Exhausted from a month of riding, Ashara wanted nothing more than to sleep on a warm bed. Ned had warned her not to fall asleep while riding. "If you sleep now in the cold, you will die," he cautioned. Following her faithfully from Dorne, Wylla cheerfully chirped to Ashara from dawn to dusk; Ashara was more than grateful for her company.
"We're almost there," Ned encouraged, spurring his horse closer to hers. "Can you see the walls? Come, Ashara! We are almost there!" Ashara had never seen him more happier.
As they approached Winterfell, Ashara felt the shadow of the looming granite wall of about eight feet high. Like spiked heads on the Red Keep's battlements, at least four guard turrets rose from the massive walls of Winterfell. The great main gates slowly swung open and a drawbridge crashed down over a wide moat of still water. Ashara reined her horse into a trot and followed Ned, swallowing a gasp as over thirty watch turrets ascended from the overshadowing inner walls no shorter than a hundred feet. As they rode through more castle gates, the view of the Great Keep appeared, all the members of Winterfell's household standing in front of the wide doors, dipping their heads with respect.
Craning her head, Ashara caught a glimpse of a small grey man in woolly grey robes – he must be Maester Luwin. Standing beside him was a stouter man with large white whiskers, a sword peeking from his brown furred cloak. Apart from the maester and the solid man, Ashara could not recognise or differentiate any of the other northmen there…until she saw a thin man in black furs stride towards them, a broad grin on his face. He had dark hair like Ned's and sharp features, his blue eyes dancing with pleasure. "Ned!" he called. "It has been too long!"
A wide smile broke on Ned's face. "Ben!" he greeted back. "You look well, little brother! Very well indeed!" He dismounted his horse and gave him a tight hug. As they broke apart, Ned led him to Ashara before helping her descend from her own horse. Ashara nodded thanks and smiled politely at the other man as Wylla climbed down from her horse and dutifully cloak another layer of fox fur over Ashara's shoulders.
"Ben," said Ned warmly. "This is my lady wife, Lady Ashara Stark. Ashara, this is my brother Benjen." Before Ashara could speak to Benjen Stark, Ned whisked her in front of the waiting household. "You must be Maester Luwin," he said to the small grey man. "I heard nothing but good words about you."
"Lord Stark," spoke the maester, his thin hands clasped together as he dipped his head again. "Lady Stark. I hope you will have time to heed my advice during your tenure as Lord and Lady of Winterfell."
"I certainly will," promised Ned. He looked at the man with the large white whiskers beside him. "Ashara, this is Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms. The man next to him is his nephew, Jory. He is the captain of Winterfell's household guard. Vayon! I hope to hear an excellent report of the stores later. Ashara, Vayon Poole is my steward. Over there is the master of horse Hullen, the kennelmaster Farlen, the blacksmith Mikken, the cook Gage, the brewer Barth, the woman over there is Old Nan and her great-grandson Hodor, the stable boy. We of the North follow the old gods, but as you are of the Faith of the Seven, I have asked for a septon to join the household. He should be here in a few days." Ashara nodded and smiled at the servants and retainers warmly.
"I will take your horses milord, milady," the master of horse offered, stepping forward. "They must be exhausted." Ned nodded. "Please resume your duties," he told his household. "Lady Stark, Benjen and I will sup privately tonight. If any petitioner arrives, tell them to return tomorrow. Vayon, escort Lady Stark's maid Wylla to her quarters – the warmest one if you please. Wylla is Dornish and may find our Northern spring a little cold." He took Ashara's hand; it was surprisingly warm. "Come," he said softly. "I will show you your chambers." Leaving Benjen to chat with Maester Luwin, Ned ushered her into the Great Keep.
Upon entering, the coldness in Ashara's bones melted. Like Ned's hand, the Great Keep was warm. The walls were granite, like those of the inner and outer walls. "It was built over natural hot springs," Ned informed her. "Before we left King's Landing, I wrote to Ben, telling him to prepare the warmest chambers for you." He opened the doors. Ashara looked around and smiled. As Ned said, it was warm. A large bed covered with plump pillows and furs faced an empty hearth surrounded by a mantelpiece carved with twirls, direwolves and stars. Near the corner of the room was her vanity table; fashioned from oak with a matching oaken chair adorned with a grey wolf pelt made into a sort of cushion. Opposite it was a great wardrobe (oak again) and beside the bed was a small oaken table, home to a single stick of candle. "Vayon Poole will replace it when needed," Ned said to her. Ashara crossed the room and curiously pulled back the four heavy tapestries, opening the four high narrow windows. Instantly, a cold gust of wind soared in and sliced her cheek like a Valyrian blade. Ned gently closed the four windows. "Are you satisfied with your bedchamber?" he asked. "If you are not, I can always find your more-"
"It is perfect." Ashara kissed him on the cheek, "but what did you mean by 'my bedchamber'? I thought it is our bedchamber now."
Ned mumbled something inaudibly. Ashara pulled away. "What?"
"It is too warm," he said simply.
Ashara stared at him, amazed. Too warm? "Would you rather sleep outside on the beds of snow?" she teased.
"There is a letter for you." Ned changed the topic. He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a sealed letter. "It is from Starfall. I will be waiting outside if you need me." He kissed her and left. Ashara sat on her new bed and opened the letter, tears threatening to flood her eyes. She had not received a letter from Starfall in months, the last from her castellan informing her of Allyria's blooming health and their brother Lord Dayne's brief return. Her hands shaking, Ashara unfolded the letter and read.
Ashara,
I have returned to Starfall a few days ago to find you gone. If the castellan had not informed me of your marriage to Eddard Stark of Winterfell, I would have thought you were abducted or murdered. In Sunspear, the people are discontent. All they speak about is the injustice Robert Baratheon had shown, hence I have not heard of your marriage or departure to King's Landing.
I hope Lord Stark treats you well; he is said to be an honourable man. If Lord Stark had not wedded you, I would have married you to a Blackmont. Allyria is bonny and sweet, but she misses you greatly. I fear she will grow ill if she discovers you will someday live far away in the North. When will you return to Starfall, even for a short visit? It will not be long before Prince Doran or his castellan of Sunspear recalls me back; the prince probably worries I will impulsively march to King's Landing demanding justice for our brother Arthur's death. He has nothing to worry. Arthur died valiantly in battle as a true knight of the Kingsguard, following his king's – or Rhaegar Targaryen's – orders till the last. I have already commissioned a portrait of him to be hung with the other Swords of the Morning in Starfall and I am taking good care of Dawn. Only the best of my squires are permitted to wipe the blade or even hold it.
Once you receive this, please write back, Ashara. I am eager to hear how life as the Lady of Winterfell fares for you.
Your brother,
The Lord of Starfall.
Ashara shook her head and smiled. It was so typical of her brother to have signed with his title rather than his name. Ever since Dawn was bestowed upon Arthur and he was titled the new Sword of the Morning, their elder brother had began calling himself Lord Dayne more than his own name.
Before she married Ned, Ashara had considered fostering a few children once Allyria was a little older. Starfall was often more empty of people than full; not a suitable home for a child. She placed the letter beside the candle, making a note to find a box to put the letter – and future letters – in. She knew Ned would never pry, but at court, Catelyn had a habit of placing letters in a mahogany box carved with fish and stags; it sounded petty and slightly childish, but Ashara too longed for a special box to accommodate her letters. She had one – her mother's – in Starfall, but in the rushed preparations to King's Landing, she had forgotten to bring it with her.
Opening the door, Ashara found Ned speaking to a man, his tunic crested with the Stark sigil. Ned stopped and smiled as he saw her. "Ashara, this is Desmond, one of the household guards. I am also assigning him to be your sworn shield for the time being. Desmond will help you find your way around Winterfell when I am occupied with my duties. He will also stay outside your chambers during the night to protect you if I am away."
Ashara nodded. "That is kind of you Ned." Not many lords will assign sworn shields to their wives. "I've been thinking," she began, as they leisurely walked away, Desmond heading the other direction. "Perhaps when Allyria reaches her sixth name day, I will ask for her to be sent here…as a ward. For a year or two of course, before our brother decides to send her off to be fostered by another lord in Dorne. Please, hear me out. When we were in King's Landing, many ladies told me how fortunate I am to have wedded an honourable lord like you. Despite Allyria being a girl, I still want her to learn a thing or two from you before she is married off. I also want to spend more time with her." She waited patiently as Ned bit his lip in contemplation.
"Will Lord Dayne agree?" he said hesitantly.
Of course he will not. "I will convince him," said Ashara confidently. "There is plenty of time to convince him."
"Very well. As long as your brother consents, I am more than happy to foster your sister for a year or two. Before you write to him, I need to um, show you something." He led her through a labyrinth of corridors before opening a door surrounded by two stern men bearing the direwolf sigil. More household guards of Winterfell. Ned murmured to them softly and Ashara followed him in, her eyes immediately drawn to two oak cradles. "Is it not too early?" she questioned. "The babe is not due for another six months." She peered at the one closest to her and smiled. Baby Daenerys was sound asleep, her mouth ajar for a second. She will be beautiful when she grows up. It is a shame she will be known as a Dornish bastard rather than a Targaryen princess. When King Robert had left the fates of little Daenerys and her brother in Ned's care, it was Ashara who suggested naming the girl Daenerys, in honour of King Daeron II's sister whose marriage to the Prince of Dorne brought peace and Dorne into the fold.
Expecting it empty, Ashara peeped at the second, more ancient cradle, most likely the future bed for her own babe. To her utter astonishment, it was already usurped by another infant, a boy. Wisps of dark brown hair sprouted from his head and as he opened his eyes, Ashara saw they were dark grey; so dark that they already bordered upon black. There was no doubt the babe was a Stark. She turned and looked at Ned almost accusingly and fearful. "Whose son is that?" she said, her finger shaking violently as she pointed at the babe. Her heart throbbed as her honourable husband looked away, unable to meet her eye.
"Whose child is that?" Ashara repeated, crossing her arms.
"Mine." Ned finally met her gaze, his dark grey eyes reflecting sorrow. "His name is Jon. Jon Snow. He is my…my son." Ashara pursed her lips. Your son? She looked at the babe again. He looked almost a year old…
"Tell me." Ashara ordered. "Who is the bastard's mother? Which fair maiden caught the eye of the honourable Ned Stark? Is she highborn?"
His eyes grew hard. "Never ask me about Jon," he said, cold as ice. "He is my blood and that is all you need to know, my lady." He paused and said frostily, "Do not ever call him a bastard. A Snow he may be, he will be raised a Stark. You will treat him as you will your own son."
"No," said Ashara, staring back at him defiantly. "He is no son of mine. Have you not caused my family suffering enough? You killed my brother, forced me to go with you to King's Landing, foisted a Targaryen as a Dayne bastard and now you order me to love your BASTARD!" She laughed hysterically. "No. As long as I live, I will never accept Jon Snow in my family." She placed her hand protectively over her stomach. "I'm going home to Starfall," she said steadily. "I will raise our child to be an honourable man – one more honourable than his father. Even if you legitimise your bastard and make him your heir, so be it. At least my son will be happy and safe in Dorne."
"Safe? Our child will be safer here in Winterfell!"
"Not with the threat of a bastard half-brother lingering around. Besides, he is your firstborn son." She pointed accusingly at the bastard babe. "I heard people oft say that you will always love your firstborn the most. What will I tell our son if he asks why you always love your bastard more?"
Ned gave her a chilling look and turned, walking away wordlessly and leaving Ashara alone with the two babes. With a sigh, she smiled again at the sleeping Daenerys before frowning at Jon Snow, who stared back at her inquisitively with his wide, dark grey eyes.
"He will choose you, wouldn't he?" Ashara said bitterly, watching Jon squirm in his blankets. "No matter how many children I give him, Ned will always choose you as his favourite child. Why can you not look more like your mother? If you did, it would be easier for me to ignore you as Ned's bastard. The gods are cruel to us both, are they not? You will forever be the bane of my life even though you did nothing to hurt me but your mere existence. You could've been my son, but the gods decided to make you a bastard. Ned's bastard."
Feeling more exhausted than angry, Ashara left for her new bedchamber. She had lost her appetite and was in no mood to eat a warm meal. Changing swiftly into a nightgown, Ashara snuggled under the furred blankets, wishing Jon Snow would be dead by morning. Everyone said I was fortunate, she thought, closing her eyes. Everyone said Lord Eddard Stark is honourable and kind; how is he a kind husband settling his bastard in his home and presenting him to me? How can I live with his bastard in the castle?
Folding her long letter in half, Ashara slowly made her way to the rookery, a silent Desmond trailing behind her. Everywhere she went, she felt the accusing stares of Winterfell's retainers and servants. They all knew about Jon Snow for months…yet they said nothing. She walked across the bridge connected between the fourth level of the bell tower to the second floor of the rookery and caught sight of Maester Luwin tending to the ravens.
"Lady Stark." He dipped his head politely.
"Maester," Ashara acknowledged. At least Maester Luwin is kind enough to speak to me without a condemning glare.
"May I be of assistance, my lady?"
"I was about to send a raven to Starfall."
The maester tugged the chain around his neck before reaching for her folded letter. "Allow me, my lady." He glanced at her briefly. "You look troubled, Lady Stark. Are you ill?"
"Oh, I am in good health, maester. A little tired I suppose. I hear it is natural for women in my condition to be often tired."
"Mmm. Not stress, my lady? Stressing is not good for you, my lady."
Ashara sighed glumly. Maester Luwin would find out anyway…she looked at Desmond. "May I have a moment of privacy with Maester Luwin please?" she asked. Desmond nodded and strode away. Ashara waited until he disappeared into the bell tower before returning her attention the patient maester. "I do not belong here in the North," she confessed miserably. "How fast does it take for an argument to spread? I am not wanted here."
"You've only been here for a day, my lady," the maester reminded her. "No one finds home within a day."
"Everyone here knows about…him. They all know I will never accept him as part of my family."
"Who, my lady?"
"The bastard…Jon Snow."
"The bastard…" mused Maester Luwin. "A bastard is as much a living being as the child growing in your belly, me, Lord Stark…you. The bastard Jon Snow is a motherless infant. If I may be bold my lady, it is ironic you of all people proclaim you will have nothing to do with Lord Stark's son."
"Why me?"
The maester chuckled softly. "You are from Dorne are you not, my lady? When I was a mere acolyte in Oldtown, I befriended a novice from Dorne. The natural son of a Dornish lord, he told me that even as a bastard, he was raised as if he was a trueborn son. He was taught his letters and sums alongside his half-sisters and half-brothers and was showered with affection as any child would be. He also said that the Dornish considered natural children to be born of passion and love rather than lies and deceit. He further told me that when his father offered to send him away, his wife was horrified at the thought of him abandoning his own flesh and blood to the cruelty of the streets…even if it is a bastard." He eyed her. "Is it true, my lady?"
Ashara looked away, embarrassed. "Yes," she admitted. "Oberyn Martell raises his four bastard daughters alongside his brother's legitimate children." A lump formed in her throat. "Did Ned think I would accept his…child in the family as soon as I saw him?" she inquired with a frown. "Surely he would know I am like any other woman; seeing one's husband's natural children for the first time will no doubt be shocking."
"You should ask Benjen Stark on the matter," Maester Luwin advised. "It will be Benjen Stark who knows Lord Stark more than anyone – with the exception of the king of course, as they were fostered together in the Eyrie. My lady, perhaps it would be wiser to give the boy another chance?"
"Did Ned tell you of my plans to leave for Starfall?"
"I will not lie, my lady. Lord Stark did mention it last night when he talked to me at supper. Forgive me my lady, but you do not seem the sort of lady who will run to your childhood home when you sense trouble."
Ashara sighed and smiled at the perceptive maester. "I suppose I was tired and unprepared last night," she agreed. "Do you know where my husband is as we speak, maester?"
"Lord Stark is dining with the steward Vayon Poole, at his table in the Great Hall I believe. Do you need assistance to get there, my lady?"
"No thank you. I think I can find my way there." She nodded gratefully at the maester and turned to leave. "My lady!" Maester Luwin called. She looked back and saw him holding out her letter. "Do you still want this letter sent?" he said, a smile lingering on his lips. Ashara shook her head and took it from him. "I think I will write another letter," she said, beaming at him. "Thank you for your advice, Maester Luwin. If you had not spoken to me, I would be preparing a journey back to Starfall already." Ned still remembers that fateful day he raided the Tower of Joy and slew my brother. He had always been gentle, kind and loving to me since the day we wed. I should learn to love Jon Snow for Ned's sake. "For Ned's sake," she said aloud. For Ned's sake she will love Jon Snow…eventually.
Currently there are four Sand Snakes: Obara (13), Nymeria (10), Tyene (8) and Sarella (4). I considered writing a chapter about Ned and Ashara travelling to Winterfell, but as it would be basically riding, I thought it would be a little boring - I was also impatient to describe Winterfell and Ashara's thoughts of it. I'm glad you guys enjoyed reading this story up to now :) Tyrion will be part of the story, but a little later as he would only be around 11 years old at the moment. Question: how would you address a younger son of a lord who is not a knight (Eg. Benjen Stark)? Would you still call them a lord (Eg. Lord Benjen) or just their plain name?
