A/N: This MIGHT be a bit AU or OOC. I apologize. I've only read about 200 pages of Game of Thrones, but this came to me in a dream the other day and I realized I had to write the story. I hope you all enjoy it!
-J
Catelyn's betrothed would be along soon. He was bringing his brother this time, Amala reminded herself as she brushed her long, red hair. She'd heard many great things about Eddard Stark from his older brother, Brandon, and she couldn't help but think he would make a wonderful husband.
Amala was the second child in the Tully family, and as attentions had been largely on marrying off Catelyn and raising Edmure into a proper lord to succeed their father, Hoster Tully, so Amala had been not exactly ignored, but her own marriage prospects weren't at the forefront of anyone's mind. She didn't really mind so much, but she'd like to know what might be in her future, just so she knew.
Their mother had told Amala to wear her best dress, which signaled to her that their mother must agree, that Eddard Stark would make a wonderful husband, just like his brother. Amala didn't have to be told twice, adverse as she usually was to dresses, to put on her best dress. She slipped into the blue gown and admired the color on her, with her red hair and nut-brown eyes. Amala couldn't help but smile as one of her maids quickly whipped her long hair into an intricate creation on top of her head that her own clumsy fingers would have never managed.
Amala's feet were very coordinated, which made her a famously excellent dancer, but things that required nimble fingers had always been beyond her ken, much to her mother's great frustration. She'd never been able to 'properly' do her own hair or 'properly' do needlework. Sure, it wasn't as good as what Catelyn managed, but Amala had always thought it was quite passable, at the very least. It would have been nice to have had her mother be proud of her as she was of Catelyn, for once, but the lessened expectations were at times welcome.
There were no lessened expectations today, though, and Amala could feel it in her veins as she made her way down to meet the Starks as had been arranged. If she were Catelyn or Edmure, she would have been running late, but Amala's quick, lively feet carried her where she wanted at such speeds, even on the stone of Riverrun, that she managed to make it to the castle front before Catelyn, which was well, because her parents were there, and seemed very intent to have private words with Amala, by the look of her father and the gesture of her mother.
"Yes, father?" Amala said almost breathlessly. She tried to not sound as though she'd run the whole way, which was supposedly unbecoming, but her mother's frown told her that the breathiness of her voice had not gone unnoticed.
"We want to remind you," Hoster Tully told his second child, "that Eddard Stark is yet to be betrothed. If you conduct yourself properly, Amy, that could very well change. I'm sure I need not tell you how important this is for your future."
"Yes, father," Amala said quickly. "I understand."
It was good that she did, for they didn't have any time to explain it to her if she hadn't, for at that moment Catelyn, Edmure, and Lysa arrived, each looking much more calm and composed than Amala, but they had left their chambers earlier and hadn't had to run the length of the castle to simply be on time.
There was a sound of arriving horses to announce that the Starks were nearing the gates and the children lined up by age, as was customary. Catelyn and Edmure stood on either side of Amala, and Catelyn leaned in slightly and hissed, "Did you run here from your chambers, Amy?"
"It's none of your business, Cat," Amala snapped back, smiling broadly as the first of the Starks, Brandon himself, entered the gate of Riverrun, followed closely by his younger brother, Eddard Stark.
Eddard was just as handsome as his brother, Amala thought, but with less bravado. He was a quieter soul, she could feel it just looking at him, and she wanted to know what there was behind the cold, Stark exterior.
Not that he was unfriendly. The northerners were simply not of the same ways as others. They spent their lives in winter, it seemed. Winter is coming, she'd heard Brandon say to Catelyn, and she didn't really understand what it meant, but it seemed to mean something very important to him. They were a mysterious sort of family, but Amala liked mysteries and puzzles, and she liked very much the way that Eddard Stark watched her as his brother greeted her parents and sister warmly, like he was already their family.
Amala was so focused on the man her parents were sure would be her future husband that she almost didn't notice the arrival just behind him of his sister, whom she knew to be named Lyanna, and their younger brother, Benjen.
"This is my Catelyn," Brandon said proudly, introducing his bride-to-be to his siblings. "And this is her sister, Amala."
Amala smiled just a little brighter, and it seemed to pay off, as Eddard smiled just slightly at her, kissing her hand gently, the way Brandon did whenever he saw Catelyn for the first time in a day. Her heart fluttered just a bit and she felt her pulse quicken as his hand touched hers, although there was no skin contact but for his lips, with the gloves he wore for riding. But his lips... Oh, she hardly minded.
Brandon introduce the other children, and asked when Lord Arryn would be arriving.
"Jon is meeting us at the Tourney, actually," Amala's father said. "Something came up and he was unable to make the journey out to see us prior, but we will see him there."
"How disappointing," Brandon said honestly. He had loved seeing Jon Arryn at Riverrun about twice as much since he sent Petyr, or Littlefinger as they'd all affectionately called him, away for challenging him in a foolish duel for Catelyn's hand. Catelyn had begged that her future husband spare the life of her childhood friend, and with the help of Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully made certain that Petyr was banished from Riverrun, so Brandon kept good on his word. "But I suppose we'll see him at the Tourney, so that will be pleasant."
The Tourney was called the Tourney at Harrenhal, and although there was supposedly some sort of reason for it, Amala had overheard her parents talking and she knew that what it really was, was a front for Prince Rhaegar to meet with other important lords in order to attempt to overthrow his own father and take the throne. The dragons were a strange lot, Amala had decided, and that was that. She would enjoy the festivities, whatever the reasoning behind them.
There was a feast in the honor of the visiting Starks, and Amala hardly failed to notice that as Catelyn entered on the arm of Brandon, Amala was on the arm of Eddard, Edmure with Lyanna on his arm, and Lysa on the arm of an awkward-looking Benjen Stark. They sat as such, which Amala knew was more than just a trick of her parents to get her to spend more time with Eddard.
"So, Amala," Eddard said kindly over the noise of the feast, "you are quite pretty. My brother spent days on the journey just describing your sister's beauty, but I don't think he spent more than an hour telling us about the rest of you combined. A grievous oversight on his part, I have to say."
"Not so, Eddard," Amala said back, having to speak louder than she would have liked, again because of the din surrounding them. "Everyone knows that Cat is the beauty of the family. You've merely seen me in a flattering dress. I assure you, I'm typically a fright to behold."
"Somehow I doubt that," he said with a brilliant smile that made Amala wonder why all the snow within three days of Winterfell hadn't melted at the glare of it. "Please, call me Ned."
"And call me Amy," Amala replied, blushing at the thought of him asking her to be so familiar so soon. It was a good sign, she supposed. A sign of progress toward what could someday soon be a betrothal.
"I like it very much," he replied, taking a quick sip of wine. "It suits you, almost as much as the dress you think is so essential suits your natural beauty."
Natural beauty. He truly was absurd. She knew she was nothing of the sort, especially compared with his beautiful sister down the table from them. She could put the whole of the castle to shame with her brilliant and glorious radiance. It made Amala nothing short of self-conscious.
"You flatter me," she replied, knowing nothing else to say.
"I am sorry," Eddard replied, looking a bit sheepish. "I am not as good with words as Brandon. You must know how he is by now. He always seems to know what to say and when to say it and in just the right way. I, I don't know ever how to express what I think and see and feel, and I'm not entirely comfortable trying to be half as good with words as he is, so I simply do my best to tell the truth. I hope I'm not being too forward or rude, but-"
"No!" Amala said quickly, blushing at the realization of her own rudeness, cutting off his words like that, although he didn't seem to mind. "No, I don't think you're being forward or rude at all! In fact, I think you've been rather wonderful with your words. You've certainly enchanted me."
"I take that as a great feat, then," he said with a smile. "Tell me, Amy, do you dance?"
The dancing had only just begun, and although Amala normally wouldn't have danced in that particular dress, she got the distinct feeling that her mother would want her to, but also that Eddard Stark typically ask girls to dance just because he thought it seemed like something fun to do.
"Yes, I do," she said happily. "Do you?"
"Not as well as I'd like to, I'll admit," he said with a smile. "But I'd love to try, if you'll permit me."
"Of course," Amala said, taking his proffered hand and letting him lead her out into the world of her element.
Catelyn could be gracious and perfect and everything a lady ought to be, everything the next Lady of Winterfell was supposed to be, but when Amala was on the dance floor, the entire room at least slowed what they did, if not stopped completely, to watch. She had a natural grace and elegance when dancing that even the slight clumsy lead of Eddard Stark could not too greatly diminish. She had always thought that her dancing was best appreciated by those watching, not by her dancing partner, but Eddard seemed more than appreciative of her grace and ability, even laughing as she began to almost lead him, in her own little way.
She loved his laugh, Amala decided. She wanted to do everything she could from that moment on to ensure that Eddard Stark continue to laugh so around her, and she wanted just as badly to be the reason for the brilliant smile on his face. Amala couldn't help but blush a bit when she thought of the way his face seemed to light up as he looked at her. Surely, she'd done well. Surely, her parents would be pleased with her performance.
And Amala was anything but disappointed at the thought that she might someday marry Eddard Stark.
They walked out toward the end of the feast, no one seeming to notice the disappearance of two of the more important members of the event, probably because the world seemed to revolve around Catelyn whenever Brandon was at Riverrun, and Amala didn't mind. She especially didn't mind as Eddard led her out under the stars in the cool night air.
"It's beautiful here," he whispered. "A man could get lost in it all."
She couldn't help but smile to herself.
"Is that how you think of yourself, Ned? A man?"
"Well, I'm older than fifteen, certainly," he reasoned softly, not as one upset by her obviously impertinent and out-of-line statement, but as one wishing to explain his viewpoint to an equal. "I'm old enough that they let me carry steel. That counts for most all of it, if you ask me, although I've not lain with a woman, and some would argue that that means I'm not yet a man."
For some reason, the way Eddard was whispering almost directly into her ear that he'd never been with a woman, the words themselves even, filled her with a thrill she didn't quite understand or know the name of. But she liked it, she decided, as she looked up at his face in the starlight.
"I think you're a man," she decided on the spot, almost as the words were spilling off her lips. "A real man doesn't measure his worth in personal milestones, noble or otherwise, but in his ability to carry out the duty and honor of his family."
Eddard smiled, she could see in the shadows of the night.
"You truly are a Tully," he whispered.
"To the core," she said happily. "My father says I'm more a Tully than almost any other Tully in generations. It's quite an honor."
"I suppose it is," he smiled, brushing a bit of hair that had flown into her face with a breeze out of her nut-brown eyes. "It's truly beautiful here. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
For some reason, Amala got the distinct feeling from his blush that he wasn't talking about Riverrun anymore and she didn't know what to say. So instead, she broke the awkward, tense silence by saying, "Do you know when we leave for the Tourney?"
"Tomorrow, if we're to be there before it starts, as we should," Eddard said, his voice shaking a bit. Was he afraid of the Tourney? No, surely not. She didn't think he would be in it, either. He was still young. It didn't seem like a fearful tremble in his voice, anyway, although it wasn't something she recognized, exactly.
"I suppose I'll have to finish my packing before I go to bed," she said thoughtfully. "Mother will be very upset with me for leaving it all to the end again."
"Oh, you do that too?" he said with a small laugh, again, shaking a bit. "Lyanna does it as well. It drives everyone a bit crazy, but we don't travel so very often, so she doesn't really have a need to be punctual about it all the time. She's used to being at Winterfell."
"What's it like there, at Winterfell?"
Eddard was silent for a moment, thinking, perhaps letting memories fill his mind as Amala would before describing something for someone else. She always thought it was important to do that, to think over what she was about to say and make sure she didn't leave out anything important. Apparently, she wasn't alone in this trait that had always made Catelyn frustrated.
"It's cold," he said slowly, "outside the castle. Winterfell's built on a natural hot springs, actually, so it stays incredibly warm within the walls of the castle. There's a room where I have to open the window, my mother's chambers, if I'm inside of it. I'm a Stark. I've got snow in my veins."
"That seems a bit silly," Amala thought out loud, "being as fond of cold as you Starks seem to be and yet building your castle in such a warm place."
She realized she was being rude again, but instead of seeming offended in some way, he laughed again, seeming to find amusement in her poorly chosen words.
"I suppose you're right about that," Eddard said, still laughing lightly through his words. "You're a very clever girl, Amala Tully."
She blinked. No one had ever called her clever before. She'd been too slow, too clumsy, too fat-fingered, too careless, and she'd even been called and artist of dance, but no one had ever called her clever. It felt like a strange thing, hearing Eddard Stark, someone she'd long ago decided was one of the smartest men in the world, calling her clever.
"Really?" she whispered. "You really think I'm clever?"
"Absolutely," he said with a small smile. "I suppose you ought to be getting off to bed now..."
"Yes," Amala sighed sadly. "Yes, I suppose I should. We're probably leaving quite early in the morning."
"That was what Brandon told me," Eddard said with a nod. "Good night, Amala."
"Good night, Eddard," she breathed, turning to go with a nod to him.
"Wait," he said quickly, and she turned back around perhaps hastier than she should have. He took her hand, no glove, and kissed it once more, his thumb rubbing gently across her skin.
"Sweet dreams," he whispered as he let her hand go and she couldn't hide her blush as she whispered her thanks and rushed away to her room.
Amala couldn't help but squeal excitedly as she got to her own rooms. Her heart was racing, but that could have been from the running. The blush still lit her cheeks, but that could have also been from the running. Her greatest fear, she realized as she quickly changed into her night clothes, was that she wouldn't be able to continue to impress Eddard Stark outside of the most rigid of ceremonial circumstances. Travelling, she realized, horrified, he wouldn't want anything to do with her anymore.
She wasn't going to cry, Amala told herself firmly. It wasn't over yet, and anyway, there was no use crying over a man.