shouldn't come as any surprise to Catelyn that the Westerland people are wary of her. She's not one of theirs and her loyalty may be to House Lannister through her marriage but with no children to truly secure that loyalty she's a bit of a loose ember. No one's going to be vying for her favor right now when it's unclear whether or not she's going to try and betray Tywin bloody Lannister. 

Silly, silly sister mine. Meredith thinks to herself as she rises from her chair, I suppose you'll learn soon enough. 

Meredith's water breaks just shy of nine moons, which isn't uncommon with twins, which which everyone seems to be quite certain Meredith is carrying. Surprisingly enough no one seems particularly bothered considering they've all sat down for the evening meal when it happens. But to be fair, no one really knows aside from Meredith, who sits a bit uncomfortably in her now wet gown while her mind processes what's happening. 

Ned's talking to Benjen about guard rotations and news from the Wall when Meredith very calmly turns around, grabs Ned's arm to get his attention, and says, "I'm getting ready to go into labor. Get Maester Luwin." 

Clam, calm, calm. 

It'll fade soon enough, she knows, but right now there's no pain and the only thing she really has to worry about is her own misplaced embarrassment over a wet dress and a dining hall half-full of people. It could honestly be a worse situation if anyone asked her. If one were to ask Ned he'd probably tell you the world was ending. He looks like it is anyway; pale and wide eyed. Meredith rolls her own before turning to a serving girl and catching her eye. 

"Please send Maester Luwin to the Lord's chambers, tell him it's urgent." Meredith commands, to which the girl takes note of the wetness on Meredith's dress and dips into a quick curtsy before disappearing. Meredith turns to Ned and asks, "May I borrow your cloak?" 

Seeming to snap out of whatever state he's in, Ned quickly rises and removes his cloak so he can drape it across Meredith's shoulders. It helps to hide the stain on her dress as she rises which is nice because there are enough eyes on her that Meredith would rather not walk through the Keep in a soaked dress if she can help it. Thankfully, everyone seems to understand what's going on because no one makes any sort of fuss as Ned and Benjen hurry Meredith out of the dinning hall. 

"Do you need anything?" Ned asks and Meredith shakes her head.

She and Maester Luwin have gone through this once before with Robb and it's really nothing new. What might be a bit odd is using a more Northern birth stool instead of the slightly upright, reclined positions commonly seen in the Southern regions of Westeros. Maester Luwin says that it might make the birth easier for her as the position will be more natural and take some of the strain off her body. Meredith couldn't care less one way or the other as long as the babes come out healthy and hardy... but outside of that? Meredith doesn't really need anything. 

"Benjen, I'm leaving you in charge of the Keep until the labor is over." Ned tells his brother, voice a bit tense. 

The younger boy nods curtly before smiling softly at Meredith. 

He disappears about as quickly as the serving girl had but Meredith doesn't mind. Benjen isn't her husband and he doesn't have any right to really be involved in this outside of a general sort of obligatory familial investment. Ned's the one who's insisting on sitting with her and assisting in the process as she gives birth so he's the only one of the two Meredith is really worried about. Even though it's quite obvious Ned is terrified, Meredith is thankful that he's going to be with her through this process. It's very sweet of him. She knows some men don't stay, choosing to go hunting or drinking instead, only showing up after the blood and tissue has been washed away to name their babe and gripe about whether or not they've got a son or a daughter. 

Ned's made it abundantly clear that he'll be just as happy with a daughter as he is with Robb and Jon so Meredith doesn't have to worry about that. 

Doesn't have to worry about much, really. 

Between Ned holding her hand and Maester Luwin guiding her through the birth Meredith only really has to focus on pushing the babes out. 

Speaking of Luwin, he's waiting for them just outside the Lord's Chamber. 

Men and women scuttle in and out with various items and tools; the birthstool, hot water, fresh linens, medicines and tinctures, even blades and needles. Ned rubs soothing circles into the small of her back and smiles reassuringly at her when the last of the servants disappear from the room and Maester Luwin ushers them in before shutting the door behind them.

While they wait for the labor to truly begin Luwin has Meredith take a quick bath, after which she's allowed to wander around the chamber in a loose shift while he mixes up something to help with the pain. It won't be given to her until after she's given birth as some mixes tend to make the blood thin out too much for Luwin's comfort. But Meredith's gone through one birth without anything to numb the pain and this won't be anything different. 

It takes about three hours before the contractions start, another four before Luwin directs her to the birthing stool. 

Ned, bless him, holds her hands and offers her a sturdy chest to lean back against while Luwin settles in front of her. 

The next few hours are familiar in that Meredith understand the pain, understands the way her body tells her to react to the need to bear down against the pressure building in her lower body. It's uncomfortable, yes, and Meredith bites back the urge to blame Ned for wanting more kids - because it would be hypocritical of her, not because it's entirely true - and despite all the fluids and the noises and the awkwardness of giving birth in front of someone who only knows the horrors of it... Meredith can't bring herself to really care. 

"You're doing very well, my Lady." Luwin tells her, eyes trained on whatever it is he sees happening between her legs. 

Another thing she can't be bothered or embarrassed about. 

Ned presses a kiss to the space behind her ear. 

"It's crowning." 

Meredith grunts as she bears down, the sound of her pain bleeding away in the wake of a sharp, angry wail. 

"It's a girl." Luwin tells them, disappearing for a moment to call for an older woman to come and clean the babe while Luwin checks on Meredith. 

When it becomes clear nothing is happening right that moment Luwin goes to check on the babe; cleaning and wrapping the cord and checking it's heart and lungs. Meredith pants as she leans back against Ned. 

"Told you it was a girl." Meredith murmurs, which gets her a laugh from Ned. 

"You might have a boy yet." He reminds her. 

Which makes Meredith groan even louder. 

Ned plants another kiss at her ear, sweet foreign words slipping from his mouth as Luwin comes back from tending to the babe - who now rests fitfully in the midwife's arms - and Meredith knows she'll need to nurse soon but there's pressure building again and now isn't really a great time for that. So she turns her attention to the task at hand, grunting and whining and crying out when the pain crests like it always does. 

Their son is born nearly half-an-hour after their daughter and it's such a relief that Meredith can't help but slump backward. 

Gods she's exhausted. 

It feels like everything around her is shrouded in fog... there, but a bit too distant. 

Meredith isn't aware anything is wrong until she's being picked up and taken over to the bed, Ned's frantic words cutting through that dreamy thickness filling her head. She runs her fingers across his cheek for a moment, unaware of what he's saying but trying to offer comfort, and there's something going on around her but it's difficult to make out. Besides, she's too tired to bother with all the noise and the light and the... she slips off quietly to the sound of terrified voices. 

And wakes sometime later to a dull ache and fingers in her hair. 

Meredith manages to pry crusty eyes open and blinks a few times to get rid of the spots that dance through her vision, smiling benignly at a relieved looking Ned. 

"You scared me." He tells her, leaning down to kiss her. 

"What happened?" Meredith asks, aware that something must have. 

Ned, sweet, gentle Ned, sighs and quietly begins to explain. 

"There was a lot of blood, Meredith... Luwin managed to stop the bleeding but it was touch and go for a bit with how weak you were and how much blood you lost." 

"Where are the babes?" Meredith asks and Ned smiles. 

"Maester Luwin found them a wet nurse for the time being. When you're feeling better I'll have them brought in to see you." Ned says, and Meredith frowns. 

Isn't it important for babes to drink from their mothers those first few hours? Thicker, richer milk? Will her babes be alright? 

Ned must see the panic building in her face because he shushes her with gentle, dulcet tones. 

"They're alright," Ned promises then he smiles, "Gods Meredith, you should see them. Jon and Robb are thrilled, they haven't stopped asking about you but I've distracted them with treats and promises to get them the moment you wake... so maybe pretend to wake up for them when I bring them next?" 

Meredith nods. 

"I'll be very dramatic about it." She says. 

Ned's finger tips massage her scalp and he tells her, "Get some rest, love, I'll send for Luwin." 

Still tired, and lulled by the sensation of Ned's fingers, Meredith nods and murmurs a sleepy, "Mhmm. Love you." 

Fingers stall in her hair, tension freezing the limb, and then a breath of air escapes her husband as he leans down to press his forehead against hers. 

"Love you." 

It's a whisper of words, carried on the breath and full of reverence. 

Meredith clings to it as she slips back into the darkness. 

Chapter Text

Meredith learns that Sansa and Torrhen are nowhere near mirror images of one another the third time she wakes and Maester Luwin decides she's strong enough to nurse her children under the careful supervision of not only the Maester himself but Ned as well. Apparently one man watching her nurse her children isn't enough. Ned quietly tells her that it's so that one of them can catch the babe if she feints and drops them. Meredith glares at him for even suggesting such a thing and promptly turns her attention to the children being carted into the room. 

Sansa, her daughter and the eldest of the two, is a small thing with a bit of red sprouting along the top of her head to match the red lining her eyes and shadowing her brow. Other than her coloring Meredith can't make out much in terms of her physical appearance but Meredith thinks that she'll be a tall girl. Sansa's already long for a babe - especially a twin - and has long hands and feet to match. Meredith smiles and coos at the little girl as she nurses her at a breast, tracing the tips of her fingers over her daughter's little cheek until she's full to bursting and Ned quietly moves to exchange her for her brother. Torryn is probably going to end up taking after Ned and Jon if the dark shadow on the top of his head is anything to go by. Dark hair and a long face. Meredith smiles a bit wider at finally being able to see Ned in one of the babes she's birthed. It'll make it easier for people to believe Jon's Ned's son... including Jon... The more of himself he can see in his siblings the better. Meredith hopes that it offers her boy some sort of comfort. Some way of assuring himself that he's a Stark no matter what rumor he hears that claims otherwise. 

"They're healthy?" Meredith wonders, because even though Maester Luwin and Ned have assured her they are Meredith wants to be absolutely certain. 

Maester Luwin shuffles closer and nods to her before explaining that while the birth had been hard on Meredith - what with the excess bleeding and the toll it took on her physical strength - the babes suffered no ill effects of the birth and have been tended to diligently by not only Ned and himself but by the wet nurse and Wynafryd as well. It eases some of her worries, a bit, but Meredith can't help but question whether or not the two men who lie to her in an attempt to keep her happy. Considering Meredith knows Her husband it's hard to believe he'd lie to her about something like that but... he's lied about far more important things for similar reasons. 

Speaking of her boys. 

"Have Robb and Jon met their siblings?" Meredith asks, to which Ned shakes his head. 

"Not yet. I didn't want them to meet until I was certain everyone was going to be alright." Ned tells her before smiling and offering, "Would you like me to get them?" 

Meredith nods. 

"No better time than now, yes?" 

Maester Luwin advises Ned remind the children how to handle babes before telling him that while Ned's getting the children he intends to check Meredith's health now that she's nursed. Which means Ned will likely have to distract the children a bit before he brings them into the room. 

Once he's gone Luwin begins checking Meredith's pulse, her eyes, simpler reflexes, and then he tells her that he'll need to check her for infections. So with a bit of hesitance Meredith allows Luwin to lift her skirt and examine the sutured skin around her vagina where she'd obviously tore. He must not see anything worrying because he smiles reassuringly and carefully spreads a cool, creamy substance around the irritated skin before helping her fix her dress. 

"All things considered I think you'll heal nicely." Maester Luwin tells her as he cleans his hands in the basin, "I'm going to confine you to this bed for a sennight to ensure you're body's given time to truly rest after this whole ordeal but I suspect you'll be perfect capable of resuming your normal activities after." 

"What's the likelihood of having more children?" Meredith asks, it's a suitable question seeing as this birth was so hard on her. 

Luwin smiles and informs her that as long as there's no infection and she gets the proper amount of rest that the possibility of her having any further complications will be next to none. But there's always a possibility of the worse happening so the two take a few more minutes to discuss how Luwin plans on treating her and what Meredith needs to do to assist him. Essentially he's going to have her use a topical ointment to help stave off infection and while she heals Meredith needs to make sure not to strain herself. Which means she'll be allowed out of her rooms but she'll have to wait until she's completely healed before she goes riding, running, shooting, or anything else of that nature. 

A knock on the door pulls their attention away from the conversation and Luwin reminds her to be careful one last time before going to the door. 

Robb and Jon stand quietly at Ned's side, both sporting wide eyes and nervous grins. Meredith knows Ned must have told them to be careful when he was getting them, reminding them that they'd have to be gentle with Meredith and the babes after everything that's happened over the last few days. It's sweet that they're listening, but horrible that she's scared them so much that they feel the need to be so quiet around her. 

"Oh sweetlings, come here." Meredith says as she holds out her hands. 

Jon's the first to break into a toddling run, dark curls bounding as he races for the bed with Robb only steps behind him. Ned follows, carefully scooping up each child and depositing them on the bed when it becomes clear they can't crawl up by themselves. Meredith hugs each of them tight, pulling them into her sides and planting gentle kisses at their hairlines. She tries not to cry as they cling to her. Their little fingers digging in until she can feel the press of their nails even through the fabric of her sleeve. 

"I'm sorry I scared you," Meredith tells them, "I promise I'll try not to do it again." 

Neither boy says anything but they do press closer to her body. 

"Have you been good for your father and Uncle Benjen, sweetlings?" Meredith asks, hoping a direct question will get them speaking to her. 

"Yes, mama." Robb murmurs into her collarbone. 

"Thank you, I'm sure they appreciated that." Meredith tells them as she gently rocks them back and forth. 

It takes a moment but eventually the two settle down enough that they slip back into more familiar behaviors. They still remain incredibly still around her, hardly moving and clinging to her sides, but they begin talking to her about everything that's been happening and all they've been up to while she's been ill. Meredith listens to them, asks them questions, tries to comfort them in a more subtle way despite how tired she's becoming. 

Thankfully, conversation starts to run in the direction of the twins. 

"Would you like to meet them, sweetlings? You'll have to be very, very gentle." Meredith tells them, already reaching to accept the two sleeping babes from her husband. 

Her boys press close, close, close. So close that they're little faces are almost nose-to-nose with their siblings. Meredith watches them closely. It isn't that she's afraid they'll do anything to hurt the babes, nothing like that, just that she'd like to be able to see the expressions on their faces as they decide whether or not being an older sibling is everything they thought it would be this early on. Of the two, Robb seems less than impressed. Her typically starry-eyed boy stares at the babes in her arms like they're featherless chicks; a sort of distant fascination that borders on distaste. It makes Meredith smile a bit. Wasn't he the one most excited about being an older brother? Didn't he have such marvelous plans for all they would do? Perhaps not well-thought-out plans but plans all the same. It's a bit amusing to watch Robb realize that his visions are going up in smoke as the babes wiggle and gurgle in their sleep. 

Jon on the other hand, seems nothing but happy.

Meredith watches as the typically solemn boy reaches out to poke Sansa's palm and smiles sunshine bright when she reflexively tightens her hold on him. 

"They're small." Robb states, sounding displeased. 

"They'll get bigger." Ned assures him with a gentle ruffling of auburn curls.  

It only earns him an exasperated look from Robb, who turns away from the babes in favor of talking excitedly at Meredith. Jon remains tucked at her side closest to Sansa so as not to disturb her grip on his finger. It's endearing. Meredith wants to snuggle him close in an attempt to preserve the incredibly happy expression on his face. Meredith thinks that while Robb and Jon will protect any younger sibling they have, it'll be Jon who protects his sisters the fiercest. Which is just as sweet as it is terrifying. Who knows what Jon would do for Sansa and any other sister he might have as a man grown with a sword in his hand and a point to prove. 

Sometime later Ned carefully ushers the boys out of Meredith's bed with the promise that tomorrow - as long as they behave well while with her - they can have their meals with her. Both boys place sloppy kisses upon her cheeks before Wynafryd takes them away. 

Once the door shuts behind them Meredith is advised to try nursing one more time before Maester Luwin hands the babes off to the wet nurse. The woman doesn't leave the room though, simply settles down in a chair next to the hearth and tends to her tasks where Meredith can see her. She doesn't know if the woman is doing it to comfort her or is just doing as she's told but the act makes Meredith want to cry as she doesn't know if she would be able to bear having her babes leave her right now. 

She falls asleep to the sound of gentle cooing from the woman and the feel of Ned's fingers threading through her hair. 

"What do you think," Meredith holds up two samples of her embroidery, "Roses or lilies?" 

Torrhen blinks at her. 

"Ah, very well, the lilies then." 

She's been out of bed-rest for nearly three weeks now and while her body's still healing Maester Luwin's confident enough in her current state of being that he's allowed her more freedoms. Which basically means that she can go to the Lord's Solar, the Library, the Glass Gardens, or the nursery outside of her own bedchambers. It's a bit annoying not really being able to do anything other than sit, wonder around, and find benign tasks to entertain herself with but Ned's been a godsend. When he has time Ned will bring her ledgers and letters and simple tasks that won't cause her any stress. It's very sweet of him. Meredith truly appreciates all he's doing to keep her happy. Which isn't to say spending time with her children doesn't make her happy, it does, of course it does, but it's also nice to be able to do something a bit more... adult. 

Today's a bit quieter than most. The nice weather's pulled the majority of lessons outside and with his free time Ned came and got the older children to take them outside to play instead of keeping them cooped up inside. He leaves Meredith with Old Nan and Wynafryd should she need help with the babes but for the most part Sansa and Torrhen are delightful. They cry like normal babes do, fuss, but they seem easily soothed and of a more mild temperament than some babes Meredith's seen. Which means it's incredibly easy to entertain them so long as Meredith continues trying. And so she embroiders, talks, shows them her projects, and continues in that vein for some time. 

Currently, she's working on clothing for Sansa. 

Torrhen has all sorts of clothes from Robb and Jon's time as newborns - his blanket having been made and embroidered nearly as soon as Meredith was of a mind to hold a needle - and while Meredith doesn't much care about whether or not Sansa wore those clothes as well seeing as they're not specifically boy's clothing in appearance... it's nice to be able to make something more feminine for her daughter. Whether or not Sansa will want to wear dresses and finery in the future is still up for debate but Meredith wants to be able to give her something physical. Made from her love. And what's more made from love than embroidered lilies? Meredith loves the flower as they used to grow in the rivers around Riverrun, but they're such a pain to embroider. 

"I hope the two of you realize that if I stab myself making your clothes i'm going to tell you all about how painful it was later on," Meredith prattles, filling the quiet nursery with her voice, "I'll tell you how I bled and bled and how painful it was. I fully expect the two of you to either find my dramatics amusing or tolerate them... Gods, I hope you're more fun than Lysa. Poor thing never had much of a sense of humor." 

Meredith would never say something so cruel about her sister in anything but a private setting and with neither Old Nan or Wynafryd currently in the room it's safe enough to tell the truth... hurtful as it may be. Lysa was always a sweet girl growing up - before father crushed her heart, that is - and she was always so kind to everyone, but her japes were terrible. The ones that managed to draw a genuine laugh from people were quickly tired out as Lysa clung to that little bit of laughter and tried to gain more. Meredith tried to find genuine humor in her sister's antics but... it was hard more often than not. Sweet Lysa may have been, funny? Hardly. 

It'll be a damned shame if Meredith has to sit and fake laugh at any jape her children make.

Which she would do in a heartbeat if it would make them happy. 

"Luckily for you, you're father's the funny one. He's quiet about it but i think when you're older you'll appreciate that about him." 

Sansa makes a strange sort of huffed noise. 

"That's right." Meredith nods as she threads green through a needle, "They call him the Quiet Wolf, did you know? I used to find the name in poor taste. Thought people were being cruel." 

She doesn't tell them that the quiet ones are the most dangerous. 

Brandon might have been Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North had he not been killed but he would have been a poor ruler. It was no secret even to those who hadn't met him that Brandon Stark was more interesting in women, riding, and being Wolf Blooded than ruling. Meredith suspects he didn't have the patience or the mind to rule, and he would have been easily manipulated with pretty, wild eyes and the promise of glory. 

Lyanna had been similar in her own way. She wanted love, wanted a happy life, and Meredith will never condemn her for that - not when it's something she wants for herself as well - but she can recognize that Lyanna's brash nature and her inability to wait for the right opportunity had been what ended up being her downfall. Lyanna might have been better off marrying Robert. A man like him would be easy enough to manipulate... once you find the right strings to pull and twist. But instead Lyanna chose a dragon, and the realm burned for it. 

Ned, sweet and quiet, is an apt ruler. A bit unsteady at the moment but learning quickly and showing so much promise. Meredith thinks that his quiet nature will do him a bit of good in this power struggle they find themselves playing in. No Lord or Lady is safe from it in Westeros. Ned's quiet nature will make him harder to read, Meredith just hopes he sheds some of that gods forsaken honor his father instilled in him. Honor doesn't win wars. Honor doesn't keep your family safe. 

Not in Westeros. 

All things her children will learn in time, when they're old enough to know the difference between the good things in the world and the bad. Meredith has every intention of letting them be children for as long as possible. Let her and Ned be their shields, their arrows in the dark. They're older, they've seen war and death aplenty, they can handle the burden of keeping their children safe and happy as long as possible. As if aware of her mother's thoughts, Sansa gurgles, successfully drawing Meredith's attention. 

Meredith will protect Sansa fiercest of all. 

Not because she's incapable of one day protecting herself but because this world they live in? It's not built for women. 

Robb and Jon and Torrhen - and any other boy born to Ned and Meredith - will grow up in the security that their manhood will allow them the closest thing to freedom the world knows. They can govern, wage war, marry who they please, travel as they please, laugh as they please, fuck and drink and live as they please. No daughters born in this world will ever experience that on the same level, no matter how hard Meredith will try for hers. Daughters are homemakers, birthers, objects of desire but never truly treated as an equal to their husband. Meredith doesn't know how she got so fucking lucky with Ned and thanks the Gods every time she thinks of what might have happened. There are other places in the world where women are offered more freedom, of course their are, but Westeros is a terrible place to be born a woman. 

Meredith hums quietly as she begins sewing thorny stems onto a snowy backdrop and swears that she'll do everything in her power to protect Sansa from the horrors of the world for as long as she can in whatever way she has to. 

"Will you be wearing the yellow gown or the blue?" Niamh asks from behind Meredith as she scrubs sweet smelling oils into Meredith's hair. 

"Hmm." Meredith glances over at the dresses Lara is shaking out and says, "Perhaps the blue." 

The yellow gown is lovely with its southern style; billowing sleeves and flowing skirts and meticulous embroidery. Meredith spent months making it and still hasn't had a time to wear it. Now would be as good a time as any seeing as she's finally healed enough that Maester Luwin's allowing her out and Ned's insisting on taking her on a tour of Winter town. It'll be her first true look at the small town that has built itself beneath the shadow of Winterfell's bailey and Meredith wants to look acceptable. Ostentatious shows of southern wealth won't endear her to the common folk, the last thing Meredith wants is to make herself an outsider among them. Well, more of one in any case. So she'll dress in soft blues, brush her hair until is gleams, and she'll do her best to present herself as more than just a southern woman who's coming into their home trying to change their ways of living. 

Which isn't necessarily a lie. 

Meredith is trying to change the North, transform it, and it's her hope that Winter Town benefits from her labor. 

Niamh hums softly as she begins rinsing out the oil from Meredith's hair while Lara goes about getting the rest of Meredith's things ready. When the brunette behind her is satisfied she helps Meredith rise and wraps her in a linen before easing her out of the water. Both women then go to work drying and dressing and decorating her. By the end of it Meredith feels like a doll being pulled this way and that... but she can't say the girls aren't talented in their own right. Not when she takes a look in the mirror and sees a woman made of fire and ice staring back at her. 

"You look wonderful, my Lady." Niamh tells her with a sunny smile. 

"The common folk'll be talking about you for days." Lara agrees. 

Confused, Meredith looks to the blonde and asks, "Why is that?" 

Lara shrugs, wipes her hands on her skirt, and then looks at Meredith. 

"People born with red hair are kissed by fire. It's an omen, started with the Wildlings beyond the Wall and took root in the days of Winter Kings. Means you're lucky." Lara tells her before adding, "Among other things." 

Meredith isn't sure what to say about that so she says nothing and allows Niamh to help her drape her cloak around her shoulders - not the one made of white bear fur, that's for special occasions only - and then heads for the door as Ned will likely be waiting for her in the Lord's Solar. Meredith smiles a bit to herself as she passes the nursery where Sansa and Torrhen are likely being entertained by Jon and Robb - none of whom will be accompanying her and Ned to Winter Town on account of the fact that they're all a bit too young. Maybe when they're a bit older and Meredith only has to worry about wrangling two little ones as opposed to four. They'll be safe with Old Nan and Wynafryd for the time being. 

It's with this assurance that Meredith steels her nerves and continues the journey to the Lord's Solar where she finds Ned patiently waiting for her with Damyn. The two linger a moment to discuss the happenings of the day and what Meredith can expect of the less than bustling village before they leave. 

All in all it's a typical sort of day. 

Ned guides Meredith around the village with a soft smile and a story or two to tell about his adventures with his siblings. None of the common folk living in the village really make note of them, which makes Meredith wonder how used they are to seeing their Lord of Winterfell strolling through their streets. Meredith meets a few of the villagers in passing, always sure to be polite and engage them in conversation. It's a skill her father taught her. Engaging with people. Though, she doubts her father ever truly expected her to use such skills on the common folk when there are Lords and Ladies to focus on. So Meredith does her very best to be the epitome of perfection. A perfect mix of good southern breeding and northern ice, which is a bit tricky to do but Meredith thinks she manages well enough. 

"You're good at this." Ned tells her as they meander through a crowded market. 

Smiling, Meredith turns to stare at the array of brightly colored goods; flowers, grains, beans, small trinkets, even bolts of brightly dyed fabric that must cost a small fortune. She doesn't thank Ned, doesn't see a point in it. As a Lady it's Meredith's duty to be a good leader, should her husband ever go off for a long period of time it will be up to Meredith to govern these people, and what kind of leader would she be if she didn't at least try to make a genuine connection with the people she's lording over? Still, the fact that Ned thinks she's doing something right certainly makes her feel better about herself. 

More assured in her role. 

Just another game to play, she tells herself as she's pulled into conversation with a woman selling jewelry made of various animal bones, only this one a bit more enjoyable than the other. 

Meredith wakes to little hands curling around her ankles, tiny feet sliding cross her shin, a little body pressing against her back. She cracks an eye open to peer into hazy moonlight and finds Robb teetering at her legs in his attempt to crawl over them and get into the empty space between herself and Ned where Jon has already manages to tuck  himself against Ned. 

"Robb?" Meredith asks, leaning up on an elbow and reaching out to offer a steadying hand to her son, who grabs it fiercely and uses it to leverage himself over this newest hurdle. "What are you doing?" 

"Jon had a bad dream." Robb tells her, eyes wide, and a horrified shriek sounds from behind her. 

"I didn't!" 

Whether Robb's lying about Jon having a bad dream or not doesn't really matter. It's late, late enough that Meredith isn't going to bother trying to put the boys back to bed in the nursery, and they all need the sleep. So she simply rolls over to pull the boys close and offer them the protection of her arms. Ned shuffles a bit on the other side of the bed, likely woken by the boy's and their attempt to clamber over their parents. Meredith doesn't see him roll over as she's closed her eyes in an attempt to go back to bed but she does feel his hand as his moves across the swell of her him to rest at her waist. 

There's a moment of shuffling between the boys before they settle and Meredith thinks they've both decided to go back to sleep. Then little fingers press against her cheek forcing her eyes open. She comes face-to-face with Robb. 

"Is the rat cook coming?" Her son asks, and if it weren't for the seriousness of his face Meredith would think Robb was just saying things to say them. 

Confused and exhausted Meredith frowns as she asks, "The what?" 

"The rat cook." Jon intones, sounding afraid. 

"Nan said that he... he... he... he eats kids." 

Oh, Gods. 

Meredith groans, kicks Ned, and turns to the boys. 

"The rat cook isn't coming here, sweetlings." Meredith promises. "Old Nan was just telling you a story." 

"She said it was true." 

"I'm sure she thinks it is," Meredith remarks before muttering a soft, "Old bat." 

"Meredith." Ned softly chides, eyes still closed. "The rat cook is cursed to the Wall, he can't go any farther than his kitchen at the Nightfort." 

A moment passes, two, and then Robb begins to sniffle. Jon follows right behind. And soon the two boys are crying softly as an annoyed Meredith and a frantic Ned attempt to console the two. Meredith has half a mind to let Ned clean up his own mess and if it weren't for the soft sobbing of her children she might have. Instead she settles on scooping the boys up and moving them closer to their father so that she can press them in close between her body and his. It's a shoddy form of comfort but the tears stop after a bit. 

Laughter follows. 

Soft, muffled noises that spill from Ned as he tries to contain his hysteria. 

"You're a child." Meredith laughs before she curls around her boys and tries to go to sleep as well. 

Chapter Text

Whispers of Ironborn attacking merchant vessels and trawlers reach Meredith's ear when Sansa and Torrhen are but seven moons and crawling. Servants mutter about Reavers as they spit on the ground and hustle on, Lara says it's because some of the men and women working in Winterfell have family in villages near places along the coast of The Rills and the Stony Shores, both long stretches of coast often hit by the Ironborn when they go looking for glory and fortune. Not that the villages have much. They're fishing villages, certainly, but due to the Ironborn most of the large ports where genuine wealth can be found is located on the Eastern Shores - far from Ironborn Reavers and pillagers. 

"Does this happen often?" Meredith asks. 

Because it used to happen in the Riverlands. Still does. The Iron Islands aren't far from the coasts of the Riverlands and Westerlands, both regions have had plenty of interactions with the Reavers... Meredith and her sisters were never taken near Seaguard or the little strip of coastline that belongs to the Riverlands due to the fact that Hoster and Brynden Tully had wanted to keep them far from any man from the Islands looking for a salt wife, which had been the fate of many young women unfortunate enough to be caught in the cross hairs when the Reavers decided to test their luck on the Riverlands shores instead of the Westerlands coast.  

Mostly it was ships and vessels that were taken by the Reavers, all at sea and too far from the shore to be any true threat. 

But mostly doesn't mean always and Meredith was raised on tales of caution. 

"Aye," Lara remarks, "less so in the fall and winter. Not enough profit to be made on the fishing villages then, but in the summer and spring they tend to grow bolder. Mostly they come to our shores looking for women." 

"That's horrible." 

Lara shrugs. 

"Ironborn, Wildlings, we've experience handling the likes of both." 

"What's typically done to handle the Reavers in the North?" Meredith asks, aware that how the Riverlands handle the Ironborn likely isn't the same as the way the North does. 

"For the most part the common folk are allowed to defend themselves, no one here is going to look at a gutted Reaver and cry for justice." Lara tucks golden hair behind her ear and continues with a bitter sort of amusement, "Edwyle Stark used to pay villagers for every Ironborn they killed, gave the reavers a bit of a reason to stay clear of our shores but, erm, Lord Stark's father did away with that when he became Lord." 

Meredith can see the reasoning behind both. 

Paying common folk for killing Ironborn Reavers is a good way to scare any invaders off. Money pushes people to do terrible things and there wouldn't be any love lost between a Reaver and the man he was aiming to slaughter. It's a dog-eat-dog world, after all, and someone has to be at the feast. Meredith can't say she blames any of the villagers for taking the money, not when they would have killed the Reavers anyway... and Edwyle Stark must have known that the word would travel to the Ironborn quickly once the first coin purse was delivered. At the end of the day, however, it isn't a very smart business venture. Rickard Stark was both smart to do away with it and a fool for not taking more preventative measures against the Ironborn. 

"What about now? I know that Quellon Greyjoy supported Robert Baratheon at the end of the Rebellion." Meredith remarks, hoping that during the war the villagers along the coast got some sort of a reprieve. 

"We still had Reavers during the Rebellion, just not nearly as often." Lara seems entirely unaffected as she says, "Balon Greyjoy isn't his father, Lady Stark, and I suspect we'll be seeing more Reavers on our shores in the coming years." 

Meredith looks to Sansa and Torrhen, frowning deeply as she watches her son and daughter crawl around the solar. Winterfell is far enough inland that none of her children will have to face the threat of Reavers until they're much older but the thought of it happening makes Meredith sick to her stomach. Between the Ironborn and the Free Folk there isn't much Meredith can do on her own. Realistically she understands that sending troops to monitor the fishing villages lining the coast isn't a practical idea as it won't deter the Reavers and will only cost more lives then necessary... a hand settles on her arm. 

"Don't worry over it," Lara tells her, eyes kind and warm, "there were Reavers before now and there'll be Reavers after we're dirt in the ground." 

All the same, it doesn't sit well with Meredith that the villagers living along the western coastline have to suffer at the hand of the Ironborn while the Lords who govern over those lands sit safely tucked behind their baileys and battlements. Maybe there isn't anything to worry about, maybe the Reavers will press closer to the Westerland and Riverland shores where the people are better prepared to handle the assaults... but maybe they won't. And it's that maybe that makes Meredith's skin crawl. So she decides she'll talk to Ned about it and see if there's anything that can be done about the Reavers. 

"It's scratchy." Robb tells her, arms still diligently held aloft at his sides. 

Meredith smiles at him, seated on the floor as she is they're almost at eye level to one another with him standing on the little stool Meredith had brought into the room. He looks bound and determined not to move, not to shift enough to disturb the pins Meredith so painstakingly positioned so they wouldn't stick him. Gods he's getting so big. Him and Jon both. They're outgrowing all of their clothes and Meredith's more than happy to try and salvage what she can of them but she's happy that she's able to make them something that'll actually last a bit longer. 

"We'll wash it a few times and soften the fabric before you have to wear it, sweetling." Meredith promises, which earns her a serious little nod. 

Looking over to the side Meredith catches a glimpse of Jon making faces at the babes, who gurgle and make unintelligible noises of amusement as if to encourage him. It's a sweet scene. Meredith turns back to Robb. 

"Is this too tight?" She asks, pulling the fabric around Robb's shoulders. 

Fitting children is a little more difficult than one might think as they don't quite understand the concept of their own personal preferences, but Meredith thinks that now that the boys are more verbal she's figured out a few of them. 

Robb prefers soft fabrics; fleece, suede, and cotton linen to name a few, and only ever in neutral colors. Meredith's made him a few more brightly colored items and Robb has worn them when she's insisted but Meredith has seen the way he gravitates to browns and greys and blacks. So she's catered to those preferences now knowing that she can add bits of color into his clothes through embroidery and other such embellishments. If Robb were to gravitate toward colors Meredith would make him all sorts of colorful things, but the reality is Robb doesn't enjoy wearing bold colors. Which is perfectly alright. Meredith has more than enough talent to clothe Robb in neutral shades and still make him look like a little Lord. 

Besides... she also has Jon. 

Compared to Robb, Jon is the more adventurous of her children when it comes to color. His skin tone relates more to his father's bloodline than his mothers; a sort of silvery paleness that doesn't quite match the winter hue of the Starks. Thankfully it's not nearly as noticeable as it would be if he looked anymore Targaryen - it's the Stark hair and those dark eyes of his that save him - and so Meredith tries to keep it that way. Dark colors wash Jon out too much, make him look sickly. So Meredith splurges a bit on deep emerald hues, a navy, and some more neutral blues to help bring some life to his face. Jon seems to like it, sometimes she'll even find him staring at bolts of summer violets and burnt oranges. While she never buys those colors - as it would be impractical considering how expensive they are to have imported North with the current troubles merchants are having with Reavers - she does embroider colorful designs on the Navy tunics and inside of his cloaks in similar hues to make up for it. 

"They're too long." Robb says, little fingers wiggling beneath the excess fabric. 

"Yes, I'm trying to decide how much fabric to keep if I want to let out your clothes as you grow." Meredith leans forward to kiss Robb's temple, "Wouldn't want to do this every time you outgrow them now would we?" 

"I don't mind." Jon remarks from the small travelling crib where the babes are. 

Robb huffs and snarks back with a snippy little, "Yes you do!" 

"No I don't. You do." 

Sighing, Meredith begins carefully pulling the pinned articles off of Robb so that none of the pins get him. This arguments isn't nearly as heated as some of the others the two have had and Meredith allows them a moment to bicker before she gently interrupts them. 

"That's enough, sweetlings." Meredith says and both boys glare at one another before turning to her, "There's going to be a festival to celebrate the coming of summer, would you like me to make you both something new or would you like to wear some of your other items?" 

One would think that with spring the amount of snow the North sees would lesson, it doesn't. The past few weeks have been nothing but flurries and drifts. Ned claims that the common folk are calling it a False Spring because the weather is more alike to what's seen in the winter than during the slightly warmer months. Apparently the snow they're seeing now is only slightly less problematic than it usually is in the winter. So Meredith isn't really looking forward to seeing what a proper winter is despite Ned's reassurances that everything will be alright. 

Thankfully, the Maesters have sent the white raven with predictions of summer fast approaching. 

Which means that the people are preparing for a festival. 

Meredith isn't certain what all happens during this celebration of summer but Lara has lead her to believe that it's a bit... intense. Dancing and drinking and a Woods Witch who... does whatever it is a Woods Witch does during this type of celebration. All Meredith knows for certain is that the Stark usually make an appearance to this festival in the Wolfswood. 

"I'm fine." Robb says, already struggling to pull his shirt on over his head. 

He gets it on but it's inside out and facing the wrong way so Meredith quietly helps him get the tunic on the way it's supposed to be before ruffling his curls and sending him off. When she turns to Jon she finds the little boy inching close, closer, close until the toes of his little boots bump into Meredith's knee. Jon smiles as he reaches out to curl his fingers around her shoulders, nails biting into the blue silk.  

"Can I have a jerkin?" Jon asks softly. "Like papa's?" 

"Of course you can sweetling." Meredith says and the smile she receives in turn is such a delighted thing that it almost takes Meredith's breath from her lungs. 

She and Ned have never been so cruel as to refuse the boys things they truly want so long as it's reasonable for a boy their age to have. When Robb had wanted a sword like Beric's practice sword Meredith had compromised with a blunted wooden sword that Beric had quietly taken to teaching Robb to use. When Jon had asked for a marble game Meredith had one commissioned for him. Neither she nor Ned have ever truly denied the children anything, so it makes her ache to think that Jon would only ask her for a jerkin when she's offered them something special for the coming celebrations. 

Without thought Meredith pulls Jon into her arms and kisses his hair. 

"Would you like me to line it with fleece or velvet?" Meredith asks, knowing that somewhere among her personal fabrics she'll likely have something in a color Jon will like. 

"Either." Jon says, limp in her arms but clinging to her dress. 

"Alright, sweetling, off with you then." She says and Jon offers one last smile before he too disappears from the room. 

"A letter's come for you, my Lady." Niamh says as she extends a slain looking scroll to Meredith. 

There's no bright seal with the Lannister Lion or the Arryn moon and falcon. In fact, the letter itself is sealed with brown wax with no indicator of any house or personal affiliation. Meredith hesitates to open the letter. She doesn't think anyone would try to assassinate her with a sealed letter but she knows enough about poisons to know that some are easy to hide beneath parchment folds... some even sink into the flesh with nothing more than simple touch. Swallowing thickly, Meredith motions for Niamh to place the letter on the desk and quietly tells the girl to take a seat before going to the hall where a Stark guard is standing. 

"Please send for Maester Luwin, tell him it's possibly urgent." Meredith instructs and the man's eyes widen a bit before he nods and shoots off down the corridor.

Meredith returns to the Niamh, who's grown pale and terrified looking. 

"It could be nothing." Meredith assures her, knowing that the girl's come to the same conclusion as her. "There are no indicators telling me who could have sent this letter and after everything that's happened with Lord Bolton and Lady Barbrey I'd like to be certain neither of us are in any danger before I open that letter." 

Niamh nods, shaking hands tucked into her lap. Meredith reaches out to pet the girl's hair in an attempt to offer her some comfort. Perhaps not the smartest thing she could do if the girl has been poisoned but Meredith will offer comfort where she can, especially when Niamh has done absolutely nothing to warrant a death such as this. The two remain quiet as they wait for Maester Luwin, who arrives in a flurry of grey with a heavy wooden box dangling from his side. 

"I came as quickly as I could." He says as he places the box on the desk. 

Meredith shuts and bolts the door. 

"I received an unmarked letter today," Meredith begins explaining to Luwin, "and I'm afraid Niamh could have been caught in foul play." 

"You think poison?" Maester Luwin asks, lighting a small candle and moving closer to Niamh. 

"I believe there could be... considering everything that's happened recently with Lord Bolton." 

The two share a look before Maester Luwin steps up to Niam and taps his nose, "Look here." 

Meredith watches as Maester Luwin moves the candle flame in and out of Niamh's sight, switching hands and angles occasionally as he begins trying to rule out different poisons. Once her eyes have been checked Luwin moves to checking her pulse, her throat, the inside of her mouth, he even goes as far as to see if she's coherent. When it's decided that aside from general worry Niamh isn't suffering any ill effects Luwin asks to see the letter, which Meredith motions to but refuses to touch. Luwin quietly dons a pair of leather gloves so he can handle the letter and deftly breaks the seal before easing it open. 

Nothing falls from between the folds, spilling fatally over Luwin's fingers and seeping into the air. 

Meredith almost feels silly for reacting the way she did. 

"I don't believe this letter has been tampered with," Maester Luwin says, "but if you're truly worried about it I would recommend using gloves when handing any further unmarked correspondences." 

"Thank you, I apologize for the paranoia." Meredith remarks, to which Luwin waves her off. 

She waits until he's slipped out of the room before dismissing Niamh with instructions to go to the kitchens and get herself a bit of honey-milk. Once she's alone Meredith turns to the letter and frowns as she carefully flips the letter open to read its contents, surprised to find that Doran Martell has written to her. Uncertain of what to do, Meredith settles in her chair and pulls the letter closer so that she can figure out what's going on. Because the Martells have never gone out of their way to speak with the Starks, or interact with the North. For Doran Martell to be doing it now? After everything that happened with his sister? 

Meredith takes a moment to relax her jaw before turning her attention to the letter. 

Doran talks of Elia first, thanks Meredith for Ned's part in the rescuing of his niece and the attempt he made in getting justice for the murder of Elia and Aegon. Meredith doesn't understand why he's thanking her until the next bit of letter where he mentions the conversation he had with Maege Mormont when the Lady of Bear Island brought little Rhaenys home. Apparently Maege spoke nothing but good things when it came to her Lord and Lady Stark. Meredith doesn't think Doran would go out of his way - and possibly endanger both of their families should the Crown find out about this correspondence - to thank her for a minuscule role she had in helping save his niece. It just doesn't make sense. So she prepares herself to read between lines and suss out hidden meanings as she continues reading. 

Three pages worth of flowery words and comments that would mean less than nothing to someone who didn't know any better. To Meredith, who was raised by a man better suited for political warfare than a battlefield, those hidden hings mean the world because it tells her everything she needs to know about Doran Martell's motives... or some of them... in any case. 

Doran seems to harbor no ill will for the Starks - the living ones anyway - and seems to be willing to make some sort of alliance with them. Who better than to make first contact with than the wife no one would suspect the Martells of even caring about? It would be too obvious to send a letter to Ned Stark, but Meredith? She's perfectly unassuming. And from what Meredith has gathered she's willing to assume the Martells have someone in Winterfell. If it weren't for Doran's comment on Meredith's behavior toward Jon - so gentle and nurturing and kind, why wouldn't she empathize with the plight of another woman's child? - Meredith might not have thought there was a spy in her own home. While she doesn't think it's a threat, it's certainly a warning of some kind. At the end of the day, however, a person in her home keeping an eye on her behaviors to relay them back to the Martells of all people isn't her biggest concern. Oh no, not when it comes to Doran Martell. Right now Meredith's biggest concern is what he has planned for the Lannisters. 

Because it's very, very clear that Doran Martell is trying to fish for supporters. 

The way Doran talks about Catelyn marrying into a den of lions and the Lion of Lannister and how dangerous lions are doesn't hint at happy feelings. Not that she expects happy, gentle feelings from the Martells. Gods, she's amazed Doran's even reaching out to her and Ned. If Doran and Oberyn weren't looking for Justice for Elia then Meredith would be truly concerned. Really, trying to murder the man who murdered your sister doesn't seem completely unreasonable. What makes Meredith nervous, however, is why Doran keeps referencing Catelyn. Does he want to use her sister? Does he want to hurt her? Is this some sort of warning in which Doran tells Meredith that they're going after the Lannisters and Catelyn will be safe so long as she stays out of the crosshairs? 

No. 

No, Doran Martell isn't that foolish. 

he wouldn't insinuate something like that on the off chance that Meredith will be more likely to help him enact his justice. 

So what does he want? 

Meredith drums her fingers against the desk and ponders. 

An alliance between the Starks and Martells wouldn't look good politically, not in Robert's eyes anyway. Everyone else would see it as the North expanding, tying itself to other more powerful houses. Which Meredith's thought of doing if she's being completely honest. Marriages for her children in other large houses of Westeros would do a great deal for her family so long as her children are willing, and it wouldn't be illogical to assume Meredith would look into royal matches for her children. Some might even see it as Ned attempting to put a leach on the Martells in order to get back into the good graces of the Crown. Meredith tap, tap, taps her fingers against the hard wood of desk. 

What would Cat have to do with that? 

A babe hasn't been brought into the world through Jaime and Cat's union, but if one were to be born and the Lannisters were all slaughtered or handled in a more severe fashion, then the titles, gold, and power would fall to Catelyn's child. A child with ties to Meredith, Lysa, and the Edmure. 

Slowly, Meredith tosses the letter into the fire, burning up all the evidence before drafting a response. 

I believe these are conversations best had in person, she writes with a steady hand and a feeling of dread. 

Because she doesn't know Doran Martell, nor his brother Oberyn. She doesn't know what they will do to her children, what they will do to her, and whether or not they intend to harm her family in their quest for vengeance. People are much easier to read when you can see them in person and while Meredith doubts she'll ever see Doran Martell, she suspects that Oberyn would be more than willing to follow his instructions in this instance. 

And so she seals off her own letter with a blot of navy wax and prays that this single blind step in the dark won't end in her house's downfall. 

The day of the festival Meredith is dressed in a simple grey dress with a thick best made of boiled leather, the only embellishment comes from the wolf pendant Ned secures around her throat just seconds before he mouths a bruise into her shoulder that's barely hidden by the tumble of fiery curls Meredith is instructed to leave down for the festivities to come. When Meredith asks about it Lara informs her that with as much dancing and drinking Meredith is likely to be doing tonight it will be easier for stains to be removed from a plainer gown than it would be to remove them from something more southern in appearance. Seeing as Ned and Benjen are dressed in simple jerkins with dark tunics and rough spun trousers beneath it doesn't feel like a remark made out of maliciousness. Even Beric, Robb, and Jon are dressed simply - though Jon has refused to part with his velvet lined Jerkin since Meredith presented it to him and it happens to be the nicest thing any of the boys are wearing.

Sansa and Torrhen are left with Old Nan and Wynafryd as they're too young to take with them. Meredith makes sure to pepper them both in copious amounts of kisses before Ned finally manages to guide her out of the nursery. 

When they reach the large clearing where the festival is being held many of the common folk are well into their cups, dancing along to music played by a man with a strange looking string instrument and another with a small drum. Children race in and out of the treeline, careful to stay within sight of the men and women watching them but unafraid to slip off into the shadows. Meredith smiles reassuringly at the boys as they cling to her skirts and follow her through the small clearing alongside Ned, who gets them both a cup of honey ale before leading their little group over to an area that seems to have been set up for them. 

Benjen slips off nearly as soon as they arrive, snatched away by a pretty girl with freckles and a crown made of a braided meadowsweet-lavender mix. He twirls her once before guiding them both into the mass of people dancing around the fire burning at the dead center of the clearing. It honestly shocks Meredith a bit as Benjen has always seemed so shy around the noble Ladies she's seen him interact with. There isn't much time to dwell on it as Meredith finds herself turning to Beric, who smiles widely at her. 

"Can I go play with the other children?" He asks, thumbing over his shoulder to a group of children playing some sort of racing game. 

Meredith nods and smiles as she says, "You may, but please be careful." 

Beric nods once before darting off. 

Meredith watches as he introduces himself to the other children, chatting for a moment before one of the girls pulls him into her group of children. A hand settles on her hip. 

"It's a game called Swiftfoot," Ned murmurs into her ear, "Essentially children split up into two groups and race one another until all but two children have been beaten, those are the winners in each group, then they race each other and the winner is known as Swiftfoot." 

"Did you ever play?" Meredith asks. 

Ned shakes his head and says, "No, but Brandon and Lyanna always did." 

"Who won?" 

"Oh, Brandon," Ned laughs, "Lyanna was never much of a runner but Gods did she try." 

Meredith leans against Ned's side and smiles as she tells him, "Lysa was always the fastest of us growing up. We used to race to the Red Fork when we were a bit older and she always seemed to beat us no matter how hard we ran." 

Neither of them get an opportunity to say much as the boys both find something that catches their interest and dart off in opposite directions, leaving Ned and Meredith to amble along behind them to make sure nothing happens. Meredith ends up following after Jon, who toddles along the outer edge of the clearing as he chases after something only he seems to notice. Meredith follows along quietly behind, content to let Jon explore on his own while remaining close enough to keep him safe should she need to step in. Thankfully, Jon pauses every once in a while to turn to see if someone is following him, whenever he sees Meredith he smiles widely before toddling off again. 

Around them men and women are singing, the sky bleeding from soft blues to ebony in a flare of fire hues. 

As shadows grow and stretch Meredith makes sure to stay a bit closer to Jon. 

She nearly trips over him when he comes to an abrupt stop before a woman dressed in black. 

"Oh," Meredith says with a bit of a laugh and an apologetic smile, "I'm terribly sorry, I wasn't paying attention to were I was going." 

Which isn't entirely a lie. 

The woman before her - a lovely thing with long brown hair and soft features and large hazel eyes - smiles a bit and shrugs, which jostles the pile of kindling in her arms a bit. it draws Meredith's attention to her hands at the orange-stained tips of her slender fingers. 

"There's no harm done," the woman says and her voice is heavily accented with something Meredith doesn't think she's heard before. "You're Lady Stark." 

Meredith perks up a bit and bows her head, "Aye." 

The woman will orange fingertips blinks once, twice, and smiles widely - all teeth - as she says, "You may call me Aggie." 

Something about the woman's smile makes Meredith nervous. It doesn't seem inherently malicious, just dangerous. Like hunting dog that you know isn't going to do anything despite the fact that it certainly could. That's what Aggie makes Meredith think of. A hunting dog sniffing out something to prey upon. It takes a moment to realize why. But by then Aggie has already disappeared, slipping off without so much as a goodbye, leaving Meredith and Jon to stand quietly in the shadows cast by the large oak tree they find themselves beneath. 

"She seems nice." Jon says. 

"She does." Meredith agrees, if only to soothe her own nerves over the strange encounter. 

Meredith is quick to guide Jon back to the spot Ned had lead them to earlier and she's happy to find that both Robb and Ned are waiting for them. 

The rest of the night passes in a haze of dancing, laughter, and drinking. Meredith finds herself swept away in the sensation of it all, so different from the balls held in Riverrun. The feeling of eyes following her, however, doesn't ease. Ever since she and Jon ran into Aggie there's been a prickling at the base of her skull, like someone's watching her. No matter how many times Meredith looks she can never quite tell who it is, so she brushes it off as nothing more than being unfamiliar with the people around her and continues enjoying the night; dancing and drinking and laughing until the moon is high in the sky above the clearing. 

Things grow quieter after that. 

Children find their parents and settle into gentle dozing at their feet, lovers sneak off into the forest to do whatever it is lovers do when they sneak off into the forest, and the few men and women who do carry on the celebration do so by sharing stories and soft words around a slowly dying fire. Meredith turns to Ned, who has already begun gathering a sleeping Robb into is arms in quiet indication that it's time to go. Meredith is quick to wake Beric, who had been using her thigh as a pillow, and gathers Jon up. Benjen is no where to be found which isn't really a surprise seeing as he hadn't left the side of the girl he'd first met since they arrived. Meredith isn't worried. He'll find his way home. 

Before they leave Meredith does one more look over of the clearing in search of her good-brother. 

She doesn't find Benjen. 

Instead she finds Aggie staring at her from across a pile of burning embers, the shadows cast across her face makes her look more like a wild thing than a woman, and Meredith smiles a bit shakily before quickly turning away. 

A merchant ship washes up on along the Flint Cliffs. 

It turns out to be the Gossamer, a merchant ship from Braavos sailing for Seaguard carrying fabrics, spices, wines, and an assortment of other items. Meredith isn't quite clear on the details but the story is Reavers attacked the ship, slaughtered the crew, took anything of value, and sailed the ship long enough to ensure it would make it to shore before abandoning the ship and disappearing. By the time the ship hit the rocky shores of the Flint Cliffs the bodies had rotted into nothing more than bones, fabric, and dried meat. 

"This can't keep happening." Meredith tells Ned.

"What would you have me do about it, Meredith?" Ned asks tersely, eyes blazing. 

"I don't expect anything from you Ned, Gods," Meredith runs a hand through her hair and tries to calm down. Things have been a bit tense the past few moons. 

More reports of Reavers on Northern shores. 

More reports of young women being taken. 

More death, more pillaging, and no way to stop it as no one can seem to determine where or when the Reavers will hit next. 

The worst part about it is Balon Greyjoy assures anyone who will listen that he renounces the Reavers, that he follows in his father's footsteps and wishes for a greater day for the Iron Born. It's all a bunch of horse shit, everyone knows it, but with no way to prove Balon Greyjoy is supporting or guiding the Reavers there's nothing anyone can do. So they sit and wait. Moons will pass before anyone hears anything about the Reavers, the time between full of nothing but quiet contentedness, but when they do hear about a new raid there's nothing left behind but broken bodies, smoldering wood, and corpses. 

"Has Robert said anything?" Meredith asks, because surely a King would be able to do something. 

Ned's jaw tightens as he says, "Jon is doing everything in his power to fix the current issue." 

Which means Robert isn't. 

Gods, Meredith bets Tywin Lannister is loosing his damned mind right now. He put a Lannister daughter on the throne, married her to a King, and here that investment is paying off in lost merchant vessels, declining trade, and a man who won't get off a whore long enough to do something about a problem his Rebellion no doubt helped create. it's almost laughable. 

In a sick, twisted sort of way. 

Because there's nothing funny about this. 

If Robert doesn't do something soon, if someone doesn't do something soon, the Reavers are going to scare merchants into avoiding the Eastern coast - if they decide to trade with Westeros at all - which means the Reavers will try pushing further inland. People will die. Meredith pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. 

She has this horrible sort of feeling that something very bad is coming. 

Chapter Text

Catelyn watches as Lannisport burns from the window of her bedchamber and wonders whether or not the fire will spread further into the bustling port city or if Lord Lannister will be able to designate the containment of the fire. Tywin Lannister had left mere hours ago, disappearing with her Lord Husband and Ser Kevan the moment a panting red cloak had rushed in with news of the anchored ships in Lannisport burning; Naval and Merchant ships alike. Now she stands at her window with her hands clasped in front of her, jaw tight, and follows the plumes of black some rise into the air as they trail after the ships that have been set adrift in the hopes of minimizing the risk of setting all of Lannisport ablaze. 

She wonders what happened and hopes that the perpetrator is either foolish enough to implicate himself or smart enough to do so and flee, because her good-father will not be kind to whoever started this fire. Accident or no. Catelyn may not be learned in war but she understands that with the majority of the Lannister naval fleet and merchant vessels burning there are fewer ships equipped to handle the Reavers currently wreaking havoc on the eastern coasts of Westeros. 

Meredith, in a few of the longer letters the two have been in able exchange over the past moons, has written about the Reavers attacking small fishing villages. Supposedly there isn't much in the way of riches or jewels but that's not what the Reavers are truly after when they turn their sights on those villages, not where are's an abundance of various meats, animal product, and people to savage. The attacks have been fewer and farther between than they have been in the Westerlands or Riverlands but that doesn't take away from the severity of the situation. Meredith - her sweet, sharp witted sister - worries for the common folk; going as far as to send soldiers to those fishing villages in an attempt to have them trained in more proper methods of battle. Catelyn also suspects it might have something to do with seeing when, where, and how the Reavers tends to attack... but with so few Reavers looking to the North there must not be much information to gather, though Catelyn understands the importance of protecting the fishing villages. 

It's even worse for Lysa, who has hardly any experience with the Reavers outside of rumors. From the few letters Lysa sends to Catelyn, the oldest Tully daughter has managed to come to the conclusion that Robert's Small Council sees the Reaver attacks as nothing more than a gape. Nothing more than a handful of wayward ships set on humiliating Tywin Lannister by taking control of his trades. Catelyn doesn't understand it. Why would the Reavers want to humiliate Tywin Lannister? Shuddering, Catelyn watches as more ships are desperately pushed out to sea, smoke hovering over the city like a flock of vultures waiting for the opportune moment to pick apart the remains left behind by the fire. 

Gaze drifting away from the devestion, Catelyn finds herself staring into the sleeping face of her babe. Her sweet Aurelion, all sunset hues and emerald gems. A boy of only two years and Catelyn can't think of anything more beautiful than this child who will one day rule the Westerlands. Aurelion is, in all truths, perhaps her greatest achievement. His birth hadn't been difficult and he'd been born so healthy. Catelyn doesn't know how she got to be so lucky.... still, she worries. 

Catelyn has grown up on tales of Tywin Lannister's cruelty, his ruthlessness, his rage. All of which stems from the humiliation done to him by others. She would think that even the Reavers would know better than to try and humiliate Tywin Lannister by burning his fleets in a foolhardy power display. What will come of this? Will she have to watch as her son is pulled into the tides of Tywin's wrath? His ruin? Catelyn's nails dig into her palm. 

"My Lady?" A voice calls from the opposite side of the closed chamber door. 

"Come in!" 

The door creaks open to reveal Jeyne Hill, a bastard daughter of some lesser noble. Catelyn doesn't know much of Jeyne other than her father was some Lannister cousin who got a babe on a servant woman several years ago. She's certainly a pretty thing; green eyed, black hair, Lannister cheekbones... Catelyn glances at the jewels laid out on her vanity before looking back to the girl currently setting tea on the small table next to the hearth. It's strange seeing a bastard play the role of serving girl and Lady's Maid. Most of her tasks are given to her by her mistress, Lady Genna, and so Catelyn knows this little set up must have been ordered by her good-aunt... but for what purpose? 

"I didn't call for tea." Catelyn sharply informs her. 

She sucks in a steadying breath when the girl flinches a bit and begins explaining, "Lady Genna ordered it, my Lady... she also asked me to inform you that she would arrive within the hour." 

"Did she tell you why?" 

"It was," the girl takes a moment to wipe her hands on her skirts, collect herself, "it was not my place to ask, my Lady." 

And there are moments, few and far between as they are, that Catelyn can understand why Meredith is so very fond of her husband's bastard. Jeyne seems to be a sweet thing, a bit timid perhaps, but sweeter than the majority of the Lannisters Catelyn has met and as well behaved as any true born noble girl... still, Jeyne is a bastard, just as Jon is and had been before Lord Stark convinced her sister to have him legitimized. Fortunately enough, no one in Casterly Rock would ever try to raise a bastard above their station. Not when there are legitimate children to inherit. Catelyn knows it's a bit cruel seeing as Jeyne is so timid but it's a comfort to know that even though her son wouldn't have to worry about Jeyne inheriting the title of Warden it still wouldn't be an issue if Catelyn were to only give Jaime daughters from here on out. 

"Yes, thank you, Jeyne." Catelyn says, relaxing significantly when the girl curtsies and slips from the room. 

Turning back to the window Catelyn finds that the flame has spread to some of the buildings closest to the docks and she can almost smell the biting, nearly sour stench of burning ships from here. 

A soft prayer to the Mother falls from her mouth, disappearing into the air on soft winds. 

A prayer for Jaime, her Lord Husband, to return to her safe and unharmed so that he might be able to witness the birth of their child. 

A prayer for Kevan, because he has been nothing but civil to her. Kind even. In that way of his. 

She even prays for Lord Lannister, whom she has no true regard for outside of a general sort of loyalty based on the fact that he's not her good-father and the Lord of the House she's married into.

To be quite frank this prayer is nothing more than a courtesy for her Lord Husband. Jaime has been kind to her, perhaps not as attentive a husband as she would hope for but kind all the same. He's bought her jewels, expensive threads for her embroidery, he's offered to take her riding, he's done quite a bit in his power to make her feel more at home among the Lions of the Rock. Catelyn is thankful for it. These little acts of kindness. She'd thought he would be cruel. When her father said she would marry Jaime Lannister after his release from the Kingsguard she'd been horrified. Her? Marry the Kingslayer? Marry the son of the man who had Elia Martell and her children brutalized? Marry into the family that all of Westeros resented and feared in equal measure? Catelyn would have rather taken Eddard Stark and his bastard at the time. Things haven't changed much outside of Catelyn having grown fond enough of her husband to recognize that he's not a bad man. There are certainly worse she could have been forced to wed. All the same, she doesn't trust her good-father. 

Catelyn smooths out the front of her heavy velvet gown, silently cursing the way the Lannister crimson clashes with her hair. 

Another knock sounds at her door. 

It would seem she's always surrounded by Lannister gold and crimson. 

Genna Lannister, at least, is one of Catelyn's people too... seeing as she's married to Emmon Frey. This puts her at a certain station under Catelyn. Perhaps it isn't much of one considering Genna Lannister has kept her House's name and title as a Lady of Lannister. Lord Tywin is also quite fond of her. Catelyn knows that in terms of titles she stands above Genna Lannister, but in terms of danger it's Genna that holds the blade. 

"Lady Genna," Catelyn greets the older woman, who smiles thinly at her before settling at a table. 

"Come sit, Catelyn, you're no good to anyone praying at the window." Lady Genna says, already pouring herself a cup of tea. 

Bristling slightly, Catelyn makes her way to the table and settles across from the bustier woman. 

"Has word arrived on the nature of the fire?" Catelyn asks instead of berating Lady Genna for her lack of piety. 

A pious Lannister? 

Catelyn thinks the world would end if ever a thing were to be seen... but then... they worship their gold don't they? 

A certain religion unto itself. 

The newest Lannister watches as the pretty blonde across from her pours another cup; black tea, two sugars, no cream. Lady Genna's preference, not Catelyn's. Still, she takes it anyway. 

"Tygett thinks it was the Reavers." Lady Genna offers with a bitter sort of air, like Catelyn's the one who told the Ironborn to set the anchored ships in the harbor ablaze. 

"Ser Tygett is back? So soon?" Catelyn asks, slightly worried for the quiet Lannister. 

Lady Genna nods, sips her tea, her knuckles look paler than usual. 

"Yes, he was brought back nearly an hour ago." She glances toward the window, perhaps to watch the smoke blot out the sun, "He was with a unit of soldiers sent out to try and push the burning ships to sea. The ones too far gone to try and save. They were cutting the anchor to one when the mast collapsed and some of the debris hit Tygett." 

A burn then. 

Most likely a dangerous one if Lord Tywin had him sent back to the Rock, which lies nearly two hours from the port city. It would have been best to have Tygett seen to by a maester in Lannisport but Catelyn knows that there are likely other injured common folk suffering and seeking aid due to the devastation the fire has brought. With resources stretching thin and the lack of preparedness forcing the Maesters to take on volunteer healers it makes sense that Tywin Lannister would have his brother sent back to the Rock where Maester Creylen could see to his injuries. 

Catelyn feels a bit of guilt for being so harsh with Lady Genna, who is obviously attempting to emulate the aloofness her brother is infamous for. What would she do in Lady Genna's place? What if Lysa had been injured in such an attack? Or Meredith and Edmure? Would Catelyn try to hold herself together for the sake of her family when it seems the world is falling apart around them? Catelyn wants to reach out and offer comfort, any sort of comfort, if only to ease some of the tension building in Lady Genna's frame. 

Instead she offers a silent condolence and a prayer to the Mother and Warrior, hoping that no more of her Husband's family find themselves at the mercy of the devastation left behind by the Reavers. 

The news of Lannisport's blazing fleet travels quickly, reaching Seagard in a matter of days on the inky wings of an exhausted looking crow. Hoster Tully writes of Ironborn Reavers on ships that slip through the water like sharks. Unknown until they're right there and attacking. He says they set Tywin Lannister's naval fleet ablaze, the anchored ships too far gone to save, leaving a meager dozen to patrol and defend the Eastern coastline.

Jason Mallister knows that within the sennight another attack will come. 

This time it won't be on the Lannisters, no, not when Seagard is so close to the Iron Islands itself. 

So with so little time to spare Jason goes about preparing his men for what may be a truly bloody battle. 

Lord Mallister orders the war galleys pulled as far inland as possible, pulling them further away from the ocean and therefore further away from the comfort of the Reavers. It takes a bit of work and no small amount of cooperation from the small folk, but soon the war galleys are safely tucked away in the little bay that feeds into the city's canals and then blocked off by the longships that manage to quickly fill up space between the larger, more destructive ships and the ocean. With the majority of Seagard's fleet - small as it is - tucked away the Lord of Seagard orders soldiers to anchor barrels full of animal oil at different intervals along the inlet between the bay and ocean. His hope is that when the Reavers are spotted his best archers will be able to set the barrels afire and hopefully block off the Reavers route to the ships. 

If they manage to reach the bay before they're sighted Jason Mallister has no intention of letting them go when they're trapped between his men and the fire. 

He'll send their head back in boxes if he has to; have their hair brushed and perfumed, powder their faces, decorate them in flower petals... it'll be the only part of the body that won't be fed to the fires. See if their Drowned God takes them then. If he were Tywin Lannister he would have had any hole on their face that could let in water sewn shut and sealed with tar, making it impossible to metaphorically drown the bodies. Jason Mallister isn't Tywin, however, and Jason thinks there's a sort of poetic justice in sending the heads of the Reavers back bearing the beatifications of the Westerosi nobility that the Reavers shunned. 

The thought of Balon Greyjoy's face when he receives the bodies buoys Lord Mallister's spirits for three days and two nights. 

Three long days of patrolling, scheming, sending ravens to various Lords of Westeros. 

Two long nights of hardly sleeping, hardly eating, trying to ensure the safety of the men and women and children in his care. 

Then the Bronze Bell begins ringing, just after the sun has set on the third night, a wailing sort of trill that has the common folk rushing from their homes in an attempt to reach the Castle of Seagard before the Reavers arrive. 

Jason sprints passed them, heart hammering in his chest, as he makes for the natural arch that connects the cliffs of Seagard over the inlet. 

"Lord Mallister!" A voice calls, jerking the man in question to a stop so he doesn't run past Ser Armand Locke, his Captain of the City Guard. "The archers have set up along the Arch, my Lord, what would you have them do?" 

"How far out are the Reavers?" Jason asks, carefully stepping out of the way of a young mother and her child. 

"Not far enough," Armand says, "If you would permit it, I can have the men wait until just as they're reaching the inlet and have them light the buoys." 

Jason is already shaking his head, "How many ships?" 

"Only one was spotted, my Lord." 

"Let it into the bay but force them away from the ships, put them right against the cliff face if you can. I want to see if we can drive them up onto the shores." 

"My Lord?" 

"Reavers like fighting in the water, if we can get them on land and out number them it could reduce the risk loosing our ships and our lives." Jason tells the man, who nods. 

"I'll have it done." 

"Drive them toward the southern edge of the bay." 

The Captain nods once before shooting off in the direction of the overhanging archway where his archers are waiting. While he has the opportunity Jason orders another soldier to head over to the line of barrels set up in front of the ships in the bay and wait for the first fires to start before lighting them up as well. Hopefully it'll be enough to drive the Reavers to the shore. Why would they risk setting their own ship on fire when they can simply run along the beach? Jason knows they'll be expecting some sort of attack, he hopes that's enough motivation to drive them to land. 

After all, what's more glorious than slaughtering Seagard soldiers and setting the fleet ablaze? 

Jason has ordered enough Reaver ships sunk that there has to be some sort of resentment from the Iron Born. But will it be enough to force them out of the water where they would have the technical advantage with all of Seagard's fleet safely tucked away between the shore and a wall of fire? 

Soldiers amass as word of Lord Mallister's plan spreads and soon Jason finds himself crouching low to the ground waiting for the Reaver ships to come through the inlet. 

And he waits. 

.... and waits. 

..... and waits. 

From their vantage point the soldiers can't see the ocean side of the inlet, which means they can't tell where the Reavers are. It's maddening. Still, Jason steadies his heart and his breathing and hopes that this will be enough to have Robert Baratheon do something about the Reavers. Gods know Lord Tully and Lord Lannister have been pushing for justice on the behalf of all the Lords and small folk along the Eastern coast who have to suffer at the hands of the Reavers. 

There's sudden burst of light from the inlet, yellows and oranges that cast large shadows on the bit of cliff face Jason can see, they signal the arrival of the Reavers and moments later a wall of fire begins erupting along the oiled lines and barrels set up to protect the ships. 

"Hold." Jason whispers to his men, still hoping for the element of surprise. 

A ship slips out of the inlet and into the bay; a great beast of a thing with a single mast bearing the weight of a great blue sail that looks almost like fins sprouting from the back of the water dragon figurehead rising high above the rest of the ship. Jason watches through the light cast by the fire as the Reavers manning the oars cut through the water like a red-hot knife cutting through butter. 

Driving them to the shore is best. 

Jason's men are skilled warriors on and off the deck of a ship, no riverman worth his salt would ever risk being anything but overly competent at being on the water. But this? This is entirely different. Jason Mallister can recognize the skill the Reavers have. Most Iron Born spend the majority of their lives on ships what with the islands being too small and infertile to justify staying on them. Trade, fishing, and Reaving gets a lot of the Iron Islands their food, and most of the men and women living on those islands hate interacting with outsiders too much to indulge in legitimate trade. Jason's men may be good at manning a ship - and fighting on one too - but they're nothing compared to cornered Reavers in the water. Never have been, it's why his men rely so heavily on improvised planning when it comes to handling the Reavers. 

Closer, closer, closer, the ship slips through the water. 

Jason can almost hear the excited murmurs of the Reavers. 

They want a fight, they want blood and pain and glory. Jason's grip tightens almost painfully against his sword. If they want blood and pain he'll give them blood and pain. He'll given them all of his and then some, heave it onto their shoulders off of his own and drown them in their own blood. 

"Ready men." Jason says and the shift is instant. 

No longer are the men beside him loose and still, no longer to they watch the bay with cautious eyes. They are no longer the men coming to possibly defend the bay should the Reavers breach the inlet, these are warriors fully prepared to live and die by the sword. Jason feels honored that these men are so willing to lay their lives in his hands. He silently prays to the Warrior for strength and guidance as the Reaver's longship is eased to a stop and anchored. 

"Wait for them to get to the shore, get them out of the water and surround them, don't let any get past you." Jason quietly commands, hoping his voice doesn't carry to the water where the Reavers are leaping into the water and splashing their way toward the shore with various weapons and shields at the ready. 

It takes a moment for Jason to recognize the man heading the charge as Rodrik Greyjoy, the eldest of Balon's children. He seems to be the only Nobleman among the lot with his fancy armor and vibrantly painted shield. The rest of the Reavers appear to be an assortment of common folk in mismatched armor. Their weapons, however, are well kept. Jason knows better than to assume they don't know how to use them. 

"Spread to the city," Rodrik Greyjoy commands, his reedy voice carrying on the wind, "They'll be waitin' for us at the docks." 

Jason doesn't wait, doesn't hesitate, he simply springs out from behind the rocks he'd bee n crouching behind and charges forward with his men at his back. While clearly a bit shocked the Reavers had been expecting some sort of attack and so they ready their weapons and wait. Jason knows that if he pushes himself and his men too hard then the Reavers will simply wait for them to tire out and slaughter them all. Which can't happen. 

So the Lord of Seagard goes to the snakes head. 

Carefully dodging around a woman with a double sided axe that goes for his head before turning to face another of his soldiers as he slips by and a man with a spear who finds himself disemboweled upon Jason's sword moments later. By now the fighting has intensified, Jason's men throwing themselves into the fray of Iron Born men and women who came to their shores looking for trouble. Blood stains the sand and Jason's armor, it washes into the bay as Seagard men and Reavers fall along the shore where the waves can reach. Invisible, watery hands grasping desperately at the bodies but unable to pull anything but that irony liquid out to sea. 

A blade sinks into the back of his shoulder, the pain is blinding even after his attacker has yanked out the blade for another attack. 

Jason drops, rolls, his armor clanging as he moves out of the person's range until he's secure enough to stand and face his opponent. 

He finds himself staring at a woman with big brown eyes and long ebony hair woven into several different bands around her head. Her armor consists of boiled leather and a jerkin, which tells Jason she relies on speed and stealth, because even the Reavers will decorate themselves in stolen armor and chainmail. The two stare at one another for  a long moment. Jason sees the girl spin her daggers - wickedly sharp, curved blades reflecting the light of the fires around them - and it almost distracts him from the way she positions her feet. When she springs forward, blades aimed at his neck, Jason rushes forward and the two engage in a very dangerous dance. 

His opponent manages to land a blow across his cheek, slicing open the skin almost to the point of leaving a hole for his tongue and teeth to be seen through, and Jason pushes aside any hesitance he may feel about fighting a girl because she's going to kill him if he doesn't.

Jason has too much to live for; a wife - Myla - and a son - Patrek. 

They need him. 

Jason grinds his teeth and ignores the pain as he slips a small knife out of his belt, ignoring the voice in his head - that sounds a great deal like his father - telling him that a woman isn’t much of a threat. His shoulder and face tell a different story and Jason refuses to die by his own stupidity. Opportunity comes as the woman shoots forward, eyes wild and focused on his throat, and they both tumble as Jason manages to kick her knee backward with a sickening crunch. Her scream is angry and full of pain and Jason puts her out of her misery quickly. A knife in her chest and a sharp twist ending her as mercifully as the injured Lord can manage. Jason takes a few shallow breaths before searching for the Greyjoy heir, whom he finds attempting to make his way out of the fray and into the city. Likely a last ditch effort to set the ships or the city on fire before he dies. Jason roars as he rises off the dead woman and rushes forward through the mass of fighting men. 

"Greyjoy!" He screams, causing the shorter, bulkier man to still momentarily before he turns to face him with a wicked smile. 

"Hello, Lord Mallister," Greyjoy greets as he unsheathes his own sword, "fancy seeing you here among the riffraff." 

Riffraff? Jason smiles, blood gushing down his chin. 

Pain. 

"The riffraff's going to slaughter you, Greyjoy, and I'm going to send you head back to your father." they circle one another, "or maybe I'll send it to Tywin. Let him decide how to send you off." 

"I'm not afraid of Tywin Lannister." Rodrik snarls. 

"Then why didn't you go with the Reavers to burn his fleet? Takes too long to get here from Lannisport boy... tells me you probably sat at your father's feet and kissed his arse while the others sought their glory." 

Rodrik Greyjoy screams as he lunges forward. The shriek of their blades meeting echoing through the air. 

Jason smiles despite the ache it causes because it's very obvious that while Rodrik Greyjoy has an heir's training he isn't truly tested. He's never fought another in this manner, he's never had his father's lordship to soften blows and order another's restraint. So when Jason notices how much Rodrik is favoring his right side, the Lord of Seagard uses it to his advantage and drives his fist as hard as he can into Rodrik's ribs when the Heir of Pyke lets his guard down. The wheezing gasp and gag he receives tells Jason that a rib is probably cracked - broken now - and it's a relatively fresh injury. 

Rodrik stumbles away, Jason moves closer.

Iron gleams as it cleaves through muscle and bone, blood spewing from the body as the head rolls. 

A moment passes. A split second in which everything seems to fade in and out. Then Rodric Greyjoy's body collapses onto the golden sand of the beach beneath him and Jason is left staring at the head that stares back through glassy brown eyes.

The fighting stops sometime after that. The majority of the Reavers are dead, their corpses littering the ground alongside Seagard soldiers. 

Some of the Reavers are caught. 

A man with matted blonde hair and a bloodstained eye, a woman with a bloody nose and a split lip that Ser Myles keeps a firm grip on, and a handful of other men too bloody to make any true distinction out of. They're all taken to the dungeons of Seagard Castle where they'll be questioned and tried and finally executed for their crimes. Jason can't find it in himself to feel enough a smidgen of pity for them. They made their choices, after all, it's not his responsibility to feel anything but apathy for them. 

"Have Greyjoy's body brought to the castle and the longship brought to the others once the fires are put out." Jason tells a limping soldier, "we'll have the dead sorted out and send the Reavers sailing back to the Iron Islands." 

The man nods and Jason doesn't wait to see him leave before he turns and behind making his way toward the mass of bodies lying on his shores.

Two weeks later a small fishing boat reaches Pyke. It carries the heads of the dead Reavers but not their bodies. Blood stains the wood where the heads have been piled and Balon Greyjoy watched as men sort through the mess in an attempt to determine who all has been slain in Rodrik’s assault on Seagard and who may have been captured. 

He stands beside his second born son - Maron -  on the rocky shore and wonders if Rodrik had been taken. It would be the political thing to do. Balon would have done it too, perhaps, for the right person. To ransom the heir of a Warden or a King? Seems truly ignorant not too. Anyone else and they’d be dead, but someone like Rodrik is too important a person to slaughter without reason. Maron would have been slaughtered. Boy might be the spare but Balon has other children and Maron hardly holds the same political importance as Rodrik.

Around them the men go silent.

Ominous.

“What is it?” Balon demands, forcing his voice louder to be heard over the shrieking of the wind.

The men step away from the fishing vessel, eyes downcast.

Balon motions Maron forward and the boy striked across the uneven rock like some sort of thrice damned goat. Swifter than his brother, that’s what Maron has to show for himself.

When Maron reaches the boat he goes still as stone before reaching into the mess of heads Balon can only just see over the lip of the boat. 

He pulls up Rodrik’s head, half rotten and mouth festering with maggots. 

“It’s Rodrik, father.” Maron, the idiot, says. 

Something tightens in Balon’s throat, making it hard to breathe and when he manages to suck in a breath all he can smell is rotten flesh and ocean spray. 

They killed him, killed his boy, and left him to rot beneath a pile of heads that belonged to people lesser than him. 

Snarling, Balon Greyjoy turns away from the spectacle and promises the Drowned God that this injustice will no go unpaid. 

Robert Baratheon has declared war on the Iron Islands, rallying his banners and calling for every available ship to be directed to what’s left of Lannisport or Seagard where soldiers will be carried to watery battlefronts and death. 

Cersei grits her teeth as a young maid plucks unwanted hairs from her eyebrows. 

They’ll be gone within the week; Robert, half the bloody soldiers of King’s Landing, even Jaime half a realm away…. all sailing off to fight cowards. Cowards that her own father could have easily handled had they not set the Lannister fleet ablaze. Cowards, lowlifes, all of them deserve to die. 

“Would you like me to use the rouge, your Grace?” The maid asks, she sounds foreign. 

Cersei glances at the cosmetics and tools spread across the extravagant vanity and nods slowly. 

“Don’t make me look like a common whore.” She snips at the woman, who lowers her gave frightfully before grabbing a container of soft pink colored cream and a brush.

Normally Cersei would have another maid attending to her but the Hound caught the little bitch slinking out of Robert’s chambers a few nights ago and Cersei refuses to allow that disrespect. Let him go to the whore houses. Let Robert stick his cock in women too stupid to understand he’s not some glorious defender of the people and get them with a child who won’t inherit anything but a name. Let him do all that and more with women who aren’t in her circle. Maid, Noble, Cersei doesn’t care. She won’t allow any of the women she’s forced to spend her time with simper about how good her husband is. So here she is, sitting in her chambers with a strange woman so that she will look more lovely than she is in the hopes of securing her place at the throne. 

Loathe as she is to bed Robert, Cersei isn’t a fool.

If Robert goes off and dies before they have a babe then Cersei will no longer have any authority over the throne. No claim. Cersei can’t, won’t, let that happen… even if it means laying beneath Robert while he whispers, “Lyanna, Lyanna, Lyanna.” so be it.

She’d even wear a wig and let him take her from behind if it meant he’d be eager enough to fuck her. 

Cersei tilts her head this way and that as the woman dabs, presses, and rubs various products into her skin. When it’s over and Cersei looks in the mirror all she sees someone golden and young ans lovely.

Why couldn’t Robert see that?

Why couldn’t he have loved that? If even for a moment? 

Cersei was ready to love him. Wanted it beyond anything. She wanted Robert more than she had wanted Rhaegar and she had even cut Jaime loose in order to have it - unbothered by the fact that her father had arranged her brother to be married to a trout of all people, because she would have had him - but Robert had taken her dreams and her heart and smashed them beneath his heel. 

Lyanna, Lyanna, Lyanna. 

Now Cersei is stuck in this cesspit of a city with no one and nothing to defend her while Jaime - her twin, her lover, the only person who would have ever truly defended her - is off fucking some red-haired whore and making babes. Cersei nearly screams at the injustice of it. Because she had done everything right. She’d been perfect in her lessons, a perfect lady, she strived for greatness and achieved it on her own. She was capable and beautiful and still Robert wanted a dead woman over her. Her! A Lady of Lannister. What did Lyanna fucking Stark have that Cersei didn’t? Just because she was raised feral doesn’t mean Lyanna was worth anything. 

Rhaegar had been enchanted by that. Understandable. The Targaryens were always prone to madness… but even after she’d been taken and had Robert chose Lyanna. 

Lyanna, Lyanna, Lyanna. 

Cersei smiles a crimson smile and rises so that another maid can help her into the vaguely Dornish appearing gown she intends to wear to seduce Robert. 

If he won’t give her his heart then he’ll give her a throne. One way or another. 

Once she’s dressed Cersei dismisses the maids before striding from the chamber, down the hall, and to the solar she knows Robert prefers to be in; whether he’s fucking or attempting to govern Robert enjoys the view of the sea. So she isn’t surprised to find him at the window when she enters without announcing herself. 

Gods, if he weren’t attractive this would be a miserable affair. 

“What do you want Cersei?” Robert demands, not looking away from the window.

He’d asked that in the beginning too. After his offers to go hunting and his grand feasts and his adventurous nature had failed to endear her to him. What do you want? He had asked when the dam finally broke and the two of them had screamed at one another for the first time. From you? Nothing. 

Lie. 

She wanted devotion, protection, someone to love her and defend her because they valued her as a person and not as a pawn or a Lannister. 

It’s abundantly clear that will never happen. Not here, not now, not being who they are. So Cersei will defend herself to the bitter end because no one else will. 

Her hands don’t even tremble as stalks across the room. 

“Were you just going to leave without even attempting to secure your rule?” Cersei asks, waspish and hurtful, it’s easier to make him mad. 

Their anger for one another makes this easier. Fucking is easier when there’s anger involved than when there’s hurt. Cersei knows. She’s experienced the hurt element of it. She wants anger now; claws and teeth and bloody lips. 

Robert turns to her, eyes lightning bright beneath dark brows. Handsome. Cersei hates him for it. She hates his face, she hates his hands, she hates the way he slips across the room like he isn’t made of thunder and rage. She hates how much she enjoys the catch of his callouses against the pale skin of her throat as he wraps his fingers around the underside of her chin to tilt her head up. 

“Would you like me to, Cersei? Would you like me to lay you out right here on my desk like a common whore?” Robert snarls and Cersei bares her teeth. 

“You’d know all about common whores, Robert, if you even attempted to come to my bed every once in a while you’d see the difference between a Flea Bottom welp and a Lady of Lannister.” 

“Gods you’re so fucking mouthy.” Robert huffs, unamused. 

Not like Jaime used to be whenever Cersei pushed and poked and spat venom. 

She doesn’t get the chance to tell him how much of an ass he is before Robert is pushing her - rather gently, Cersei is horrified to realize - back so she’s sprawled out against the missives and battle plans. 

“You want a babe this badly, Cersei? Coming in bere dressed like that and all but barking for it? A common whore, indeed, at least they know how to beg for it properly.” Robert is hiking her skirt up over her thighs and Cersei lifts her hips just enough to let the silk slip under her rear, “Bet you never had to beg for anything your life.” 

“No, Lannister’s don’t beg.” Cersei smiles with nothing but teeth and says, “I’d say you’d know a lot about it though, seeing as you had to beg for Lyanna Stark to even look your way. Did it hurt when she gave her attention to everyone else when you were mooning after her so pathetically?” 

Robert glares at her as he fumbles with his own belt, thumb rubbing harsh circles against that little bundle of pleasure. He might be a brute and a fool, but he’s never taken her unprepared. Magne that little wolf bitch was good for something. Maybe that’s why Robert’s always pining after the ghost of her like he is. Maybe Lyanna Stark took him to bed and howled about how much of a good fuck he was. Those kinds of compliments always go to men’s heads. Makes them stupid. 

Cersei grunts a bit as she reaches up to roll a nipple between ber fingers. She knows Robert likes it from the way his pupils blow wide. 

And that’s the thing of it. 

They don’t love each other, hardly even like each other, but there has to be something there other than hate otherwise they wouldn’t even be able to tolerate this. So Cersei plays into Robert’s fantasy and his need for domination over her - a Lannister - and Robert plays with her body in all the ways he’s learned women tend to like while also letting Cersei spit out her barbed words without consequence. 

Though, she doubts mentioning Lyanna will go without some sort of punishment. 

Robert checks her once before pressing himself into her, the slide and stretch a bit too much for Cersei to enjoy but not enough to be painful. She whimpers and moans, though, pretends her lack of words is because of him and not her own annoyance. 

It’s over not long after. 

Her husband pants and drools against her neck as he spills himself into her. Usually he tends to at least try to bring her some sort of pleasure but it’s clear that his lack of attempt is something of a punishment in and of itself…. Especially when he pulls out, cleans himself up, and tucks himself away without so much as a word. Cersei lays their, unsatisfied and aching. 

“Leave.” Robert commands and Cersei is already halfway to the door before he can finish his command. 

She prays to whatever God is listening that the seed smearing across her inner thighs quickens in her womb and gives her a babe. 

A Prince. 

A crown. 

let Robert die in Greyjoy’s rebellion so long as Cersei gets those things in return. 

Chapter Text

"Robert is calling his banners." Ned tells her solemnly one grey morning a mere three weeks after the attack on Seagard. 

Meredith figured he would, what with the Reavers and Balon's open declaration of rebellion, it wouldn't make sense for him not to. She still finds herself worrying over it though. Sansa and Torrhen are three now, Robb and Jon are six, all of them are old enough to remember Ned to varying degrees. Meredith feels sick at the thought of any of her babes loosing their father to the Ironborn raiders. Oh, the trip to the coasts will be safe enough, Ned will likely travel south to Seagard where her father's men will join with his as they load up onto the warships Lord Mallister has managed to save. It'll take a moon at least to get there, even if they travel fast, and it's likely that Tywin Lannister will send his own Banners to Seagard due to their closeness and his own depleted fleet. 

"When will you be leaving?" Meredith asks, calm despite the tightness in her chest. 

Ned's eyes are soft and sad and grey, grey, grey as he says, "I've sent ravens out to some of the banner men and Gods willing we'll leave as soon as possible... I'm leaving a handful of men under your command in the event that the Ironborn try moving inland." 

"Do you think they would?" 

"I think that Balon Greyjoy expects us to go to war with him now, he'll know when we begin moving to Seagard and sending out the fleets." He reaches out to brush his fingers over her cheek, "It wouldn't surprise me if he tried something. I doubt he'd be so bold as to move too far inland, not after what happened with Rodrik, but I want you and the children safe should the worst happen." 

Safe, funny word that. 

What is safe? 

Behind the walls of Winterfell she'll be well protected from any wayward Reavers looking to prove their worth but what about Ned? Benjen? Edmure? What of them? They'll be the ones fighting, the ones drowning, the ones caught up in rope and burning sails as the water stains red around them. Where will their safety come from? 

Meredith barely registers the press of Ned's lips against her forehead as he pulls her in and wraps his arms around her shoulders. She clings to his jerkin though, nails biting into the buttery leather until her nail-beds ache. This will be the first time they'll be truly separated since Robert's Rebellion. It feels worse this time, however, due to the fact that Meredith now has four children with the man and a genuine love for him as well. The possibility of loosing Ned terrifies her greatly.

"I'll need you to step in as Warden." Ned quietly tells her after a moment of silence has passed. 

"Are you taking Benjen?" Meredith asks, a bit worried for her good-brother. 

"He's a man grown now and a son of Winterfell... it's expected and he wants to go." Ned replies, then, softer, "White Harbor will still be active so you won't have to worry about trade routes and such. The worst you'll have to handle is the attacks on villages along the western shores, perhaps squabbling between the Lords." 

Meredith swallows.

That wouldn't be anything too difficult. 

If all else fails she'll just have men and women moved further inland. Anyone who wishes to fight will be able to do so, but women and children will be housed within either Winterfell itself or other such keeps where the help would be needed if it comes to extreme circumstances. It's Meredith's way of offering some protection to her people from any retaliation by the Ironborn. The Lords of the North wouldn't dare to refute her offer... well, they might, but they certainly wouldn't get far in doing so. 

"Trade in one war for another." Meredith huffs. 

"Aye," Ned chuckles, though he sounds far from amused, "Gods... who would have thought that Balon Greyjoy would be the one to rebel. I half expected it to be the Martells." 

They both know why they haven't yet. 

Not enough allies, not enough friends in high places, and too many eyes watching them for even the slightest misstep. 

It's part of the reason they sent that raven all that time ago, or so Ned thinks. He hadn't been particularly pleased about Meredith's brief correspondence with the Vipers but as the days passed, bleeding into moons and then into years, with no message or sign that the Martells were coming North it had become apparent that the letter in and of itself hadn't been anything more than an attempt to distinguish friend from foe. Which Ned also thinks foolish as he'd been part of the reason Rhaenys is - relatively - safe and thriving in Dorne. Perhaps they aren't friends but they're certainly not enemies. All the same, Ned doesn't trust them and Meredith doesn't feel like arguing with him over it when there hasn't been any further letters sent North. 

"The Martells wouldn't risk Rhaenys." Meredith murmurs against Ned's neck, "You know Robert would either have her put to the sword in retaliation or someone in his Small Council would take the opportunity to foster her." 

Sometimes fostering is a fate worse than death. 

Ned's grip on the back of her neck tightens a bit before it disappears completely as he steps away from her. 

"I wish you had more faith in Robert." Ned tells her a bit mournfully. 

Meredith wishes she did too... if only for Ned's sake. Truth of the matter is Meredith doesn't hold much regard for Robert outside of him being her King and Ned's most beloved friend. It doesn't even have anything to do with the war either. What would Meredith do for Ned? or the children they've raised together? Horrible, terrifying things. How can she judge a man who's own brutality is so much more tame than Meredith's would be in a similar situation? No, Meredith dislikes Robert because he's a poor ruler and of poor character. 

Word spreads fast through Westeros on it's own and eventually the happenings of King's Landing would have eventually reached Meredith in the North. Fortunately, her Uncle and Catelyn are more than willing to tell her things - one a bit more aware of the significance of simple gossip than the other - and she's more inclined to believe them than peasants and Northern Lords. 

Uncle Brynden tells her that the common folk are doing better now than they had under Aerys in the later years of his rule, but this is by no way a display of Robert's ability to rule. From what Uncle Brynden has been able to gather from friends living in the Capital the King's only managing to improve the lives of the common folk because of all the business he's having brought in to fill his parties and hold his Tourneys. It's not a sustainable source of revenue and even now Tywin Lannister is supposedly handling some of the Crown's debt with the Iron Bank... and speaking of the Lannisters. 

Cersei has yet to have a child. 

There was one, earlier in their marriage, a boy who was born too early and unresponsive. Meredith understands the desire to recover from such emotional devestation. She can't fault Cersei her desire to wait for another babe - and for a time Meredith was inclined to respect Robert's willingness to let her grieve - but then Lysa wrote to Catelyn, who then wrote to Meredith, about how the King and Queen can hardly stand one another. They sleep in separate quarters, they rarely spend time alone, and when they're required to be in one another's presence there's an obvious distaste for one another. Meredith... doesn't know what happened... she doubts Cersei would actively avoid Robert and so she'd ignored Catelyn's attempts at stirring up rumors. Then two years passed, and another, and another, and no word of a little Prince or Princess reaches her ears. Meredith would never condone someone forcing themselves upon another. Never. She just finds it odd that with all of the chaos Robert created in his bid to rid the world of the Targaryens and save Lyanna he's only causing more trouble for the realm the longer he sits on that blasted throne. 

Which is why Meredith holds very little respect for Robert. 

Robert has shown himself to be not a warrior set of saving and guarding the people, but a little boy playing a game of chase in shoes far to big with opponents far too vicious. 

But Gods forbid she say something like that to Ned, who still desires to see something good in Robert even after all of the ugliness. 

"I respect Robert as my King, but it's not my responsibility to bolster him up within the privacy of our chambers." Meredith tells her husband. 

Ned's smile seems a bit tense as he says, "Such coldness." 

"Not coldness," Meredith corrects as she brings Ned's hands up to press a chaste kiss to his knuckles, "I've just devoted myself to someone more deserving of my loyalties." 

Something softens in Ned's face. Maybe it's the tension in his jaw slipping away, maybe it's the little wrinkle between his eyes disappearing as his brown unfurrow, maybe it's the way his smile seems to lighten the hue of his eyes to the warm grey of summer storms. Perhaps it's a combination of all. Meredith doesn't really care, desperate as she to memorize the beauty of her husband's happiness before the risk of never seeing it again becomes more plausible. She takes a deep breath to calm her fraying nerves as Ned pulls her into a tight embrace. 

Overseeing the loading of supplies to wagons reminds her too much of Riverrun when she'd first met Ned and everything was so uncertain. In all honesty, she'd been less worried then... worried, of course, for the more obvious reasons but there was a distinct lack of genuine affection or loyalty to Ned outside of the expectations placed upon her for being his wife. 

Back then she'd loaded the carts without thought, laughing with Edmure and perhaps being less sensitive to the situation than she could have been. Now she helps load supplies with a tight chest and shaking hands. Gods, she's a mess.... but she has every right to be. 

Reports from King's Landing - sent by raven to all of the Lords coming to assist Robert - claims that the Iron Islands have a population of roughly fifteen-thousand and considering how reliant the people are on fishing and Reaving Meredith would be willing to bet that at least a quarter of the population is capable of fighting. That's over three thousand fifty men. Even then that's not an accurate idea of how many men and women will be fighting on those Reaver ships. Who's to say Balon won't order every man and woman physically capable to board a ship and meet Robert's army? Who's to say only a quarter of those people can fight? With all but Dorne sending troops to fight for Robert it's not hard to imagine that Robert's army will outnumber Balons... but who can say? 

The Vale doesn't have a fleet, back when the Valemen were rules by the King of Mountain and Vale it was rumored that hundreds of ships contributed to their fleet, now things are different and the Vale's military strength no longer expands to their ships. The same can be said for the Reach - the Naval strength of which consists of the two hundred warships owned by house Redwyne. With Tywin's fleet burnt mostly to a crisp the true bulk of the naval forces will be upheld by the Riverlands and the Reach.... but who's to say Robert will even place so much trust in the Tyrells when they so openly sided with and supported the Targaryens? Will his distaste cloud his judgement in that regard? Will he turn the brunt of his expectations on Meredith's father? 

A crate of salves and ointments is passed from her hands to the hands of an older lad and Meredith tries to tell herself that the ache in her hands is from the weight of the crate and hot the grip she'd had on it that had turned her knuckles white. 

"Is there more, my Lady?" The boy asks, leaping down from the cart to stand before her. 

"No, that was all Maester Luwin had prepared." Meredith offers a small smile, "Thank you." 

Dismissed, the boy darts off to help a guard load oats and hay into a separate cart. Meredith watches for a moment before turning and walking back toward the Keep where she goes off in search of the children. She suspects she'll find them with Ned - who has been attempting to spend as much time with them as possible before he leaves - and so the first place she checks is the Lord's solar. When she doesn't find anyone there Meredith asks a passing servant if they've seen her husband. Seeing as the dark eyed lass gives a bashful reply that no, she hadn't seen the Lord of Winterfell, Meredith assumes that he's liking in the nursery or their personal chambers and quickly makes for the family wing. 

The Nursery is empty, so are their personal chambers, but the room at the end of the long corridor that the children tend to take their lessons in is occupied. Meredith can hear Torrhen's laughter before she even reaches the door. Quietly, so as not to disturb the occupants of the room, Meredith cracks the door further open to reveal Ned carefully oiling the scabbard of his sword with a cloth, the children are all sitting around his feet as he regales them with tales of his childhood. This particular story is one Meredith has heard before. When he was younger, barely considered a man, Ned and Brandon had decided they were going to race their horses. Not an activity unheard of within the North - or any realm outside of it - but Ned claims there had been a storm the night before and the ground was slick enough in spots that when they'd returned from their race - Brandon the everlasting champion - Ned had been dismounting and hit a patch of ice, sending his foot out from beneath him and causing him to fall on his arse in the middle of the courtyard in front of nearly half the Keep. 

Perhaps he's exaggerating a bit for the little ones but it's an amusing tale none the less. 

Meredith steps into the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

"I'm certain your mother has similar tales as well," Ned says when he notices her, "She's quite the rider herself." 

Five pairs of eyes suddenly turn to her, followed by a delighted shriek of, "Mama!" as Sansa and Torrhen launch from their place on the floor and rush to Meredith. 

"Hello my lovelies, are you being good for your father?" Meredith asks, leaning down a bit so that the twins can take her hands when they reach for her and lead her over to the remaining children. 

She's ushered into an empty space between Beric and Jon, Sansa quick to settles in her lap before Torrhen can attempt to do so. Her autumn hued daughter smiles triumphantly at her brothers before nestling back in Meredith's hold, completely ignoring the sour looks her twin sends her. Thankfully, Torrhen seems content to settle on the floor beside Meredith facing his father. Ned smiles at her as he uses a rag to dip more oil out of a small pot to work into his scabbard in small circular motions. Meredith knows he's likely attempting to make it as water-resistant as possible seeing as most of his time will be spent on the water. 

"Have you ever fallen off a horse, mama?" Robb asks, eyes big in his face. 

Meredith nods and says, "I fell off quite often when I was younger and my Uncle Brynden was teaching me to ride... Your aunt Catelyn always fussed over the mess I'd make of myself." 

Catelyn had always worried after Meredith's appearance, fretting over the state of her hair and her clothes and the mud Meredith would track into the Keep from whatever adventure she'd take along the river. The eldest Tully daughter would always find something to snip about whenever Meredith returned but it was never the violet bruises that formed across her body or the sprained wrist she'd gotten at thirteen when she'd been thrown from her gelding and had landed wrong. The injury could have worse and while all of her family had fussed over her then it had been Catelyn who had used the incident as another reason Meredith should set her sights on a different, quieter horse. 

Meredith hadn't, of course, but it had been one of the biggest disagreements between them that she can remember. 

"Did it hurt?" Sansa asks, long fingers stroking across the light blue fabric covering Meredith's arms. 

"Sometimes," Meredith answers honestly, not seeing the sense in lying to Sansa, "most of the time I was thrown off due to my own actions so it wasn't something I could be overly angry about." 

Sansa stares at her for a long minute through eyes a paler blue than the dress Meredith is wearing and nods slowly before turning her attention back to her father. She continues to stroke Meredith's arm, however, like the act will soothe all of the ache her mother has suffered in the past... none of her children are insensitive. Children, yes, and prone to bouts of unawareness, but never cruel. Sansa's the gentlest of them all, cut of a softer clothe than Robb and Torrhen, who's shaping out to be the orneriest of all Meredith's children. She and Jon are similar creatures though and they tend to flock to one another. Jon tells her stories about knights and helps her weave little crowns out of fallen Weirwood leaves, sometimes they even sneak into the kitchens when they think they won't be caught to steal sweets from the stores. Sansa, Meredith knows, will need the most guidance as she grows. 

Gentle things are typically trampled on in Westeros. 

Ravaged and broken beyond repair and spat back out into the world to be hurt more. 

There's nothing wrong with gentility, Meredith will never try and take it from Sansa, but it's something her daughter will have to learn to set aside when necessary. 

For now Sansa and Jon can be as gentle as they wish, Torrhen can raise all seven hells within the Keep, and Robb can remain the annoyed big brother while Beric watches it all happen. They're children. Meredith wouldn't dream of forcing them to grow up any faster than they have to... especially with war howling at their door. Meredith prays to the Old Gods and the New that this war leaves her children unaffected for as long as possible. 

She kisses the crown of Sansa's little head and knows that it's likely going to be messy for all of them. 

"May I join you?" Meredith asks as she comes to a stop behind Ned, eyes respectfully averted from the weeping face he's kneeling before. 

in lieu of a verbal response Ned simply motions for her to take the space beside him continues with his prayers. Meredith smiles a bit as she kneels in the grass beside her husband, knee brushing his as she settles into place. Neither of them speak again as they fall into their own prayers. 

Return him safe to me, Meredith begs the weeping face carved into the Weirwood tree, I can't offer you anything in return. Nothing you would want. You have my devotion, my loyalties, my prayers, I can't offer anything else... but if those things mean anything to you please protect him. 

Her nails bite into her palm as she curls her hand into a fist. 

Meredith has prayed in these woods hundreds of times now, she's paid her homage to the Old Gods over and over again, she's grown to worship them just as devotedly as she'd once worshiped the Seven.... more so, perhaps. Ned had offered to build her a Sept so that she could continue following the Seven despite the backlash he'd face from the Lords of the North, he'd offered it to her without hesitation, without doubt, and Meredith had turned it away because she'd taken the Old Gods as her Gods. Not because he worshiped them and she was obligated to as his wife, but because there was something significant about the lack of pomp or circumstance that comes with worshiping them. 

She devoted herself to them, asked for their guidance and their patience, but never once had she demanded anything of them. 

Not until now, anyway. 

Bring him home to me, to our children, to our people. 

Bring him home. 

Eventually Ned rises, quietly, like he doesn't want to disturb her. Meredith follows, rising on stiff legs to take his hand in her own so he can guide her out of the clearing. She doesn't look back at the weeping face staring after her, but she thinks she can feel the burn of its gaze as she goes. 

"We leave tomorrow at first light." Ned tells her, fingers tracing unfamiliar paths up and down the length of her spine. 

Meredith swallows around the lump forming in her throat and says, "Are you ready?" 

A long moment of silence passes between the two of them and Meredith knows the answer. 

Ned's been to war already, seen bloodier things than most noble Lords, and now he's forced to go back and do it all over again for a King who's insulted him and misused him time and time again. He'll go though, because Ned's honorable and there's nothing honorable about turning your back on people who need help... but he's got children now. Why would he want to leave the general comfort of Winterfell for a war that easily could have been avoided had Robert put his foot down sooner? Meredith presses herself closer to Ned, tucking her chin against his shoulder, and wincing only slightly when he wraps his arms just a bit too tight around her. 

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be I suppose." Ned admits, then, softly, "I'm going to miss you and the children, you know.... before.... When Robert called banners I didn't have many people too miss, or perhaps I didn't have the time for it. Brandon and my father were dead, Lyanna was taken, and Benjen was still just a boy - a boy i hardly knew outside of brief meetings whenever I came home." 

He takes a deep breath, Meredith remains silent. 

"Now I have you and the children. I can't imagine how long I'll be away from Winterfell. Months? Years? Robert's sent Ravens telling me of only some of the things Balon has done... they're horrible, Meredith... at least Aerys had his madness to blame, Balon does what he does for the fun of it and I.... I don't want to leave my family or the North, I'm content to spend the rest of my days here with you, but if I don't go to war then I'm complacent in Balon's atrocities just as the nobles in King's Landing were complacent in Aerys'." 

Meredith runs her thumb over a scar on Ned's chest, the skin is puckered and smooth beneath her thumb. She never asked Ned where he got it, never got the nerve to ruin their post coital moments with questions about the war, and there were always more important things to learn about her husband anyway... but she thinks it may have been a blade. A knife perhaps? Something small that managed to slice deep. Meredith leans up to press a soft kiss to Ned's chin, beard stubble tickling her lips. 

"You'll come home Ned." Meredith promises, perhaps unwisely but she does it all the same, "You'll come home and you'll watch your children grow and we'll be happy." 

"You're only human Meredith," Ned whispers, "We mortals have no control over the will of Gods. When my time comes I will be taken before the Old Gods and laid to rest in the eternal lands." 

"And I'd find you and bring you back... You're mine, Ned, I'm not about to loose you to some ambitious little cockroach." 

Laughter pulls from Ned's chest, echoing in her ears and reverberating through her own body. 

"What would you do, Meredith? To save me from Balon and the Gods?" 

"Do you know how to kill a God, Ned?" Meredith asks, eyes growing heavy. 

"You cannot kill Gods." 

"You can forget them, let them loose with no name and no memory." Meredith leans up on her elbow. "Is that now death enough for a God?" 

"How do you plan on making everyone forget a God, then, my Lady?" Ned asks, amused and smiling and missing that horrible, terrible distant glaze to his eyes that has become more and more prominent as the hour of his leave draws closer. 

It's almost enough to make her cry. 

Yes, her husband's been smiling; spending time with his children and giving them such fond memories to remember him by - for a time anyway - but the happier they become the sadder her husband grows. They both know that there's a possibility Ned won't return. So these moments are going to be the only things Ned will be able to take of his children. Meredith moves to straddle Ned's hips and smiles when his rough hands grasps at her hips. 

"I can be very persuasive." Meredith tells her husband, rocking forward just slightly. 

"So I've seen... though, I can't say you aren't playing a very dangerous game." 

"Oh? How so?" 

Ned pulls a hand away from her hip, drags it up over her stomach, between her breasts, and clasps it gently around her throat where her jaw is. His thumb brushes the scar on her neck, runs along it tenderly before pressing more firmly into her jaw to tilt her head down. It's not painful, the touch doesn't make Meredith uncomfortable, and she knows Ned would never dare to take hold of her any tighter than the firm, gentle clasp he has now, but it makes her giddy all the same. 

"I've never claimed to be anything other than possessive, Meredith," Ned sits up a bit to nip at her shoulder, "It would be a shame if I had to dishonor myself to keep you." 

With a laugh Meredith pushes Ned away, giggling as he flops down onto the bed. 

His hands land on her thighs and this time the grip is firm enough to bruise. 

"I don't think you'd go that far to keep a woman, Lord Stark." Meredith tells him, noting that devious little spark that lights in his eyes. 

"Would you like me to show you just how far I'm willing to go to keep you, beloved?" 

Meredith laughs as Ned hauls her up toward the head of the bed where he settles her over his face, delivering on playful little nip to the inside of her thigh as Meredith realizes what he's going to do. 

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean, my Lord," she tells him, fingers already tangling in his hair, "perhaps you should show me." 

And so he does. 

Chapter Text

The last time Ned marched South it was in the hopes of gaining vengeance for his family, he hadn't thought about what would happen to him outside of what typically happens in war. He'd cared, of course, about whether or not he was going to die... but there'd been a significant amount of disconnect that went along with that. If he died, he died. It wasn't wanted, but if his death somehow helped to bring about the end of Targaryen terror then so be it. Benjen would be a fine Lord. Winterfell and the North would learn to prosper in the absence of Rickard and Brandon Stark. 

He'd been willing to die then, so caught up in his grief and his anger, and now the sheer desperation to survive rattles his being. 

Ned smiles as he kneels in front of his children, all of whom would still be asleep at this hour, and carves their likeness into his memory. They're so young. Robb is barely seven, Sansa and Torrhen are three. How long will he be at war? Will they remember him if he returns? Will they mourn if he doesn't? Ned understands the importance of this war, of course he does, he'd be a fool not to recognize the danger Balon Greyjoy presents for the people - especially the common folk - and Ned refuses to let him become an even bigger stain than he already is.... still... Ned doesn't want to go to another war. 

Robert's Rebellion had been a long time coming. if it hadn't been Robert who raised the banners another Lord would have. Every Lord in Westeros had been aware that war was coming, that it was only a matter of how long before Aerys madness justified them turning to regicide to save the people. This is different. In some ways Ned wants to blame Robert for his inability to act before Balon became another Aerys, but that wouldn't be fair to Robert - who while not the best of men, never actively sought out to harm others under his command or rule - and despite how much Ned wishes he could blame the King for this the truth of the matter is that if it's Robert's fault then it's just as much Ned's, and Tywin's, and Lord Hoster's. 

Where were they when Balon was sending his Reavers? 

Sitting in their fine castles with their comforts and schemes while the small folk suffered. 

Ned bites back the loathing that tries to claw up his throat and turns his attention to his children. 

"Be good for your mother and Maester Luwin," he tells them as he reaches out to ruffle Torrhen's dark hair, "When I return I expect you to have many stories to tell me." 

Seeming to understand the severity of the situation, all four children nod solemnly and then look to Beric for guidance. The lad whispers to them in soft tones, the grey light of early morning casting his face in shadows. For a moment Ned sees someone else, someone older, someone of fouler temperment, and then there's nothing but a boy with wide eyes attempting to soothe four confused children. 

Ned turns to Meredith. 

She looks lovely; fire and smoke. 

Aerys would have been smarter marrying his son to a Tully girl if he wanted fire and blood so badly. Ned doubts Rhaegar would have had a better wife if he'd been pledged to one of the three. Perhaps he's biased. Meredith has been nothing but a dutiful wife and a good woman. He's lucky - so Gods damned lucky - to have her in his life. Ned smiles sadly as he reaches out to smooth back wayward curls that have wriggled out of Meredith's loose braid. When she leans into his hand Ned's chest tightens. 

"I'll miss you." He tells her honestly, seeing no sense in lying. 

"Come home," Meredith demands with blazing eyes, "do what you must to come home. Promise me, Ned." 

Do what he must to come home? 

Ned has found that he's unlikely to refuse Meredith anything. If she were to ask for pearls hand plucked from the ocean Ned would spend hours finding only the most beautiful ones for her... in comparison coming home doesn't seem like such a dangerous promise. Ned knows, however, that Meredith isn't just asking him to try his best. She's demanding that he does what he has to do to survive and if such things were dishonorable? If surviving meant burning the Iron Islands to nothing? Ned finds that he's willing to do quite dangerous things for Meredith. 

Promises are dangerous things, this he knows, but it doesn't stop him from leaning close and pressing his forehead to Meredith's as he says, "Aye, I'll come home to you." 

She presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. The image of gentle, delicate wife. 

It almost makes him laugh. 

There's very little about Meredith that's gentle and what is is reserved for her family. 

Meredith smiles. 

Ned pulls away from her with no small amount of hesitation. 

"Be safe." Meredith commands, which earns her a snort from Ned. 

"I'll endeavor to do so." Ned promises before pressing soft kisses to each other her palms. 

Behind them the sound oh soldiers gathering and hooves hitting the ground and Benjen's call for men to ready themselves has Ned pulling away from Meredith with one last goodbye and a promise to return, then he's striding across the courtyard to where Benjen is waiting with a stable boy and two horses. Ned makes a point to not look back, because if he does he'll never leave. One look at his children's little faces and Meredith's worry would gut him. Then what good would he be to anyone? So he doesn't turn to look at them. Not when he's mounting his horse, not when he's leading a small company through the gates of Winterfell, and certainly not as the gate falls shut behind him. 

Don't turn back, he tells himself as he guides his horse away from the home of his ancestors. 

It's the first week into their journey that's the worst. 

The skies are sunny and clear, the roads seemingly empty, no bandits or ruffians attempt to harass any of their scouts or smaller parties, and none of the men mutter about omens or bad tidings or the upcoming war. Even Benjen, who only yesterday had admitted his fears about the war to Ned, seems relatively peaceful under gleaming Northern mornings. It makes Ned want to rage, it makes him want to scream. There are some like him - the ones who have seen the worst things that war has to offer - who linger at the outside of the company; only offering up their thoughts in the privacy of Ned's tent late in the evening when strategies need to be prepared and inventory of their supplies recounted. 

Rickard Karstark mutters about greenboys and doesn't bother veiling his distaste for the fanciful ideas of war while Ned, Howland, and Helman Tallhart try not to encourage his ire. The man may be Ned's blood, and Ned may place a great deal of his trust in Rickard as the first man to openly support him when he took Brandon's claim as Heir, but that doesn't mean he can't recognize the anger in the man. Even Jorah Mormont - who can create conversation with anyone - seems hesitant to speak to the other man when he gets this way. Still, it's reasonable. Understandable. In the grand scheme of it all, six years is hardly anything. What is six years when used to measure peace? 

Nothing, it's ash in the wind. 

There one moment, gone the next, and leaving a powdery impression of memory that you can only just feel between your fingers. 

Ned leans against the small table that had been set up in his tent and turns to Wyman Manderly, a man who's knowledge of ships is unparalleled in the North where trade flows through White Harbor like water through a sieve. 

"The Iron Born rely on speed in the water, their boats hold fewer men and supplies but outmatch us in almost all other regards." He says, staring down at a map of the Riverlands and the Iron Islands. 

"Aye," Wyman stares at the map, and stares, and stares, and finally he says, "I would suggest that we send message to Seagard and have them build sharp-pointed battering rams. I would recommend they be covered in some sort of metal but it's not a necessity.... once they're made they can be mounted to the bow of a ship and used to puncture hulls in enemy ships." 

Ned purses his lips. 

The spikes would need to be mounted low enough to strike the smaller Reaver vessels, men would also have to be carefully selected and managed to ensure they can handle the work load that would be placed upon them. It's a good plan; with less risk of their own ships being destroyed and the relative easy work it would require Ned thinks it would be foolish not to follow through.... but then if they do it how many people will die? How many people who are only following the word of their Liege Lord will drown? How many of them will claw over one another for a chance at keeping their head above water? How can Ned be their judge and executioner when he knows his own men would follow his orders without protest? 

Maege had followed them. 

Maege Mormont, who is perhaps the fiercest woman he has ever met and less eager to crawl into his pocket as some other Lords. She had no love of the Targaryens, still doesn't Ned would suspect, but she'd risked not only her life but the life of her men to save people that the entire realm had tried to slaughter. Why had she done it? Because of her love for Ned? Unlikely, they had hardly known one another.... no, she didn't do it because she loved him. She'd done it because even though she might not have agreed with slaughtering children it had been her Lord Stark who had asked her to intervene. And so she'd done it. Because honor demanded it of her. 

How many of the men currently under his command would do the same? 

How many of the Reavers are following Balon's command out of desperation and fear of his anger? 

How can Ned, who has never suffered cruelty, condemn a possibly innocent common person to such a terrible death? 

Meredith comes to mind then. His wife, with her hair-of-flame and her sunny smiles and her never ending kindness, and Ned realized that he could do it very easily. For her. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her that he would dishonor himself if only she were to ask. And oh, wouldn't his father be ashamed of him for that? Rickard Stark, who had such Southern ambitions but claimed himself an honorable man and shunned those who weren't. 

Ned wonders - quite often - if his father would be proud of him. 

He thinks it's unlikely. 

Was his father ever proud of him? He was proud of Brandon, certainly, but his second son? His spare? Perhaps not. 

Ned turns his attention away from his darker thoughts and to Howland, who stares at him through pensive eyes. 

"Write to Lord Mallister and Lord Tywin," Ned says, "tell them that it would be beneficial to have battering rams mounted onto the hulls if Lord Tywin hasn't already suggested it." 

"Tywin's probably suggesting we burn the entire island to the bloody ground." Rickard intones bitterly. 

Everyone makes a point to ignore the truth of the statement. 

"I'll see it done, my Lord." Howland says, giving him a small bow before disappearing from the tent on near-silent feet. 

No one else dares to leave. 

"Perhaps Lord Tywin will be able to offer assistance?" Helman questions, to cut through the tense silence. 

"He's already sending men to Seagard." Ned says, thinking back on the letter Robert had sent him. 

Apparently his old friend isn't anymore fond of the Lannisters now than he'd been all those years ago when the war ended. Tywin's presence - and his son's too Ned would suspect - are going to be more of an annoyance for Robert than a help. Though Ned honestly doesn't know what he's worried about. Tywin's a good strategist, a bit shit on the battlefield in Ned's opinion but why would he have to fight when he's intelligent enough to end the conflict before it even begins? The Reyne and Tarbeck revolt is evidence enough of this, so is the sacking of King's Landing. Tywin Lannister fights with his brain rather than his brawn. Perhaps this is why Robert finds him so irritating. 

All the same, Tywin is sending men and supplies. 

"Fucking lions," Rickard mutters, "I'd spit on the lot of them if I could." 

You and the rest of the Seven, Ned thinks but doesn't say. 

"You should be happy for them, Lord Karstark, the Lannisters will likely be outfitting our ships and men now that Lord Tywin's fleet has been ravaged." Wyman remarks slyly. 

The two men glare at one another for a long moment before Wyman turns to Ned. 

"If there's nothing else, my Lord?" The Lord of White Harbor asks, blonde hair looking vaguely green in the light of the torches. 

"No, there's nothing else, we leave at first light." Ned tells them, waiting only long enough for all three men to leave his tent before he slumps forward to rest his weight against the table. 

Curse Balon Greyjoy to all Hells. 

Ned hopes home of his children ever show a penchant for cruelty or maliciousness as he's willing to be Balon did in his youth. What would he do if Jon or Robb showed an interest in gutting animals simply to watch them bleed? What would he do if Torrhen began laughing at people's pain? What would Ned do if Sansa ever showed even a sliver of the glee at the prospect of wrath and ruin? Would he send his children to the Wall? It wouldn't stop their cruelty, if anything it would only give them the space and time they would need to be able to enact even more horrific things. Sansa's a girl, besides, she wouldn't be allowed at the Wall. She'd be sent to train as a Septa perhaps but that wouldn't curb her malice. 

People who enjoy the suffering of others don't just change. 

He acknowledges that good people can be driven to do horrible, despicable things and revel in it. Everyone's capable of it. But there's a big difference between being pushed to doing something terrible and doing something terrible for no other reason than that you can. 

Aerys Targaryen did horrible things because he could, the madness certainly hadn't helped, but it was the crown that had given Aerys the comfort to murder innocent people. 

Ned drags his hand down his face. 

They'll reach Seagard within the next week or so if they keep traveling like they have been. 

After that the men will load up onto ships that might never carry them home. 

Silently, Ned prays for Benjen and himself before turning and preparing himself for a fitful night's rest. 

Days pass quickly when one is walking toward the possibility of their death. 

Sunrises bleed into sunsets which bleed into quiet, starry nights and back again to sunrises. A constant cycle that's never broken despite how badly Ned wishes he was capable of stopping it. The men travel South to the coast, to the boats, to war, and the closer they get the more restless Ned notices they become. Even Benjen, who'd started this trip with a bit of that glory-seeking delight that Ned might have once had, seems more and more sullen the closer they get. Ned tries to include his brother in talks of the battle, tries to give him a sense of purpose, tries to make him feel less along because Gods knows Ned had felt that way when Robert had declared his rebellion... but it doesn't seem to work so Ned resorts to giving him space and hoping Benjen will open up to him. 

It doesn't get any better by the time they reach Seagard, which is bustling with Tully and Lannister men alike. 

Ned is quick to have his men offer their assistance where they can before being drug away by a flustered looking squire who ushered him to Lord Mallister's keep where the Lords are meeting. Benjen tags along behind him at Ned's command, quiet and unassuming. 

When they're deposited in the Library Ned finds that Jason Mallister, Brynden Tully, and Tywin Lannister are there alongside Robert, who smiles widely at him as he struts across the room to clap Ned on the shoulder. 

"Ned, you're made it!" Robert japes with a bright smile, "Was starting to think you'd gotten lost." 

"Not lost, your grace." Ned tells him with a tight grin. 

Robert looks the same, perhaps a bit softer than Ned is used to seeing him but the man's face is still the same; his cheeks are still wind-bitten and his eyes bright and his hair a wild mass around his shoulders. Robert, larger than life and always laughing, is still as Ned remembers him. There's a sort of comfort in it, Ned supposes, while the years have passed and their relationship strained the two of them haven't changed to the point of being unable to recognize one another. 

He doesn't stop the other man from pulling him across the room to where maps have been laid out on tables with little replicas of their ships and other such things. 

Once he's been pulled into the circle of men Tywin points to the Iron Islands marked on the page, "There are roughly fifteen thousand Ironborn living on the islands and roughly ten thousand men and women capable of Reaving. I've brought five thousand men, Lord Hoster has sent ten, and how many have you brought Lord Stark?" 

It's asks scathingly, that hint of displeasure not unseen. 

Tywin Lannister thinks him a fool, thinks him too Northern and too honorable and too simple minded to be of any help in this situation. Let him. Ned couldn't care less about what Tywin Lannister thinks of him. 

"Five thousand." Ned responds. 

Jason Mallister nods and the careful stitching running down his face looks far less severe than Ned was lead to believe... but such is the nature of head wounds is it not? Once, when Ned was a boy, he'd slipped chasing after Brandon and had struck his head against the icy steps of Winterfell. The resulting cut had been an ugly thing, deep enough that had Ned been allowed to look he likely would have seen delicate muscle. He hadn't required stitches, however, and by the evening the wound had stopped bleeding and had slowly begun knitting itself together once more. 

"Twenty thousand men, not including the men Mace Tyrell is sending with his ships." Lord Mallister remarks idly. 

"It'll take a week for the ships to arrive if we're lucky... we'd almost be better off having the Tyrell fleet meet our own." Brynden grouches, glaring angrily at the map all the while. 

Ned can't say he doesn't agree. 

It would take quite a bit of time for the Tyrell ships to reach Seagard and with so many troops it's imperative that they get them as quickly as possible.... but if they remain in the harbor for too long then what will Balon Greyjoy do? How long do they have before the man rallies enough Reavers and grows bold enough to attack their shores once more? 

The room falls into subtle bickering. 

Tywin, surprisingly enough, seems to agree with the Blackfish. Jason Mallister seems to think there won't be enough room on the ships - his fleet is small, after all, hardly comparable to the fleet that was burned to a crisp in Lannisport. Ned thinks it's a valid concern seeing as they run the risk of having to choose between supplies and men if they leave now. 

Robert seems unbothered by it all, which annoys the other Lords in the room. 

"What do you think, Ned?" Robert asks him and the Lord of Winterfell finds all eyes in the room on him shortly after. 

He takes a moment to think before he says, "The longer we wait the more time Balon has to rally men. Our problem is there aren't enough naval ships, we could use the merchant vessels if need be but they're slower and at that point it would be simpler to wait for the Tyrells... personally, I think the sooner we leave the better." 

Ned would also like to take into consideration the safety of his men but there's only so much one can do to ensure such things when they're all going off to war. 

Across from him Tywin is nodding. 

It takes what seems like hours for anyone to decide on anything and by the end of it Ned feels like he's been pressed between two heavy stones. His feet ache, his shoulders ache, his spine is on fire. Everything seems muddled. He blames it on the lack of sleep. Benjen doesn't seem to be doing much better, wilting a bit as the hours pass, and Ned regrets forcing him to come with him to this stupid meeting - which should have already been held. Ned takes a deep breath and rises as Robert does, bowing slightly to the King before excusing himself when it becomes evident there's nothing else that needs to be discussed. 

"Ned!" he hears Robert bark from down the hall, he nods Benjen off to follow Jason Mallister and turns to wait for Robert. 

Thankfully the two begin a slow creep down the corridor. 

it makes Ned feel less alone. 

"It's good to see you again, Ned, it's been too long." Robert says once he's caught up to the other man. 

"Six years." 

"Feels longer when your surrounded by Lannisters." 

Ned doesn't tell Robert that it was his choice to marry Cersei... perhaps a choice with too much risk behind it but a choice non the less. 

"How have you been, Robert?" He asks, instead, in an attempt to pull away from the Lannisters. 

They are, after all, family of a sort what with Catelyn being married to one. 

"I'm tired Ned. Balon Greyjoy has everyone's tits in a tangle, can't seem to hear about anything other than him." Robert rolls his eyes when he says it, as if the fact that he's being forced to hear about Blon's terrors is a bad thing. 

Now, Roberts isn't a bad King. He's flawed, yes, and quick to anger, but the realm has known more peace in the past six years than they've known in the last three months of Aerys' reign. Common folk are fed, there's no war, no one is at risk of dying for something trivial. All things considered.... Robert isn't a bad King.... but sometimes he's no a very tactful man. 

"When all of this is over you can return to King's Landing." Ned tells Robert, unsure what else to say. 

"Right. That's exactly where I want to be." Robert huff, which earn him a bit of a laugh. 

"Miss the Veil that much, Robert?" 

"Sometimes, yes," Robert runs a hand over his face, "King's Landing is a cesspool. I'm surrounded by liars and cheats and everyone wants something." 

"Not everyone, I'm sure Jon is very proud of you." 

This time Robert's laugh is bitter and he says, "Jon wants me to have an heir, he's going to start pushing for council interference if Cersei doesn't have a child in the next year." 

Startled - because Jon wouldn't risk angering Tywin like that - Ned turns an accusing eye on Robert and the other man shrugs. 

"Rumors are spreading that my wive has been seen with other men.... but you can't believe rumors in King's Landing, Ned, too many people will start them in the hopes of raising themselves higher." Robert rolls his eyes, "But the fact that the rumors are spreading remain. If I don't get a babe on her soon Jon's going to ask the council to legitimize one of my bastards." 

What? 

Ned looks to Robert and frowns. 

It seems out of character for Jon, who has always been so steady and unflinching in the face of political difficulties, to suggest something like that.... or perhaps not.... Ned knows Lysa had been pregnant once before and Ned suspects that if she'd been allowed to keep the child that Jon would have at least raised it well. But to legitimize the illegitimate child of the King when his wife has shown no signs of barrenness? Obviously Tywin doesn't know. 

"That seems rash." Ned offers, because what else can he say. 

Robert just shrugs. 

"You saved the Targaryen girl. She's alive and thriving in Dorne and I have no heir. Who would inherit if I were to die? A Dornish bastard has more claim to the throne and now Jon is panicking." 

"She was a child, Robert, we started that war so that no more would be murdered." It's a hiss, a bite of air that fills the quiet corridor with threats of malice. 

Rhaenys Targaryen was a child when Lannister men murdered her mother and brother, a child when her father left them to fend for themselves in a city that only cares for itself. She was - and still is - just as innocent as Ned, or Jon, or even Lysa Arryn's unborn babe. Ned never gained anything from saving her, he hadn't wanted anything. The Martells had sent their thanks but since that single raven Ned and Meredith have heard neither hide nor hair from them since. So no, Ned has gained nothing. But Rhaenys lives and that's enough. 

"Aye, a child, and now she has a better claim to the throne than I do and Jon is worried." 

"I won't apologize." Ned says, "It's your duty to secure the safety of your people.... just as it's mine." 

Robert grows still, quiet, and Ned almost thinks the man is going to rage at him. Instead his old friend simply nods and turns to clasp him on the shoulder. 

"You're lucky, Ned, for the peace you've found in Winterfell, not all of us are so lucky as to boast that." 

"I'm fortunate indeed." 

Rough hands pat his shoulder, Robert steps away, Ned glances down the corridor to find his brother and Lord Mallister whispering quietly to one another. 

"I need to be going. It's been a long journey and I'd like to rest before tomorrow." Ned tells Robert. 

The bigger man laughs a bit and says, "There'll be no rest for you, Ned, not for a good long while." 

Before Ned can say anything Robert is turning and striding back the way they'd come. 

Ned only lingers long enough to watch his form disappear into the darkness. 

Chapter Text

Keeping busy is easy when you're the de facto Warden of the North.

Ledgers need to be kept, reports need to be recorded, council given to various Lords and Ladies, disputes settled between the common folk, and general upkeep to Winterfell and the surrounding villages seen to, and that's not to mention the time Meredith sets aside to see to the children. It's so very easy to be swept up in day-to-day activities... the first few days anyway. By the fifth Meredith finds her mind slipping to thoughts of Ned while she's keeping the ledgers, questioning his safety while writing to Lord Willam Flint of the Mountains. The worry would consume her if it weren't for the letter he'd sent her when he'd arrived at Seagard. He and the other Lords haven't left the port city yet... or hadn't when Ned had sent the letter to her. It's very likely he's at least on his way to the Iron Islands. 

Meredith rolls her shoulders and turns her attention to the common folk standing before her in the Lord's Solar. 

They've come to settle a dispute on property lines and who's allowed to farm where. Each are tenants of Winterfell which means that their contract is somewhere among the various tenant ledgers. Ned might have been able to say what the exact details of the contract were - perhaps not - but Meredith isn't aware and to be able to judge this case fairly she'd have to look at them. Damyn stands at her right, close enough to step between her and any oncoming attacks but far enough away so as not to intimidate the two men across from them anymore than he probably already is. Meredith tries not to feel uncomfortable with the amount of eyes on her as she skims through the various contracts tucked away within the tenants ledger. 

"You said your names are Cayle and Sabas?" 

"Yes, my Lady." the man Meredith believes to be Sabas says. 

She nods and quickly finds both contracts. 

"It says here that you're given permission to oversee the land between Holdfast and Winterfell within a five acre limit bordering the Wolfswood." Meredith says to Cayle, who nods, "It also says here that your acreage and that of your neighbor is divided by the creek leading into the Crofter's village." Meredith looks to Cayle, "How is it that property lines were mistaken in this instance?" 

A valid question. For the most part anyway. Meredith thinks it would be difficult for someone to farm someone else's land when they're separated by a body of water. Seems easy enough to remember what side of the creek you're supposed to be farming. Meredith doesn't think Cayle purposefully went out of his way to steal land, not from Sabas anyway, for the simple fact that it would be too easy to prove he'd stolen it. 

Cayle swallows and says, "The creek had to be redirected last year due to flooding. We're only now able to work the land and an agreement had been met previously in which the land was to be tilled by me and my sons." 

"We agreed to see discuss it further when the creek was filled in and ready for tilling." Sabas interrupts with a scowl. 

Meredith nods quietly as she turns her attention back to the little map of property lines kept for these types of situations. 

"You really only have two options," Meredith begins, "you can either split the land in half and farm it accordingly or one of you can sell your share for profit. Either way the land will be split evenly and added into your contracts." 

Both men look a little put out by that but agree all the same so Meredith just takes the annoyance for what it is and continues on. What can they do to fight against her? What authority do they have? None. Not when they've gone against the permissions laid out in their contract already. Perhaps using what remains of the creek is a grey area, as it doesn't technically breach contract considering the creek was never mentioned to begin with. However, the dried creek is technically her husband's land and to farm it without express permission is a breach of contract. Meredith looks to both men. 

"You're contracts will be rewritten to include the new land and adjustments will be made. Expect it by the end of the week." Meredith tells both men, who bow low before quietly slipping out of the room under Damyn's watchful gaze. 

"Seems a bit silly," her sworn shield says once the door has shut, "both of them coming in here to bitch about land neither of them own to the person who actually owns it." 

Meredith shrugs as she sets the old contract to the side and says, "Not really. If Ned was here I'm sure the two would have settled for splitting the land and hiding the profit." 

Scoffing, Damyn moves around to stand in front of the desk. 

"A lot of ignorant pricks they are." Damyn says as he pulls a knife from his belt and begins cleaning beneath his fingernails. 

"Not today... but if anyone comes looking for council in an emergency situation I'd be glad to hear them." Meredith says, eyeing the door as if waiting for some frantic man or woman to storm into the Lord's Solar with a list of problems Meredith will be able to fix. 

Still, there's much to do around Winterfell that'll keep her mind occupied. So Mereidith dismisses Damyn to do as he pleases - he's taken to impromptu lessons with Beric, Robb, and Jon - and finds herself wandering through Winterfell in search of tasks. What she finds is the Heart Tree and a little red headed girl staring up into the bloody, weeping face of the Old Gods. 

"Sansa?" Meredith looks around for Niamh, who has taken to looking after Sansa, or even Torrhen, who never leaves her side. "What are you doing out here alone, sweetling?" 

Sansa turns slowly, little face twisted into a strange expression that bleeds away into a sunshine bright smile when she sees Meredith, who crouches down just in time to catch the little girl as she flings herself at her mother. 

"Hello mama," Sansa says, little fingers weaving into Meredith's loose hair. "I was playing with Aly." 

"Aly?"  

"Yes, she was teaching me a song." Sansa smiles big and presses both palms to Meredith's cheeks, "She's like you mama." 

Meredith frowns as she looks around the clearing for another little girl or even a young Lady. When she finds nothing but pine needles and shadows tucked between trees Meredith turns her attention back to Sansa and presses a chaste kiss to the little girl's cheek. 

"You can't be out here alone, sweetling, what if something happened? Have you told anyone you were coming here?" when Sansa shakes her head Meredith continues, "Your friend sounds lovely, sweetling, but you have to promise me to stay safe." 

"I was!" 

"How do you know, sweetling?" Meredith asks, soothing and low. 

She's not angry at Sansa. A bit worried but nothing happened and so there's no point in yelling about it now. Still, she wants her daughter to understand the importance of telling people where she's going in case something were to happen. 

"Aly would never hurt a Stark." Sansa tells her, certain in only the way a child can be.

Meredith nods as she scoops her daughter up and begins making her way back towards the Keep. 

"I believe you, sweetling, but promise me you'll tell someone the next time you go playing with your friends, yes?" 

Silence for a moment. 

Sansa's little face gets that eerie blankness to it once more, eyes following something Meredith doesn't see, then she nods and presses her head down on Meredith's shoulder. 

"I promise." She says, how breath fanning over Meredith's chilled skin. 

Odd. 

Ignoring it, Meredith thanks her daughter for the promise before offering to have lemon cakes made for dinner, which perks Sansa up almost instantly. Smiling and laughing like she's wont to do. Meredith tucks the strange encounter away, excuses it for childish fantasy, and makes her way back to the Keep. 

Dinners have become private affairs. 

Meredith uses them as an excuse to spend time with her children away from the prying eyes of the few lesser Lords of Winterfell. It's also gives them a moment of uninterrupted attention, which they all seem to appreciate. Typically the six of them will settle in Meredith's solar, tuck themselves around the small table by the fire and feast on some of the dishes Lara brings up for them. Beric, being the eldest, sits across the table from Meredith and often ends up helping Jon and Robb whenever they need it while Meredith tends to Sansa and Torrhen. It's peaceful. Meredith enjoys the quiet, but she especially enjoys listening to all of the children talk about their day. 

Beric typically has the most to say as he's the one with the most lessons to contend with, the others jut in from time-to-time in the hopes of pulling attention to themselves and it works for the most part. The conversations at dinner fly between more serious discussions of the children's educations and Meredith engaging in silly tales of whimsy that the children try to convince her is truth. 

It's pleasant. 

Takes her mind away from the fact that she hasn't heard anything from Ned or Benjen or her uncle despite her father having told her that ships have left Seagard. She wants to write back to him and ask if he's heard anything, if he knows whether or not Ned and Benjen and her uncle are alive or if the Reavers have slaughtered them. Have they even confronted any of the Reavers yet? What would Meredith do if they were dead? Become Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North until such a time that Robb is capable of handling the strain of ruling on his own? 

Moat Cailin is in the process of being rebuilt; stone masons, carpenters, laborers of all kinds have been brought to restore the Ancient Keep to something of it's former glory. There's not much to be done for it in terms of the original structure. Wood rots away after so long and the elements have weathered everything else. The only thing that truly remains of Moat Cailin are the great slabs of Basalt that remain of the curtain wall. There's enough of it still salvageable that only a few smaller slabs had to be imported, which is helpful... if it weren't for the North's natural resources Meredith feels that the rebuilding of the Moat would be a far more strenuous process. 

Lumber can be cut from surrounding forests, mortar made from sand and binder and water, the undamaged remains of the Keep can be repurposed to fir the needs of the men rebuilding it. All things considered, Moat Cailin's reconstruction has been relatively affordable. That will change, she knows, when it comes time to furnish it and hire servants. 

Benjen will have so much to do when he becomes Lord of the Moat. 

If he survives. 

Meredith picks at her duck, not particularly interested in eating any of it. 

There are many Keeps in the North that can be rebuilt, lands reclaimed, titles reestablished. 

How many extinct houses are there who's lands have been claimed by House Stark? Meredith can think of nine or ten off the top of her head, including the exiled houses that no longer have any power in the North. All properties that can be given to her children, power that can be given to them. Jon and Sansa and Torrhen and any other children she has can be given something to rule over and protect when the time comes... but if Benjen doesn't return from the war Moat Cailin will have to be claimed by House Stark in some way, through some blood relative Meredith can trust. The Keep is too essential to be given to someone like Roose Bolton or Barbrey Dustin. 

Little fingers curl around her wrist, pulling her from her thoughts, and when Meredith turns to find Robb staring at her she realizes that the children must have been talking for quite some time. 

"I'm sorry beloved," Meredith says as she moves to run her fingers through Robb's hair, "I was lost in my thoughts." 

"About uncle Ben and papa?" Robb asks, soft and low. 

"And my own uncle as well, yes." Meredith answers truthfully. 

Robb begins stroking her hand as he tells her, "They'll come home." 

Around the table little heads begin to nod. 

"Mother says the Tyrells are sending ships as well." Beric informs her, as if the knowledge is new to Meredith. 

For his sake she pretends that it is. 

"Of course, lovelies, I'm just worried." 

"Aly says not to." Sansa tells her, nodding sharply as if that was that. 

Beside her Robb scowls, "No one cares what your imaginary friend says, Sansa." 

"Yes you do!" Sansa screeches, looking every bit as indignant as a nearly four year old can. 

"You always talk about her." Torrhen tells her, dry as ever. 

"She's my friend!" 

"She's not real!" 

Meredith sighs before turning to Robb, gently pulling his attention back to her so that she can say, "That's enough, all of you. I'll not have you arguing about this at the dinner table." 

The two red-headed children glare at each other, little brows furrowed angrily, but neither go to say another word and Meredith's thankful for that at least. The others look mildly put out though, like this is an argument they've had to bare witness to multiple times. Which leads Meredith to wonder how long Sansa has been playing make believe with this Aly friend of hers... She'll have to find children Sansa's age for her to play with. Meredith grew up with sisters - and Edmure but they were always forcing Ed to play with them as he was youngest and couldn't say no - and so she doesn't understand the dynamic of being an only daughter yet. Clearly Sansa is looking for some sort of female companionship. 

She'll ask Niamh or Lara if they know any children Sansa could play with... or perhaps she'll look into fostering a daughter of a lesser house. 

What's one more child? 

"Mamma?" Jon pipes in from across the table. 

"Yes?" 

"Maester Luwin told us that you know how to swim." Jon starts, looking a bit hesitant. 

Meredith nods and says, "I can. Very well, in fact, uncle Brynden taught me and my siblings." 

He looks to the others and then - after an encouraging nod from Robb - looks back to Meredith. 

"If... if we were good swimmers could we swim in the Red Fork?" he asks to which Meredith blinks. 

They want to swim in the Red Fork... Meredith doesn't know if it's a genuine interest in swimming in the red waters of the Riverlands or if Jon simply wishes to meet her uncle Brynden but either way the others seem equally as thrilled. 

"To be able to swim in the Red Fork we would have to go in the summer, you would also have to listen to me and follow all of my ordes." Meredith levels each child with a look. "The Red Fork isn't the creeks that break away from the White Knife." 

The creek, hardly even capable of being called that, is large enough that Meredith has been able to begin teaching the children to swim. The water is colder than the Red Fork ever was, clearer too, and whenever she takes the children there she finds the day slipping away as she watches them. It would be different in the Red Fork, which is too deep and sometimes too turbulent to leave children to play in it on their own. Her uncle was always with her and her siblings when they swam in those red, muddy waters - and if not him than someone he knew to be able to swim well enough to save them if they ever needed help.

Sighing, Meredith nods and says, "Perhaps when your father returns we'll go South to swim in the Red Fork." 

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

Ned had been insistent about it. 

Meredith understands why. 

To leave one's home defenseless of in the hands of someone who would work to see it fall? No. Meredith could never allow that. But perhaps she could leave it in the hands of Jory. He's a loyal man, almost ridiculously so... and it would only be for a few weeks. Nothing terrible. Nodding to herself, Meredith decides that she'll take the children - all of them - South to visit the Red Fork, and Riverrun, and let them play in the same mud Meredith was raised in. It would do them good to simply play and not have to worry about their father as Meredith knows they must. 

She pushes the thoughts aside to give her attention to the children. 

Oberyn Martell finds that he hates Robert Baratheon, he finds he hates the Lannisters and Gregor Clegane a great deal more. 

Each one of them played a role in Elia and Aegon's deaths, each one of them justified the brutality they faced in those last moments with harsh words and slurs. Oberyn hates them. He want to wrap his hands around their throats and squeeze until their eyes bulge out of their heads and their heart still in their chest. It wouldn't be enough. Not for the injustices they paid to Elia, but Oberyn would get his pounds of flesh from the Mountain. It would be a slow death for him, and painful, so very painful. 

"Be patient." Doran tells him. 

"Don't do anything rash." Ellaria begs him. 

And for them he refrains from marching North to King's Landing with an army of raging Dornishmen to get Elia's justice. 

There are many people at fault for the war, so many people Oberyn can lay blame at the feet of, and despite it all the only people Oberyn can truly find rage for are those three men. None for Rhaegar, who abandoned his sister and her children. None for Mad King Aerys, who lit the fuse and started all of this mess. None even for Lyanna Stark, who was to some extent just as much a victim of Rhaegar's idiocy as Elia and her children were.... that's another thing. It would be justified for Oberyn to hate the Starks. Easy to hate them for the part Lyanna played in the murder of his family, but it was not all of them. 

Elia - in one of the last letters she was able to sneak out of the Red Keep - had written about Brandon and Rickard Stark's deaths. She'd told Oberyn about how hard Brandon had fought, strangling himself on a rope for a man there was no hope in saving. Oberyn knows she likely wept for them. His sister - sweet, kind thing that she was - would have gone to the ramparts where their heads would have been mounted to pay them their last respects. She would have played it off as piety. Oberyn knows it would have been because she pitied them. it was not their fault that Lyanna caught Rhaegar's eye and yet they still went before Mad King Aerys in an attempt to get her back. Stupid. Truly ignorant.... but Oberyn cannot say he wouldn't do the same for Elia. 

Gods, he'd almost done the same. 

When word came that Aerys had locked her up with her children in Maegor's Holdfast it was Oberyn who had demanded Doran call his bannermen to march North to join Robert's army. To save Elia and her children. To protect the Light of Dorne. He'd raged when Doran had told him no, lashed out with harsh words and fists when his brother had him locked in the dungeons for a week until he'd calmed enough to see reason. To go North would end with Elia and her children dead. Raising their banners against Aerys was exactly what the Mad King wanted, for if he could justify executing the "Dornish Bitch" then he could have a purer Targaryen line in his younger children. Lot of good it did, staying in Dorne. 

Elia and Aegon are dead. Gone. Oberyn will never see their smiles or hear their laughs or reminisce with Elia when they are old and decrepit. 

But Rhaenys... Rhaenys lives. 

Oberyn huffs a bitter laugh into his wine as he drinks. 

Who would have thought, Martells indebted to the Starks. 

Oberyn's no fool. He knew the moment Rhaenys had shown up at their door - dirty and disguised as a boy - that it had been Eddard fucking Stark who had done it... Perhaps not him directly but he's certainly commanded someone to save Rhaenys. Neither he nor Doran are exactly sure who it was - though they suspect - because whoever had saved Rhaenys were long gone from Dorne by the time Doran had rounded up a party to find them. When asked Rhaenys had only said this. 

"They took me from the Keep, Lord Varys showed them through the hidden tunnels." she had looked so frightened, clinging to Oberyn's shirt with white knuckles and quivering lip, "When we got out the woman cut my hair and burned it, dressed me in boys clothes, then we found a ship." 

Smart, he thinks, not to give a frightened little girl their true names. It would be all too easy for Rhaenys to slip in front of strangers loyal to Robert or Tywin or the Crown. No. Smarter to keep her unaware... but she's described the men and woman who'd saved her; pale, large, solemn looking with fur and painted wooden shields. Norhtern. Yes, soldiers paint their shields all the time but Oberyn knows that the North is particularly well known for painting their shields an array of colors and styles not commonly used by the rest of Westerosi warriors. It's not like anyone else would have done it anyway. Anyone else would have been murdered for treason. Eddard Stark, lucky bastard, managed to save Rhaenys' life and walk away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and the rest of Westeros whispering curses and slights. 

Doran sent got himself a spy in Winterfell not long after Rhaenys came back to them. 

Apparently Lord and Lady Stark are good people; they respect their common folk and judge them fairly, they treat their servants well, and their children are happy. Even the legitimized bastard Eddard brought home with him. Oberyn has never thought to legitimize his own children, never saw the need too when in Dorne children are simply children, but it's different north of the region's borders. Illegitimate children are treated as curs and monsters. For a noble lady to have her husband's bastard legitimized? That's not some silly thing to dismiss. 

Fingers dance up his spine, "Come to bed." 

Oberyn turns to catch the whore's hand, bringing it close to his mouth to such a bruise into the tender flesh of her inner wrist, and smiles when she moans. 

"Was I not satisfactory?" He asks, teasing. 

"Unfortunately, you're the most satisfactory I've had all week." The woman rolls her eyes, "forgive me for wanting to savor the moment." 

"Savor the moment, hm?" 

"Aye." 

"Well then, I suppose I should give you something to savor then." 

Her laughter as he rolls her over so that she's straddling his shoulders is almost enough to ease the pressure in his chest, but not quite, so he pulls her up over his mouth - taking a certain amount of comfort in the weight she rests against him - and distracts himself with hitching moans and whimpers. 

Chapter Text

There's a Riverland soldier using a dull blade to etch words into smaller stoned and bits of iron that will be used for slingshots when the time comes. Ned watches him work, watches the way he rolls the stones and metal balls around between his fingers and never cuts himself with the knife in his hand. It seems to Ned that the men from the Riverlands - and perhaps some from the Westerlands as well - are the best adjusted to the constant rocking of the ship as it cuts through the sea on its journey to the Iron Islands. It's not all that surprising. Meredith has always been steady on her feet, sure of her footing even when the cooler Northern mornings has caused thin sheets of ice to form over the stones outside of the Keep. 

Meanwhile there are many soldiers from further inland who have never truly spent their days on the water that struggle. 

Even Jaime Lannister has been seen looking a little greener than he should. 

Ned makes his way across the ship, careful to avoid the sailors working and the rowers as they force the war ship through the turbulent waters. Some of his own men, like Great Jon and his son, can be found among the benches putting their strength to better use in the quiet moments leading up to the actual battle. By the time he reaches the riverland soldier the man has moved on to another stone, the one he's finished with witting in a leather pouch with its brethren. As he nears the man glances up, nods, then returns his attention to his task. 

"What are you carving?" Ned finds himself asking, curiosity getting the better of him. 

"When I hit one of those Reaver bastards they'll pull the stone out if they survive it," the man smiles with too many teeth, "and then they'll get to see how much of a fat cow their mother is." 

"You've called their mother a fat cow?" 

"Among other things.... Eryn Wode of 

"Willis Wode's brother?" 

"Aye, Willis Wode's brother."  

Ned stares at the man for a long, near tortuous minute before nodding. 

"Is this your first battle then?" He asks, to which the other man shakes his head. 

"No, I was a soldier under the Blackfish during the King's rebellion." Eryn tells him, eyes drifting from his newest message for just a moment. 

He can't say he remembers the majority of the men who'd fought - and died - for Robert's rebellion. He never met all of the men who'd laid their lives down to ensure the safety of the rest of Westeros. Perhaps is a time to start... if for no other reason than to say that he did. Benjen is already making friends among the rivermen on the ship, some of the Westerland soldiers are even speaking with him, and it is envy that claws its way up Ned's throat. For Benjen and Brandon had had that in common. Both capable of making friends so easily and without any sort of true issues. Ned had never been so lucky. Even when he and Robert became friends it was because of their proximity, their lessons, a friendship of convenience that grew into genuine affection. 

"Ah, you're fortunate then." 

Beneath his feet the ship rocks, bobbing back and forth through the ocean with nothing but the sound of waves breaking beneath oars and the quiet rumble of voices to keep them company. A particularly nasty jolt has Ned swallowing the lump that's formed in his throat. It gets worse the farther out to see they go. The Nausea. He's yet to vomit but he knows it's coming. He's never been good on the ocean, opting to stay with both feet on solid ground, and whenever he'd had no choice but to board a ship he'd done so with enough mintleaf tucked away in his bag that he'd be able to wash the scent away. 

Across from him Eryn tucks the stone into his boot, reaches into the little pouch at his belt, and produces a small brown object that looks vaguely like a cut off bit of root. He takes a moment to pull the ties on the pouch shut before holding the offering out to Ned, who takes it hesitantly. 

"Ginger. Helps with the nausea... don't have much of it, mind, but I figure you'll want it eventually." Eryn turns back to his etching on a new stone, "It'll get worse when the fighting starts. All those ships cracking against each other isn't going to calm the waters down any..." 

There's more he wants to say, obviously, but the dark haired Riverman merely shakes his head before turning away from Ned, who - knowing when he's not wanted - quietly thanks Eryn for the ginger before wandering off in another direction. All the while he contemplates the upcoming battles. There are too many unreliable factors for them to go in with confidence that their plans are going to work. Something could go wrong, Gods, something most definitely will. Ned just wonders what it will be; the barrels of oil Tywin is convinced will keep the reavers contained to certain areas? Wyman's ideas of putting lances and battering rams on the ships? What's it going to be? How many of their people are going to die? How many innocent Iron Born - Gods doesn't that taste funny in his mouth - are going to end up dead for Balon's arrogance? 

It's something Ned isn't looking forward to witnessing. 

The first week slips by quietly, nothing to hinder them the elements and the Gods' will. 

Ned and Benjen spend most of that time on their assigned ship preparing. The others spend their time in whatever way they please to - mostly bouncing between manning ores and reading their weapons or resting - but not Ned. No. Ned devotes his time and care to Benjen, ensuring that his brother has the best chance at surviving. Sometimes Ned wonders what Robert is doing on his ship just across the way. Each Lord has been given a ship to man, some more than one depending on the amount of experience they have, and they're all following Robert. Ned's thankful he's only been given authority over two; his and Lord Manderly's. 

So the first week passes quietly. The second is when they beginning running into trouble. 

It starts with bits of wood, painted cloth that looks to be some sort of a flag, crates of rations. Ned knows what it is when he sees it. One would have to be a thrice damned fool not to... but that doesn't make it any easier when the bodies begin appearing, bobbing through the water with bloated limbs and the stench of rot. They'd been dead long enough that not even the creatures of the ocean would take them. 

"Search for survivors!" He can hear Robert shouting, just far enough from their ship that his voice sounds less thunderous than it would. 

Benjen appears beside him, pallid and horrified. 

"There won't be survivors." Ned tells him quietly. 

"What do you mean?" Benjen asks, and Ned leads him over to the side of the ship where various soldiers are attempting to poke at bodies with spears before even bothering to haul them up into the ships with the net. 

One body is rolled over onto it's back and Benjen promptly looses his stomach on the deck. 

Ned can't determine the woman's age when she died, there's not enough left of her face to determine that, but the horror she faced is obvious; lips cut so that the teeth were left exposed, eyelids removed as well, her throat looks like it had been sawed open with a blunt dinner knife... he doesn't even want to know what the rest of her looks like between the tattered gown. Doesn't even know if the salt-water hasn't sloughed away the flesh. The man holding the spear grunts as he attempts to shove her beneath the water, her body disappears for a moment before resurfacing only a few feet away. 

"Burn them." Ned tells the man as the body tentatively rises back up. 

"What?" 

"Burn them." Ned turns away, carefully side steps Benjen's vomit, "There's nothing we can do for them now but put their bodies to rest." 

Surprisingly enough it's a soldier in red and gold - one of the three unfortunate enough to be assigned Ned's ship with the overload - darts off to the hull where barrels of oil are being stored. It doesn't take him long to return with a smaller one, rolling it across the deck until he can prop it upright and begins bucketing oil out of the depths. It's a careful process. They want to get enough oil on the corpses to let the fire catch but too much could become unmanageable and reach the ship. Still, they manage, and soon there are multiple little flames peppered across the ocean. More starting up as they come across bodies. 

No survivors are found floating among the wreckage. 

Ned isn't surprised. 

Balon is known for his cruelty; he likes hurting people, likes knowing that he can do it and get away with it, and it doesn't matter who he's hurting as long as he proves that point. There are rumors about what he does to his own people; man, woman, child, it doesn't matter to Balon as long as he can find some pleasure in their suffering. Ned prays that the rumors are just that. He hopes that someone has been spreading word of Balon's cruelty to make him appear more dangerous, more terrible, but if that were the case it's done nothing to strike fear into the hearts of the men marching against him. If anything, it's only made the men despise him. Why else would Tywin's men willingly bend to Ned's orders? Why else would they allow themselves to be placed on his ship without an utterance of complaint. Certainly not to spy on him. Ned's unable to do anything noteworthy from the little cabin he shares with Benjen and any meeting he has is held on the deck for all to witness. He hides nothing, so Tywin's men gain nothing from him. 

He mutters quiet prayers under his breath, asking the Old Gods to guide these troubles souls to whatever Gods they worship. 

"Balon did this?" Wyman demands, sounding disturbed. 

"Ordered it most likely," Ned stares off at the horizon, searching for a ship or a rock formation, anything to tell him they're one step closer to putting this war to rest, "I doubt Balon would leave the security of Pike with so many men marching against him." 

Wyman spits. 

It's dishonorable to order your men to fight for you while you sit back in the security of your Keep, warm and fed and unharmed while people who rely on your leadership are slaughtered. In the North men who do such things don't often rule for long. 

"Why would he order something like this?" Benjen asks and Ned turns to level him with a look. 

The boy's pale, much paler than he typically is, and he looks like he might vomit again. Ned pities him for a moment. War isn't ever pretty and there's no kind way to introduce a boy who's only ever known the comforts of home to something like this. 

"To send a message, to prove that he could, we might never know." Ned offers. 

Hardly a decent explanation but it's the only one Ned can give him. 

Gods he prays neither he nor Benjen end up like one of these corpses. What would be done then? Would they be brought home, mutilated and half rotten, for Meredith and the children to look upon? Would his men burn them, bring their ashes home? Would they sail him and Benjen up the coast? Not all Starks are buried in the North. If Ned's body were to be lost they would build him a statue and place it above an empty tomb within the catacombs. Ned rolls his shoulders and tries not to think of how devastated Meredith and his family would be over his and Benjen's death. 

She would take care of them - their family and the North - Ned knows this, he wouldn't have left her in charge of the North if he wasn't certain of his wife's ability to handle their people. Robb would rule Winterfell one day, Moat Cailin would likely be passed down to Jon instead of Benjen, Torrhen would likely be given land as well for it's unlikely Meredith would exclude any of their children from such opportunities, and Sansa... well... it's difficult to say with Sansa. Meredith dotes on their daughter and if she ends up anything like her mother it'll be impossible to tell her to do anything. Ned thinks that if Meredith were forced to decide she would attempt to make a match for Sansa with someone either in the Riverlands or the North but he can't say for certain. She might even be given a title of her own. She's so young yet, his daughter, that it's hard to tell whether or not she has any interest in politics... Ned rolls his eyes at the fond memory of his wife's scheming and decides that all of his children will likely be involved in some form of politics with Meredith has anything to say about it. 

Comforted, Ned turns his attention back to the task at hand and settles his worries as much as he can. 

"Reavers!" 

The warning carries through the air, sounding from somewhere further down the line of Robert's ships, followed by a brief moment of silence before men begin scrambling to get themselves into position. Some dart into the cramped underbelly of the ship to fish out barrels of oil that the archers will use to hopefully set enemy ships ablaze. Ned keeps his grip on his sword as he searches for the Reaver ship... what he finds isn't the small boats the Iron Born typically favor for speed. 

Instead, the Lord of the North finds himself staring at a large ship with great big sails that seem to drag the lumbering beast through the waves. 

Stolen. Ned assumes from the people they'd found floating about in the ocean only days prior. It would explain why they hadn't found anymore wreckage. The Reavers likely attacked in the night - as they are now - and caught the passengers unaware. Ned doesn't know how many of those people had been murdered and how many are now sitting below deck manning the oars. What he does know is that battering rams and oil aren't going to be enough to stop their enemies... and with how few of his men have experience fighting on a boat... Ned swears as he turns to his Wyman. 

"You know what to do." He says, because the truth of the matter is of the lot of them Wyman Manderly has more experience on a ship then any of them. 

The man nods solemnly before he takes command of the men, ordering them to break formation and swing around the starboard side. Archers ready themselves, small oil barrels are brought up from below, and arrows are ready to be lit. Ned trusts Wyman to do what's best. There's nothing beyond praying that he can do at this point. So he takes up an empty seat at the oars beside an unfamiliar man and helps to man the oars. 

Somewhere Robert is yelling, men are preparing for battle, and Ned thinks the likelihood of everyone dying grows higher by the second. 

"Great Jon! Get your arse over here!" Wyman calls and a man on the deck moves to take the now vacated place along the bench where Jon Umber had been sitting. 

"What the fuck is he doin'?" The man beside Ned mutters to himself as they watch Jon handle two different barrels of oil as if to test their weight. 

"Pick up the speed!" 

Ned grunts as they hurl themselves closer to the Reaver ship. 

Laughter can be heard up ahead, hoots and hollers that make Ned's skin crawl, they carry over the waves and settle in the empty spaces of the deck. It's only barely contained by the thumping of Ned's heart against his sternum. 

Jon Umber tosses a smaller barrel between his hands. 

Wyman readies a torch. 

Gods be good, Ned grits his teeth and wonders if trusting Wyman Manderly was a good idea. 

Crazy bastard. 

As they close in on the Reaver ship Jon does something to better his grip on the barrel and then begins to spin, rotating on on his left foot with the barrel held slightly aloft. He spins until he gains enough momentum and then he hurls the barrel at the Reaver ship. It disappears into the dark but Ned hears the sound of wood crashing against wood moments later. It's followed by a streak of light as Wyman hurls the torch away from their ship. 

Then, a plume of fire that puddles in the water and quickly scaled the side of the ship, giving them better light. 

"Fall back!" Ned barks and the ship moans as the men attempt to stop it's progression. 

A glance over his shoulder shows that the Blackfish's ship has also broken formation and is charging forward through the waves. What Ned wouldn't give to be on a riverman's ship about now. Rivermen are notorious for their ability to manage turbulent waters. Most traveling is done by taking barges up and down the rivers, which requires a fair amount of skill to maneuver successfully. Especially during the rainy season. Meredith says the rivers often grow turbulent, dangerous, and the men who grow comfortable are often found washed up along the muddy banks. Watching Brynden Tully and his men tear through the water is almost startling. 

Above them Ned can hear the sound of running, yelling, Iron Born positioning themselves to douse the fire crawling up the figurehead, and he grits his teeth as their ship inches further away. 

Behind him someone gurgles. 

Ned swears as he glances up at the larger ship where archers are beginning to line up and fire. 

Where is Robert and that thrice damned Lannister? 

If they don't get away from the Reavers they're fucked. 

Arrows are being fired on both sides, men are either lucky enough to be missed entirely or hit somewhere nonfatal, others die on the deck peppered with arrows and choking on their own blood. They can't seem to get away from the ship either. Not with whoever's manning the oars propelling the ship closer and closer to Robert's fleet. It would be best to swing around the side of the ship and come up behind it... but even that will be difficult to do with their men dying. Their own archers are doing what they can, the sounds of bodies hitting the water almost a touch too satisfactory, but they're out numbered and unless - the Reaver ship lurches. 

Rocking violently to the right and flinging sailors overboard in the process. 

"What was that?" Someone calls. 

"The Blackfish?" Someone else asks. 

Three iron spikes had been mounted to the bow of Brynden's ship, sharp enough to punch through wood but smooth enough to avoid catching on anything that might drag the ship down if it got caught. If Brynden managed to puncture the ship while the Reavers were distracted then that means they'll be taking water into the ship. The ship will sink and the thralls stuck below deck - likely chained and locked below - will drown. Ned snarls up at the large ship, hands white knuckled due to his grip on the oar. 

Another one of his men is shot down. 

Just before Ned can curse Robert and Tywin as cowards, a smaller ship - one that had been tied off behind the Lannister ships - zips by. The men at the oars are moving fast through the water, as if the drag of the tides doesn't affect them, and Ned spots Robert where he's standing at the helm, helping to guide the smaller ship so that the men at the oars can focus more on their speed than navigating. Whatever they're planning they need to do it fast. This night has already gone to hell, nothing they'd prepared for had happened. Gone were the long, sleek ship they'd expected. In their place a large beast of a thing. Ned had been prepared to board a ship, fight on a deck, his men had been prepared for it too. None of them are skilled sailors - none but Wyman and his men - and they're even less skilled at fighting in the water. 

"What are they doing?" Rickard snaps from across the way, having taken to manning the oars at some point. 

Ned doesn't know so he doesn't say anything in response. 

Knowing Robert's penchant for fighting it's likely he's attempting to partake in this shitty little battle despite the fact there's not much he can do. With the Reaver ship burning there's no way for Ned or Brynden to get close enough to cripple the ironborn ship without risking their own catching flame, if they can't get close enough to board they can't help Robert if he decides to be a hero. Gods be good. Ned wishes he'd stayed where he was. If only to ensure no one did anything foolish by trying to help him. 

The arrows have stopped. 

Reavers can be heard screaming orders from above; to abandon ship, to put out the fire, to take as many people as they can manage into the dark depths of the ocean below. With how fast the ship is going down Ned wonders if they'll settle for burning or drowning... and if they'll attempt to the same on Ned and Brynden's men. 

As they inch further away from the Reaver's ship Ned takes a moment to steady himself. 

This was likely only the first attack, a test more than anything, and tomorrow they'll be faced with a true battle.

Gods, were these even Reavers? Ned swallows. He doubts it. A Reaver would have boarded their ships, set them ablaze, crippled them in some way. This attack seems messy in comparison, ill planned. Almost like the men on that ship had never seen a battle in their lives. It occurs to him in that moment that they haven't been fighting Reavers. They've been fighting Thralls. Killing thralls. 

"They thralls!" Ned calls out, hoping his voice carries over the screaming and the waves and the sound of wood cracking as it burns, "Pull them out of the water! Do it now!" 

A moment of hesitation and then he and his men are barreling back toward the ship. 

People are thrashing in the water; injured or unable to swim, or both, Ned isn't sure, but he doesn't stop to think about it as he rushes over to try and help them. Getting them out of the water is harder than Ned would like to admit. The ship is too tall to make plucking them out easy, using the oars as something for them to cling to is too dangerous, and hauling them out of the water using rope isn't nearly as effective as Ned would have liked. Still, they manage to save a handful of men - and children, Gods - from drowning. 

The rest are not so lucky. 

Those who couldn't escape the ship go down with it, sucked under as the Ship becomes waterlogged. 

They don't resurface and Ned prays that they find some sort of peace in death... then he turns to his men. 

"See to their injuries, if they know anything about the Iron Born ask, but if anyone lays a hand on them beyond tending to their wounds I will personally see it removed." Ned snarls at them. 

No one argues with him. 

No one dares. 

And the night drags on as the cries of dying men echos over the sea. 

Chapter Text

Dying isn't an unfamiliar act. 

Eddard Stark has seen many people die - from the time when he was a boy and watched as one of the horses in the stable kicked a lad in the head, to the time he was a foster under Jon Arryn's care and a man was sentenced to death through the Moon Door for assaulting a Lady of the Eyrie, then to his years as a man grown with the responsibilities of a Lord to contend with. Death is not some unknown beast gnashing its teeth outside Ned's door as he cowers in a corner hoping that when daylight comes the creature will be gone. Still, this is a type of horror Ned cannot understand. 

The Thralls they'd managed to pluck out of the water - few as there'd been - were half starved, their bones pressing against their skin in ways they shouldn't, and most of them refuse to look at them or open their eyes when any of those loyal to Robert question them. Even when Ned's men offer them food and clean clothes and fresh water the thralls refuse to say anything, refuse to look away from their chapped-bloody fingers. 

"What the fuck's wrong with them?" Robert whispers to Ned as they watch a Maester smear odd smelling salve into the lashes covering a man's back. 

The Iron Born have beaten them so badly that they can't bring themselves to care. A twisted sort of self-preservation that Ned has never seen before in a living creature. He's seen more fight in a hunted deer than he sees in these people. Robert knows this, Ned knows that he's not a fool, but to see the effect of the Iron Born's cruelty is staggering. Slavery is outlawed in Westeros, has been for centuries. Aegon the Conqueror had only outlawed it to appease his newly claimed subjects but... Gods... it's never been an enforced rule. It should be, especially now. Ned turns away from the vacant gaze of the freed man and turns to Robert. 

"They'll have more of them along the Islands," he says to his oldest friend, "I wouldn't put it past them to have the thralls more willing to fight waiting for us when we reach the shores." 

"Why would they fight for the fucking Iron Born?" 

"Why wouldn't they?" both Ned and Robert turn to look at Ser Jaime. "The thralls we saved tonight don't care if they live or die. The ones that'll be waiting for us are likely fighting for something." 

"Promises of freedom? A homecooked meal?" Robert scoffs, "They won't be getting anything from the Reavers." 

"No, but they don't think they'll be getting anything from you either." 

Ned watches as Robert grows rosy-cheeked, a sign of his mounting rage, and quickly steps in.

"We need to adjust our plans, Robert," he says, "this could end very badly for all of us if we continue as we originally planned." 

His old friend nods briskly before storming off. 

Ned thinks he's probably off to call the other Lords together to discuss plans before they leave the relative safety of their little circle of ocean. He goes to follow but a hand on his elbow stops him. Jaime Lannister's hold on his elbow isn't restrictive so much in its physicality as it is in the way Ned's body instinctively goes still at the fainted brush of the man's fingers on his arm. Even when Jaime drops his hand Ned can't bring himself to move. He does turn his head to race the man, however. 

Jaime Lannister looks every bit the same as he had when Ned last saw him. His hair is to his shoulders and golden, the slight curl to it pairs well with the sharpness of his face and the deceptive slenderness of his frame, giving him a surprisingly feminine appearance that his father lacks. Ned wonders if his children with Catelyn will produce something similar, if his children have taken on the Lannister coloring or the Tully? He supposes it doesn't matter as long as there's a son for Tywin fucking Lannister to warp and mold into the perfect little lion. 

"Is there something you wish to discuss, Lord Jaime?" Ned asks, politely because this is his family... to a certain degree. 

Fondness there may not be between the Starks and the Lannisters but Ned isn't a monster. He wouldn't actively hurt Meredith's family. Not even a good brother who's known to the realm as King Slayer. 

The man simply stares at him for a long moment before turning on his heel and disappearing into the darkness of the poorly lit hall. 

Odd, Ned thinks before he follows after the other man. 

By the time he makes it to the deck Robert has already summoned the other Lords. 

Lord Mallister, Ser Brynden, and Lord Manderly all bow their heads to him as he settles between his good uncle and the Northman, but none say a word and Lord Lannister begins speaking. He's an excellent strategist, Ned will give him that. It's similar to Meredith in a way... but where his wife plays in subtle ways Tywin Lannister plays to let everyone know that he's the most dangerous piece on the board. it takes little over an hour for a plan to be formulated. They'll travel toward the Iron Island as quickly as possible, get to Pyke, and put an end to Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. Getting to the island is key as the majority of their fighters are better skilled on land than the Reavers - who rely so heavily on the ocean and attacking people who've very little experience fighting - but they can't do that unless they can manage to avoid the Reavers. 

"We could always split off, have someone go off with only the bare minimum and hope to lead the Reavers toward the mainland and confront them there." Brynden Tully suggests. 

"Are you offering your services Lord Tully?" Tywin Lannister demands, face hard. 

"Unless you and your boy would prefer to do it." The man offers and for a moment Ned can see his wife in the man's face. 

He looks unimpressed. 

Ned almost laughs. 

Instead, he bites his tongue and remains quiet as Jason Mallister offers to take a second ship and lead some of the Reavers in the opposite direction. It would cut their ships down by two but perhaps a smaller fleet would be better? Lord Manderly doesn't seem to be against it and Ned trusts his good uncle's judgement in this. When Robert turns to Ned, still such a strange experience considering the strain on their friendship, the Lord of Winterfell hardens himself. 

"A raven came from the Tyrells," Robert tells them and he sounds displeased, "They're a bit off yet but they've gathered soldier and some weapon they think will benefit us." 

"We'll need to send the thralls back to the mainland." Ned says, "It's too dangerous for them to be on any of the ships if we're to engage the Iron Born in combat." 

Robert rubs at his chin as he stares off in the direction of the Iron Islands. 

Ned might not be skilled at war the way Robert and Tywin are, but he's no fool. The fact that the Reavers haven't attacked them is strange. If Ned were to guess, he would say that the majority of the fleet is set up to defend Pyke. Robert's fleet isn't small by any means - not with so many Lannister and Mallister ships already deployed and the Tyrells on their way - the fact remains that some of the men on these ships have never fought on water before. They're at a large disadvantage. And the fact of the matter is Ned is scared. 

Scared for his men. Scared for himself. Scared that he'll be hauled off in a box, bound up in cloth to hide the rot of his body and buried alongside his ancestors... never to hold his wife again, never to see his children grow, never to smell the sharp tang of wet earth after a good snow. 

Ned is scared, Robert is not, and that makes all the difference. 

"I don't like this." Robert says to them, "The cunts are too quiet." 

"They're waiting for you at Pyke." Ned says, and he's mildly surprised when Tywin Lannister - of all fucking people - agrees. 

"If they were going to meet you in open water, they would have done it already," The older man says, "The thralls were a test. Their way of seeing how well you fight on water. They'll be waiting for you at Pyke." 

"Then I'll need all the fighters I can get." Robert mutters, bitter.

"We need the Tyrell fleet." Lord Mallister says, "If they have some new weaponry, it may very well be the difference between winning and losing this rebellion." 

"The Tyrells may arrive within the next few days. It'll take time to reach Pyke. If Lord Tyrell wishes to raise his position within the court, it would benefit him to provide soldiers." Ned says, and Robert's knuckles go white. 

His relationship with Stannis and Renly may be strained but Ned knows that to some extent he does love them. When the Tyrells had laid siege to Storm's End, resorting to starving the people within the Great Keep, Robert had been worried. The Tyrells still haven't quite recovered their position. Robert dislikes nearly all of the Targaryen supporters, he's indifferent to those who remained neutral, and that means that the Tyrells are no closer to spreading their roots into the court than they'd been when Aerys Targaryen had been King. 

Supporting Robert in this rebellion certainly won't gain them any favor but it's a step in the right direction. 

But waiting for them to arrive with this supposed weapon isn't going to do anything for Robert's fleet either. 

Around him the Lords argue about what to do. 

Nearly all of them demand Robert advance on Pyke, do whatever necessary to secure the islands. 

Ned isn't a sailor, he's much more comfortable on land, so he allows the other Lords to discuss plans and battle until they come to an agreement. When the men begin to disperse Ned steps up to Robert. 

"What will you do with Balon if we win?" He asks. "He'll never bend the knee willingly." 

"I'll force him to." 

"And his children?" Ned asks. "He has two last I heard. A girl and a boy." 

Robert turns to him, eyes dark. 

"Are you accusing me of something?" 

"No... No... i want to know what's to be done about those children because they are the future of House Greyjoy." 

Ned cares, of course he does, he isn't a monster, but he also knows that Robert won't be happy about his accusations. Veiled though they may be. The people are still unhappy about what happened with Elia and her children as they were beloved by the smallfolk and Dorne. Robert would be a fool to murder more children... but that doesn't mean he wouldn't send them off to the Lannisters or some other noble house. Possibly Arryn. It's possible Robert would send them off with Ned as well. 

If he lets them live. 

If Balon lets them live. 

Would Balon murder his children to keep them out of the clutches of Robert? Absolutely. He still has an older son, an heir to the boy he lost, and that is all a man like Balon needs. The rest are disposable. The rest can die. 

"I wouldn't murder children." Robert says. 

Ned doubts that. 

"I know... but Balon would have no such qualms." 

Robert stares at him for a long moment before nodding and turning. It's the end of their conversation but Ned knows Robert has listened to his concerns and that's all that matters to Ned. 

He turns to the horizon, staring at the hazy line where sea and sky meet. 

This is lovely, Meredith would love this. 

Ned lingers for a while longer before he returns to his duties on the ship. 

Lord Tyrell's ships arrive in the early morning two days later. 

The winds have forced Roberts fleet to lower sails in order to make it easier for the men at the ores, still, it's slow going as none of them want to waste their soldier's strength so soon. So, the fleet trudges along and the Tyrells eventually catch up to them in a flurry of green-and-gold flags and glinting armor. 

Ned thinks the ship is huge. Too big for quick sailing. No wonder it took them so damn long to arrive. 

None of the Lords bother to say anything as one of the Tyrell ships is guided closer to their warships. Ned observes the ship with a critical eye and notes the large windows cut out into the side of the ship. Ned frowns. Waits as ships are moved into position and a long plank is moved to connect the Tyrell ship to that allows Mace Tyrell to strut down to Robert's ship without having to worry about dirtying his hands. Ned rolls his eyes before making his way across the ships to Robert's. 

"Lord Tyrell, glad to see you could finally join us." Brynden Tully bites out, the knife in his hand glinting as he uses the point to carefully dig out the grime from beneath his fingernails. 

The Lord of High Garden doesn't bother to grace Brynden with a response, instead focusing his attention on Robert. 

"My apologies, your majesty. We were delayed in Oldtown." Mace says with a bow. 

Ned stares hard at the man but says nothing as Robert scoffs. 

"For good reason I hope." 

This earns them a smile and a delighted, "Oh, yes, if you would allow me to present the reason for my late arrival." 

"Get on with it, Lord Tyrell." Robert spits, "I haven't the time to play games with you when there's a rebellion to stomp down... unless you'd rather Balon Greyjoy continue to pillage and rape his way across Westeros." 

The man colors a great deal, bows, turns, and makes his way back to the ship he arrived on with the High Lords following behind. 

At least the crew looks less gaudy than Mace does. 

Ned follows his good-uncle and Lord Jaime to where Mace is standing beside a wood-iron contraption that looks vaguely like a Scorpion but instead of a place for a bolt to be inserted there's a long tube made of a metal that isn't overly familiar to Ned. He frowns at the contraption as Mace Tyrell pats it on the side like an animal before pulling a large back from the side.

"The Citadel is calling it the Fire Wyrm." Mace says, "Refined oils are put in these containers here, black powder-" here he scoops a strange black grit from the bag into his palm and then dumps it into a funnel-like piece at the back of the contraption, "if put here and the top screwed into place. Then the wick is lit so that the black powder and oil catches light and spews out the end here." 

"And how does that keep our ships from burning, Lord Mace?" Tywin Lannister asks. 

"Well, the pressure from the black powder erupting sends the flame flying. We've done multiple tests on our way here - nasty things Reavers - and we've yet to have any issue... unfortunately there wasn't enough time for the Citadel to work on the range of the wyrm or it's movement but those are problems easily remedied." 

Ned feels sick to his stomach. 

He can't say he hasn't participated in burning people alive. Gods, he watched as Jon and Wyman set the thrall ship ablaze. But this feels different? In a way. His father and brother were burned alive, the thralls on the ship burned as well, and now they have a weapon that the Citadel has put together for them to use in this rebellion that could destroy hundreds of ships in the wrong hands. Even Tywin looks discomforted by the weapon. Though, Ned thinks that's probably more to do with the fact that such a weapon could be easily recreated, and the Tyrells of all bloody people were the ones to think of it.

That almost earns a laugh. 

The thought of Tywin Lannister's distaste at not being the one to do something useful or new. Ned smirks to himself as he watches Robert inspect and test the Fire Wyrm. Maybe this'll teach Tywin to not be so far reaching, to keep himself composed and out of trouble.

He knows it won't but it's a humorous thought all the same. 

Heat wafts off the water, emitting from the burning oil and debris that has come from Reaver ships currently burning on the other side of Mace's ships. 

Ned grips the pommel of his sword and watches as burning soldiers launch themselves into the water screaming and clawing and begging their Drowned God for mercy. It's a terrible way to go but Ned can't find it in himself to feel pity for men and women who willingly followed orders to butcher innocent people. He gives them a certain amount of respect by not turning away as they die but he refuses to try and beg Mace Tyrell to have mercy on murderers and slavers. 

So, he watches them burn as his men maneuver the ship toward the gaps in the Tyrell line. 

Robert's plan is to use the Tyrell's to break the Reaver lines guarding the shores of Pyke then have the smaller, more agile war ships slip through so that Robert and the rest of them can lay siege to Balon Greyjoy's castle. It'll be a bloody battle. Ned knows that the ships currently burning are far from the last of Balon's defenses but at least this way they don't have to worry about anyone coming up on them from the rear. Ned turns to Wyman. 

"The men are ready?" 

"Aye, Lord Stark." 

Ned casts a glance toward Robert's ship, searching for the signal, and when a torch is lit and waved through the air, he gives the command to advance on the island before them. Slipping through burning debris due to the men at the ores and their navigator. Ned tries not to look at the people burning in the water. Worrying about them isn't going to do anything but get them killed. His fingers hurt where they're pressed against the metal of his pommel. The screams don't stop as they near the island. Ned tries to ignore them as he catches sight of the soldiers lined up on the rocky shore. 

Behind him Great Jon is barking orders at Northmen, Rivermen, and Westermen alike. 

Men rush to prepare to beach the ship and march on the thralls and Reavers waiting for them. 

Ned's jaw hurts from how hard he clenches it. 

"Ready men!" Wyman Manderly screams to the men as the ship jerks to a stop in the tidal flats. 

Ned doesn't wait for his men to disembark from the ship first. That's a coward's decision. He will not allow men to die for him for no reason other than his own fear of death. It's not the honorable thing to do.

So, Ned throws himself off the ship with his sword drawn and a painted shield in his grip and throws himself at the oncoming soldiers alongside a man in red-and-gold. 

Robert's army is peppered across the shore, rushing to meet Ironborn with cries of fury that almost drown out the screaming of dying men. Ned ducks under a carelessly swung sword, uses his own to paint the dark rocks with viscera. He wonders if the man he just killed was a thrall. He decides he doesn't have the luxury of caring.

Not now.

Not when people are dying and screaming and falling into the pit of chaos that seems to take Pyke into its empty maw. 

Battle is an ugly, unpleasant thing. 

Ned falls into the familiarity of it all, screaming and fighting and plowing his way through soldiers with a desperation he's almost unfamiliar with. He trips over bodies - friend and foe alike - and somehow manages to make his way up the rocky slopes to the flat ground where more soldiers are fighting. There are deserters, of course, Ned sees them out of the corner of his eye. He feels the brunt of their mercy when one drops his sword and flees instead of slaughtering another of Robert's men. His men. He allows it... even if he doesn't agree with their actions. 

Ugly and bloody and terrible battle is. 

He will not fault a man who's so used to having no ability to choose to make this decision for himself. 

Ned throws himself in the fight. 

This is his decision... return to Meredith... return to his family. 

Another man dies by his sword. Choking and spitting and gurgling on blood that only adds to the continuously growing red stain that seems to cover Pyke. 

Ned fights and fights and fights despite his own wounds and the pain in his ankle. 

He trudges on, struggling over rocks and bodies and blood, slaughtering questionably innocent men and praying to any God that will hear him that he will go home. 

Pain rips through his rise. 

Ned howls. 

When the battle ends it is only because the people of Pyke throw down their arms when Robert and Jaime Lannister bursts into the castle and seize the remaining Greyjoys. 

Ned stumbles to the keep, careful not to jostle the arrow sticking through his side, and somehow ends up being wrangled to a maester by a man who might be Brynden Tully's. 

He refuses milk of the poppy. Opting to grit his teeth and fight back vomit as the maester that's been found for him removes the fletching on the arrow and pulls it the rest of the way through. That's the worst of it, honestly. The wound isn't superficial but it's far from a fatal wound once treated properly. Great Jon - who had appeared with his own injury - stands vigil over him to ensure the maester's complacency. So, Ned focuses on breathing as the man stitches his wound closed, places square bandages soaked in poultice ont he wound, and then wraps him tightly. 

Ned does the same for Great Jon. 

They don't linger in the maester's presence due to the number of men streaming in with injuries and duties of their own to attend to. 

With the castle taken and the Greyjoys secured it's a matter of discussing what is to happen to them. Ned finds his way to the Great Hall where Robert has made himself a make-do council. Everyone has sustained some injury... Ned notes the ones who have sought help - Jaime and Wyman and even Robert - and those who have not - Tywin and Brynden - and takes his place among them. 

Robert informs them that Maron Greyjoy is dead, Balon and his brothers captured, the remaining children secured with their mother. 

"The rebellion is not over, your Grace." Tywin remarks, "Balon Greyjoy has sworn no oaths to you, your Grace. He's likely to rebel again if you refuse to take the necessary steps." 

"What is your suggestion?" 

There is silence, for a moment, and then Lord Tywin says, "Stop out the rebellion, ensure loyalty to your house through the line of succession." 

Something humorless and sour bubbles up from Robert's mouth. A laugh that isn't a laugh. 

"And would you have me place hostages in your care Tywin? I've seen what your loyalty has done for you." His smile is cruel, crueler than Ned has ever seen from Robert, "Your loyalty to Aerys ensured the fall of the Dragons. An heir returned to you, married to a Highborn Lady of the Riverlands, and a daughter made Queen, one who has yet to produce an heir for her King... Loyalty through the line of succession indeed." 

A vein pops out in Tywin's jaw. 

A slight not soon to be forgotten or forgiven. 

Bryden Tully coughs. 

"My King, Lord Tywin isn't wrong. Balon Greyjoy will rebel again if given the opportunity... and if not him then Euron or Victarion." Bryden frowns. "One rebellion may spark another. Dorne is still angry over the murder of Queen Elia and her child. How you handle this rebellion will be remembered for years to come." 

Robert is silent, his gaze distant. 

No one speaks. 

No one dares. 

They all know what must be done. 

The children must be taken from Balon, placed in a House loyal only to Robert, and the matter of Balon and his brother's must be addressed solely on the fact that should the time come it's possible Balon will name one of his brothers his heir. Euron is rumored to be cruel. Victarion? Well, Ned's heard very little about the man but doubts he would be much better off as Lord of the Iron Islands. 

"Bring me Balon Greyjoy." Robert barks at a guard, who bows and disappears into the keep. 

The Lords in this makeshift council shift to stand on either side of Robert. 

They don't wait long for Balon Greyjoy to be brought before them and forced to his knees at Robert's feet. 

"Do you understand why you're here, Lord Greyjoy?" Robert inquires. 

"I swore no oaths to you, I bent no knee, I owed you no loyalty..." Balon Greyjoy swallows hard, "Spare my life, spare my children, and I shall do so. I will bend the knee and sweat my allegiance to you and yours alone." 

"You'd bend the knee, would you?" Robert snorts, then nods. "Very well, swear your oaths and your life will be spared alongside those of your children." 

Ned stares. 

Balon recites oaths on a God not kept by the Northmen or the others of mainland Westeros and lays his crown of wrought iron at Robert's feet. 

"Punishment is still in order," Robert announces and the world seems to hold its breath. "Your children will be fostered in the North by Lord Stark and his family, your son Theon will inherit the Iron Islands when you die, Asha will be married to a man of Lord Stark's choosing, and your brothers will be put to the sword to ensure your loyalties to the Crown. This is your punishment Balon Greyjoy, for your crimes against the people of Westeros and Beyond our shores." 

Robert will not break a pact with the man once he swore his oaths, but that doesn't stop him from ensuring those oaths remain in tact. 

Ned feels sick to his stomach. 

Balon looks just as ill. 

This is not cruelty. Not in the same way Aerys Targaryen had ensured loyalty by slaughtering without thought or consequence. 

Euron Greyjoy is rumored to be the leader of Balon's fleet of Reavers. Which means that the Reavers working beneath him were likely following orders when they raped and pillaged and murdered as they pleased. He is also said to be Balon's greatest supporter in his rebellion which means it isn't likely he'll stop encouraging further revolt in the future. This is the only way to ensure Pyke's compliance. 

That doesn't mean Ned has to like it. 

He tells Robert as much as they make their way to the courtyard where Euron and Victarion will be executed. 

"You'll receive a stipend from the Crown." Robert says. 

"What about Jon?" 

"I don't like the idea of the children being in King's Landing. Winterfell is far away from the schemes of the Capitol... besides, Tywin's a royal cunt. I'll be damned if I let him take any more Highborn Lords of Ladies into his fold." 

Ned wants to tell Robert that Winterfell is the farthest place from scheming seeing as Meredith is such an avid player of the great Game. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

"Very well, your grace." Ned concedes with a small frown. 

He might not like this but at least the children will be treated well. 

Ned curses Robert's hot temper under his breath as he follows the other man to the courtyard, careful not to move too quickly or tear his stitches. Frankly, he'd like to get back home as quickly as possible. Which means he'll likely take the children to a ship as quickly as possible and rest on the trip back to Seagard. Still, his wound is tender and perhaps it would be best for him to get some rest before he leaves. Meredith would be awefully put out with him if he were to get an infection and die on the trip back to Winterfell. 

But before he can rest, he must attend an execution. 

it's not something he looks forward to. 

When Euron and Victarion's heads roll across the courtyard Ned offers them naught but a silent prayer asking the Old Gods to see their souls to their final resting places without incident. He isn't sure if he's been heard or heeded but it offered Ned some comfort all the same.

Chapter Text

Meredith has made a habit of breaking her fasts with the children. 

Nearly all of her meals are taken with the children, actually, save the few where Meredith finds herself caught up in work... but she always tries to make it up to the children by spending individual time with each of them when and where she can. The work she does isn't all that difficult seeing as the majority of it Meredith has been doing for moons already, but there are times when Meredith finds herself caught up in inventory and plans for repairs to Moat Cailin and looking into other abandoned keeps or alliances that could be made for her children. She might not force her children into a marriage, but she'll be damned if she doesn't have options ready for when the time comes. 

They all have duties, this is known, but Meredith isn't cruel. 

She loves her children, all of them, even the ones not hers by blood, and she wants to be present in their lives the way her own parents weren't present in hers. 

Oh, Uncle Brynden did his best. He was a good man. He guided her through life as a father would... but he is not her father and sometimes the knowledge that her own favored Cat and Ed so blatantly hurts. Though, she acknowledges it would be unfair to call him a bad father. He chose to wed her to Ned and through that decision Meredith has been able to build a true life for herself here in the North. Still, she doesn't want any of her children thinking she favors one over the other. So, she takes meals with them and visits their lessons and loves them fiercely. 

Which is how Maester Luwin finds her, helping Torrhen cut into his sausage while listening to Beric and Robb debate what Ser Rodrik Cassel will be having them do in their arms lesson. Beric is convinced they'll be working with practice dummies today instead of going through sets. Robb thinks they'll be sparring. Meredith - who has already spoken with Rodrik Cassel - knows the boys will be working on defensive tactics, which don't require them to hold one of the wooden practice swords. 

"I apologize for interrupting, my Lady," Maester Luwin says, "but a raven has arrived for you."

Usually, he leaves her letters in the Lord's Solar for her to look through during her work. 

Ned must have sent it. 

Meredith turns to Jon, who isn't arguing with Robb and Beric at the moment. 

"Will you be a dear and help Torrhen and Sansa, sweetling?" She asks. "This is very important, and I might not be back." 

He nods and quietly takes her seat between the two children when she rises and makes her way to Maester Luwin, who guides her out into the hall. They walk in relative silence until they reach the Lord's Solar where Maester Luwin shuts the heavy door. He passes her to letter. Meredith breaks the seal and begins reading. 

"Ned's alive." She tells the good Maester, "Robert has ordered the execution of Euron and Victarion Greyjoy." 

"I've heard terrible things about Euron. He enjoys violence." 

"Well, it's a good thing he's dead then." Meredith mutters before she continues reading. 

Ned is coming home, alive, Meredith doesn't know if the Old Gods answered her prayers or if Ned was just lucky, but she'll spend an hour before the Heart Tree regardless. 

Balon Greyjoy's eldest sons are dead, leaving young Theon - a boy of only nine namedays - his heir. Meredith isn't surprised by this. She's surprised that Robert Baratheon of all fucking people has decided that Ned should be the one to foster both Theon and his sister Asha to keep them away from Balon as well as put a leash on their father. Ned claims it's also because Tywin Lannister opened his mouth at the wrong moment. Meredith isn't surprised... well... no. She is surprised. Tywin isn't a foolish man but Meredith wonders if having his firstborn son back at the Rock and his daughter on the throne has made him overly confident in his ability. Meredith doesn't care. As much as she loves Catelyn - and she does, she would burn the world to the ground for Catelyn - the fact remains that she tends to take their family words a bit too literally. She would treat the children well in an attempt to perform her duty as future Lady of the West honorably, but she has tied herself to the Lannisters and Balon Greyjoy has brutalized too many Lannister assets for her not to be a bit resentful of those children. 

Meredith passes the letter to Maester Luwin so that he can read it himself. 

After a moment Maester Luwin says, "This could benefit House Stark greatly." 

"Asha is the elder, yes?" 

"By a year or two I believe." 

Meredith frowns. 

"This is going to be an abrupt change for these children... they're unlikely to trust us." Meredith remarks. 

"May I be frank, my Lady?" 

"Of course, your counsel is of great value to me." 

Maester Luwin places the letter on the desk and turns to level Meredith with a sharp gaze as he says, "Theon and Asha Greyjoy are the keys to the Iron Islands. When Balon passes his seat will by right belong to Theon. If either child is loyal to house Stark, then you would have allies in the Iron Islands, which tend to keep to themselves if they can help it." 

"The North, the Vale, the Riverlands, the Iron Islands... perhaps even Dorne." Meredith smiles sardonically and continues, "that's quite an alliance." 

"Would you not include the Crownlands or Westerlands?" 

"No." Meredith crosses her arms, drops her voice, "I distrust Robert's choices and while I don't doubt his loyalty to Ned, I can't say he would maintain that loyalty forever... I don't trust Tywin Lannister as far as I could throw him." 

Maester Luwin nods. 

Perhaps it's a testament of how much she trusts him.

To say these things is treason on a good day. 

"Still, five of seven kingdoms are more than even Tywin can boast." Maester Luwin says. 

"Yes, I suppose." Meredith glances out the window and shakes her head. "I don't want these children thinking they're pawns." 

"They are." Luwin says, not unkindly. 

"We all are," Meredith agrees, "but we don't like to admit it." 

A heavy hand rests on her shoulder. 

"Then be kind to them, just as you are kind to Beric and Jon. It will go farther than merely providing for them or treating them coolly." 

Meredith is half inclined to be offended. 

As if she would ever be unkind to an innocent child. 

But she understands where Maester Luwin is coming from. It would be reasonable for Meredith to distance herself and her children from the Greyjoy children should she find their loyalties in question. But she wouldn't. Because they are children and they've lost their lives to a father's ambition. They aren't in control of their lives; they have no choice in coming north. Meredith refuses to make their time in Winterfell anymore of a struggle than it will be. 

"I'll need to speak with the children." Meredith says to which Maester Luwin nods. 

"Would you like me to gather the children?" 

"Yes, have them brought here to me, please." 

Maester Luwin leaves without another word. 

"I received a letter from Lord Stark." Meredith tells her children. "He'll be home in a moon if the Gods are kind." 

Each of the children attempt to speak at once, only quieting when Meredith raises a hand. 

"He'll be arriving with two wards; Theon and Asha Greyjoy." Meredith takes a moment to level each child with a look. "I expect each of you to treat the children kindly. You'll hear terrible things about their family at some point and I need you all to understand that they are not their father, or their uncles, or their brothers. They'll need friends, family, and if they're to live with us that means those are roles we'll need to fill." 

"What if we don't like them?" Sansa asks, her sweet girl who's sometimes too southern, too gentle, for some of the other little girls that she's met. 

Sansa who sobbed when Robb accidentally shot a pretty blue bird out of the sky and spends hours attempting messy embroidery that she gifts to imaginary friends. Sansa, who has always tried to befriend those around her... even when her attempts are met with narrowed eyes and upturned noses. 

Meredith offers a smile and says, "We don't get to choose our family, Sansa. You don't have to get along all of the time but please try to build friendships with Theon and Asha." 

"Yes, mamma." Sansa says, followed by the other boys in the room. 

"Thank you, sweetlings, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you and your willingness to do this for me and your father." Meredith looks each one of them in the eye, including Beric, and them smiles widely. 

"Now, I think we should do something special for your father and the other children when they arrive. Any suggestions?" 

"A Hunt!" Robb cries, which earns him a sharp look from Sansa - who clearly hasn't forgiven him for the bird. 

"A feast?" Beric offers as a way of pulling Sansa's attention away. 

Sansa and Torrhen's last name day was celebrated with a small feast, which Meredith had employed a minstrel for. All of the children had enjoyed it, but Sansa had taken to the minstrel performance and the possibility of another is clearly something she's excited about. 

"We could make them something." Jon offers, "Maester Luwin has many chains... we could ask him to help us." 

"A feast!" Sansa cries when Meredith turns her attention to her daughter, "with dancing and singing and lemon cakes." 

Gods bless Sansa's obsession with lemon cakes.

Meredith will never understand it. 

Torrhen remains silent though Meredith hadn't missed the way he'd perked up at Jon's suggestion. 

"All are wonderful suggestions, sweetlings," Meredith assures the children, "Unfortunately a hunt might be a little distasteful at the moment, but another time we'll make sure one is held... your father's name day is in a handful of moons and that might give you all time to figure out a gift and Maester Luwin enough time to ensure materials are available." Meredith offers Jon a soft smile then continues on, "How about a small feast with the family, it might not be appropriate to hire a minstrel, but I'll ensure plenty of lemon cakes for you Sansa. I'm sure a larger celebration will be held later that will have plenty of entertainment." 

Sansa wilts a bit, her eyes going a bit distant, before she comes back to herself with a bright smile and a, "I would like that!" 

Meredith smiles sweetly at all the children. 

"Excellent, think of things you might like for a feast." Meredith nods to the door, "Go on then, you've got lessons to attend." 

The children leave in a flurry of cloth, laughter, and excitement. 

Torrhen lingers a moment to plant a kiss on Meredith's cheek before he too disappears out into the hall where Sansa is likely waiting for him. Of the two it's Sansa who tends to dictate where they go, what they do, what games they play. Torrhen perfectly content to follow along behind. Meredith smiles after them and allows herself to reminisce about her own childhood for a moment before returning to her work. 

Preparing for her husband and their new wards isn't necessarily difficult, but it is time consuming. 

Chambers are prepared in the family wing, ravens sent back and forth between her and Ned discussing the stipend provided by the Crown and how it will be budgeted for the children. New clothes are bought, an allowance prepared for Theon and Asha to buy things for their chambers to make them feel more comfortable in the unfamiliar space, lessons prepared to include the history and laws of the Iron Islands. 

Time consuming. 

Meredith finds herself working long into the night and waking far too early to spend time with the children. 

It's running her a bit ragged, truthfully, but Ned is so close to coming home and Meredith wants him to be able to rest without having to worry about his duties. 

Benjen has been a great help in this. Taking on the responsibilities that come with the reconstruction of Moat Cailin - which has come such a long way in the past years - and helping Meredith with anything and everything she might need help with. She's so incredibly thankful for his help but the fact remains that there's so much to do before Ned returns. 

Days rolls into weeks, Meredith sleeps and governs and attempts to prepare her family for the change in their routines. 

Her sweet babes take it all in stride. 

Meredith couldn't be prouder of them for it. 

Though, she does feel a bit guilty for not spending as much time with them as she used to. 

It's something she'll have to rectify once Ned is back home. 

Winterfell finds itself in chaos the day Ned is set to arrive at Winterfell. 

Men and women scuttle about the keep as they attempt to ready it for the Lord of Winterfell's return. Meredith leaves them too it, choosing to focus on preparing her own children for their father's arrival. Lara and Niamh are more than capable of ensuring the servants perform their tasks. There's no need for her to be overbearing when wrangling her children is more than enough of a task. 

Sansa and Jon are the easiest. 

Meredith gets them bathed and dressed in the colors of their house without fuss. Once their ready Jon takes Sansa off to a corner of the nursery to play with some of the carved figures gifted to their mother all those years ago at Riverrun. They settle down and Meredith leaves them to entertain themselves while she attempts to get Torrhen, Robb, and Beric cleaned up. Beric is the easiest of the three, though he shuffles about as he changes out of his practice leathers into a yellow and black doublet and a long fur-lined cloak to represent House Dustin, Meredith turns her attention to Robb and Torrhen, both of whom whisper quietly to one another as Meredith approaches. 

Getting them changed is like herding cats. 

Meredith almost cries when she finally gets all of the children ready to meet their father. 

She leaves them in the nursery with Old Nan while she goes off to change into her own clothes; a black under dress with a grey silk overdress embroidered with wolves and weirwood leaves, she pairs it with her white fur cloak and weaves her hair into intricate braids that she pins into place with the pearl hair pins Ned bought for her as a gift. It's a very striking image that she presents. All those muted, soft tones and only her hair to stand out. Meredith stares at herself in the polished looking glass and quickly applies a bit of rouge to her cheeks and lips in the hope of adding just a bit more color to her face before she wipes her hands on a cloth and makes her way to the nursery where the children are waiting. 

"Alright, lovelies," Meredith greets, "What are the rules for today?" 

"Be on our best behavior." Robb intones, clearly bored. 

:"We also need to be kind to Theon and Asha!" Sansa cries, which earns her a roll of the eyes from Robb. 

Meredith lets the action slide and gives each child a smile of their own. 

"Alright then," Meredith says, "Maester Luwin believes your father will be here within the hour so we should begin making our way to the courtyard." 

The children are quick to rise, practically shoving each other out of the way to reach the hall. 

Following closely behind them, Meredith finds herself smiling at how excited the children are. Even Sansa and Torrhen, who have only so many clear memories of their father, sprint through the corridors in the race to get to their father first. Meredith makes sure to keep the children calm enough that they don't accidentally run into any of the servants or guards - though the ones they pass tend to smile fondly at the laughing children - that move through the keep. 

When they reach the courtyard Meredith loses the children momentarily as they weave through the servants slowly beginning to make their way to their spots in the yard. She finds them again toward the front where they're being commanded into a line by Beric. Meredith takes her place at the front of the line where she takes both Sansa and Torrhen's hands to keep them from running off toward the horses when they enter the yard. Normally, she would hold her youngest to ensure they didn't run off, but Torrhen only tolerates being held for so long and Meredith doesn't want him to get too fussy before Ned returns. So, she holds his hand and runs her thumb over his little knuckles and prepares herself. 

She has no idea what state Ned will arrive in. He'd refused to say anything about whether or not he'd been injured in his letters. Only insisting that he was far better off than some of the men he'd fought beside, and that Meredith shouldn't worry. Which did the opposite of soothe her because who tells their wife that they're better off and follow it up with a pathetic little don't worry? Meredith feels sick to her stomach.

Thank the Gods she doesn't have to wait long for her husband. 

They stand out in the brisk northern air for maybe a quarter hour before the men at the gate let out a cry to announce the arrival of their Lord.

Meredith squares her shoulders as her husband trots through the front gate. 

Ned looks exhausted. it's in the way he carries himself upon the saddle and the slope of his shoulders. When he stops and dismounts his horse Meredith can see the way he favors his left side and the realization that he was injured. 

"Papa!" Sansa cries out as she pulls away from Meredith and charges toward her father. 

The Lord of Winterfell stoops down, scoops her up, and makes his way over to where Meredith and the others are standing. He greets the children first; ruffling hair and embracing each of their children. When he has seen to each child Ned turns his attention to her, pulling her into a tight embrace that makes her wince a bit at how tight it is. He loosens his hold after a moment. Meredith is content to hold him for as long as it pleases him but that's not an option for them at the moment. 

"You'll go see Maester Luwin." Meredith tells him. 

"I'm fine, beloved." Ned says, hot breath fanning across her neck. 

"Liar." Meredith mutters fondly before pulling back. "Now, I think it's time you introduce us to the children." 

Ned stares at her for a long moment before nodding. 

He disappears for a moment, making his way over to the small wheelhouse where Asha and Theon are undoubtedly being kept. He knocks gently on the door before opening it and saying something to the children within. Meredith watches beside her children as the two Greyjoys exit the wheelhouse and make their way over to them with Ned. 

Asha, a girl of three-and-ten with knobby knees and a handful of pimples peppered across her face, looks terrified. Dark eyes shot through with red and darting around like she can't figure out who poses more of a threat to her and her brother. Theon is only a few years her junior, closer in age to Beric than Robb, and less composed. There's no denying that the two are siblings. Not with that dark hair and those dark eyes. Even the sharp angels of their face - though soft with baby fat - are similar. 

Meredith smiles at them both. 

"Hello," she greets. "I'm very sorry for your loss... I hope in time you can come to trust us." 

What else is she supposed to say to them? 

Asha and Theon just lost their entire lives. It's never going to be the same for them. Meredith can only offer the support of herself and her family but if the children don't trust them that support isn't going to do anything. Being truthful with them is the only way Meredith can build up their trust. 

"Thank you, Lady Stark." Asha says. 

Her tone is bitter. 

Meredith doesn't expect anything less of her. 

"Come inside, I'll show you to your chambers and get you settled before supper." Meredith motions back toward the keep. 

Sansa steps forward and takes Asha's hand in hers. 

The older girl stares at her for a very long, quiet moment, dark eyes unreadable. 

"I like your tunic." Sansa says, "My favorite color is blue." 

Asha glances down at her tunic, which might have been bought for her by Ned for all Meredith knows, and then she turns her attention back to Sansa. 

"I like blue too." the girl says and this time she sounds a little less bitter. 

Meredith steps forward. 

"Come on, loves," she says to the children, "we'll get you settled." 

She allows Sansa to drag Theon and Asha through the keep toward the family wing. Careful to keep close enough behind that if Sansa gets lost - which has happened occasionally in the past - they have someone to guide them out of trouble. When they finally get to Asha and Theon's chambers Meredith promises the children that they'll be able to decorate their room to their liking once they get settled and comfortable. Neither of the dark-haired children seem upset or overjoyed by the statement. Meredith figures they need a little time to settle and urges Sansa to leave them be until later in the evening. 

"There are going to be lemon cakes at supper," Sansa says before she leaves, "I love lemon cakes." 

It's sweet. 

Meredith hopes Asha and Theon are prepared for Sansa because it's clear to her mother that the little red-haired wolf has decided that the two Greyjoys are going to be her friends whether they want to be or not. 

Later that night, after supper has ended and the children have been put to bed, Meredith finds herself helping Ned out of his clothes. 

There's nothing sexual about it, though, Meredith thinks that once she's ensured Ned's healthy it'll be a completely different story. But for now, she helps him out of his cloak and jerkin, then she eases him out of his tunic, swearing lightly when she sees the molted bruising peeking out from beneath strips of white bandage. Meredith frowns at Ned. 

"It looks worse than it is." Ned promises. 

"What happened?" Meredith asks as she grabs a large linen night shirt of Ned's that Meredith has taken to wearing. 

Ned lets her maneuver him into the shirt before he says, "An arrow in my side. It was a clean shot and mostly superficial." 

"Liar." 

Ned takes both of her hands, places chaste kisses upon her knuckles, and then tucks them beneath his chin. 

"I swear to you, I'm alright." 

Meredith sighs. 

She'll have to take his current state for what it is; a blessing. He could have been killed, lost to the ocean or rotting in a cart on his way home. But he's safe. He's alive. Meredith isn't even upset about the scar that will now grace his body. They've both got scars. Technically, of the two of them it would have been acceptable for Ned to think her less attractive for the scars littering her body, but he'd never been anything but kind to her in regard to them. Meredith has no problem doing the same for him. 

If Maester Luwin isn't worried about his injury, Meredith won't worry about his injury... terribly, anyway. 

"Come to bed, Meredith." Ned commands from where he's laid out in their bed. 

Meredith smiles as she slips into her own night dress. 

Crawling into bed beside her husband, falling into the cradle of his arms, is a welcome change of routine. She's gotten used to spending her nights alone. Meredith curls into Ned's chest, careful to keep herself away from his injury, and smiles when Ned burries his nose in her hair. 

"You smell nice." Ned tells her. 

"Gods, I would hope so." 

He laughs. 

Meredith smiles against his shoulder. 

"Get some sleep, we'll talk more in the morning." Meredith promises, though she doubts it'll be early in the morning considering the children will utilize his attention as they break their fast together. 

Ned hums softly, fingers playing with the ends of Meredith's hair. 

She isn't sure which of them falls asleep first but when Meredith wakes up, she and Ned are so tangled up together that it's almost impossible to slip out of his embrace. She manages to do so only because Ned is scu ha deep sleeper. He doesn't wake when she braids her hair, doesn't move when she changes into a soft lavender day dress, doesn't even jerk when Meredith accidentally sets the wash basin down a little too hard after pouring out water to wipe down her face. 

Meredith smiles fondly before she slips out of their chambers. 

Chapter Text

"Mace Tyrell brought a weapon with him," Ned is telling her, "it reminded me of a Scorpion almost... only it spit oil and fire out the end instead of a bolt." 

Meredith frowns, leans back against Ned's desk. 

The children are in their lessons, Asha and Theon with them, and the past week has been so busy that she and Ned haven't had much time to talk about the Greyjoy rebellion or what happened between Tywin and Robert that got the Greyjoy children fostering at Winterfell. This is also the first day Ned hasn't grimaced or gone so terribly still due to the pain in his side where the arrow struck him. Gods, he was so lucky not to have died of it. Lucky that the Maester at Pyke hadn't been so blindly loyal to his Lord that he would poison Ned instead of healing him. Maester Luwin says he's making a wonderful recovery due - in part - to the other man's efforts. Meredith's just happy it wasn't worse than it is. 

"What did Robert have to say about it?" Meredith asks. 

"Nothing. On one hand he was happy to see the Tyrells but on the other they waited until the last moment to help." 

"Do you think they'll face repercussions from the Crown?" 

"No. They hold the most fertile lands in Westeros and supply too much food during the winter for the Crown to risk making true enemies of the Tyrells." 

"Did Tywin have anything to say?" 

"No... but he wasn't pleased." 

Meredith sighs, takes both of Ned's hands in hers. 

"Well, Tywin has no reason to use such weapons at the moment. Not with his daughter being Queen and Robert being a Targaryen cousin there's no one to challenge them and therefor no reason to fight anyone." Meredith offers. 

"Robert and Cersei don't have a child," Ned says, "the throne isn't secured." 

Meredith would never say it aloud to anyone but Ned, but Cersei and Robert are both idiots. She hadn't known Ned when they married, didn't know anything about him other than he was a second son who was supposedly very quiet and had lost both his father and brother to the vicious nature of a madman. Meredith still did her duty, though. Still gave him a son. Cersei and Robert are in better positions than she and Ned were and yet they still haven't done their duty? What hypocrisy. What stupidity. Maybe they should have put baby Aegon on the throne instead. Meredith rolls her eyes and steps closer to Ned. 

"They will eventually." Meredith promises, though she wonders if those words are truth or merely hopeful wishing. 

What right does Cersei have to shirk her duties when every other Lady of the realm is forced to bear the children of their husbands no matter if they're kind and good or malicious and unworthy of the loyalty of an old mutt? 

Ned rolls his eyes, leans forward, and smiles up at her. 

"Such faith." He murmurs. 

Meredith snorts. 

"I know men like Robert." Meredith shakes her head. "Let me explain: He's going to go back to the Red Keep and celebrate his victory, he's going to fuck his beautiful wife and he's probably going to get a babe on her, and then he'll hold a tourney so that all of Westeros can praise his brilliance." 

Laughter bubbles up from Ned's chest, that deep rumble that always makes Meredith smile. 

"Would you be willing to wager?" Ned asks, leaning forward.

"What kind of wager?" Meredith asks, though she already suspects. 

"If in the next year Robert doesn't hold a tourney to celebrate his brilliance and his heir, we try for another child." 

Snorting, Meredith responds with a curt, "Choose something else. Knowing us, I'll be with child by then." 

"Very well," Ned explains, though he seems hesitant, like Meredith is going to shun him for expressing his own desires, "I want you to take me in your mouth." 

Meredith almost laughs. 

Never once has Ned shown any desire to have Meredith put him in her mouth despite the number of times he's hooked her knees over his shoulder and pressed his mouth against her. Frankly, the idea isn't unappealing. She might not be the best at it the first time but Ned has never been unkind to her when it came to their intimate moments. He's never judged her for maidenly curiosity that comes with any marriage or sexual encounter in the beginning. Hells, their first time together was horrifically awkward compared to what they have now. The thing that comforts Meredith the most is that she has no doubts that if she were to tell Ned she had no interest in doing something like that then he wouldn't force her. He'd never shame her into it nor would he bring it up again. Even in the face of his own desires Meredith knows Ned would never speak a word of it again if Meredith showed any hesitation or discomfort. 

Meredith nods, "Very well, if Robert doesn't have a son in the next year I'll gladly fall to my knees before you." 

Though, she plans on doing it now whether Robert has a child or not. 

"And what would you take, should you win?" Ned asks. 

Meredith settles into her own thoughts and thinks hard. It isn't like Ned would refuse her anything she asked for outside of this little wager of theirs. She could ask him to pretend at being Florian to her Jonquil and she knows he wouldn't even question it... even if he found it silly. So, what does she want? What does she desire? What has she fanaticized about but bit back out of her own shame? Meredith can't really say... then she has an idea that makes her grin wickedly at her husband. 

"It'll be a surprise." She decides, already giddy with anticipation. 

Cersei will be pregant by the end of the year. It would only make sense for her to be so now that Robert has stamped out any further rebellion and proven his worth as King - if only barely. There's no reason to fear retaliation from the Dornish or some other Lord if that's what's keeping Cersei and Robert from securing their line... Meredith won't pretend to know the intricacies of a royal marriage, but she knows that the only thing truly keeping Cersei on that throne as Queen is her ability to tie the Lannisters to the Crown. Men like Robert don't remain loyal to their wives after they've given birth. It's sad, but it's true. Meredith has been uncommonly lucky in that regard. 

"Very well, a surprise then." Ned breathes as he begins pressing kisses to her neck. 

Meredith lets her head fall back with a small moan, reveling in the scrape of Ned's beard and the heat of his hands as they find their way under her skirts and settle just above her stockings. He runs his fingers in little circles on the backs of her thighs and Meredith reaches up to brush his hair out of his face. 

"Maester Luwin hasn't removed your stitches." Meredith says, smiling fondly at her husband. 

Ned bites down gently on her jaw.  

"When has a little scratch ever stopped a man from making love to his wife?" Ned asks and Meredith rolls her eyes. 

"When the scratch still runs the risk of opening up and bleeding all over said wife." Meredith says, but Ned only tightens his grip on the back of her knees when she tries to step away. 

"Does it truly worry you so much?" He asks, and there's no longer a hint of that fire that had colored his gaze moments before. 

"I don't like seeing you hurt... I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by it, but I'd feel better about fucking you if I didn't have to worry about hurting you further." Meredith admits and Ned nods before pressing a soft, apologetic kiss against the spot he'd nipped. 

"Then as soon as Maester Luwin removes the stitches I'll come to you." He says and it sounds like a prayer, it sounds like an oath. 

Meredith shivers. 

"I wouldn't expect anything less of my Lord husband." She says before stepping away, and this time Ned allows it. 

"What are your plans for the day?" Ned inquires and Meredith shrugs. 

"I'm going to go sit in on Asha and Theon's lessons to ensure they're being treated well." Meredith says, "Then I'm going to have new clothes made for them seeing as we're already having clothes made for the other children."

"Do you think Maester Luwin would do something underhanded?" Ned seems genuinely concerned despite the hint of skepticism.

Meredith sighs and admits, "Maester Luwin, no, but time allows people to grow comfortable and I'd rather the children be assured that their needs are met here." 

"Very well," Ned smiles, "tell me if anything isn't to your liking." 

"I will." 

Meredith presses a chaste kiss to his cheek before making for the door. 

"And Meredith," Ned calls. 

"Yes?" 

"I'll be speaking with Maester Luwin today." 

Meredith's cheeks flame as she flees the Lord's Solar. 

Asha is a quiet girl with an intelligent gaze. 

Meredith knows that with children like Asha - children who have spent their lives wandering around on eggshells - it's best to move cautiously and honestly. Hopefully the show of trust on Meredith's end will convince Asha and Theon to trust the Starks as well. Though, Meredith doubts that will be a true issue seeing as Sansa has latched herself to Asha. Being the only girl for so long it isn't surprising that Sansa would take a liking to the dark-haired girl. Meredith knows that joy has fed Sansa's determination to befriend Asha, but she doesn't know if the Greyjoy girl enjoys having something of a little sister in the form of the little red wolf. Either way, Sansa is happy, and Asha has a companion that isn't going to smear mud on her or tease her for her pimples. They're practically thick as thieves at this point.

Where one goes, the other follows and Meredith isn't at all surprised when she finds both girls exploring the glass gardens. 

"And these are the winter roses," she hears Sansa saying, "they don't bloom where it's too hot so you only really find them in the North." 

Rounding a corner in the glass garden, Meredith finds Sansa pointing at the large blue blooms. 

"Girls, aren't you supposed to be in your lessons with Maester Luwin?" Meredith asks. 

Normally, the children take their lessons together, but with the age gaps beginning to influence the ability of the children and their interest in certain subjects it was determined by herself and Maester Luwin that the children be split into groups based on their ability in different subjects. House Histories are taken together along with geography, letters and numbers are split into three different groups, and so on. The varying schedules has been a bit of an adjustment, but Sansa has always been so good about attending those lessons. Not that Meredith has much room to judge. She'd skipped plenty of lessons as a child - mostly with Lysa - and therefore has no room to be angry with either child. 

Still, they need to attend some of their lessons. 

"Mother!" Sansa cries, pulling away from Asha and racing to Meredith's side, "I was just showing Asha the winter roses!" 

"I see that." Meredith says, smiling fondly at the little girl. "Good morning, Asha, how did you sleep?" 

"Very well, Lady Stark." Asha ducks her chin in a little bow, "Thank you for the concern." 

"The seamstress is coming today to fit some clothes for you and Theon, not everything is done but I thought it would be nice to have some trousers and tunics for you so that you don't have to wear any more of Beric's hand-me-downs." Meredith offers. 

The Greyjoy children were only sent with a handful of clothes and Meredith has no problem buying them new sets with the stipend from King's Landing, but the fact remains that the children cannot continue to wear clothes that don't properly fit them. Even now, despite Beric being of a similar height to Asha, the trousers still show off her stocking-clad ankles. Poor girl. 

"Yes, Lady Stark... thank you." 

Meredith smiles and holds a handout to the girl. 

"Come along, sweetling, we'll stop to ask Maester Luwin what you two missed in your lessons today." Meredith hopes to convey no anger in her tone. 

It seems that whatever Asha hears she likes because the young girl reaches out to tentatively take Meredith's hand. Smiling, Meredith tucks Asha's hand into the fold of her arm before taking Sansa's outstretched fingers. Together, the three make their way to Maester Luwin's tower. Meredith and Asha discuss easy things like whether or not she'd like the cooks to make anything special for supper one night. Sansa occasionally butts in with demands for lemon cakes to be served and it's Asha who snorts at the face Meredith makes at the request. Damn lemon cakes, but if Sansa wants them then they'll find their way onto the table at some point in the next few days. It's something the two of them share, an aversion to the overly sweet lemon cakes Sansa adores - just like Catelyn - and it seems to be enough to create a certain comradery between them. Not anything overly familiar or bold, but it certainly has potential.

Getting the girls to apologize to Maester Luwin for missing his lessons isn't hard, which might be due to the fact that he doesn't seem to mind a bit of childish mischief every now and again... or it could be that Sansa does this thing with her eyes when she's sad - or trying to appear remorseful even when her parents know for a fact she isn't - that makes people - mostly Luwin - pat her head and tell her not to distress herself. Meredith can't even bring herself to be mad. If anything, she's rather impressed. Sansa shies away from violence and while it's put her father at ease knowing she won't be like Lyanna, whom he claims ran towards trouble like a cat runs for a mouse, it doesn't mean she won't be formidable in other way. Gentility is sometimes a more dangerous thing than skill with a blade. People will tell you all sorts of things when they think you're stupid and kind and too much of a Lady to actually listen. Meredith runs her fingers over the back of Sansa hair and asks Asha to take the little girl to the sewing room where the seamstress will be taking their measurements and fitting some of the pieces already made.

Once they're gone Meredith turns to Luwin. 

"How are Theon and Asha doing in their lessons?" Meredith asks, because it's been a week and the children aren't exactly settled but they're far more comfortable now then they'd been when they first arrived. 

Luwin frowns and says, "Theon is angry and suspicious of Lord Stark. He says very little of his father and has befriended Robb, I suspect in part, due to his position as Lord Stark's heir." 

"Understandable," Meredith says, because it is, she would be angry and suspicious as well if she were in his position. "Has he shown any inclination of aggression towards Asha or the other children?" 

It is something Maester Luwin said could happen in situations like this and Meredith wants to be one step ahead of any situation that might occur. Theon seems a sweet boy, scared perhaps, but he isn't unkind. Meredith doesn't think he would show any aggression towards the other children but anger is possible and sometimes anger can lead to physical confrontations. Meredith remembers how she'd once shoved Catelyn for breaking the porcelain face of her favorite doll as a child. It'd been an accident, of course, but Meredith had been so very angry and she'd responded poorly. The result was a small physical altercation between the two sisters that ended when the eldest of the two had shoved Meredith, causing her to fall and cut her knee on one of the broken fragments of a once beautifully painted face. Obviously no ill will is to be had between the two, but the memory of it lingers... as does the scar. 

"No," Maester Luwin shakes his head. "Though he seems confused by Jon." 

Of course. 

"Will he say anything?" Meredith asks, knowing she can't hide the truth forever but hoping to give Jon just a few more years of peace. 

"I doubt he will since by all accounts he is considered trueborn." 

Meredith nods. 

"And Asha?" 

Luwin smiles. 

"Asha is a very bright girl. She has excelled in her numbers and histories, she can recite all of the Westerosi houses and their words, her ability to strategize is also very good but I'm not all that surprised considering her... pervious living environment." 

"If you think it will benefit her, I want you to adjust her lessons to challenge her." Meredith tells Luwin, who nods. 

"Of course, Lady Stark." his grey eyes are kind. "She seems to be adjusting well and though she tends to avoid Robb and Jon she's made friends with Beric, I believe. I caught her, Sansa, and Beric sneaking into the kitchens earlier yesterday morning." 

"Good, I'm glad to hear it." Meredith says, then she continues with a soft, "If possible, see if there's anything you can do in the lessons to make Theon feel more comfortable speaking out among his peers. I'll not have a lamb raised among wolves only to be thrown to krakens later on." 

"I believe he would enjoy speaking of the Greyjoys' more positive engagements with the realm." 

"I think that would be perfect," Meredith smiles and bows her head a bit, "Thank you, Maester Luwin." 

"It truly is my pleasure, Lady Stark." The grey man says and there's no reason to doubt him so Meredith nods and leaves the room in order to find her children. 

A fine black tunic with a golden Kraken emblazoned upon the front is given to both Theon and Asha, it's a bit simplistic but the more intensive designs Meredith had ordered won't be done for another few weeks and this was the quickest thing she could get in such short time while still ensuring quality. A pair of trousers are also provided for each child alongside undergarments and plain tunics. A few measurements are adjusted as the seamstress fits the items but the clothes will do for now. 

Once they're all fitted Meredith has each child choose a fabric to be made into a dress or tunic or overcoat for more formal occasions where it wouldn't be acceptable to wear anything less than perfect. For example, Lord Manderly is coming to Winterfell to discuss trade with Moat Cailin when the ancient Keep is restored and while that will fall mostly on Benjen and Ned, it will be expected of all the children to be present to greet the Lord of White Harbor when he arrives. 

Asha picks a silk dyed a warm, though not excessively vibrant, red for a dress or long surcoat. 

Beric eventually decided on a yellow cotton that he asks to have his house sigil sewn into. 

Theon immediately goes for a black velvet that he asks to be made into a doublet.

Robb's choice is a soft dove grey that will also be made into a doublet. 

Jon gravitates toward a soft, mossy green silk that he rubs between his fingers as he asks for a surcoat. 

Torrhen reaches for the same dove grey as Robb, uninterested in anything his favorite- at the moment - brother hadn’t shown interest in  

Sansa doesn't even hesitate to snatch up a bolt of lavender silk for her dress. 

Meredith dismisses the children after that and turns away as they disappear from the room to discuss prices, styles, and embellishments for the children. Which is fairly easy as she's known most of them for years and had paid close attention to the choices made by Asha and Theon upon the seamstress' last visit. Theon likes embellishments, Asha prefers a plainer look but does enjoy a bit of embroidery or beading here and there. By the time the seamstress leaves pressure is building behind Meredith's eyes and she decides to slip off for a bit while she's not required for anything and have a bit of a nap. 

She wakes to hands on her hips, hair brushing the senstive skin of her inner thighs, a tongue burying itself in her cunt as far as it can manage, and a gasping mewl caught in the back of her throat. Meredith glances down to find her skirt has been rucked up over her hips and the bundle of fabric slightly obscures her view of Ned as works her closer and closer to orgasm. Still, it does nothing to stop her from tangling a hand in his hair and gently pulling his head up so she can get a proper look at him; mouth slick, pupils blown wide, panting slightly as he gently pulls back against her grip.

"What," Meredith begins and pretends her voice isn't shaking, "did we talk about this morning?" 

"Maester Luwin cleared me for light training." Ned replies as if it's the simplest thing in the world. 

"This... this isn't a training yard, Ned." Meredith manages to grit out as Ned moves to press his thump against the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, which causes her to jerk and swallow back the moan that lingers on her tongue.

"I disagree." Ned smiles, leans down to suck a bruise into Meredith's hip. 

There's something about knowing the marks will linger long after Meredith has bathed and made herself presentable once more. A little reminder of their time together hidden from the eyes of the masses beneath Meredith's skirts or her trousers. No one will know it's there but them. It's its own kind of intimacy. One that has Meredith gasping and scraping her nails against Ned's scalp, which earns her a groan, a nip, and a gentle swat of a hand to her outer thigh.

"...your stitches..." Meredith protests half-heartedly. 

"I can't tear anything where I'm at, Meredith, and I promise I'm in no pain." 

They stare at one another for a long moment before Meredith begins to pull her hand away, only stopping when Ned reaches up to stop her with a roguish, "I like it." before he returns to the task at hand. 

Shivering and panting, Meredith finds herself falling into the pleasure of Ned's mouth and his fingers, digging her stocking clad heels into his back as she arches and writhes beneath him with each pass of his tongue against her body. It doesn't take long for Meredith to reach her climax. Which isn't even surprising considering she's wanted Ned so badly since his departure South and his own skill when it comes to moments like this. Meredith falls back against the pillows, trying to catch her breath as Ned pants against her thigh. 

"Roll over." Meredith commands after a moment. 

"What?" Ned blinks up at her, perhaps not quite understanding. 

"I want you in my mouth." Meredith says, already pulling away from Ned and gently pushing him to roll onto his back. 

"What about our wager?" Ned asks and he sounds a bit nervous despite the fact that he's already begun tugging at the ties on his trousers. 

Meredith rolls her eyes as she says, "We can try for another babe or you can ask for something else... either way, I've been thinking about this all day." 

Ned groans, pushes his trousers down around his thighs and with Meredith's help they settle so that she's resting comfortably between his legs.

With Ned freed up and hard, Meredith takes a moment to check on his stitches - because she's doesn't like the idea of hurting Ned, not now, not ever - before she wraps her hand around him and promptly leans down so that she can drag her tongue up the length of him in an imitation of what she's found pleasurable in the past. It seems to please Ned because he reaches up to tangle a hand in her hair, thumb free to stroke the side of her face. He tastes salty, not unpleasantly so but it's a different taste than the one she's come to associate with the gentle kisses Ned gives her after he's worked her to tears on his tongue. 

"I've never done this before." Meredith admits. 

"You don't have to." Ned promises and it's so sweet that Meredith aches. 

"I want to." Meredith runs her thumb over his head like she knows he does before he fucks her. "You'll tell me if you don't like something, yes?" 

"I swear it." 

Meredith nods and relaxes her tongue before taking him in her mouth. She goes to far down on the first stroke and gags herself, which prompts Ned to gently pull her back by her hair and guide her into a gentler, shallower rhythm that quickly has him moaning. Meredith glances up to find Ned staring at her, eyes even darker than before, and his hand trembles where it cups the back of her head. Meredith smiles a bit, careful of her teeth and his flesh, and begins fisting him as best she can.

It ends up being the breathy whimpers that Meredith enjoys most of the experience. Not the taste or the feel of it so much, though she doesn’t dislike either of those either. Meredith just likes knowing that Ned is enjoying this, enjoying her, and so despite her lack of skill it isn’t humiliating. Tentatively Meredith follows her hand’s path down Ned’s cock, careful not to gag or sputter this time - though it’s a close thing - and lingers there for a moment before pulling back and running her tongue over his head.

”Meredith, Meredith, sweet girl, so good for me.” Ned is panting and Meredith moans, working her hand - slick with the spit left behind by her mouth - along the flesh she can’t readily take into her mouth.

The fingers in her hand tighten. 

“I’m so close, beautiful girl.” Ned gaspes, hips moving in stunted little jerks that at likely a result of him temper his desire to fuck her like he would her hand or her cunt. 

she pulls away for a moment, hand still working, to ask, “Will you finish in my mouth?” 

“Yes,” it’s a gasping little reverant thing that’s spoken in the rough tone of the old tongue, “Yes, Darnock, if that’s what you want.” 

“It is.” Meredith decides before dropping back down, not ignorant of the way Ned’s bites down on the knuckles of his free hands for a moment. 

Moments later that forgotten hand works its way into Meredith’s dress, fumbling for her breast and while the angle is off Meredith likes that Ned wants to offer some sort of physical pleasure. 

Ned’s bitten off grunt is her only warning before he comes in her mouth. Too much, too soon, Meredith jerks back in surprise and earns herself a mess of come on her chin and in her hair. Panting, Ned gently uses the hem of his tunic sleeve to wipe away what he can on her face. 

“I’ll have a bath sent for.” Ned promises before wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her down into the same gentle kiss he’s always bestowed upon her after sex. Meredith melts into it, into him, and allows herself to be tucked into his side boneless and happy. “And I didn’t even tear my stitches.” 

“Don’t be smug…” Meredith mutters against his shoulder as Ned combs through some of ber hair. 

“Very well, Darnock.” 

“What does it mean?” Meredith asks, having never heard that particular endearment before. 

“Firefly is the closest translation.” 

“Firefly?” 

“Because you shine like one.” 

Meredith doesn’t remark on how terrible the delivery of that line was, opting to settle against Ned as he runs a hand along her body and through her hair. She must doze off because when she wakes a bath has been brought and Ned is gently easing her out of her soiled gown so that he can help her into the tub. He doesn’t slide in behind her, though Meredith wishes he would, and instead pulls up a stool so that he can begin washing her hair and murmuring sweet things to her as he carefully washes the mess from her body. 

Chapter Text

Meredith understands the chaos that comes with change. 

It came to Riverrun when the war started, bringing her a Ladyship and a better husband than she ever expected herself to have. Not all bad things come with change, clearly, but it's often difficult to see what the Gods have in store. Meredith was lucky, Benjen might not be. 

Moat Cailin is coming along. The essential parts of the Keep have been rebuilt along with the fallen bits of the curtain walls, there's still so much to do but for now none of them can be angry with the advancement. As a second daughter her dowry was a tad smaller than Catelyn's and as such - and also likely due to the war and her uncle's insistence - trade deals had been added in to ensure that her match would be prosperous. trade between the Riverlands, the Vale, and the North had brought enough money into the Stark coffers that the rebuilding of the Moat hasn't really been a detriment... but that's why the Lord of White Harbor is coming to Winterfell, to speak with the new Lord of Moat Cailin to contract trade agreements once the various crops have begun to grow in the marshes surrounding the Keep. 

In the Riverlands they tend to grow Cranberries, rice, and sometimes water chestnuts or taro in the wetter regions. Meredith has already asked her uncle to have some starters and seeds - alongside a few willing farmers - sent North so that when Benjen goes to Moat Cailin the crops can be planted. It will hopefully help get some sort of income established sooner but Meredith isn't quite sure. Moat Cailin sits at the neck and acts as the first line of defense. It could make a good place to train soldiers and with its location it's possible that people will move there because of its location. Meredith doesn't think it should be terrible hard to get Benjen established but they all know that what would truly benefit him would be a marriage alliance... but what great Lord would have their daughters wed to a newly established Lord of Moat Cailin? Meredith can count on both hands which houses have daughters of an age with Benjen that would be best for him to wed but none of them would be allowed to wed him when he has nothing to offer yet. 

Pelts and meat from hunting, lumber from the ever-present mangroves, alders, and cottonwood trees, not to mention the other resources that can be found in the marshy wetlands of the Neck... all resources yet to be gained and still it wouldn't be enough for a Lord to wed his daughter to Benjen... not that Meredith wants to marry Benjen off. At the end of the day it's his choice and Meredith will support him in whatever he decides. 

The Lady of Winterfell sighs as she goes over the last ledger, nodding quietly to herself. 

Lord Manderly is set to arrive within the next few days and while his arrival is mainly to discuss trade with Benjen there's also a matter of business in Winterfell that needs to be discussed. Meredith won't be sitting in on those discussions as Ned had gone over his plans with her the day before. Meredith doesn't need to sit in on those negotiations, not when she has a household to manage while Lord Manderly and his family are staying at Winterfell. 

Lara and Niamh have been incredibly helpful when it comes to preparations and management of the staff. 

Both of them seem excited about the arrival of Lord Manderly's party - Niamh more so than either of them - and Meredith thinks that the two deserve a reward for their services. She's already set aside some coin from her personal allowance for both women and they'll be allowed to spend it as they please either in Winter Town or on the small array of items the Lord of White Harbor is likely bringing with him. 

Meredith rolls her shoulders as she finishes her notes in the ledger the Lord of Winterfell uses to keep track of his trade deals. Uncle Brynden had been kind enough to send a copy of crop records and what they're being valued at in the Reach and Westerlands. It's not a perfect system but it's better to see what crops are being sold for elsewhere so that Meredith can help Ned figure out what the Northern crops need to be sold for. It's nice to have some sort of idea about what different items are being sold for in the South as White Harbor tends to send goods down along the coast. Meredith doesn't think Wyman Manderly would purposefully attempt to swindle the Lord of Winterfell but perhaps the Lord of Moat Cailin wouldn't face such honorable treatment. 

A knock on heavy oak has Meredith looking up to find Benjen standing quietly in the door, Damyn barely visible behind him where Meredith's guard has posted himself outside her door. Try as she might to dissuade him, Damyn has a tendency to linger when he thinks he'll be needed. The past week leading up to Lord Manderly's arrival has only made it worse. 

Smiling, Meredith motions for Benjen to take a seat across from her. 

"Good morning, Benjen, how are you today?" Meredith asks, closing the ledger and setting it aside. 

"I'm well, Meredith, yourself?" Benjen inquires with a smile. 

"I'm doing well," Meredith clasps her hands together on the desk. "Is there anything I can help you with, Benjen?" 

Her good brother sighs, leans back in the chair, and looks up at the ceiling. 

"Can I ask you something?" Benjen inquires, and Meredith nods. 

"Of course," she says. 

"What should I call my house? Karlon Stark named his house Karstark... I doubt Benstark is an appropriate name... but Greystark has already been taken and I certainly can't keep the Stark name itself." Benjen sighs, sounding a bit defeated. 

"Well," Meredith begins, "you could always name yourself something similar to Greystark, maybe Whitestark? Oh! What about Bark?" 

The look Benjen levels at her is incredulous and earns a laugh from Meredith. 

"Those are all horrible." Benjen says before he turns to lay his head back against the seat. "If I chose Bark do you realize how viciously I'd be mocked?" 

"Woof." Meredith intones blandly. 

"You're less help than Ned, I need you to realize how deeply disappointed I am by that." Benjen remarks, earning him a smile. 

"You can always keep your name, Benjen, like the Lannisport Lannisters. The Starks of Moat Cailin has a nice ring to it, no?" 

"It's certainly better than Benjen Bark, first of his name." 

Smiling still, Meredith leans back in her own seat and says, "I think it would be nice to keep your name as it is." 

"So many cadet branches you'll have. Winterfell for Robb, another for Jon, a castle for Sansa and Torrhen both, and another for the others you and Ned are sure to bring forth into the world." Benjen looks at her, "You'll have started the largest family in all of Westeros, we'll be drowning in Starks by the end of it." 

Snorting, Meredith reopens her ledger and begins going over numbers once more. 

It's quiet between them, for a time, then Benjen yawns and kicks his feet up on the desk. 

"Don't you have something more interesting to do?" Meredith asks, put out. 

Benjen pretends to think for a moment before he shakes his head, "Not that I recall." 

"Wonderful!" Meredith tosses the ledger into his lap. "Finish going over the numbers for me then. It'll be good practice for you! Since you're taking on my work for me, I think I'll go and find another way to amuse myself." 

"Wait, no!" 

"Thank you, Benjen!" Meredith calls from over her shoulder as she steps out into the hall where Damyn is waiting for her. "I think I'd like to go to the Godswood." 

"Of course, Lady Stark." the man says before falling in step beside her as they make their way out of the Keep. 

"Would you like pearls or sapphires?" Meredith asks Asha, fingers fluttering over her little bowl of earrings. 

Asha stares at the options for a long moment before saying, "Would it be alright if I wore the pearls?" 

Meredith smiles as she sifts through the various options. There are plainer options that might suit Asha's tastes a bit more but Meredith hadn't been able to do much with the older girl's hair as it's so much shorter and while she had taken the time to pin it out of her face in a flattering way with some golden pins. The earrings she plucks out are golden too and have a base that looks almost like some sort of sea creature which appears spits a large, misshapen pearl from its mouth. Meredith loves them as they were a pair of her mothers and she's glad Asha seems to like them too. 

"Here you are, sweet girl, if they end up bothering you, you're more than welcome to choose a different pair." Meredith says as she passes the earrings to the younger girl. 

"Thank you, Lady Stark, I'll be careful with them." 

Meredith just smiles before she turns to Sansa, who has been sitting so patiently on Meredith's bed in her lavender gown, her hair loose around her shoulders. 

"Alright, Sansa, you're turn." Meredith calls and smiles as the little girl nearly throws herself into the seat Asha had been occupying moments before. 

Her girl sits quiet as a mouse while Meredith begins the careful process of detangling fiery curls so that they can be braided and pinned the way Sansa likes. It's a good thing Meredith grew up in the South with all of the latest fashions because Sansa - her sweet little Lady - absolutely adores pretty things. Meredith can respect it. She likes pretty things too. So, she makes sure to be very careful with Sansa's curls and her scalp as she does up her girl's hair into an elaborate braid that crowns her head. With her hair done up all nice and prettily, Meredith finishes off by pressing a chaste kiss to Sansa's cheek. 

"How do I look?" Sansa demands, spinning around to smile sweetly at Asha. 

"Jon'll certainly be jealous he can't be as pretty." Asha says with an impish little grin. 

Meredith lets it slide. 

Jon and Sansa are the prettiest of her children. None of the little ones are homely by any means, each of them are likely going to grow into very attractive people... but Jon and Sansa? They're something else with their high cheekbones and wide eyes and dimpled smiles. Meredith knows where Jon gets it from though. The Targaryens were always known for that ethereal quality when it came to their beauty, Jon might be half a Targaryen but that doesn't mean anything when it comes to his features. Thank God Sansa share similar qualities. It makes the lie Meredith and Ned had been fostering more believable. Hell, if circumstances had been different, they might have been able to convince the Realm that Jon was hers by blood. 

"Are you ready to meet Lord Wyman and his party?" She asks the girls, working her own hair into a jeweled hairnet. 

"Yes, mama!" Sansa says absently, eyes tracking something out the window. 

Meredith turns to Asha and smiles at the girl who stands nervously at the foot of the bed. 

"It'll be alright, Asha, if anything inappropriate is said about you or Theon I'll make sure it's handled."  Meredith promises, because Asha and Theon are sweet despite their - honestly justified - hesitance of the Starks and the Northmen around them. 

Asha nods, fingers tugging absently at the neckline of her pretty red gown that Meredith spent several hours embroidering. She's honestly quite proud of her work. The kraken that sits on Asha's shoulder curls its tentacles around her neck and down her middle to her hips, glinting where beads have been sewn in with black and gold thread. Theon's got something similar but slightly less elaborate. Meredith had tried to make his a bit more intimidating because she thought he'd like something more intense. So, his kraken is emblazoned on his chest in thread-of-gold, tentacles spread as if to protect his heart and lungs. Meredith is very proud of herself. Both outfits took painstaking hours and it's probably some of her best work. 

With the girls ready Meredith decides that it's time to find Ned and the boys and get everyone out to the courtyard so that they're all ready when Lord Manderly and his party arrive. 

Robb and Torrhen - her sweet boys - look so very alike despite their different coloring. They stand among the sea of little boys that swarm around Ned and Meredith can't help but smile as she ushers the girls over to where Lord Stark is waiting. He's done well helping the boys make themselves presentable. Each had freshly combed hair and nicely put together clothes. Theon, Jon, and Beric stand out among them due to the brighter colors of their clothing, but each book looks adorable. Meredith smiles. 

"Are you ready?" She asks the children, smiling wider as they express their eagerness. 

Most of it probably has to do with getting out of their fancier clothes that Meredith refuses to let them wear when they plan on playing in the mud. They have plenty of play clothes for such activities, she's not going to let them sully some of their more expensive pieces of clothing. 

"Lord Manderly should be arriving soon," Ned tells her, hand drifting to the small of her back. 

"Then we'd better be ready for his arrival, come along sweetlings." Meredith commands, forcing the children into motion. 

Ned chuckles quietly from his place at her side as they follow the children through the Keep and out into the courtyard where they'll be meeting Wyman Manderly and his company quite soon if the shouting of the guard on the curtain walls is anything to go by. Meredith takes a single moment to look over each of the little ones before turning her attention to the font, just in time too, for not seconds later a large man on a large white horse comes trotting into the courtyard. 

And so, Wyman Manderly arrives at Winterfell. 

While Lord Manderly and his sons are dealt with by Ned and Benjen, Meredith is given the task of seeing to Lady Jeyne Manderly and her good-daughter Leona Woolfield - who's daughters Wynafryd and Wylla are of a similar age to Robb and Jon. Meredith knows that betrothals are a topic of great debate among the Northern Houses. She and Ned have been discussing it amongst themselves for a while now. Betrothals only ensure alliances between families, it doesn't ensure happiness or love, which is something Meredith wants for her children. She wants them to be happy the way she is with Ned. 

That being said, she understands the importance of forming alliances with the wealthier houses of Westeros. 

The Manderlys are the richest House in the North due to their control over the only port city north of the Neck. While they're far from the Wardens of the North, they have a power similar to that of the Lannisters in some ways. Loyal they may be to the Starks it doesn't take away from the fact that House Manderly is almost ingorantly wealthy. To make enemies of them would be stupid beyond belief. Meredith might not be willing to sell her child to them, but she certainly wouldn't stop Robb or Jon or even Torrhen from trying to make a match when they're older if that's what they desire. Sansa, Meredith already knows, will be happiest somewhere she can be garbed in richly colored silks and wear pearls in her hair and go to grand balls. A southern husband Meredith and Ned will likely end up finding for her, but their boys? They will have the ability to foster relations all across Westeros. Perhaps even beyond if that be the will of the Old Gods. 

Just because her children are too young for betrothals doesn't mean Meredith can't determine whether or not the Maderlys would be a good house to tie them to. 

Wynafryd will be Lady of White Harbor when her Lord Father passes should he and his Lady wife not have a son. If she doesn't marry a Lord's heir - after which her own title as heir will be passed to her younger sister - the girl will likely be pushed to marry a second or third son. A boy not in line to inherit a Lordship of his own but comfortable enough in his position not to attempt to usurp to much power form his Lady wife. 

Meredith wonders if Lady Jeyne intends to parade her granddaughters around in the hopes that one will please Meredith of Ned enough to consider being the Lady of Winterfell. 

It's almost laughable. 

Meredith understands though... the position of a Lady in Westeros is not an easy one to maintain and really the only thing a girl in most Houses can hope for is a good marriage to a wealthy Lord who won't mistreat them. None of Meredith's children will ever mistreat a woman, high or lowborn alike, not if she and Ned have anything to do with it. Alreayd that makes her children a more favorable candidate than, say, Lord Bolton's son Domeric. 

Shame, really, that a little bit of common decency is what makes a child a more favorable potential husband than a man grown and established. 

"Well, Benjen," Meredith retorts quietly as she reads over the contracts written up for trade dealings between White Harbor and Moat Cailin once the keep has established itself, "it appears as if our Lord Manderly might like you... or is trying to gain favor with the new Lord of Moat Cailin." 

All in all, the contract is fair enough. 

Moat Cailin's primary resources will come from crops, lumber, and animal produce. Most of it will be sent to White Harbor as it's the closest center of trade, from there it will be bought or traded for then sent on to other parts of the world. From what Meredith can tell the financial agreements seem fair enough. She wouldn't be upset with it if she were Benjen. 

"Had he any daughters I feel as though marriage would be a stipulation of my contract." Benjen retorts mildly. 

Meredith can't say he's wrong. 

She sets the contract aside and looks to Benjen. 

"Will you and Ned be riding out to the Moat to see its progress?" She asks, to which Benjen nods. 

"I'll have to see it eventually, won't I? There's still so much to do. The construction of the main keep and other essential buildings may be done but I still need to have a household put together and furnishings brought in before I can really do anything." Benjen says, to which Ned claps him on the shoulder. 

"It'll come along quickly enough, Benjen, it just seems like it's taking longer because you want to get away from us." Ned laughs when Benjen swats at him. 

Meredith ignores both of their antics in favor of trying to sort out her own thoughts. 

Lara and Niamh might know people willing to travel to Moat Cailin. Farms with also have to be established but that shouldn't be terribly hard seeing as some of the men from the wetlands in the Riverlands will be staying for a time to ensure the farmers know how to work their fields. Meredith hopes everything works out well, obviously, but there isn't any reason for her to think that it wouldn't. 

All the same, Benjen won't be able to move to his new Keep until it's been furnished, staffed, and prepared. Which means it'll likely be another few moons before he travels to the Neck due to the cost involved. Meredith drums her fingers against the desk, glances at her husband, and finds him staring back at her. 

"I think Wyman was hoping you'd make an offer for one of his granddaughters." She says after a moment to which Ned nods. 

"It was brought up at one point." He admits and Meredith isn't exactly shocked, how can she be when it was so obvious that Wynafryd and Wylla were being presented her her like decorative birds from some far off place. 

"What did you tell him?" Meredith asks, because she may not like the idea of betrothing her children so young but she understands that sometimes it can be more beneficial than not. 

Her own lack of betrothal before her marriage was highly unusual. 

"I told him that with the children being so young I hadn't decided on any potential betrothals." Ned says. 

"Shouldn't you be looking into them?" Benjen inquires, obviously uncertain. 

Meredith sighs. 

"We should," she admits, "it would do us good to make allies... unfortunately, the children are young, and I don't like the idea of forcing them into a marriage where they'll be utterly miserable." 

"You think Robb would be miserable with a Manderly bride?" Benjen asks and Meredith shrugs. 

"I can't say for certain, but I'd like to wait until the children are a bit older before having these conversations with them." She says to her good-brother who nods as though he agrees. 

Thankfully, this is a conversation she and Ned have had in the past. 

"There's much to consider when it comes to such things." Ned intones. 

Marriages are meant to be beneficial; they're meant to create alliances and strengthen ties. To a certain extent Meredith knows that it would be best if Robb married someone of the North to ease tensions between the Lords... but that's something that will be taken into consideration later on. Robb and the rest of them are still young, and even though her wards are of an age where they could be betrothed Meredith knows that this would be something to discuss between the five of them, Beric, Asha, Theon, Meredith, and Ned. They all have a say in it but at the end of the day it's Ned's word that is law. 

Not that he'd ever do anything to deliberately hurt those children. 

Still, it's one more thing that's going to become an issue for them, Meredith is certain. 

A moon later Ned and Benjen have gone to the Neck to see how Moat Cailin has progressed, leaving Meredith and her children in Winterfell. 

Meredith falls into her routines of seeing to Winterfell and the rest of the North while Ned is away. She's even started taking the older children into her office during some of their off hours to teach them applicable skills that come with ruling. They all grumble about it but none of them fail at the tasks Meredith presents to them... and if said tasks have been carefully crafted for each child what does that matter so long as they are succeeding? Asha does a bit better than the boys. Smart as she is, Meredith isn't surprised by any means. But Beric and Theon do exceptionally as well. Meredith keeps an eye on them from where she does her own work at her desk, which is how Maester Luwin finds her. 

"My Lady," the Maester greets with a sliver of a smile, scroll held tightly in his hand. "Might I have a word?" 

Turning to the children Meredith says, "Go enjoy yourselves." 

Dismissed, Theon and Berric shoot for the door. Asha follows them at a more sedated pace, quiet and calm. Maester Luwin shuts the door behind her. 

"I've good news from the Capitol." Maester Luwin says to her, making his way across the room to pass her the bit of parchment in his hand. 

Her Majesty, Queen Cersei Lannister, is with child. A tourney will be held at Lannisport in a half-years' time - Jon Arryn.

Meredith reads the scroll again and smiles. 

"This is excellent news," Meredith says to the man before her, "I'm certain with the certainty of an heir the Realm will finally settle." 

"Aye, my Lady, I suspect the security of having a trueborn heir will settle the minds of many." 

Neither of them comments on how long it took for Cersei and Robert to get with child, neither of them says anything about the tension that had flown through the realm when their King named his brother the heir. Neither of them says anything at all, but that doesn't stop them from thinking anything. 

Meredith quickly dismisses Maester Luwin with instructions to have a message sent to Moat Cailin as soon as possible. 

She has her own plans to see to in the time being. 

Chapter Text

"We'll travel to Riverrun with the children, stay for a time, then continue South to Lannisport?" Meredith asks, plotting the end of her quill against the side of the inkwell, eyes bouncing up to her husband who smiles at her. 

"If that is what my Lady wife desires." Ned tells her, stretching out a bit in his chair. 

After the news of Queen Cersei's pregnancy had spread and Ned had returned with Benjen from Moat Cailin, it had been decided that the Lord and Lady of Winterfell will travel to Lannisport for the tourney alongside their children to celebrate the coming permanence of a new dynasty. Benjen will stay at Winterfell with Rodrik Cassel and Vayon Poole to help him run the Great Keep. Ned thinks the experience will help him when it comes time for Benjen to rule his own Keep. Meredith doesn't disagree, though she notes that the closer they get to their departure the more nervous Benjen appears. Poor thing... he'll learn. 

Meredith's honestly incredibly excited... for a number of reasons. 

First, she'll be seeing her family again for the first time in years. Gods she misses them. Edmure writes, as does her uncle and father - when he remembers or feels well enough - but it isn't the same as seeing them face-to-face. Meredith is genuinely so excited to take her children to her home, to show them the rivers and streams she played in as a child. And it'll be warm enough that she will be able to teach her babes to swim in kinder waters. 

Then there's the fact that she and Ned have their little wager for her to collect. 

Ned's eager to hear what she wants, Meredith knows, but it's almost more exciting to make him wait. Meredith smiles to herself as she signs her name in big, looping scrawl reserved only for her family before turning to write to Lysa and Catelyn. They'll likely be attending the tourney as well and Meredith wants to see her sisters. Catelyn has brought two little ones into the world, a boy named Aurelion and a daughter named Joanna. She's yet to meet her nephew and niece, just as Catelyn has yet to meet hers, and the fact that this will soon be rectified soothes some of Meredith's more frazzled nerves. 

Fostering better relations between the Great Houses of Westeros is important, but it's especially important to ensure the Lannisters and Starks are on at least partially friendly terms... especially now that Catelyn has married into the Lion's Den where her sisters have gone to a Wolf Pack and Falcon's Nest respectively. Besides, Meredith needs to ensure there's at least an illusion of peace between them if she and her husband are to head to Lannisport for the celebration of King Robert's victories. So many of the Great Lords and Ladies are likely to be in attendance. It'll be a good opperunitity to make allies and seek out potential matches for her children. 

Robb will have to marry a Northern girl, Jon too if Meredith hopes to send Sansa south without angering too many of the Northern Lords... so really, seeking out potential matches would be more for Sansa, Torrhen, and Benjen's benefit than Robb and Jon's. 

A Northern Bride for Benjen would be best as well. 

Arthur Hornwood has a daughter Benjen's age, a girl named Imma, and it would be a relatively beneficial match seeing as House Hornwood makes its coin with timber and pelts... both of which Benjen will need in the future to finish the reconstruction of Moat Cailin. A better match might be found South of the Neck, however, and Benjen's newly forming House would do good with a powerful match. Lord Mooton's daughter is a bit younger than Benjen still, but a marriage to Lady Jessa would tie Meredith's good-brother to one of the more powerful men in the Riverlands... but there are also other powerful Ladies in Westeros. At the end of the day, Benjen will make that decision for himself... though, it will be her voice that guides her husband's hand when it comes time to write a betrothal contract. 

Meredith sighs as she sets the letters aside to dry. 

"My Lady wife seems tired." Ned says to her, good-natured and calm.... if it weren't for the upward slant of the corner of his mouth Meredith might have feel fooled. 

"Your Lady wife works hard." Meredith agrees with a roll of her eyes before turning her attention back to writing. 

The journey to Lannisport will take nearly two moons if they travel to Riverrun. Meredith thinks they could cut their journey down some time if they travel down the White Knife to White Harbor where they could stay with Lord Manderly and his kin for a small time before heading South on the Kingsroad. The problem with this plan is that while goods are typically shipped up the river, Meredith can't recall anyone ever utilizing it for personal travel... which isn't all that surprising. There are so few rivers in the North compared to the Riverlands, it makes sense for Meredith's kin to travel that way because of the convivence of it. Because Northerns doesn't travel the rivers in the same way Meredith's people do, it might be harder to find a barge that would support Meredith's family and the guards they're going to be taking with them to Lannisport. 

Unfortunately, the thing about Riverrun that makes planning a route so tricky is the location. While close to the Western coast, one would still have to pass through the Shivering Woods in order to reach the Ancestral Tully Keep, which means travel the rivers to Seagard and then a ship to Riverrun is more a hassel than anything. The best option they have - the quickest one with the least amount of elbow rubbing anyway - is to take the Kingsroad or the river to White Harbor, travel west from there to the Kingsroad which would take them to Moat Cailin where they would stay for a short time, then travel down to the Inn at the Crossroads where they can take the River Road to Riverrun. It'll be a bit of hard traveling but nothing the children can't handle. Meredith readies another piece of parchment, this time, a letter to her Uncle. 

"Do you think the children would want to take a barge to Riverrun?" Meredith asks, quill poised. 

"I think the children would enjoy it." Ned says with a soft smile, to which Meredith nods. 

"I'm going to write to Uncle Brynden and tell him we plan on traveling the Kingsroad to the Inn. He'll likely meet us at the Inn and travel with us to Riverrun... how many guards are we bringing with us?" 

"Twenty guards," Ned's face looses some of that playfulness as he begins thinking. "I would bring as few servants as possible as we'll only need then while we're traveling and when we settle in at Lannisport." 

"Catelyn has offered us lodging in Casterly Rock alongside Lysa and Lord Arryn." Meredith offers to which Ned scowls. 

"Wonderful." He mutters glumly to himself, which earns him an exasperated look from Meredith. 

"It will only be for a week, two at the most, I'm certain you can curb your stabbing dislike for Tywin Lannister that long?" Meredith asks, eyebrow raised. 

Ned stares mulishly at her for a long moment before huffing out a soft, "I suppose." 

Meredith ignores it. 

Despite the battle they just fought Ned still dislikes Tywin Lannister. Meredith doesn't blame him by any means but the fact of the matter is, Catelyn is to be Lady of the West when the time comes. It would be best for their Houses to be on relatively civil terms. Ned - for all his justified distrust - tends to be a bit too stubborn when it comes to his opinion. Once it's made, there's nothing that will change it. 

Sighing, Meredith folds her letters and ties them shut so that Maester Luwin doesn't have to fuss with them when he sends the ravens off. 

One to White Harbor, one to Riverrun, one to Casterly Rock, and one to King's Landing. 

Hands settle on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tender spot at the base of her spine which makes her shiver. She drops her head forward a bit and Ned chuckles as he leans forward. 

"It's cruel of you," her husband says to her, "to make your husband suffer the company of a rabid cat." 

"It's foolish of you to assume this is the worst of my cruelty." Meredith says. 

Ned's fingers pause, no longer dancing up and across her shoulders, and are quickly replaced by the gentle brush of his beard as he leans in to ghost a kiss beneath her ear. 

"Perhaps my Lady wife would care to elaborate?" 

"Perhaps my Lord husband should remember that patience is a virtue." 

"Among the Seven, yes," Ned admits, then he turns to whisper in her ear, "but you are of the North now, beloved, and we do not keep those fickle Southern Gods." 

Meredith smiles. Pulls away. 

"No, but even your wild Gods of Olde know better than to rush a Lady." 

Behind her, Ned groans long and low in his annoyance. 

Meredith can't help but laugh as she watches Ned move around the desk to take his seat once more. 

New gowns are to be prepared for her. 

Nothing too extravagant. Meredith isn't so frivolous that she could demand new gowns when she has several perfectly functional ones that will be more than suitable for the events of the tourney. No, these new gowns are for the dinners she will be expected to attend with her sisters, their husbands, and the King and Queen. In the occasional letter from Lysa, it's been said that Queen Cersei enjoys taunting the youngest Tully sister for her heritage, her marriage, her gowns and jewels and her lack of child. 

Meredith and Lysa were not the closest of their siblings but she's still family. 

How dare Cersei Lannister sit there and mock Lysa when she spent nearly six years prancing around the Red Keep, shirking her duties as Queen while the rest of the world toiled on. 

No, no, Meredith will be lovely. Perhaps not as lovely as the Golden Queen but... lovely enough. 

So, Meredith chooses fabrics she knows will suit her best; deep emeralds and even deeper blues and a soft purple, all of which will look lovely on her. Meredith and the seamstress spend hours going over design choices. It's decided that the green and purple gown will adhere to the current style; structured bodices, looser skirts, lots of embroidery and fur underlining. Meredith likes this style well enough... but she's particularly excited about the blue gown. The gown is meant to be loose fitting, flowing around her like water and trailing along the ground behind her, held up only by the two thin straps across her shoulders. It's certainly a more Dornish appearing gown... but Meredith thinks that it will be lovely. With the carefully laid pleats and the beadwork done through the skirt it will look like some sort of water gown. Meredith thinks she'll look more creature than girl and hope when she smiles at the Queen, Cersei realizes how dangerous Meredith is. 

"Will that my all, Lady Stark?" the seamstress asks, her girls already disappearing with the three bolts of fabric Meredith had chosen so that they can get to work on them as quickly as possible. 

"Yes, I would like five yards of the grey satin." Meredith says, nodding her chin at one of the few remaining bolts laid out on the table in her solar. 

"Of course, Lady Stark." 

Meredith watches as the woman measures out and cuts the fabric before folding it up and placing it off to the side. She smiles politely at the other woman as she tells Meredith that the gowns will be ready by the time they depart for Lannisport to which Meredith promises the last half of the payment agreed upon. When the woman leaves Meredith turns to the fabric on the table and gathers it into her arms before making her way into the room she shares with Ned. 

"Is it too tight?" Meredith asks, fingers dipping beneath cool satin. 

She's careful not to scrape her nails against the tender flesh covering Ned's inner wrist. 

"No," her husband says, a rasping thing that makes Meredith shiver, "it's not too tight." 

"Good... that's good." 

Once... not long after she'd begun the tentative exploration of her own body... Amara had given Meredith a thick book bound in red leather and had winked at her. The older woman had claimed that Lyseni literature was something all girls should be introduced to. Meredith hadn't thought much of it in that moment when Amara had pressed the book into her hand, nor when she'd slipped it into the hidden pocket of her gown, but she'd blushed something furious days later when she'd gotten further into the book. Westerosi are no strangers to love stories, Meredith knows many, but she'd never seen anything quite like this. The hero and his great love - neither of whom Meredith remembers the name of - had not been married when they'd consummated their love but by the end of the story it hadn't really mattered. They'd fucked often enough that Meredith had grown less scandalized and more curious. 

At one point the Hero had tied his Lady to the bed, took her as she writhed and cried and begged, her pleasure just out of reach. 

Meredith swallows hard as she gazes down at the man spread out before her like some sort of offering, tugging gently at the satin keeping his hands tied above his head. She checks the knots one last time before trailing her fingers down the softer skin of Ned's arms. 

"You know," Meredith finds herself saying as she shifts to settle more fully across her husband's lap. "I've thought about this for moon now." 

"Have you?" Ned asks, unashamed as he curls his fingers more firmly around the satin bindings. "I never would have thought my lovely wife would be so devious." 

Her nails scrape down his chest, gentle but firm. Similar to how she enjoys being touched. Ned shivers beneath her when the tips of her fingers run across his nipples, body bowing, head tipping back. Meredith leans forward to suck and nibble a bruise into the pale flesh covering his throat. His heartbeat hammers against her lips and it occurs to her that Ned is so very receptive to this type of treatment, which only makes her smile. 

While her husband is naked, splayed before her in an array of moonglow skin and ebony eyes, Meredith is still in her gown. 

As she pulls away Ned tries to reach for her. A genuine grasping of fingers that stops far too quickly as he meets resistance. 

They both know he'd be able to break loose if he wanted to. The knots Meredith tied aren't meant to keep him from escaping despite the purpose of the satin binds. Ned could catch the little tail left free with his fingers and jerk the knot loose, freeing himself entirely... the fact he hasn't speaks wonders. 

Meredith smiles as she leans back enough to settle more of her weight on the thigh currently pressed against her sex.

"Can I ask you something?" She asks, fingers toying with the laces at the front of her gown. 

"Anything." Ned breathes, voice rough. 

"Do you realize how often I've thought about this?" Meredith can't help but rock forward slightly, reveling in the tremble of hard muscle between her thighs as Ned shifts his leg a bit to put more pressure on her. "I asked you a question." 

Meredith slips off her over dress, tosses it off to the side, leaving her in a loose shift and little else. Ned stares at her for a long moment and Meredith reaches out to gently - oh so gently because his pleasure is so very sweet to very - pinch his nipple between her thumb and forefinger, jerking his attention back to where she wants it. 

"Since that day in the Lord's Solar." Ned rasps, tugging and shifting and causing Meredith to slip further down his thigh. 

"I've thought about it for far longer than that, beloved." Meredith admits as she shifts her skirt out of the way to stroke Ned as she continues, "I thought about it quite often when you were away. I used to lay here in our bed long after I should have been asleep and brought myself pleasure at the image of you in this exact position." 

Ned moans beneath her. 

A sound deep and low and full of longing. 

Meredith pulls her hand away from him as he begins to tremble and watches as he strains against the satin. 

"Meredith, beloved," Ned groans and she smiles. 

"Begging already? I haven't even done anything, Ned." Meredith says before she pulls her shift over her head and tosses it to the side. "Would you deny me my pleasure, husband? This is why we're here after all. You lost our little wager and now you can't even uphold your end?" 

Beneath her Ned is gritting his teeth, eyes screwed shut, breathing deeply. 

Meredith shifts so that she's well and truly straddling both of Ned's thighs. In this position the underside of his cock is pressed tight to her body and Meredith gasps when she rocks forward and the head manages to catch against her pearl. She does this three more times before Ned begins to gently thrust. Meredith smiles as Ned strains and curses, panting as he lies back. She waits until he's no longer panting before rising up on her knees and reaching down to take Ned in her hand. 

"Do you want my mouth or my cunt, Ned?" She asks, smiling wickedly as he levels her with a somewhat dazed look. "You only get to chose one." 

It takes a moment but Ned eventually manages to spit out a keening little, "Your cunt, beloved, please." 

And who is she to deny such a request? 

Slowly, Meredith positions Ned's cock beneath her and begins to slowly lower herself down. She'd meant it to be teasing - for both of them if she's being frank - but Ned, impatient thing that he is, thrusts up when Meredith is about halfway and seats himself completely inside of her, earning a loud gasping moan from the Lady of Winterfell. She sits there for a long moment, hands braced on Ned's chest and her legs trembling by his hips. 

"That was naughty." Meredith says after a moment. 

"My Lady wife seemed to need help." Ned says but his play at cool and collected is foiled by the flush covering his face and the tremble of his voice. 

Meredith smirks as she straightens. 

Reaching down, Meredith begins running her fingers across her pearl until she's gasping and keeping, clenching around Ned as he struggles to remain composed. 

"Would you like another wager?" Meredith asks but her voice comes out weaker than it had moments before. 

"What... What kind?" 

"If you can make me come like this I'll untie you." 

She's not even finished speaking before Ned is shifting his legs around and thrusting hard, an action that overbalances her, sending her forward where she'd forced to catch herself on an elbow and a steadying hand on the headboard where Ned is bound. It doesn't take long for Ned to utilize this new position. Straining until he manages to catch one of her nipples in his mouth - with some help from Meredith because she isn't a monster - and continuing to thrust. 

There's no way he'll be able to do it. 

Not in this position. 

Not with this angle. 

Meredith likes the fullness and the heat of his mouth around her nipple... but it isn't enough and she's so close... they're both so close... Meredith, gasping and writhing, reaches out to undo the knot holding Ned's hand in place. 

"So sweet, my wife," Ned is babbling, practically incoherent as he takes the opportunity to roll and maneuver Meredith until she's lying on her stomach. "My good, sweet, beautiful wife. I could have come like that you know, watching you ride me, claim me, but it wouldn't have been fair would it? No... no... not when my," he says something she doesn't understand but it rolls off his tongue like hot honey, "wouldn't be able to do the same." 

On her stomach with her legs only able to spread as far as Ned's thighs will let her the stretch of him entering her from behind is so much more intense. Meredith cries out, unable to hide as Ned uses his grip on her hair to pull her head back. 

Gentle. Gentle. Nothing but soft and sweet, her Ned. 

They don't say much else as Ned takes her, uses her body the way she'd used his only moments before, and when his hand snakes below her hips to rub harsh little circles against her pearl. 

Meredith cries as she comes, shaking and shivering and moaning as Ned continues to move inside her. When his thrusts begin to grow erratic Ned drops so that his chest is pressed to her back and his teeth are latched gently to her shoulder. His release flagged by the feral little groaning and huffing that's muffled against her shoulder. When it's over Ned released his grip on her, pressing gentle kisses to all the exposed skin he can reach as he shifts so that he can ease her legs a bit further apart and slip out of her. 

Exhausted as she is Meredith doesn't think anything of it when Ned begins laying kisses down her spine and over the back of her thighs. 

Not until he blows a cool breath against her heated sex. 

She lets out a broken little cry as Ned uses his fingers to scoop up what's escaped her cunt and push it back inside. 

"I should have something commissioned." Ned is murmuring to her, "You've claimed me... maybe I should do the same... keep myself inside of you for as long as I like, watching you quicken." 

Meredith spreads her legs a bit more, cants her hips up, pretends she doesn't blush as Ned lets out an almost disbelieving chuckle. 

"Another time perhaps," he says, moving behind her, "for now my lovely fire-maid is aching." 

Then it's a mess of tongue fingers and the faintest scrape of teeth against her tender flesh as Ned rips more pleasure from her, fingers digging into her hips and leaving violets to bloom in their wake. Meredith slowly finds herself fading in and out of that pleasure-haze that threatens to swallow her whole when Ned is like this; insatiable and needy. Meredith wonders how many times he gives her pleasure. Five? Ten? All she knows is that by the time the sun has begun to paint the sky a murky blue-grey Ned has given her pleasure twice over, found his own in her body, and guided her to sleep with her back to his front and his fingers in her cunt, 

Chapter Text

Riding atop a bay gelding, Meredith watches Sansa as she attempts to steer Thundercloud down the beaten path. The gelding her uncle had given her all those years ago is old now, but Meredith wouldn't trust any other mount to carry her wee ones South. Besides, it wouldn't be dair to keep him cooped up in Winterfell when he could be enjoying some fresh air - so to speak - and the children love him so it's no problem taking him along. It's not like the children will be racing down the road with him either. 

Perhaps it's fortunate that they hadn't been able to ride down the White Knife on a barge. 

The children seem to be enjoying the freedom of their horses and ponies more than they might have enjoyed a barge out of Winterfell. With so much excitement about leaving their home for the first time to visit other Keeps it isn't unreasonable for the children to be so rowdy. They'll settle by the time they reach White Harbor. Benjen - who will be traveling with them as far as White Harbor - has been wonderful to the children. Meredith can't help but smile at the little group as they make their way down the Kingsroad toward Lord Manderly's keep. 

Meredith reaches over to adjust Sansa's grip on her reigns and smiles at the little girl, who smiles back widely. 

"Thank you, mama," the four-year-old says, sweet as the honey cakes she'd had before they'd left. 

"You're very welcome, sweetling." Meredith smiles, "Are you enjoying the ride so far?" 

There's a wheelhouse being dragged along behind them for when the children inevitably grow tired of riding their horses. Theon, Asha, Beric, Robb, and Jon will last far longer then Torrhen and Sansa will but Meredith would rather all of the children be able to slip out of their saddles from time-to-time to rest when they need it. Despite their familiarity with the horses of Winterfell, none of the children have ridden for longer than an hour or two. It will take them three days to reach White Harbor and by then the little ones will be exhausted. Meredith's just thankful that minor changes to their plans had resulted in an altered travel course that will be less strenuous on the children. 

Meredith wonders if Wyman Manderly's kindness is a result of his desire to see one of his granddaughters married to her children or if he's just naturally servile. 

Try as she might Meredith can't ignore the fact that their trip to White Harbor is more than just a convenient stop on their way to Riverrun. They've been discussing it for week, Meredith and Ned, and it hadn't been an easy decision to come to. Ravens have already been sent off to Bear Island and White Harbor, both carrying the whispers of a possible union between each of their respective houses. A quick glance a bit further down the road to where her younger boys are riding with their uncle makes Meredith smile fondly at them as they laugh and play their silly sight games. 

Harsh as it may sound, Wyman is too ambitious to put directly at Winterfell. Even through a marriage Wyman would have too many ties and too much influence over his daughter. While the Lord of White Harbor has never been anything but loyal to House Stark and thus hasn't given Ned a reason to think him treacherous, he's still too much of the South. He worships the Seven openly, trades primarily with the South and nobles across the Sea, and he composes himself with a certain air of openness that seems almost fake. Meredith recognizes it as the type of front men and women used to the Game would use. The Norhtern Lords and Ladies are far from stupid, they have their own ambitions, but their dislike of the South makes their distaste for Wyman allt he sharper despite the fact he is their primary source of trade when it comes to the wealthier realms of the Seven. To marry Robb to Lord Wyman's eldest - or even his youngest - granddaughter would be seen as yet another Stark Lord turning his sights to the South... it would spark unease, more than there had been with Meredith, and there would be no amount of spilled blood on Weirwood Trees and sacred oaths to appease the Northern Lords and Ladies... but where Wyman is too Southern, Maege Mormont is perhaps the most respected woman in the North. 

Maege, who laughed and smiled and saved Elia's daughter, has children of her own and she defends Bear Island with ferocity. 

Meredith would be honored to tie her house to Maege's. 

So, Lyra or Jorelle - the girls closest to Robb's age - will be the next Lady of Winterfell after her... should Robb be content with the match... Meredith isn't a monster. She would never see a girl married to a man who would never be able to, at the very least, be her friend. She'd made this quite clear to Ned, who had then made it clear to Maege and Wyman that this was merely a possibility of a betrothal as of yet. From what Meredith had seen of their return letters neither had been terribly upset, though, Wyman had seemed a bit hesitant about betrothing his granddaughter to a legitimized second-born son. 

Jon, her gentlest son, would be a good husband to Wynafryd. He'd been nothing but respectful to the Manderly party when they'd come to Winterfell all those moons ago. Jon had played Come into My Castle with Wylla, he'd pretended to be a knight when Sansa and the girls had gotten into their heads that they needed to play damsel, and he'd even taken Wynafryd's remark about being pretty like a girl in stride with nothing more than a bashful smile. 

Meredith thinks it would be a good union. 

Jon deserves to live a comfortable life and Meredith doubts he would grow resentful of his wife - whether that be Wynafryd or some other Northern girl - ruling her family's ancestral seat. He's a good boy, her son, and she wants to see him happy... and she thinks that he could be. White Harbor isn't so far from Winterfell and its status as the trade hub of the North will make Jon one of the more powerful men in the Realm... even if he's not technically Lord of White Harbor.

Meredith would never risk sending him South, would never risk putting him on the throne, but at least this way Jon will be given some influence and a title beyond that of a legitimized bastard. 

Perhaps she can't give him a crown or a dragon or Lyanna... but she can give him a comfortable life with someone who may very well love him one day. Isn't that a better thing than an ugly throne of melted swords? People hate Targaryens enoug has it is. Ned has ensure anyone who asks after Jon's true mother will be lead to a dead wet nurse born in the Riverlands. To the Lords of the North, Jon is one of them. He is not the blood of the man who slaughtered their Lord and his Heir, not the son of a man who stole Lyanna Stark from her bed and slaughtered her guards. Jon is safe. That's what matters most. He'll continue to be safe in White harbor... this, Meredith will ensure. 

"Mamma, why are we going South?" Sansa asks, picking bright purple petals off a of a clover. 

Meredith looks down at her daughter, perched before her in the saddle, and frowns a bit. They'd discussed this before they left Winterfell... and multiple times one their journey to White Harbor. Sansa had seemed the most excited of the group - likely due to her love of Southern tales of fancy - and it takes the Lady of Winterfell aback that, of all the children, it's Sansa asking her this question. 

""What do you mean, sweetling?" She inquires, reaching up to stroke back Sansa's hair. 

The little girl twists to look up at her, blue eyes big and shining. 

"Well, if the South is bad... and we get hurt there... why are we going?" Sansa's voice trembles. 

"Who told you this?" Meredith demands, glancing around at the soldiers and servants and nobles who have joined their party on the way to White Harbor. 

"Aly did." 

Aly... Aly... why is that name so familiar? 

"Who is Aly?" 

"My friend. She plays with me in the Godswood, her and sometimes Arra... sometimes Bear... but not always Bear, because Bear gets tired." Sansa explains, little fingers wrapping around the hand Meredith is using to guide her gelding. 

"Are they all friends of yours?" Meredith asks, trying to keep her voice light. 

"Mhm." 

"How long have you been friends?" 

""Forever! Bear knows the best games, but Arra sings the prettiest, and Aly's the fastest. She's faster than..." Sansa looks around and then smiles and cries, "Asha! I don't know anyone faster than Asha." 

Meredith purses her lips. 

She knows all of Sansa's friends. There's Asha, Little Jeyne Poole, and Lara's niece Gwyneth. None of them have ever played at being other people... well... aside from pretending to be Targaryen princesses and brave knights or Ladies from stories, that is. Meredith can't recall any of them every using the names Sansa has given her. 

"How did you meet, sweetling?" Meredith asks. 

Perhaps they're children from Winter Town? 

It's not a heavily populated city in the summers but during the winter and early spring there are plenty of people in the little city growing from Winterfell's curtain wall... perhaps Sansa knows them from their trips to the city? Perhaps some of the children enjoy getting up to mischief and like to sneak into Winterfell? It's not as though any of the soldiers would willingly lash out against one of the children if they were caught. Yes, that must be it. 

"In the Godswood." Sansa says, "I heard them... so I went." 

"Heard them?" 

"Mhm. Sometimes they're very loud. It hurts my ears when they yell." Sansa says and Meredith frowns. 

"Well, I'm glad to hear you have fun with your friends... but don't worry so much about going South, lovely girl, your father and I will protect you and I'll keep you away from anyone who might try to do something naughty." 

"But why go at all?" 

"Because we want to make new friends and celebrate with our old ones." Meredith tells the little girl. 

"And then we'll come home?" Sansa asks with a large grin. 

Meredith laughs and nods. 

"Yes, sweetling, we'll come home after we're all done celebrating... and who knows, perhaps you'll make even more friends!" 

Sansa brightens like the dawn, the shadows of her worry fading from her features. Meredith bends a bit to plant a kiss to the crown of her head and then straightens. She'll need to speak with Ned about what these friends of Sansa's have been saying. Seeing as Sansa is young it's quite possible, she's dreamed all these friends up... but it's also equally possible that some of the children from the village are sneaking into Winterfell, which isn't a crime, but if that's the case Meredith would like to know how they're getting past the guards to determine if it's something that could hurt them should there ever be a siege on Winterfell. Meredith sighs and glances around her. 

She'll definately need to talk to Ned, but it can wait for now. No reason to make Sansa think she's in any trouble when she's not. 

Still, if there's a breach in Winterfell's defenses, they'll have to know about it as soon as possible to mitigate any risk. 

Benjen, they'll leave the task to Benjen, he'll be discreet and he's good with children so if there are little ones sneaking around the Godswood it'll be less of an issue with Benjen finding them than some other guard of Winterfell who might not be as kind. Yes, that's what they'll do. Discuss the situation with Benjen and then send him back to Winterfell at the earliest opportunity. Meredith combs through Sansa's curls and smiling down at the little girl.

They're almost to White Harbor when a small group of riders from Hornwood meet them at the Kingsroad. 

Ned greets the man and woman at the head of the part with a respectful nod and quiet askance after their travels before asking them to finish their journey to White Harbor with the Stark party. Meredith watches the group for a time and speaks when pulled into conversation, but for the most part she merely observes... and good thing she does. Othewise she might have missed the way Benjen gravitates toward the woman that had ridden beside Daryn Hornwood. 

Imma is her name, second-born child of Halys Hornwood and his lady wife Donella Manderly. 

Watching the two of them interact is entertaining to say the least as it's clear Benjen is taken by the Hornwood girl to some extent - she really is very charming with her dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and rosy cheeks - and quietly engages in discussions about horses. 

"Will you be traveling south, Lady Imma?" Meredith inquires when the topic of jousting horses is brought up. 

The girl shakes her head and says, "No, Lady Stark, I would prefer to remain in the North." 

Meredith nods. 

"I can't say I blame you, I'm not looking forward to the trip myself." She remakrs. 

Which isn't a lie. 

Orignally, they'd planned on riding from White Harbor to Riverrun... mostly so they could make a detour to Moat Cailin to view the progress... but then Benjen had expressed his discomfort at leaving Winterfell without a Stark for that long and, reasonably, they'd altered their plans to enable Benjen to return to Winterfell as soon as possible. Now, instead of riding, they'll be boarding a ship in White Harbor and traveling south along the coast to Maidenpool, from there the Stark Party will board another barge that will carry them down the Red Fork to Riverrun. All in all, it'll shorten their journey a great deal and leave more time for the Starks to remain at Riverrun... which, honestly, Meredith is looking forward to. She hasn't been home in years and she's excited to see her father and uncle and Amara. Gods, it's been too long. Meredith smiles quietly to herself as she thinks about the comining reunion. 

"Do you enjoy the tourneys, Lady Stark?" Imma inquires softly. 

"Oh, I'm indifferent to them." Meredith says with a shrug, "Watching men beat each other half-to-death playing at war doesn't particularly interest me, but I enjoy some of the other festivities." 

"Then I suppose there's some benefit to traveling South." Imma says, and she seems like such a sweet girl. 

A bit uncomfortable perhaps, but Meredith understands. 

Neither of them have spoken before now and it's likely Imma has never met anyone from the South outside of the men who come to White Harbor to trade. It's reasonable for her to be slightly unsure. Meredith thinks she would be in a similar state if the roles were reversed.

Meredith offers the other woman a kind smile. 

She, Benjen, and Imma continue conversing for a long while, only stopping when the outer walls of White Harbor begins to rise up above them and Meredith moves to take her position at Ned's side. The children seem excited. At one point Meredith has to threaten to load them all into the wheelhouse if they don't start behaving. It works to get the children to settle which is all Meredith had wanted. It's a good thing the horses chosen for the children are old and quiet, training horses really, and less likely to spook than the younger gelding Meredith is riding. Still, there's no reason for the children to do something that might spook their mounts. 

At her side, Sansa tells Jon and Robb to behave. All prim and proper at the front of Thundercloud's saddle. Torrhen sits quietly behind her, big grey eyes taking in everything they can. Meredith reaches out to check the lead she'd used to tie their saddle horns together and smiles at her youngest children. 

"Now, remember to wait for your father or I to help you dismount." Meredith tells them. 

"Yes mamma." Torrhen intones quietly as Sansa nods. 

Her sweet babes. 

Meredith ruffles both of their hair before turning her attention forward once more. 

"I must admit," Wyman Manderly says as he pours himself wine, "I was surprised by your letter." 

Meredith glances at Ned, who stares unwaveringly at Wyman, before turning her attention back to the Lord of White Harbor. 

No time like the present to discuss unions and matches between their families hm? 

"You've been a good ally to House Stark, Lord Manderly, it's only fair that you be rewarded for your loyalties." Ned intones steadily. 

Wyman smiles a bit at him. Cunning old snake. He's not a bad man, Meredith doesn't think, but it's clear he's an ambitious man. What man wouldn't want to see his daughters wedded to their liege Lords? Gods know Walder Frey tried hoisting his children off on her father more often than not. Fucking old coot. 

"I've two granddaughters, Lord Stark." Wyman begins, taking a seat at his grand oak desk. 

"Aye. You do. Unfortunately my marriage has caused discomfort among the Northern Lords." Ned says, he stares at Wyman with stone-grey eyes. 

"And so you would offer a legitimized bastard to rule at my Wynafryd's side?" Wyman inquires, blonde eyebrow raised. 

Meredith almost smiles. A cruel thing with all of her teeth.  

She's grown so fond of Northern bluntness, though, it's a bit surprising to see it from Wyman Manderly... a bit risky on his part, frankly. Surely, he knows how much Meredith adores her boy. Jon may not be born of her body but she was their through all the trials of his life. While she understands there's no point in becoming enraged over this - he is a legitimized bastard - it's strange to see Wyman Manderly speak about it so bluntly. Meredith can't recall the last time a Manderly married a Stark. Perhaps he should hold his tongue a bit better in the future... lest Meredith decide a union between their houses isn't worth dealing with the older man's ego.

"Robb is already promised to another, Lord Manderly, it would be dishonorable to set aside Lady Maege's daughter when an agreement has been reached." Ned lies, smooth and cool. 

While Maege has agreed to a betrothal between Jonelle or Lyra, nothing had been truly agreed upon yet. No contracts have been made; no dowries discussed. There is no formal agreement that would keep Ned from betrothing Robb to Wynafryd or Wylla and yet there might as well be. For neither Lord or Lady Stark would dream of pulling out of a union with House Mormont after all Maege has done for them in the past. Wyman Manderly may be their richest ally in the North, but he wouldn't dream of setting aside a Mormont for Wylla or Wynafryd. 

Across from them, Wyman seems to deflate. 

"No, no honor in it at all... very well, I believe contracts should be discussed?" Wyman asks, once more chipper and cheerful as ever. 

"Aye, a long one." Ned says. 

"Yes, yes, Wynafryd will be well past her majority as discussed before." Wyman waves Ned off as he digs through the drawer of his desk looking for something. 

A ledger. 

Meredith watches as he puts it down on the table and flips to the marked page.

It's a list of what Wynafryd's husband would gain from their union. Apparently, despite Wynafryd remaining the future Lady of White Harbor, Jon will be gaining a portion of her dowry at the very least. The land will remain in Manderly hands, the jewels too, but a fair amount of coin will be given to the Starks to line their coffers with when it's time for Jon and Wynafryd to marry. It takes a moment to go through everything but eventually it's agreed upon that no official contract will be signed until the children are older. It's clear Wyman hopes this means that there's a possibility his eldest granddaughter may be marrying the Stark Heir.

Meredith says nothing throughout the meeting and watches Lord Manderly as he and Ned continue their discussions. 

They board the Silver Fang and hour after the sun has risen on their third day in White Harbor. 

It's a passenger vessel, a grand one, and Meredith is quick to note that Wyman spared no expense when it came to which ship he chose for the Stark Party. It's large enough to fit not only Meredith's family comfortably but the small host of guards who have come with them from Winterfell. It's been so long since Meredith has been on a ship, years, and the gentle rocking beneath her feet makes her think of home. Clearly, Asha and Theon feel something similar as they take to the ship like fish take to water. Robb seems a bit sick to his stomach, Jon too, and Meredith quietly fishes some ginger root out from the little pouch she'd shoved into the hidden pocket of her gown that morning. 

"Chew on this sweetlings," she tells her boys, "it will help." 

Jon takes it without question. Shoving the root into his mouth and chew, chew, chewing away. Robb gives her a disbelieving look before he begins to nibble at his, a bit green around the edges. Hopefully they manage to make it out of the dock before either boy looses his stomach. 

"Once we've shipped off you can go to your quarters and lay down." Meredith promises, pulling Robb close. 

Her son makes a low noise in his chest - a groan perhaps? - and nods against her stomach before pulling away enough to offer the people on the dock a queasy little grin. 

Thankfully, they ship out relatively quickly and once they've gotten out of the bay Meredith begins leading her little ones below deck. 

Despite the largeness of the vessel, the children have to share quarters. Robb and Jon are quickly lead to theirs and each child is quick to claim a bunk where they lay with a single foot on the floor - at Meredith's instruction - and a small bucket at the head of their beds. She leaves them only long enough to show the other children to their quarters before returning to Robb and Jon. Both children look absolutely miserable. Poor things. They'll settle eventually but the first time on the water is always the hardest. So, Meredith tends to her children as best she can with what's available to her and only leaves once both have drifted off. She makes sure to tell the guard outside their door to find her if they need anything before heading above deck. 

Sansa clings to Asha's side, following her around with her fist clenched tight around a handful of Asha's grey tunic. 

Theon is off with some of the crew. 

Torrhen is with his father, tucked against his neck and clinging to his jerkin as Ned stares out over the water. 

"Are you excited, beloved?" Ned asks when she's taken her place at his side. 

"Very." She tells him and Ned frowns a bit at her. 

"I'm sorry." He says, causing Meredith to frown. 

"For what?" She asks. 

Ned sighs and looks out over the water. 

"This will be the first time you've seen your family since the boys were still babes..." 

Meredith smiles. 

"This is true... but Winterfell is my home too. I'm not unhappy to remain there." 

Ned turns to her, reaches out to tuck stray hair behind her ear. 

"I still apologize for not finding reasons for you to return to your family from time to time." 

She wonders if some of this guilt is due, in part, to the fact that Ned has been separated from his by death. There will be no visiting his family, no speaking with his sister, no arguing with Brandon, no reminiscing about the past with his father. He mourns and Meredith feels for his pain. She holds his hand against his face and twists her head just enough to leave a chaste kiss against his wrist. 

"Don't apologize, you'll be sick of Riverrun before you realize it." Meredith says with a laugh. 

Ned smiles fondly at her. 

Meredith can't help but lean over to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Between them, Torrhen gags and Meredith steps back with a laugh. 

"My poor babes," Meredith remarks as she rubs her son's back, "more wolf than trout." 

"Do you think they'll be more comfortable by the time we reach Maidenpool?" Ned asks. 

"If not it looks like we'll be riding to Riverrun." 

Ned shakes his head fondly. 

"I'm going to go lay him down," Ned says, and Meredith nods. 

She watches her husband disappear below deck with a soft smile before turning to gaze out at the ocean. The waters are a bit rough, so it's no wonder the children have gotten sick. Meredith sighs as she leans forward against the railing. Perhaps the children will feel better before they make it to Maidenpool, perhaps they won't. Either way, there's not much Meredith can do now that they've shipped off and really... this might be a good experience for them. Meredith thinks of the first time she was on a boat. She'd fallen out and into the waters of the Red Fork, her uncle had snatched her out with a booming laugh and offered his cloak for Meredith as they continued on. Lysa and Catelyn had teased her endlessly for it. Meredith smiles fondly at the memory and steps away from the rail to go and check on the rest of the children. 

Chapter Text

Days begin to bleed together as the Starks travel south from White Harbor's port to the walled city of Maiden Pool.

Nearly two weeks are spent on the ocean, the monotony of the days turning them into one never ending stretch of time. Meredith notices it more than the children, all of whom settle into life at sea fairly quickly - Asha and Theon adapting more easily than any of Meredith's children - as is expected of young children who are excited to see fish in the water and watch men fly through the ship's riggings like large birds. Unfortunately, the children don't have much time to enjoy the experience of being out on the water before they're being dropped off at the port of Maidenpool. Though, the children seem to enjoy the initial arrival well enough. None of them seem to be terribly upset about leaving the ship and Meredith suspects that has something to do with Lord William Mooton - a pale man with waxy features and a softness to him that hints at cowardice - offering them chambers within his keep.

Meredith knows the offer is only made in the hopes of keeping her Lord father happy, but she and her husband take the opportunity for a proper bed and a fine meal with both hands. Propriety in the South is different than it is in the North. It is considered proper to extend guest rights in both regions, but in the South it's more likely to be offered in the hopes of cajoling, deceiving, or distracting some Lord or Lady with grand chambers or lavish feasts. Pretty words are only pretty words. Meredith smiles as she's guided to a wheelhouse along with her children. Ned is offered a horse. Both are quick to go their separate ways only because it would be improper for Lord Stark to ride in the wheelhouse with his wife and children when Lord Mooton has offered him alternative transport and idle conversation. Terrible as it might sound, Meredith is more than happy to throw her husband at Lord Mooton. William had always been something of a pain. Putting his nose in places it isn't welcome and backtracking as quickly as possible at the first sign of conflict. Meredith remembers being a girl freshly flowered and listening to her uncle call the man a, "Spineless little twit." 

Honestly, riding in the wheelhouse with the children is a far better way to spend her time. 

Tucked away in the wheelhouse as they are, Meredith points out various landmarks and monuments that can be seen from the main road cutting from the port to Lord Mooton's keep.

The children seem to enjoy it. 

Maidenpool is full of history. 

It is said that Florian the Fool first came across his great love Jonquil in this bustling city... though, it wasn't so bustling and grand in those days. Invasions and lost battles had kept the little town from truly establishing itself despite its prime location within the Riverlands. It had taken years for the Mootons to truly establish their ports and it hadn't helped that some of the great port city burned when the Targaryens came. Eventually, trade took off for the port city when merchants learned they could avoid the higher taxes of King's Landing and Duskendale by coming and selling their wares at Maidenpool. Due to this and its claim to Florian, Maidenpool has become something of a destination for men and women traveling to Westeros. Why wouldn't it be? The influx of foreign faces had been a driving factor for the grand bath houses and other attractions. 

Perhaps the children will be able to see some of it if they have time. 

When they arrive at the Keep, they're quickly shown to a set of chambers in the guest wing.

The children are seen to first. Each seen to their chambers and settled for the moment. Sansa and Torrhen are tucked away in their beds, little eyes drooping as their tired little bodies settle. Traveling is difficult for young ones, Meredith knows, and they'll need all the sleep they can get if they're going to be up early enough to leave Maidenpool early enough to reach Riverrun by nightfall. With the other children being older, Meredith feels comfortable enough leaving them to their own devices so long as they adhere to the strict rules Meredith had laid before them when they'd first begun traveling from Winterfell. For the most part, the rules are simply what Meredith would have expected from them had they remained at home... the only major change is that none of the children are allowed to wonder off without a guard loyal to the Starks. Thankfully, Damyn has taken to guarding her children just as fiercely as Meredith suspects he guards her. 

Taking some comfort in the idea that the children will follow her word, Meredith allows Ned to guide her to a door a few paces down the corridor and steps into the chamber beyond with a small smile. It's not the grandest of chambers but it's clean and it smells like lemons. 

Once the door has closed and Meredith is certain that they're alone, she turns to her husband and smiles. 

"Was your conversation with Lord Mooton absolutely riveting?" Meredith asks, moving forward to rest on Ned's shoulders. 

"I would have much preferred the wheelhouse to the gelding." Ned intones before moving one of her hands to place a chaste kiss to her knuckles. 

"You say that now but I have a feeling you'll be far happier with the gelding than the barge we're to take tomorrow." 

Ned's grimace earns him a chuff of laughter and a gentle pat upon the shoulder. 

"Perhaps I should simply ride my gelding onto the barge." Ned says, taking a seat at the small table in the solar attached to their chambers, the grip he has on her hand enough to gently pull her along.

"Wouldn't that be a sight." Meredith laughs as she settles between his knees.

Her husband presses feather soft kisses to her shoulders and then smiles up at her as through his lashes. 

He's very pretty, perhaps not as pretty as Jaime Lannister or Arthur Dayne but pretty nevertheless. Meredith hums quietly and uses her free hand to run her fingers through his hair, dark strands a bit greasy from travel. They're all in need of a proper bath. There's only so much one can do with a bucket and a bar of laurel soap. The bathhouses of Maidenpool are said to be some of the best in all of Westeros. Perhaps Meredith will bring her children there... Ned can look after the boys seeing as they won't be able to come with her and the girls to Jonquil's Pool, but he's competent enough to care for them properly while Meredith and the girls are away. When she brings the idea up to her husband Ned simply smiles at her. 

"As long as you're comfortable taking Damyn and some of the others with you," Ned says after a long moment, "I see no reason to object." 

"They wouldn't be able to enter the pools." Meredith remarks simply. 

"I'd rather have them near enough to hear you shout then leave you to wonder the streets of Maidenpool without them." Ned tells her. 

"Are you afraid I'll be like the Good Queen? Attacked by Holy Sisters as I'm disrobing?" Meredith asks, laughing a bit. 

"More concerned about the wellfare of my wife, my daughter, and my ward as they make their way through the city." 

Reasonable, Meredith thinks to herself. 

"Very well, I'll bring some of the men with me." Meredith says then smiles and adds, "But it would be better still if I had a sworn shield capable of entering the bathhouse with me, no?" 

"The day some Serpent in Scarlet lays their blade at your feet and declares themselves your shield is the day I rejoice your safety and fear for your actions." Ned intones dryly. 

With fake offense, Meredith smacks her husband's shoulder. 

"Do you think I would do something foolish?" She demands. 

"I think you'd do a lot of things... some things perhaps less dangerous than others." Ned answers. 

Laughing, Meredith leans forward to rest her forehead upon Neds. 

"Perhaps you're right." She says, "Having my own Serpent in Scarlet would only encourage me to do terribly hedonistic things in Jonquil's Pool... give the Septas something to rage about." 

Ned shakes his head. 

"I feel as though you've accomplished that many times over." He remarks quietly, the humor bleeding from his features. 

Whether he means to reference Meredith's taking the Old Gods as her own upon her marriage and arrival to Winterfell or her acceptance of and love for Jon. To worship what the Faith would claim as False Gods and to love a child born outside of your marriage bed to be sins. Meredith thinks it's a bit excessive. Thinks of Lysa with her sallow skin and sunket features and the fever that had gripped her for days after their father had... Meredith brushes her fingers across Ned's jaw. 

"Well, you haven't got anything to worry about... I'll take Asha and Sansa to Jonquil's Pool tomorrow and then we'll leave for Riverrun." She says. 

"Are you looking forward to seeing your family?" Ned asks, fingers toying with the cords holding her dress together. 

"I am," Meredith says, "Uncle says that my father's health has much improved and Edmure is to squire under my uncle... I've missed them a great deal." 

Ned nods. 

If anyone understands it would be him. 

A tender kiss is pressed to her chest just above where the lace of her neckline rests. 

"Then I suspect you should get your rest." Ned says to her, "It's going to be a long day tomorrow." 

Meredith laughs as Ned finishes undoing the knot at the back of her dress, silk gaping at her neck and slipping off her shoulders to reveal her slip and corset. Ned growls playfully when he sees the items before carefully helping her out of her gown. Meredith watches, fingers working away at her corset, as Ned carefully drapes her gown over a chair. It's very sweet of him. Meredith smiles as she tosses the embroidered corset on top of the dress, leaving her in nothing but her shift. Preparing for bed really is very simple when all she has to do is remove her gown, shoes, corset, stockings, and pull her hair out of the plait she'd put it in before leaving the ship. 

Stone colored eyes watch her as she uses her fingers to carefully untangle her hair. 

Rough fingers reach out, snags a lock of wavy red, and Ned smiles as he runs his thumb over the strands of her hair. 

It's an unspoken fact that Ned is particularly fond of her hair. Something about red hair being a sign of luck in Northern culture. Meredith has found over the years that Ned enjoys touching her hair. He'll wrap it around his fingers, bury his face in it, tuck unruly strands behind her ear, brush it after a particularly long day. It's all very sweet. Some might find it a bit odd if they were to know. Lords aren't known for brushing their wife's hair of weaving the locks through their fingers... but Meredith finds that she enjoys these quiet moments where Ned simply takes comfort in being with her. And while this bed in Lord Mooton's keep lacks the same familiar comforts of home, Meredith finds some of it in her husband's arms and for the moment, it's enough. 

~(*)~

"You will leave your gowns here," the Holy Sister tells them, hand held to the side in order to indicate where in the elaborate marble chamber Meredith and her girls may place their items. "Lynette and Elys will help you with your gowns and prepare you for the baths." 

The private chambers within Jonquil's Pool for the Ladies of Westeros are grand indeed. 

Polished white marble everywhere one looks, large stain-glass windows depicting Florian and Jonquil's romance, a small fountain sits at the center of the room the woman carved into the center spitting water from her mouth into the air, there are mirrors that stretch from the floor to the ceiling on almost every wall, and heavy oak doors that lead to dressing chambers and water closets and a hot room. Meredith is quick to thank the older woman before ushering her girls off to the side where two younger women in simple grey robes wait. 

It's very clear they aren't Holy Sisters... perhaps training to become them... or perhaps servants who have been hired to do the tasks the Holy Sisters deem unfit for themselves. 

Meredith smiles at them all the same when she and her girls approach. 

"Welcome, Lady Stark, it is an honor to be of service to you." The shorter blonde says, smile small but not unkind, "My name is Elys, this," she motions to the taller dark-haired girl with the smattering of freckles, "is Lynette. Come, we'll assist you with your gowns and then prepare you with oils." 

"Thank you." Meredith says as she allows herself to be lead to a small alcove hidden behind an almost gauzy curtain. 

Sansa clings to her skirts. 

Asha quietly follows Lynette, though she doesn't look all that happy about it. 

Once in the alcove, Meredith is stripped naked - her clothes and Sansa's tucked away for Elys to retrieve later - and lathered in almond oil. Elys leaves no stretch of skin bare and once she's done the younger girl quietly holds out a linen for Meredith to wrap around herself before turning to Sansa and bestowing her with the same treatment. With their bodies covered in oil, Elys quickly moves them out into the main room once more and ushers them to a bench were she lathers their hair in a mixture of rosemary, lavender, milk, and honey. Asha, Meredith notes when she sees the girl sitting at another bench not too far off, is looking far more pleased than she had been moments before. 

"If my Ladies will follow me," Elys says once she's finished, "I'll show you the way to Jonquil's Pool." 

Their little group is lead through another set of heavy oak doors that open to reveal an ornate room. At the center of the room waits a large pool of water, rose petals float upon the top of the rippling water, stirred by the various women who have made their way here from all over Westeros and Beyond the Narrow Sea. Surrounding the main pool are smaller, more secluded pools, which Meredith quickly guides her girls to in the hopes of it being more suitable for Sansa. 

Laughter and the scent of flowers fills the air around them. 

"If my Ladies with it, I can have refreshments brought." Elys offers when Meredith has settled on a pool with a small shelf for sitting. 

"If it isn't too much trouble." Meredith says to which the girl nods. 

"It's no trouble, would my Lady care for wine?" 

"No wine, thank you, perhaps water and juice for the girls." 

Elys tips her chin downward in a nod. 

"Of course," She curtsies, "If my Lady would excuse me a moment." 

With Meredith's nod the girl goes, disappearing from the red-haired woman's sight, leaving the three to their own little pool under the ornate window in Jonquil's pool. 

Meredith smiles as she disrobes and steps into the pool, offering her hands to Sansa to help the little girl in as well. Her daughter only seems uncertain for a moment or two before she catches sight of Asha stepping into the pool and, in an attempt to be more like the older girl, Sansa spends no more time hesitating and jumps into the pool. Meredith laughs as she plucks Sansa from the water and guides her over to the shelf in the pool where she relaxes into the waters. 

It doesn't take long for more girls in grey robes to come and set platters of oils, soaps, and refreshments along the edge of the pool. While the majority leave, Elys and Lynette stay. Both girls are quick to offer their services. Pouring water and juice, lathering scented soaps and oils into hair or skin or both, gently sponging the hard-to-reach places between shoulder blades or running wide-toothed combs through wet hair. All in all, it's a pleasant experience but not one Meredith is unfamiliar with either Lara or Ned will often help Meredith bathe when or if she desires their help. That isn't to say there it isn't nice to have someone brush her hair or rub her shoulders or refil her water while she sits in warm water and shares idle conversation with the two girls that have come with her. 

Asha and Sansa seem to enjoy it well enough, and that's all Meredith could ask for. This trip wasn't for herself, after all, Meredith hasn't really got a need to come to Jonquil's Pool. Not that Asha and Sansa really do either if Meredith is looking at it from a practical point of view, but bath houses in the North are practically non-existent as far as Winterfell goes and Meredith wishes to give her girls all the experiences they can have before they're bound by duty to husbands or Keeps or children. Whatever the case may be, Meredith knows Asha and Sansa won't have these opportunities to be young and carefree for long. 

Hours seem to pass, perhaps they do. 

Lord Mooton had offered them something of an extended stay in Maidenpool once he'd heard that Meredith intended to take the girls to the bath houses and Ned hadn't been unhappy to accept. Perhaps that's in part due to the fact that they've spent so long at sea. Ned's likely grown very sick of the open waters... too bad he'll have to settle for another - albeit shorter - trip on the seas as they travel the rest of the way South to Lannisport. 

When the girls seem to tire and the pampering comes to an end, Meredith almost thankful to have the oils gently scraped from her skin and her hair rinsed and the girls bundled up back into their gowns and light cloaks so that they can return to Lord Mooton's keep before the small feast that's to be held this evening. It won't be anything too extravagant... but Meredith suspects it will be spoken of loudly enough that word reaches her Lord Father's ear. Meredith doesn't mind it so much as she suspects Ned will as she's used to the boot licking and simpering of Southern Lords. Frankly, the bluntness of her husband's people had been a bit startling at first, so it isn't as though Meredith doesn't understand. 

"Did you enjoy yourselves?" Damyn asks as he steps into place beside Meredith at the entrance of Jonquil's Pool. 

With the Holy Sisters refusing to allow men entry, the steps were as far as her sworn shield had been permitted to get and he'd obviously taken that as either some sort of personal challenge or an insult for he's waiting in the exact same spot Meredith had left him upon arriving. 

"I believe the girls did, yes," Meredith says, careful not to let the hem of her skirt tangle around her feet as she makes her way down the steps to the street where a wheelhouse waits for them. 

Damyn nods and offers a polite, "Then I suppose it was worth the coin." 

It earns him a laugh from Meredith and a soft, "Perhaps." 

"It was very pretty..." Sansa offers then she twists her head to look back at the bath house, "... but it made me sad." 

"Sad?" Meredith questions, perplexed. 

"Yes, because of the sad Lady at the other pool." 

Meredith doesn't remember seeing any particularly upset women but then she hadn't been paying them much attention outside of that initial glance. Sansa's always been such a sweet girl, sensitive to the feelings of others, Meredith isn't that surprised that she'd take notice of an upset stranger. Gently carding her fingers through Sansa's drying hair, Meredith smiles as kindly as she can manage without looking belittling... but there's a quiet voice in the back of her head, a little whisper of doubt, that makes Meredith question what exactly Sansa saw - or thought she saw - back at Jonquil's Pool. 

"You're very sweet to worry about others, Sansa, but don't let such things pain you." 

"But she was sad." Sansa says. 

"And that's terrible that she felt that way, but you're a little girl, Sansa... it isn't your responsibility to shoulder the burdens of others." Meredith says before ushering her daughter and Asha into the wheelhouse. 

Before she steps in behind them Meredith shares a look with Damyn. 

The dark haired man raises both eyebrows at her before offering his hand to help her into the wheelhouse. 

Meredith wonders if he finds Sansa's strange comment just as concerning as she's beginning to. 

Their departure from Maidenpool is welcome. 

Meredith is ready to return to her ancestral home, to see the colors of House Tully flying high above the Keep's outer walls. She's ready to sleep in her old chambers, to introduce her children to her Lord father and her Uncle Brynden and to reintroduce Robb to Amara and to pray to her Gods in the same place she was first introduced to them. She wants to go home and Maidenpool, for all it's grandeur and finery, is not that. So, when the time comes Meredith is one of the first to usher the children up the ramp onto the pleasure barge they'll be taking up the Redfort. 

It'll be a quicker trip than if they were to ride on horseback, but the fact remains that it will be several hours before they reach Riverrun. 

"Are you excited mother?" Torrhen asks, little voice wafting up from her side. 

Smiling down at her son, Meredith nods, then proceeds to lean over and pick him up so that he can settle upon her hip and look out over the water. 

"I am very excited," she says to him, "are you?" 

"I miss home." Torrhen tells her quietly. 

"I understand, sweetling, I miss home too... but your grandfather and Uncle Edmure are even more excited to meet you." She tells him. 

"Uncle Ed?" Torrhen asks. 

"Yes, my brother." Meredith presses a soft kiss to his cheek. 

"Is he loud like Jon and Robb?" Torrhen asks, casting a glance at the two boys who are currently trying to chase Asha, Theon, and Beric without running and inciting the ire of their Lord Father, who watches over them from where he stands with the captain of their barge. 

Sansa peaks out from behind his knees, little fingers curled tight around the loose fabric at his thighs, she looks worried. Not exactly fearful, but not comfortable either. Meredith wonders if it's the water or the ship or the fact that the boys have likely filler her head with tales of woe in the hopes of scaring her. Sighing, Meredith turns to her son. 

"He is very loud." She says, which gets her a grin. 

Of the two, Sansa is the more dominant twin. Torrhen is quiet, seemingly content with following Sansa through the corridors of Winterfell and sneaking to the kitchen with her and Jon when the mood strikes him. Stoic. Like his father in some ways. Meredith smiles, bounces Torrhen on her hip, mourns the fact that someday she'll be unable to pick him up as she's able to now. 

Torrhen presses both of his palms to her cheeks and leans in close so he can whisper, "That's sad." 

A snort bubbles up and out without thought and once she begins laughing, Meredith finds she can't stop herself. Eventually she has to go and take a seat on one of the long benches in the middle of the barge with Torrhen in the hopes of getting herself to rights once more. Torrhen's childish laughter doesn't help... but after a moment Meredith able to recompose herself and nod. 

"Yes," she tells her darling boy, "I suspect you will." 

Full of pride, Torrhen puffs up his chest and nods with a large smile. 

Meredith is quick to turn her son loose on the rest of the barge's crew, watching as he rushes to Jon and Robb's side to taunt then before darting towards Sansa and Ned where he knows neither Jon nor Robb would dare to do anything that would get them into trouble. Quiet, yes, but smart. Meredith shakes her head and settles in for the rest of the voyage. 

"Meredith!" The cry comes from the small docks on the south wall of Riverrun. 

The woman in question moves to the edge of the barge and smiles when she sees Edmure standing tall and proud, hand raised high in greeting. 

"What are you doing, Edmure!" Meredith calls, "aren't you scared of getting wet?" 

When they were children Edmure used to refuse to venture toward the small docks where their father's trade boats would come to unload goods. Meredith knew it was cruel to taunt him for the unreasonable fear as children - she'd had plenty of her own that Edmure had been kind enough not to bring up - but they're grown now. Edmure would do well to remember that. 

"I'm more afraid that when you get off that barge you're going to look like an old hag!" Edmure shouts. 

Meredith throws her head back and laughs. 

After the barge is eased to a stop at the edge of the dock and the plank is cast out, Meredith wastes no time disembarking the large boat and making her way to where Edmure is waiting for her with open arms. He smells like burnt wood, bacon, and the soap Amara used to insist they use to wash themselves with. Meredith grunts as Edmure wraps his arms around her own, locking his hands around her ribs, and lifts her off her feet to swing her slightly to and froe. 

"Let me down!" Meredith hisses at him, scowling at the blatant disrespect, "I swear Edmure, you will put me down this instant or I'll do something horrid." 

"Oh, Mare, when will you learn? I'm no longer a child... you're threats don't work on me." Edmure taunts, but he puts her down all the same. 

The reason for which being Ned and her children arriving at their sides. 

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" Edmure asks, hands going behind his back. 

"I thought you'd be perfectly capable of introducing yourself." Meredith retorts dryly. 

"My! How cruel you are!" Edmure turns to the children, "Very well then! If my sister shan't do it, allow me to introduce myself. Hello. My name is Edmure. I'm you're uncle, you're favorite uncle, the best uncle." 

"Uncle Benjen is better." Torrhen says as soon as Edmure stops speaking. 

A shocked sort of look appears on her brother's face. Obviously, he isn't quite sure what to do with Torrhen's reply. 

"What have you been telling them, Mare?" Edmure hisses at her but with no true bite. 

"Only that you're mildly insufferable," she whispers, then she turns to the children, "Edmure, allow me to introduce you to my children Robb, Jon, Sansa, and Torrhen." each child nods or smiles in greeting, "And our wards, Beric Dustin, Theon Greyjoy, and Asha Greyjoy." the children all bow, taking a more formal approach to the new greeting. 

Edmure smiles warmly at all of them. 

"Greeting! Welcome to Riverrun... come, our Lord father is waiting for you all." Edmure's eyes are a bright blue and so achingly familiar Meredith almost wants to cry, "He's very excited to meet all of you so we mustn't keep him waiting." 

It seems to excite the children for all of them practically scramble to follow Edmure down the docks and toward the smaller gate built into the outer wall. Meredith and Ned follow a bit behind, watching as Edmure answers questions and japes with their children. It's sweet. Meredith wraps her fingers around Ned's arm and tries not to worry too much about what her Lord Father may have to say about their arrival - Jon's arrival - in Riverrun. 

Chapter Text

"He is a bastard," her father's voice is rough, painful, but it fills the room all the same, "and you invite him into our home." 

Meredith stares at her father, at the man who sits withered and ill in his chair across from her and finds herself hurt by the contempt in his tone. The evening before her father had been absent from the small dinner held to welcome Meredith and her family, while it hadn't surprised the Lady of Winterfell given her father's declining health and her uncle Brynden's insistence that his elder brother had only recovered from a rather brutal case of the chills only a few evenings ago, it hadn't come as much of a shock. The children had latched onto the Black Fish as Meredith expected them to and he'd regaled them with tales of his battles and his travels and his fondest memories of Meredith as a child no older than Robb and Jon. Dinner had been a delightful affair, but one Meredith hadn't truly been able to enjoy given her father's absence. Having been summoned to break her morning fast with her father hadn't come as any surprise to Meredith. Now, sitting in her father's solar, Meredith finds herself disappointed. While she's never expected her father to truly accept Jon as a child of her house, Meredith had hoped that her father would pretend... for her sake if not for any kindness he'd want to bestow upon Jon. 

"He's a child, innocent of his father's transgressions." Meredith bites out as she places her fork down. 

Her father's eyes are watery, his brows furrowed, his mouth set into a hard line that reminds Meredith that unlike Catelyn - his favored child, the one who looks so much like their mother had, the girl who did nothing wrong in her youth or her marriage - Meredith has caused her father dissatisfaction. Ever the child seeking her father's approval, Meredith swallows in the hopes of chasing away the thickness on her tongue. 

"That boy is a threat to your own son! It would have been one thing to dote on the boy when he was but a bastard with no chance of claiming titles, ensuring his loyalty, but to support his legitimization? To ask for it! I never took you for a fool, Meredith, but I find myself questioning whether or not you've any sense in your head." The bite in her father's tone makes Meredith tense. 

Jon is a blessing. A sweet boy. One her husband has put his life at risk to protect. Perhaps it had been foolish of Meredith to ask the King to legitimize him, perhaps there's some merit in what her father is saying... but how could she turn him away? How could she love him, dote on him, and allow him to remain a bastard? Someone seen as less than by the world when he's so much more? Child of Rhaegar though he may be by birth, Jon is Meredith's son. She held him when he was sick, soothed him when he cried, took him in her arms and protected him from the world when he thought the monsters in his dreams too big to ignore. Family. Duty. Honor. Those are the words of House Tully. Family before duty. Duty before Honor... and yet her own father has condemned a boy Meredith has laid claim to. But what would he know of raising children? Hoster Tully could father ten thousand bastards on ten thousand women across Westeros and the Free Cities and no one would bat an eye, no one would think him a fool for taking one or two of those bastards into his home and raising them beyond their station, but because Meredith is a woman she is expected to ignore the needs of her husband's blood simply because it could challenge her own? Meredith hates it. The unfairness of it all. Instead of raging, of screaming or throwing her watered down wine at her father's head, however, Meredith simply takes a breath and levels her father with a look. 

"What's done is done. Jon is mine. I love him as I love my other children and I will not forsake him simply because my husband could not keep his vows." Meredith tells the man across from her, the words bitter upon her tongue. 

Ned is a good man. 

Meredith doesn't blame him for the lie he wove to protect Jon.

The bastard child of Eddard Stark. It'll certainly bring attention to the boy. Why wouldn't it? Ned was supposed to be the honorable one. The only Stark of even temperament due to the fact that his brother Brandon had taken all the Wolfblood for himself. To the Realm, Meredith's husband is the one who had risked his King's ire by defending a child simply because butchering her for the sins of her father would have been a dishonor to the Gods - Old and New - and that he would not allow his King, the one he'd chosen to ride beside, to make himself a murderer of innocence when they had rebelled against another King for doing the same. Honorable. That's what Ned Stark is... fathering bastards on wet nurses while one's wife waits pregnant at home is not so honorable. Ned's lie had been ill thought. Meredith wonders if it would have been more believable to have him claim Jon as Brandon's... but it's done. The lie has been spun, the loom prepared, and now Meredith sits and weaves a lie she hopes is strong enough to protect the child that is less Lyanna and Rhaegar's and more her own. 

"Do you not realize what your actions have done? Word has spread, Meredith! Northern customs may be queer ones, but your sisters are the ones who suffer!" Her father snaps, "Catelyn will be Lady of Casterly Rock one day, her children will inherit one of the largest seats of power in Westeros and she is forced to bear the indignity of being associated with a bastard. Lysa has yet to have any children by Lord Arryn and now people of the Vale have suggested naming his cousin's boy heir." 

"Is that what matters to you? The scandal? Not the wellbeing of a child! Not the happiness of your daughter! Not the security that I have brought my house and the power that my marriage has brought to you?" She finds herself asking. 

"Meredith, the boy can lay claim to the North! He looks like a Stark! You have raised him beyond his natural station and now you have placed your own children at risk! He will not remain a boy forever, Meredith, he will grow! He will learn what war is, he will learn the circumstances of his birth and what it means for him to have been legitimized! You cannot control him forever. Granted, he seems a sweet boy now, but he will not remain so!" 

How much of this is her father's own worry? Catelyn and she have exchanged several ravens over the years and while her elder sister has made it known that she doesn't understand Meredith's desire to raise Jon as one of her own - to have him legitimized - the other woman has never truly berated Meredith for it. She's never been cruel. Neither has Lysa, for all her letters are short and rarely received. The only person who has shown their genuine displeasure with Meredith's decision to love Jon, to raise him, has been her own father... which doesn't come as a surprise. He'd forced Lysa's babe from her, after all. Gave her tansy tea and forced her to drink it, only showing the slightest remorse when the passing of the babe had caused the youngest of his children illness. Meredith remembers the way her sister had rambled as the fever had tried to claim her. Prattling on about a babe she would have named for his father and the desire to die alongside him. Their father had attempted to bar Meredith and Catelyn from Lysa's room but where Catelyn had been more willing to follow her father's wishes, Meredith had been more concerned with her sister's health than her father's temper. Then, Meredith had attempted to put reason to her father's actions. To have a babe would ruin Lysa. She would never marry a man worthy of her and the bastard would likely not live a good life if the Lord who'd been willing to take her sister's hand were simply doing it for the notoriety and the potential favors it would garner them from Lord Hoster. But now? Meredith is a mother, she's cut herself open for these children, put her life in the hands of the Gods for them. She cannot forgive what her father did to Lysa... and the fact that he's attempting to shame Meredith for something similar makes her want to scream. 

If it were Catelyn would he care? 

If it were precious, dutiful, beloved Catelyn would their father berate her and he does Meredith? 

The answer burns the Lady of Winterfell worse than a dragon's flame ever could. 

Meredith steels herself. She’d known that many south of the Neck would have something to say about her relationship with Jon. Most High born Ladies would balk at raising their husband’s bastard with their true born children simply because of the threat the child could pose. Ignorance. Meredith will admit to being angry with Ned when he’d brought Jon home. She’d been young when they married and while she hadn’t thought herself in love Meredith had fantasies about the marriage she and Ned would have when he returned from the war… but then he’d delivered his child to her without so much as a warning. He’d humiliated her. Disrespected her. All but spat in her face by shaming her in such a way. Meredith had never hated Jon - never, not even at her angriest - but she’d despised Ned for his deceit and his cowardice. Perhaps that’s what leads so many women to despising the children their husbands get on other women. As a woman in this world, Meredith has fee options. She is not a Lady of Dorne or the Free Cities, her use is not applicable anywhere but in the marriage bed in the eyes of many Westerosi Lords. It’s easier to hate the child a man brings home than it is to hate the man who clothes you, feeds you, offers you and your children protections. Meredith presses her lips together and rages. 

Jon is her son. 

Nothing can change that. 

Meredith squares her shoulders as she faces her father and offers a cool, “Family. Duty. Honor. Are our words. I became Ned’s family when he bought me for soldiers, when you bartered me away to a traitor, he became my family and his blood is mine. You dishonor me, my Lord, by claiming I’ve put my children at risk for loving Jon as my own. You have no right to berate me for my actions when you allowed your own brother to raise me in your stead.”

There is a moment of tense silence in which the two stare at one another. It isn’t the same. Not truly. But Meredith will admit to very few people that Brynden Tully raised her only for the gossip it would inevitably cause should her favoritism of her uncle spread beyond the walls of Winterfell. He was the one who taught her to swim, to ride, to shoot a bow. He was the one who offered her advice when she needed it and came North when she needed her father’s support. The Black Fish is more a father to Meredith than Hoster Tully and it… it hurts.. Meredith has never loved her father less than in this moment and she finds herself wondering if her mother would be ashamed of her for it. Rising, Meredith ignores the sharp command for her to sit and leaves the Lord’s solar in a swirl of dove grey silk. The door shuts on the sound of her name leaving her father’s mouth - a command and a plea - and Meredith allows herself one shuddering breath before she goes off in search of her uncle. 

~(*)~

Her uncle is in the training yard when Meredith finds him. A wooden sword in his hand as he eases the small host of children huddled around him through a move the Lady of Winterfell doesn’t quite understand. Theon and Beric look almost bored. Which, Meredith thinks, is to be expected seeing as Robb and Jon are so much younger than them and less advanced in their lessons. It’s sweet that they humor the boys and Meredith lingers at the outskirts the yard as she watches. It isn’t long, however, before her uncle spots her. Whatever he sees in her expression is enough to have him shooing away the little ones. He makes his way to her side soon after and stands with her facing the yard as though they’d engaged in a conversation about the children’s lessons. 

“What did your father have to say?” Brynden asks her and Meredith attempts not to frown as Robb and Jon wave to them. 

“He called me a fool and berated me for claiming Jon.” Meredith admits quietly. 

Her uncle hums softly befote offering a quiet, “He worries for you Meredith. There’s been a great deal of unrest these last few years. Robert is a King with no heir and his closest friend’s wife has publicly claimed and advocated for the legitimization of his bastard.” 

“Is it terrible of me to want to give Jon a good life? A life he deserves?” Meredith demands harsly. 

“No. But you’re not a lesser Lady, Meredith. Your husband is close friends with the King, a man with no legitimate heir of his own despite having one of the most desirable women in Westeros as his wife. It doesn’t look good and there’s a great deal of unrest.” her uncle offers a tight smile, “It would only take someone suggesting the King legitimize one of his own bastards for the North to gain a powerful enemy.” 

Because despite the North's relative isolation from the rest of Westeros and the fact that Catelyn is married to his heir, Tywin Lannister would undoubtedly find someone else to blame for the fact that the lack of heir has likely driven many to begin debating the merits of legitimizing one of Robert's bastards. There are many. Even before the rebellion. Meredith remembers hearing whispers of blue-eyed, black-haired boys being sent out across Westeros from the Vale of Arryn. Being King hasn't stopped him from fucking half the woman in Westeros. Meredith isn't fool enough to assume the weight of the crown would drive her husband's oldest friend to maturity... so, in a way, Meredith understands the unrest. Cersei has yet to produce a healthy heir and with two Targaryens hiding somewhere across the Narrow Sea and Rhaegar's daughter safe in Dorne... Gods, Meredith can only imagine the intensity of Tywin's rage should anyone dare to suggest Robert do what Meredith and Ned had done with Jon. And in the Old Lion's eyes it would be no one's fault but Meredith's. Not Cersei, who has had almost seven years to produce an heir. Not Robert, who should have been attempting to stabilize his reign with his wife. Meredith, because she had dared to love an orphaned boy. 

“No one would suggest such a thing to the King.” She utters softly, if only because it would enrage the Old Lion.

Her uncle scoffs and says, “Don’t be willfully dense, Meredith. It doesn’t suit you.” 

The woman sighs as she looks out across the yard to where Jon and Beric are running through positions and maneuvers Meredith doesn’t recognize. For a moment she curses the Gods for their cruelty. Had Jon been born of her womb none of this would be happening. He would be allowed to grow alongside his siblings happy and without fear of being demeaned for the actions of his father. He would grow up safe. Now Meredith is forced to contemplate the intelligence of her own actions as she prepares to drag her sun into the lion's den. There are many who claim that nothing good happens when a Stark travels south of the Neck. Meredith hopes it's superstition. Ned has traveled South many times and has always returned to her hale and hearty. A few cuts here and there, but alive and well, nonetheless. Meredith crosses her arms over her chest and seethes in the balmy summer heat. It will be worse in the Westerlands. So close to the coast and with the harsher climate... Meredith isn't looking forward to it. Once, she might have enjoyed it. When she was to marry a Dornishman and live in the harsher desert heats, but now she's a woman accustomed to chillier climates and the occasional summer snow. 

"You'll have to tell him." Her uncle Brynden offers her softly. 

Neither of them look at one another as they watch the children run through their lessons. 

Begrudgingly, Meredith offers a slow nod and a hesitant, "I know." 

It earns her a soft look from her uncle, who reaches out to place his calloused hand upon her shoulder. 

"You've been a good mother to that boy, Meredith. Informing him that he's not of your body won't change that." 

But it might.

Where Jon's parentage would not have been questioned in the North, son of Lord Stark and legitimized, it won't be the same in the South. Droves of Lords and Ladies will come to Lannisport and many will seek to tear apart the Starks as best they can for the influence over Robert that Ned holds and the actions he took during the Rebellion that all but saved Rhaegar Targaryen's daughter for no other reason than because he could... because it was the honorable thing to do. Honorable. That's something Meredith finds lacking in many of the Houses below the Neck. She drops her arms to her side as Beric trips Jon and sends him sprawling back into the dirt. Her boy is quick to rise, brushing himself off and stooping down to pick up his fallen practice sword before falling back into position before Beric. Blood of the Dragon flows through Jon's veins, but he's made of tougher stock than the silver-haired prince. Jon will never know who contributed to his birth - more for his own safety than any resentment Meredith may hold toward his parents - but he'll know that Meredith is his mother. That Meredith was the one who took him into her heart and guards him just as fiercely as she guards the children born of her flesh. Resigned, Meredith steels herself for what's to come and quietly makes her way across the yard to where Jon is standing. 

~(*)~

It's been years since Meredith has set foot in the Godswood of Riverrun, though it hasn't changed all that much in the time she's been gone. There are still polished river stones lining the paths, decorative bushes and flowerbeds that have been meticulously maintained to offer a semblance of solitude to those seeking out the Old Gods. However, the heart tree at the center of the twisting paths is what reminds all who come that this is a place of worship... not a garden to lurk in. Meredith kneels before the mournful face weeping its bloody tears and pulls Jon into her lap. Where does one take a child to shatter their world view? Where is she supposed to tell Jon that he wouldn't be considered her child by the majority of Westeros? The Gods may be cruel but there's a sort of peace in knowing that the brutality of their nature stems from the fact that they simply aren't human. They don't live fleeting lives, they don't make mistakes. They are beyond anything Meredith could ever hope to be and perhaps that's why she brings her son here to share this terrible knowledge. There is privacy in the Godswood and Meredith desires that more than anything. 

Absently, she runs her fingers through Jon's silken curls and prays to her Gods for guidance. 

"Are you well, mama?" Jon murmurs to her, twisting just enough to look up at her over his shoulder. 

Meredith smooths back his hair and presses a chaste kiss to the crown of his head before she offers a soft, "I'm troubled, sweetling."

"Why?" 

"Because I have a secret." 

How is she supposed to do this? 

What is she supposed to say? 

Gods, they should have done this years ago when Jon was younger, when it would have been easier to understand. 

"Is it bad?" 

"It's dangerous." 

Jon moves so that his shoulder is pressed against hers, sweet little face pinched in consternation as he observes her. Meredith offers what she hopes is an assuring smile as she meets her boy's eyes. One might have mistaken them for Stark eyes, so pale and grey, but Meredith thinks they take on hue that denote his father's heritage... but pale enough to be ignored. With his dark curls and his solemn nature and his soft tone, Meredith can see why someone would look at her son and immediately ignore any feature he may possess that isn't entirely Stark. Why would someone like Robert look at Jon and see Rhaegar when he'd be desperate to search out anything of Lyanna that might crop up in Ned's children. 

"You know I love you," Meredith begins softly, scraping light fingers along Jon's scalp, "I love you more than life." 

The boy nods, eyes wide. 

Meredith swallows in the hopes of breaking up the sudden tightness in her throat. 

"We'll be leaving Riverrun soon, traveling to Lannisport, and there's something I need to tell you before we arrive and someone takes it upon themselves to inform you." Meredith murmurs before pressing a chaste kiss to Jon's temple. 

"What is it?" He asks, voice trembling. 

Steeling herself, Meredith takes in the scent of her son's hair, the oils she uses in her own curled tresses. 

The truth is all she can offer the boy in her arms. A cruel truth though it is, Meredith hopes that she can ease him into the knowledge and reassure him that never once has he been considered anything other than her child. A child of her own just as much as Robb and Sansa and Torrhen are. Just as much as any child that might come after them will be. Jon's lessons have covered the Targaryen Dynasty, he knows of Aegon IV and the devastation his legitimized bastards wrecked upon Westeros in their individual bids for power. Just because Meredith has never spoken ill of any illegitimate child in the presence of her children doesn't mean others haven't. It doesn't mean Jon won't understand what being an illegitimate child meant. Meredith clears her throat very softly before she begins plucking at all those carefully woven threads in her lie, weaving them in new ways and tying them tight so that they don't slip again. 

"You know how your father and I met, yes?" She asks and Jon frowns as he offers a slow nod. 

"Papa fought the Mad King." Jon offers softly and Meredith sighs. 

"Yes, your father was very brave for doing it... but your father and I hadn't known each other before our wedding day and it wasn't a union born or love, but necessity. We united our houses because it was required of us to survive the war and it was only a few nights later that he left for battle. It was a moon or so after that I realized I was with child, Robb, and I was so pleased... after the war ended Maester Luwin and I traveled North to Winterfell with your brother where we were to meet your father." Meredith pauses, hugs her son tighter, "And it was there that he introduced me to you." 

Cruel as it seems now, Meredith and Ned had kept the circumstances of Jon's birth very quiet during their recollections. Children tend not to listen to the how's and why's of childbirth or pregnancy, more often than not only wishing to hear that they were loved and cherished upon their arrival... which all over her children were... even if Meredith had been enraged with their father. Meredith has never once lied about the circumstances Jon came to her in, she'd just never been specific about them, and it shatters something in her chest as she watches something dawn in Jon's pale lavender eyes. 

"I'm not your son?" 

"You're not my blood," Meredith tells him, leaning forward to look him in the eye as he tries to duck away, "but you are my son. I have raised you, I have supported you, protected you, loved you just as sweetly as I have loved Robb, Sansa, and Torrhen... never think that just because you weren't born from my body doesn't mean I haven't claimed you as mine." 

"I'm a bastard." Jon breathes, sounding like he might cry. 

Meredith pulls him close, tucking his little head under her chin and closing her eyes as his body begins shuddering beneath her arms. His gasping breaths and the wetness that spreads along her collar make Meredith sick to her stomach... necessary evil, she tries to tell herself. This is all something they have to face now before they travel to Lannisport and some vicious cunt of a Lord or Lady tries driving a wedge into her house with malicious words and cutting remarks. This is cruel to Jon all the same, but at least here Meredith has the chance of salvaging her son's gentle heart. In Lannisport, she would be unable to do such a thing. Unable to mend whatever parts of her son another has sought to destroy. At least now he will go South with the knowledge that Meredith loves him, adores him, will fight for him if it comes down to it. This is their first battle, this is the first time he will ever truly see the lengths she's willing to go for him and understand the significance of her actions. 

"No. You are a legitimized son of House Stark," she pauses only for a moment before pushing Jon away so that she can look into his eyes once more. "You are my son. I have never once thought of you as anything else. Not when your father first brought you into my home, not when I had Sansa and Torrhen, not even now. You are - will always be - my son and I love you. The only reason I'm even telling you this is because you and I are going to a very dangerous place where people would use this knowledge to hurt us." 

"Why?" Jon asks, tears smearing across his cheeks and cutting glimmering trails to his chin. 

"Because they're cruel, hateful people." Meredith moves to wipe away the mess with her thumbs as she says, "Cry now. Rage. Be angry and be hurt but know that I will never forsake you. I will never turn my back on you no matter what path in life you decide to walk. I am your mother, despite what anyone else might claim, and you are loved." 

Jon sniffles. 

Meredith leans forward to kiss his temple. 

"The world is cruel, sweetling, and there's nothing I can do to shield you from it... but I want you to understand that nothing in this world will ever take away the fact that I've claimed myself your mother in the sight of the Old Gods. I've spilled my blood across the roots of the heart tree to lay permanent claim to you, to bind you to me as Robb is bound to me. I love you, from the day I met you until the Gods come to claim me. You are my son no matter what anyone else might claim." 

And there's a moment where Jon stares at her through watery eyes, face twisting, breath heaving, then he's throwing himself at her. Sobbing and raging, little fingers digging into her shoulders as he holds her. Meredith allows it. Takes the brunt of his rage with grim determination and weathers the storm she's created with gentle reassurances and soft promises. Pebbles dig into her knees. Jon's rough sobs cleave her heart in two.... but then the grip on her shoulders loosen and little arms wraps around her as Jon falls into the familiar comfort of her embrace. The two of them remain there, kneeling before the heart tree, until Jon's breathing has evened out and he pulls away on his own. Meredith reaches up to cup his face. Almost cries when he leans into the touch. Damage has been done, she knows, but it's not irreparable. It's the only comfort she allows herself as she rises and gathers Jon's quaking form into her arms once more. 

~(*)~

"You're going to catch your death out here." Ned claims, voice soft as he calls out to her. 

Meredith doesn't look away from the stars above her, feet submerged in the waters of the river, red mud staining the white cotton of her shift. It's been years since Meredith has swam in these waters, years since she's really been able to swim at all, and the comfort being here offers is lost beneath the overwhelming urge to cry. She'd come out here to be alone with her thoughts when the godswood had offered little peace and Jon's solemn little face had only added to the guilt coiling tight in her throat. Hours have passed. Clearly, Ned wouldn't have come otherwise. Had Damyn gone to him? Uncle Brynden? Which of the men who have come and gone to ensure her safety had finally had enough and sought out her husband? Meredith glances away from the sky and Ned settles into the wet grass beside her. 

"Do you think we did the right thing by not telling him?" Meredith asks and Ned sighs. 

"I don't know." He tells her. 

"I feel like I've done something horrible. I know I haven't... it's better that he heard it from one of us than from Tywin or Robert or someone else but I just feel like I've made a mess of everything." 

Ned's quiet for a moment. 

"Brynden told me your father spoke to you." 

"He did." 

"About Jon?" 

Meredith hums a response and turns back to the sky. 

"It wasn't his place." 

"No," Meredith agrees with no small amount of bitterness, "but I understand why he did it. My uncle claims there's been enough unrest with Robert not having an heir that someone might have been thinking of legitimizing one of his bastards." 

"We have no affect on Robert's actions. I've hardly ever had any influence over him." Ned speaks softly. 

"That doesn't change the fact that we'd be blamed for any shame he might bring Cersei if his council pushed him to stabilize his reign." 

"Is that what your father said to you?" There's an edge to Ned's voice that Meredith doesn't quite like. 

"He implied it." 

Beside her, Ned looses a harsh breath of air before gentle fingers reach out and begins tracing the planes of Meredith's face. She leans into the touch, chasing the warmth and familiarity of Ned's attempts at comfort. She shivers as his hand drops to her jaw, her neck, slipping beneath to cup the base of her skull. 

"We would have had to tell Jon eventually. We should have done it before... but it's done. We can't change the past and this was for the best." 

"How can you say that? You didn't see him." 

"You're his mother, Meredith, his pain is supposed to hurt you." Ned's thumb brushes along her neck seconds before he lifts up her head and settles it on his lap. "Jon is hurting and you blame yourself, but I'm the one at fault. I should have told him before this and I failed to do so. We're both responsible to Jon's pain but he's a strong lad, he'll be alright." 

He sounds almost hesitant. 

Meredith looks up at her husband's face and finds herself blinking back tears. 

"He deserves better than this." 

Better than a thoughtless father and a reckless mother. 

Better than a world that would rather see him dead for his heritage than happy. 

Better than the life of a bastard boy made legitimate. 

Meredith hates herself in some ways for the role she's played in her boy's pain. In the fracturing of his world view. Jon had been so excited to see Lannisport, to meet the King, and now all his memories of the South - and of Meredith, perhaps - will be tainted with the lie they'd been forced to cloak him in. While Meredith hadn't lied about him being her son, there's nothing she can do to stop whatever thoughts might be spinning through his little head at the moment. Does he hate her? Will he hate them? Will Jon come to despise his siblings, his parents, and the North? Meredith knows she's likely overthinking all this but it's a legitimate concern. None of her children have ever known true turmoil. They've only known the North and the loyalty of their father's people and the love of their parents... now Jon and the rest of her children are going to be exposed to the cruelty of the world outside Winterfell's walls and there's nothing she can do to stop it or lessen the impact it will have on them. 

"What Jon deserves are parents who are ready shoulder the burden that threatens him." Ned smiles sadly at her and Meredith tries to ignore the wet trail making its way into her hair. "Mourn for what he had, Meredith, we tried to keep him safe and in doing so we left him ill prepared to navigate what's to come." 

It's said gently. 

No accusation in her husband's tone and Meredith's thankful for it. She doesn't think she'd be able to handle Ned's anger in this moment... but her husband has never been one to jump to anger. Quiet Wolf. That's what so many have taken to calling him. Meredith closes her eyes and takes what comfort she can from the reassurance his presence offers. Ned's right, they failed Jon by not preparing him for this moment earlier, but that doesn't mean the two of them can't make up for that in the days to come. Lannisport is still several weeks away and Meredith will do everything in her power to ensure he's ready for what awaits them all in those cursed golden halls her sister now calls home. Nothing good happens when a Stark travels south. Perhaps there's some truth in it. Meredith takes a deep breath and pulls her feet from the water of the Red Fork. She will not allow anything bad to befall her children. Blood or no, Meredith has claimed several children for her own and she'll be damned if anyone attempts to speak ill of any of her children in the days to come. 

Chapter Text

Torrhen is staring at her through wet-stone eyes, little face impassive as he observes them. Seated between Robb and Sansa, her youngest son looks so very much like his father. More so than Jon - who admittedly takes after his own father more than Ned and she are comfortable with - and it's odd to see such an adult expression on her boy's little face. Meredith tries not to be bothered by the disinterest there, the lack of surprise, as though he had been expecting her and Ned to gather him and his siblings in the private solar of Meredith's old chambers and inform them of Jon's parentage... the parentage he's safe knowing anyway. The lie. Ned and Meredith have remained firm in their decision to insist that Jon is Ned's son by blood, that her husband had been unfaithful during the early moons of their marriage and had thus fathered a child on some unsuspecting woman during their campaign South to meet Rhaegar Targaryen and reclaim Lyanna Stark. It's believable, anyway. No one would think to question other than to wonder at what type of woman would make the honorable Ned Stark betray his duty. Meredith knows that when they reach Lannisport there will be some who might bring up Ashara Dayne. She'd supposedly been Ned's first love. The only woman he had ever truly desired and had been unable to obtain due to his status as a second son set to inherit nothing unless his brother died without an heir. Meredith is willing to endure the barbed comments and snide remarks revolving around the doomed love affair even if the idea of it makes her a bit ill to her stomach. 

While Meredith doesn't quite like the idea of painting Ned out to be the villain in this particular tale, she understands the importance of it. So long as all of their children believe that Jon is Ned's son then none of them will run the risk of accidentally informing some Lord or another of the truth. It's a cruel thing to do... but Jon will likely never know who truly contributed to his being brought into this world. Rhaegar is remembered as a cruel man who had stolen a girl from her tent in the dead of night at a tourney - meant to celebrate Lord Walter Whent's maiden daughter's name day - and spirited away with her. He'd left his true wife and their children to suffer at the hands of the Mad King when the realm had been plunged into war. What child wishes to have such a shadow upon his name? Then there's the matter of Lyanna, a girl remembered in a kinder light but even she has vicious rumors surrounding her. Meredith would gladly never speak of them again if she could help it. Unfortunately, she cannot as Robert Baratheon is very likely to bring up both Rhaegar and Lyanna at some point or another during the tourney to celebrate his child. 

It's better this way. 

Safer that Jon think himself a bastard born boy who had been lucky enough to be born to a man whose wife was willing to love him. Cruel s it may seem and unkind as it sounds, Meredith would rather Jon live with that insecurity than one revolving around his tie to Rhaegar, Lyanna, and a dynasty that had been failing for years before the tragedy of Summerhall. All that being said, Meredith doesn't know what to think of the little eyes watching her from between Robb and Sansa, both of whom look upon her and Ned with an expectancy that seems almost accusatory. Jon is with Meredith's uncle, enjoying some of his favorite pursuits and remaining busy as his parents inform his siblings of the lie they've worked so desperately to protect. She would rather take this scrutiny, though, than their disappointment or horror should they ever learn the truth.

"Where's Jon?" Sansa asks, blue eyes big and bright. 

Meredith clears her throat, fingers curled around one another in her lap, the grey cotton of her simple gown soft beneath her trembling hands. 

"There's something very important we need to discuss regarding your brother." Ned informs them curtly from where he's sitting at her side.

All three of her children turn their attention to their father, an air of uncertainty thickening in the room. Theon leans back in his own chair, body tilting toward Beric who glances briefly at Asha before turning his attention to Meredith and Ned. It had been safe to assume Theon and Asha were made well aware of Jon's status as a base-born child before the possibility of them passing into Stark care was a possibility in their mind, Beric as well, due simply to the fact that it was highly unlikely their parents had been quiet about the news. The fact that they hadn't said anything at all to Jon or the others is either a testament to either their desire not to make their Lord and Lady mad or their understanding of the place Jon has among the family itself. Still, Meredith had thought it best to include their wards in this discussion. 

"Is he unwell?" Sansa asks, little face scrunching up with concern. 

"No sweetling," Meredith's attempts to sooth her daughter, "Jon is perfectly fine." 

"What we wish to discuss with you regards Jon's parentage and what scrutiny we will face when we arrive in Lannisport." Ned interjects quickly. 

This causes Theon to lean forward, shift in his chair until he's sitting up properly. Even Beric shows a newfound interest in their conversation as he stops picking at a loose thread on his doublet in favor of staring intently at Ned. The only one of the three who seems truly disinterested is Asha and Meredith isn't sure if that's a good thing or not. She suspects it can't be a bad thing. Asha's always been a quiet girl. Bit more reserved than her brother and Beric, far less interested in the juicier gossip that tends to be brought up among the older children. Despite that, however, she does turn her eyes to Meredith and keeps them locked upon her face as Ned continues to speak. 

"Jon is my son," Ned says it bluntly, calmly, without so much as a flinch or hesitation, "but he is not your Lady mother's. I was unfaithful to my wife during our campaign against Rhaegar Targaryen and his men and as a result a child was begot upon a common woman we met during our travels." 

Beric, Theon, and Asha look bored. None of them particularly shocked by the turn of events and certainly not bothered by them. Why would they be bothered by the scandals of people who aren't related to them? Eddard Stark's actions - and Meredith's decision to defend and accept them - do not affect Theon or Ashara in any personal way. Beric, perhaps, he is of a lesser Northern House after all... but even still, his house is relatively safe from any fall out that might befall the Starks so long as it doesn't lay the ancient house to ruin. The three of them are - for all intents and purposes - untouchable. Robb, Sansa, and Torrhen, however, are not. And each of their little faces is screwed up with something like hurt and disbelief. 

Sansa and Torrhen are too young to really understand what unfaithful means, or to understand the implications of what Ned's supposed betrayal meant for tensions between their houses, but Robb understands. He's old enough now to learn about the Blackfyre rebellions, about the bastards Aegon the Unworthy loosed upon the realm when he'd died. Meredith watches her eldest closely. Observes the moment he comes to understand what his father is saying with a sort of detachment that rivals Torrhen's when she and Ned first summoned them to the solar. Her eldest's face twists, jaw going tight and taught as he glowers at his father. Sansa is quick to follow his example; crossing her arms over her chest and screwing up her face while Torrhen merely sits beside her and stares. 

"Sweetlings," Meredith is quick to interject before any of the children can lash out at their father, "Jon is your brother, he's my son, I love him no less than I love any of you. If it were up to me, your father and I would have never brought up his parentage to you but the father south we travel, the less common Jon's status becomes and the more likely we are to face judgement." 

"What do you mean?" Robb demands. 

"She means bastards aren't typically made into little Lords." Theon interjects, which earns him a sharp look from Asha. 

Meredith purses her lips. 

She knows the Ironborn are more crass with their ways and their language. Salt wives and rock wives and thralls stolen off of beaches and out of their homes. Meredith hopes that with both children growing up under Stark tutelage that they will grow a bit softer. No one wants to see the Iron Islands fall into the hands of a Lord like Euron or even Victarion. Despite everything that has happened between them it's unlikely Robert will allow anyone to take up Lordship of the Ironborn aside from Theon Greyjoy. The boy's a bit more crass than his sister... but Meredith only suspects that's due to the fact that Asha is quiet. A silent storm brewing on the far horizon. One second so far away one wouldn't consider it a threat and the next bringing down a flurry of winds and rain and rage that would make lesser men tremble. Theon has had his mouth to defend him, using it against men bigger and stronger and meaner than himself, while Asha has refined her mind and keen observation into something dangerous. Meredith hates to think it... but she's glad that the children are being raised at Winterfell and not Pyke. 

"In the South," Ned begins in an obvious attempt to redirect, "children born outside of a marriage are not raised up to the same status of their true-born siblings. Had I taken any other woman to wife, it's likely Jon would have been one such child." 

"But Jon's our brother." Sansa tells them incensed. 

"He is," Meredith agrees, "which is why I spoke to the King on his behalf. This doesn't change the fact that Jon is a rarity. Many base-born children are not warmly met in their father or mother's household and this stems mainly from issues with inheritance. Robb, you, will be Lord of Winterfell and Jon will marry Wynafryd Manderly when the time comes and that will settle any issues of inheritance." 

It won't. 

Not truly. 

Should Robb die young - Gods forbid - it would be Jon that many would expect to see take his brother's place as heir simply because he has been legitimized. Ned could, of course, change that and declare Torrhen or even Sansa his heir given the circumstances and the tensions rising between House Stark and Hoster Tully... but for the most part the issue of inheritance is relatively secure. Robb is a healthy boy, strong, he rarely takes ill and when he does Luwin has had no issue seeing him through it. Robb will be Lord Stark after his father and Jon will, like his siblings, go off to foster stronger relations between House Stark and the North. So long as Robb remains health there won't be any issues with inheritance... but that won't stop Lords and Ladies of the South from attacking Meredith and her family. 

Attacks against herself and Ned? She can handle those. 

Attacks against her children? Asha and Theon and Beric included? 

Meredith breathes in deeply through her nose and soothes her troubled thoughts of irritation that begins to brew. 

"When we arrive at Lannisport all of you," a pointed look from Ned to each child sitting at the table, "will be under intense scrutiny for various reasons, many of which will likely have to do with your parents and your ties to House Stark. A strong House is a House united. Starks stand with their own, the pack survives, the lone wolf dies. Meredith and I will shield you to the best of our abilities, we will take the brunt of any slight and any mean-spirited comment, and you will do the same for one another." 

The children stare at him, a sea of solemn eyes in distressed faces. Even Torrhen's indifference has faded away. It makes them all look younger than they are. Reminds Meredith that these are children growing up in the uncertain times of a realm healing from war. Meredith and Ned had been afforded the luxury of being able to grow up relatively unaware of the judgement being passed against them. As the middle child of Hoster Tully, the expectations placed upon Meredith had been less - only slightly - than those placed upon Catelyn. For it was Catelyn who was meant to wed for the political, upward movement of their House. Meredith and Lysa were, of course, expected to marry well. Their father would never have allowed them to marry below their station... but they'd been allowed the opportunity to marry for love. Or they would have been had Rhaegar not stolen away in the night with Lyanna Stark and plunged the realm into chaos. As it stands, the children sitting before her at the table will not be allowed the same luxury. 

Each will marry for the benefit of their house and the Realm as a whole. 

Robb will marry to strengthen ties among the Northern Lords as Jon and Torrhen will. It's Meredith's goal to see Sansa in a Southern House where her not-quite-Northern sensibilities will be handled appropriately and put to good use, but at the end of it all Sansa will be marrying for the same reasons Catelyn had been expected to wed. Theon will marry a Lady with strong ties to either the Crown or the North depending on how clear his loyalties are, and Asha will likely be wed to someone close to Robert or Ned specifically... Beric will be married to a girl in the North, likely a Mormont or a Whiteharbor, someone who will be unwaveringly loyal to the Starks to ensure his mother's vitriol doesn't spread to him. Each child at this table will be used to reforge the realm. An attempt at making it whole by the men - and women - who lead to its initial destruction. Meredith feels for them, truly, and Meredith hopes that when the time comes, she has enough input to ensure each child is happily wed. If nothing else she will see them married to someone of a kindly nature. If only to spare them the pain of a violent marriage. 

"As we travel to Lannisport remember that you are loved and cherished, each of you has a place within this family and no one will change that but they will attempt to hurt you." Meredith tells them, because it's true. 

The Ironborn are not loved by the Lords and Ladies of Westeros. 

Wards are typically taken to ensure stronger ties from one House to another. 

Robb, Sansa, and Torrhen are being raised up with a boy who used to be a bastard. 

The world is cruel... Meredith just hopes her children will be able to weather it with their kindness intact. 

~(*)~

"He's a sweet boy," Amara tells her as she lays out hair combs for the evening feast. 

Lara and Niamh would typically attend her thus, but Meredith has sent both to attend to Sansa and Asha separately while she takes the opportunity to speak privately with Amara. There hasn't been much time to truly converse with the older woman - who, save for some more greying hairs and a few added lines, looks just as Meredith remembers her - before now what with Lara and Niamh's presence in her chambers, the hostility between Meredith and her father, and the revelation of Jon's parentage. But this will be their last feast in Riverrun before the Stark party, Edmure, and the Blackfish and his men continue South to celebrate the realm's next King. 

"He is," Meredith smiles as she settles down before the polished glass she and Amara have worked in front of a hundred times before, "they all are." 

"Yes, such precious things, children." 

The woman's hands are gentle as she takes Meredith's hair in her grasp and begins untangling the mess of fiery curls with a wooden comb. Meredith takes a deep breath and glances toward the door. It's been bolted. No one will be entering from the outside and Meredith doubts anyone will try to listen... but Amara has a large family, members of it spread out across the whole of Westeros, and while Meredith hardly considers her a spy Amara knows more about the happenings of Westeros than most of the people Meredith speaks with. This is just as much a social visit as it is otherwise. 

"Catelyn has been blessed with a daughter. I believe they've named her Joanna." Meredith remarks softly. 

"Aye, the only one of your sisters to be blessed." 

"Perhaps Lysa will quicken soon." Meredith mutters it half-heartedly, "So many children are being born recently." 

Amara scoffs and says, "Your sister won't be having any babes any time soon, girl. Don't go filling your head with such nonsense." 

The comb is set aside so that Amara can begins sectioning off Meredith's hair for various plaits. It's expected of her and the children to dress well as many of her father's men will be in attendance tonight as well as a handful of lesser Lords who have conveniently found themselves with business at Riverrun. 

"At least the Queen is with child." Meredith utters, glancing once more through the polished glass toward the door, half-expecting to see a shadow stretching across the floor from beneath the wood. 

"I hear it's her fourth." 

"What?" Meredith snaps her gaze to the other woman's reflection. 

Amara looks up from her work only long enough to meet Meredith's eye before she begins explaining that, "Have I ever told you that my cousin works in the Red Keep. Wretched woman, never could stand her, but she's a good source of information and apparently the Queen has had three particularly irregular cycles that have left her bed linens quite bloody." 

"Miscarriages? Why has no one spoken of it before now?" 

Such things are rarely kept secret. Especially when it's a Queen who has had to suffer the unfortunate nature of such a thing. There is no true privacy for Ladies. Not even those who deserve it most or demand it of the Gods. The King needs and heir - a child of his own, not his rigid, unwavering brother - which the Queen has been unable to provide. A miscarriage would be publicly known and no matter how turbulent the union may be no Queen would be fool enough to drink moontea. Not before an heir and a spare has been born. 

"Perhaps. No way of really knowing, I suppose." 

"But your cousin thinks that the Queen's been with child before now?" Meredith demands, confused more than anything. 

"The Queen is supposedly very diligent with tracking her moon cycles, if only to keep from ruining any of her more extravagant gowns." 

"You trust your cousin's judgement?" 

"She's an old bat," Amara bites out as she weaves a silver ribbon through Meredith's hair, "but she wouldn't risk the sword over something like this." 

Meredith frowns as she drops her gaze to the jewelry spread out over the vanity before her. 

Four pregnancies. 

Cersei Lannister has been pregnant - supposedly - three times before now and yet this is the child they learn about? This is the child the realm is allowed to celebrate? Meredith doubts the Queen would jeopardize her position by purging an heir from her womb but it's suspicious that the realm hasn't heard about any miscarriages... or perhaps it isn't... Meredith suspects that either the King and his Hand are being very careful about rumors spreading regarding the Queen in their attempt to keep Tywin Lannister from reacting harshly. His son has two children, two heirs for the Rock, and while the Westerlands are politically strong and important to the Realm, Jaime and Catelyn producing children isn't nearly as important as Cersei being able to bring a healthy one into the world. Cersei is failing at her duties... perhaps through no true fault of her own. The will of the Gods is cruel, after all, and how is Meredith supposed to trust the word of some cousin Amara isn't friendly with? 

These rumors are treason. 

Tywin would absolutely wage war against anyone who spoke them. 

If Robert were to learn about the loss of Cersei pregnancies would he stay, though? Would he set her aside for a new bride? Would he keep Stannis as his heir? It's unlikely he would actually take a new bride as Cersei's father would react with extreme violence and the realm would plunge one more into war... but what will he do? Clearly there's something different about this pregnancy if the realm is learning of it. But why not the others? Meredith frowns. 

Rhaella Targaryen lost so many children. 

The realm had held its breath for a very different reason whenever they learned that she'd quickened with child but there had only been a handful that Meredith can think of who had been viciously cruel. All of them had been members of Aerys' small council. Rhaegar had been born and the realm rejoiced. They had their Heir. Their next King. When Viserys came it had been a quiet relief... but no one had reacted with riots in the streets when they learned of stillborn babes or bloodied sheets three moons in. 

Why now? 

Why this child? 

Why not the ones before? 

None of it makes sense to Meredith and as Amara finishes weaving the ribbon through her hair Meredith wonders what all of it means for the upcoming tourney. She suspects nothing truly awful will come of it all. Cersei Lannister is a proud woman. They've only met once or twice before at various gatherings, but Meredith remembers her sneering well enough. Why would the Queen of Westeros want anyone learning she had been unable to do the one thing she'd been given a crown for? Cruel thing though it may be to say, it isn't untrue. Lyanna Stark had died and Robert had been unable to wed her, with few women of High enough birth available to wed it had been Cersei Lannister who was given the crown with the understanding that she would give Robert Baratheon heirs. Until now, Cersei has been unable to do that and perhaps it has to do with the will of the Gods... they're cruel. They are Gods because they're cruel. Meredith frowns as Amara's hands drop to her shoulders and squeeze, something unsettling coiling tight in her chest at the action. 

~(*)~

That night, after the feast has ended and the children have been put to bed, Meredith finds herself splayed out on the table in her solar, skirts rucked up around her hips while Ned settles between her spread thighs and feats upon her with more enthusiasm than he had the delicacies spread out across her father's table. His fingers hold her tight enough to bruise, his teeth scrape against the over sensitive, swollen flesh of her cunt, and while it's not the gentlest way they've fucked, Ned ensures she finds her pleasure. Drags it from her body with a skill born of familiarity. Meredith comes very close to falling apart on Ned's fingers and tongue, acts convincingly enough that after two - admittedly performative - climaxes Ned pulls away from her, the scrape of his beard almost painful against her inner thigh and rises up to fumble with his belt. All the while whispering sweet praises against her neck and jaw. 

Meredith has yet to tell him about what she learned from Amara. 

At this rate she might never. 

Treason is something they're familiar with but before now they had the advantage of being protected by the chaos of war and old friendship. What would happen if her husband went to Robert Baratheon with nothing more than a wife's suspicion? He wouldn't. Meredith knows Ned wouldn't be that foolish... but the fear is there all the same. They have children after all. Babes. Little lives dependent on their care that she and Ned are bringing into the lion's den. Meredith moans and raises her legs to wrap around Ned's hips as he enters her. Ned ruts against her, whispers how pretty she is, how wonderful, how much he loves her and while Meredith wishes she could enjoy this moment with him... she can't quite stop her mind from running away from her. 

Cersei. Tywin. Robert and the Hand. 

Would Stannis make a good King should anything happen to Robert? He's young, yes, but he'd managed to survive a siege and he's supposedly incredibly just. What would a King like that mean for the realm? Meredith's acting as though Cersei is going to lose this child as well and it's foolish of her. Asinine. Nothing will happen. The Gods work in mysterious ways and who is she to question their will? Still... she doesn't have the best feeling about this. Even before they'd left Winterfell Meredith had been uncertain. Six years and no heir? The miscarriages explain that, Meredith supposes, but why wouldn't they tell the realm? Why wouldn't Robert put a stop to the nastier rumors that have likely risen up as a result of Cersei's lack of living heir? 

Ned moans something into her ear and Meredith squeezes hard around his cock and moans softly as he spills inside of her. 

She feels dirty. 

Not so much for the act of having sex with her husband. She enjoys that fairly often, in fact, but because Ned clearly doesn't realize anything is wrong - why would he when Meredith has gone to almost painstaking lengths to ensure he doesn't realize anything is amiss? - and Meredith wants to be able to enjoy this quiet moment with him before they head South and have to scramble to find the time but... she can't. Something is eating away at her and Meredith knows it has everything to do with Cersei's pregnancy, but the Lady of Winterfell can't quite place why or where or what might be the cause. So, here she is, laying beneath Ned on a table she used to break her fasts at, panting and playing the part of a paid-to-be-pleased whore. Meredith tries to refocus her thoughts as Ned kisses her. 

"I love you." He tells her softly and Meredith reaches up to tuck loose hair behind his ear. 

"I love you as well." She admits softly, feeling a little less dirty about her lie because this, at least, is true. 

And Ned's smile is so soft and so very tender as he kisses her one last time before he picks her up off of the table and carries her to bed. 

He's careful as he removes her surcoat and under dress, careful as he unlaces her stays, careful as he sets them aside and tucks her beneath soft coverlets before crawling in beside her and taking her into his arms. Ned has no idea what they're walking into. Meredith has no idea what they're walking into. And it could be nothing. This could all be blown very much out of proportion because Meredith is anxious over the state of the realm and the mindset of the people she will be introducing her children to but... when has Amara been wrong? It was Amara who told her Ned Stark would be unable to lie. Amara who told her to seek her own pleasure. Amara who guided Meredith through life when her own mother had been unable to. Why would Amara lie? What would she have to gain? The simple answer is nothing. Amara has nothing to gain from such a lie and that is what truly frightens Meredith.