Winterfell.
Of all the rooms in the castle, Catelyn's bedchamber was the warmest—so warm that there was rarely any need to light a fire.
Winterfell was founded atop natural hot springs. Steaming water, like blood coursing through a living body, flowed through the high-walled chambers, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with warmth and humidity so the soil would not freeze.
In summer, it hardly mattered. But in winter, it was often the difference between life and death.
The North was harsh country. If winter stretched on too long, even a lord might freeze to death in his own castle.
Catelyn liked her bathwater scalding-hot, thick with steam.
That warmth stirred memories of Riverrun—days under bright sun, when she ran and laughed with Lysa and Edmure.
After she bathed, Lord Eddard came in and lifted his wife into his arms.
By candlelight, their shadows tangled and moved together.
Much later, when they were finished, Ned drew back the heavy tapestry curtains and pushed open the narrow high windows one by one, letting the night's cold pour into the chamber.
He stood quietly by the window—naked, unadorned—facing the dark vault of the sky alone, the wind weaving and howling around him.
Catelyn pulled the warm furs up to her chin and watched him in silence.
All at once, she thought Ned looked thinner—smaller, more fragile—like the young man she had pledged her life to in Riverrun's sept fifteen years ago.
"Ned," Catelyn called softly.
Eddard lifted his head and looked at her.
"Catelyn," he said, solemn and distant, "the children—where are they?"
He always asked that first.
"In their rooms. They were still arguing about what they'll eat tomorrow before they went to sleep."
Catelyn paused, hesitating. "Ned… there's something I need to say."
Seeing her falter, Eddard smiled. "What could make you so uncertain, my good lady?"
Catelyn took his hand. "My love, I want to speak to you about something."
Their eyes held. Catelyn could see his eyelashes clearly.
"Is this about that Bolton boy—Dominic?" he asked.
"How did you know?"
"You've mentioned him all these days."
Since he'd already named it, Catelyn did not hide it any longer. "Ned, I want Sansa to marry Ser Dominic."
"Why?" Eddard turned fully toward her. His gaze darkened; doubt weighed his voice. "Robert once wrote to me—he seemed to want Sansa to wed his eldest son…"
Catelyn sat up sharply, her tone hard. "How many years ago was that? The last time you even mentioned it—was it four years ago? Five? Rickon wasn't even born then.
King Robert has long since forgotten it!"
Eddard shook his head. "Robert is not that kind of man. I know him."
"Robert is king now," Catelyn shot back. "A king doesn't remember an old companion like a brother. The man you know is the man he used to be."
Her mind raced. I have to make him see the truth.
"Eight years," Ned said with a bitter smile. "Perhaps he's simply burdened by duty. A king has endless affairs…"
"You don't believe that yourself!"
Anger flared in her voice. All Westeros knew that after taking the Targaryen throne, King Robert spent his years doing only a handful of things—
Drinking, whoring, hunting—
Or on the way to drinking, whoring, and hunting.
"But Dominic… he—"
Catelyn cut him off. "Ser Dominic is an outstanding young lord, is he not?"
Eddard's mouth pulled into a reluctant line. It felt strange, hearing his wife praise another man so tirelessly.
"Dominic is exceptional," Ned admitted. "Kind-hearted, superb with a blade, devoted to knightly virtue… among the young, there are few like him."
Eddard would not deny a man's merit out of spite. It would betray the very honor he lived by.
"He is House Bolton's trueborn heir—the Dreadfort's successor."
"You know as well as I do: House Bolton's foundations are no weaker than ours. They are ancient blood of the First Men—their line reaches back to the Age of Heroes."
"And in these past years, every time Ser Dominic visits Winterfell, he sends gifts—silks from Braavos, precious ornaments from the Reach, gems from Dorne… more than I can count!"
"Sansa and Arya receive exquisite clothes every year—southern court tailoring, they say."
"Bran has a whole room of books now. They spill into his bedchamber."
"Rickon is still too young—otherwise he'd already be buried under presents…"
"And only days ago, Ser Dominic sent Robb a knight's longsword of considerable value—made from something he called 'hundred-fold steel'…"
"Robb swung that sword all day. I have never seen the boy so delighted."
…
"So those are your reasons," Eddard said hoarsely, wetting his throat. "Because he brings gifts?"
"Is that not enough?" Catelyn demanded. "This is Sansa's happiness for the rest of her life. And an alliance with House Bolton would strengthen Winterfell's position in the North…"
"But Sansa is only thirteen," Ned said, still hesitant. "Isn't she too young?"
"Ned—why are you always so reluctant when it matters most?"
Her expression was sharp with frustration. "When my father promised me to your brother Brandon, I was only twelve."
"Brandon…" Ned's temper broke. "Brandon would have known what to do. He was confident in everything—certain of every step. Winterfell should have been his. I never asked to drink this bitter cup."
"Perhaps you did not," Catelyn said evenly. "But Brandon is gone. The cup has passed to you. Whether you like it or not, you must drink."
…
By custom, Eddard Stark had wed Catelyn in place of his dead brother Brandon—yet Brandon's shadow still stood between them.
Like another shadow: a woman whose name Ned would not speak, who had borne him a bastard son—Jon Snow.
Catelyn had learned early that highborn men sired bastards. When she learned, soon after their wedding, that Ned had fathered a child on campaign with a peasant girl, she was not surprised.
But when the war ended and Ned brought the bastard home and called him "son" before everyone—
That was different.
If Jon never appeared before her eyes, if she never had to see him or hear him, she could have closed one eye to as many bastards as Ned wished to father elsewhere.
But Jon was always there—tangible, present, an irritation she could not ignore.
Worse still, Jon Snow grew to look more like Ned than any of the sons Catelyn herself had borne him.
She could not accept it.
…
Catelyn's brows drew tight. Her face darkened.
First Ned refused her plan for Sansa's marriage. Then the thought of Jon's existence fanned her anger hotter and hotter, until she teetered on the edge of eruption.
She threw back the furs and rose from the bed in one swift motion, striding across the room as though searching for something.
The midnight air was cold enough to cut, graveyard-cold.
Is she looking for a knife?
Ned startled at her sudden movement.
"What are you doing?" he asked, tense.
"Lighting a fire," Catelyn told him.
She took a robe from the wardrobe, pulled it on, and crouched at the hearth, long since gone cold.
"Catelyn… I—" Ned began.
She did not answer. She fed kindling into the coals, then stacked thicker logs over it.
Ned took her arm, trying to help her up. His hand clamped around her and would not let go. His face was inches from hers, but he knew he could not pull her into his embrace yet.
Catelyn looked up at him. Only after a moment did she speak, her voice softening into something tender and resolute.
"I'm doing this for the children. In the North, you will not find a young man as exceptional as Ser Dominic…"
Their gazes locked like two armies facing each other across a battlefield.
For Sansa's future—for her happiness—Catelyn, as a mother, had to win this war.
"All right," Ned said at last, yielding first. "If you insist…
Then I will write to Lord Roose, and have him bring Dominic to Winterfell to make the formal suit."
He rose and drew Catelyn into his arms, lifting her face toward his—then a crucial thought struck him.
"And if that Bolton boy refuses?"
"He won't," Catelyn said, confident. "He's spoken of his feelings for Sansa…"
"The steward's daughter told me: Dominic gave Sansa a white gemstone that once belonged to his mother—and said Sansa was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen…"
-
-
-
🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
📢 Dark Secrets Await in the North! 📢
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort now has 30 chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🩸🐺
Uncover the secrets buried beneath the Dreadfort and the dark legacy of House Bolton before anyone else.
🛑 Also on Patreon, you can find exclusive novels not available anywhere else, including:
R18: Reincarnated in Her World
Cyberpunk: Lucy Adopted Me and I Got a System
Cyberpunk: The Relentless
My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
My Cyberpunk 2077 Simulator
The Rebirth of Harry Potter
Dragon King of Ice and Fire
Star Wars: Relics of the Past
🔗 www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 Patreon name: SrMagnus🐦 Twitter/X: https://x.com/SrMagnusBook
⚠️ Remember: I'll always post more chapters of the novel that gets the most Power Stones!