ACT ONE.
ONE.
Winterfell grew larger in the distance, standing tall against the vast northern landscape. Daena's stomach grew tight into knots, anxiety rising in her chest — despite having prepared for this moment, she was still so uncertain of what would become of her.
She was not sure she was ready to trade the waves of Driftmark for the snows of Winterfell — but this choice was not her own. She was a pawn in her mother's game, at the mercy of her father and marriage alliances, and the man she was to marry. That was her duty, to be a good daughter, and eventually a good wife.
She had not quite surmised why her father — Lord Lucerys Velaryon — had made this match. In the grand scheme of things, she knew the North was the largest of the Seven Kingdoms (in the matter of land mass, not population), but playing the Game, was the Reach or Dorne not more of a bigger player? Even the Riverlands seemed to have more value than the North.
The Velaryons were an old family, having settled off the coast of Westeros on a fruitful island long before the Targaryens arrived, seeing the potential of becoming powerful merchants. The Targaryens and Celtigars followed after Daenys the Dreamer had seen the Doom of Valyria in a prophetic dream. A little more than a hundred years later, Aegon's Conquest began, eventually taking all Seven Kingdoms as his own, the Velaryons becoming faithful vassals.
Daena grabbed hold of the seahorse pendant, the symbol of her House, on her neck, hoping it would steady her heart. Her father had given it to her not long after her tenth nameday, despite her mother's protests — "my children are dragons!". But, it brought a comfort to her.
The North was quiet, more-so than the island of her birth, but Daena knew the approaching castle would be her home. She would have to grow accustomed to the chill and the wind and the summer snows. This would be the place she would marry and have her children and grow old.
Her sister made a small groan from across from her. Daena's purple eyes flickered from the window to the face of Viserra. She usually had her hair unruly and unkept, running along the shores, barefoot with her platinum hair in the wind. Viserra certainly was not a traditional lady, or adhered to being proper like her mother always wanted, but she was the apple of her father's eye. She was only three-and-ten, but their mother was trying to rein her in hard, despite Lucerys fostering her free spirited nature.
Helaena was trying her best to pull her daughter's hair out of her face, as she had gotten it loose since the handmaiden had done it up that morning. A Northern style, which nearly mirrored Daena's — with the exception of the traditional Targaryen braids, but Daena was certain no one in the North would notice.
"Viserra." Helaena hissed, pulling her hair back harshly and tying it off. "For the sake of your family, be a lady."
Viserra frowned but quit fidgeting, taking a long breath before looking over at her sister. Her crystalline eyes were wide in annoyance, but her lips were pulled tight. Both daughters knew better than to cross their mother. Helaena was not a kind woman, especially not after her brother's throne had been stolen by a usurper stag.
The only other sibling in the family who had lived past infancy was also the oldest and the "golden child". Jacaerys was their mother's biggest pawn in the Great Game — while not a Targaryen in name, Helaena had every intention of getting her only son onto the Iron Throne. With fire and blood, if necessary. He had more claim than that of Robert Baratheon (or any of his bastard children) — but Helaena knew how to play it smart. No one could know of her treasonous thoughts.
As the Velaryons approached the gates, a sinking feeling filled Daena's belly. She glanced at her sister for some semblance of reassurance — Viserra was odd, surely, but her gut feelings or premonitions usually turned out to be true. Viserra only blinked at her, with a small smile.
When the wheelhouse stopped, Daena knew this would either be her end or her beginning. She had never been very political, despite her mother's ramblings and her father's strict teachings, but no occasion had ever called for it during her youth. Her parents believed she was inept, perhaps that was why they chose the North for her — since it had no value in the grand scheme of things. The Lord Paramount of the North, Eddard Stark would never side against the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon.
Daena was escorted to her betrothed by her brother. Her eyes scanned over the Starks, first to Eddard and his wife, Catelyn, to their children. Robb's eyes struck her first, as they were watching her intently; icy grey, cold and unyielding, much like the North itself. He had auburn curls and a freshly shaved face — he was handsome for a northerner, Daena thought.
Next was Torrhen, who was younger than Robb by only a year and a few moons. He looked starkly more northern than Robb, face much more like his father — with the same eyes and stony features — not quite opposite of Robb. His hair was pulled back, sides partially shaved, with a handful of northern-style braids spread along the top. If Daena were to guess what a wildling would look like, her guess would be somewhere in the realm of Torrhen, if his smile had not been so sweet.
Sansa was clearly a Tully, a spitting image of her mother — the exact opposite of Torrhen. Tully baby blue eyes, fire red hair and pretty ivory features. Nearly porcelain and delicate, in certain ways. Arya was much the same as Torrhen, except her eyes were so dark they were almost black. While Robb seemed to be the perfect mix of his parents, Torrhen, Sansa and Arya had all clearly taken sides — both physically, and Daena ventured to guess, in their mentalities as well. Brandon looked very much like Arya and their father, but something about his features seemed very much like his mother. Rickon, the youngest, was a mix, although not clearly: curly dark hair and stone blue eyes.
Daena spotted a mop of curly black hair behind the Starks, his eyes avoiding the newcomers, but when she finally caught sight of them, there was no denying he was Eddard's bastard Jon Snow. His eyes were so grey they were almost black, and Daena thought that his mother had left none of herself in his features. Standing next to him was the ward, Theon Greyjoy, an annoying smirk adorning his face.
She turned her eyes back to Robb, "My Lord." said Daena, her cheeks pink and her smile shy.
"My Lady." said Robb in return, with a smile of his own as he kissed the knuckles of her outstretched hand.
After introductions, Daena kept her eyes on Robb for as long as she could, wondering what thoughts lingered behind his eyes. What did he think of her? Was he delighted? Or perhaps annoyed? Did he care, or would he become one of those husbands who only cared for heirs?
The Velaryons did look starkly like Targaryens, given their shared ancestry of Old Valyria — and they did look vastly different from northerners. Blonde hair that edged on white, with pale ivory skin and sea-foam blue eyes, or in Daena's case, wisteria purple that were hauntingly Targaryen. Perhaps that was why they were all staring at her.
Daena cast her eyes downward, an embarrassed blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks. Her mother learned how to deal with the looks after the fall of her brother, King Aerys, but Daena had never really met anyone outside of her household — her mother treating her like a forbidden treasure so she would not be polluted by the world.
Even when Lucerys served as King Robert's Master of Ships, Helaena rarely let her children venture far from Driftmark, especially not into the brewing cesspool that King's Landing had become. Perhaps Helaena had glorified her earlier years in the capitol — gold and glittering and with no fault — but now all she could see were the glowing failures of the Usurper King.
Daena was not overly fond of the look Catelyn Stark was giving her, lingering on her face like she had something to say. She was the daughter of the last known Targaryen in Westeros and was set to marry her eldest son. House Targaryen and House Stark had been on opposing sides during the Rebellion, with the Velaryons allegiance flipping from King Aerys to his son Rhaegar, knowing he would have made a good king (despite the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark and the dishonor he left on his wife, Elia Martell). In the end, the new Baratheon king had allowed the Velaryons to keep their lands and titles.
Catelyn and Helaena both wondered briefly how they had gotten here. Robb Stark was such an outlandish choice for Lord Velaryon to consider — any other House that was much more southern was more logical. Especially vassal houses of House Baratheon, to further solidify their allegiance to the crown. But the Starks were an old House, once a long line of kings and now trusted allies to the current king. The Velaryons had lost a good bit of power after the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty, but Lucerys did not intend to stay weak forever. His fleet grew in size and power, slowly becoming an envy of the seas again and now all he needed were the alliances.
Eddard Stark had been considerably surprised when the letter arrived asking to formerly meet in White Harbor to discuss a marriage proposal. Curious about such a proposal from the Lord of the Tides, Eddard set south with a small party of trusted guards.
It was set in stone by the time both men returned home and only five moons later, the Velaryons set out for Winterfell with wedding plans hanging in the air.
Daena thought she would not care about how she got married, but with ideas of a very northern ceremony, she thought maybe she did care. She had never been highly devoted to the Faith of the Seven, despite it being her mother's faith since childhood. Her father occasionally made mention of a "fire god" throughout her life, speaking prayers to R'hllor in High Valyrian that Daena would frequently eavesdrop on, curious if nothing else. Outwardly, however, the entire Velaryon family seemed to worship the Seven Faced God — and those were ceremonies Daena grew up idolizing.
Her room was in the Guest House, along with the rest of her family. It was nice, set with an alight hearth, a bed with wool blankets and furs, a small desk and plenty of candles. She had a vanity, a closet and a bathtub, common things for a lady's room. There wasn't the same chill, which was a relief, but she still sat beside the fire to feel its warmth.
It felt like home.
Helaena made her way into Daena's room, a tiny smile on her face. She sat beside her, watching the fire with her daughter, humming gently.
"The Starks used to be kings," she said. "before they knelt to Aegon Targaryen, your ancestor." Helaena kissed her daughter's forehead. "Never let them forget it."
Confused, she watched her mother leave — to scheme with her father or earn favor with Catelyn, she was not sure. Daena pondered her mother's words, uncertain. She was only a lady and knew not how to make men kneel, nor did she know if that was what she wanted. She had dreamed of love, but growing up with the mother she had, she was never foolish enough to believe in it.
There was a soft knocking on her door and she walked to the door to answer it. A woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, was waiting on the other side.
"Sorry to intrude, my lady — I only wished to introduce myself as your new lady-in-waiting." she said first. "Laurel of House Ryswell, at your service."
Daena smiled. Her last lady-in-waiting, Lyra Celtigar, had been sent off to be married to Artys Royce before the Velaryons departed from Driftmark. She supposed Lord Celtigar did not wish for his daughter to be sent north. "A pleasure to meet you, Laurel."
Laurel nodded, bowing her head slightly before excusing herself to her room. It was a slight comfort to know she had another lady — but how much could she trust her?
Daena sighed, wishing her friends could have travelled with her, instead of just her two handmaidens, Elinda and Samantha. She knew having a northern lady-in-waiting would be beneficial once she married Robb, but they had only just met and they were still strangers.
She felt horribly alone.