Despite the brutal chill of the North, Winterfell was an exception to the ice. Built over ancient, natural hot springs, boiling water coursed through the stone walls and beneath the floors, driving the cold from the great halls and breathing life into the glass gardens.
Lord Eddard's bedchamber was the warmest room in the keep. Catelyn cherished that heat; it reminded her of the sunlit days of her youth in Riverrun, running through the gardens with Lysa and Edmure. Even after fifteen years in the North, Catelyn's heart still yearned for the warmth of the South.
After they made love, Ned rose from the bed and pulled back the heavy tapestries. He cracked open one of the narrow upper windows, letting the freezing night air spill into the stifling room.
He is not as handsome or as wild as Brandon was, Catelyn thought, watching the muscles shift across her husband's back. But he is a good, dutiful man.
Fifteen years ago, they had been hastily wed in the sept of Riverrun. She had been promised to his older brother, Brandon, but the Mad King had seen to the end of that betrothal. Ned had taken up his brother's sword, his brother's war, and his brother's bride.
"I will refuse him," Ned said, turning to face her. The shadows of the room clung to him, his grey eyes clouded with an unshakable gloom.
Catelyn sat up, pulling the furs tightly to her chest. "No, Ned. You cannot."
"My place is here, in the North. I have no desire to be Robert's Hand," Ned muttered, his brow furrowing. "The Starks belong to the winter. My father possessed 'southron ambitions,' and it led him straight to the Mad King's fire."
"Robert does not understand the old ways, Ned. He is the King. You cannot simply tell a King 'no' and expect him to smile. Do you not see the danger in refusing him?"
Catelyn could not comprehend his fear. To her, the South was light and music. "The King honors you above all men in the realm. He asks for your daughter to marry the Crown Prince! What could be more glorious? Sansa will be Queen. Her children will rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne."
"That is a child's dream, Cat," Ned sighed heavily. "The realm is teetering on the edge of a blade. If I go South, Robert will demand I marshal the armies of the Crown to wage war across the Narrow Sea. He means to smash his own son."
Ned wished she could understand the true weight of it. A war against the Hammer King was a logistical nightmare, but the rot inside the Red Keep terrified him even more.
"Are you afraid of a battle, my lord?" Catelyn asked softly. "Your enemy is a boy playing at war with sellswords. Did you not crush Balon Greyjoy's rebellion?"
"There are no boys on the battlefield, my lady. Only the dead and the men who put them there," Ned replied grimly. "This bastard has a terrifying mind for logistics. Myr and Tyrosh are massive, wealthy ports. He commands fleets, seasoned mercenaries, and slaves who look at him as a god. He will bleed the Iron Throne white."
Ned turned away, staring out into the dark courtyard. He could not tell her the whole truth. The war in Essos was only half the danger.
Weeks ago, a smuggler's ship from Dragonstone had docked in White Harbor. The captain had left a small, sealed scroll hidden inside a barrel of ale, meant only for Lord Stark's eyes. It was a secret letter from Stannis Baratheon.
The contents had chilled Ned to the bone. Stannis claimed that Jon Arryn had not died of a sudden fever, but of poison. Furthermore, Stannis vaguely hinted that Arryn had been investigating an "unnatural" relationship between Queen Cersei and her brother. Stannis was not a man prone to gossip or panic; his will was iron. If Stannis believed the Lannisters were murdering Hands of the King, the Red Keep was a lethal trap.
Unnatural, Ned thought, his stomach twisting. He dared not think too deeply on what that meant regarding Joffrey's true parentage.
"Cat... Sansa is only eleven," Ned argued. "And Joffrey... there is something about the boy I do not like."
"He is the Crown Prince! I was twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon!"
The name hung in the air between them, sharp and bitter.
"Yes," Ned said, his voice dropping to a hollow rasp. "Brandon. It should have been Brandon. He knew what to do in the South. He was meant to be the Lord of Winterfell, meant to be the father of queens."
"Brandon is dead," Catelyn said fiercely, the words tearing at her own heart as much as his. "The cup has passed to you, Ned. You must drink from it."
Before Ned could retreat further into his grief, a soft, urgent knocking broke the silence.
"My lord? My lady?"
It was Maester Luwin.
Ned pulled on a robe and opened the door. The old Maester stood in the corridor, holding a small, intricately carved wooden box.
"Forgive the intrusion at this hour," Luwin said softly, stepping into the room. "But a rider in the King's party left this on the table in my observatory while I slept. No one saw who it was."
Ned frowned, his patience thinning. "What is it?"
"A Myrish lens," Luwin said, opening the box to reveal a thick disk of polished glass. "A tool used by the artisans of Myr to see things clearly."
Catelyn shivered, pulling the furs tighter. "To see things clearly... it is a message. A riddle."
"Exactly, my lady," Luwin said. He reached into the false bottom of the box and withdrew a small, tightly rolled scroll sealed with blue wax.
Catelyn gasped. The seal bore the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn. "It is from Lysa."
Ned's face darkened instantly. "Open it."
Luwin broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. It was written in a secret cipher that only Catelyn and Lysa had used as children. Catelyn moved to the candlelight, translating the frantic, jagged handwriting.
"It is a warning," Catelyn breathed, her face turning pale. "She says Jon Arryn was murdered."
"By whom?" Ned demanded, though the secret letter from Stannis already echoed in his mind.
"The Lannisters," Catelyn whispered, looking up with wide, terrified eyes. "The Queen."
Ned sat heavily on the edge of the bed. The two letters, one from the stoic Lord of Dragonstone and one from the frantic Lady of the Eyrie, told the exact same story. It was no longer a suspicion. It was a conspiracy.
Robert was completely surrounded. Tywin Lannister controlled the West, the Queen controlled the Red Keep, and across the Narrow Sea, Robert's own son was forging an empire of blood and iron.
"If this letter fell into the wrong hands, Lysa would be killed," Catelyn reasoned, her voice shaking. "She would not risk her life for a lie, Ned. You must go. You must become Hand, and you must find the truth."
"The South is a nest of vipers, Cat. It would be safer to remain here, behind the walls of Winterfell," Ned argued weakly, though he knew the battle was already lost.
"My lord," Maester Luwin interjected gently. "The Hand of the King commands great power. If the Lannisters truly poisoned Lord Arryn, only the Hand has the authority to bring them to justice. If you do not go, the King is alone."
Ned felt the crushing weight of isolation. He had fought a war to put Robert on that throne. He had watched men die for it.
"You say you love Robert like a brother," Catelyn pushed, her voice hard with desperate resolve. "Will you leave your brother surrounded by lions?"
The words struck Ned like a physical blow. All his avenues of retreat were closed. Honor, duty, and love bound him in chains of iron.
"I will go," Ned said, his voice stripped of all resistance, sounding infinitely tired. "I will leave my home. But know this, Cat... the only time my father went South, it was at the command of a King. And he never returned."