Chapter 1: Late September, 1841
Bran Stark lived in a seemingly quaint estate in a sequestered, rural area just outside of London called Reading, Berkshire. His estate was 1,115 square metres, which, by Urban standards, was considered very large indeed, but was considered quaint by other wealthy families in the area because of its unusual architectural feature: It consisted of only a single floor. The kitchens and the master bedroom were deemed unnaturally close, as there was not a flight of stairs or two separating them, and this was for one very unique purpose: Master Bran had been crippled since he was a boy.
By the time he was 19 years old, his parents had built him that great house, and sent off any other Stark children that didn't feel like living at home to live with the second youngest boy; Arya, who came because the wide open yet sequestered lands would give her ample opportunities to practice her swordplay and wear trousers; Sansa, who loved the fresh air and the distance from her husband; and Jon, who preferred living in a country estate when he wasn't busy fighting England's battles.
On one cool fall morning, the air crisp and hinting of the winter to come, Bran wheeled himself out into their backyard to find his sister, Arya, hacking away at her swordplay instructor very loudly.
"Arya!" Bran shouted from their back porch, interrupting her fencing lesson and causing her to stumble and allow Sandor Clegane, her instructor, to land a hit.
"Damn, Bran!" She snapped, picking herself up and brushing off the still drying mud from her dress. Arya hated wearing dresses with a passion, but Bran insisted she at least begin the day with something presentable, in case they were to have any unexpected visitors before noon. "You've gone and made me lose."
"You were faltering." Sandor growled like The Hound he was famously rumoured to be.
"Osha's finished breakfast, I'd appreciate you joining us."
"I'm starved." She stuck her foil into the dirt and it stood on its own. "What has she made for us today?"
"Fruits, mostly. Scones, as well." Bran lead his sister in and they sat at the dining table together. They were joined shortly by Sandor, Osha, and Hodor, leaving out no one in the house from their meal, and therefore, leaving no one to answer the door when the knocking began.
"Osha, could you-"
"I'll get it." Arya interrupted Bran in the middle of him asking. "I've ordered a new tunic from in town, I can only imagine that would be it."
Bran watched her scamper off and open the front door, but the general noise coming from that end of the house didn't sound much like accepting an order. It sounded a whole hell of a lot more like inviting someone in.
Everyone at the table was suddenly up and back to business, Hodor helping Osha clear the dishes and Sandor fleeing outside to his own domain.
Overwhelmed with curiosity, Bran wheeled his way into the living room, where they typically greeted guests.
His sister was standing in the doorway, but he could peer around her just enough to see a young gentleman, about his own age and dressed to the nines, dark cravat laced around his neck and a forest green tailcoat not practical for outdoor traveling, implying they'd taken some sort of carriage or transport with a roof. The woman he was with, who was already sitting on one of their less assuming couches, dressed in a green brocade dress to match the man's, didn't even have a bonnet. Her hair was cut short, just like Arya's, and hardly styled at all but with natural ringlets abound.
"Ah, speak of the devil." Arya said when she finally noticed her brother lingering behind her. "This is my brother Brandon Stark VI. I'll leave you three to speak." And with that, she spun round and made to exit the room.
Bran caught his sister's arm as she passed. "Arya, who are these people?"
"Mister Reed is an industrialist." Arya whispered. "He seems to be some sort of toy maker or some such nonsense. The woman with him is his sister."
"Then what is he doing here?" Bran hissed back at his youngest sister.
"Ask him yourself, I'm not your errand boy." Arya scoffed before strutting away, leaving Bran quite stranded in his own living room.
Bran sighed before rolling himself up to their guests. "Hello, I'm Brandon Stark, Master of the house." He offered his hand.
The Miss Reed took it graciously and he kissed the air above her knuckles before offering his hand to the Mister Reed.
Mister Reed took it and gave him a firm shake. "I'm Jojen Reed, and this is my sister, Meera."
"It's good to meet you." Bran responded. "What brings you to my home?"
"Business matters, actually." He said, removing his gloves. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately?"
"My living room should do just fine." Bran pointed down the hall. "Will your sister be joining us?"
Meera Reed answered for herself. "I thought I'd take a walk about your grounds with your younger sister."
Bran snorted, then cleared his throat. "She's two years my elder, I'll have you know. And she'd certainly have something to say if she heard you."
Meera's smile took too many characteristics of a smirk for Bran's liking. "Your older sister, then. She went out that door?" She pointed.
"Yes, she should be out in the backyard, practicing her… dancing." Bran bowed his head as a goodbye to her, and once she had taken her leave, he led her brother to his living room, as promised.
"Thank you very much for meeting with me." Jojen took a seat on one of three couches in the great room. "I can't imagine you would know what this is concerning."
"I could guess." Bran rolled to a stop in his favorite spot. "You are an industrialist, that much my sister told me."
"I own a factory that makes children's toys, yes. It's been quite successful in the city, but would be considerably more fiscally responsible to build a second factory in the countryside rather than another in the city."
"What is your plan, then? To buy my land from under me and build up one of your great factories?" Bran sipped his tea sullenly, seemingly victorious. He'd figured out what this Reed boy wanted, and he wasn't wrong, as Jojen Reed was about to reveal.
"You're not wrong." He revealed. "Except for the bit where I buy the land from under you. I have a strong intuition that tells me we could go about this together, and as this land of yours is barren and can't be used for farming anyway, we could, perhaps, use it for something a bit more prosperous."
Bran frowned into his teacup. "How do you plan on taking the land from me, if you're not going to buy it?"
Jojen Reed was suspiciously silent.
Bran, not wanting to give this young man the attention he so clearly wanted, didn't look at him until a glint of light caught his eye and drew his attention to a shining golden band that laid on a cushion-lined box that was in turn being gripped in Jojen Reed's clammy palm. Why are his hands clammy? Bran wondered to himself, until it hit him what this young man was doing.
"Are you… proposing to me?" He asked, just to be sure.
"I am." Jojen cleared his throat and fumbled for a moment before moving part of his waistcoat out of the way with the hand not holding the ring and using that minimal freedom to bend to one knee.
"Are you patronizing me?" Bran scoffed; Mister Reed had just made himself shorter than Bran.
"What?" Jojen Reed balked. "No, no, not at all, this… this is what people do when they're proposing, isn't it? The tradition hasn't changed?"
The corner of Bran's mouth quirked upwards. "If you're going to be my husband, you should get quite used to my teasing."
Jojen blinked at him for a moment, before a smile broke across his features. "It's lovely to meet you, Brandon Stark."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jojen Reed."
"Oh, of course they should stay with us until the wedding!" Sansa exclaimed over dinner when Arya had the good sense to be the first one to ask where the Reeds would be staying until the wedding. "We have plenty of extra rooms, it shouldn't be an imposition at all!"
"We haven't brought anything with us." Meera frowned slightly. "Just ourselves. And a wedding band, apparently." She said this in such a way that implied she was not privy to the fact that Jojen came here with every intention to propose.
"We only live a four hour ride away, Meera." Jojen pointed out. "We'll go home after dinner and pack our things. It shouldn't take long, and we should be back by morning." He gave Bran a shy smile. "If that's alright with you, that we should return so quickly."
Before Bran could speak, however, his eldest sister spoke first. "It would be preferable!" She beamed. "Oh, please do return as quickly as possible. That way we can begin planning tomorrow afternoon at the absolute latest."
"I… agree." Bran said slowly, making sure he wouldn't be interrupted by any of his siblings. "If you don't mind, Jojen, where in London do you live that you can pick up and leave at the drop of a hat?"
"We live in a flat." Jojen answered casually. "Our father moved us around a lot as children, and as such, we have no family home."
"Shame." The Hound grunted, half a chicken leg still in his mouth.
Arya nudged him, realizing his sarcasm. "Don't be cruel."
The table went quiet for a long moment, and Jojen's gaze drifted to Bran. Bran nodded slightly, acknowledging him. "Osha, I'll need your help of course, but I can make up two rooms for you tonight. Consider those rooms yours from now on."
"I can't thank you enough, Bran." Jojen beamed at him from across the table.
When it came time to begin going to sleep, Osha and Hodor made their rounds, lighting fires and tucking in the three Stark children they were technically in charge of.
It took awhile for the house and all of the members in it to settle down and begin to fall asleep, but once the time had passed and the house was silent, there was a soft knock on his door.
Bran turned over at the sound of his bedroom door opening, and a tiny halo of candlelight preceding Jojen in his nightclothes.
"What are you doing in here?" Bran pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard of his bed.
"Do you find your rooms as cold as I find mine?" Jojen answered his question with a question, circling Bran's bed to the side that Bran preferred.
"It's always cold in the wintertime." Bran protested. "I've gotten used to it. Did Osha or Hodor light your fireplace?"
Jojen shook his head.
"That's a pity then." He pointed to where his own fire had dwindled down to umbers. "It helps, having a fire in the room."
"Well, I can't very well call on them at this hour." Jojen set his candle on Bran's nightstand. "Perhaps I could just stay in here for the night."
Bran shook his head. "I can't have that, Jojen."
The other boy frowned. "And why's that?"
"We're engaged, not married. Can you imagine the kind of talk there would be?"
"Among whom? Sansa and Meera?" Jojen snorted.
"The worst kind, that is." Bran chuckled. "I'm very sorry your rooms are cold, Jojen. Please, take your pick of any of my blankets. There are more in the closet."
Jojen sighed. "You're quite accommodating."
"You say that like it's a terrible thing."
"It is when I have ulterior motives." Jojen's eyes lifted to meet Bran's.
Bran frowned in confusion and studied the other boy carefully, watched the hands that were still folded in his lap, the nightgown that hiked up near his knees. "We-"
Jojen leaned forward suddenly, his lips pressing to Bran's in a petal-soft peck.
But before he could pull away, as he had clearly planned, Bran's fingers were buried in his hair, pulling him closer, only to be foiled by how constrictive Jojen's nightgown truly was.
"Shit…" Jojen managed to curse before he lost his balance and toppled to the floor, accidentally taking Bran with him. Bran landed atop him, their chests pressed together diagonally, their legs askew. "I'm so sorry, Bran."
Bran chuckled. "I'm not hurt, I'm fine. If anything, this is my fault." He tilted his head so he could see Jojen's face. "I wasn't expecting that, for sure."
"And what were you expecting?" The corner of Jojen's lips quirked up.
"I was expecting to scold you for even thinking about coming in my room under false pretenses, and send you on your merry way."
"But my mouth was entirely too irresistible?" He smirked.
"Only after it was introduced to mine." Bran wiggled his way up onto his elbows and hovered over Jojen, their noses bumping tenderly.
Jojen tilted his head slightly and brushed Bran's lips. "I couldn't resist." He whispered between the tiny chaste kisses Bran was bestowing upon him. "They looked so full, and soft. I had to see how they'd feel against mine."
"And are they?" He hummed.
"Undoubtedly." Jojen answered before deepening their kisses, erasing any kind of chastity left over from before. He nipped at Bran's bottom lip, warming him up before rolling over him and effectively switching their positions. He straddled the other boy and Pecked His lips several times consecutively.
"Jojen." Bran said, interrupting his affections.
"Is something wrong?"
"Quite the opposite, actually." Bran's hands rested on the tops of Jojen's thighs. "And I am in fact quite confused. My mother once told my sister, Sansa, that marriage comes first and love is sure to follow after."
"I don't see where this trail of thought leads." Jojen smirked nonetheless. "Where do you believe that you are at fault?"
"Because I am quite halfway to the latter already."
"Then the former should be the easy part." Jojen pecked his lips again before starting to sit up. "Let me help you back into bed, but then I must return to my own. I probably won't see you tomorrow morning, we're leaving quite early." He stood and lifted Bran into a bridal carry in order to lay him back in his bed.
"That's quite alright. I'll see you in a few days?"
"As quickly as I can." Jojen pecked his lips one last time before disappearing into the night.
Jojen and Meera returned two days later, a full twenty-four hours after they said they'd be back. Arya was more put off by it than Bran.
"What took you two so long?" She huffed, arms crossed over an old tunic she'd 'borrowed' from Bran.
"We had considerably more packing to do than we thought." Meera explained, gesturing to the pile on top of and trailing behind their carriage.
"That's quite a lot of luggage." Arya mused, eyebrows raised in fascination. "how on earth can two people amass so much luggage, especially when you claim to move around so much."
"Our father left much behind." Meera explained. "That, and Jojen has a compulsive need to shop when he's feeling anxious."
"We should be expecting several new shirts and shoes arriving in the next few days." Jojen added, trailing in behind his sister. "Should we help Hodor?"
Arya shrugged. "Just come to breakfast. Sansa has practically been dragging Bran through the wedding preparations kicking and screaming. I think he may need some sort of backup."
"That explains why he looked in a foul mood when we arrived." Jojen removed his gloves and tucked them away in his pocket while being led into the house. "It can't be all bad."
"I assure you, it is." Bran grumbled.
"Is it the dancing?" Jojen asked.
"It's the dancing."
"Well, we can't have you feeling terrible your first morning here." Jojen frowned. "What would you like to do today? Anything, you name it."
Bran gave him a shy smile. "I'd like to go riding. Show you the land in all of its size and beauty."
"...Brandon, not to be entirely rude…" Jojen stopped in his tracks. "But can you ride?" He asked, a bit suspicious.
"I have a special saddle." Bran rolled himself backwards and into the dining room, Jojen then following close behind. "Sansa's husband gave it to me when I was a boy, just after I was paralyzed."
"Then that's what we should do." Jojen said, smiling.
"Is that them?" Sansa called from the dining room before trailing into the hall to greet their most honoured guests. "Hello! I'm glad you're finally here. We've been planning all morning, and we've decided on a spring wedding. Late April."
"Spring, yes." He suddenly seemed quite out of place, and completely at a loss for words. Perhaps all his power comes from his perception that he's in control of his schedule. Bran speculated to himself. "We are to stay here through the winter and early spring, of course."
"Of course." She echoed. "I would expect nothing less of you. This is your home now, as far as I'm concerned."
"Do you… do you live here?" Meera interjected.
Sansa frowned at her for a pregnant moment, contemplating her. "I do occasionally. When my husband's in town and not away on business."
"I don't think you've seen him since the honeymoon." Arya said flippantly, earning her a cold glare from her sister.
"And I don't care to." Sansa said stiffly.
The entire table was silent, stunned into such a state by the cold hard stare of the young woman at the head of the table.
Finally, Bran spoke. "Sansa, you were saying something about a non-traditional colour scheme for the wedding before The Reeds arrived? I was intrigued." Any lie was worth putting everyone back in the right spirit.
"Oh yes! White is so blase so I was thinking perhaps a quadruple colour scheme with a light grey underlining the navy blue aspect, as well as forest green and perhaps black. Oh, but about the actual party portion of the evening, I'm thinking that we could go traditional. There would be food, and dancing-"
"Again with the fucking dancing!" Arya spat out the juice she'd been sipping directly into her plate in a show of her disapproval. "Gods, what a horrible idea."
"Arya, mind your manners." Sansa chastised, handing over a napkin for her sister's benefit. Arya used it to blow her nose, if only to bother her eldest and only sister. "I think it's a wonderful idea."
"It's my wedding, Sansa, and I have to agree with Arya. Dancing is no good, and it's very distasteful- I'm sorry Meera, but it's true- to suggest such a thing." He tapped on the arm of his wheelchair impatiently.
"You and I wouldn't be doing any dancing, of course." Jojen assured him. "We'll be together at the head of the table for next to the entire reception, receiving gifts and well wishes. I can only assume it will take all night."
"It will only take that long if we throw a truly exciting party." Sansa insisted. "I want you two to be happy, and we should start it off with a truly marvelous celebration. Don't want you ending up like me and my dreadful hus-"
The wedding-planning-over-breakfast talk came thankfully to a halt when there was a knock at the door.
Jojen and Meera looked around the table, confused. "Who could that be?"
Bran snorted. "Could be anyone, honestly. There are six of us, and our mother, and our adopted brother Theon… Then there's our tutors, or even-"
"Could someone answer the door, please?" Sansa barked, cutting off her younger brother.
"I will." Arya stood and ran for the door. The rest of them listened to the door open, and Arya squealed for the first time in years. "Robb! Jon!"
"Well hello, little lady." Robb swept her up into his arms and swung her around in circles.
"Is Jon here as well?" Sansa stood and rushed to their half-brother's side. "You've returned from the war!"
"Not the war, dear sister. No war to fight."
"So Tyrion has come with you?" A look of abject terror passed over her face.
"Hells no." Jon scoffed. "He's highly decorated. Someone's got to stay back and train the soldiers."
"Then how come you've come back?" Arya asked.
"There's a difference between being a good soldier and a highly decorated one. Decorated soldiers are asked to stay. But with good soldiers, you couldn't stop them if they tried to leave."
"Please, join us for breakfast." Arya insisted. "We've just sat down."
"Excellent, I'm starved." Robb grinned and barged into the dining room, only to stop in his tracks upon noticing a stranger at the breakfast table.
Jojen took the first move, standing and wiping his mouth with a napkin before offering his hand. "My name is Jojen Reed, I'd be surprised if you hadn't heard of me."
"I haven't." Robb said, matter-of-factly.
"Jojen is my Fiance." Bran said. "Robb is my brother, he's been off fighting for the crown. I'm sure he has a litany of reasons for not receiving my letters."
"England is in a time of peace." Jojen sat down again, returning to his breakfast.
"But there are always soldiers needing training."
"Robb, please sit." Bran urged.
He did, but only after Jon and Arya had returned from the entrance hall and also seated themselves, Arya yammering on about all kinds of nonsense, catching both of the brothers up on all of the things that had happened in the last few weeks.
"Sorry, Arya." Robb interrupted after a healthy chunk of time. "But I have a question for Mister Reed."
"Of course." Jojen set down his fork and knife. "Ask away."
"Why Bran?"
Most of the table frowned, some out of confusion and others at the utter rudeness of the question.
"I'm sorry." Jojen's frown was a bit of both. "I'm afraid I don't understand the question."
"He's quite unremarkable really." Robb began. "No sort of beauty that you'd have heard about all the way in London. He's the third in line to get any sort of inheritance, and this land is barren. Now, you could build on it and all, but you could marry Arya for that."
"Robb-" Sansa tried, but there was no stopping him now.
Robb's voice had adopted a cruel manner of laughing. "He's crippled, for christs' sake!"
"That's enough!" Arya barked. The air settled in the silence to something tense and spined.
Jojen, on the other hand, seemed unphased. "You raise some interesting points, Robb Stark." He was stroking the tines of his fork idly. "However, I find myself partial to men. That, and Bran and I have a partnership, a friendship, even, dare I say, after only knowing each other a single day. We have a connection." He said calmly. "Perhaps you disapprove of my persuasion, or even of my character, but both of those are issues of my own making, and are no fault of Bran's."
Bran's hand found Jojen's knee under the table and squeezed it, both as a thank you and as a warning to quit while he was ahead.
"I like him." Jon said through a mouthful of toast and jam. "He's got a stiff upper lip."
"Now, not that this hasn't been lovely, meeting you all," Jojen stood from his place at the table. "But I did promise Bran we'd go riding this morning, and I'm afraid I've left that promise hanging in the wind for far too long."
"But you've only been here an hour!" Sansa protested. "You haven't even seen your rooms."
"I saw them when I was first here, not two days ago." Jojen shook his head. "I can look upon them when we return. Bran?"
Bran took that as his cue to roll himself away from the table and make a beeline for the back door. "Hodor? Mr. Clegane? Will you help us tack up the horses?"
They both responded in each of their likes, Hodor with his own name and Sandor with something resembling a kurt 'fine.'
"Thank god for your promises, boy." Sandor shot in Jojen's direction the moment they were out of earshot of Sansa. "If I had to hear any more about your damn wedding, I'd have put that table on its head."
Jojen blinked at him. "I got the same impression from Bran this morning. The wedding isn't for months, we should hold off on planning."
"If anything, the planning should be down to Jojen and I."
"Or just tell your sister to shut her mouth." Sandro scowled before lifting Bran easily and settling him in his special saddle. "There we are, master Bran."
"The buckles need to be done up, Mr. Clegane." Bran reminded him.
"Buckles?" Jojen peered at the strange contraption that allowed Bran to ride.
"They keep my legs in place, so I don't fall over or anything else terrible." Bran shared proudly. This invention had given him more pleasure than anything else: It allowed him to appear, at first glance, that he was just like any other rider. It also let him ride, which was one of his favorite things to do, when the dreary english weather allowed it.
"What a spectacular invention!" Jojen mused. "Shall we go?"
Bran nodded in agreement, and patted his horse on the neck to begin their ride.
They rode in relative silence, only the sounds of their horses hoofs and the general sounds of nature surrounding them.
They eventually came to a stop next to a creek that marked the end of Bran's property, their horses bending their heads for a sip from the stream. This is when Jojen chose to speak up and break their silence. "Bran, what did you mean when what you said that we should do the planning?"
Bran shrugged. "I'm not sure what you mean by that."
"I'm not actually sure what planning a wedding entails. I'm the eldest of two, and my parents were never very forthcoming with information about my more distant relations."
"In my experience, the one in the family who's the most interested in the whole process is usually the one to plan the ordeal." Bran chuckled. "the first wedding I actually participated in was when I was 11. Robb married when he was 18, and a 13 year old Sansa planned most of the event. She planned her own wedding as well."
"I don't want anything too extravagant." Jojen said, shaking his head at Bran's story.
"You and I will have the final say in what happens, this I can assure you."
"That's very comforting." Jojen encouraged his horse closer to Bran's. "Should we return home? I have much to unpack."
"The Sun's not even setting yet." Bran held back a pout. "We've only just begun our ride, and I haven't even shown the rest of the land to you. How will you know where it is best to build your factory?"
"There is time, Bran." Jojen rested a hand atop of Bran's. "We can go out tomorrow, or the next day. Or both, even, if you wish."
"Both would be lovely." Bran gave him a rare bright smile.
"Then lead our way back. Might I ask a bath of your household? The travel of this morning quite needs to be washed off, I think."
"After you unpack, it is yours." Bran promised him, before patting the sides of his horse's neck with his hands, encouraging her forward.
They rode back to the house, and once Bran was settled once again in his chair, they made their way to Jojen's room, where Bran left him in favor of retreating to his library.
However, Jojen's soft exhalation of "shit" brought his attention back to his fiancè.
"Everything alright?" He asked, rolling back to Jojen's side. "Oh."
Apparently, Osha had piled up Jojen's trunks around his bed, probably out of spite for making her carry it all the way to his room all by herself, even if Jojen had offered to help.
"It seems I've been blocked in." Jojen sighed.
"I'm so sorry, I'll make her-"
"No, don't make her do anything, it's fine. I can unpack by myself anyhow."
"Are you sure I can't help you?" Bran asked, cautious. They did just spend the majority of the day together, but they hadn't spoken much, so whether or not Jojen was looking for some time alone was beyond him.
"I would appreciate it, actually." Jojen smiled, opening up his first trunk. "Ah, this one's mostly clothes. If you could put them in the dresser?"
"Of course." Bran laid as much as he could on his lap, transported it to the dresser, and began organizing it the same way he organized his: shirts on the left, pants on the right, underthings in the top drawer that spanned the entire upper part of the dresser.
Jojen opened the next trunk before sighing in absolute dejection. "Of course. Three trunks full of books and nowhere to put them."
"I'll handle this." Bran said shortly, barely looking up from his work.
"What?" Jojen's head snapped up.
Bran rolled himself backwards into the hallway with ease. "Hodor!" He called down the hall for his manservant.
"Hodor?" Came the diligent response.
"Hodor, could you please bring one of my bookshelves in here? Jojen needs somewhere to store all of this."
"Oh, no, Bran, please." Jojen insisted. "I've got plenty of storage for them, I should just keep them in the box, really-"
"Jojen, It will be months before we move into a room to share. You deserve a comfortable, semi-personal space to call your own." Bran insisted.
"If you insist." Jojen shrugged.
Before long, Hodor had dragged an entire empty bookshelf into Jojen's new quarters and Jojen was loading his collection onto its shelves, while Bran continued to help him sort his clothing to the best of his ability.
They worked in silence for the next hour, until finally Osha came in to let them know that Jojen's bath was ready.
Bran waited until he'd been gone for at least a few minutes before rolling his way outside, to the back porch, where it had already begun to drizzle lightly.
"Bran?" Arya interrupted his solitude, one of her small, calloused hands resting on his shoulder. "You shouldn't be out in weather like this."
He sighed. "Am I to be the wife?"
"Excuse me?"
"Am I to be Jojen's wife? Confined to this house all day and all night, even more so than I already am? Am I to take orders from him, like Sansa is expected to from her husband?"
"Sansa doesn't have to do much for her husband, she's here."
"This house is a refuge for us all. You get to wear pants, I get to roam freely, and Sansa gets to evade her family-in-law. But what if this marriage takes away my freedom?"
"I highly doubt Jojen will do anything of the sort." Arya reassured him.
"We've only known him two days."
"So give him some more time. Now stop worrying and come inside before you catch a cold."
A/N: I'll post chapter 2 if I can get 2 reviews?