Winterfell rose before me, gray stone against gray sky, its towers and walls as familiar as the lines of my own hand. I had dreamed of this return through the long march south and the longer war, yet when the gates opened to me, I felt no triumph. I carried my sister's bones, and in my arms another child—my blood, though not my name.
Catelyn met me in the great hall, pale from her labors but proud, a son in her arms. Robb, I named him, for my king and my friend. The name pleased me, though I saw at once that my wife was less pleased by the other child I had brought. She did not speak of it then, but her eyes lingered on the swaddled boy, and I knew the questions would come.
For a time, there was peace. The castle bustled with the return of its lord, and I buried myself in thought, in maps, in the weight of duty. But peace is a fragile thing. It was broken one evening in my solar, when Catelyn entered with a determination that set my heart sinking.
She closed the door with care, but her voice was cold.
"Milord, what is the meaning of the child in the nursery?"
I looked up from the map of the Neck spread before me. "He is of my blood. That is all you need know."
Her eyes narrowed. "Who is the mother?"
"She is dead," I said, more sharply than I intended. "The boy is of my blood. That is all you need to know."
I hoped that would end it. It did not.
She sighed, as though weighing her words, then asked, "How long until you find someone to foster him?"
The question struck me like a blow. I thought of my own fostering in the Vale, of Jon Arryn's kindness, of the friendships I had forged with Robert and Jon Arryn's heir. Yet I also thought of the cost: how little I had known of my own land when I returned, how much Brandon had been groomed for the role that now fell to me. I thought of fire and screams, of roses in blood. Starks died when they left the North.
"No," I said at last, my voice firm. "I will not foster him elsewhere. He will be raised here, with the rest of his blood."
Her eyes widened. "You would whelp a bastard alongside your trueborn children?"
"He is a Stark by blood, if not by name," I answered. "Winterfell is as much his home as theirs."
Her voice sharpened. "What have I done to deserve such dishonor, my lord?"
"Nothing," I said. "The dishonor, if there is any, is mine. I will bear it. None in the North will think less of you because of him. Few will think of it at all. We care more for the service a man may do than the circumstance of his birth. That is a luxury of the South. I intend to raise him to be a good man—a true brother to our son. The best way is to raise them as brothers from the start."
"Brother?" she hissed. "Aye, he will be a brother—until lust or envy drives him to slay his trueborn kin. Need I remind you of the Blackfyres and their war?"
"The Blackfyres were legitimized," I countered. "That is what made them a threat. I will not write to Robert for such a thing."
That surprised her, I could see. She faltered, and I pressed on. "And remember, it was another of Daeron's bastard brothers who kept him on his throne."
Her anger flared again. "You would raise him as a brother, yet mock him with a bastard's name all his life? There is no surer way to breed resentment."
Her words gave me pause. I had not thought of what the boy might feel, growing up Snow among Starks. But I could not yield, not now.
"Eddard," she pleaded, her voice breaking, "you must send him away. However small the risk, it is a risk. Think of the Greystarks—"
"Enough!" The word tore from me louder than I intended. "I will not send him away."
She stared at me, blue eyes storming with hurt and fury. I could not meet them. I forced my voice lower, though the anger still burned. "The Greystarks were a cadet branch, legitimate. As are the Karstarks, who march beneath my banners. Should I fear them? Should Robb tremble at the sight of his cousins? I have kin in the Vale, in House Royce. Should I fear them as well? Are all Southerners so faithless they fear their own blood?"
She said nothing.
"Family should be our strength," I pressed. "I will see Jon raised with Robb and any other children we have. If one day he poses a threat, it will be because I failed in my duty to both of them. I ask you to help me in this. If you cannot, then at least do not stand in my way. Or does House Tully need new words?"
Her face flushed, and she turned away, humiliated and furious. She left without another word.
I sank into my father's chair, rubbing at my temples. I hated the harshness of my words, but I meant every one. I would apologize for my tone, but not my choice. Jon would remain.
The Gods knew I needed Catelyn, and her family too. The Tullys had been our strength in war; they must be our strength in peace. I could not afford a wife turned enemy. Yet I could not abandon the boy. My honor, my duty, demanded otherwise.
I sat long in silence, the maps of the Neck spread before me, the weight of the North pressing down. Plans for canals and ports, for roads and settlements, swirled in my mind, but all seemed distant. More pressing was the storm in my marriage, and the child at its heart.