Brandon Sterling
Breaking a fast after a long night's sleep was Brandon's wondrous joy, besides his family and frequent night visits to his lady wife. A hearty meal for consuming meats, whether eggs, bacon, chicken or whichever the cook makes for him, with his family sitting beside him. After, his days were filled with him agonizing over their ever decreasing funds with the sole remaining silver mine left to house Sterling. His previous kin had held most of the silver mines surrounding White Harbor. However, he was meant to deal with one, and figure out how to best organize the act to regulate the silver mined, priced, and sold in contrast to the other silver mines to maintain the lifestyle of a landed noble. Although previously wealthy and lord over a few small villages, they have never been a large house, only holding a single castle with a small parcel of land north of White Harbor before the Sheepshead Hills of house Ashwood. He sought answers in the journals of the previous lords to find none usable, only useless dreams of the past. Without shrewd management, he wasn't sure if his house could survive another generation or two. Yet the worries were swallowed with the savory flavor of morning pork sausage.
Barbara of house Ashwood, his lady wife kind enough to adopt his family name, had an endearing but broken a smile. She had a faded, dark brown hair with soft, cinnamon eyes while short in stature. He knew she saw his worries spilling into habits and loved her for it. She had always loved him, as long as they had known each other from a feast of Lord Wyman Manderly a decade ago. When she was of age, she left her family and chose her own love as his own mother did years ago. Barbara's father and brothers hated him ever since.
"Lord husband", Barbara spoke gently, "Perhaps, you should slow yourself. You have all day to work."
"She didn't call you by your first name, Brandon", his mother said. Alys Stark, younger sister to Lady Lynarra Stark and goodsister to Rickard Stark, was a blunt, unwavering, and affectionate woman with the Stark look. After Lynarra was wed to Rickard, as the last branch family Stark Alys was allowed to wed whomever she wished as long as they were honorable lords loyal to the North. Too much trouble could come from a distant cousin being wed by someone craving power she says he claimed. Regardless of the truth, he was glad she was his mother. "You know she's upset."
"Lady Barbara is correct", Brandon stated. "There's plenty of time for stress. Being together is valuable." He'd eat slower. Simply thinking about his worries caused him to lose track of the moment.
"Papa?", he heard to his side, Barbara biting her tongue the moment. Although only six, his son Bryan Snow was a monstrous boy. He grew fast and earl like he did with unkempt dark brown hair, but he had his mother's pale skin unmatched in the North along with her serene, cerulean eyes. The lad's presence was hard on Barb, a mark of shame from the night Lord Ashwood denied his proposal at Lady Barbara's request. He had barely spoken a word to the boy's mother and she died shortly after his birth. To his gladness, he's been with Barbara ever since, but he could not deny the existence of his regrets. "I had a sad dream last night."
"He's your lord father, Bryan", Barbara spoke up. Despite her own informal attitude which his bastard had learned from her, she envied the child's personal affection without sons of her own holding the opportunity.
"What was sad about your dream?" Alys asked.
"Mother was crying. She was bleeding and in pain in your bedroom. You were crying too, father, but outside the room."
"Lady Sterling", Brandon corrected. Barbara clutched her cup. The boy's informality as an only child and bastard, ever actively encouraged by his mother and passively taught by his wife, was infuriating in the small moments where a child's disobedience was ignored over his innocence. He knew she disliked it. "Why were we crying?"
"There were five babes bleeding on the ground, crawling towards a crying Lady Sterling", Bryan said. "And father watched a large, still dog lying on a bed." Barbara's following look distanced herself from reality, losing her gaze at the cup in front of her. A strange dream for anyone to be hung up on.
"Was I in your dream?" Alys queried. He shook his head tenderly. "No wonder it was a sad dream. Any dream is sad if I'm not there!" The boy smiled brokenly, yet Alys' nature allows a damn's cracks to break. Within a minute he was laughing. If his trueborn children had his bastard's laugh then they'll be charming to lords and ladies alike.
The door to the dining room creaked open, his steward Osric eyeing whether the meal was over. After a few seconds, he began to step inside. The worries start again. Thankfully, Osric was a hard-working son of a merchant, young and perceptive. Balding early, but with a thick beard. He'd have made a fine brother and will make an excellent steward over house Sterling's future if anything were to happen.
"Barbara, Alys, and Bryan", Brandon said. "I pray to the gods for an excellent day."
A moon had passed before Barbara came to him with great news. She was with child. He had prayed to the gods for years for a son and twice they had cursed him already. Finally, they would bless him. Perhaps his family's words were wrong. Rebirth in Winter Dreams, yet rebirth will occur during summer for his trueborn child.
Happy thoughts couldn't linger long, for his work was still at hand. Lords Ashwood, Locke, Woolsfield, and Manderly all had given raises to their chief miners. Whether more expenses or unwilling workers, he couldn't afford either choice. Getting a loan from another lord, the Iron Bank, or a smaller bank in White Harbor could be beneficial, yet he couldn't risk what he didn't know. There were no signs more silver was going to appear. He scouted all lands surrounding the Sterling mine he owned, yet nothing. The mine seemed ever closer to being stripped bare. If he was blessed by the gods in a miraculous way he wasn't sure if the mine could operate another twenty-five years. Besides house Sterling's castle and sword, it was all he had to his name. He couldn't abandon the blessing of his house or gift from the Manderlys, nor could he afford to live without any villages to be a lord over nor taxes to receive. Well, he planned on establishing villages on his lands once more when he found the coin. A merchant posing as a mummer's farce of a lord, he was powerless.
Two moons passed when a servant was unable to contact his lady mother from within her chambers which required his attention. She lay on her bed still as the grey northern sky, eyes shut, and slightly curved lips readying to laugh as if to jump at any moment and surprise her son. She no longer had to worry about her son, trying to force the laughter which never came. Sitting beside her, he placed his hand atop hers, creams-soft and river stone smooth. She never permitted him to wield a sword until he willed it as lord, barely being trained sufficiently for the battle to march with Eddard Stark four years ago. War was why she didn't want him to swing the sword. He was needed in the north as the only son, soldier, and lord of Castle Sterling. He argued with her adamant nature, which seemed to find more peace in challenging than being right. At her fervent push was Bryan Snow brought to the house to be raised alongside any other children actualized, as well as naming him Torrhen after the last king in the north, a cautious man who thought of others before his pride. A special sight it was to see his wife's anger at work, refusing for his natural born son to receive a traditional northern name with weight, suggesting a southron name instead which ancestors used to hold. In truth, Barb wished for her own son to be named Torrhen. There had not been time since the war to argue with his mother, and now he'd never argue with her again. Firmly he squeezed her hand as the minutes had turned to nearly an hour.
Searching for his wife, he walked down the hall to arrive at the sound of a wailing woman through his chamber doors. Cracking it open, he looked inside to find his son calmly sitting beside a hysterical wife. They didn't notice as he watched the tears rush down her face, holding a densely bloodied rag she would drop on the ground. Two tragedies struck true. Brandon yearned for death, for the old gods have cursed him. At least in death he and his wife would be free of life's ache like his lady mother, chastising himself for the thought. He would never have a son or daughter with lady Barbara.
"I'm sorry", Bryan said. "I wish I could have done something."
"How could you have?" Brandon asked. The wet stains on his cheeks were obvious to both but forced his best calm voice for the news he would need to deliver soon.
"I told you both my dream", Bryan said. "I wouldn't stop dreaming this day, but I didn't know what to do." Lady Barbara ceased crying, likely feeling a chill come over her as Brandon did.
"My goodmother has passed", Barbara abruptly forced out of her mangled breath. Brandon felt himself grow pale. Alys wasn't in the dream. Not a large dog, a direwolf he would find lying down. Since he first spoke of the dream, the boy's tone had changed. He grew less carefree with something always on his mind. How could a boy of six begin to process what's been going on? Brandon couldn't. "I won't ever have a child, will I?"
"Now's the time for mourning, my lady", Brandon spoke meekly. "Let's take time."
"No", the child said. "Sorry, mother, you will only have me." Without saying a word, Barbara stood up and walked out of their chambers. The sound of her footsteps faded immediately.
"We've been over this Bryan. You are not allowed to call my wife anything but Lady Sterling."
"But she is my mother", Bryan said. "At least she said in a dream." Dreams. Dreams. Curse them all. Pure chance and shit making a hard day worse.
"The dreams are wrong", Brandon declared. "What else have your dreams told you?"
"You'll visit an old lion and a fishman at the ocean. The old lion tells Lady Sterling she won't have any children, and she tells him he's wrong. She will say she already has a son."
"Your dream is wrong. You're a bastard, nothing more, and forbidden from speaking to Lady Sterling for the time being." The boy nodded and left the room. He couldn't understand what a bastard was, but he knew Barbara wasn't his mother and how to properly behave. But that was wrong, as Brandon's lady mother would probably be laughing right now, as she taught him his manners. Saying what he thinks is exactly what he knew to be true, but the boy shouldn't speak Barbara regardless. A different tutor would be beneficial now that mother has passed, but he had no idea who. Fostering him somewhere with another lord may be cheaper than a private tutor to live here. Looking up, in the doorway was Osric. Brandon left for work without hesitation.
After the sun had set, Brandon was reunited with his lady wife who was wearing all black in their shared chambers, a tidy, unornamented room. He wasn't sure what to say during the grieving of the first two miscarriages. Each time he would say the gods would bless them one day with a child, but he wasn't certain now. Forceful optimism only led to faithlessness in the gods and greater regret. His house may die, his wife a widow without anyone to take care of her except the kin who loathe her.
"We should send a raven to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell", Brandon said. "He may want her mother to be buried with other Starks since she never took the Sterling name. If not, we can bury her here next to my father."
"He should know that his aunt has passed", Barbara's voice cracked. Her face was scrunched in thought like his looking at their finances.
"What is it, Barbara? You know can say anything to me."
"I wish to go to White Harbor", she mumbled. "I wish to speak to their maester about having children."
"If this is about what Bryan said, ignore him."
"It's not about what he said!" Barbara shouted. He's only heard her yell in any capacity a handful of times in their life and never were they directed at him. Even taking in a bastard into their home didn't produce enough enmity between them to cause a fight. "I have had miscarriages thrice now. Something may be wrong with me. I can't act the mummer and pretend it's not hard being unable to have children." Broken and in-grief as each of the previous two times, believing everything to be her fault. Her brokenness was beautiful. The sincerity in her voice was like his mothers, only gentle and sweet. Ladies always played the mummer when he reached his marriageable age, at least until he let his wealth known, but never his Barbara. He loathed her pain and wished to take it away, but it was her wounded heart which filled her with endless compassion he admired about her.
"We'll depart tomorrow then after we send a raven to both Lord Stark and Lord Manderly."
"I wish for your son to come with us", she demanded. Her voice had grown slightly more fierce in her grief. His lady mothers words of wisdom finally sinking in.
"Very well."
Two days is all it took to arrive at White Harbor from Sterling Castle, and the hour was close to supper. The journey was pleasant. The open road was peaceful beneath the North's frequent grey sky. The outdoors brought solace burials and grieving never could. He had forgotten what it's like to travel to the Merman's court.
White Harbor Castle was a grand place, far better than his own keep, with an enormous court capable of hosting a feast for all of the northern lords. The hall had more ornaments than the entirety of Castle Sterling, with bits of silver and gems in the finely crafted tables and chairs. Aromatic candles were on the walls to light the room. A grandiose man sitting at the court's end with statues of merman behind him.
"Welcome Lord Sterling", Lord Wyman Manderly said. "I received your raven, as well as receive your family as my guests. I offer you salt and bread, as well as supper to be served soon while my servants will show you to your rooms. Maester Theomore is ready to be asked questions at any point about fertility." Even if Lord Manderly lost everything else, he would be a good host.
Barbara and Bryan walked with their few things to their rooms, while Brandon chose to stay behind. "Thank you my lord", he said. "For your hospitality in the rush coming here."
"I understand Lord Sterling", Lord Manderly said. "It took my wife and me plenty years before we had my eldest son Wylis. My cousin Marlon has been wed half as long as I have and still hasn't had a child. It must be difficult to be the last northern lion."
"Aye, my lord, it's been stressful. Perhaps more stressful on my lady wife than myself. She blames herself for not being with child."
"It may only be small consolation, but my lady wife has been praying to the Mother for your wife since we received the raven." This small kindness, but ultimately pointless statement is how wife felt when he spoke of the gods before. The gods, old or new, could do nothing to help them. Likewise, Lord Manderly could do nothing but pray for the aid of his bannerman in such matters. "I've been wanting to ask. Your natural-born son, what do you plan on doing with him?"
"Forgive me, my lord", Brandon said. "My wife was adamant about not leaving him behind as he's a boy of six." He assumed at least. He didn't wish to challenge a grieving woman. "I didn't wish to offend you for our brief stay. He will stay in his room while we're in your court."
"No forgiveness is needed, Lord Sterling", Lord Wyman said. "I was speaking of your plans for his future. You said he was six years? He's over four feet tall. When he's older, I'd gladly have someone of my household take him as a ward or squire. He'll make an excellent soldier. Maybe even rival the mountain in power one day."
"Unlikely for him to grow that big, my lord. I stopped growing by my fourteenth name day and was barely shorter than him at that age."
"You're still taller than I, Lord Sterling. Even if he's your height, he'd have an advantage over most southron knights." Lord Manderly wasn't inaccurate. Brandon's size was how he survived King Robert's Rebellion. His higher view, longer reach, and naturally brawny build allowed him to survive where he'd otherwise die.
"When the boy ages further, I'd happily come to an arrangement good for both of our houses."
"Excellent", Lord Manderly said. Smells of a smoked carcass permeated the air, with hints of sweet berries. "It seems dinner has been finished and possibly ruined." The servants brought out many dishes enough for Lord Manderly's household, but much of the meat was burnt, including the sole lamprey pie Manderly requested for the evening. The roasted pig at the center smelt burnt and raw simultaneously. Yet small treats were edged on the perimeter of the table, strawberry pies made from important fruits. At the head of the table was Lord Manderly, quietly livid in a feigned stoicism. Both men waited a few minutes for others to come to no avail. The meal would get cold too if no one came on time.
"Forgive me, my lord", Brandon said. "But I will take my leave to look for my wife since dinner is ready." Lord Wyman gestured to another servant preparing the hall to walk Brandon to his family, and it took only a couple minutes before arriving at the maester already checking on his wife, not wasting any time. Bryan was not around.
"It appears your womb has been damaged, Lady Sterling", maester Theomore said, a fat man with rosy cheeks, hefty lips, golden curls, and emerald eyes. "From my brief examination, what you've told me, and the history of woman in similar circumstances, it's likely you'll never be able to carry a child to term." The wall falling into the ocean could not sink his heart as those words did.
"I thought it was so", Barbara spoke softly.
"I'm sorry you'll never have a child", the maester said. "It's hard, but you can keep trying. Supposedly Queen Rhaella Targaryen had multiple miscarriages and stillbirths yet managed to give birth to the former Prince Viserys." An impossible chance to mimic. "If you have any more questions, feel free to seek me out." The maester averted Brandon's gaze, guilty of the news delivered.
"I'm sorry Barb", Brandon offered. "I know there's nothing I can do, but I'm willing to keep trying if it makes you happy."
"He was wrong, Bran", Barbara said. "I will never give birth to a trueborn child, I know it to be true, but we have a son to raise all the same." She hadn't jested so darkly in years. For the first time, he wasn't sure if his wife would remain the gentle spirit she'd always been. After six years, he'd pay the price of her hatred for his bastard.
"Please don't joke", Brandon begged. "I'll do whatever I can to make you happy. You know I regret the action."
"The old gods don't want me to have a son", Barb cried, tears streaming down her thin cheeks as she smiled crazily. "They want me to raise yours. I heard what Bran said to you after I left. An old lion would tell me I can't a babe of my own. Maester Theomore is of house Lannister." She chose to come here after hearing a dream. Coincidence was a bastard.
"He said he could be wrong, Barb", Brandon said. "Don't be hasty." Yet she grabbed his hand and guided him to his son's room silently weeping. Bryan was sitting on the bed quietly staring at the door when they walked in.
"I don't need a son if the gods blessed me with you", Barb said rushing over to the boy. She whispered in his ears as she held him tightly. Mad with a broken spirit but always gentle and loving. "If you name me your mother, I'll name you my son." The boy could do nothing but shake his head and mouth mother. Brandon knew what his lady wife was thinking, his natural born son was a greenseer like the tales of his house speak of. For hundreds of years, they offered wisdom to House Manderly, even pointing them to the North when hounded by House Gardener. His own mother said his father Barthogan claimed to dream of their wedding and son before they met, as well as the war of the Ninepenny Kings. Focused too much on dreams, their resources dwindled under his leadership and later died of a stroke without any wisdom to offer him. Nonetheless, she had a point.
"What I think your mother is saying", Brandon stated, "Do you remember Sterling's house words and sigil?"
"House Sterling's sigil is a silver lion on dark blue with bright blue eyes", Bryan said. "It's on the flag outside Sterling Castle, as well as ornaments about the castle."
"Very good", Brandon smiled. "The words?"
"No, Lord Father."
"Rebirth in Winter Dreams. Your dreams are of the old gods blessing and winter's might. A gift passed down from through house Sterling for hundreds of years in the past but hasn't been seen in an equally long time. The bright blue eyes matching yours on the sigil were a mark of the family members with the gift."
"A gift?" the boy asked.
"Aye, a gift", Barb reassured. "And I wish to grant you a gift of my own. Your grandmother wished for your name to be northern. I think she was right. If you're my son, I'd gift you the name Torrhen of House Sterling." Hysterical, but genuine. If he was legitimized, there would be no taking it back. Barb was serious. "If that's ok with your father."
"Anything to make you happy", Brandon embraced his wife and son. "Perhaps time and food will change the mood, but we ought to enter into the hall quickly. Lord Manderly has supper awaiting us." They followed him silently, with Bryan not leaving Barb's side, even to sit on the far side of the table away from Lord Manderly's household and other guests, drawing few stares. Wyman forced his cooks to remake the food as well, shouting at his cooks heard several rooms over, allowing for his family's lateness to not be actualized. No guest or kin of his would be served slop. When the meal came and everyone enjoyed themselves to their contentment, he would see Barbara sharing the strawberry pie with his son.
When they arrived home in two days time, his cousin Lord Eddard Stark's response was given, immensely sorry for his loss. Although she was a Stark in name and heart, she loved her husband's house and hasn't visited since his own mother's death. Alys Stark would want to be properly buried close to Barthogan, but a place would be set aside for her all the same in Winterfell's crypts. A kind offer to come to Winterfell was extended as well, barely knowing each other despite having their mothers be sisters. Within the next day, funeral preparations were made for his mother while they prepared a journey to Winterfell for a brief stay with house Stark.
Barb adamantly stayed beside her decision to raise Torrhen as her own son. Without an heir of his own, he reluctantly sided with his wife in a few weeks time. A raven would be sent to King's Landing petitioning Robert Baratheon for his son's legitimization.
Returning to work excited his downtrodden heart. Years of tedious work would flow like the harmonious northern wind. If his wife was right, the rebirth of house Sterling would occur in the next winter, guided by their Torrhen's gift.
A/N: First chapter of a fantasy series for fanfiction. I've been wanting to practice a more traditional fantasy world for my own love of it, as well write for ASoIaF. I have a plan, but don't wish to pen everything for the few readers there are of OC's. I simply hope you enjoy the story. Let me know what you think of introduction chapter.