Disclaimer: Game of Thrones and all other ASoIaF properties belong to GRRM
Chapter One: Winter is Coming
Part I: Winterfell
Rhae's fingers ached from the needle in her hand, but her suffering had been fruitful; tiny roses the color of blood decorated the dark gray, almost black fabric Septa Mordane had given her.
She'd had to remind herself not to embroider her family's sigil, the three-headed dragon, as she had been tempted to do when handed the nearly-black fabric and crimson thread; such an act could have been treasonous, even in the home of the honorable Lord Eddard Stark who claimed he would never hurt a silver hair on her head.
As an infant, Rhaelyra Targaryen had been found on Dragonstone by Stannis Baratheon's men. Somehow she had been left behind while her brother and twin sister had been smuggled out. Her mother had perished in childbirth only days before, and the servants had turned rogue and handed her over to Stannis Baratheon, who brought her immediately to his brother, the then-newly crowned King Robert.
Even though she was but a babe, the Usurper King only saw in her the blood of her brother, the kidnapper Rhaegar Targaryen, and her father, the Mad King Aerys. If it hadn't been for Jon Arryn suggesting that she might have been a more valuable hostage, her infant head would have decorated the walls of the Red Keep.
And thus she was sent to Winterfell, under the guardianship of Ned Stark and his wife, the cold and forbidding Lady Catelyn - a woman who didn't hesitate to threaten sending her back to King's Landing if she ever rebelled. Rhae learned be furtive, to hide her thoughts, to remind herself that she had been given a great gift. Even if Lady Catelyn wasn't so kind, Ned Stark always treated her with respect, and the Stark children were friendly to her. She would never sit on the throne - but she would always have Winterfell as her home.
Rhae paused in her work, lifting her violet eyes and taking a moment to admire the other girls' needlework. Larra Stark's work was similar to her own - little blue roses surrounded by even tinier white gillyflowers. However, Larra's older twin, Sansa Stark, had outdone them all with an elaborate symbol concocted of a snarling direwolf head and a leaping trout under a weirwood tree. Rhae smiled, admiring Sansa's dainty needlework.
She wasn't the only one to take notice. "Fine work as always," Septa Mordane commended Sansa, bending down to survey the thirteen-year-old's work. "Well done!"
The same, Rhae quickly noticed, could not be said of Arya Stark's work. The girl looked sullenly at her oldest sister, yanking on her own needle with the all force of a blacksmith at the forge.
Sansa didn't notice her sister's glare, instead blushing prettily and smiling at Septa Mordane. "Thank you," she said modestly.
As the septa continued to praise Sansa's embroidery, Rhae noticed Arya's gray eyes drifting away to the window from which cold light filtered in. She was about to reprimand the girl with a gentle kick, when she heard what had caught the younger girl's attention - laughter.
The boys are in the courtyard, Rhae thought with a rush, which means he'll be there, as well . . . She looked to Arya again, who was already smiling conspiratorially at Rhae.
"Shhh, shhhh!" Rhae hushed Arya as she giggled. "They'll hear us!" She grabbed the younger girl's hand and pulled her along until both girls were standing just behind the boys, under the walkways where she heard her warden, Lord Eddard Stark, call from above:
". . . Was a marksman at ten? Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."
A few paces away from them the second youngest of the Stark boys, bow in hand, faced the target ahead of him. Rhae watched as Jon Snow leaned over to give Bran instruction, and couldn't fight the smile that came to her.
Robb was about to speak when Arya tugged on the sleeve of her dress. "Watch," she whispered to Rhae, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Arya reached for the the longbow resting against the wall along with one of the arrows in the quiver beside it.
"Arya," Rhae cautioned her.
"I know what I'm doing!" Arya whispered indignantly, notching her arrow, drawing it back, taking aim, and . . .
THWUMP.
Rhae blushed in embarrassment as all three brothers looked back at her and Arya in surprise. Arya, however, smiled slyly at Bran and curtsied.
Everyone laughed when Bran took off after Arya, and Rhae flattened herself against the wall as Bran climbed over the banister.
"Run faster!" Robb joked.
"Careful, Bran," Jon warned him, noticing Rhae. Blushing again, she stood and approached the two boys, curtseying.
"Lady Rhaelyra," Robb Stark greeted her.
"Are you alright, my lady?" Jon immediately asked.
"I'm fine," she assured him, brushing a stray strand of her silver hair out of her face. "Bran's too small to cause harm."
Both boys laughed at that. "Aye, but he won't be small forever," Robb said, walking to where Bran and Arya were arguing to put a stop to it.
Rhae looked over to Jon, but blushed when she realized that he was looking at her. "I was going to visit the glass garden, my lord. I believe more of the winter roses are in bloom." She looked at him shyly. "Will - would you -"
"Snow!"
They both jumped, startled by the Greyjoy boy's voice interrupting them. Rhae's heart fell as Jon's attention was diverted by the black-haired kraken.
"Lord Stark says a Night's Watch deserter has been found," Theon told Jon. "You need to saddle your horse."
"Now?" Rhae found herself asking, almost whining.
The Greyjoy boy fixed annoyed eyes on her. "Yes, now, Lady Targaryen. Unless Ser Jon wishes you to grant him your favor."
Rhae looked down and bit her lip, fighting back tears of utter shame as the Greyjoy boy chuckled. Before her emotions could get the better of her, she curtseyed quickly. "Pardon me, my lords."
She turned on her heel, ready to flee, when Jon called to her. "Rhae," he said. She froze, and peered over her shoulder cautiously at him. "Afterwards," he promised her solemnly.
Rhae nodded, finding herself smiling once again as she ran back to her room before Septa Mordane could find and reprimand her.
"Ow!"
Rhae drew back her finger from the blue winter rose, whose thorn had dug into her pale skin and drawn blood.
"Careful," she heard a voice warn her.
Rhae jumped around to the voice, smiling when she saw Jon. "You came."
He offered her a rare, if small, smile, then noticed her finger. "You're bleeding."
"It's nothing," Rhae said, even as he came towards her, offering her a kerchief to wipe the blood with. Rhae blushed as his hands came into contact with hers. Growing up in Winterfell, Jon was the only person she could really talk to who was in the same situation as her. They had been shunned by cold Lady Catelyn, looked down upon by Septa Mordane, constantly reminded that they were living proof of treachery and betrayal. They were outsiders who clung together, first out of necessity . . . and then, slowly, out of something more. "I just scratched myself on a thorn. How was . . ." she trailed off, not knowing how to ask about how a beheading went.
"Fine," Jon said curtly, not willing to talk about it. "Nothing eventful . . . until we were coming back."
Rhae tilted her head, her loose white gold curls tumbling down her side. "What happened?"
Without another word, Jon pulled out from under his cloak his arm . . . which was sheltering a pure white wolf pup.
Rhae froze. A direwolf pup. "The Stark sigil," she breathed.
"There were six others," she heard Jon say as she reached out to pet, then hold the pup. "Three males and three females, one for each of the Stark children. This one," he rubbed the direwolf's head, "was the runt of the litter."
"Seven direwolves?" Rhae exclaimed. "What happened to their mother?"
Jon's lips pulled into a straight line. "Dead. Pierced through the throat by a stag's antler."
Silence ensued. Finally Rhae looked up and said what neither of them wanted to acknowledge. "It's an omen."
"For what?" Jon asked irritably. "A Direwolf killed by a stag; House Baratheon is the stag, but why would House Baratheon kill Father? King Robert grew up with him, they were foster brothers."
"Being king changes a man," Rhae reminded him sharply, placing the direwolf on the floor of the glass garden. The Mad King came to her mind, though she didn't give voice to the comparison. "What if King Robert turns against Lord Stark? What if he kills him, and then takes me back to King's Landing and then -"
"Rhae, stop it!" Jon ordered her, taking ahold of both her shoulders when desperation overtook her voice. "You're overthinking things. I won't let anyone take you back to King's Landing."
"How?" Rhae asked, wet purple eyes blinking rapidly.
Rhae had always seen Jon's face as ice; hard, cold, unbreakable - for everyone but her. The ice cracked, and he gave her a soft smile, like a hazy ray of sunlight shining through the trees onto the snow and making it glimmer.
"Marry me," he said.
Rhae thought her heart would stop beating right then. Time seemed to stop, and the only reminder that it hadn't was the rise and fall of her chest.
"Did I . . ." Jon asked her nervously.
"No!" Rhae said quickly. "I mean yes! I mean - I will!"
His gray eyes brightened. "You will?"
Not trusting herself to speak again, Rhae clasped her hands to her chest, nodding and smiling, tears threatening to tumble from er eyes. Gingerly, she reached out with her hand and took ahold of his. "If Lord Stark gives us his permission, then yes, Jon Snow. I will marry you."
Part II: King's Landing
Josafyn Lannister wished the bells would cease their tolling, if only for a moment; the pounding was making her head ring. But she knew they wouldn't stop for the rest of the day, and would probably last well into the night, telling everyone in King's Landing from Flea Bottom to the Red Keep of the death of Jon Arryn, Hand of the King.
Former Hand of the King, Josafyn corrected herself. She fingered the seven-pointed star in her hand, similar to the one the Silent Sisters surrounding the former Hand's body carried. Jon Arryn lied in the center of their ring on his bier, two funeral stones painted with eyes covering his ancient, withered face - a face that would never look kindly down upon her again. Soon, she knew, another man would take Jon Arryn's place. And though no one said it aloud, she knew who - a man who despised her family with every inch of his being. Cold eyes would replace the warm ones that she remembered so fondly.
Across the throne room, she could see her older sister leaning against the railing, a pensive look marring her beautiful features. From the corner of her eye she caught movement, and looked to see her brother, Jaime, approaching Cersei with his usual smirk on his face.
Josafyn froze in place, her green eyes watching the golden twins as they conversed in whispers, Jaime leaning carelessly against one of the pillars and Cersei hunched over the railing with that intense, burning gleam in her eyes. "Seven Hells," she muttered, her lips curling ever-so-slightly upward. Did they not think to be more careful?
Jaime suddenly straightened up, his smirk fading into a grimace. Cersei's shoulders heaved, and her golden hair, lighter than Josafyn's own darker honey-blonde curls, shifted as she turned to look back at Jon Arryn's corpse. Her distant gaze suddenly sharpened, and came into focus . . . on Josafyn. Cersei's eyes narrowed, but Josafyn didn't dare move. Her half-sister could try to frighten her, but Cersei would have to offer more than glares to cowe a lioness of the Rock.
Instead, Josafyn met the queen's gaze defiantly, giving her a curt nod before turning on the heel of her boot to pack for Winterfell. Your secret is safe with me, dear sister, she thought as she walked, yours and Jaime's disgusting little secret. But only so long as you don't do anything stupid.
Part III: Winterfell - Three Weeks Later
Winterfell was a whirl of madness, but Larra Stark, who was tucked away in a corner of the Library Tower turning the pages of her favorite book, was impervious to it all. Her gray eyes zoomed back and forth across the paper, eating up the words faster than a wolf tearing at meat.
Sitting right under her chair was her direwolf - the one that her father and brothers had brought to her three weeks ago after their trek to the hills. Alicent, she had named the gray-and-white splattered pup with intelligent yellow eyes, for the cleverest queen in Westeros. Alicent was gentle, like Sansa's direwolf Lady, but not as small, and when not treading on Larra's toes was next to her smaller litter-mate, protecting her from the other direwolves as the pack played together.
However, the both of them needed time away from the rest. The excitement of the King's arrival had her siblings chattering like geese, and endearing as their joy was, Larra needed a break.
Peace and quiet at last, she thought as she turned another page.
"LARRA!"
Gods no, Larra thought, groaning and sliding down further in her chair though the friction mussed her copper hair, holding her book up over her face. Alicent sat up, ears pricked forward and eyes trained on the door that Larra's twin sister, Sansa, suddenly burst through. Sansa paused in the doorway, chest heaving, as she tried to catch her breath from making her way up the hundreds of steps in the tower leading to the library.
"Larra!" Sansa shrieked once she had breath. "They'll be here any minute!"
"Hmm," Larra agreed, her eyes still on her book.
"Larra," Sansa called to her sister, realizing that she wasn't paying attention. She stumbled forward and took ahold of the book and tilted it to see the title, much to Larra's annoyance. "The Reign of King Viserys, first of His Name, and the Dance of the Dragons That Came After." Sansa scowled. "Haven't you read that book thrice?"
"Four times," Larra corrected her proudly.
Sansa had ner needlework, and Arya had her swords, but for Larra, reading was her calling. Books were her food and wine, and she gorged herself often. As soon as she had learned how to walk, the first place she had toddled into was the library. It was there that the septon of Winterfell had taught her letters before her sister, there she had picked out and read front-to-cover her first book - there she came to every night to read her way up the tower. History had proved to be her favorite subject, and the books were full of them. There was so much to learn, and so little time.
Sansa, who cared more for songs and dresses than she did for history, rolled her Tully blue eyes. "I don't care if you've read it a hundred times! I need your help! I -"
Larra held up her finger, interrupting her sister, and quickly scanned the last page. With a dissatisfied sigh, she shut the book and finally looked up at Sansa. "What do you need help with?"
"My hair," Sansa said, kneeling on the floor in front of the chair so Larra could fix the stunning red locks. Combing her fingers through the waves, Larra began braiding.
"They say the prince is very handsome," Sansa said.
Larra paused, glancing down at her sister. "And?"
"And?!" Sansa exclaimed. "And he's the prince! He'll be king one day . . . and he'll need a queen."
Larra gave a sharp tug on Sansa's hair, eliciting a yelp from her twin. "Is that what this is about?"
Sansa nodded guiltily. "Partially."
Larra wrapped the ends of the braids with a leather tie Sansa had given her. "Well," she said, rising from her seat. "I suppose you'll make the most beautiful queen in the Seven Kingdoms, then."
Sansa giggled, rose, and hugged her twin. "Maybe you can marry a knight!" Sansa exclaimed.
"I'd prefer a scholar," Larra admitted honestly.
"Oh, you and your books," Sansa groaned. "Come on, Mother says the royal party will be here any minute!"
Larra smiled, shaking her head. She adored her sister, silly as she was. Even though she could be bratty, Sansa was innocent and sweet. There's nothing wrong with liking romantic princes and princesses, Larra thought, even if I prefer clever queens and kings. The girls were twins, born with a connection that few people had. A memory came, unbidden, to her; Theon had jokingly said once that Larra Stark would throw Sansa into a burning building if it meant that she could save her precious books. How little you know, Theon, she had retorted. I would personally toss every book in the Library Tower onto a pyre if it meant I could protect my sister.
A slight breeze ruffled Larra's red hair, which was held back with a white ribbon. The light-gray cape lined with rabbit fur that Sansa had helped her fasten over her shoulders kept her warm, though. Next to her, Bran shifted on his feet, and Larra caught sight of something in his hair. With a gloved hand, she reached over and pulled out a piece of grayed straw - the type that was used to thatch the roofs of Winterfell.
"Bran," she leaned over to whisper to him. "Mother says you're not allowed to climb."
"I know," he confessed.
Larra straightened up. "Good, then. Don't climb."
"You're not Mother," Bran brushed aside her concerns.
"Where's Arya?" Larra heard her mother, Lady Catelyn, call out, looking around. "Sansa, Larra, where's your sister?"
Sansa shrugged. Larra looked behind them to where Jon Snow stood with Theon Greyjoy and Rhaelyra Targaryen, knowing how much Arya loved their bastard half-brother.
Just then, a small blur of dark green and flashing iron came running by.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Father chided Arya softly, taking ahold of her arm. A stolen soldier's helm, Larra noticed, rested on Arya's head, barely fitting her. She heard Robb chuckle. "What are you doing with that on?" He took it, and Arya looked up at him with a pout pulling at her mouth. "Go on."
Arya trudged back down the line till she came next to Larra. "Move," she muttered, pushing Bran off to the side. She took her place between the two.
Larra gave a gentle tug on one of Arya's braids. "Behave," she reminded her little sister. Arya merely scowled. Larra stood straight, shaking her head. If Sansa was the sun, then Arya was the moon. Larra loved Arya and admired her spirit, but by the Gods, she needed to learn some common sense! Ladies didn't have to be innocent and aloof, but they couldn't go prancing about in armor firing arrows into the sunset, either. Larra wondered for the thousandth time if she was the only practical girl in the family.
The southerners were beginning to file into the courtyard in grand procession. First came a member of what must have been the Kingsguard, dressed in silver armor with a white cloak as spotless as freshly fallen snow. Right behind him was a golden-haired boy, one who Larra estimated was between sixteen and eighteen. Almost as old as Robb, she mused, though the self-important smirk on his face hinted at immaturity, she noticed. He was cloaked in lavish black fur and red leather, and rode between the first soldier and a second, enormous soldier with a hound-shaped helm.
Sansa nudged Larra's side. "That's him," she all but squeaked, not looking away from the child prince overshadowed by his massive guard with the hound-shaped helm.
"Who's that?" Larra asked, jerking her head towards the giant man as he wrenched open his helm.
"Who cares?" Sansa replied. "He smiled at me!"
Larra rolled her eyes.
Just then, the monster-sized red and gold wheelhouse came lumbering through the gateway and into the courtyard. Larra thought it was a wonder that the entire thing hadn't tipped over or collapsed while on the Kingsroad. It's banners, golden lions on ruby-red fields, indicated exactly who was in there - the queen.
But before the famous Cersei Lannister could make her appearance, however, more white cloaks entered, surrounding the even more legendary King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and the man who had killed Prince Rhaegar at the Trident over fifteen years ago.
Gods, he's old, was all Larra could think of the once-illustrious warrior king. His blue Baratheon eyes sparkled as merrily as ever, but his black hair had been grown out to his shoulders and left to gray prematurely. His arms, which had once wielded war hammers with the ease that she wielded a needle with, could barely fit around his bulging stomach. He didn't look like a man who fought and killed, like a man who could be slain in war. He's more likely to die from choking on a chicken bone. Larra immediately felt sorry for his horse.
Despite her pity, she knelt with her father, brothers, and sisters out of respect for their king. Larra watched from the corner of her eye as the man made up of legends (and more than a few tons of cake and wine, she'd have wagered) totered down from his poor horse.
When her father finally rose, all looked to him and the King, waiting to hear what would be said.
"Your Grace," Father said with a respectful bow of his head.
The King was silent, staring at Father with a strange look on his face. The whole courtyard waited in anticipation for what the King would say next.
"You've got fat," he replied. Larra bit her lip, trying to hold back a snort. She saw her twin blink in shock.
All tension in the courtyard was released when the two of them burst out laughing, like the boys Larra imagined they might have once been. She grinned when they exchanged fierce hugs. "Cat!" The King exclaimed, turning towards her mother and enveloping her in a bear hug.
"Your Grace," Mother responded cordially even as she was being shoved head first into the King's cloak. Larra watched the queen finally emerge from the wheelhouse, wrapped in furs like her son and looking as if she would rather be anywhere but with them.
"Nine years," Larra heard Robert say. "Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"
"Guarding the North for you, your Grace. Winterfell is yours," Father responded dutifully.
Arya, who must have been bored, broke her silence. "Where's the Imp?"
"Will you shut up?" Sansa said rudely.
"Sansa!" Larra chastised her twin.
"Who have we here?" Robert said, turning his attention to the Stark children. "You must be Robb." He grasped Robb's hand in his, and Robb shook it firmly. The King waddled on down the line and stopped at Sansa. "My, you're a pretty one." Sansa blushed like a rose, and the King turned to Larra. "And you're the younger sister?"
Larra brustled. "No. I'm her twin."
The King nodded. "Pretty, both of you." Sansa smiled, pleased with the compliment, but Larra just stared back at him with unsettling gray eyes. Pretty, she knew, was dangerous. Her Aunt Lyanna had been more than pretty, and everyone knew what Prince Rhaegar had done to her.
The King looked over to Larra's younger sister. "Your name is?"
"Arya."
Clearly disinterested, he turned to Bran. "Show us your muscles," he ordered. Bran happily obliged, and the King wheezed with laughter. "You'll be a soldier!"
Arya, her attention drawn by something more interesting, tugged on Larra's cloak. "That's Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother." Larra glanced to the knight shaking out his head of golden hair. Next to him, still mounted on a white mare, was a maiden about twenty years of age, with hair a darker shade of gold than the Kingslayer's and jade eyes.
"Would you please shut up!" Sansa exclaimed.
"Both of you, quit it!" Larra scolded both of them. "You're embarrassing Father!"
It was the queen, clad in red silk and golden furs, who approached them next. Larra could instantly see why she was called the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms. Her hair, braided back, was a rich, lustrous gold, her skin was paler than snow and unblemished, her eyes shone like polished emeralds. But there was something about her, a wildfire hidden by an ornate mask of majesty and indifference, that unsettled Larra.
Smirking and leaning on one hip, the queen offered her hand to Father. Dutifully, Ned took it and placed a kiss on it. "My queen."
"My queen." Mother curtseyed.
"Take me to your crypts," Robert bellowed. "I want to pay my respects."
Queen Cersei finally spoke. "We've been riding for month, my love. Surely the dead can wait."
Robert turned back to his foster brother. "Ned!"
With a nervous glance towards the King, Father went after Robert like an obedient dog.
The courtyard fell into an awkward silence as soon as Lord Stark had swept out of sight. Mother stared apologetically at the queen, who was frowning disapprovingly.
"Where's the Imp?" Arya asked again.
The queen must have heard her, for with a huff, she turned on her heel and marched to her twin brother, Ser Jaime. "Where is our brother?" Larra heard Cersei demand. "Go find the little beast."
"Sister, please -" The girl atop the mare tried to reason with the queen, who was having none of it.
"I said go find him."
"Do you think Joffrey will like me?"
Larra rolled her eyes for what must have been the thousandth time that day. Father would be feasting the Lannisters at sundown while he chewed on Robert Baratheon's offer to make him Hand of the King . . . and betroth Prince Joffrey to Sansa.
"What if he thinks I'm ugly?" Sansa continued to fret as their mother braided her hair in a fashionable Northern style.
"Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived!" Cat exclaimed.
"You're not ugly, Sansa. Don't say that," Larra said from her comfortable perch on the bed right behind her mother and sister. "If you did, it would be an insult to me, as well. And it's rude to insult your elders."
Sansa scoffed. "I'm the elder. Otherwise Father would have offered the match to you." There was a brief pause as Larra handed her sister the silver hand-held mirror. "He's so handsome," Sansa swooned as she gazed at her reflection. Larra could have sworn she heard her mother sigh in exasperation as Sansa continued. "When will we be married, soon? Or do we have to wait?"
"Hush, now," Mother chided. "Your father hasn't even said yes!"
"Why would he say no?" Sansa exclaimed as if she couldn't believe anyone would pass up the chance to be the Hand of the King. "He'd be the second-most powerful man in the Kingdoms!"
"He'd have to leave home," Cat explained to her daughter softly. "He'd have to leave me. And so would you."
You left your home to come here," Sansa reminded her mother.
"Sansa, the Riverland and the North are practically neighbors," Larra pointed out. "It would take months, probably a full year, to travel from King's Landing to Winterfell."
"For the love of the Seven, Larra, haven't you heard of a raven?!" Sansa snapped.
"Sansa!" Mother scolded. "Apologize."
Sansa pouted, but did as she was told. "I'm sorry, Larra."
"I know you are. You're excited; the prince is handsome, he's possibly in love with you. Why wouldn't you be excited?" Larra paused. "But you barely know this boy. You'd be far from anyone who knew you."
"But I'd be queen someday . . ." Sansa whispered, her eyes growing large with desire. The moment Mother's hands paused at her work with Sansa's hair, she whirled around. "Please make Father say yes!" She suddenly begged.
"Sansa . . ." Mother warned her.
"Please, please!" Sansa cried, looking up at their mother with watery, innocent blue eyes. "It's the only thing I ever wanted."
"Besides that doll from the Southern trader three years ago," Larra said. "And that blue hair ribbon that you saw in the market in the winter town. Oh, and that time when that singer came and you begged Father not to let him leave -"
"I want this!" Sansa cried out, whirling towards Larra. "Yes, I may have wanted those other things at one time . . . but I want this more than anything else! I'd trade all the things I've asked for over the years to have this, to be queen, to be his queen!"
Catelyn and Larra shared an exasperated look. Obsession, Larra knew, could never end well.
Part IV: Winterfell - That Evening
The moon hung over the trees, the Northern night air was cold and biting, and the feast was in full swing. Loud music filled the Great Hall, and raucous cheers, laughter, and other sounds of joy flowed from everyone's mouths.
Everyone's, that was, but Rhae's.
Her silver hair, though braided, drooped like a willow tree over a lake, and her lovely violet eyes were red-rimmed and glassy (and not from the wine - her cup stood, still full, on the table next to her plate). Every so often, her gaze would drift over to where Lord Stark stood, talking with his brother Benjen. Her eyes would harden in anger, then grow sad again as she looked away, trying to hide another tear.
"Lord Stark," Jon had said as soon as they were in the solar.
Eddard had looked up at them, surprised to see the two of them together to talk to him of all people. "Aye?"
Rhae had blushed, and Jon had stuttered nervously before spitting out the words. "We want your permission . . . and blessing . . . for our marriage."
There was a pause, which grew into a pregnant silence as Lord Stark just stared at them, mouth slightly agape. "Marriage to whom?"
"His marriage to me," Rhae quickly clarified, smiling shyly up at Jon, "and mine to him. We wish to be wed, if you will give us your permission and blessing."
"No."
Her head had snapped back to her foster father's, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.
"Um . . . no to your blessing?" Jon had asked. Already Rhae knew it was a stupid question.
"Yes, and no to my permission," Lord Stark had said coldly. "You will not wed."
Jon had fallen silent in shock. "But why?" Rhae had cried.
Lord Stark hesitated before answering. "I have my reasons."
"It's because I'm a bastard, isn't it?" Jon had suddenly spoken up again. "I can't father trueborn children; they would be a threat to Robb's claim."
Eddard's face had softened for a split second. "No, Jon, that's not my reason."
In a small, shaking voice, Rhae asked him if it was because she was the disgraced daughter of a mad Targaryen king.
"No."
"Then why can't we wed?" Jon demanded angrily.
"Please, Lord Stark," Rhae had pleaded, near tears. "I'll renounce my claim to the throne again! I'll take the name Snow, we'll move far away from Winterfell, to Dorne if we have to!"
"You will do no such thing." Lord stark rose from his seat and walked for the door. "I forbid it." Jon's face was set in stony anger, and Rhae let out a sob that she couldn't hold back any longer. "Let that be the end of it, children. Discuss it no further. Now, I believe you have a feast to dress for."
With that, he shut the door on them, and she dissolved into tears.
More laughter shook her from her reverie. King Robert had his arms around a plump serving girl, and his stomach was shaking with laughter. Rhae shook her head, disgusted. She knew why Robert's Rebellion had started, knew that Robert had been betrothed to Lord Stark's beautiful younger sister, Lyanna, who had been kidnapped and killed by her brother Rhaegar. A drunken king might be much more preferable to a mad king, but between the King's lecherous manners and the Queen's cold, disapproving gaze, Rhae wondered if poor Lady Lyanna had actually gotten off lucky.
Overwhelmed and still desolate, Rhae stood from her seat and made to exit from the Great Hall, unnoticed by everyone except sharp-eyed Lady Larra, who caught her eye and tilted her head as if asking if she was alright.
I'm not, Rhae wanted to say, I'm drowning in misery. But she only gave the girl a small smile and a nod of the head before slipping outside.
The chill in the air outside was refreshing. Rhae took a deep breath and walked on to find Jon Snow with Benjen Stark, Lord Stark's brother. The two seemed to have just finished a conversation, and Benjen turned and walked towards the Great Hall.
"Lord Benjen," Rhae quickly greeted with a small curtsy.
"Lady Rhaelyra," he said curtly. "I trust you are well? Your eyes look red."
Her hand flew up to touch the skin under her eye, which was still puffy. "Some woodsmoke blew into them," she lied.
He looked at her curiously, but nodded and walked on. Rhae continued past him to where Jon stood, staring past her after his uncle.
She gently laid a hand on his arm. "Is everything alright?" She asked.
There was a pause. Rhae watched his breath crystallized when it collided with the cold Northern air. "We could always elope," he finally said.
A silver eyebrow shot up. "Run away, you mean? Like cravens, like thieves in the night?" Jon didn't answer; Rhae's mouth twisted in what could have been a pained smile. "Wouldn't it be ironic, though? A Stark boy stealing a Targaryen girl, instead of the other way around."
"I could take you anywhere." Jon's voice began to take on a desperate note. "Dorne, the Reach -"
"Your father would find us," Rhae argued. "He and the King both would hunt us down - we'd never be safe. You think the King would just let me slip away, out of his reach?"
He didn't answer, instead staring stubbornly ahead.
"Jon," she said softly.
He blinked and looked down at her.
"Please," she said. "Talk to me."
"And what would I say?"
"Tell me . . . tell me it will somehow work out in the end."
He looked at her with an unreadable expression. "That's the thing; I don't know how it could."
Rhae looked down, biting her lip. Silence ensued . . . until it was broken.
"So your uncle's in the Night's Watch," rang out a voice, "and your lady love is none other than the Mad King's daughter."
The two of them jolted, and Rhae looked sharply over to see a small man of stunted growth waddling towards him. A dwarf she thought. And judging by his red leather doublet embellished with gold, a Lannister dwarf. The Imp.
"What are you doing back there?" Jon asked.
"Preparing for a night with your family," Tyrion Lannister said, taking a swig from the flask Rhae noticed he was holding. He leaned up against a wooden post that was a head smaller than him, though it only came to Rhae's stomach. "I've always wanted to see the wall. And meet a Targaryen. Is it true they can't be killed by fire?"
"I wouldn't know, my Lord," Rhae said honestly. "I've never chanced to test it."
The Imp laughed at that.
"You're Tyrion Lannister; the Queen's brother?" Jon asked.
"My greatest accomplishment," Lord Tyrion said, his smile fading. "You - you're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?" Rhae's eyes flickered over to Jon, who drew in a sharp breath, turned on his heel, and marched away. "Did I offend you?" Tyrion asked sardonically. Jon paused and, shoulders heaving, turned back to Lord Tyrion. "Sorry. You are the bastard, though."
"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon said defensively.
"And Lady Stark is not your mother, making you," he paused for emphasis, "the bastard. Let me give you some advice, bastard." Tyrion waddled over to Jon, wine flask in hand. "Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."
Rhae and Jon both stood still as Tyrion turned to enter the Great Hall, when Jon finally spoke up.
"What the hell do you know about being a bastard?"
"Jon!" Rhae admonished.
Tyrion ignored her, though. "All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes," he said bitterly. His one green eye and one black eye both grew angry, then dejected as he turned back, taking another swig from his flask.
Drunken and stunted as the Imp was, Rhae watched with fascination as the light from the hall drew his shadow across the yard, and, for a moment, Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.
Part V: Winterfell - That Evening
Josafyn grimaced in disgust as her good brother drunkenly fondled the heavy-bosomed maid bold enough to sit in his lap. Her half-sister the queen, seated between herself and Lady Catelyn Stark, watched them coldly. Shivering despite the warmth of the hall, Josafyn hoped Cersei didn't have anything in mind for the serving wench.
Luckily, Lady Catelyn was there to distract Cersei. "Is this the first time in the North, your Grace?"
"Yes. Lovely country," Cersei replied distractedly, one eye still on Robert.
"I'm sure it's very grim after King's Landing," Lady Catelyn said.
Josafyn had to admire Catelyn's efforts at small talk. She knew from her experience with Lady Lysa Arryn (formerly Tully) that the Tully trouts were a proud, prickly lot. Lady Arryn especially was either cloyingly sweet or maddeningly irascible, never in between, and Josafyn had avoided the woman at all costs. In truth, she had been happy to see the woman make off from King's Landing - though she wouldn't admit it to Catelyn Stark. As kind a host she was, she gave Josafyn the impression that hiding behind the gentle smile was a fierce defender of her family.
"I find it beautiful," Josafyn said quickly, trying to make up for her sister's lack of attention. "In a primitive sort of way." She offered a warm, if small, smile to Lady Catelyn.
"I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me up here for the first time," Lady Catelyn recalled.
Josafyn would have responded if not for the clack of boots on the dais. She shifted her green gaze from Lady Catelyn to the Stark twins. Both were dressed in muted mauve homespun with the high embroidery-embellished collars that were popular in the North. They looked similar, with the exception of their hairstyles - one had hers arranged in braids, the other had only pulled back the top half - and their eyes.
Cersei beamed at the twin with her mother's innocent Tully-blue eyes - Sansa Stark, who Josafyn had heard would be betrothed to Joffrey. "Hello, little dove. My, but you are a beauty!" Cersei exclaimed.
What is Cersei up to this time? Josafyn internally groaned, even as her face was a mask. Cersei was never nice to anyone without an ulterior motive. Little Sansa Stark, however, was completely unaware of any of Cersei's malicious designs. The poor sweet child blushed with pleasure.
"How old are you?"
"We're three-and-ten, your Grace," the twin with sharp Stark-gray eyes responded before her sister could.
"You're tall," Cersei remarked to Sansa, ignoring Larra Stark. "Still growing?"
"I think so, your Grace," Sansa replied pleasantly.
Cersei smiled like a harpy. "And have you bled yet?"
Seven Hells, she internally cursed, her gaze sliding over to Cersei. You couldn't have asked a normal question! Lady Stark and her daughters both looked suddenly uncomfortable.
"No, your Grace," Sansa admitted, her smile gone.
Cersei's gaze flitted around as soon as she realized what she had done. She rebounded quickly, though. "Your dress - did you make it?" She asked. Smiling again, Sansa nodded shyly. "Such talent!" Cersei praised the girl. "You must make something for me."
"And Larra could fix your hair!" Sansa suggested, reaching back and tugging forward her solemn sister.
Cersei looked to the other red-haired Stark child. "Do you fix your own hair as well?"
"I try . . . your Grace," Larra admitted. "I can arrange Sansa's hair better than my own, though."
"Well, sister, it looks as if you have a new seamstress and hairdresser!" Josafyn exclaimed. Seeing an opportunity, she rose from her seat and came around the table. "Allow me to sit with you at your table? I wish to hear all about Winterfell." She looped one arm through each of the Stark girls' and looked over at Cersei. "If your Grace will permit me, of course."
"Go," Cersei dismissed her with a flick of her hand.
Both Stark twins could only look at Josafyn in astonishment as she half-skipped, half-dragged them back to their table.
"So . . . you're the queen's sister?" Sansa asked politely as the three of them settled at the table.
"Half-sister," Larra Stark interjected before Josafyn could say anything. "Lady Joanna Lannister died thirty years ago."
"Y-yes," Joanna stuttered, caught off guard for a split second. "You're a sharp little one, aren't you?"
"Sharp, yes," Larra said. "Little - not for long, I hope."
Josafyn laughed. "Yes, let's hope. I wager you'll be as tall as Cersei come autumn!"
Larra Stark's hard gray eyes crinkled at the corners, and the left side of her mouth twitched into an almost-smile. Success. "Who is your mother, Lady Josafyn?"
Josafyn paused, reaching to take a goblet of water from a passing servant. Sansa Stark, she noticed, had turned her attention to her friend, but Larra Stark was still interested. Josafyn sipped before continuing. "My mother was Lady Eleonor Lannister. Lady Joanna was her sister," she said. "Father took my mother to wed three months before Robert's Rebellion. Jaime had joined the Kingsguard a year before that, and Father had no heirs."
"He had the Imp," Larra pointed out tactlessly.
Josafyn winced. She hated that nickname, even though it wasn't directed at her. "My brother's name is Lord Tyrion," she said curtly. "Which brings me to my next point; Father has no love for Tyrion," she confessed to Larra. "He had hoped to pass the Rock to another heir of his, but . . ." She trailed off, uncomfortable with what she had thought to say next.
"Lady Joanna died," Larra finished. "He wed Lady Eleonor, and you were born."
"Yes," Josafyn agreed.
"But what happened to Lady Eleonor?"
Smoke burned her eyes, and screams filled the harbor of Lannisport. She could feel the fire, feel its heat as it engulfed every ship, every sailor . . . every captive. The scent of burning wood and flesh was thick in the air . . .
"She was taken captive during the Greyjoy Rebellion," Josafyn said quietly, "and didn't survive."
She didn't hear what Larra said next, for as her gaze drifted across the room she caught sight of her brother - with Lord Stark.
"Lady Josafyn?" Larra called.
Jaime loomed over Lord Stark, golden and proud and smirking dangerously. Eddard Stark, however, held his ground and bored into her brother with hard gray eyes. It crossed Josafyn's mind that they were two of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms - and they hated each other. She didn't want to know - never wanted to know - which one of them would win in a duel.
Oh, Seven Hells.
She glanced briefly over at Larra, setting down her goblet. "It was lovely talking with you, Lady Larra. If you will excuse me." She stood and left the table, leaving behind a baffled Stark girl. Trying not to bolt and draw attention to herself, she briskly dodged strewn goblets and stray chairs and darted around drunken guests.
She came upon them just as Jaime leaned in to whisper what was likely an insult, his face twisted into a self-important smirk. Lord Stark's eyes flickered and narrowed, the ice cracking for a moment and then hardening again. He smiled, ever so briefly, and Josafyn panicked.
"I don't fight in tournaments," she heard him warn Jaime, "because when I fight a man for real, I don't want him to know what I can do. "
"Well said, Lord Stark!" Josafyn quickly interrupted, smiling and coming up to take a surprised Jamie's arm. "I was wondering when someone would finally put my brother in his place. I've told him many times that Ser Barristan Selmy is a match for him, but he won't listen to me."
Ned Stark frowned, but the glimmer in his eye was gone, and she was safe.
"My sister," Jaime introduced, "Lady Josafyn."
"Yes, I remember you in the courtyard," Lord Stark said, politely bowing before her.
"I must thank you for opening your home to us," Josafyn said. "I shan't forget your hospitality, Lord Stark, especially when you come to King's Landing. After all, what's the saying, brother?"
"A Lannister always pays his debts," said Jaime, eyeing Lord Stark.
"And speaking of debts," she continued to her brother, "you promised you'd see me to my chambers when I tired. You must pardon me, Lord Stark, but the journey was long enough for Tommen to grow a foot!"
"No apologies necessary, my Lady," Lord Stark said.
"When you do come to King's Landing, I should like to see more of your daughter Larra," Josafyn said with a glance back at the girl, who was laughing at an antic of her younger sister's involving some food catapulting. "I enjoyed her company immensely."
"I'm glad to hear it, my Lady."
For the love of the Seven, this man is tougher to crack than Valyrian steel! Still, she had her next card to play. "I find her bluntness so refreshing, really," she said in all seriousness. "Honesty is a virtue that is oft forgotten."
Ned Stark seemed surprised to hear those words coming from a Lannister, but she knew she had hit home. Ned Stark was nothing if not honorable, and she knew that, too. "Thank you, Lady Josafyn," he said with a small smile. "I do hope you rest well."
Josafyn smiled in thanks, tugging away Jaime as she made her way to the stairwell.
Leaning over, Jaime muttered in her ear. "What in Seven Hells was that?"
She glanced over at him with a smirk that mirrored his own, her eyes sparking. "That, dear brother, was called playing the Game. You ought to try it sometime."
Jaime snorted. "Bugger your games. Give me a sword any day of the week, and I'll show you a true game, little sister."
Josafyn merely scoffed. "You and your rashness, Jaime Lannister! It'll be the death of you one day."
"Not the death of me," Jaime retorted. "Just of someone else."
Part VI: Winterfell - The Next Day
"What's with the smile?" Sandor Clegane, the Hound, grumbled.
"Good morning to you, too, Clegane," Josafyn greeted cordially. She couldn't be grouchy, not when the night before had gone so well. Stark was almost in her pocket, and then she could guarantee her siblings' safety. He had to have said yes, after all. the King was in such good spirits that he had ordered a hunt despite the roaring hangover from the night before.
"Really, Clegane, that's no way to greet a lady."
Josafyn looked down to the side of Clegane where lay Tyrion Lannister wrapped in a fur cloak. She had almost missed him next to the hulking Hound. His eyes were red-rimmed and blood-shot, his voice lazy and slurred. She had wondered where he was during the feast, and she guessed she should have known the answer was drinking.
"Rough night, brother?" She asked with a teasing smirk.
"If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it will be a miracle," he said.
"I didn't pick you for a hunter," the Hound grumbled.
"The greatest in the land. My spear never misses."
"It's not hunting if you pay for it."
Josafyn rolled her eyes and continued on. Larra Stark was in the courtyard as well, along with a timid white-haired girl who could only be the Targaryen hostage.
"Lady Josafyn," Larra quickly greeted.
"Good day to you," Josafyn said with a smile at the younger girl. "And who might this be?" She gestured towards the silver-haired girl.
"Rhaelyra Targaryen," Larra introduced, "my father's ward."
Rhaelyra Targaryen curtsied, though Josafyn noticed the girl was quaking. "It's pleasant to meet you, my Lady."
"Josafyn, please," she said. "You needn't fear me, I'm no dragon-slayer; that would be my brother."
Speak of the devil - right then, she saw Jaime and Cersei, slinking through the door of one of Winterfell's towers. And Larra Stark was at such an angle that if she turned just the slightest, they would be caught.
Thinking on her toes, Josafyn reached for Larra's hands and pulled her parallel to her, smiling all the while, before she could spot the queen and the Kingslayer. "Why don't we retire to the solar in my room while the men hunt?" She offered. "My maids brought lemons for cakes and tea. You're invited as well, Lady Targaryen," she said quickly when she saw Lady Rhaelyra's gaze drifting in the direction of the tower. "You must tell me what it's like to grow up in Winterfell with a father like the Honorable Ned Stark."
"Not much different from growing up in Casterly Rock with a father like Twyin Lannister, I'd imagine," Larra shot back.
Josafyn just laughed. "Keep that up, my dear, and you'll do very well in King's Landing." She led them up the stairs and through the castle to her room, where they traded stories and gossip. Josafyn was even able to coax a song out of Rhaelyra Targaryen, a shy girl who was nothing like the Mad King (more like Queen Rhaella, Josafyn believed) and would likely be eaten alive in King's Landing. Josafyn wasn't surprised to discover that the serious Larra Stark loved to read, and the two gave each other suggestions for books to try.
She was actually enjoying herself when a servant arrived, pale-faced and stricken with news that sent Lady Rhae into a sobbing fit and left Larra sitting in shock before bolting out of the room with Josafyn on her heels. Josafyn's stomach twisted in coils, and she felt as if she would faint. Damn them! I should have let them get caught!
Underneath the broken tower - the same one that Josafyn had watched her siblings go into not half an hour before - lay a twisted, unconscious Bran Stark.
Larra leaned over and heaved up the remains of the lemon cakes Josafyn had offered her earlier. "Bran never falls!" she sobbed as Josafyn rubbed her back in a meager attempt at sympathy.
He didn't, sweetling. Josafyn looked up to the top window of the tower. She was more certain than ever that someone had pushed the boy. But I can't tell you who.
A/N: Thank you for reading! If you like this story, let me know in the comments to I can continue updating.