⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙖𝙮, "𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣, 𝙛𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙣. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚. 𝙃𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙬."

cold at your side than any warmth alone—but I won’t deny I’m looking forward to that fire.” She leaned into him as they walked, shoulder to shoulder, her voice quiet and sure. “Come, my love. Tonight, Winterfell can wait.”

them, gentle but certain, “—is what I hold to.” The wind tugged at her hair, cold fingers reminding her of winter’s patience, and she nodded in agreement. “Yes,” she murmured, already turning with him toward the warmth of the keep. “Let us go inside. I would rather face the

words themselves were something sacred. Her free hand lifted, resting briefly against his chest, feeling the steady truth of his heart beneath her palm. “You have given me everything that matters, Ned. Whatever storms come, whatever the world demands… this—” she gestured between

Catelyn smiled at him then—truly smiled, the kind that softened her whole face and settled something deep and quiet in her chest. She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze, unafraid of the cold so long as he was beside her. “Our family,” she echoed softly, as though the

Targaryen, not as a prince, but as the young man who has earned a place beside my daughter’s heart. That is all that matters to me.” A final, quiet assurance. “And your father would want nothing less.”

weight of your house and the grace of your own character.” She squeezed Sansa’s hands. “Hold your head high when you speak to him. Robb will hear the truth in your voice.” Then, softer—almost a mother’s vow: “And when Aegon comes to our table, I will look at him not as a

a chance at happiness.” There was a faint smile then—small, proud, touched with something like awe. “And yes, he will be honored. You are the daughter of Winterfell, the blood of the First Men, a woman who has endured and remained gentle still. Your invitation carries the

rather than secrecy. “That is wise,” she said. “Robb deserves honesty from you, and you deserve his understanding. He will be wary—he must be—but he loves you beyond measure. And when he sees the strength you’ve found… the peace this young man gives you… he will not deny you

“You are not betraying your father by caring for Aegon. You honor him by choosing kindness, by allowing yourself to feel again. The past is the past. Our duty is to the future you build.” Catelyn nodded as Sansa spoke of Robb, of approaching him with openness

buried there, I know this: Ned Stark would not condemn a boy for the choices of a man long dead.” Her voice dropped further, gentle but firm. “And neither will I.” She let that settle—an anchor in the depths of Sansa’s fear—before continuing.

begin with you.” She let her hands rest over Sansa’s, warm and grounding. “And as for Aegon… Lyanna’s story is a wound carried by this family, yes. But it is also a story shrouded in complexity, one your father spoke of with far more sorrow than anger. Whatever truths lie

Catelyn did not flinch at the name Targaryen, nor at the ghost of Lyanna that seemed to drift between them. Instead, her expression deepened—somber, steady, utterly composed. “Sansa,” she said softly, “your father never judged a child for the sins of their father. He would not

Her thumb brushed his knuckles again, slow, tender. “Come, my love. Let’s go inside before Winterfell freezes us both solid.”

to meet his, full of quiet affection. “I have no grand desires this evening, Ned. Only the comfort of your presence.” A pause; the faintest teasing note. “And perhaps,” she murmured, “a cup of warm wine to chase away this cold.”

closeness. With Ned, she never had to pretend. Never had to be anything but herself. “But if you let me choose,” she added, voice softening even more, “then I choose exactly this—your hand in mine, a warm hearth waiting, and a night with no duties between us.” Her eyes lifted

Winterfell’s courtyard. “A fire, then,” she said with a gentle smile, “and the quiet of our chambers. The children are asleep, the hall is calm… it seems the gods have granted us a rare moment of peace.” She leaned her shoulder lightly into his, letting herself savor the

Catelyn’s breath caught—just a little—at the kiss he pressed to her hand. It was such a small gesture, yet it warmed her more than any fire ever could. She let their hands fall back between them, still linked, still steady, as they walked across the familiar stones of

confidence. You are not a frightened girl seeking approval. You are Sansa Stark of Winterfell. And any man would be fortunate to be invited to your table.”

benediction. “And know this: whatever I see in him, whatever comes of this meeting… I am glad you have someone who brings you peace. That alone is a blessing the gods seldom grant lightly.” Her voice softened to a near whisper. “When you ask him to join us, speak with

earn Robb’s respect.” A breath, quiet but sure. “You have my permission, Sansa. Extend the invitation. Let him dine with us, speak with us, allow us to know him beyond title or tale.” She leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Sansa’s brow—slow, deliberate, a mother’s