This is reposted from my AO3 account Sanva.

A gasp wrenched from her throat, her body stiffening as Catelyn awoke with a start. Her right hand pressed quickly against the skin of her throat, pulled quickly away, and then fluttered hesitantly back as her left clenched in the soft blankets beneath her. Her eyes darted about the room, dark but for a soft glow from a few candles placed within the hearth. It took her a moment to register that she was home, within the walls of her bed chamber in Winterfell, safe, and within the last few months of a pregnancy.

She pressed the blankets away from her and stood, shakily, as energy coursed through her body. Fully awake, mind twisting about, going over the details of where she was and the dream—nightmare that was still at the forefront of her mind . . .

Catelyn pressed her lips tightly together, glancing back at her bed. The side Ned slept most nights was empty, ruffled only from her own movements as she had left it. Everything was muddled together from the dream and little in the room explained which child she was pregnant with and that was such an odd thought. She remembered birthing all five of her children, nursing them, raising them. From Robb's nose that wrinkled with every suckle to little Rickon's harsh nips against her skin as his teeth began to come in. That one or more of them was a dream, part of a nightmare?

She breathed in and then out, crossing the room to grab her nightrail and slip it over her head. A thick robe wrapped about her next and she slipped her feet into a pair of slippers she barely remembered, embroidered with the sigil of her father's house alongside her husbands. Catelyn worked on them when pregnant with Sansa, as she watched over her eldest toddling about and tried to ignore the dark-haired boy crawling after him.

The door to her chamber seemed like an obstacle near insurmountable in the near darkness. A challenge that would either lead her to a truth she didn't know if she could trust.

What happened after death was contested from religion to religion, something she knew well having grown up within the faith of the Seven and then moving to where the Old God's were worshipped. Perhaps the memory of her death, so fresh in her mind, was the truth of things and this room was a punishment, the child she could feel within her but a tease of the past?

Her hand fluttered up to press against her throat. It met soft, skin and a few stray hairs that had escaped from her braid. Eyes slipping closed, Catelyn dropped her hands to press over the curve of her stomach. Six months, seven, depending on the child. No two carried exactly alike. Her body had differed in size during each pregnancy, gaining the most when carrying Sansa, the least with Bran.

Eyes sliding back open she stepped forward and opened the door to her room. There was a maid at the end of the corridor, deftly repairing tunics in the light from a nearby torch. Her eyes darted up and she moved to set aside her work.

"My Lady—"

Catelyn smiled at her and held up a hand. "I need for nothing," she said softly, just loud enough for her voice to carry to the maid and the guard at the other end of the corridor. "I just need a bit of fresh air and perhaps to check on my children. You can return to your work for now."

The maid nodded, hesitantly sitting down again. Her hair was a light brown, common in the North, along with light blue eyes. She was one of four sisters that served within the Stark Household, their family having worked for House Stark for generations. Catelyn couldn't place her name, three of the girls had looked quite alike, two had been twins. Her eyes followed Catelyn's movement down the corridor towards the rooms her children occupied.

The room Robb had moved into, the heirs room, upon his tenth name day was empty, no light shining from beneath the door. It wasn't until she neared the nursery that she found any of the children's rooms.

Until Sansa's tenth name day, she and Arya had shared a room close to the nursery just as Robb and Jon had until their own—much to Catelyn's dismay. She pauses at the first room before quietly pushing the door open. The hinges creak slightly, but the sound is barely noticeable above the crackling fire in the hearth. The space where the nursemaid would sit to attend the fire is empty. Her eyes trail across the room. Two beds are set across from each other, a compromise she had made with Ned, one empty it's covers pushed back.

Breath catching in her throat, Catelyn padded forward until she could get a good look at the boys. They lay in Robb's bed, tangled about each other beneath the furs. Robb's face is turned towards her, the pale, freckled skin and red hair glinting in the dim light.

Feet aching, she settles at the end of the bed, doing her best to avoid disturbing the two boys as she looks over them. Her eldest son alive and well, sleeping peacefully, tangled with his bastard brother. They look about seven or so, perhaps, it was difficult to tell in the dim of night.

"Lady Stark?"

She turns her head, blue eyes finding Jon Snow's dark gaze. She watches the sleepy-eyed boy for a moment, the tense line of his face, the way his hand clenched in the furs as if he is considering pushing it off himself. As if he was about to run away.

The boy hadn't been there when his brother had died. He hadn't been there for any of his siblings. Instead he'd been up at the wall, guarding a block of ice from wildlings and legends. If he had been at Robb's side . . . no that was unfair. It hadn't been the boy's fault that he had left. If anything, it had been her inability to accept his presence.

She was the one who had forsaken the oath she'd made to the Gods in favor of her own vanity.

A small smile forced its way onto her lips. "Go back to sleep Jon," she said softly, voice barely carrying between them as she rubbed a hand over her stomach. At his wary look she continued, "Your sibling is just keeping me awake. I thought a walk would do me well and wanted to check on . . . on the rest of you as well."

Jon's eyes drifted from her face to lock on her hand. He bit his lip. "Do you think it's another girl?"

She surveyed him for a moment and then arched her eyebrow. "Do you want another sister?"

He shrugged, eyed darting up to look at him. "Arya is a bit loud at times and Sansa," he paused and looked down at his hand as it picked at the fur beneath his finger.

Sansa, she knew, had recently learned what 'bastard' meant.

He glanced up at her. "Robb wants another brother."

"Perhaps the child will be a boy then," she told him before pushing herself gently up. "I am sure Robb will be a wonderful big brother . . ." she paced away, towards the door, but paused halfway there as she felt the babe kick her. She pressed her hand gently against where the foot had landed. She glanced back towards him, catching his grey eyes as they shined oddly in the firelight. Catelyn let out a breath and let her features soften further. "As will you." His eyes widened as she turned and quietly pulled the door open as she swiftly made her way into the hall, heart beat thudding.

The hall was no different than it had been before, no different than it had been years past when her children were babes. It had been some time since Winterfell had been touched by war, at least until Theon's betrayal. The thought of that murderer froze her still outside the door to the room that had served as her daughter's nursery. Something would have to be done with him, at least to prevent a similar betrayal in the future. He was a boy yet.

Only moments passed before she pressed her way into the room that held her daughters. Arya still slept in a crib while Sansa was swathed in soft blankets and warm furs in the bed she would share in the near future with her sister. Their nursemaid sat crocheting in front of the fire, ready to attend any need that noisy little Arya may require. Catelyn barely spared her a glance as she quietly checked on her girls. Both were asleep and neither awoke as she gently caressed their silky hair, admiring how young and innocent of the trials of life they looked.

Things would be different, she promised them. If this was real . . . if the Gods were truly giving her another chance she would take it with both hands. Once, years ago even at this point in time, Catelyn had broken an oath made to the Seven. That would have to change if she wanted things to be different. This time Jon Snow would stand aside his siblings and she would keep her promise.

This time her family would live.

She would make sure of it.