His banners had been sent home after the breaking of the siege of Storm's End, and should have already passed the Neck by now. His vassal lords were more than capable of leading the army home without him. Once they passed Moat Cailin, his vassals and their levies would start breaking away from the main host and returning to their homes. Ned only hoped that their supplies would last them the journey.
Rather than ride hard to join up with them, Ned had decided to track down a ship from White Harbor and question its captain about the tales he'd heard from the King. Given the sudden influx of trade coming from the North, the task hadn't been as difficult as he had feared it would be. One Captain Meric, of the Siren's Kiss , was the unfortunate soul Ned had managed to corner.
"And this cloth…" Ned asked, his voice low. "It came out of Winterfell?"
"Aye, milord," Meric replied with a nervous nod. The man was sweating, though whether it was from nerves or from the hot and humid early summer heat, made all the more unbearable by the stillness of the air in the ship's cargo hold, Ned couldn't say.
"All of it?" Ned pressed.
"All of it."
"Even the dyed cloth?"
"Aye."
Ned shook his head. Spread out before him was a panoply of bright colors and intricate patterns more akin to an army's banners than what he would expect to come from the North. The colors ranged from bright reds and yellows to dull browns and forest greens. Ned hadn't seen this much colorful cloth since the tourney at Harrenhal.
"And the… the skin cream?" Ned hesitantly asked the captain, who grinned.
"I managed to get my hands on her most expensive cream before I set sail," the man boasted. He rooted around a crate for a moment before withdrawing a small basket that was stuffed with straw. Carefully, the captain extracted one of the half-dozen clay jars that Ned could see in the basket.
Taking the offered jar, Ned stared at the painted Stark direwolf superimposed over a blue Winter Rose on the lid. Carefully, he pried it open and examined it.
The cream inside was tinted a very faint blue, reminding him of the color of the Wall when it was lit by the sun. The unmistakable scent of Winter Roses flooded the compartment, and he was struck by a sudden pang of homesickness.
"That jar sells for two silver moons," the captain warned him.
"By the Old Gods," Ned softly swore. Carefully, he put the lid back on it and handed it to the captain, who carefully returned it to his basket.
"And it was my wife who made all of this?" Ned asked again, still in disbelief. "Lady Catelyn Stark?"
"Aye, it was," the captain replied.
"And she… she is selling these goods in the South?"
"She sells to the lords in the North first," the captain replied, shaking his head. "What the lords don't buy is sold to us merchants."
Ned hummed in approval, though he wondered how much of what the merchants got their hands on had been sold to his vassals first, then sold to the merchants for a profit. 'If that's the case,' he mused, 'I can't fault them for wanting to make some much needed coin…'
"What else can you tell me about my Lady wife?" Ned asked.
"Apparently she's rather respectful of the North's ways, especially for a Southron," the captain answered. "Er. No offense, milord."
"None taken," Ned waved it away.
"The thing is, the workers she hires?" the captain continued, his voice dropping to a hush. "They're mostly war widows; those whose husbands died in the Rebellion. She even houses some of them in her workshop. Their children, too."
"Her workshop?" Ned asked, sounding skeptical. "That doesn't sound pleasant…"
"Oh, it wouldn't be, if it were a normal workshop," the captain agreed. "Except, there was this old abandoned tower in the castle, you see-"
"The First Keep?" Ned asked.
The captain, realizing he was speaking with the Lord of Winterfell, flushed in embarrassment, but nodded.
"Aye, the First Keep," he continued. "She had it repaired out of her own purse. All the work is done on the lower levels, and the workers with nowhere else to stay live higher up in the tower."
"Why not simply build a workshop and houses in Winter Town?" Ned asked.
"I couldn't say, milord," Meric replied with a shrug. "Rumors say it was because she knew the war widows would need a place to stay."
"And… the workers are satisfied?" Ned asked.
"She pays them handsomely and doesn't work them too hard," the captain answered. "Her workers love her for it."
The Lord of Winterfell stroked his beard, lost in thought as he mulled over the rumors he was hearing. If even half of them were true…
'Rumors have a way of growing with each retelling,' he told himself. 'No; I will have to see this for myself…'
Ned sighed; merchants cared only for coin, it seemed.
'I only hope my Lady wife isn't this way,' he bemoaned, if only in his own mind. 'If she is, then this marriage would be…'
He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.
The sight of the walls of Winterfell, of his home, after nearly two years away filled Ned's heart with both joy and pain. Joy, because he would finally be home, and he could finally rest for a while. Pain, because he knew that this place would constantly remind him of what he had lost; his father, his brother, and his sister.
'If the Gods are good, I will be able to make new happy memories to replace the bad,' he fervently hoped.
The problem was his wife. The first time he had met her had been at the tourney at Harrenhal. Of course, at that time, she had been betrothed to his elder brother Brandon, so Ned had really only met her in passing. The next time he had met her had been after he had gathered his banners and marched into the Riverlands. His army had stopped briefly, for a single day of rest, near Riverrun. The Vale's armies had arrived a few days prior; from there, the two armies would march south to confront the loyalists forces that were pursuing the Stormlander army into the Riverlands.
He, Jon Arryn, and many of their vassals had been invited to dine with Hoster Tully and to stay in the castle for the night. Over dinner, and later over wine in his solar, Hoster had struck a deal with him; Ned would take up Brandon's betrothal, and in exchange the Riverlands would join them in the Rebellion. Given the disparity between the loyalist forces and his, as well as the state that the Stormlander army was in, Ned had reluctantly agreed. Jon, who's second wife had died in childbirth some years before and was in need of an heir, had agreed to marry Lysa Tully in order to further cement the alliance.
Catelyn had been beautiful, dutiful, and pleasant company at the feast. Still, Ned had remembered how her eyes had lit up at the tourney, how Brandon could startle laughter and merriment out of her. Catelyn's interactions with him had been… much more subdued, in comparison. He tried not to dwell on it, but he couldn't help but to feel as if Brandon would have been a much better match for her.
After the Battle of the Bells, his army, the Vale's army, and the Stormlander army had rested and recuperated near Riverrun. Hoster Tully had called his banners, both to join their combined forces, as well as to witness the marriage ceremonies between him and Catelyn, and between Jon and Lysa.
The two weeks after the marriage ceremonies had been… pleasant. Catelyn had been dutiful, but… well, they had hardly known each other, had they? Plus, Ned had been so busy managing the army, integrating the four forces into a cohesive whole that he had ended up spending more time with his troops than with his wife.
Once the loyalists had started raiding the southern and eastern borders of the Riverlands, Ned and the army had marched to counter them. Jon had sent his new wife to the Eyrie with an escort, and after some thought, Ned had elected to send Catelyn to Winterfell. He had thought it would be prudent to give his new wife time to settle into her role as Lady of Winterfell. Plus, he had thought that Benjen could use the help in running the castle.
And that, as they say, was that. He had met his wife twice, and had barely spent more than a cumulative two weeks with her. In his time away, she had borne him a son, had kept Winterfell running smoothly, and had, according to rumor, been making a lot of coin.
'Just who is this woman I have married?' he wondered to himself as he rode through the castle's gates. 'Will we get along? Or will this end up being a loveless marriage?'
He spared a moment to reminisce about the brief romance he had shared with Ashara Dayne at the tourney at Harrenhal and wondered about what could have been, but he pushed it away. Ashara had, last he heard, returned to Starfall in Dorne and had stayed there for the duration of the war. Any could-have-beens had died the moment Rickard Stark had flatly dismissed Ned's request to continue courting her.
Returning his attention to the present, he looked around the courtyard before the Great Keep. Benjen, dressed in a fine doublet emblazoned with House Stark's direwolf, stood proudly at the head of the gathered people waiting for him there. Vayon Poole, Maester Luwin, and other high ranking members of the household staff accompanied him to one side. However, Ned paid them little attention. Most of his focus, instead, was centered on the beautiful red-haired woman with a swaddled bundle held to her chest.
"Brother!" Benjen called and hurried over as Ned climbed down from the saddle. Closing the distance, the two embraced, slapping each other on the back. "The conquering hero returns!"
"Benjen," Ned answered, much more subdued than his enthusiastic little brother. He pulled back and held his brother by the shoulders, looking the lad up and down. "You've grown into a man while I was away."
"I'll be sixteen soon," Benjen agreed, grinning with pride.
"Aye," Ned said, squeezing Benjen's shoulder before dropping his hands. "Now, I think it's time I greeted my wife and son."
"Of course," his little brother nodded and stepped aside with a smile and a gesture in her general direction. "Go on, then."
Lady Catelyn patiently waited for him, a faint smile on her face as he crossed the courtyard toward her. As he approached, she dipped into a curtsey, or a facsimile of one, considering the babe in her arms.
"My Lord husband," she murmured.
"My lady wife," he answered, internally wincing at the flatness of his own voice.
"May I present to you your son, Robb Stark?" she continued, turning the bundle in her arms slightly toward him.
Ned stared down at the babe. A shock of red, slightly curly hair tumbled over his forehead as deep blue eyes, so much like his mother's, stared up at him.
"May I?" Ned asked, his voice soft as he held out his hands. Catelyn's faint smile widened into a more pleased one as she carefully placed the babe in his arms, subtly adjusting his grip so that Robb's neck was supported.
"Hello, Robb… my son," Ned murmured, his heart bursting with pride and love. For all that his coloring belonged to his mother, despite the baby fat rounding out the babe's face, Ned could see hints of his family's features there as well. The nose looked much like Ned's mother's; narrow, delicate, with a small upturn at the tip. The shape of Robb's eyes looked much like Ned's father's as well, and the shape of his jaw and chin was so very much like his own when Ned had been a child. The lad's face was pure Stark, draped in the colors of the Tully family.
"He recognizes his father," Catelyn murmured, a crooked grin on her face. "He normally starts wailing whenever someone with a beard holds him."
"Aye, I suppose he does," Ned murmured back, unable to suppress the prideful smirk that matched his wife's smile. The two locked eyes, humor and mutual love for the babe Ned held passing between them. 'Perhaps this marriage won't be so bad,' Ned thought, a bit of hope welling up inside of him.
"Thank you, my lady, for taking such good care of my son."