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Sean Bean Saves Westeros - Book 1: Sean Lends a Hand by High Plains Drifter
 A song of Ice and Fire & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Eddard S., Words: 109k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 737, Published: Jul 22, 2014 Updated: Feb 1, 2015  423Chapter 3 - Catelyn (I)
Catelyn (I)
She tingled. That was the first thing Cat noticed when she awoke. Every pore in her body screamed with life and renewed vigor. She slowly turned her head to look at the still sleeping man beside her, the font for the hope and joy beating again within her heart after the long cold winter of her despair. She listened to his soft snores and watched the slow rise and fall of the thick warm pelts under which he snuggled, as if this autumn had learned how to put a chill in a Stark. He was and he wasn't the stranger she'd married seventeen years earlier; of this paradox she was certain. Her husband had always had two dominant sides: the Lord of Winterfell and simply Ned. Both were unfailing polite, honorable, and dutiful, but two vastly different personalities presented in public and in private. And despite a long and happy marriage, there were places within 'simply Ned' she'd never understood; places she'd long ago forced herself to accept that he would never share, whether it was because he was a man, a northerner, or a Stark. Yet since his return, she'd discovered her old knowledge of his ways did not fully match with the new man. There was less of a wall between his two natural halves, but within each one, new barriers had arisen.
Ned rolled over to rest against her, to touch her warmth; a smile caressing away the tight look he kept on his face even in sleep. She took pleasure in the heat he brought to her and remembered the heat he brought to her loins last night. To her delight, contrary to the rumors a young lady might hear whispered about by sour old wives and frumpy spinsters, she'd found bedding with her husband enjoyable and not a task to be dreaded. Certainly the consummation of their marriage had been about the conclusion of an alliance and not at all about love; but over time love had grown and with it their shared physical passion. She felt herself moistening as her body relived many of their torrid couplings over the past five weeks. That too was different, much different than before; he craved her with a desperation she'd never seen. And the things he now did with his fingers and tongue ... "oh," Cat gasped as she reached a hand down between her thighs to rub that spot.
Ned stirred at the slight movement and she stopped her furtive self-exploration. After the first few mind numbing explosions in the early days of their reunion, when her thoughts cooled in the light of day, paranoia had swept her. 'Where had Ned learned these tricks?' 'What whores had Robert sent to his friend's bed in King's Landing?' 'Does he think me so stupid I won't wonder?' With the difficulties of re-organizing the battered Northern host, gathering supplies, preparing for the arrival of Robb and Edmure's army, and planning the march to free Sansa, she'd bit her tongue; held on to her rampaging jealousy as long as she could bear ... until she couldn't any longer.
"Stop."
"Hunh?" Ned asked, looking up from where his face hovered over her belly, approaching her downy mons.
"Stop Ned!" Cat said urgently.
Ned blinked in surprise, a tinge of frustration clouding his brow and eyes. He sat up, resting on his knees and shins, throbbing cockstand bobbing in the air. "I've stopped, Cat," he said calmly. "What's wrong?"
Her face burned with shame and outrage. "Where did you learn that?" she demanded.
His eyebrows rose. "You don't like it?" he asked in amazement.
"Neeeeed," Cat complained.
"What?" he responded, exasperation and confusion showing.
"You never did 'that' before," she hissed. "Where did you learn 'that'?!" Cat insisted.
A sheepish grin spread across his face, which he tried to hide by rubbing a too soft for Ned hand across his chin. "I told you, Cat, I'm not the same man I was. The Old Gods …"
"Enough of your Old Gods, Ned. Who was she!? What whore did you sneak past Arya and Sansa to fuck when you took a break from being Robert's Hand!?"
The grin was no longer on his face, replaced with a stunned glare. "I swear to you Cat, you're the only one in all of Westeros that I've bedded," he said solemnly.
"Liar," she snapped. "Who bore Jon Snow then?"
Something different rolled across her husband's face. For a moment, Cat thought she would at last have that particular truth out of him. Instead, the icy Stark wall fell into place; he stood up and walked out of their bedroom in Darry Castle. Some things about new Ned were not any different than those of old Ned. She didn't see him again until breakfast, where they'd then put on a pleasant enough charade for the lordlings sharing their table. It had been their first fight since … since she couldn't remember when.
Some things about new Ned were not any different than those of old Ned. She knew him too well to believe he would lie to her face, 'the only one in all of Westeros.' A surprisingly un-Ned like word play that, so the woman was either dead or living in Essos. His other statement that night had turned out to be true too, for in ways both small and large he really was 'not the same man.' The half a hundred small scars and nicks picked up over a lifetime of blade work, both at practice and at war, were gone from his body, replaced by two large oddly shaped ones, almost burns, on his shoulder and upper arm. His hands were no longer thickly callused from the daily gripping of Ice and a shield. More grey coarsened through his chest hair and lower down as well. He lacked the physical strength he once did; a long day's ride in full armor leaving him far more tired than it once would have. He moved slower … different, without the swordsman's natural rhythm to his gait.
'I'll need your strength beside me, Cat; and your knowledge and wisdom too,' he'd told her that day of their reunion beside the Trident.
That had been very different too. The old Ned would never have told her that. When things were hard, he seldom confided in her; not in any meaningful way. He'd just seek solace in the godswood, looking for answers and strength from those nameless things of wind, earth, and tree. No doubt her husband had come to depend on her management of the household and respected her counsel when she gave it, whether asked or unasked for. What he needed of her was something entirely new, exhilarating and scary; an equal. If the Old Gods really had put his dismembered body back together, they'd done an altogether odd job of it.
It had not been a long walk from the banks of the river to large tent over which a giant direwolf banner swung in the breeze. Ned shamelessly held her hand the entire time, briefly relaying to her his tale of waking up in White Harbor, riding like a madman to the Twins, renegotiating her bargain with the Freys, cleverly stealing a march around the Lannisters, and in the end bearding the Old Lion along the Green Fork. So many brutal deaths on both sides, it almost made Robb's victories in the Whispering Wood and outside Riverrun seem child's play by comparison.
"Greetings, Lady Stark," a soft voice called, barely penetrating the haze of joy surrounding her, to be in the presence again of her beloved Ned; alive and whole.
"A pleasure, my lady," another voice called. "I pray my brother Wendel helped keep you and your son safe?"
"Is it true, Lady Catelyn?" a third person asked with evident despair. "Did Lord Eddard's visions happen? Is my dear boy Daryn dead at the hands of the Kingslayer."
Cat quickly remembered who she was, the Lady of Winterfell. First she stepped through the open tent flap and approached where Lord Hornwood stood. She took his large hands in her small ones, sympathy written plain on her face. "Your brave son stood between mine and that Lannister. He died doing his duty, my lord."
Tears welled up at the corners of Halys Hornwood's big brown eyes. "I thank you for your kind words, my lady," he choked out.
"Young Daryn could do no less than his duty for his house, for his liege," Ser Wylis rumbled to his cousin's husband.
"And Torrhen and Eddard Karstark?" Roose Bolton posed quietly, ignoring Lord Hornwood's grief.
Catelyn nodded painfully. "Both fell, my lord, defending Robb," she answered, tears now seeping from her own eyes. So many young men, so very full of life, now lay dead and for what? To avenge the crimes of one wretched family? The price was high, too high. She wanted no more death; only to retrieve her daughters and flee with her family back to Winterfell. But she was not so blind or foolish as to think that would not require more blood to accomplish. How many more sons would need to die and wives made widows? But it was not pain or loss or even anger she saw reflected in the Lord of the Dreadfort's milk white eyes at her confirmation of the further deaths amongst Robb's companions, but a sense of satisfaction at the news.
"Halys," Ned whispered. "Go back to your tent. Rest. Raise a toast in memory of Daryn. When you feel you can, write a letter to your lady wife. A raven will be saved to carry your words to Donella."
Lord Hornwood straightened his slumped shoulders and forgot the wetness on his cheeks. "No finer lord or lady in all the realm," he stated, and then marched proudly out of the tent.
"Lord Bolton, Ser Wylis, if you would attend to your other duties, Lady Stark must also write a letter and send a raven, this one to Riverrun. We must combine our armies and make all speed for King's Landing before the boy Joffrey Waters and his Lannister mother can further destroy the Seven Kingdoms."
The two men, one slight, clean shaven, and pale, the other plump, whiskered, and florid, promptly bowed and departed.
"Joffrey Waters?" Catelyn said with a sly grin. "So that's how you intend to justify backing Stannis Baratheon over Robert's child, by claiming Cersei took a lover. And I thought the Lord Eddard Stark too honorable to stoop to sordid tricks," she teased. "Well with their armies broken, I doubt they'll be able to dispute your claim for long."
"Sordid, but true, Cat."
"What?"
"I confronted Cersei when Robert was on a hunt. Told her I knew the truth; begged her to flee to Essos with the children, for I knew the justice Robert would visit on them when I told him the truth. But then Robert mysteriously died and I was arrested. She knew I'd never agree to her bastard son sitting the Iron Throne."
"And then she killed you?"
Ned shook his head no. "That was the little bastard's doing. I doubt he even knows who his real father is. Bran learned, and they pushed him out the old tower for it."
"Cersei?" Catelyn gasped in pain.
"And Jaime, the Kingslayer's her lover."
The world darkened, Ned caught her before she fell and set her on a stool where he could kneel next to her. "And the assassin? They sent him too?" she rasped.
Again Ned shook his head no. "Joffrey," he said with visible disgust.
"But why? You said he doesn't know," she breathlessly complained.
"The boy's as mad as Aerys. He said he'd give me mercy and then cut off my head. In his deluded mind he probably thought he was being merciful to Bran."
Rage replaced the disbelief. Monsters. Her hands clenched into fists. She felt the deep scars crossing her palms. The Lannisters, they were all monsters. No, she couldn't think that. She refused to turn herself into what she hated. She searched for something, anything, to pull herself back from the abyss, keep her heart from turning to stone. "Tell me about Bran and Rickon, what have your Old Gods shown you, Ned?"
Her husband looked pensive a moment before smiling. "They're fine. Rickon misses you and Robb terribly; sometimes he acts up. He spends a lot of his time with Shaggydog. And Bran … Bran is doing very well as the Stark in Winterfell; both Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick are quite proud of him. He's learned to ride again … wait … Robb must have told you that. He goes everywhere with Hodor and Summer too, of course." Ned's eyes flickered. "Oh, and Howland Reed's children will come to Winterfell during the Harvest Feast; Meera and Jojen will become great friends with him. He's growing into an exceptionally brave and smart young man. He may prove the greatest Stark since … since Bran the Builder."
Sobs began to wrack Catelyn's body. She'd been strong for Robb, giving him her guidance. She'd kept her hope strong that she might once again see husband and her darling daughters. Then the news of Ned's death had hurt her terribly, shattered her hopes, but she'd kept strong for her children, burying her fears and doubts deep, deep inside. Her pack, that silly Stark superstition, was scattered across Westeros. All she wanted was for her pack to be whole again, home, in Winterfell. And now Ned was alive. Her hopes were reborn. But what if Arya couldn't be found? What if that bastard Joffrey showed Sansa his 'mercy'? It was all too much. She couldn't survive having her hopes destroyed again. She couldn't keep it inside any longer.
As Cat wept, Ned held her. Ned held her a very long time.
"I must look a fright," she finally muttered.
"You've never been more beautiful," he whispered back.
She smiled into the crook of his neck. "I think I have a letter to write."
"If you've the strength," Ned answered.
Her smile widened. She felt safe at last huddled in his arms. "I do."
Ned let go of her and raised his hands to gently clasp the sides of her face. His oddly green flecked grey eyes stared deeply into her blue ones. "I'll need your strength beside me, Cat; and your knowledge and wisdom too," he said solemnly.
She crinkled her face. Butterflies flitted about in her belly. The safe haven of her husband's presence suddenly seemed less secure. "Ned?" she said with worry.
"There was a price the Old Gods took when they gave me the gifts of life and foresight," he whispered seriously.
"What?" she warbled, feeling her heart beat nervously.
"There are things, many things, I no longer remember, Cat: Names, faces, places; even things I've done or said. Much of my life now rests like a faded picture in the back of my mind, giving me only clues about my past. There are things the Lord of Winterfell should know, and I see the surprise in my banners' eyes when I don't remember them. They try to hide it; and, they make allowances for a man returned from the dead. But I would not have them lose respect for me or our House. Can you stay by my side, Cat? Always? And keep me from faltering?" Ned pleaded.
"Oh Ned!" she cried and threw herself into his arms, plastering him with kisses. Soon his lips met hers, and he held her again, but this time she returned his embrace with a passion. The letter to Riverrun would not be written for a while longer.
'An altogether odd job of it indeed, but not one without benefits,' Cat thought, staring down at her new Ned. She'd thought on more than one occasion in the last month that perhaps the Old Gods had infused some of poor Brandon's spirit into the remaking of her husband. There was less ice and a bit more fire in his soul, even if he did just express it when angry or between the sleeping blankets. A part of her missed how he was no longer so quietly patient, but she reveled in the new heat he brought to their beddings. At times she guiltily wondered if would have experienced this level of pleasure all along if Brandon had lived to wed her.
Outside the tent the first stirrings of the camp roused her from her shameful musings. Anticipation started to course through her; today she would again glimpse King's Landing, where her child waited as a hostage. This time she boldly came with the might of the Riverlands and the North at her back, not skulking like a spy in the night. And were the Seven merciful as she prayed and Sansa delivered to them, then, then they could return home.
For the moment she forced her hopes and dreams back into that guarded place. Ned needed her. She must prepare herself. Today they would ride under the Flayed Man with Roose Bolton. Not her favorite among Ned's banners, but a coldly practical and clever lord. Certainly clever enough to have long since noted new Ned's not well enough concealed distaste for the pale man. When she'd privately queried her husband as to the reason for the distance he now kept from the powerful Lord of Dreadfort, that icy shield fell into place and he'd stubbornly refused to discuss it. Some things even the Old Gods couldn't change about a man.
"Milord?" the teenage voice of Ned's Manderly squire squeaked from behind the partition.
Cat leaned over. "Time to wake up, Ned," she whispered into her husband's ear.
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