The North was bitter and cold, but Winterfell was different. The castle was built over natural hot springs; steaming water ran through the chambers within its high walls, driving the chill from the stone halls and filling the glass garden with warmth and damp air.
Great Lord Eddard's rooms were the warmest in Winterfell. Catelyn loved that warmth. It always pulled her back to Riverrun, to sunlit days running and laughing with Lysa and Edmure. Even here in the North, her thoughts returned again and again to the South, to those beautiful green lands.
When they were finished, Eddard rose, climbed out of bed, drew aside the heavy tapestry curtains, and pushed open the narrow windows high in the wall one after another. Cold air poured into the bedchamber.
Eddard was not as handsome or broad as Brandon, Catelyn thought, watching his back, but he is a good husband.
Fifteen years ago, Eddard and Catelyn had wed in haste in the sept at Riverrun. The match had been meant for Catelyn and Brandon, until Brandon's sudden death changed everything. Even so, Eddard had honored what duty demanded of the North and the Riverlands, and together they had had several children.
"I will refuse him." Eddard turned to face her, his eyes dark with a shadow that would not lift, his voice thick with doubt.
Catelyn sat up in bed. "No. You cannot refuse."
"My duty is here, in the North. I have no wish to become Robert's Hand of the King," Eddard said after a moment.
Many men might prefer the warmth of the South, but the Starks were made to live with cold. His father, Great Lord Rickard, had once set his heart on southern plans, and it had ended in tragedy.
"Robert doesn't understand any of that. He's king now. You can't treat a king as if he were any other man." Catelyn leaned forward, trying to make him see. "Don't you understand what danger we invite if you refuse?"
Their disagreement over going south sharpened, clear as a drawn blade. Catelyn could not grasp what he feared. The warm South was where she had grown up.
"The King has come to see you. That is the highest honor," she said, anger flaring as she looked at him.
How could Eddard not understand? The King wished his eldest son to marry Sansa. What could be more glorious? One day Sansa would be Queen, and her children would rule lands stretching from the Wall in the far North to the mountains of Dorne. Was that not a good thing?
"In the past, yes." Eddard's brow tightened. "But now… it is a troubled time. If I go south, I may end up mustering armies and making war on our enemies Across the Narrow Sea. Robert says he will not acknowledge rebels, but a king cannot become a kinslayer."
He wanted his wife to understand the corner he was in. Going south was no pleasant duty. Enemies Across the Narrow Sea were watching like wolves, and the Red Keep itself was far from peaceful.
He had not seen the king in nine years, while Lannister men stayed at Robert's side day and night. North and south were far apart. Too far.
"Are you afraid of war, Lord?" Catelyn asked. "Your enemies are only children. Even when King Balon rebelled, it was put down."
"Lady, a battlefield does not care whether a man is a child. It only cares who wins and who loses." Eddard's voice stayed even. "That boy has a talent for war. Every city in Myr and Tyrosh is a great port, which means money and men in plenty. Fleets, slaves, and sellswords will gladly die for him, the way men once died for Robert in his youth."
He had weighed it all. Among the Free Cities, the strongest had always been Braavos, Volantis, and the Three Daughters in their day. Myr and Tyrosh were not foes who would go quietly. They were rich and powerful, not poor and barren like the Iron Islands. And Stannis, shut away on Dragonstone, might not even be willing to come out and command the royal fleet.
"And that is exactly why you should stand with the king now," Catelyn insisted. "He will remember your support."
Eddard only grew more withdrawn. There were things he could not put into words for her. The thought of going south always left him with a sense of unease.
Most of all, Eddard had once received a secret letter from distant Dragonstone. Its contents were so shocking that he had never shared them with anyone.
"Great Lord Jon likely died at the hands of House Lannister, having discovered some 'unusual' relationship between the Queen and her brother."
The words in Stannis's letter were explosive, yet Eddard knew Stannis was not a reckless man. He was as rigid and unyielding as iron.
"Unusual?" The word weighed heavily on Eddard's heart. The letter felt like a sealed vault hiding a terrible secret. Stannis's smuggler had concealed it inside a wine cask and left it at White Harbor. No explanation. No further message.
Stannis had not written more. Eddard had not dared push his suspicions as far as the king's children, and Stannis had not put such thoughts plainly to parchment. Even so, Eddard understood that the Red Keep was thick with hidden danger.
"Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven," Eddard said quietly. "And Joffrey… Joffrey…"
"He is the crown prince, heir to the Iron Throne," Catelyn replied at once. "When my father betrothed me to your brother Brandon, I was only twelve."
Brandon's shadow seemed to fall between them. Hearing his name left a bitter taste in Eddard's mouth.
"Yes. Brandon knew everything. Brandon always carried himself with certainty. You and Winterfell were meant to be his. He was the one born to be lord of the castle, father to a queen."
"The dead are gone. Brandon is no longer in this world," Catelyn said steadily. "Whether you wish it or not, this bitter cup has been passed to you."
Her words struck him hard. Eddard turned away again, retreating into the dimness.
Catelyn saw the hurt in him and dared not press further. She knew the wound he carried would never truly heal. The shadow of his elder brother stood between them, just as surely as the shadow of another woman, a woman whose name Eddard would not speak, yet who had borne him a bastard.
A knock broke the silence, halting Catelyn before she could rise to comfort him. Maester Luwin entered the chamber.
What he brought with him made their blood run cold: a box containing a Myrish lens.
"Forgive the intrusion," the maester said. "Someone left a letter for me."
Eddard and Catelyn looked together at the finely crafted wooden box that held the lens, trying to piece together what had happened.
While Maester Luwin had dozed in the rookery, someone had placed the carved box upon the desk. The servants claimed they had seen no one come or go. It must have been left by one of the king's retinue. Winterfell had received no other visitors from the South.
Eddard's brow furrowed again. Catelyn knew he had little patience for such matters.
"A lens?" he said. "What has that to do with me?"
"I wondered the same," Maester Luwin replied. "There is clearly something hidden here."
Shivering beneath the heavy furs, Catelyn said softly, "A lens is used to see the truth more clearly."
"Just so." Maester Luwin drew a letter from his sleeve.
A chill ran through Catelyn as she recognized the blue wax seal stamped with House Arryn's crescent falcon.
Eddard's expression darkened further. "Open it."
...
"It is a warning," Catelyn said quietly. "Let us hope we are wise enough to heed it."
"Lysa writes that Jon Arryn was murdered."
"By whom?" Eddard demanded. He may already have suspected the answer, but he needed to hear it spoken.
"House Lannister," Catelyn said gravely. "The Queen."
Eddard's hand loosened from her arm, leaving dark red marks on her skin.
"Gods," he muttered hoarsely. "Your sister is overcome with grief. She does not know what she is saying."
Yet the stone in his heart sank lower still. Lysa's letter echoed Stannis's words almost exactly. Two secret messages, both pointing to the ambition of House Lannister.
In that moment, Eddard understood why Stannis had written. Stannis stood alone. In King's Landing there were the Lannisters, hungry for power. Across the Narrow Sea, there were the bastard and the remnant of the true dragon.
"Lysa may be impulsive, but this letter was carefully planned and cleverly concealed," Catelyn said firmly. "She must have known that if it fell into the wrong hands, she would be dead. She would not take such a risk without cause."
"Then we have no choice. You must serve as Hand of the King. Only then can you uncover the truth."
"Gods, the South is full of vipers and beasts," Eddard said. "I would sooner avoid it." He had already come to a conclusion. The waters of the South ran too deep.
Maester Luwin spoke again, his slow, steady voice pressing the matter further.
"My lord, the Hand of the King holds great authority. You would have the power to discover the truth of Lord Jon's death and bring the culprit to justice. And if matters turn ill, you would be in a position to protect Lady Lysa and her son."
Eddard felt a loneliness unlike any he had known. Two voices were sounding the horn, driving him toward the field. Now he stood alone. His wife needed him to be brave, for the sake of their family.
"You say you love Robert more than your own brother," Catelyn said. "Can you bear to see your brother surrounded by Lannisters?"
Her words fell with crushing weight, sealing off every path of retreat. However dangerous the road ahead, there was no longer a choice.
"It seems I must leave Winterfell," Eddard said at last, his voice drained. "Leave my home."
He sounded weary, grief woven through his words, his eyes faintly wet.
"My father went south only once in his life, to answer a king's summons. He never returned."