Catelyn mopped the sweat beading on her husband's forehead. Ned had come down with a harsh fever several hours past and spent much of that time asleep. On his sickbed, her lord husband seemed smaller, grayer. Only his dark hair retained its normal color, though it had become brittle in his bad health. His fingers were skeletal, the veins tight against the skins. But he was stronger than this; a fever could not take him away. She put a hand to her swollen belly. If she left Ned's side, it would only be to deliver this babe.

"Lya…I'm sorry." He murmured. When he had the strength, he whispered words of no consequence. If he spoke, it meant he was improving. "The tower…dawn…red sand…no…she loved roses…I promise…"

A tentative knock interrupted her, followed by a stronger, heartier one.

She was not in the mood for visitors, but whoever it was must have had a good reason to knock "Come in."

Robb ran into her, struggling to wrap his small, pale arms around her huge middle. "Hi mama!" he cried. He smiled with his big blue eyes. Ned flinched.

"Shhh." She smoothed his red-brown hair, "Your father is still ill. You must not disturb him."

"Will he get better?" Snow seemed to appear out of nowhere.

She looked sharply at Snow and pursed her lips. His eyes, grey like Ned's, lowered. "Yes." She said at last. She turned her back to Snow and said to Robb, "Why don't you go to Old Nan, hmm? Mother has to take care of Father."

Robb kissed her sloppily on the cheek and went out. Snow followed him, like a sulking shadow.

"Jon." Ned murmured, "Son."

Catelyn sighed. He thought of his bastard, but not the trueborn heir she had birthed him? Doubt crept into her heart. Whoever Snow's mother was, Ned must have loved her well. He had taken in the burden she left to raise as if he were trueborn. He was not so in love with her. Their marriage had been arranged, a daughter for an army. Before the septon, they had been strangers, she and Ned, and now she did not know what she was to him. In the three years they had been wed, he had become fond of her, and her him, but did he love her? She knew Ned loved Robb, but did he love Snow better?

"Sorry." He seemed to that word more than any other. She put the rag to his brow again. "Lya…your son."

As if struck, Catelyn retracted her hand. No, she told herself, it didn't mean anything. Men often muttered strange things in their illness that meant nothing.

Another knock. "My lady," It was Maester Luwin. She liked the little old man. His grey face was a kind one, his eyes bright and wise. He had come North with them from Riverrun after delivering Robb. "I have come to relieve you. I shall watch over Lord Eddard from now on."

"No," she choked, and then remembered her manners, "No thank you Maester Luwin. I am sufficiently skilled to care for my lord husband."

"If it pleases my lady," he handed her a covered bowl, "I only ask you feed him this potion, for his strength."

"It does please me. Thank you Maester Luwin." When the little man left, she turned to Ned and whispered so low she could scarcely hear herself. "Ned, did Lyanna have a son?" Everyone in Seven Kingdoms knew that Rhaegar had kidnapped Ned's sister, but if he's gotten a child on her…

"Lyanna?" Ned stammered. "Lyanna."

"Yes, Lyanna." Catelyn said urgently. He would never have been telling her this if he were lucid, she realized.

"Lyanna…I'm sorry." Each word was an effort, "Your son, I took him…Robert would hurt him…He'll be…"

"Ned. Oh Ned." Catelyn felt her heart squeeze tightly in her chest.

Lyanna did have Rhaegar's bastard. If King Robert learned of the boy existence, he would have his head! It was well know that the Baratheon king wanted every Targaryen dead. He had slain Rhaegar himself, slamming his fearsome warhammer into the Silver Prince's heart. He suffered Ser Jaime Lannister's precence because the man had ended Mad Aerys, the last man to sit on the Iron Throne, and the Kingslayer's father received praise for butchering Rhaegar's widow and orphans. He even put a crown on Cersei Lannister's head and took her to bed, a bride for blood.

But Robert wouldn't hurt Ned for hiding the child, would he? He would understand why Ned could not hand over his nephew. Besides, he was Ned's closest friend and Ned…Ned had betrayed his trust. Ned had harbored the son of his worst enemy. Ned had hidden away a threat to Robert's rule. Where was the boy? Who was he? He would never be safe, not while Robert drew breath. And neither would Ned, or herself, or Robb. Oh Ned, what have you done?

"What have you done?" she said aloud.

Ned's eyes fluttered half-open and closed again. "I took him…to Winterfell…Jon…your son, my bastard…forgive me Lya."

"Shhh." She touched his cheek with trembling fingers, "Rest. Save your strength." He fell deep asleep again, and spoke no more.

That was where Jon had come from? The rape of Ned's own sister? He had taken the son of the man who had taken his sister away. He smeared his honor and endangered his marriage to protect this boy, the nephew who called him Father. Her pride seemed so trivial now that guilt boiled in her belly. Jon's mother had died in Dorne in a bed of blood and his father had been slain on the Trident. She and Ned were all that were left to him and she had rejected Jon so cruelly. She had to make this right.

The next time he woke, Ned had regained much of strength. He drank Maester Luwin's potion without complaint and thanked her for her diligence. With as much grace as she could muster, Catelyn quietly mentioned that he muttered strange things while he was in the worse of the fever. He seemed embarrassed, and good-naturedly apologized for whatever he might have sight. He really didn't remember that he had confessed an earth-shattering secret; he was too lighthearted. It made Catelyn strangely guilty.

By the time she was ready to deliver her babe three days later, Ned was as strong as ever. That cold winter morning, Catelyn gave birth to a sweet little girl named Sansa, after her grandmother. She was a robust and happy babe with the Tully hair and Tully eyes. The way Ned looked at her and at Sansa answered the question she'd hung in heart since the day they'd wed.

Robb was giddy at the sight of his sister and begged to hold her. He was too young, she told him, but he could hold the next babe. Jon lingered shyly further from the bed. "Come closer," she encouraged him, "Come see your c- your sister."

That was all it took. Jon smiled when he saw Sansa, a large careless smile full of little white teeth. "She's pretty Mama."

She saw Ned stiffen beside her, "Jon," he began.

"It's okay. I'm his mother as well now, I suppose," Catelyn interrupted. She caught a glimpse of the secrets weighting on Ned's heart; she couldn't let him shoulder it alone, no more than she could leave Jon alone. She patted Jon's hair, dark like Ned's, like Lyanna's. "Yes, your sister is pretty."

Jon kissed her cheek.