White Wolf and Blood Queen - 38: The Letters She Hid (Patreon)

[POV: Eddard Stark]

The shouting began in the yard, loud enough to reach Ned through the thick stone of his solar, though at first he did not look up. Winterfell was rarely silent. Men called across the yard, steel rang from the training ground, and stableboys shouted at horses and one another with equal enthusiasm. Arya had once made enough noise falling from a wall to convince half the castle that someone had been murdered. It was the pounding upon his door that made him rise.

"My lord!"

Ned was already standing when Jory pushed through without waiting for permission, and that alone told him enough to make his stomach tighten.

"The children are back."

Relief lasted less than a heartbeat before Jory's face killed it.

"What happened?"

"They've brought a man."

"What man?"

"I don't know." Jory swallowed. "There is blood."

The solar disappeared behind Ned.

By the time he reached the outer yard, half of Winterfell seemed to have gathered there. Men-at-arms and stablehands pressed in beside servants, with a pair of cooks who had no business being outside their kitchens craning for a better look. Ser Rodrik was already forcing his way through the crowd. Robb stood at its edge with Arya beside him, Sansa remained near the steps beneath Septa Mordane's hand, and Bran was trying unsuccessfully to see around a guard twice his width.

Ned barely noticed any of them. He saw Jon.

His son. No. His nephew. Aenar. Jon. Both names struck him at once now, never quite replacing one another, as the boy walked through Winterfell's gate beneath the weight of a grown man slung across his shoulders. The prisoner's wrists were tied behind his back and his ankles bound, his face swollen badly enough that Ned could not tell whether he was conscious. Jon's steps had begun to slow. He had carried the man a long way.

Lyarra walked beside him. Visenya. Her dark hair was tangled, her cloak torn across one shoulder, dried blood darkening the front of her clothes. Rhea kept pace on Jon's other side with more blood across her hands, cheek, and sleeve. For one horrible instant Ned stopped breathing and saw only Lyanna, blood upon white sheets, two children who should never have survived the day they were born, and a promise he had carried ever since.

Then Jon saw him.

"Father."

Ned crossed the remaining distance.

"What happened?"

Jon lowered the prisoner rather than dropping him, exhausted though he plainly was, controlling the man's fall enough to keep his head from striking the ground. Only then did Ned see Jon's throat. Finger marks were already darkening beneath his jaw, and Ned's hand rose before he thought better of it, catching the boy beneath the chin. Jon winced.

"Who did this?"

"One of them."

"One of whom?"

"Eight men."

Ned stared at him, and Lyarra answered before he could find the next question.

"They attacked us in the Wolfswood."

Eight. Ned looked from her to Rhea and then back to the blood.

"Eight men?"

"Seven are dead," Rhea said quietly.

The yard went still. Ned heard Ser Rodrik stop behind him and someone whisper a prayer as he looked from one child to another. Three children. Seven grown men dead. One prisoner.

For another family it would have been impossible. With these three, the impossible had long since become merely alarming. Arthur Dayne had trained the twins. Ned knew what lay beneath Jon and Lyarra's apparent age and what magic had done to their bodies, and Rhea had trained beside them for years. Even so, this should not have happened. Not here, not in his woods, not beneath his walls.

"Were they bandits?"

"No," Jon said at once.

Ned's eyes narrowed.

"How do you know?"

"They tried pretending to be."

Lyarra wiped blood from one knuckle with her thumb.

"One of them asked for coin after they had already surrounded us."

"They knew us," Jon added.

That was worse. Much worse. Ned felt the cold settle deeper.

"They called you by name?"

"Their leader knew who we were looking for," Jon said.

"He mentioned stories about us," Rhea added. "That we could fight."

Ned looked down at the prisoner.

"Did this one speak?"

"Not much."

Lyarra's voice was too calm.

"He will."

Something ancient seemed to look back at Ned through Lyarra Snow's grey eyes, and he knew what she wanted before she asked.

"Give him to me."

"No."

Her expression hardened, but Ned continued before she could argue.

"Not here."

That stopped her. Half the castle stood around them, servants and guards, his children, his wife. Ned looked toward the steps and found Catelyn beside Sansa, pale enough that for a moment he thought she might be sick. Her eyes moved across the scene, lingering on Jon's bruised throat, the blood on Lyarra and Rhea, and the bound man at their feet.

"What happened?" Her voice sounded thin.

Ned watched her descend.

"They were attacked."

Cat stopped.

"Attacked?"

"Eight men in the Wolfswood," Ser Rodrik said behind Ned.

Her gaze moved sharply toward him.

"Bandits?"

"No," Lyarra said, that same cold note in her voice.

Cat looked at her.

"What do you mean, no?"

"They were waiting for us."

"They knew who we were," Jon said.

Cat's face changed for only an instant, so quickly Ned almost missed it. Shock. Surely shock. What else could it be?

"They knew?"

"Yes."

Lyarra watched her, but Cat did not seem to notice.

"Why would anyone..."

She stopped. Something uncomfortable stirred inside Ned, and he pushed it away. Not now.

"Jory."

"My lord."

"Take the prisoner beneath the First Keep."

Jory nodded.

"Alive?" Lyarra asked.

"Yes."

Her shoulders eased, though not because she wished the man mercy. Quite the opposite.

"Post guards," Ned said. "Four men. No one speaks to him without me."

Lyarra opened her mouth. Ned met her eyes.

"Without me."

"Yes, Father."

"Ser Rodrik."

"My lord."

"Take twenty men. Jon will tell you where this happened. Find the bodies and search everything. Tracks, horses, camps, anything they left behind."

"I'll see to it."

Ned looked back toward Jory.

"Close the gates."

Murmurs rose around the yard, and he ignored them.

"No one leaves Winterfell until I say otherwise."

Cat stared at him.

"Ned?"

"Someone sent armed men after three children beneath my protection." He looked around the yard. "If they had help inside, I intend to know."

The murmurs died. Cat said nothing, and Ned turned back to Jon.

"Maester Luwin."

"I am fine."

The answer came immediately. Ned stared at the bruises around his throat.

"No."

Lyarra sighed.

"My shoulder is merely bruised."

"No."

Rhea looked down at the blood covering her hands.

"I don't think any of this is mine."

Ned closed his eyes.

"Especially you."

They were fortunate, and Ned found no comfort in it. Maester Luwin confirmed Jon's throat was badly bruised but undamaged beneath the swelling, though the marks of fingers would remain for days. Bruises spread across his ribs and a shallow cut marked one arm, but there was nothing worse. Lyarra's shoulder had taken a heavy blow, leaving the muscle badly bruised while the bone remained sound. Rhea had one shallow cut across her forearm and another along her palm, neither of which seemed to trouble her until Luwin began cleaning them. Then she discovered several objections.

Ashara arrived before he finished. Alyse within Winterfell. Always Alyse. She entered calmly, saw the blood on Rhea, and lost the calm at once.

"Rhea."

"Alyse."

Ashara crossed the chamber without hesitation or any consideration for who might be watching and wrapped both arms around Rhaenys. The girl went stiff for only a heartbeat before embracing her in return.

Ned looked away and found Jon watching him with that odd understanding he sometimes wore, too much understanding in a boy's face. Ned hated when he looked like that. There were years behind those eyes he could not account for.

Robb entered next, then Arya, neither of them invited. Ned lacked the strength to throw them out at once. Robb saw Jon's throat and went very still.

"Who?"

"Who what?" Jon asked.

"Who did that?"

"One of them."

"Which one?"

"Dead."

Robb nodded once, as though the answer settled something important.

Arya had gone directly to Lyarra, inspecting her shoulder, then her sword, then the blood.

"You killed someone?"

"Arya," Ned said.

"Yes," Lyarra answered.

Arya's eyes widened.

"More than one?"

"Arya."

This time she looked at Ned.

"What?"

"Out."

"But..."

"Out."

Robb frowned.

"Father..."

"You as well."

"We can help."

"You can help by doing what I tell you."

That did it, barely. Robb touched Jon's shoulder before leaving, while Arya hugged Lyarra, then Rhea, and glared at the door as though the attackers might somehow be standing beyond it. Only after they were gone did Ned realize Catelyn had never entered. She had returned to her chambers. He told himself it meant nothing.

The prisoner gave them nothing useful that night. He called himself Pate, perhaps truthfully, though Ned doubted it, and changed the story of where he had been hired each time he was questioned. South of the Neck became near White Harbor, then an inn somewhere on the kingsroad whose name he could not remember. Jory questioned him first and Ser Rodrik afterward, but no version survived the next telling.

Nothing on the dead men helped. No letters, no sigils, no unusual weapons. Their coin came from half a dozen mints, ordinary silver and copper carried by men selected precisely because nothing about them led anywhere. That frightened Ned more than finding a lion stamped upon every sword would have. Someone had planned this.

By nightfall Ser Rodrik's men returned with seven bodies, and the ground matched the children's account. Eight men had surrounded three children, followed by a short and violent fight. One arrow had lodged in a tree at roughly the height of Jon's throat.

He slept badly.

Lyarra asked again the next morning.

"Let me speak to him."

"No knives."

"I do not need a knife."

That was not comforting.

"No fire."

A slight pause.

"Do you believe me incapable of questioning someone without magic?"

"I believe you are angry."

"I am."

"At least you admit it."

Her mouth tightened. Ned studied the black hair and grey eyes of a girl who looked twelve to anyone else. He knew better now. Perhaps that was why he agreed.

"You do nothing permanent."

Lyarra's eyebrow rose.

"That is imprecise."

"Visenya."

The name stopped her. They were alone, and Ned rarely used it. Her expression shifted, not softer so much as more attentive.

"You do not maim him. You do not use anything that leaves him unable to answer another man's questions. You do not kill him."

"He tried to kill Aenar."

"I know."

"He put his hands around..."

"That man is dead."

Her jaw clenched, and Ned understood then. The prisoner had never touched Jon, but he had ridden with the man who nearly strangled him. To Visenya, the distinction meant very little.

"You want the one who sent them."

"Yes."

"So do I."

Silence passed before she inclined her head.

"Very well."

"You will have guards present."

"No."

"Yes."

"He will speak less freely."

"He will speak."

"..."

"That is the condition."

A longer pause.

"Fine."

Ned almost smiled. There were days when arguing with her felt strangely like arguing with Lyanna.

Lyarra turned toward the door.

"Lyarra."

She stopped.

"If he tells you something, you come to me."

"Of course."

"Before Aenar."

That earned him a look. Ned waited until at last she gave in.

"Fine."

He did smile then. She looked offended.

Lyarra remained beneath the First Keep for hours, and although Ned never asked what happened because he was not certain he wanted to know, the guards reported no screams. That should have reassured him. It did not.

When she finally entered his solar near dusk, she looked disappointed, which surprised him.

"He doesn't know."

Ned set aside the account he had been pretending to read.

"Nothing?"

"Very little." She closed the door behind her. "The leader recruited most of them separately. Some in King's Landing, some along the Kingsroad. King's Landing and then north."

"Names?"

"False ones."

"As expected."

Lyarra crossed the room.

"He said their leader mentioned something before they entered the North."

Ned straightened.

"What?"

"That this came from someone here."

"Here?"

"In the North."

The room seemed to grow colder.

"Exact words."

Lyarra frowned as she remembered.

"He claims the leader said, 'Southern coin for a northern request,' and later told one of the men not to worry because the person who wanted it done knew when we disappeared into the woods."

Something tightened beneath Ned's ribs.

"The person."

"He never heard a name."

"Man or woman?"

"He doesn't know."

"House?"

"No."

"Castle?"

"No."

"Winterfell?"

"No."

Ned stood.

"Then we know almost nothing."

"We know whoever arranged this had information from the North."

"Perhaps."

Lyarra's eyes narrowed.

"You think he lied?"

"I think his leader might have. If I wanted men from King's Landing to believe they were working for a northern lord, I would tell them that."

She considered it.

"Then we have nothing."

"Not nothing."

Someone knew about their journeys into the Wolfswood, but the knowledge was hardly rare. Winterfell's servants knew, as did guards, merchants, travelers, and anyone who listened long enough to castle gossip. The twins' long absences had become one of Catelyn's favorite complaints.

Ned went still.

No.

He pushed the thought away before it fully formed. Lyarra noticed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She stared at him, and he almost laughed at the irony.

"Go eat."

"I am not hungry."

"That was not a question."

She rolled her eyes, so much like Lyanna that Ned nearly smiled before she left.

Ned remained standing after the door closed. Someone in the North, perhaps. Someone who knew when Jon and Lyarra entered the Wolfswood. Half Winterfell knew that, along with a dozen neighboring houses and any merchant who spent enough time drinking with castle guards. There was no reason for his mind to return to Cat.

None.

Except her face in the yard, and the instant when Lyarra said the men had known them.

Ned rubbed at his brow and told himself he was tired. That was all.

Supper was unbearable. Everyone knew something had happened and no one knew enough, so Winterfell breathed rumors faster than any dragon breathed flame. By evening seven men had become twenty and then thirty. One version had Jon fighting five alone. Another claimed Lyarra had bitten out a man's throat, a story Arya seemed fascinated by.

Cat barely ate. Ned noticed and wished he had not. Robb spoke more loudly than usual, Sansa was quiet, Bran kept staring at Jon's throat, and Arya watched everyone. Lyarra sat beside Rhea with Jon across from them, all three behaving almost normally.

Almost. When a serving man entered unexpectedly behind Rhea, her hand moved toward the knife at her belt before she stopped herself. Ned saw it, as did Ashara, whose face tightened, and Cat, whose mouth thinned when she noticed the same reflex. Whatever appetite Ned had left vanished.

Afterward he asked Cat to walk with him. She refused.

"I am tired."

"So am I."

"Then we should both sleep."

"Cat."

Her eyes met his, and he saw resistance before he had even asked anything. That troubled him.

"I need to ask you something."

"About what?"

"The children."

Her expression closed. Of course. The old wall between them. Jon. Lyarra. Years of resentment and sharp words Ned had tolerated because they helped make the lie believable. A lord's bastards and a humiliated wife were a story everyone understood, one no one looked beneath. For too long Ned had accepted the usefulness of it. Perhaps too long.

"Have you spoken to anyone about their trips into the Wolfswood?"

Cat stared at him.

"Half the castle knows about their trips."

"That was not my question."

"I have complained of them, yes."

"To whom?"

"You."

"Others."

"Septa Mordane, perhaps. Women of the household."

"Anyone outside Winterfell?"

A pause. Tiny, but there.

Ned felt his stomach drop as Cat looked away.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Because eight men knew where to look for them."

"You cannot possibly think..."

"I asked a question."

Her face reddened.

"I will not be interrogated in my own home because your bastards insist upon wandering forests without guards."

Ned flinched, not at the word, which he had heard from her too often, but at the anger behind it. Jon had finger marks around his throat, Lyarra's shoulder remained swollen, and Rhea had been forced to kill a man. Cat's first defense was that they should not have been there.

"They were attacked, Cat."

"I know."

"Then answer me."

"I have spoken of them."

"To whom?"

"I do not remember every conversation I have had in four years."

They stared at one another until Cat finally stepped away.

"I am going to bed."

Ned caught her wrist, not hard, and released it immediately when she stopped.

"Cat."

Her eyes flashed.

"What?"

"If there is something I need to know..."

"There is not."

Too fast. Ned heard it, and so did she. Her expression changed before she turned and walked away. Ned did not follow.

He remained where he was until the sound of her footsteps disappeared, then exhaled slowly. He had handled that badly and knew it. Cat had every reason to resent being questioned over conversations she could scarcely be expected to remember. Half of Winterfell knew Jon and Lyarra spent days in the Wolfswood. Merchants knew, guards knew, stableboys knew, and every visiting lord who remained more than a few nights probably knew. The children had hardly concealed it. They hunted, trained, camped, and vanished beneath the trees only to return smelling of smoke and pine.

There was no reason to look toward Cat. None except the pause.

Ned closed his eyes. He was tired. That was all.

He returned to his solar, where reports waited exactly as he had left them. Ser Rodrik's men had found the attackers' horses farther south, eight animals with cheap saddles and no identifying marks beyond old brands from places scattered across the south. Nothing useful. Men chosen because no one would miss them, men who could disappear.

Ned read until the words began to blur. A knock came.

"Come."

The door opened and Arya slipped inside. She froze when she found him looking at her, and for one heartbeat they simply stared at one another before Ned glanced toward the corridor behind her.

"Arya."

"I was coming to see you."

"Were you?"

"Yes."

"Where is Septa Mordane?"

Arya's expression became very carefully blank. Ned sighed.

"She is looking for you."

"No."

"Arya."

"She might be."

"That is not different enough to help you."

Arya closed the door.

"She made me start the same stitching again."

"Then perhaps you should finish it."

"It was fine."

Ned looked at her, and Arya looked offended.

"You didn't see it."

"I have seen your stitching before."

"That was when I was little."

"You are still little."

"I am not."

"Go back to the septa."

Arya did not move. Instead she looked toward the reports scattered across his desk.

"Are those about the men?"

Ned's expression hardened.

"That is none of your concern."

"They attacked Jon and Lyarra."

"And Rhea."

"I know."

"Then you also know that you are not helping by bothering me while I try to discover who sent them."

It should have worked, but Arya came closer instead.

"Did Lyarra make the prisoner tell her?"

Ned stared at her.

"How do you know Lyarra spoke to him?"

Arya shrugged.

"Everyone knows."

Of course they did. Ned rubbed at his brow.

"What exactly does everyone know?"

"That you let her question him."

"I see."

"And that he wasn't screaming."

Ned slowly lowered his hand.

"Arya."

"What?"

"Go sew."

"But did he tell her?"

Ned sighed.

"No."

Arya frowned.

"Nothing?"

"Very little."

"What did he say?"

"You are not hearing me."

"I am."

"You are simply ignoring me."

"Yes."

At least she admitted it. Ned leaned back in his chair.

"He did not know who hired them."

Arya looked disappointed.

"That is stupid."

"Men hired for work like this are rarely introduced to the lord paying them."

"So he doesn't know anything?"

"He heard their leader say that it was a southern payment for a northern request."

Arya considered that.

"So someone in the North."

"Perhaps."

"And they knew Jon and Lyarra went into the Wolfswood."

"Yes."

Arya nodded as though this were obvious.

"Everyone knows that."

"Exactly."

"Even merchants ask about them."

Ned barely registered the words as he reached for another report.

"Yes. Merchants enjoy gossip."

Arya remained where she was.

"Mother's merchants ask about everything."

Ned's hand stopped, not dramatically, but completely.

"What?"

Arya blinked.

"What?"

"What did you just say?"

"Merchants like gossip?"

"After that."

"Mother's merchants?"

Ned stared at her. Arya stared back, plainly unaware of why his expression had changed.

"What merchants?"

"The ones who bring things."

"What things?"

"Cloth. Sometimes spices. Letters."

Something cold moved through Ned's chest.

"Letters."

"Yes."

"From merchants."

"Yes."

Arya's brow furrowed.

"Why are you saying it like that?"

Ned ignored the question.

"Does Maester Luwin receive them?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because they give them to Mother."

"Directly?"

"Sometimes."

Ned stood, and Arya took a step backward.

"Father?"

"How often?"

"I don't know."

"Arya."

"I don't!"

"Once?"

"More."

"Five times?"

She made a face.

"Probably."

"Ten?"

"I don't count them!"

Her voice rose, and Ned forced his own to soften.

"How long has this happened?"

"I don't know."

"Months?"

Arya shrugged.

"Years, I think."

Years.

Ned sat down again, hearing nothing for a moment while Arya watched him more carefully.

"Is that bad?"

He looked at her and saw no intention, no secret discovery she had kept because she understood its importance. Arya had thought nothing of it, and why would she? Great houses received letters through travelers as well as ravens. Merchants carried messages. Friends sent gifts. There was nothing inherently strange about any of it.

Except Cat had never mentioned them.

"Why do you remember?"

Arya looked relieved by the simpler question.

"Because one merchant brought Myrish lace and Mother wouldn't let me touch it."

Ned stared at her.

"That is why?"

"It was ugly."

Of course. Ned almost laughed.

"And the letters?"

"They were underneath it."

"Did you ever read one?"

"No."

The offense in her voice was immediate, and Ned believed her. Arya would lie about hiding from Septa Mordane and lie badly about stealing a tart, but she would not look like that if she had read her mother's private correspondence.

"Did you ever see who they came from?"

"No."

"Any seals?"

"I don't remember."

"Names?"

"No."

Ned nodded slowly, left with nothing useful, while Arya shifted beside the desk.

"Can I go now?"

"To the septa."

Her face fell. Ned looked back toward the reports, and then Arya spoke again.

"Mother hides them anyway."

Ned looked up.

"What?"

Arya had already turned toward the door. She stopped.

"The letters."

"How do you know that?"

She looked confused again.

"I saw."

"When?"

"I don't remember."

"Where?"

"In her room."

Ned stood again, and Arya sighed.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Standing."

Ned ignored her.

"What were you doing in your mother's chambers?"

Arya froze. There was the guilt he recognized immediately.

"Arya."

"Nothing."

"You were doing something."

"I wasn't touching her things."

"Arya."

She glanced toward the door. Ned moved around the table.

"Were you hiding from Septa Mordane?"

Silence.

"Arya."

"Yes."

Ned closed his eyes. There were days he thought the gods had given him this daughter because Lyanna had not exhausted their patience sufficiently.

"How many times?"

"That doesn't matter."

"It matters to your mother."

Arya folded her arms.

"She never found out."

"That makes it worse, not better."

"I wasn't looking at anything."

"You just told me you saw the letters."

"Because she came in!"

Ned stopped.

"She came in while you were hiding?"

Arya nodded.

"Where were you?"

"Behind the bed."

"And she did not see you."

"No."

"Arya."

"She didn't!"

Ned believed that too. Cat's bedchamber contained heavy curtains and old chests large enough for a small girl to vanish behind.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Arya."

"Mother came in."

"Yes."

"She had a letter."

"And?"

"She read it."

"And?"

Arya shrugged.

"Then she put it away."

"Where?"

"In the drawer."

Ned waited. Arya stared back.

"What?"

"Which drawer?"

"The bottom one."

Ned frowned.

"That is hiding a letter?"

"No."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"The drawer comes out."

"All drawers come out."

"Not like that. She pulled the whole drawer out, then lifted another bit of wood underneath."

Ned felt the blood drain from his face.

"There is a compartment beneath it?"

"Yes."

"And there were letters there?"

Arya nodded.

"A lot."

"How many?"

"I don't know."

"Ten?"

"More."

"Twenty?"

"Maybe."

"More?"

Arya shrugged again.

"Probably."

Ned said nothing, and at last the silence unsettled her.

"Father?"

He turned away. Years. Not one private letter or some merchant carrying a message from Riverrun, but years of correspondence hidden beneath a false bottom. It might still be innocent. Friends had secrets, ladies had confidences their husbands did not share, and Ned himself kept secrets enough to drown them both. He knew better than anyone that secrecy did not mean guilt.

But eight men had come north, and Cat had hesitated when he asked whether she had spoken of Jon and Lyarra to anyone outside Winterfell.

Ned looked back at Arya.

"Did she ever say who wrote them?"

"No."

"Did you hear anything?"

"No."

"Did you tell anyone?"

Arya shook her head.

"Why would I?"

Because she had not known it mattered. Ned closed his eyes.

"Good."

Arya frowned.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Yes."

Her face fell.

"For hiding from the septa."

"Oh."

"But not for this."

"That is good."

"No, it isn't. You still hid in your mother's chambers."

Arya sighed dramatically. Ned pointed toward the door.

"Go."

She reached it before he called her back.

"Arya."

She turned.

"Do not mention the letters."

Her expression changed. Now she understood that much.

"Not even Jon?"

"Especially not Jon."

"Lyarra?"

"No."

"Robb?"

"No one."

Arya studied him.

"All right."

She opened the door, then paused.

"I really didn't read them."

"I know."

She nodded and left.

Ned waited until the door closed, stared at it for several breaths, then rang for Jory.

Catelyn's chambers smelled faintly of lavender, a scent Ned had always associated with her and which now made him feel ill. Jory stood at the door with Maester Luwin beside him. Ned had brought both because he did not want what came next done secretly, not if he found something and especially not if he found nothing.

He crossed to the chest Arya had described. The bottom drawer slid free easily enough, holding folded clothes and nothing more. Ned removed them, lifted the drawer, and found plain wood beneath. Relief struck him for one fleeting instant before he noticed the seam. His fingers found the edge and raised the false panel.

Letters.

Dozens of them.

Ned closed his eyes. Jory swore softly while Luwin said nothing.

He reached inside. The first letter bore no recognizable seal, the second none at all. Some were old enough that the parchment had softened along the folds, while others were new, recent, and likely carried by different merchants. Perhaps deliberately.

Ned opened one and found nothing of consequence. News from King's Landing, court gossip, a joke about Robert's growing belly, a mention of the Greyjoy Rebellion. No name. He opened another and found Winterfell, Robb, and Jon.

The boy's growing reputation need not trouble you so greatly. Northern men admire strength, but admiration is not inheritance.

Ned read it twice before reaching for another.

You say the girl has become difficult to correct. Perhaps that is inevitable when Lord Stark permits her freedoms inappropriate to her birth.

His hand tightened. Another letter concerned Moat Cailin.

If the restoration continues, the question of who shall hold it becomes increasingly important. You are right to think first of your own children.

Another.

Do the twins still vanish into the Wolfswood so often? Strange indulgence. Lord Stark seems determined to give them every freedom.

Ned stopped. Luwin noticed.

"What is it?"

Ned handed him the parchment. The maester read it, and his expression tightened.

"It proves nothing."

"I know."

That was what frightened Ned. Nothing proved anything. The letters were almost careful in how little they said, containing no commands, threats, or open suggestion of violence. There were only questions, reassurances, fears reflected back at Cat until they sounded reasonable. A private friend telling an unhappy wife that she was right to worry.

Ned found one newer than most.

Some problems cannot be confronted openly. Time and circumstance often correct what pride will not.

He stared at the words before folding the letter.

"Jory."

"My lord?"

"Find Lady Catelyn."

Jory hesitated.

"Bring her here?"

"Yes."

Catelyn entered quickly, angry before the door had even closed, perhaps because Jory's summons had warned her something was wrong. Then she saw the room. The drawer lay upon the floor, the false panel stood open, and her letters covered the table.

She stopped.

Ned watched shock cross her face and harden almost immediately into fury. Not fear. Fury.

"You searched my chambers."

"Yes."

Cat stared at him, then at Luwin and Jory.

"You searched my chambers in front of them?"

"They are witnesses."

"Witnesses? To what? Your humiliation of your wife?"

"Cat..."

"No." She advanced into the room. "How dare you?"

Ned felt his own temper stir.

"Eight men attacked Jon, Lyarra, and Rhea."

"And therefore you tear through my private things?"

"They knew where to find them."

"So?"

Ned stared at her.

"So?"

"Yes, so?"

Cat's face had gone red.

"They disappear into the Wolfswood constantly. The entire castle knows it. Every merchant who passes through Winterfell knows it, and every fool who listens to stableboys gossip knows it."

"That does not explain these."

Ned touched the letters. Cat looked down at them and then back at him.

"My private correspondence."

"Hidden beneath your drawer."

"Yes."

There was no shame in the answer, no attempt to deny what he had found, only naked anger. It surprised him.

"Who wrote them?"

"A friend."

"Name him."

"No."

Ned's jaw tightened.

"Cat."

"No." She turned toward Luwin. "And you helped him?"

The maester inclined his head.

"My lady, Lord Stark asked me to witness..."

"You should have refused."

"My lady..."

"This is my chamber."

"Enough." Ned stepped forward.

"Enough?" Cat whirled toward him with a sharp laugh. "Now it is enough?"

"Seven men are dead."

"I know."

"Jon nearly had his throat crushed."

"I know."

"Lyarra was injured."

"I know."

"Rhea was forced to kill."

"I know!"

The shout echoed off stone. Cat breathed hard.

"And I did none of it."

"I have not said you did."

"You searched my chambers."

"Because I learned you had been hiding letters for years."

"How?"

Ned hesitated, and Cat saw it at once.

"Who?"

"It does not matter."

"It matters if someone has been spying upon me in my own room."

"No one was spying."

"Then how?"

Ned exhaled.

"Arya saw you once."

"Arya."

Cat's expression darkened.

"She was hiding from Septa Mordane."

"In my bedchamber."

"Yes."

"And instead of punishing her, you use what she saw to search me."

"She told me accidentally."

"How noble of her."

"Do not drag Arya into this."

"I did not. You did."

Ned's mouth tightened. Cat stepped toward the table and lifted one of the letters.

"You have read them."

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Enough."

"You had no right." Her nostrils flared.

"I am Lord of Winterfell."

"And I am Lady of Winterfell."

"My children were attacked."

"Your bastards were attacked." Her eyes flashed.

The room went still. Ned felt anger rise through him.

"Three children were attacked."

"Do not twist my words."

"You are doing that perfectly well yourself."

"No, Ned." Cat threw the letter back onto the table. "No. I am finished being made ashamed because I refuse to pretend they are something they are not."

"They are children."

"They are bastards."

"They are members of this household."

"Because you made them so."

"Yes."

"And that means every person beneath this roof must bend around them?"

"No."

"Then why are we standing here?" Her hand swept across the letters. "Why have you searched your wife's chambers? Why are your steward and your maester standing here while you interrogate me? Because two bastards were attacked outside the castle?"

Ned stared at her.

"Listen to yourself."

"I have listened to everyone else for years."

Years of anger seemed to pour out of her at once.

"You brought them here."

"I know."

"You rode home from war with twins born to some woman whose name you still refuse to speak and placed them beneath my roof."

Ned's chest tightened.

"They needed a home."

"And Robb did not?"

"Do not be absurd."

"Robb was an infant! My infant son, your lawful heir, and before he could know his father's face he already had to share him with two bastards." Cat stepped closer.

"They were infants too."

"I do not care!"

The words struck the room, and Cat did not retreat from them. Ned stared as she continued.

"Why must I care? Tell me that, Ned. Why?"

"Because they are children."

"So are thousands."

"They are under my protection."

"And that makes them more important than your wife?"

"I never said that."

"You do not need to. You searched me because someone attacked them." She pointed toward the opened compartment.

"Someone knew their habits."

"Everyone knows their habits!"

"And this correspondent asks about them repeatedly."

"Because I wrote about them repeatedly." Cat laughed.

Ned went still.

"You admit that."

"Of course I admit it. I complained." She looked almost insulted.

"About Jon and Lyarra."

"Yes."

"For years."

"Yes."

"To someone you will not name."

"Yes."

Ned stared at her. Cat stared back, defiant and furious.

"What did you say?"

"That I hated having them here."

Jory looked down while Luwin remained motionless. Ned's stomach twisted, but Cat continued before he could speak.

"That Jon grows more insufferable every year."

"Jon has done nothing to you."

"He exists."

The answer came instantly. Ned recoiled, and for one heartbeat regret seemed to cross Cat's face before anger swallowed it.

"Yes," she said, quieter now. "He exists as proof that my husband dishonored me before I even reached Winterfell."

"Cat..."

"You brought not one bastard home. Two."

Ned said nothing.

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I never asked you to mother them."

"No. You only asked me to watch them grow beside my children."

"Robb loves Jon."

"I know!"

The fury in those words surprised him.

"That is part of the problem."

Ned frowned.

"What?"

"He loves him."

"He is his brother."

"He is not."

"To Robb he is."

"And you encouraged that."

"I did not have to."

Cat laughed bitterly.

"No. Of course not. Jon is talented. Jon is brave. Jon is clever. Jon fights like a boy twice his age."

Ned said nothing.

"And Robb watches."

"Robb is an excellent swordsman."

"Because he has spent half his life trying to keep up with your bastard."

"That is not Jon's fault."

"I did not say it was."

"You speak as though it is."

"I speak as Robb's mother."

Ned stared at her, Cat's chest rising and falling.

"And Lyarra."

"What of her?"

"Arya thinks she hung the moon."

"Arya loves her."

"Arya imitates her."

"She admires her."

"She ignores Septa Mordane because Lyarra does."

"Arya ignored Septa Mordane before she could pronounce her name."

"This is not amusing."

"I am not amused."

"You let Lyarra train with swords."

"Yes."

"You let her wander the woods."

"Yes."

"You let her sit with men while they discuss walls and castles and war as though she were some little lord."

"She has a sharp mind."

"She is a bastard girl."

"Enough."

"Why? Why is that word forbidden only when it concerns them?" Cat's voice cracked.

"It is not."

"Yes, it is. You let me worry for years." She recovered quickly.

"I did not know you believed I meant to give Moat Cailin to Jon."

"Because you never asked what I believed."

Ned looked toward the letters.

"You told someone else."

"Yes."

"A man."

"Yes."

"Who?"

"No."

Ned closed his eyes. When he opened them, Cat was still furious rather than frightened or ashamed, furious that he continued asking.

"What would it take?"

Her brow furrowed.

"To make you give me his name."

"I will not."

"Even now."

"Yes."

"After eight men nearly killed Jon."

"There." Cat's face hardened again.

"What?"

"Jon."

Ned stared.

"Always Jon. And Lyarra. Always them."

"Because they were attacked!"

"And they lived."

Ned went utterly still. Cat seemed to realize how the words sounded, but pressed onward anyway.

"Seven grown men are dead, Ned. They killed seven men."

"They were defending themselves."

"I know."

"Then what is your point?"

"My point is that you are behaving as though helpless babes were dragged from their beds."

Ned could scarcely believe her.

"They were ambushed by eight armed men."

"And killed seven of them."

"That does not make the attack less serious."

"It makes this absurd!" She struck the letters with the back of her hand, scattering several onto the floor. "You have turned Winterfell upside down."

"I closed the gates for a day."

"You questioned servants."

"Yes."

"You searched my chambers."

"Yes."

"You brought Jory and Luwin here."

"Yes."

"Over Jon and Lyarra."

"Over attempted murder."

"Attempted murder?" Cat laughed.

"An arrow passed where Jon's throat had been."

"And Jon killed the man."

Ned's anger snapped.

"Does he need to die before you care?"

Cat stopped. Silence spread through the room until Ned could hear himself breathing. Her eyes widened, then narrowed.

"How dare you."

"How dare I?"

"You ask whether I would care if a child died?"

"I ask because you speak as though their surviving excuses what happened."

"I am saying they are alive!"

"And that makes it acceptable?"

"No!"

"Then what are you saying?"

"I am saying they are not worth destroying our marriage over!"

The words exploded through the room. Everything stopped. Ned stared at her while her face flushed and her eyes shone with rage, not tears, not yet.

"They are bastards," she said, her voice shaking. "Your bastards."

Ned said nothing.

"I have given you four trueborn children."

"Cat."

"Four." She struck her chest with one hand. "Robb. Sansa. Arya. Bran."

"I know."

"Do you?"

The cruelty landed, and Cat did not stop.

"Because sometimes I wonder."

"You wonder whether I know my own children."

"I wonder whether you remember who should matter first."

The room had become very quiet. Ned heard Luwin breathe out softly while Jory remained frozen beside the door.

"Robb is my heir."

"Then act like it."

"I do."

"You spend more time worrying about Jon."

"Because someone tried to kill him."

"They were not supposed to kill him!"

The words came so quickly that for an instant Ned did not understand them.

Cat did.

Her mouth closed and her anger vanished all at once. As the room seemed to contract around them, Jory lifted his head, Luwin went perfectly still, and Cat's face turned white beneath Ned's stare.

Ned heard his own voice as though from a great distance.

"What did you say?"

"I said they did not kill him." Cat swallowed.

"No. You said they were not supposed to." Ned stepped toward her.

"I misspoke."

"You did not."

"Ned..."

"Supposed to according to whom?"

"I meant..."

"What?"

Cat's mouth opened, but nothing came.

Ned felt his heartbeat striking hard against his ribs. The bruises around Jon's throat, the arrow embedded in the tree, the prisoner, Visenya telling him the attackers had been given instructions. His mind returned to every detail at once. These men had not fought like men sent only to rob.

And Cat.

"They were not supposed to kill him," Ned repeated, slowly enough that every word stood on its own. "How do you know?"

"I don't."

"You just said you did."

"I was angry."

"That does not put knowledge in your mouth."

"I meant if someone wanted them gone..."

"No."

"You said supposed to." Ned's voice sharpened.

Cat looked toward Jory and then Luwin as though only now remembering they were there. Humiliation joined the fear on her face. Ned saw it and no longer cared.

"What was supposed to happen to Jon?"

"Nothing."

"Catelyn."

"Nothing!"

"You already told me otherwise."

"I said the wrong thing."

"No. What was supposed to happen?"

Cat's breathing quickened.

"I never asked anyone to kill him."

Ned froze. Another mistake, and Cat knew it immediately. His stomach turned.

"I did not ask if you had. I asked what was supposed to happen."

"Ned..."

"Answer me."

"I have answered enough."

"No. You have not."

Cat's anger tried to return, and Ned could see her reaching for it because anger was easier than fear.

"You search my chambers, read my letters, put me before servants as though I were some common criminal..."

"What was supposed to happen to Jon?"

"Nothing!"

"What did you tell him?"

"I told you already."

"No, you did not."

"I wanted Jon gone."

"How?"

"The Wall. Another household. Anywhere."

"That is what you wanted before. What did you agree to now?" Ned pointed toward the letters scattered across the table.

Cat stared at him, and he caught a tiny movement in her face. Not confusion. Calculation.

Then he knew. There had been something. Perhaps not murder and perhaps not what had actually happened, but something.

"Cat. What did you think this man was going to do?" Ned lowered his voice when her eyes filled and she remained silent.

"I didn't know."

"Did you ask?"

"No."

"Did he offer?"

Silence.

Ned's hands curled into fists.

"Did he offer to deal with Jon?"

Cat looked away. That was answer enough, and Ned felt sick.

"What words?"

"I don't remember."

"Do not lie to me."

"I don't remember exactly."

"Then approximately."

"Ned." Cat shook her head.

"What did he say?"

"He said there were ways to correct things."

"Correct." The word struck him.

"Yes."

"What things?"

"My fears."

"About Jon."

"About both of them."

"And you agreed." Ned looked at her.

"No."

"You agreed to something."

"I did not give an order."

"That was not my question."

"I never told anyone to kill them."

Again. Always kill, as though the distinction mattered.

Ned suddenly understood. Not entirely, but enough.

"You thought Jon would be hurt." Cat went still. "You knew."

"No."

"You knew someone meant to hurt him."

"I did not know what he meant to do."

"But you knew it was not sending Jon to another household."

Silence.

"You knew it was not arranging a marriage for Lyarra."

More silence. Ned's voice became quieter.

"That is why you said he wasn't supposed to die."

"What difference does it make?" Cat's lips trembled before anger returned, desperate now.

Ned stared at her. She heard herself too late.

"A great deal."

"He lived!"

"Cat."

"He lived, and killed the man who tried to hurt him."

"Hurt him how? Cat." Ned took another step when she said nothing.

"All right!" Her face twisted.

The shout startled even her.

"He was supposed to be hurt."

Silence fell like stone. Ned did not breathe. Jory stared at her, Luwin's face had gone empty, and Cat's own eyes widened as though she had finally heard the confession clearly.

Ned could barely speak.

"Hurt."

"No. That is not..." Cat shook her head at once.

"How?"

"I didn't know."

"How badly?"

"I said I didn't know."

"You knew enough."

"No."

"You knew he was meant to survive."

"Yes!" She stopped again, and Ned felt cold from his scalp to his feet as Cat closed her eyes. The word could not be taken back.

"So you did know," Ned said softly.

When she opened her eyes, tears stood in them, whether from anger or fear he could not tell.

"He was not meant to die."

The confession was quieter this time and more deliberate, as though she had finally accepted that denying it was impossible.

"What was meant to happen?"

She said nothing.

"Cat."

"Something that would stop this."

"What?"

"All of it!"

"Jon always being compared to Robb. Jon becoming stronger. Jon becoming more admired. Everyone whispering about what you might give him one day." Her hand swept toward the room, toward Winterfell beyond the stone.

Horror settled slowly into understanding.

"You wanted him crippled."

"No." Cat flinched.

Not quickly enough.

"Gods. You did."

"I did not say crippled."

"You did not have to."

"I wanted him stopped! Is that so terrible?" Her fury returned.

Ned stared. Cat was crying now, angry tears she wiped away immediately.

"He would have lived."

Something inside Ned broke, not cracked, but broke.

"You thought someone was going to cripple a child."

"He is not a child like other children!"

"That makes it acceptable?"

"No!"

"Then what?"

"I don't know!" She struck the table with both palms. "I don't know anymore."

Ned said nothing. Cat looked at him desperately.

"I imagined an injury. A bad leg perhaps. Something that would keep him from training, something that would stop men comparing him to Robb. He would still have lived. He could have married, had children, had a life."

The room blurred around Ned.

"And Lyarra?"

"A marriage." Cat looked away.

"To whom?"

"I didn't care."

"Far away."

"Yes."

"So that was it. Cripple Jon. Marry Lyarra away." Ned's voice sounded dead even to himself.

"I did not order that."

"You agreed to let someone arrange it."

"I thought..."

"You thought what?"

"That he understood."

"A man whose name you still refuse to give me." Ned laughed once, a short sound with nothing humorous in it.

Cat fell silent. Ned stared. Even now, after confessing all of this, she protected him.

"You still protect him."

"He did not send those men to kill them."

"How do you know?"

"Because that was not what we discussed."

There. Another piece.

Ned closed his eyes, then opened them again to find Cat realizing what she had admitted.

"What we discussed," he repeated.

"Ned..."

"No."

His voice was quiet now, almost gentle, and that frightened her more than shouting had.

"No more."

He looked toward Jory, whose face was pale, then toward Luwin, the old maester visibly stricken. Witnesses. Ned had thought he might need witnesses to what he found. He had never imagined this.

Cat followed his gaze, and humiliation flashed back into fury.

"You did this."

Ned looked at her.

"What?"

"You brought them here." She pointed at Jory and Luwin. "You made this public."

"No one outside this room knows."

"They know."

"Yes."

"They heard me."

"Yes."

"You wanted this." Her face twisted.

"No."

"You wanted me shamed."

"No."

"You wanted proof that your precious bastards mattered more than your wife."

"Jon almost died because of something you agreed to." Ned stared at her.

"He was not supposed to die!"

The words echoed again, beyond recovery now. Ned's anger finally vanished, leaving something worse behind. He looked at the woman before him and found that he did not know her, not entirely. Perhaps he never had.

"Name him."

"No." Cat's mouth tightened.

"After this?" Ned could hardly believe it.

"He did not mean for this to happen."

"You cannot know that."

"I do."

"Because he told you Jon would only be crippled?"

"Name him." Ned's voice remained level as Cat flinched.

"No."

"You would still protect him."

"He is my friend."

"Your friend." Ned stared at her.

"Yes."

"The friend who offered to arrange for a child to be maimed."

"You make it sound..." Cat's face hardened.

"I make it sound exactly as it is."

"He understood what those two were doing to this family."

"No."

"Yes."

"No. They were simply living."

"Taking."

"Taking what?"

"Everything. Robb's father's attention. Arya's admiration. The castle's praise. Perhaps land one day. Perhaps more."

"Nothing belongs to Robb that Jon has ever tried to take."

"You cannot promise that."

"I can."

"How?"

Ned said nothing. Too much lay behind the answer.

"There. The secrets again." Cat laughed bitterly.

"Yes."

"Always them."

"Yes."

She stared. Ned had not meant to answer so plainly, but no longer cared.

"They are bastards."

"Enough." His jaw tightened.

"They are."

"Enough."

"You would destroy this marriage for them."

"No. You did that yourself." Ned stared at her.

"Do not." Cat recoiled, and for a moment neither spoke before her face hardened again.

"I did not hide these letters."

"Ned."

"I did not tell an unnamed man I wanted Jon stopped."

"Ned."

"I did not agree while he offered to arrange an injury."

"I never said..."

"You just did."

"You are going to Riverrun." Cat's mouth snapped shut as Ned looked toward the letters and then back to her.

"What?" She stared.

"Tomorrow."

"No." Disbelief lasted only a moment before rage replaced it.

"Twenty guards."

"You will not send me away from my own home."

"I will."

"You cannot."

"I can."

"I am Lady of Winterfell."

"And I am Lord of Winterfell."

"You arrogant fool." Her face reddened.

Jory shifted. Ned did not react.

"My children come with me."

"No."

Cat froze.

"Robb comes."

"No."

"Sansa."

"No."

"Arya and Bran."

"They remain here."

"You would take my children from me?"

"I am sending no child anywhere."

"You are sending their mother away!"

"Yes."

"Because of Jon."

"Because you agreed to have them harmed."

"I did not..."

"You did."

The words struck hard, and Ned did not allow her to escape them.

"You may tell yourself you did not choose the method. You may tell yourself you never ordered a broken leg. You may tell yourself the words were vague enough that the sin belongs to someone else."

Cat's face had gone pale again.

"But you knew he meant harm."

Silence.

"And you agreed."

"I was afraid."

"For Robb."

"Yes."

"Then you should have come to me."

"You never listen when it concerns them."

"So you went to another man."

Cat's jaw clenched.

"Who?"

"No."

Ned almost laughed again. Instead he nodded.

"Then you leave tomorrow."

Cat stared at him.

"You truly choose them."

"No."

"Yes."

"No. I choose the safety of every child in Winterfell."

"Against me."

"Against anyone."

That stopped her.

"Robb. Sansa. Arya. Bran. Jon. Lyarra. Rhea. Any child beneath these walls." Ned did not look away. "If I believe someone threatens them, I act."

Cat's voice became very quiet.

"And you believe I threaten them."

Ned looked at her for a long time.

"I believe I no longer know what you might allow someone else to do."

Cat flinched. That hurt her, and Ned hated that some part of him was glad.

"You are my husband."

"Yes."

"I gave you four children."

"Yes."

"I ruled this castle beside you."

"Yes."

"I buried your dead, welcomed your bannermen, kept your home while you went to war."

"I know."

"And none of it matters."

"It matters."

"Not enough."

Ned's chest tightened.

"Not enough?"

His voice rose sharply, and Cat met it with her own anger.

"No. Not enough to throw away fifteen years over two bastards!"

Ned struck the table.

"Do not speak to me of fifteen years after admitting you agreed to have a child crippled!"

"I never ordered it!"

"You knew!"

"And he was supposed to live!"

"That does not make it better!"

"He would have lived!"

"Crippled!"

"Yes!"

Silence crashed down. Cat glared at him. Ned glared back, and something in him finally broke.

"Enough."

"What?"

"This marriage is finished."

Cat stared, then laughed incredulously.

"You cannot be serious."

"I have never been more serious."

"You would cast aside your wife over bastards?"

"I would cast aside anyone who conspired to maim a child under my protection."

"I did not conspire..."

"You knew. You agreed. And even now you protect the man responsible."

"He is not responsible for what happened!"

"Then name him!"

"No!"

Ned slammed his fist down again.

"Then you leave for Riverrun tomorrow."

"I will do no such thing."

"You will."

"I am Lady of Winterfell!"

"Not for much longer."

Cat went still.

"I will seek an annulment."

Her face twisted with fury.

"On what grounds?"

"I have a confession heard by my steward and my maester, years of hidden correspondence, and your own admission that you knowingly allowed a plot to cripple a boy in my household."

"You..."

"Call me whatever you please."

Ned stepped closer.

"You will agree to the annulment."

"No."

"Then everyone hears why."

Cat froze. Ned pointed toward the letters.

"Robert. Jon Arryn. The northern lords. Riverrun. Your children, when they are old enough."

"You would publicly shame the mother of your children?"

"If you force me."

"You would destroy my name."

"You nearly destroyed Jon's life!"

His shout shook the room. Cat's face burned with rage.

"He is a bastard!"

"He is my blood!"

"And I am your wife!"

"Not anymore."

They stared at one another, Cat's hands trembling. Ned turned toward Jory.

"Prepare an escort. Lady Catelyn leaves for Riverrun tomorrow."

Then he looked to Luwin.

"Bring me parchment."

Cat's eyes narrowed.

"For what?"

"A letter to Lord Hoster."

Her face changed. Ned looked directly at her.

"He will know everything before you arrive."

"You would do that to me?"

"You did this to yourself."

Cat stepped toward him.

"I will fight you."

"Then fight."

Ned's voice was ice.

"But understand me clearly. You agree to the annulment quietly, or I make every part of this known."

Cat stared at him with naked hatred. Ned no longer looked away.

"Tomorrow," he said. "You go back to Riverrun."