Catelyn clutched the sewing needle, needing something to keep herself from tearing out her auburn hair. Bran fell from the tower, though she suspected something more sinister, for the boy was always sure-footed. Maester Luwin assured her that the critical time had already passed, that her sweet boy was out of imminent danger. Still, her sweet angel could not open his eyes. She only could comfort herself with the fact that his body no longer had a distinct chill and that his breathing, while slightly labored, was even. Hour after hour, sun up to sun down, she remained vigilant as a hawk at Bran's side, forsaking food, company, and basic upkeep. Her hair, normally a flowing river of red silk, was matted and disheveled from neglect. She abstained from the family feasts, only eating the bare minimum to ensure that she would survive long enough to see Bran's chocolate pupils again. She no longer cared about her duties as Lady Stark. Maester Luwin can handle the damn accounts and appointments; he was one of Ned's most trusted men. Rickon…her heart lurched for the poor boy, who had only seen six namedays. She knew as a mother that she had been failing him. Robb, her eldest wolf-pup, chastised her that one night. The same night that the assassin came for Bran. The man, dressed in silver armor, silently slithered into the room, a fine dagger in hand, ready to drag the fine blade across the smooth ivory neck of her child. Her hands told the story, deep, angry, jagged slashes marred her pale skin.

She heard the soft footsteps and looked up, hoping it would have been Robb. But instead of the bright brown eyes of her wolf-pup, she saw the eyes of a bastard. The baseborn boy dared to enter Bran's room while she lay watch. He crept into the room, focusing on Bran and stated, "I'm here to say goodbye to Bran." She said nothing; she rarely ever offered him words, only glacial glances, colder than the winds of even the longest of winters. He knelt down, the bastard's face only inches from her son's, whispering rubbish about visiting the Wall and other promises. It was utter hogwash. She understood that the Stark men have always manned the Wall, protecting the people from what lies beyond it. Old Nan liked to prattle on about White Walkers and Wildlings; she probably conjured up such fantasies to scare the children, for Ned certainly gave no credence to the stories.

His presence enraged her, her tearful eyes hardened and a low, stern voice left her lips, "I want you to leave!" She watched his shadow exit the room. Thank the gods he was going to the Wall; she had insisted on it. The sight of Ned's shame everyday infuriated her. When Ned returned from the war 17 years ago, he brought this strange child with him. At that time Robb had only seen his first name day. She pleaded for him to send the boy away, refusing to look at the chestnut hair and eyes that so closely resembled her husband. Ned looked horrified at the very notion; he assumed that they the boy would be raised at Winterfell among his trueborn children. "He is their brother, after all," he had explained. Anger ignited like wildfire inside Catelyn. "Raised here? Your bastard? Here, amongst the lawful heirs to Winterfell?" she asked incredulously. For years she silently panicked, no one understanding her fear every time she saw that creature close to her lawful children, every time she saw him ruffle Bran's hair, embrace Robb or teach Arya some new trick with a sword. Sometimes she worried that Snow would poison her children or butcher them with his sword. She had seen it before, bastards plotting to kill trueborn children because they themselves stood to inherit nothing. A desperate lord hoping that his name would live on could then beg the king to legitimize that bastard. She had heard whispers of the bastard at the Dreadfort committing fratricide against the rightful Bolton heir, Domeric. Of course, Lord Bolton could never confirm these rumors. At least Sansa, her spitting image, the only one possessing her Tully hair, was wise to the schemes of the bastard. She treated him as befitting of his low station. But her other children certainly took after their father, they were caught in the enchantment of the bastard, in the honor of treating him as "family". With Ned set to leave for King's Landing as the new Hand, she had demanded that the boy leave, as well, for the protection of her children. Robb would be acting lord, and she could only dread some horrible accident befalling him.

Winterfell held nothing for him; he would inherit nothing, so if he wanted to find purpose, then he needed to do so outside these walls. Ultimately, he decided in joining Ned's brother, Benjen, as a member of the Night's Watch. Fortunately, for Catelyn, the bastard would now be stationed hundreds of miles away in a frozen, barren wasteland protecting the seven kingdoms from the terrible creatures prominently featured in children's tales. And if Catelyn had her wish, she would never see him darken her door again.