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1.
"Let me, Cat." Petyr was close to her, too close, his face no more than an inch away from hers, so that all she could smell was the mint on his breath.
"No," she told him firmly, pushing him away - but not too hard, for it wouldn't be ladylike. And she didn't want to hurt his feelings.
His hands were about her waist, but one of them was creeping lower, until it curled around the slope of her backside, pulling her back against him. She could feel something strange and hard pressing against her thigh. "I love you," he told her fervently, "I'll never love anyone but you."
"I'm betrothed, Petyr," she said for the thousandth time. "You must learn to accept that."
"I can't! Run away with me, Cat. We'll live like outlaws in the woods if we have to, but we'll have each other."
Catelyn didn't want to live in the woods, she knew that the woods were cold and wet and dark, and having Petyr beside her would be no consolation. "Don't be foolish," she told him, "they would catch us and bring us back here." And probably hang you, she didn't say because, again, it wouldn't be polite.
"I could make you happy," he told her with the seriousness only a boy can muster, "I know I could." He pressed his lips against hers, too hard and wet. His other hand was almost underneath her breast now, just barely brushing against that small, high curve, and suddenly his thumb darted up and stroked her nipple.
Catelyn jumped, and pushed him away harder than before. "No!" she told him again, and darted away before he could catch her. Her heart was racing and she was painfully aware of the warmth in her cheeks, and how hard her nipples remained, even after she was safe in her room.
2.
"You look lovely today, my lady," said Brandon Stark. Even his formal platitudes made Catelyn's heart beat faster, the blood rise in her cheeks.
"Thank you," she said, and gripped his arm just a little more tightly. It was all right that they were out of sight of the rest of the group, she told herself - after all, they were promised to one another. It wasn't like being alone with Petyr, which she tried to avoid more and more these days, because it always made her feel uncomfortable, even though he didn't try to touch her most of the time. With Brandon, though, she felt safe. The stream bubbled merrily alongside them, and she kept her eyes on it, because if she looked at Brandon too much, she would do nothing but blush the entire walk.
"Are you thirsty?" he asked her after a few moments.
"Oh! Yes, I suppose I am." She loosed his arm and stooped to draw a handful of water up from the brook, but he stopped her.
"Let me," he said gallantly, "you don't want to get your gown wet." She watched as he bent down and cupped his hands, filling them with clear water. She knew how cold the little stream was, and yet he didn't wince or complain. Of course, she thought, he's a Stark. He must be used to the cold. "For you," he said, and tipped his hands carefully to let her take a drink.
Her lips touched his fingertips, and she made the mistake of looking up into his grey eyes. She imagined that she saw love in them, and hope, and passion. Quickly, she swallowed the icy water and smiled, looking down modestly. "Thank you," she told him, and was surprised at how husky her voice sounded.
Brandon smiled back at her as he wiped his hands dry on his breeches. "It was my pleasure, Catelyn." It was the first time she heard him say her name, and it gave her a strange fluttering feeling low in her stomach. She wanted to keep hearing him say it forever, just so that she could feel that again. The thought suddenly flashed into her mind of their wedding night, Brandon whispering her name in the darkened bedchamber, and she blushed all the way down to her throat.
Fortunately she didn't think he'd noticed - he was glancing over his shoulder to see where the rest of their companions were. Determining they were nowhere in sight, he turned back to her, took a step closer until they were only a hand's breadth apart. Catelyn looked up hopefully, her cheeks still a rosy pink.
"May I?" he asked before he kissed her. Catelyn nodded, and then his mouth was against hers, and it wasn't like when Petyr would kiss her, Brandon wasn't slobbery, he was sweet and gentle. Even so, she found herself wishing he would try to use his tongue the way Petyr did, or pull her that hard against his body, but she wasn't terribly disappointed when he didn't. It's better this way, she told herself. Her heart was racing when they pulled apart, startled by the noise of Lysa's laughter as the rest of the group finally rounded the corner. Keeping her eyes downcast, she took his arm once more and they walked back to join the others, but she couldn't stop smiling, and she hoped no one would notice.
3.
The weddings had been quiet, subdued. No one, it seemed, was much in the mood to celebrate. And now Catelyn waited patiently in the too-big bed, blankets pulled up to her neck, for her husband to join her. My husband, Eddard. It sounded strange to her still, for all she had practiced saying it, her mind still filled in "Brandon" instead. Except that Brandon was dead, and now she was wed to his younger brother, who, rather than joining her in bed, stood all the way on the other side of the room, studying the view from the window. She wondered how her sister Lysa was faring with her new husband. Jon Arryn has been married twice before, at least he probably knows what he's supposed to do. Catelyn cleared her throat, and he looked up, almost as if he was surprised to see her still there.
"I'm sorry," he said. He sounded as nervous as she felt.
"It's all right," she replied, though she wasn't certain precisely what he was apologizing for. "But aren't you cold standing out in the night air?" He wore only his shirt, and though it hung past his hips, she didn't think it could be very warm.
"No," he said, and a slight smile cracked his long, serious face, though his eyes didn't meet hers. "We Starks are bred for Winter's cold. This is nothing."
"Oh." She wondered how cold it would truly be at Winterfell - she had tried to imagine it, but if he thought this was nothing…. She shivered.
"But I suppose you're cold," he said, still not quite looking at her. "I'll close it." He shut the window, drawing the heavy curtain across it to keep out the wind that leaked in through the gaps. Then, as if he was walking to a funeral rather than his wedding bed, he crossed the room and climbed slowly under the blankets beside her. "I know this is not what you wished for," he said, his voice low and sombre.
Catelyn suddenly felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault that he was here instead of his brother. She was married to Eddard, and it was her duty to make it work somehow, even though she didn't feel that fluttering in her stomach when she looked at him. But she couldn't think of any way to respond to him that wouldn't mean telling him a lie. It wasn't what she had wished for. It probably wasn't what he had wished for either. So instead of saying anything, she wriggled closer to him under the covers, until they were almost touching.
Almost shyly, he reached out to her, laying one cool hand on her stomach. He looked into her eyes, but all she saw there were more questions.
"It's all right," she reassured him, so he didn't move away. After a time, he slowly slid his hand up her body, to the soft underside of her bare breast. He bent over her to kiss her, and his lips were cool too, and dry. When he seemed as though he was going to move away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back down, and tried, experimentally, pushing her tongue between his lips. He opened his mouth to her, and for the first time she thought We're allowed to do this, no one will interrupt us. That knowledge gave her the courage to be bold, to let her hands move more freely over his body, to whisper to him what she wanted him to do. Later, after he fell asleep, she savoured the sweet ache between her thighs, and knew that the next time would be better.
4.
Catelyn raced down the stairs when she saw Ned riding into the courtyard. He had been gone for too many months putting down the Greyjoy's rebellion, and she had worried terribly for his safety. As soon as his dismounted, they were in each other's arms, and his lips were on hers, so right. "I missed you," she murmured, and he gave her one of his rare smiles in return.
The children came out to see their father too - Robb and Jon racing one another to be the first to greet him, little Sansa toddling along behind them on her chubby legs. Maybe now there will be another one before too long, she thought, and smiled to herself.
After the children were sent off to bed, they finally had a chance to be alone together. "Did you miss me?" she asked him, gently prodding him into speaking his feelings.
"Yes, of course," he told her solemnly. "I missed you every day."
"And every night?" she teased, drawing him toward the bed.
"And every night too," he agreed, letting her pull him down on top of her. After nearly six years of marriage, she felt free to show how eager she was by unlacing his breeches, slipping one hand inside them and stroking him to readiness. Ned's groan against her mouth told her, more than his words, just how much he had missed her. When he was inside her a few swift heartbeats later, she felt whole again.
They made love with an urgency that surprised Catelyn a little - Ned was usually somewhat restrained, though never cold, in their bed. But tonight it was as if he needed her as much as, or even more than, she needed him, and that thought filled her with such joy that she felt as though her heart might burst.
5.
Was she underwater? Everything looked ripply, soft, shadows gliding about her. Her lips burned, though, and so she knew she couldn't truly be underwater. Someone was over her, astride her, and she wondered wistfully when Ned had returned, tried to bring her arms up to embrace him, but they wouldn't move for some reason. His lips were almost painfully hot, though, not cool and dry like Ned's, and it felt wrong, so very wrong. But she couldn't say no to this fire that was rushing through her, filling her up when she had been empty for so long. As it coursed through her, waking her from the deepest sleep she'd ever known, she suddenly remembered that Ned was dead, and Robb too, all her beautiful children gone, and her rage came back to her, undiluted and agonizing. Catelyn screamed then, pushing away the man atop her with a strength she didn't know she possessed. But all that came out of her mouth was a whispery hiss without words.