Brandon Stark knew he should be thoroughly ashamed that he was betrothed to one woman, and making love to another. He just did not have it in him to be ashamed of loving Amarantha Stormheart, fifth of her name. She challenged him where Lady Catelyn Tully would have meekly lowered her eyes and spoken meaningless courtesies. He couldn't fathom what his younger brother Ned saw in her.
He, Brandon Stark of Winterfell, also called the Wild Wolf, descended of the First Men and the Kings of Winter, did not bend, nor did he break.
No matter how much he hated this betrothal, the only way out was to admit he did not care for Lady Catelyn. It would be quite sticky, considering he had already defeated one opponent for Catelyn's hand. That didn't matter, though. His father and their family needed this alliance, and Ned was not enough of a prize. His bitter seething roused a sated Amarantha.
"Brandon, what's got you thinking so hard?" Her soft question, asked with honesty, stated plainly, soothed him-somewhat.
"Oh Mara, I'm just angry that I have to marry Catelyn! What does she know of me?" Pulling him into a kiss that set his mind on fire, she whispered
"Stop thinking, Brand. We have tonight, and that will have to be enough."
The next morning, as he ate his fill at the Stormheart table, he endured the sad gazes of Amarantha's family. Still frankly amazed her father and brothers had yet to try to skewer him for despoiling her, her turned his attention to her.
"Amarantha, will you come to Winterfell?" His quiet question is met with a firm shake of her head, and her eyes met his.
"No, Lord Stark. If you call the banners, I will come, of course, but I have no business in Winterfell." Brandon felt his desperation choke him, then an idea came to mind, but Lord Dayan Stormheart shook his head.
"Leave my girl be, Brandon, she has a hard road ahead of her, no need to make it harder." No matter how sensible he sounded, Brandon wanted to scream and rage. That damned betrothal had been his father's bid for allies, and now it ruled his life, and worse, Mara was abiding by it, now that Hoster Tully had announced he would make it official.
Angrier than he'd ever been, he tacked up his warhorse, Balerion, and rode out before the noon meal. Brandon took the most circuitous route home. No, he told himself, home is with Amarantha. Try as he might, he still could not come to grips with losing her.
Four days later, a cantankerous Brandon Stark stormed into the Winterfell courtyard atop his destrier. He noticed the Riverlanders camped out and his ire grew. Brandon marched to the Great Hall, and thrusting open the doors snarled
"What in the name of the North Gods is going on?" Rickard, his father, his brothers, Ned and Ben, Hoster Tully and his brother Brynden, as well as fucking Catelyn stared at him in surprise. Lyanna wasn't here. His heart sank, thinking No, no, no, not Lyanna.
Robert Baratheon watched silently, a goblet in hand and Howland Reed, a friend of Ned's that Lyanna had defended at Harrenhall, spoke.
"Lord Brandon. Your sister Lyanna has been abducted by Rhaegar Targaryen." Brandon walked down the hall in swift strides, and in front of everyone, his brothers, the betrothed he'd never wanted, her father, uncle and the combined men at arms and the Stark servants, he punched his father, and roared
"This is your fucking fault! You tried to marry her to that gods damned Baratheon, and she ran to the arms of Targaryen you bloody numbskull fool." Just like you did to me, Brandon's eyes tell him try to deny it, the flinty Stark grey dares Rickard. Turning on his heel, he said curtly to Hoster
"The wedding will have to wait, we have banners to call, and Lyanna to bring back to Winterfell, if she so desires." The unwavering ice in his voice silences everyone in the hall, and he snaps at his father
"The only way you'll get me to bring her back here is if you promise not to force another marriage, or even this one-" he jerked his thumb at Robert "-if you renege that promise, I will personally slit the throats of all involved for costing me my sister, and you will be first."
Rickard watched his son leave, utterly speechless. The hatred in his eyes when he'd talked of the betrothals had chilled him to the bone. In trying to arrange allies, he just might have lost his son.
"Excuse me." He says quietly, trailing Brandon. When he finds his son, he is cleaning the Valyrian steel longsword that had been a gift from Dayan Stormheart when he was younger.
"You will come to love her." Rickard offers, and is as stunned as he was in the Great Hall when Brandon snarls
"You do not know what I would do to be free of her! She means less to me than a dent in my armour. Thanks to the both of you, I lost Lyanna, and I lost the woman I would cut out my heart for. You know nothing of love, and less of hate." Shoving past Rickard, Eddard and Benjen who had trailed their father, he came face to face with Hoster and Brynden Tully.
"Well? You obviously heard what I said." Brandon's sharp, knifelike voice about breaks Rickard, as Hoster asks evenly
"Why?" Brandon laughed, a low, bitter thing.
"Because I have a duty to Winterfell, because no matter how it makes my heart shatter over and over and over again, she won't let me compromise my honour."
Brandon walks away, to come face to face with the bannermen not two days later. Rickard, Hoster and Brynden observe the stiff correctness in Amarantha's posture. She and her younger sister Rhaena were sent to command the Stormheart delegation. It saddens Hoster, that the man betrothed to his daughter will not feel affection for her, but Catelyn knew it could happen, that she most likely would not have Brandon's favour. Hoster knew she would never have it, after seeing the care Brandon took with Lady Stormheart, but had no wish to break her heart just yet. Brandon himself had acknowledged the possibility of his death when he suggested Eddard and Benjen stay behind, as Winterfell must always have a Stark. Rickard had assented, uneasy at the glares Robert Baratheon was giving him.
Rickard had sworn that when she returned to Winterfell, Lyanna would have the choice of marrying, and he had publically dissolved her betrothal. Brandon's eyes had been stormy since Rickard had refused to dissolve a marriage Catelyn was willing to enter. No, it wasn't fair, but it was the way it had to be, and Rickard would bear his son's hatred if it got him allies.
Catelyn was puzzled. Brandon had always been polite to her, but he'd been cursing everyone under the sun since he'd returned from a moon with the Stormhearts. Amarantha and Rhaena, despite carrying weapons, acted like ladies almost all the time. They practiced with the Mormont women, they ate and drank with the men, but they also embroidered beautifully. What puzzled her most was that Brandon didn't curse them. She'd heard Amarantha call him Brand, and he call her Mara. Rhaena, too, used these names, but not as frequently as the other two. When she tried to farewell Brandon the morning he left, he glared at her and swung up onto Balerion, kicking him into a gallop out of the gate. Mara and Rhaena rode palfreys by her before she could make sense of Brandon. It stung, she admitted to herself, but surely Brandon would be better when he returned? Catelyn had always hoped her betrothed would at least like her, but it seemed impossible, when the only women he was affectionate with were Lyanna and the Stormheart ladies.
