Jon was reading through the neatly stacked letters that had come for him since he had been named king. Ser Davos and Sansa joined him in sorting through his ravens, advising on responses and educating him about the duties that would be expected of him.
Never once had he dreamed he would obtain these responsibilities, and his sister and trusted adviser were attempting their best at guiding him through each day. He only wished Sam was here to give council as well.
Many houses in the north were now scrambling to claim fealty, pledging bannermen and attempting to forge alliances that would benefit them throughout winter. Many had no idea of the oncoming war from beyond the wall. A handful of these letters came from advantageous Lords who proposed a union of marriage between Jon and one of their daughters – a commitment that had been a laughable idea to him before, but was now one he'd been forced to seriously consider.
One letter in particular caught Sansa's interest.
"Lord Bowman offers his house's allegiance and his daughter, Lady Alara, for your consideration in marriage. He stresses that his daughter is 'widely regarded as one of the loveliest ladies in the seven kingdoms," read Sansa with a coy smile, "and that she 'would make a fine match to bare the first prince and princesses of the North.' He goes on to say that she is very gifted in horsemanship and archery, yet has all the proper refinements of highborn society.'' She extended the letter to him to read, exclaiming, "Gods, the Bowman's make what, the fifth offer this morning?''
"Can't say I've heard of the Bowmans," Jon admitted, already tired of his own ignorance with politics.
The Bowmans were a horse people, Sansa patiently explained to Jon as she reached deep into the stored information garnered from her lessons as a girl; their house banner depicted a large black stallion on a snow covered field, its head tossed with nostrils flared as sun rays faded in the distance. They were not-so distantly related to House Ryswell of the Rills, having only separated the two names in the last hundred or so years. They bred, trained and sold the best war horses in all of Westeros.
Their words were, "Strength, Straight and True.'' Jon's lips twitched at this. It brought to mind the Tullys, Sansa's mothers house. Lord Bowman had signed them proudly beneath his signature, following his request to be received with his eldest daughter and company in tow.
Jon sighed and rubbed his hand over his beard, eyes skimming over the parchment. He'd been scorned most of his life by pretty ladies and treated like a mangy dog if he attempted to approach them, but now he couldn't seem to be a more eligible bachelor.
Most wanted the position more than they wanted him; to be the new Queen of the North. He idly wondered if he could ever come to care for a woman he met this way.
"And 'ave you heard of the Bowmans, Ser Davos?" he asked. He needed to know what type of family, beyond their sigils and words, Lady Alara woul come from.
"Aye," the Onion knight said tentatively as he sat his own, unmentioned letter down before the candlelight, "and from what I understand, Lord Bowman has at least 500 bannermen, and the people speak highly of Lady Alara. I've never seen her myself, therefore I canna speak of her beauty nor countenance, but I do know that she is Lord Bowman's favorite child. Renly Baratheon once made an offer of marriage and was turned away merely because rumors persisted of his…" he paused, clearing his throat to attempt delicacy and finished weakly with, "extramarital affairs."
The fire in the room roared with the silence that followed. Lord Bowman had turned away a man who was closely tied for succession to the Iron Throne. This action spoke legions to Jon about the type of man he was and what he aspired to. A marriage for elevated status wouldn't simply do if he thought the man incapable of respecting his daughter as she deserved. Lord Bowman wanted security for Lady Alara, but not at the cost of her happiness.
Jon had already spent time with two other ladies who's hands had been offered to him, but they were very demure women with whom he'd found nothing in common with. Though he had tried very hard to forge a connection to each of them, he hadn't been able to imagine having a family with either. In the end, he'd been forced to gently turn them both away.
Sansa had come to him privately after the idea was first entertained. "Jon, dont treat your marriage as just an alliance. Your happiness does matter - King or not. Promise me you'll consider your options. If you cannot close your eyes at night and imagine her beside you for the rest of your days, do not marry her."
Jon had felt the weight of her words, and they echoed through his mind again now. He'd agreed with her and vowed that he must be able to grow to care for the woman he would make his bride. It didn't need to be true love, but their union couldn't be viewed as a chore either.
"I'll send word back to Lord Bowman," said Jon, "and have him ride to Winterfell."
Alara's arse was aching something fierce. Long distance riding would do that to a woman's flesh, no matter how often she rode. Her fingers, nose, ears, and toes were all nearly blistered with frost, but she continued onward without complaint.
Caravans followed behind the mounted party, carrying gifts, wheat, steel and her own clothing. She and her father's company were five days onto the Kingsroad and would arrive at the gates of Winterfell before nightfall. Though the days grew shorter and ever more grey since winter had come, her father estimated they would be received before dinner. A thick snow began to fall mid-journey, causing snowflakes to catch upon her eyelashes.
"I wouldn't bless a marriage between you and an unworthy man," her father said when the subject of his offer to Jon Snow had brought horror to her face.
"Him being a bastard will have nothing to do with you nor your children. He's been elevated beyond the names of houses; you will be Queen, Alara. You will want for naught."
The people had crowned Jon Snow their King – there would be no debasement in becoming his wife. Even if there had been, truthfully, she would not have minded; all that mattered was the man himself. All her life she had enjoyed great personal freedom and greatly feared its stifling by a man who could neither love nor respect her.
She had never been a girl who had dreamed of a marriage to knights or princes. In fact, until she had been her father's only unwed daughter, she hadn't thought seriously of a marriage for herself at all. Her family had been so large that she never knew a moment of boredom; each brother and sister had kept her life full of laughter.
As the eldest girl at nineteen years of age, and with each of her younger sisters having been married off long before her (though granted, to lesser known houses and loveless unions), Alara had begun to feel a great loneliness creep into her soul. And yet, as Lord Bowman's most beloved daughter, he had been scrupulous; had even turned away both Southern and Northern lord's offers in the past, choosing instead to wait for a man he felt she could come to love.
"No, Alara," Lord Bowman had told her at 13 when he had turned away her first proposal, "we will wait for a man who is truly worthy."
To her father, there could be no more worthy man for his daughter than the King in the North.
"Jon Snow could be the man for you," her father had said when he'd reiterated his promise. "I've heard him to be good and kind." He'd kissed her forehead lovingly, then said, "I know that, given the opportunity, you will grow to care for him - and he for you.'
Each stride they took towards the north placed her ever closer to a future she had never prepared herself to face.
When a horn blew to announce her arrival, her heart thundered like the hooves of her stallion. When the Stark stronghold came into view, she nearly pulled her horse to a stop to take in the enormity of its presence.
Winterfell was nothing like her family's home, Arch Keep. The massive wooden lodges that had always seemed so vast and great to her with it's large, looking carvings and lovely engravings throughout was now forever small and young compared to this giant, ancestral castle nestled among the hills. A heavy with snow sat along the arches and foreboading stacks of white smoke rose from its many towers, reaching high to blend with the clouds that gathered to mute the sun. It eminated a unique force, and as the Stark banner whipped against a strong wind, the sight filled her heart with an unfamiliar feeling. Gods, the man that may soon be her husband was waiting for her in there.
After their hard journey from the Stony Shore they were greeted with shouts as the gates of Winterfell opened for their arrival. Alara sat deeply into her saddle and extended into a lengthy trot as they passed under the ledge and finally evened out into a hot walk within the courtyard. A stable boy rushed to her and her father's horses, grabbing the loosened reins from their hands so they could dismount.
Though stiff and cold, she still managed to slide from her seat and land on the balls of her feet steadily. Nearly immediately, before she could get her barrings, a young girl had her by the elbow and began to steer her inside. She introduced herself as they walked, "Lady Alara, I am Ireyne - one of Lady Sana's handmaidens – and if you will come with me, we can begin preparations so that you may be suitable for the feast."
Alara looked over her shoulder for her father's gaze, her but he was currently detained with who appeared to be an old friend. Her father clapped the shoulder of an unknown man and spoke jovially, eyes crinkled with laughter and memories, and he never once looked her way.