You're the Princess of the North. You must always remember that, my sweet girl. You have the blood of the Kings of Winter, the First Men, and the Clans. You are a Princess…

It was always the same dream, so common now it was comforting, and less heartbreaking. She held her mother's mirror in her hand, and with a few strokes of a brush, and those sweet words he hair was tamed. But that was all it had ever been, she'd been ready to turn and look. Then the thunder clashed loudly outside, and in a second she was awake. A disappointed sigh escaped her lips as she went to open the window. She couldn't remember her mother's face, but her voice… She remembered it like she'd heard it just yesterday. With a few quick breaths of fresh air she cleared her mind of sad thoughts and woe. Her heart even felt lighter as she waved to her Father's men walking in the courtyard looking for shelter. The sky was still dark, and she hardly saw the sun through the rain, but she knew dawn was breaking, despite the thunder clasping the the flashes of lighting.

Lost in thought she wondered slightly if this is how Storm's End would look when she was it's Lady. While she mused, her Father slipped into her room. She hadn't heard his footsteps, nor his voice when he called out softly to her. Only when she felt a sturdy hand on her shoulder did she bother to look in his direction.

"Did the storm wake you?"

"No, it was more my dream." She replied.

A frown formed on his stern face, it had bothered him for years, and whenever she remembered the woman he married. When she was young, she asked questions and he answered them the best he could. It was much easier when she was smaller.

"Was she pretty?"

"Did she look much like me?"

Then they became harder, some things he'd never bothered to ask his wife. But he always tried to soothe her.

"What happened this time?" he asked.

"She was making me pretty for something. I held her mirror, and she brushed my hair. I could feel the ribbons in my hair. Mother said I was a Northern Princess."

"You did like being called a princess, until you found it much more fun to wage war on your brothers." He touched her hair and kissed her forehead. "She never had any qualms about filling your head with nonsense."

He pulled away from her, ready to continue with his morning activities, but just before he got to the open door she let out a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think she'd like him?" She asked curiously, twirling her long hair between her fingers.

"Who?"

"My betrothed, Robert Baratheon."

He sighed. "It's hard to say." She looked him over and moved away from the window. "She wanted you to have someone strong, someone who we knew could protect you. He's your brother's good friend. We know you will be cared for, that's what matters the most."

"It does help, that he's handsome. But surely Father, who had she wanted me to marry? Aren't most marriages thought of long in advance?"

"Some, others not all. We thought on Brandon first. We knew someone would ask for your hand eventually. You grew so lovely…and you are after all, the daughter of the Warden of the North. Any Northernman would love to have you for themselves, or their son. But why stop you if you could rise higher?"

"And what if I could rise higher than Lady of Storm's End?" She challenged.

"You can not, and you will not, be reasonable my sweet…"

"Elia Martell is sickly."

"Princess Elia Targarayen is married to our crowned prince. Your fondness for him is over, you'll never see him again. With his mistake at Harrenhal's Tourney he likely won't even see your wedding."

She relented ever so slightly and crossed her arms. "Did you tell him I want to be married in the Godswood?" She replied.

"Yes, he offered the Godswood at Storm's End. He wants to make you feel at home. He even mentioned they added a few more deer to the ones they keep at the castle. By the time you're married, he hopes one will birth fawn."

"Why should I care?"

Rickard groaned and rubbed his temples, showing the strain on her arguments that she should not need to marry. "It is a sweet gesture. Eddard told him you are fond of horses. Yours will be too old soon, once you get to Storm's End you'll have a new one. You've loved that horse dearly since you were eight, my child. The fawn will ease your heart when he passes."

Her response was only to take her brush and fix her hair. She went back to the window, and tired to lose herself in her thoughts. He called out to her once more.

"Princess Elia is with child anyway. Everyone on Dragonstone and King's Landing are praying that child be a boy. Even if she died birthing him, if that child is a boy, Prince Rhaegar will not need you or any other woman. Not even a royal order will would convince me to send my maiden daughter to him to play with. You'll have a husband, and you'll give him children. They'll be black of hair, and one day you'll have a little girl you'll love and protect. Your thoughts on the prince will be long gone."

But it wasn't entirely true. Both she and Brandon had always shared one thing in common, it was their sheer audacity to try and make what they wanted happen. Robert Baratheon had a long road ahead of him, one filled with uncertainty. She would never let him have her affections, but she would take what she wanted when she liked. Just like the men at Winterfell, she'd tease them with sweet words; make them feel she wanted them. One day someone would send her flowers, the next something elegant, and once she was done, after they had nothing else to interest her she was done. She preferred to embarrass them, but this had never been the case with the Prince. Something was clearly different, he didn't know if it meant she was growing up, or if she thought herself to be in love, the only thing he was absolutely sure of was one thing; he wished her mother were still alive.