While Galon drifted into sleep, a quiet conversation was taking place in Sansa's chamber.
Catelyn stood before the fireplace, watching her daughter close the door and step inside.
"Mother?" Sansa looked confused as she approached. "The old nanny said you wanted to see me. Did something happen?"
Then a thought struck her, and a shy blush rose to her cheeks. She hurried forward, taking Catelyn's hand with excitement.
"Mother… is it about my engagement to Galon? Is it happening tomorrow?"
She had met Galon only twice, yet his manners, speech, and bearing had left such a beautiful impression that she no longer felt hesitant about the engagement.
If anything, she wished it would come sooner.
Catelyn felt as though lightning had struck her. She had never imagined her daughter would fall so quickly.
Her face twitched slightly as she forced herself to ask, "Sansa… you want to be engaged to Galon?"
Sansa nodded shyly.
"Oh, Seven save us…" Catelyn groaned softly. "Sansa, that is Deepwood Motte we're talking about! The Wolfswood! A place with no gardens, no fruits, no warm southern air."
"You'll freeze, and you'll hear wolves howling every night—"
Words spilled from her in a rush as she listed every hardship she could think of.
Sansa blinked, puzzled. "But Mother… isn't Winterfell the same?"
"And I live just fine here."
Catelyn froze. Sansa had grown up in the North; she'd never known the comforts of the South.
For once, Catelyn couldn't think of a way to explain.
Her lips parted, ready to try again to paint a picture of southern warmth and abundance, but Sansa spoke first—straight to the heart.
"Mother, you've lived in Winterfell for years… and you still prefer the South, don't you?"
Catelyn went still.
A sharp, embarrassed ache rose in her chest, as if Sansa had glimpsed a secret she never intended to show.
Sansa, oblivious, continued gently but firmly.
"I'm not like you, Mother. I'm a daughter of the North. There is nothing wrong with marrying in the North."
"And Galon cares for me."
"I… I like him too."
"Don't you want me to marry someone I care for? Someone who cares for me? Just like you and Father?"
Catelyn had no words.
She loved Ned dearly. She had never regretted marrying him.
But she had hoped her daughter would not have to endure the same cold, the same years of hardship she herself had struggled through.
"Tully words are family, duty, honor," she thought. And to Catelyn, family always came first.
Seeing Sansa's happiness made her waver for a moment.
"Maybe… if she truly loves him…" Then she remembered Galon's connection with Jon Snow—something she could not tolerate.
Her resolve returned.
She softened her tone, choosing a gentler approach.
"If it will make you happy, I won't oppose it," she said slowly. "I'm only worried you're still young, and easily swayed by sweet words."
Sansa opened her mouth to protest, but Catelyn quickly continued.
"Hush. You know the king will arrive in three days, don't you?"
Sansa nodded.
"And he's not coming alone," Catelyn said softly, stroking her daughter's hand. "The princes will be with him."
"Do you understand what that means?"
Seeing Sansa's confusion, she explained, "The king's eldest son, Joffrey, is close to your age. The king is considering a marriage alliance with House Stark."
"What?"
Sansa gasped. "Mother… are you saying I could become queen?"
Catelyn smiled kindly. "Yes, my daughter. You could become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
Sansa nearly jumped with excitement.
She pulled her hand free and paced the room, glowing with joy.
"I… the queen?"
Her face lit up with pure, radiant delight, as if she already saw herself walking the Red Keep.
But her smile faded just as quickly.
"Mother… Father promised me to Galon.
How would he ever agree to a marriage arranged by the king?"
Catelyn hadn't expected her reaction to be so quick. She faltered, then tried to reassure her.
"Don't worry, Sansa. I'll convince your father."
The light left Sansa's eyes.
She could hear the uncertainty in her mother's voice. She knew that Ned Stark's word mattered more than anything else in Winterfell.
This talk of queens and alliances—beautiful, tempting, but nothing more than illusions.
Sansa bit her lip. "Mother… Father won't agree. He already blessed my engagement to Galon. He won't break his word."
Her voice softened.
"Mother… I'm tired. I want to rest."
Catelyn sighed inwardly. She had completely failed.
She whispered a goodnight and stepped out of the room.
Returning to her own chamber, weary and frustrated, she found Ned standing naked at the window, letting the cold wind blow across his skin.
The chill swept into the room, making the fire gutter.
Catelyn shivered.
Ned closed the window quickly and pulled thick curtains shut. Warmth began to return.
She removed her cloak and sat at the dressing table in silence, taking off her jewelry.
"You spoke with Sansa?" Ned asked knowingly.
Catelyn ignored him, but Ned continued,
"Catelyn, Sansa may look like you, but she is a Stark through and through. And as a Stark… why would she ever fear northern winters?"
"Your worry was flawed from the start."
Catelyn slammed her jewelry down with a sharp clatter.
"Of course! You're all Starks. Winterfell is yours. I'm the only outsider!"
Ned crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're the mother of five Starks. How could you be an outsider?
And Sansa and Galon care for one another. Why make yourself the villain?"
"If you truly can't bear it, then I'll promise you this—Arya's marriage will be yours to decide."
Catelyn glared at him.
Then, in a burst of frustration, she bit his shoulder.
"I'm not just mother to five Starks," she growled, pushing him onto the bed with the grace of an angry cat.
"I'll soon be mother to the sixth Stark."
Her voice lowered, sultry and challenging.
Ned's composure cracked. He rolled her beneath him, and the room filled with the warmth of a different kind of battle.
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