The days that followed were tense, the air in Winterfell thick with unspoken resentment. Catelyn avoided the twins, her disdain evident in every glance and gesture. The servants, taking their cue from her, treated Jon and Mary with a mix of pity and indifference.
Ned did his best to shield the twins from the household’s coldness, but he could not be everywhere at once. He spent his days in the yard, training with his men, and his nights in the crypts, kneeling before Lyanna’s statue.
The shadow watched over the twins, its presence a silent guardian. It moved between their shadows, always close, always vigilant. It would keep its vow.
Catelyn’s resentment toward the twins grew with each passing day. She could not bear the sight of them—Jon with his solemn gray eyes and Mary with her wild spirit and cursed tail. To her, they were a constant reminder of Ned’s betrayal, a stain on the honor of House Stark.
Determined to make their lives as difficult as possible, Catelyn began to subtly undermine their care. She instructed the servants to delay their meals, to “forget” to bring them milk, and to leave them unattended for hours at a time.
At first, the shadow thought it was mere negligence. But as the days passed, it became clear that Catelyn’s actions were deliberate. She was trying to starve the children, to weaken them in the hopes that they would not survive.
The shadow’s form flickered with anger as it watched the servants ignore the twins’ cries. She would see them dead, it thought, its resentment simmering. But I will not allow it.
The shadow had always known it was different, but it had only recently discovered the full extent of its abilities. It could sink objects into its shadow, storing them in a void-like space that only it could access. It had used this ability sparingly, to hide small trinkets or toys for the twins, but now it realized it could do much more.
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That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the halls of Winterfell grew dark. Jon and Mary’s shadows grew everywhere. The flickering torchlight cast long, shifting shadows across the walls and floors, and the shadow found itself able to move freely, unimpeded by the constraints of daylight.
It drifted through the halls, its form flickering from one shadow to the next, and marveled at the freedom it now possessed. Come night, it thought, I am no longer bound to their immediate shadows. I can move anywhere their shadows touch.
This realization filled the shadow with a sense of purpose. It could now watch over the twins more effectively, gathering supplies and protecting them from Catelyn’s schemes without being confined to their immediate presence.
As the twins lay hungry in their crib, the shadow slipped into the kitchen. It moved silently, its form blending with the darkness, and gathered what it needed—milk, bread, and a few milk bottles. With a flicker of its form, it sank the items into its shadow, storing them safely away.
When it returned to the twins, it retrieved the milk bottles, its form shifting to hold them steady. It fed Jon and Mary, its presence a silent comfort as they drank hungrily.
From that day on, the shadow made it a habit to gather food and supplies, storing them in its shadow for when the servants “forgot” to feed the twins. It would not let Catelyn’s malice harm them.
The next week, Ned Stark’s sharp ears caught the whispers of the kitchen staff, their uneasy murmurs revealing Catelyn’s orders to withhold food from Jon and Mary. Confronting her in the cold solitude of their chambers, Ned’s voice was a storm of fury as he demanded an explanation. Catelyn, her face pale but defiant, argued that the bastards presence was a constant wound, and that they wouldn''t starve if they were raised outside of winterfell. But Ned’s unwavering resolve forced her to relent, and with a trembling voice, she rescinded her orders, the plot to starve the children ending as swiftly as it had begun.