Catelyn

           OfalltheroomsinWinterfell’sGreatKeep,Catelyn’sbedchamberswerethehottest.Sheseldomhadtolightafire.Thecastlehadbeenbuiltovernaturalhotsprings,andthescaldingwatersrushedthroughitswallsandchamberslikebloodthroughaman’sbody,drivingthechillfromthestonehalls,fillingtheglassgardenswithamoistwarmth,keepingtheearthfromfreezing.Openpoolssmokeddayandnightinadozensmallcourtyards.Thatwasalittlething,insummer;inwinter,itwasthedifferencebetweenlifeanddeath.

           Catelyn’sbathwasalwayshotandsteaming,andherwallswarmtothetouch.ThewarmthremindedherofRiverrun,ofdaysinthesunwithLysaandEdmure,butNedcouldneverabidetheheat.TheStarksweremadeforthecold,hewouldtellher,andshewouldlaughandtellhiminthatcasetheyhadcertainlybuilttheircastleinthewrongplace.

           Sowhentheyhadfinished,Nedrolledoffandclimbedfromherbed,ashehadathousandtimesbefore.Hecrossedtheroom,pulledbacktheheavytapestries,andthrewopenthehighnarrowwindowsonebyone,lettingthenightairintothechamber.

           Thewindswirledaroundhimashestoodfacingthedark,nakedandempty-handed.Catelynpulledthefurstoherchinandwatchedhim.Helookedsomehowsmallerandmorevulnerable,liketheyouthshehadwedintheseptatRiverrun,fifteenlongyearsgone.Herloinsstillachedfromtheurgencyofhislovemaking.Itwasagoodache.Shecouldfeelhisseedwithinher.Sheprayedthatitmightquickenthere.IthadbeenthreeyearssinceRickon.

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