Long before the winter. Just before Rickon's birth.

"Lady Stark?"

She turned, facing down the long hall towards her maidservant.

"My lady, your husband is looking for you in the great hall," she said hurriedly. "He received a raven from your sister."

"Thank you, Tarya," she nodded, pulling her cloak over the growing mound of her stomach.

Ned greeted her at the doorway of the great hallway, and her eyes roved across his face as they always did, reading his silence the way few could read even his words. His jaw was tense, his shoulders squared, and his eyes dark, but his lips curved into a smile when he saw her. "My lady," he said softly, reaching for her, and she walked into his arms.

"Ned," she said softly. "What news?"

"Your sister is coming to visit with her child and her husband," he said. "And with them, the king."

She stiffened in his arms. "The king? Does he come with Cersei and the little ones?"

"Yes, my love," he answered. "And I believe he comes to ask me to be his general."

Her face hardened. "And what is the need?" she asked sharply. "What war does he have to fight, what army to slay? He has conquered and brought peace. And you—you are Lord of Winterfell, of a people who look to you, a family who needs you. You have a son soon to be born."

"I will tell King Robert no when he asks," Ned said gently. "But what will you say, love, when he comes to me with true need one day? What if there was a war? Would you tell me to stay?"

"That depends on who Robert was fighting," Catelyn said coolly.

"And if it was a real threat? A threat to Winterfell and to our children?"

"Then I would not ask you to stay, Ned Stark."

He gazed down at her for a long moment, and then bent and kissed her, the stubble of his jaw scraping across her cheek. "I love you, Lady Stark," he murmured, his lips ravaging hers in the way that always sent a flood of heat through her body.

"My lord," she whispered, her voice a low hiss in his ear. "We have an hour until supper."

She felt his lips, still on her skin, curve into a smile. "Yes, my lady," he said softly, lifting her easily and carrying her a few strides down the hall and into their bedroom. "I think we do."

It was over an hour later when they emerged, and they found the children and advisors already in the dining room.

"Where were you, Fa?" Bran, who was nearing four, piped up innocently.

Ned looked down at her, and she smiled wolfishly up at him. "What will you tell your son, Lord Stark?" she whispered mischievously.

"They were fucking," Arya, who was barely six, stated nonchalantly, pulling back her chair and climbing in.

Catelyn's eyebrows shot up, and Sansa, who was eight, opened her eyes wide in horror.

"I told her not to say that word, Mother," she said primly.

"I'm more interested in where she learned it," Ned said pointedly, his sharp gaze falling on Robb. He pulled out his chair at the head of the table and addressed the eleven-year-old. "Why does Arya speak this way?"

"Must have been that stable boy Adran," Robb said quickly, lifting his fork and shoving food in his mouth in an obvious attempt to avoid further questions. "You know how he talks."

Arya jumped down from her chair and ran down the long table to climb up onto Ned's lap. For a moment Catelyn thought he would reprove the child for her behavior at the supper table, but he smiled slightly.

"Was I naughty, Fa?" she asked, looking up at him concernedly. "I'm naughty by accident almost every day."

"And you're naughty on purpose, too," Sansa interjected. "Today she stole a bow from the guardroom and shot an arrow through one of my dolls."

"Is that so?" Ned asked, and Catelyn saw that he was trying to hide the smile that twinkled behind his eyes. "Arya?"

She wriggled off of his lap and went back to her place at the table. "It wasn't one of Sansa's nice dolls," she said defensively, a pout on her lips. "It was ugly anyway."

"Arya, you'll apologize to your sister," Catelyn said firmly. "And you'll help me sew the rip you caused with the arrow."

"I don't want the doll back," Sansa sniffed. "It's ruined."

"Very well," Catelyn said. "Arya, I still expect you to apologize to your sister."

Arya crossed her arms, pouting.

"Arya," Ned said softly.

"I'm sorry for shooting an arrow through your ugly doll, Sansa," Arya said, jabbing her meat with her fork a little harder than normal.

Sansa lifted her head, tossing her red hair and looking pointedly away from her sister, and Catelyn exchanged an exasperated look with Ned.

"Women," Robb shook his head sagely. "Always trouble."

Ned raised his eyebrows, looking pointedly at Catelyn.

"I mean sisters," he corrected.

Arya stuck out her tongue.

Bran banged his spoon on the table. "So what's fucking?" he asked, and Ned sighed.

"Not a word to say in front of ladies," Sansa told him primly.

"You can say it in front of me, though," Arya added, glaring at her older sister. "Because I'm not a lady."

"Why can't ladies talk about fucking"—Bran began, and Robb snickered.

"That's enough," Ned said sharply. "I don't want any of you saying that word at my table again, understand?"

The children were quiet for a long moment, and then Bran piped up once more.

"Is Robb in trouble?" he asked.

"Yes," Ned said, and when Robb winced, his tone softened slightly. "We'll talk after supper."

Robb dropped his head, and the other three children stared openly.

"I have news," Catelyn said quickly, her bright tone sounding a little forced as she attempted to redirect the attention off of her eldest son. "We will have visitors from King's Landing in less than a month's time. What do you say to that, my loves? My sister's son and the king's children, all coming to visit."

"Will I have to room with Sansa?" Arya asked, wrinkling her nose.

"No, my darling, we have plenty of rooms," Catelyn said. "Aren't you excited to see your cousin, and the princes and princess?"

"No," Arya said.

"Yes," Sansa said.

"They're all little," Robb shrugged.

"Yea," Bran said, looking up at his older brother and trying to imitate the shrug. "They're all too little."

Catelyn smiled, and nodded to Ned. "My love, I should begin making arrangements for their arrival," she rose, and he rose, too. "There is much to do."

"Others can make the preparations," he said. "You should do no heavy work."

"I will refrain from the heavy work, Lord Stark," she said playfully, but he didn't smile.

"Catelyn," he said softly. "There are others who can do the work. You must take care of yourself. And take care of our child."

She felt the child in her womb kick, and she placed a hand to her stomach, smiling slightly. "Our son recognizes your voice," she said, and Ned smiled this time.

"Come, my love," he nodded to the door. "Come sit by the fire with me. The preparations can wait."

It was a cool summer night, and the fire was a welcome warmth. She sat, and Ned wrapped his fur over her shoulders before taking a seat beside her.

"You don't need to coddle me, Ned," she said softly, curling close to him.

He wrapped an arm over her, pulling her close.

"This isn't my first time carrying your children," she said. "I have never lost one, my love, and I don't plan on starting now. I may not be one of these Northern girls, but I am every bit as strong."

"You are as fierce as a direwolf, Catelyn Stark," he said, a smile touching his lips. "And believe me when I say that it is not weakness I see when I look at you."

She smiled at his words, her finger tracing a pattern across his lips. "You speak the words I wish to hear," she said.

Ned opened his mouth to respond, but a small voice interrupted them.

"It's true," Arya said, climbing onto Ned's lap. "He was bragging to the captain of his guard that his lady is the fiercest in the seven kingdoms."

"And beautiful?" Catelyn teased, kissing Ned's jaw. "Did he mention beautiful?"

Arya nodded seriously. "But he wouldn't let the men talk about you," she said. "He told them only he has that privilege."

Catelyn smiled up at him. "Oh, did he?"

Ned smiled, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "I'm a fortunate man, Catelyn," he said.

"Aye," Catelyn said. "It is said that the Tully women bring good fortune with them wherever they go."

"Robb," Ned called suddenly, and Catelyn saw that the boy had been trying to slip through the room unnoticed.

"Be gentle with him," she whispered as Ned moved Arya to her lap.

"I'm sorry I taught her that word"—Robb began nervously.

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Ned cut him off. "Come here."

Robb obeyed, standing before them, head down.

"Look at me."

He looked up reluctantly.

"Tonight you blamed the stable boy," Ned said, and Robb hung his head again. "A good lord never lays the blame for his actions on someone else, especially someone who has no voice to defend themselves. A good man faces the consequences of his own actions."

"Yes, sir," Robb whispered.

"As for the words, I do not pretend to care what words you use as long as you treat your mother and sisters and brothers with respect," Ned continued. "And for now that means your sister Arya is young, and she does not need to hear or understand coarser language. There is time enough for that. And Robb? That means Bran is too young, too. He's barely more than a babe."

Robb nodded. "Yes, sir," he repeated.

Ned's face softened, and he stood, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. "Come with me," he said. "I'm going to make a round with the captain of my guard on the outer wall." Robb's face lit up, and Ned smiled and then turned to Catelyn. "I'll be back in an hour, love. Will you see to it that a raven is sent to your sister asking for the date of their expected arrival?"

She nodded and stood, setting Arya on the ground. "I'll send it tonight, Ned."

He nodded, and she could see his eyes were already distant with thoughts of his guard and of the upcoming visit, but he leaned in and kissed her before departing with Robb at his side.

She watched as they went, and as she ruffled Arya's messy brown hair and sent her off to bed, Catelyn thanked every god she knew that Winterfell was not only ruled by a good lord, but that her children were born to a good man.