Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, and I make no profit writing any fanfiction of it. Further, I'd like it to be clear that in the case of any similarity between anything I write and the future work of any author writing the original work, that I hold no rights to any fanfiction. I make no claim to monetary compensation, and never will. For any intent and purpose, I cede any monetary rights to any fanfiction work to their respective authors.
(AN): Starting this the same day as I posted the fifth chapter. We'll see how the updating goes.
Eddard
The journey from Winterfell to Storm's End had been long, and every day the Warden of the North found himself staring into the horizon as if he could peer through sea and land across leagues and lay grey eyes on the sprawling walls of his home. Starks belonged in the North, beneath the crimson leaves of the weirwood and the where the blood of the First Men ran thick.
Here is the South, his Gods had no eyes.
Ned wanted to turn back and go home. Turn away from the too-warmth South and the cities full of schemers and godless men. He wanted to take Sansa home and keep all of his children by his side until he and Cat grew old and were buried in the crypts at Winterfell. But Eddard Stark had given his word to escort his daughter to the South, and to give her hand in marriage to a Southron Lord and possibly never see her again.
So with a heavy heart Ned stepped down the plank and let Robert tackle him with all the eagerness of a young pup.
"Ned!" The Stag Lord boomed with laughter, hugging his childhood friend with such force that Eddard was lifted right off his feet while his ribs creaked. "What's it been now, four years? Five years? Too damn long either way."
Robert dropped Ned back to the ground and turned to give Cat an exuberant grin when she disembarked. "Cat! Look at you, you haven't aged a day."
Offering a much more subdued "My Lord.", the redhead favoured Robert with an incline of her head. Then Catelyn stepped out of the way and let Joffrey charge on through to meet his father in a crash of limbs and bellowed greetings.
Ned's lip faintly curled up in amusement. If there was one thing that could be said about Baratheon men, it was that they certainly knew how to make a scene. Years as boys together in the Vale had conditioned Ned for it, but Robb and Cat were looking increasingly lost as Joffrey and his father grew louder and louder.
With a final exchange of chuckles, Robert and Joffrey broke apart to favour the Stark family with identical grins. The Lord of Storm's End settled storm blue eyes on his son's betrothed, and stepped forward with wink. "You must be Sansa."
"My Lord." Sansa greeted Robert demurely, allowing his future good-father to press a kiss to her knuckles.
Robert's focus shifted to the other Stark child. "And you must be Robb." Grasping the Stark heir's forearm in greeting. "You've got a good grip lad."
Robb only grinned wolfishly in reply.
"Enough with the pleasantries." Robert clapped a hand to Ned's shoulder. "Let's get you settled."
"Aye," Eddard agreed, leaving the Stark retinue behind to unload their belongings as he fell into step beside the man he had always considered a brother. "How is Cersei?" the Warden of the North cut the silence as they trudged up the winding cliffs to Storm's End.
"Well enough." Robert grunted, reaching up to run a hand over his clean shaven jaw. The faint sound of mutters could be heard over the crashing of the sea as Robb and Joffrey struck up a conversation behind them. "I have half a mind to have more babes, but she's been as hard as Valyrian steel about taking her moon tea."
Humming in comprehension, Ned undid the highest button of his doublet. The heat of the South took its pound of flesh after living for near two decades in the North.
"If I didn't think she'd cut my cock off for it, I'd offer a betrothal between your lad there and my Cella." The skin around the black haired man's eyes crinkled as he laughed. "She almost did when I sent Joff off to foster, and she knew he'd be coming back in a few years anyway."
"Cat is the same." Ned commiserated, smiling fondly at the thought of his redhaired wife. "But she's had years to come to terms with Sansa marrying into the South, and she knows the importance of our children marrying well. Give Cersei time, and the head should overrule the heart. Eventually."
Snorting, Robert took the final step up to the gates of Storm's End. "If you can think that, you don't know much about Cersei. She's a good woman, but more stubborn than a herd of goats. No matter how much I complain about it, she won't stop coddling the children. At this point the only thing Tommen will be doing is wearing a Septon's robes or forging a chain in Oldtown."
"I see."
"Tommen's a good boy, but he's the softest lad I've ever met. He loves kittens and sweets and is useless with a sword in his hand. I'd sooner cut my balls off than send him to a battlefield."
"Not every lord can claim to be a martial genius." Ned offered after a moment. "Just look at Mace Tyrell."
The boom of Robert's laughter startled a passing maid as they entered the keep. "Tommen might be useless with a sword, but at least he's not soft in the head like the Fat Flower. Father forbid." Blue eyes tracked the last minute bustle of wedding preparations. "No. I'll send the lad to the Faith or to Oldtown. He'd thank me for it. I've got plenty of sons already, and if something ever happened to Joff there's still Stannis."
Drawing his brows together in thought as Robert finally led the Stark party to their assigned rooms, Ned frowned. "Stannis is unmarried, and not likely at all to have any natural children, if what I've heard is true."
"If it came down to it, my brother would grit his teeth, get married and do his duty." Shrugging, Robert threw open the door. "But enough of that. We've got a wedding to get ready for."
The Red Viper
Oberyn swore beneath his breath as he caught his good-brother's shaking form and lowered Rhaegar onto the king's bed. It was a bit of a blessing that Elia was elsewhere in the Red Keep with Ellaria – his sister never enjoyed seeing her husband in pain. And with the Tears of Lys running through his veins, no doubt that Rhaegar was in blazing agony.
The generations of Targaryen incest had strengthened the Valyrian blood in Rhaegar, but it wouldn't surprise the Red Viper if that same incest had weakened Rhaegar's natural resistance to poison. Whenever it was time for Oberyn's good-brother to take another dose of poison to increase his body's resistance to toxins, Rhaegar always sickened for longer and in greater pain than anyone else in their mish-mashed family. Even Elia wasn't given as much pain when the poison burned through her. Rhaella had been weak in body, and Aerys had been weak in mind. Rhaegar was a good king and a strong warrior, but the silver king must have inherited some weakness from his parents.
Giving small doses of poison to strengthen resistance was common sense as far as Oberyn was concerned. On the surface, he had no quarrel with the idea of dosing his paramour, his sister, his good-brother, his daughters, his nieces and nephews, or himself. But the Red Viper was not a stupid man. Rhaegar's worry over poison was more than natural caution. It was the fear of a man that knows that death may soon try to strike within his home.
The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was just like Doran however; secretive and always playing the long game. And as much as Oberyn loved his brother and good-brother, he wouldn't deny that they were both fucking frustrating.
Doran and Rhaegar were up to something, and neither of them would tell him what it was. The lack of information only made Oberyn more paranoid, and the more paranoid he was the more the Red Viper was suspicious of everyone and everything. Different scenarios twisted up in the realm of Oberyn's imagination.
Had Varys come to Rhaegar with warnings of an assassination contract? Were Rhaegar and Doran preparing to do something foolish and provoke powerful enemies into trying to kill them? Was a rebellion imminent? Was Westeros going to commit armies to a war with the Summer Islands for the sake of that fool Jalabhar Xho?
The worries cycled fiercer and fiercer every day until Oberyn found himself watching everyone with a jaundiced eye. When a lion-emblazoned letter came for Tywin Lannister, the Red Viper was wondering if it was filled with coded plans to assassinate his sister's family and marry Joanna Lannister to Aegon or Viserys. When Stannis Baratheon ground his teeth particularly hard at council, Oberyn wondered if the man was getting impatient about putting one of the Baratheons on the throne rather than Renly's flamboyant foolishness.
"Seven Hells!" Rhaegar gritted through clenched teeth, lips pulled back in a constant snarl. Sweat beaded over the Dragon King's pale forehead, and with a frown Oberyn pressed a towel to his goodbrother's weeping skin.
"Ride it through, Rhaegar." The Red Viper ordered absently, furrowing his dark brows as he fell back into his musings. Paranoia and the few obvious hints aside, Oberyn couldn't really point fingers at any one party in particular.
Tywin Lannister, despite his fearsome reputation and utterly amoral hunger for family glory, had given Rhaegar apparently loyal service over the past two decades. There had never been a single whisper of treason.
Robert Baratheon was a whoremonger and a fool. Renly Baratheon was a fairy and a fool. Stannis Baratheon was a bore and a fool. One brother was consumed with thoughts of cunts, another with cocks, and the last with duty. Despite the rebellion and their blood claim, there was no real hunger for plots in their corner.
Who then? The Fat Flower didn't have the brains between his ears to be a serious threat to anyone. Olenna Redwyne had the ability, but what motive did the woman have to begin moving against the throne when Highgarden was isolated and unable to really capitalize on it?
Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark were notoriously consumed with honor. Jaime Lannister was known more for his blade then his brains. Hoster Tully was by all accounts growing more frail and forgetful by the day, and would doubtless be in the ground before year's end.
Pinching his nose in disgust, Oberyn chased all thoughts of plots and plotters away. His mind was only running deeper and deeper into the same circles, and it was all useless. The Red Viper spared another glance at Rhaegar's shivering form and rose to his feet.
White ringmail faintly jingled as Oberyn began to pace,dark eyes flickering as he stared out the window over King's Landing. Only a month remained until Viserys and Valaena publicly bound themselves as husband and wife at the Great Sept of Baelor, and Aegon would have his dual marriage with Rhaenys and Daenerys a week after that.
Already the nobility of the realm were trickling into the Conqueror's city. The Tyrells had shown up half a moon past, and Arianne shortly after that. The Lannister party was half a month out, if ravens were to believed. The Blackfish and Edmure Tully were slowly winding their way traveling through the Crownlands and would be in the city any day. Elbert Arryn was remaining in the Vale for the wedding, though his heir was coming south in the company of his Tully kin. And the Starks and Baratheons would ride for King's Landing once the marriage of the Stark girl and the Baratheon boy was done.
A vicious grin pulled across the Red Viper's handsome face, and with a quiet laugh Oberyn slammed his palms onto the windowsill. So many players, so much power concentrated in one place. It made him nostalgic.
Someone might even die.
Bran
His father's chair dwarfed him. Resting his heel on his knee, Bran sunk back into the wolf furs and hard wood that had been built for his grandfather Rickard Stark. Maester Luwin perched on a stool at his right hand, whispering to the acting Lord of Winterfell when judgments needed to be made.
It helped the seven year old boy make the right choices - especially when the only family left in Winterfell to him was the increasingly sullen Arya. Mother and Father had gone South with Sansa for her wedding with Joff, Robb having been ordered to come along in search of a betrothal at the wedding of Prince Aegon. Three year old Rickon - still fussy and in need of his mother - was being kept out of sight and quiet no doubt.
And Jon was gone, galloping South in the dark of night with all the gold he and his siblings could scrape together. His bastard brother was full of rage and hurt at having been denied the chance to go to the watch by both their father and Uncle Benjen. Bran and Robb both agreed that it probably had less to do with Jon being too young and green for the Wall and more to do with their father not being ready yet to let the Bastard of Winterfell go.
So they'd concocted a lie. Robb and Bran and Jon and Arya all together, hiding gold and plans until their parents were gone and then telling the servants and Maester Lewin that Jon was being sent to the Wall after all. Their father would be furious when their deception was discovered, and the thought of the Quiet Wolf's anger made Bran shake in his boots. But Jon was a man grown, and it wasn't right for their father to make him stay in Winterfell when he wanted to leave any longer. Nor was it right to continue to hide Jon's mother away from him.
"This is the last petition before we break for the midday meal, Lord Bran." Maester Lewin murmured quietly, hands folded in the grey wool of his sleeves.
Sucking a breath in through his nostrils, Bran ran a tidying hand through his auburn strands before nodding at the guard standing by the huge doors of the Great Hall. Truthfully, Bran hated hearing petitions. People seemed to fight over the silliest things, and it was Robb that had a taste for being a lordling. Bran had only ever wanted to be a knight - something looking further and further away once his lord father had told him he'd hold Moat Cailin once he was of age.
The ancient fortress had decayed into ruin over the thousands of years since it been raised by the First Men, until King Rhaegar had ordered Father to make all efforts to repair it. The work had been going on longer than Bran had been alive, and would take several more years to complete. But once it was done, Father and Mother promised his holding would be the envy of all the North after Winterfell, and that his line would hold the Neck for Robb's line against all invaders South or North.
Worries about his ability to be a great knight aside, he was a little bit pleased by that.
Once Bran was a man and Lord of Moat Cailin, Lyanna Mormont was to be his wife, unless the betrothal fell through.
Bran wasn't sure how he felt about that, just like he wasn't sure how he felt about Rickon's betrothal to a yet unborn daughter of Halys Hornwood. But marriages and bloodlines were the basis of alliances, and so long as he and his trueborn brothers lived, the North would have the friendship of the Vale and the Riverlands. Which meant it was up to Rickon and Bran to strengthen Stark power in the North where Robb would marry even further South and expand their alliances.
A pale man with paler eyes stepped into the Great Hall, and as Bran took in the sight of a pink cloak wrapped around the Lord's thin body, he knew who he was. The acting Lord of Winterfell didn't need Maester Luwin's worried whisper to realize that he was staring down at the Lord of the Dreadfort.
"Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Bolton." Bran greeted in his best Lord's voice, shoving down the fear the began to skitter over his nerves like spiders. "You've traveled far to Winterfell, though I admit that we were not expecting you. What aid can I offer you, my Lord?"
Roose Bolton knelt just a hair to slowly to be respectful, before the thin man rose to his feet and pinned Bran with his awful eyes. "I had hoped to see your father, young Lord Bran. Has he ridden out recently?"
"My lord father has taken a ship to the South in order to attend the wedding of my sister Sansa to our former ward, Joffrey Baratheon. A raven was sent out to the lords of the North informing them of his planned absence moons ago."
Pale wormy lips twitched as the Bolton Lord gave a faint chilling smile. "How unfortunate. The raven must have been lost. This has been a particularly stormy year in my holding."
Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.
Bran forced his face into what he hoped was a welcoming grin, but what was more likely a pale grimace. "It is no trouble, my Lord. What had you hoped to speak of with my father? Perhaps I can offer some help."
Bony shoulder shrugged as Roose Bolton gave what seemed to be a contrived sigh before continuing to speak in his soft cold voice. "Sadly young Lord, this matter can only be decided by Lord Stark. I am seeking a bride for my son Ramsey, and I had the thought to ask for the hand of Lady Arya for him. It seemed a matter best discussed in person, so I rode to Winterfell myself."
Cold sweat broke out on the back of Bran's neck at the mere thought of mingling blood with the descendents of the Red Kings through his sister's womb. "I understand, but regretfully I can't help you with this matter. Perhaps send a raven in a few moons to schedule and schedule a meeting with my lord father." Father would no doubt refuse more firmly -heir to the Dreadfort Ramsey may now be, but he was still just a legitimized bastard.
"Of course." Lord Bolton agreed, staring at Bran with expectation. The silence became uncomfortable with the Lord of the Dreadfort clearly expecting the hospitality of Winterfell offered and Bran having no intention of giving it.
Eventually Roose Bolton broke it himself, whispering a chilling goodbye and sweeping out of the Great Hall with the emblem of the tortured Flayed Man on his back.
Bran sagged with relief, waving off Maester Luwin's worried hand on his shoulder. His father needed to return soon. There was no chance that was a last Winterfell would see of Lord Roose, and every Stark for the last thousand years could all agree on one thing.
Never trust a fucking Bolton.
Jon
Sweat slicked his dark curls to his forehead as Jon crossed into the Reach. Pressing low to his chestnut mare, Jon dug his heels into the horse's sides to urge more speed from her. Ghost loped easily beside him, panting slightly in the heat of the South. Even with the wind in his face, Jon Snow found it nearly unbearable.
The Riverlands had been warm enough. The Westerlands even warmer, and the Reach the warmest yet. Dorne would be even warmer. Not for the first time Jon longed for the crisp cold of the North and the snow of the Wolfswood.
Shielding his eyes from the slanting red light of dusk, Jon thoughtfully chewed the inside of his cheek. It was hard to judge sundown for the northern youth. The further South he traveled, the longer the days seemed to become, and the longer he spent in the saddle.
Goldengrove could be no more than week's travel, if the Westerman he'd spoken to in the last mining village Jon had stopped into was to be believed. Despite the reputation of the people of the Westerlands, Jon had found them far more helpful and far less obsessed with gold than he'd expected. Unlike the Riverlanders, who he'd found to be far less hospitable than he'd been told they would be.
Though perhaps that could be blamed on Jon's bastardry. The way the people in Catelyn Tully's homeland had gone ice cold after hearing he was Jon Snow had shocked him. The hate his father's wife had for bastards was less personal than he'd thought it was. A kindly Septon had explained it to Jon.
All men and women of the Riverlands hated bastards. Apparently, the maesters attributed it to millennia of Ironborn raids and the conquering kings from the Iron Islands. There was no greater shame in the Riverlands than to bear a bastard or be one. The stigma of rape and cuckolding that the Ironborn had given bastards remained three centuries after Aegon the Conqueror burnt Black Harren's line and forced the Ironborn to kneel with dragonfire.
The unfairness of it all stung Jon. Once more, he was being hated and looked at coldly for being a bastard. He'd survived a lifetime in the North with Lady Stark's cold eyes, never knowing the warmth of his mother's arms. Jon had thought he could survive it, because eventually he could join the Watch and man the Wall with black brothers who cared not for birth or status.
Then his father and Uncle Benjen had destroyed his hopes. The way they had united to reject him - calling Jon too young and too green to make oaths or fight for his own honor still burnt deep in his belly. The rejection had hardened him, and forged Jon's half-hearted convictions into steel resolve.
If Jon was not going to be permitted to go to the Wall, then he was going South to find his mother. It hadn't been that hard to find her name - Eddard Stark's journals helped - but both breaking into those forbidden journals and riding south would boil the Quiet Wolf's blood.
Lord Stark might decide to send him off to the Wall after all, and for helping him Robb would be mucking out the stables for the rest of his life. Jon snorted bitterly, pulling his horse to a slower trot as the shadows grew too long to ride safely - he didn't the mare to step in a rabbit hole and break her leg.
Searching the horizon, Jon swiftly found a small copse of trees poking out of the fertile Reach grasslands. The Bastard of Winterfell nudged his steed towards it, Ghost loping at their heels until Jon dismounted and tied the mare to one of the leafy greens for the night.
Only once he'd stopped traveling south for the night did Jon allow a goofy grin to stretch over his lips. "Ashara Dayne." he availed, tasting every syllable and twisting them on his tongue like an utter fool. Then Jon dared to quietly hopefully presume in little more than a whisper.
"Mother."
Blinking the hot sting of salt away, Jon dropped to the soft grass and stretched out. Ghost quickly padded up and flopped down beside him, curling into Jon's side like a giant furry white pillow.
They said there was no shame in being a bastard in Dorne, and for his own greedy sake Jon hoped that was true. He'd gone all his life without a love of his mother, but that hadn't stopped Jon from wanting it. And more than anything, Jon wanted to ride into Starfall and be embraced by his lady mother with love rather than shame.
Jon wanted it more than he wanted to be legitimized as a Stark.
But since she'd given him up to his father and never sent him letters, Jon doubted that would be the case. He dreamt of welcoming arms, a sweet voice, and laughing violet eyes. But reality was more likely to be cool disdain, quiet resentment, and a brood of trueborn Dayne brothers and sisters.
Which was fine, Jon grit his teeth and as hot tears blurred his vision. Even if his mother rejected him like Lady Catelyn had rejected him, he still had his father - once Lord Stark's anger cooled. He still had Bran and Arya and little Rickon. And he had Robb, his brother who in another life might as well have been his twin.
Robb, who was so guilty after breaking his heart as children by denying his ability to ever be Lord of Winterfell that the redhead had taken to raging at anyone who insulted Jon's bastardry. Robb, who had once lied to their father and pretended to be sweet on Alys Karstark, so that Jon and Alys could kiss in the Godswood as foolish children do without earning the ire of Lord Karstark. Robb, who had shared every lesson and been there for every bruise. Robb, who had given Jon his own horse and the gold he'd been saving since childhood so Jon could ride south and find his mother.
Jon wanted his mother. He even vaguely wanted more siblings. But he didn't need them, so long as he had his father and brother.
Aegon
"With this kiss I pledge my love."
Smiling politely, Aegon clapped along with the crowd as his kinsman leaned in and pressed his lips to Sansa Stark's. A raucous cheer echoed off the walls of the sept, which only intensified as the bride broke away from her new husband with a demure blush.
The Targaryen prince winked at his bored sister, clapping until the skin of his palms went numb and the newlyweds proceeded out of the sept. It was a handsome ceremony, Aegon had to admit.
Both bride and groom were beautiful, and their clothes only accentuated that. Fine blue silk brought out Sansa Stark's Tully blue eyes, and the mingled gold and black made Joffrey Baratheon look strong and virile. Surrounded by the fine-wrought finery of Storm's End's sept, the marriage was like one out of a maiden's fantasy.
It made the heir to the Iron Throne dread how utterly pompous his own marriage ceremony would be.
Rhaenys took his arm and near dragged Aegon along, moving with the flow of the crowd as the guests and families of the bride and groom trickled from the sept to the feasting hall. Fine Myrish hunting tapestries decorated the walls of the enormous room as they spilled into the hall, broken here and there by older tapestries depicting war, Aegon's conquest, and the ancient tale of Durran Godsgrief.
Servants directed various lords to their seats and the high table or one of the lower tables. Aegon and his sister were shown seats are Robert Baratheon's left hand, being greeted absently by the boisterous lord before he turned back to conversing eagerly with Lord Stark.
Smirking to himself as Rhaenys grew visibly more impatient, Aegon slouched back in his seat and gave his sister an indolent look. "This is truly marvelous, is it not?" he simpered, teasing the hot-blooded young woman.
Rhaenys had no patience for softness. Though she could be arrogant and stand on airs for her own glorification, his older sister hated having to act like a genteel lady for the benefit of the various lords of the realm. A true Visenya.
"My friends!" Robert boomed gaily, bringing the dull roar of chatter to a standstill. The Lord of Storm's end rose to his feet, goblet of wine in hand. "Like me, I'm sure all of you grew up with maesters and septas lecturing you on the need for good manners. So let me say what I'm sure we've all been thinking at one point or another: bugger that!"
The Stormlords burst in chuckles, though the odd guest here and there looked appalled at the Baratheon's crass informality.
"Thank you for coming to celebrate the wedding of my bonny lad Joffrey and the beautiful Sansa Stark! Now dig in, drink deep, and don't be afraid to get your cocks wet!"
"Short and clumsy." Rhaenys murmured over the lip of her wine goblet. "Do you think he performs similarly in the bedroom?"
Turning his head to stare at her, Robert cocked a mocking eyebrow. "I think you might be confusing me for your brother here."
"Are you sure you're not projecting your own insecurities?" Aegon complained to them both, patting Rhaenys' head to chase away her expression of shock. Evidently, she hadn't expected to be heard over the sounds of the feast. "Time for a dance, don't you think sister?"
Taking his sputtering sibling by the hand, Aegon led her down to the open floor where the younger couples had just begun to step to the lively music. Led into a thumping Stormlander dance by the newlyweds, the royals began to move.
Aegon tore his eyes away from his slowly brightening betrothed - Rhaenys always enjoyed a good party once the formality was over and wine began to flow - searching for familiar faces in the crowd as his body began to stomp and clap to the rhythm.
There was the bride's family and the groom's family of course. Lord and Lady Stark remained at the High table, clad in matching white and grey wool ensembles. Robert and Stannis Baratheon similarly matched in fine black and cloth of gold silks, though the younger brother could be seen visibly grinding his teeth away. Cersei Baratheon still dressed like a Lannister, lounging in a sheer red grown that plunged scandalously between her breasts.
The typical clustering of Stormlands bannermen could be found easily as well. Beric Dondarrion danced with his Dayne bride. The greying Lord Gulian Swann was chugging down the Dornish sour that had been brought up for the wedding. The Estermonts - cousins to the reigning Lord through his mother - verily cluttered the place up.
Houses from further afield could be identified by the emblems sewn onto their doublets or cloaks. The money-grubbing Arryns of Gulltown. More spawn of the Late Lord Frey. Some Velayron cousins to his soon-to-be Aunt Valaena.
There was even a tiny Reachman contingent, with a single Tyrell knight and Lord Tarly of the Horn Hill lurking in the background like thieves. How very bold considering few Reach Lords had dared to venture out of the Reach itself for the past decade on threat of the Fat Flower's displeasure.
And of course, Lannisters. Old Tywin had damn near flooded the place with gold-haired distant cousins to the groom. Lannisters of the Rock. Lannisters of Lannisport. Lannister fops he knew well from his youth in the capital. Lannister Lords and Lannister Knights and Lannister Ladies.
The Imp was conspicuous by his absence.
Dark hair and the glitter of violent eyes drew Aegon's gaze in shocked recognition. The lady gave him a mocking wink and held a finger over her lip in a teasing gesture of silence before drawing up her septa's hood.
Drawing Rhaenys closer than was strictly proper, the prince lowered his mouth to his sister's ear. "Take a look over in the corner, dear sister."
Poisonous violet eyes blinked at him before Rhaenys shrugged and peeked over his shoulder. "Huh. Well would you look at that. 'Septa Lemore'. Wonder what she's up to?"
"I wonder."
(AN): Another 5000. Wrote this one out at the cottage since the house was sold. There's not much out here to do, so hopefully the next one comes up soon. Or we get a new house to live in.
Jon - I had originally planned for him to be sent off to the Wall. But I tend to find pretty much everything about the Wall and Jon's story there boring as fuck after the first time reading it in the books. So after reading back through to make sure that I hadn't referenced him being at the Wall. Since I didn't, I'm free to do other things with him - like build up the Robb-Jon brotherhood and introduce conflict about his mother.
History of the North - this got some play in the side of Bran and Jon's scenes. I feel like an essential part of making Westeros feel appropriately big and multicultural should include fleshing out the backstory of different regions. GRRM did some of that for us, but has left a lot to conjecture. So I'm trying to fill that space up and make it have impact on the characters. Hence, "never trust a fucking Bolton". Conflicts and friendships between Houses are inevitable when your Houses go back thousands of years.
The Red Kings of the Dreadfort were the Starks' most hated enemy, to the point of making cloaks from the skins of Starks. So even though they knelt to Winterfell before the Marsh Kings in order to defeat the Andals, that enmity has persisted through the centuries. In my head canon, Karhold was built on land conquered from the Boltons after a rebellion in order to give the Starks an ally in the East for later wars with the Boltons. This shared kinship and shared struggle in war for a thousand years have bound the Karstarks and Starks together, and the Karstarks can be considered the Starks' most loyal bannermen.
House Umber are not considered kin to the Starks, but as typical canon and fanon goes they are all fiercely loyal to Winterfell. As far as my head canon goes, I'll write that its the result of the Kings of Winter sending aid to the Umbers when the Umber Kings were being invaded from both directions by the Red Kings and a King-Beyond-the-Wall. The Umber King at the time swore fealty to Winterfell, and after the Stark King at the time married his sister they beat back the wildlings and Boltons. This, along with other wars beyond the wall and abductions of their sisters and daughters, means the Umbers hate the wildlings more than any other northern house, though they're closer in kin to the wildlings than any other house.
It's established canon that House Mormont were always bannermen of the Starks and given Bear Island after the Starks won it from the Ironborn.
Given these facts, the betrothals of Bran and Rickon took shape. Bran is betrothed to a Mormont to demonstrate the rewards of loyalty, and Rickon is to be married to the daughter of the Hornwood to bind them closer to the Starks and further isolate the Boltons (Remember the Dreadfort has Karhold to the Northeast, the Hornwood to the South, and Last Hearth to the Northwest). The Boltons are "loyal", but no Stark would trust them given their cruelty, their cunning, and their general propensity to rebel against the Starks given opportunity, and as the second most powerful House in the North, they are always a threat.
Inb4 "Ned can't into politics". Eddard Stark is an honourable lord that always tries to do the right thing, and yes, he's not into the whole "ten year plot to cuckold the king and rule the realm" sort of thing. But the importance of proper marriage alliances - with your friends, your enemies, and neutral parties - is pretty basic as far as feudal lording goes. Every single lord to ever lord knows about it, even if they don't all practice it (i.e Robb and Jeyne Westerling).
Moat Cailin - has no given lord in canon. Which makes sense since it's just three moldy run-down watchtowers. I know it seems far from Winterfell to not have a lord of its own, but given the history and condition of Moat Cailin this is really the only conclusion I can draw. It was won from the Marsh Kings when the Kings of Winter made them kneel, and as far as I'm concerned marks the southern boundary of lands held directly by Winterfell.
This might need some clarification, since there's Castle Cerwyn right next door. The Seven Kingdoms is a feudal setup. Which means there are Kings, Lords directly under the Kings, Lords under those Lords, possibly Lords under those Lords, possibly Lords under those Lords, and so on. In the real world, we differentiate these Lords by title which is very convenient. But GRRM didn't feel like making things easy for readers, so we're left with everyone being called "Lord" except the King and we must puzzle out relationships ourselves.
As far as I'm concerned, in the real world Winterfell would be called a Duchy. So there would be the Duke of Winterfell. Duke of Karhold. Duke of the Dreadfort. Duke of Last Hearth. All of these "duchies" are under the King in the North, and later Lord Paramountcy of the North. These "duchies" evolved out of former kingdoms, and their borders are often defined by the history of war between those kingdoms. Which means although the "Duchy of the Hornwood" might be equal in rank theoretically to the "Duchy of Winterfell", in practice the domain of the Lord of Winterfell is four and five times the size of other domains of equal rank.
What makes Winterfell special is not it being Winterfell, but that it's the seat of the Lord Paramount of the North. Theoretically, it's equal in rank to the Lordship of the Dreadfort and if the King decided to make the Boltons the Lords Paramount without changing land borders, you'd have the odd situation of a bannerman more powerful, richer, and with more land than his overlord.
This separation of Lord Paramountcy from Lordship of Winterfell means legally speaking that when a House goes extinct with no heirs it defaults back to being governed by the Lord Paramount (and before that the King in the North) separately from their personal demesne. So Eddard Stark governs not only Winterfell and its lands, but those lands held by the Lord Paramount. I'm tempted to make a map so I can put different Houses in different places. But that's academic and getting off point.
Lordship of Moat Cailin can be really considered in the feudal context to be equal to a Barony or at most a County, and marks the current southern boundary of lands held by the "Duchy" of Winterfell. Castle Cerwyn is at most a barony, though given proximity to Winterfell is probably much smaller than that. A baronetcy or an even smaller fief. I can really only picture it as a single keep or tower, and it likely has origins in being built for a minor Stark child very early on in their conquests, when they were petty kings competing with other petty kings within a small region.
Meera Reed - despite being considered Bran's one true ship by worldwide fanon, she's realistically too old to be his wife in feudal times when there are other similar options (in terms of alliance and loyalty) for Bran. She's the same age as Robb, and makes the most sense as a wife for him (or Jon).
Robb Pairing - originally, I'd planned to ship him off with Margaery. But DizzyDG has given me a taste for RobbxFemOCLannister and a Robb-Jaime friendship, so I'm not sure anymore. Let me know what y'all think.