written for juno_chan on livejournal's got_exchange.

AU compatible with novel and show.

"I fear he is not as you left him, my lady," Varys said, pulling back his hood. In his septon's robes, he blended in with the smallfolk on the road, just another man leaving the Red Keep.

"What matters is that he's back," she replied, holding herself firm as her heart raced. Varys would know what she hid, but she needed to be strong. "I trust our arrangement holds?"

"You and your husband will support Stannis' claim to the Iron Throne and I will consider that payment well made." Varys took a step towards her. "Fear not, Lady Stark, he will heal."

The cart behind him was small, barely large enough for a man. It was a rough cart, something for holy books and relics of little repute. The curtains fluttered and Catelyn slipped from her horse. Her feet met the ground and ran to the cart, towards the hand pushing the rough fabric aside.

His hand was thin, the skin too much for the bones with the flesh gone from beneath. Pressing it to her face, Catelyn recognised the pulse, even if she all but recoiled from the scent. She tore the curtains aside with him, half-crawling into the cart to hold her husband again. The reek of the dungeons covered the familiar scent of him, but it was there beneath. Ned's muscles were wasted, faded in his imprisonment. His face was more grim, with new lines around his eyes that had no laughter in them. His beard was dirty and his hair matted and rough.

He was still Ned with his leg bandaged and wrapped, wrists scabbed and bruises on his chest.

Catelyn swallowed once against her tears, then let them flow. "I thought the lions had you."

Sitting up against the cushions, he brushed the fresh tears on her face aside with the back of his hand. "So did I." He took a slow breath, staring at her as if to make sure she was not a hallucination. "Did you get the girls?"

"Yoren smuggled Arya out of the city when she found him in the gutter. He cut her hair, and she was as filthy as a graverat, but she's here with us." Catelyn rested her hand on his chest, wishing for better news. "Sansa is still in the Red Keep."

Pushing himself up, Ned shoved the curtain aside. "We have to get her back."

"The Lannisters can't hurt her. Joffrey's and the Queen have called you a traitor, but Sansa's innocent. Even Tywin Lannister would have trouble justifying the murder of a girl." Catelyn knew the hollowness of her optimism, but she clung to it. "Robb is a good leader, Ned, you'd be proud of him. He took Jamie Lannister hostage just a few days ago, while we have him, they can't hurt her."

"Trade a girl for the Kingslayer?" Ned's eyes darkened. "We'd be fools."

"Don't we have that right?" Catelyn said, helping him out of the cart. They needed to move quickly. "You'll have to ride behind me."

He nearly smiled at that. "I'll trust you, Cat."

"A girl may not be worth a knight, but she's easily worth his legs."

"Or his sword arm," Ned agreed.

The guards helped Ned up into the saddle behind her and his arms went tight around her waist. His leg was still tender; his breathing sharpened and she stroked his hands.

"Our camp isn't far, hold on to me and you'll be safe soon."

He rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her with reassuring strength. "I'm safe now."

Catelyn prayed to both gods old and new that he was.

Catelyn watched him eat as if he was one of the children recovering from a long illness. When Robb had come down the spotted fever, she'd fed him each meal until he was strong enough to eat on his own again. Ned's knife was unsure, but he ate like a wildling, both hands bringing food to his mouth.

She poured him beer, sitting at his side while Robb and his lieutenants explained the Battle of the Whispering Wood.

Rubbing the back of his mouth on his napkin, Ned took his mug from Catelyn. "We need to get word to Stannis, join our forces before the Lannisters can rally. Lord Tywin is a brutal commander, we have to be at full strength before we face him."

"Why should we bow to Stannis?" Greatjon said, his displeasure rumbling in his chest. "What makes him more legitimate than the bastard boy king?"

"Stannis Baratheon is Robert's rightful heir," Ned said. "With the North, the Riverlands and the Stormlands united, the Lannisters will be outnumbered, even Tywin will think twice about open war."

"Stannis is a lobster," Lord Karstark said. He drank deeply, then slammed down his mug. "You'll put your faith in the lobster king, my lord?"

"I put my faith in our laws, which say that Stannis is king. Renly and Joffrey disagree, that makes them usurpers."

Greatjon chuckled, convinced. "We all know what to do with usurpers, don't we boys?" The men nodded and mumbled their agreement.

Lord Karstark held out. "Jamie Lannister killed my sons."

"He murdered my household guard, and he'll have justice. His sister holds my daughter, when her safety is assured, we'll see about the Kingslayer."

Robb supported him, Ned's son's youth quickly fading from the warrior sitting beside him. "We could ask for gold, I hear the Lannisters have an excess."

"I've little use for gold, Lord Robb," Greatjon said, "it makes poor weapons."

"The Watch could use gold for food," Ned reminded them. "And weapons."

"Even Twyin Lannister has to agree that the Watch defends the realm," Catelyn added. She had a point.

"We'll ransom Jamie Lannister for gold and weapons for the wall, the Northern captives and my daughter," Ned said, looking around the tent for agreement. "Go, see to your men and return after you've eaten. I'll send a raven to Stannis and ask his permission to trade the Kingslayer."

His men looked to him again, still unconvinced.

"Stannis is king."

Robb went with them, eating with the troops would let him grow closer to the men he would someday lead. He was already so much a man, leading this army down against the bastard king.

Cat remained and he shared his proud smile with her. "Robb's done well."

"He holds his own on the field and with his king. He's accomplished much."

Ned tore pieces off his bread, reminding himself to eat slowly. He'd need to start training as soon as his leg could bear the weight. "And Bran and Rickon?"

"Maester Luwin says they are well," Catelyn said, reaching for his shoulder. She left her hand there. "Bran's been ruling Winterfell, Luwin writes that we have a brave and wise son."

Covering her hand with his, Ned stroked the back of her wrist. At King's Landing, when he'd seen her last, he'd marveled at her strength. She'd conquered her fear of losing Bran and come to protect him. He knew she wanted to be back in Winterfell, home with their children.

"When this is done, we'll go home."

Catelyn's faint smile was a gift from the old gods. She kissed his cheek, running her fingers over the stubble on the sharp bones of his face. She kept her face next to his, holding him close.

"We'll go home."

Stroking her hair, he let the harshness of the black cells slip from him. Here there was light, warmth, and Cat in his arms.

"It's another war," he whispered to her. The third war of their marriage, and this time he has doubt in the pit of his belly. Death snapped at him in the Red Keep and he has so much left to do. Robb is younger than he was when he became Lord of Winterfell. Robb has no wife to lend him her strength.

"This one isn't taking you from me," Cat said, moving to meet his eyes. "Balon Greyjoy couldn't take you, nor could the Targaryens, I'm not letting the Lannisters have you either." She remained on the bench next to him, when before she would have been in his lap, her bodice half-off.

He chuckled, surprised he still knew how to laugh. Catelyn facing down Cersei Lannister, sword in hand, was more pleasant than the worries in his head.

She set his empty plate aside, took the candle from the rough wooden table and set it by the bed. Thick furs waited for them and the scent reminded him of home. Catelyn returned to him, giving him her hands to help him off the bench. He limped with her, arm around her shoulders, using her stability. Sitting down hard on the bed, Ned watched her face.

"You're still weak."

"I'll be stronger tomorrow."

Catelyn poured some water into a bowl, wetting a cloth she used to wash her face. Rinsing it out, she washed his face, rubbing the dust out of his beard. "We'll need you to be."

She gave him the cloth and started to plait her hair. Ned watched the rhythm of her fingers as she wove the auburn strands together. Catelyn tied off the plait and tossed it behind her shoulder.

"Come here," he said when she started to unlace her dress. "It's been some time, but I still remember how to do a few things."

The clasp on the front of her dress was the silver trout she'd come to Winterfell in, a simple catch that held the fabric together. He'd given her wolves when Sansa was born and she wore them with pride but he never begrudged her the trout. It was a symbol of her home, all that she'd left to build a home with him. He loved her more for that than he'd ever say. He set the clasp aside, opening the bodice of her dress. After the court and the elaborate costumes he'd seen on the southron women, her dress was plain in comparison: the fabric rougher, the cut less tight, and the embroidery less complex.

"I haven't seen you in a southron dress in years."

Catelyn shrugged out of her overdress, shaking her head. "You may never again. It's too cold in the North and we seem to be at odds with everyone else."

He undid the laces, careful not to tear or knot them. Sliding her dress free from her head, Catelyn straddled his strong leg, cautious and keeping her weight on the bed. Her undyed shift floated around her body, hiding her slight curves. Ned's hands knew her through the shift and she guided his shirt off his head.

Catelyn stopped, her hands on his chest. She leant down, kissing the grey hairs on his chest that he'd gained in their separation. "They were cruel to you, my love."

"Time is cruel."

Moving her knee aside, she unlaced his trousers and left the bed to help him remove them. His bandage was fresh but the bruising around it crept around the edges, purple against his pale skin. Catelyn's hand hovered over it without touching him, then she kissed him, forgetting his wound. The heat of her sang through his smallclothes. He lifted his leg to the bed, Cat crawling up beside him to hide beneath the furs. The early autumn chill was in the air, and she would be between him and the blankets. Untying the last catch from her neck, Ned pulled her shift up to her waist as Catelyn slipped it free from her neck. It bunched around her waist, unimportant.

Removing his smallclothes with hurried fingers, Cat cursed her scarred hands and he took them.

"We're a map of scars now, aren't we?" she asked, sitting above him.

Ned ran his hands over the marks their children had left on her stomach and breasts. His favourite was nearly silver, a half moon on the side of her left breast. She blamed Arya for that; their wild little girl had always been hungry. His scars were from less noble things, men with swords, axes and arrows. Catelyn settled her weight, lifting herself on her thighs so she nearly hovered above him.

Ned eased her down. "I'm not a invalid, Cat."

"And I'd not have you as one with your wound reopened." She placed a finger on his lips, then kissed him.

Her chastising lips softened, then hungered, asking more of him in return. He pulled her close, trusting her to guide him inside. Cat took her time, waiting until he throbbed against her thigh. Whatever itching soreness was left in his leg forgotten, he buried himself deep in her, losing his breath to the moment.

This was life, passion and hope he had been willing to let go down beneath the castle. He would have traded his life for his honour and a chance to show the Lannisters how a real man died. Ned's life had been Cat's alone years ago and no cell or sword could break that.

She rose and fell above him, her hands on his chest, then on the pillow beside his head, and finally twisted with his as she leant back, her breath quick and ragged before she found her pleasure. Falling down on top on him, she tilted her hips down as he filled them, panting with her. Catelyn rolled from him, resting on his side with her legs carefully free from his.

"We have a war tomorrow," Cat said to the roof of the tent, pulling the blankets up over herself and leaving them loose over him.

"That's for tomorrow," he reminded her, holding her hand against his chest. "We have Sansa to rescue and the boys to return too. Can't let Bran get too much practice ruling Winterfell or he'll be loathe to give it back to me."

Their children would inherit their victory or defeat. No matter what happened to them, their children would carry their banners and rule the lands they left, whether they lost or gained. They would have to keep their people safe and fed in winter.

"They are good children," Cat said, resting her head on his chest. "I see more of a man in Robb."

"Sansa looks like a lady of the south, every bit a future queen more patient and courteous than Cersei could ever dream, and Arya- there's such strength in Arya. She can stand against the winter."

"We'll bring them home," she said, and they repeated that promise to each other long into the night. Home was something they'd made together, and they would bring their children back, no matter what it took, because it was more than their children at stake. The North needed Robb to lead when Ned was gone, the realm needed Sansa's kindness and Arya's intuition, Bran's wisdom and Rickon's hope. Their people needed the Starks to hold Winterfell and the North against all that came.

Stannis would let them do that. Ned would give him swords and the king would send them North where they belonged when the blood had sunk into the earth. Wars were fought; won and lost, but winter always came.

He and Cat could hold it back once more, sitting with their children around the fire in the great hall as the wind cried outside. He slept with her against him and his dreams full of hope.