Hello! Thank you for taking an interest in my fan fiction story, or for just stopping by for a look. ˙u˙
Just a note for you the reader- This story contains cannon and non-cannon elements. I own no rights to any names in this story. This Fic follows HBO's Game of Thrones rather than ASOIAF. by timeline, characters, and names. I used only two characters not portrayed in the show, Roose Bolton's former wife, Bethany Ryswell and his son Domeric.
Shrouded Passion is a torn love story, filled with ups and downs and secrets. The story regards the Bannermen sworn to House Bolton. A family who fought for the Boltons in the war of the five kings. The story begins with Farren's tale.
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Farren learned to keep her desires small as a glance. A glimpse of Winterfell was her wish, but Bolton Banners overtook land and the horizon. Flags of her Liege Lord flying in the icy wind. A sight too familiar. The dismal display of flayed men she could stand no longer.
It was a long journey, but her small wish came granted by the sky. The clouds run through, and Winterfell seized the landscape with towers rising high.
"It's beautiful," Farren admitted in her gaze. "Winterfell is just how a castle should look. I wish to….." Farren cringed as a strand of fabric swiped her in the face. She turned angerly, and growled, "Hazel if you let that ugly banner hit me in the face one more time, I'm going to rip the staff out of your hands!"
Beside her rode her brother Hazel, who carried a banner of the flayed man. Farren heard him snicker when his flag gave her nose a lick. She scowled at him. Though a year younger than her, Hazel was more accomplished. Rising to a high military rank, and serving in Lord Bolton's calvary. His achievements annoyed her knowing she had yet to master even her stitching.
Not that I care. She brooded over the thought.
Farren leaned high in her saddle to take in the castle. Although she was a northerner Farren had never seen Winterfell. She longed to see the castle and finally found the chance.
Lord Eddard supplied her the opportunity. He had summoned his high lords to renew their oaths of fealty through individual ceremonies. When the Lord called upon the Lord of The Dreadfort, Farren was given the honor to attend.
Her house Frith was a minor noble House sworn to House Bolton. The lord's of Frith were deeply loyal to their ruling overlords. Farren's her grandfather her head of House. Lord Frith was a devoted Lord, a Captain, who shared in command of the Bolton army. His castle, Warren, she called home.
Farren became introduced to noble society in Bolton court, attending her Lord's feasts and ceremonies from a young age. That once had a meaning but meant nothing to her now in knowing what lie ahead. Winterfell waited, and Farrens excitement became littered with envy in the sight of splendor.
"Why can't we live miles away from this instead of the Dreadfort?"
"Farren No one said you couldn't live near Winterfell. I'm sure there's a mud hut nearby that'd suit you perfectly."
"I'd rather live in a broken down barn by Winterfell, rather than a Castle overlooking the Dreadfort."
Hazel scoffed with a snort, "It's not as if you can see the Dreadfort from your tower window. It's over thirty miles from Castle Warren."
Farren cast him a jesting grin. "Thank the gods. I'd have to burn my eyes out otherwise."
She despised the keep of House Bolton and the banners it flew. Farren much loved the banners of her house. Frith banners were pride-worthy, with their regal black Rabbit on a field of white over green. A fall of snow on the northern grass. She gazed at the banner at the flayed man her brother carried.
I hate that thing. Hideous Bolton flag. Why are you so ugly!?
Farren thought turned sour in the sight of the flag, She turned to her brother with a crossed brow, "Why do you have to carry one."
"Well, as a standard bearer I'm charged to," Hazel's tone obvious.
"Hazel you should be flying a banner of the Rabbit, a Frith banner."
"I think a rabbit banner might stick out in this line of Bolton flags. Frith banners are reserved only for our host, but we're traveling in Lord Bolton's assembly, so we're to carry the standard of our liege."
Farren knew her brother thought it an honor to carry the Bolton banner, and it annoyed her. Farren released an irritated sigh. "Isn't your arm getting tired?"
Hazel adjusted his shoulder with a stretch. "It feels like it fell asleep hours ago."
Farren's brow lifted, she smiled, "You should lower your banner, let it drag in the mud. It'll probably improve the look."
"Oh, should I ride it to the front then?" Hazel asked, with a sarcastic grin. "I know, I'll ride it to the front of the line and tell Lord Bolton to carry his banner awhile, tell em I'm sick of holding it. He'll understand, I just know he'd say, "Sure Hazel, let me take that for you, you go just relax a while. Oh and thanks for letting my sigil drag in the mud, what a fine touch."
Farren's eyes grinned, then closely narrowed in on movement atop the castle's battlements. Gray emblems of House Stark twisted in the wind.
"Look, dire wolf banners! Oh.." She shut her mouth to kept herself from swooning. Knowing her brother would laugh at her is she had. "Hazel, wouldn't you rather be carrying such a fair sigil as a dire wolf?"
"Farren I've been carrying a Bolton sigil since I was eleven, and our ancestors have been for thousands of years. Do you honestly think I mind its appearance? In fact, I like the banners we're sworn to carry. The Flayed Man reminds our enemies who they're going up against."
"A wolf is just as intimidating," She stated firmly, but her expression softened, and she sweetly sighed, "The Stark's is perfect sigil."
Hazel half rolled his eyes, "You know Farren, you should hear yourself. Sometimes you sound like a true flighty little maiden."
She scoffed with the refrain from smacking her brother in the head. She may still be a maiden, but she wasn't a loft headed girl.
She turned her gaze forward once more and felt humbled by the castle's grandeur. A structure built for royalty. Never would know such a life. She had a little chance having not born to a minor house. If her lord father were a Stark bannermen, then her house would be equal to the Bolton's, instead of one their vassals. That would never happen, not unless she married into a greater house. A great house. Farren glanced down at her horses mane and smirked. Perhaps she could marry a Stark.
In a dream perhaps. She thought with a deep exhale. At least once she reached Winterfell she could have the chance to meet Lord Stark's eldest son. The one she knew of and heard so much about, the perfect Robb Stark.
"Mother, I know Lord Stark's eldest son is Robb, but what are the names of his other chil-—Hazel!—"
When the Flayed man hit her in the face again, Farren veered her horse into her brother's, leaning over to grab the staff. She lunged when he held it out of her reach laughing with a smirk.
"Hazel stop tormenting her." Farren heard her mother call to her brother. "You're lucky your grandfather and father are at the front, if he saw you playing with that banner, he'd be furious." Her voice kind and to a point, rather than scolding. "Oh, and Farren you are indeed right, that banner is an ugly thing. So Hazel, have the decency to keep it out of your sisters face."
The three of them laughed, and Farren smiled. She looked to the castle once more. Around her marched a long line of soldiers and lords. Men whose sons carried hideous banners of House Bolton. An icy wind stung her face. Horses hooves dug into the ground, pulling up hard black mud, with a bitter smell. Flags of the flayed man flapped under a slate sky. Deep in a depressing world, Farren remained in high spirits. Winterfell triumphed as a stroke of light in the center of a flurry snow frame.
The great hall of Winterfell was packed with Bolton's Banners, surely an unusual sight. Hoping for a glimpse of Lord Eddard's oldest son Farren stood on her toes for a better view. She'd heard the Lord Paramount's eldest son was quite handsome. It enticed her to at least have a peek at him.
Two lines of standard bearers stood with an ally between them, one side Bolton sigils, the other Stark. Farren huffed, annoyed with the row of flayed man banners on her side. The flags all blocked her sight from any members of the Stark family.
"Hazel" She whispered. "Move your banner, I want to see Robb Stark."
"Shhh, Shut up Farren," He slurred, "They are in the middle of the ceremony."
Farren scowled, I did not ride all the way to this castle to hear Lord Bolton say some words. She crossed her arms in bitter thought
She peered through the backs of heads and flayed man banners, moving to find the right view, which she just couldn't achieve. So instead, she turned to watch as Lord Bolton bent the knee before Lord Stark, presenting his sword.
Farren understood by the traditional commendation ceremonies all lord's bannermen pledged their homage and oath of loyalty to their liege lord. House Stark's bannermen such as the Bolton's did so to House Stark. Bolton bannermen such as house Frith did so to House Bolton and so on down the line. Farren had seen her grandfather kneel before Lord Bolton with sword and oath many times.
Uhh, this is so boring. Farren thought weary.
"Hazel…Hazel," She whispered softly. "Move your banner just to the right."
Hazel peered over his shoulder with a low growl, "You'll get me in trouble. sShutup."
Farren pressed her lips together sourly, irked by her brother. Currently, board, she looked her brother over. Hazel was no longer a boy but a broad shouldered young man. With his wispy short brown hair and handsome features, He had the look of their father. Farren looked nothing like him. Her long black of hair was so dark that her father called her Blackberry. Under the ebony, Farren saw the world through two pale ghostly eyes.
She shifted her gaze to Lord Bolton on a knee before Lord Stark. It was an odd sight, she knew all men knelt to the king, but it was the lord's Paramount and highest noble houses that his grace received personal homage. Although all lords were under the kings rule, his grace simply didn't have time to hold the ceremony of lesser lords. Perhaps Lord Bolton may have been granted the honor, but the Frith lord's never, as far as she knew.
For her house's own, Farren always had to give the full listing on her mind.
We have sworn our vassals, grandfather's captain, his legion, our twelve bannerman, our steward, castellan, guardsmen, battalions, tradesmen, mother's loyal knights and of corse the small folk. Farren thought, convincing herself the latter was a lengthy impressive list. Vast for a minor house, but she knew it was nothing too gratifying.
She thought of her house's place on the ladder, then how high and important was that of the Stark's. She always needed reassurance, remembering that at least she was still a noble, at least, Lord Bolton held her house in high regard, probably due to Frith's utter ancient loyalty. Her ancestors were always among Lord Bolton's highest ranking militants, sharing in the command of the Bolton army.
As if any of that meant anything to anyone. She thought with a sigh.
She stood staring at the opposite row of banners, a long row of handsome gray dire wolves on white backdrops, how beautiful she thought them. Then her eyes met the Bolton banners before her. That horrid flayed man sigil she despised.
Ugly Bolton sigil. Why couldn't you be a dire wolf! A Bear or a lion! Eh, even a slug would be better than a bloody flayed man.
Farren sighed in disgust. Why did her house have to carry the Bolton sigil? It wasn't fair. Her brow crossed thinking of her ancestor's folly in a choice of their loyalty thousands of years ago.
She ran her fingers over pendant at her neck, a regal rabbit engraved in black and silver. That was her house sigil, that of her fathers. As ancient as that gruesome flayed man, though regal in place of grim. She was pleased with seeing the same black Rabbit clasping the kerchief at her brother's neck. He wore it well, as did their father and grandfather. The black rabbit of Frith always made her smile. The rabbit sigil a reminder of her home and the land where it flew.
A soft muttering voice turned Farren's head. She glanced at its source and found the mumbling sound was coming from her mother. Farren noticed her mother's expression, her smile expressed a superior taste, and her eyes were satisfied and smug. The women spoke to no one in the murmur of a whisper.
"That's where that dog belongs, on a knee, lowering himself before an actual man of honor,"
Farren's brow hopped up in thought. It was odd for her mother to be so insensible. It was out of character for the loving, kind women she knew. It wasn't the first time Farren heard her mother speak ill of Lord Bolton, often wondering why her mother had such a distaste for the man. Nearly a hatred. Even when the lord's late son and his lady wife were laid to rest, her animosity showed. Farren remembered her mother brooded over going to their mornings. She pressed her lips, immersed in thought, mulling the matter over in her mind.
Her thoughts by grabbed by excitement. A sudden grin graced her face as she clasped her hands at her chest.
Finally! Finally, that ugly flag moved! Farren's eyes glared forward as the flayed man banner gave way to a view.
With a good glimpse of the Lord Stark's eldest son Farren took in a breath of desire. Robb Stark looked like everything she heard he would. Handsomely striking, broad shouldered and clearly strong, as a whole flawless featured man in the high prime of his youth.
She leaned in his direction, moving for a better view. Farren's eyes grew wide. Her heart leaped as his gaze met her undeviatingly. His pupils darted aside, then back to her suddenly still. His gaze large and locked in an exchange with hers.
She smiled without effort as an attractive grin graced his face. His stare unlocked when nudged. Farren blushed, she watched him follow his father. Her lips parted when He looked over his shoulder. His gaze grabbed her once more, studying her with grinning wide eyes.
In that last shared glance, Farren vowed to find Robb at the after feast, and she was determined. Otherwise, she would regret it fiercely, and face defeat on the return to her Bolton sworn homeland.
The name Frith, as well as several of my oc's names and themes, I adapted from the book series of Watership Down. As an homage to my another favorite of mine. ˙u˙