Chapter 2

Robb

I am not proud of how I acted upon learning of my engagement. I was angry and quite childish, with rampant unrighteous fury that eventually caused my father to step in and remind me that I was to be the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. It was time to stop acting like a boy, and instead be the man he and Mother raised me to be. I was to be a married man; my wife would be my top priority, and we would live for the North and each other, not ourselves.

Sansa, my sweet, naive little sister, was overjoyed. A real princess was coming to Winterfell. The epitome of a lady, bred pure, soft spoken, beautiful, loving, that was her vision of what my bride would be. Arya, however, wanted my wife to be like our Aunt Lyanna, a woman who could ride, shoot a bow, and swing a sword. Bran wished for her to be wise and loving, and sweet little Rickon just wanted her to be able to tell good stories. Jon had no expectations for this princess. He knew she would probably look down upon him for his bastard status much like Mother. Somehow, I didn't think that would be the case.

Meanwhile, I was simply nervous. On the day she came, her and her father and her brother, I couldn't think straight. Would she like me? The North? How would she treat my family? I didn't want an eternally meek wife; she was joining a wolf pack, she would need to have some sort of bite to withstand the North's bitterly cold winds and her equally cold people who weren't too fond of outsiders. I wasn't allowed to dwell on these thoughts, however, since trumpets sounded to signify the arrival of the Pendragons of Camelot.

The sight which stunned me was the lack of a large retinue. No carriages, no ladies dressed in silk gowns. If I didn't know better, I would have assumed that my bride hadn't come at all. At the head of the party rode three figures, two men and a woman who rode astride! I hear Sansa gasp at the impropriety of it and Arya's giggle that she'd have another kindred soul. My breath quickened as they neared and dismounted, with my father signaling for us to kneel; we were in the presence of a king after all. The elder man, obviously the king, spoke in a language unknown to us. The woman with them, who couldn't have been my bride for she was much too beautiful for the North, gracefully curtsied to Mother and Father. "My lords and ladies, my father asked you to rise. Family does not bow to family." I was surprised to hear no accent in her voice.

Her smile was kind and loving; for the most part it seemed genuine, but I couldn't tell if it was true. The other rider nodded his head, bright red cloak billowing in the wind. "My name is Arthur, and this is my sister Amena." I was embarrassed. In my anger, I did not even bother to learn the name of my betrothed. "I apologize for my father. He speaks your language, but not very well."

We nodded and rose, with my father deciding to speak. "Your grace, your highnesses, we welcome you to Westeros, to the North, and to Winterfell. Come, rest, and be fed. A feast has been prepared in honor of your arrival."

With silent acceptance, the Pendragon family followed. Once we reached a certain wing and were out of sight of the small folk and the other Lords and Ladies, the Mother, Father, and my soon to be good father left us to our own devices. The silence was tense as none of us knew what to say. My bride to be, Amena, her brother Arthur, and what looked to be a servant were silent, Amena looking almost cowed. Thankfully blunt, wolf like, little Arya broke the silence as she burst out with "Can you truly ride astride?"

The three foreigners laughed, a large belly aching laugh. "Yes I know how to ride astride, much to my father's chagrin. I can also beat Arthur in archery and all forms of close combat. Remember-".

Arthur became red with embarrassment. "That never happened-".

Amena and the servant chorused "Yes it did! And you know it!" I had a feeling that this conversation had happened many times before. The three looked at each other, seeming quite out of place. Even though she looked calm, Amena's hand shook. My heart froze. Is she afraid of me? Have I done anything to give her the impression that I was cruel? Did my people scare this beauty of nature? The direwolves that my father found are hidden in the stables, so they couldn't have scared her. At least they were supposed to be. Amena gasped with what sounded like delight when the pack of giant wolves came around the corner.

"Is, is this a pack of direwolves?" I nodded my head, and to our utmost surprise, Greywind and Ghost came right to her, acting as friendly with her as they did with us. Lady and Summer went to that serving boy and sat at his feet, whining and yipping happily. Nymeria and Shaggydog joyously ran toward the Prince, circling around him before turning to their respective masters' sides.

Ghost left us, presumably to venture to find Jon, and Greywind moved to stand in between Amena and I and the rest of the wolves returned to their master's sides, and my confusion had yet to abate. Amena knelt at Greywind's side, smiling and petting his fur, shocking us all. Seemingly content, Greywind stretched and moved to look in Amena's eyes, almost as if he were willing her to say or do something. My bride-to-be blushed. "I'm afraid to say that I know next to nothing about you, my lords and ladies. I must confess, I dearly wish to."

Sansa, ever the lady, spoke quickly. "I am sure that a princess such as you has many more interesting tales than I ever could."

"Lady Sansa, I lived several years of my life not knowing my family or lineage. Your life must have been much more incredible than my own. You are to be my sister; I want to know you.".

Could she be real? I asked myself. Her hair reached her breasts and it was slightly curled. Her eyes were wise, her smile kind, and she was plump in the way many Northern women were, with muscles that made it obvious to any warrior that she trained with a sword. I smiled because I was worried that my bride would be a proper Southron lady who ne'er spoke out of turn and wilted at the thought of battle. Instead, Amena was a Northerner to the core, completely evident in the way she carried herself as well as her looks; there was only humility in her posture, no arrogance.

She smiled at me. "I do not know much of the North and I wish to know much more. Anything that you feel you can share with me would be very welcome."

I'd known her all of an hour and I was already besotted. "My lady Amena-".

"Please, simply call me Jen. Amena is my formal name."

"Formal name?"

"We all have one. The men of my family only use them on important documents. They are almost titles, except you choose them for yourself once you come of age."

Quiet and shy Bran spoke up, his voice having that quality of being wiser than his age. "And what, my lady, is your 'formal' name?"

"Amena Angharad."

"Which means?"

"Utterly pure love without reproach."

Why such a title? "Do you have to live up to these names, my lady?" Bran's inquisitive nature returned. "I try to. It's supposed to be how you wish to be remembered. I'd rather be remembered for my love than for military prowess."

"Though you'll be remembered for that too, Jen." What a cheeky servant, I thought.

"Errete es korakas!" Jen's tone was deceptively light. The two were obviously very close friends. Is she in love with him?, the insecure part of my brain came rushing to the forefront of my mind. "Sure, Merlin, the High Deliverer will be written in history, but not with my name attached to the pseudonym, thank you very much!"

"You're the High Deliverer?" Arya's eyes were wide. Who is the High Deliverer? I wanted to ask, but obviously it was a touchy subject.

"I will answer that question eventually; preferably once my father leaves. But for now, put it out of your mind deirfiúr bheag." Jen's kind smile was back. I loved how easily the two had taken to each other. Especially since Mother and Sansa don't really like or know Arya, she needed a mother figure.

Arya nodded solemnly and spoke softly. "How about we let our guests refresh themselves before the feast?" It was the most ladylike I had ever seen her, and I was proud. However I was a bit worried. Did her father not know she fought on the battlefield? If so, how did she manage such a thing. However, my worry was not great; I could tell she was trustworthy. She had gained the approval of both Ghost and Greywind, who didn't let anyone they didn't like close to their masters. She didn't have dishonest intentions, but I wasn't entirely sure about her father. I'd have to pay close attention these next two weeks.

AN: I have moved King Robert's arrival back as to give these relationships time to develop before Ned and the girls go South. I am not sure how much of Jon I should put in here. I will have a poll running for a week to help me decide if he is going to stay in Winterfell, go to the Wall as normal, or be recalled on the authority of the King in the North. Thank you and please review! Updates come much sooner that way.