The Jewel of Winter *Game of Thrones Romance*

Prologue

Prologue

                 Lady Catelyn walked briskly through the woods, clutching her skirts as she stormed past the thick trees. A crisp smell of fresh green pine needles filled the air. The shadows of the tall, reaching, oaks and weirwood stood motionless over the ground whilst their leaves whispered softly to one another as a breeze flitted past. Birds sang songs of summer to the sun, a sinking yellow orb fading into the horizon turning the sky pink. It’s rays lit up the patches of grass as it shone though the branches of the trees, laying patterns on the mossy ground. Catelyn muffled a sob as she tripped over the long roots of a weirwood tree and stumbled close to its pale face and it’s eyes; red. Like blood. The heart tree was the symbol of the old gods of winter; it grew tall against the others, its pale bark and blood red leaves and sap very noticible to the eye. Every tree like this had a face carved into the wide trunk, the face of a watching Old God, protecting it's Northern belivers.

                   How could he? Catelyn growled and kicked the old gods. A howling heavy gust of wind rushed through the trees and blew her long auburn waves in her eyes and mouth, making her splutter. The gods obviously didn’t like to be kicked. Catelyn smoothed down her ruffled blue dress and pulled her black fur-lined cloak tight around her shoulders as she sat beneath the heart tree. No one would hear her cry this far away from Winterfell. She let her tears fall; she never did this before anyone anymore. She was a woman now; wed to a Lord and bore a son. It would not be proper to cry over…over… A bastard.Catelyn gritted her teeth and hugged her knees to her face.He brought to me a bastard, his bastard. He comes back from war and presents me with a bastard when I give him his son.She had been wed to Eddard Stark of Winterfell before the great war and swelled with child at sixteen years and went through the pain of bearing little Robert Stark. Red and squalling she loved him, but she could not love the almost identical bastard babe. Jon. He called it Jon and expects me to treat him as our own. Eddard was hard and honorable, a good man at heart but when she asked whom the mother of Jon was he was silent, shaking his streaked brown hair and would never speak of it. Catelyn wanted this mother’s head.

The tears slowly started to disappear, leaving her blue eyes red rimmed and the choking sobs turned to spaced sniffles. Catelyn sighed looking up trough the heart tree’s leaves and was surprised to see that the woods had grown dark. Blinking, her eyes gradually adjusted, but fear slowly rose in the pit of her stomach. The woods were dangerous at night, prone to wolves and even wildlings. She would have to return soon or else suspicion would probably rise at her absence. You’re must be strong Catelyn Tully you’re a lady of Riverrun. You will go back into Winterfell and take Ned’s bastard.She shook, pushing herself up using the pale rough bark of the heart tree and started back towards the grey stone castle.You will raise him. You will do it for Ned and honor of your house. Her footsteps crunched the dead leaves and branches.There’s no honor in a bastard. Her thoughts screeched at her, ringing in her head. A headache formed by the screams, they almost sounded too real. They were.

A babe’s cry, soft and muffled made her stop inn her tracks. Catelyn angled her head and strained her ears. When she heard silence she turned back to the woods. I’m hearing things now, have I gone mad? The cry erupted again; Catelyn swiveled and went to where it seemed to be coming from. She walked to the heart tree and stood still, listening. She placed a hand on the white bark, warmth surprisingly rising to her palm. The cry was louder, coming from inside the heart tree. No not inside…Catelyn thought carefully as she walked around the wide trunk of the tree. Behind. In the dark, she could see a battered tin bucket, within it a pale babe cried, wrapped warmly in a turquoise blanket. Catelyn looked around anxiously for where it could have come from, but only trees stood around her. The night air was getting cooler and she shivered. What am I meant to do? She crouched to see the child better, its eyes were closed and wisps of dark hair grew on its pale head. It was thin, ribs showing. Shall I take it to town? The mother must be there. Catelyn peeled the turquoise cloth back, making the babe wriggle. A girl. A sudden idea came to her mind as she gently stroked the little girl’s hair, making the babe stare up at her with wide dark round eyes. It was a stupid and unreal wish, she tried to push it from her mind but…but…I could take her as my own. I’ll tell Maester Luwin and Ned how I found her and insist that I have to keep her. Catelyn withdrew her hand with doubt making the babe start to whimper. No, no I can’t, they wouldn’t let me have her. I already have Robb and…Jon. The thought of the bastard made her clench her fists. She bent and carefully took the babe from the bucket into her arms keeping the turquoise cloth around the infant for warmth against the cold. Catelyn cradled the little girl and soothed her crying with gentle whispers. The babe’s cries turn to happy gurgles as it nuzzled against her chest. Ned has his bastard and now I will have her, I will not let them take you. Catelyn smiled at the thought. The bastard can have his wet nurse, but not you little one. As if she heard Catelyn’s thoughts the babe squealed with delight. I will be your mother. You can have my milk and grow and learn. Catelyn strode back to the high walls of Winterfell, the torches burning bright orange against the night sky. The round towers of the castle loomed above the walls, the white flags fluttering in the wind, making the grey wolf sigil apon the fabic, seem to be running in the night sky.

In the torchlight, she caught a glimpse of something shining. Looking down she saw there was silver stitchwork patterned on the turquoise blanket. Shifting her new daughter to one arm she undid her cloak and wrapped the girl in the soft black fur. Catelyn gasped when she unraveled the fabric. It wasn’t a blanket it was a banner. The sigil upon it was a leaping wolfhound, growling as it bared it's teeth to the sky. House Darring of Snowborne. Darring was an ancient northern house located deep within the woods not far from Winterfell, that was said to have been destroyed at the start of the war. The last Darring was, according to the scrolls, a Braavosi princess betrothed to the eldest son of Reynard Darring, Thelon. Lady Carissia was not much older than Catelyn was now when she went missing. Catlelyn recalled the tragic tale of what happened to the Darrings. Lord Thelon was killed along with his father defending their town and their large towering castle of Snowborne. Lady Carissia was with child when she fled on horseback with a single handmaid into the woods away from the crumbling towers; she was never seen again. Could it be? She looked at the little girl who was now sleeping peacefully in the black pelt. Lady Carissia’s unborn child born. Catelyn bit her lip and wrapped the infant carefully in the banner once again. But, it was so long ago the child would be dead. Who was looking after her? Maybe the maid took the child in her care if Carissia passed. She clutched the babe to her chest again and hurried to Winterfell’s gates. Maybe I’m meant to take her; maybe the god’s have decided it. With that Catelyn walked into the town. She glanced down at the babe. The infant girl was awake once again and staring up at her with ebony eyes, reflecting the torchlight opening her mouth slightly smiling. Catelyn kissed the girl on the brow.

I will be your mother sweetling; I’ll take care of you. You’ll be my happiness. I’ll call you Joy. Jon. Joy. Jon and Joy. Starks of Winterfell that aren’t Starks.

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 Copywright © KatarinaBrackhaus 1997