Ladies and Gentlemen… A writing error concerning our good friend Arthur Dayne has been CORRECTED! 🍓
Send a wench to fetch the booze, cause we're about to throw a rager! WOOOOOOOOOOO!
Winterfell
294 AC
Rhaenys woke up to the sun in her eyes.
Its gleaming gold streaks of light had warmed her face in its glow through the thick diamond-shaped glass windows.
Her head rose and fell gently atop Starag's bare chest, his steady breathing and heartbeat lulling her back to sleep. Still, she managed to keep awake as she traced her fingers along with the wicked scars on his skin.
It had been perhaps a week or so since they arrived in Winterfell. Already, Rhaenys could feel a sort of nervous, yet excited anticipation at getting married.
And they would've been wed sooner if there hadn't been a few complications, at least as far as traditions go.
Northern marriages were usually small ordeals. At least, during the actual ceremony. The bride would wear a cloak adorned with the sigil of her house and approach the Weirwood tree in the Godswood. Where the groom would be waiting.
Then, of course, the groom would remove her cloak, and she would then put on another with the sigil of her husband's house.
And while her Uncle Oberyn had indeed brought along such a cloak belonging to the Martells… It had been discovered that neither Maege or Dacey Mormont could actually sew, and didn't actually have a ceremonial cloak of their own.
"Never had the bloody patience for needles." Maege had told her rather grumpily. "And don't even get me started on marriage. My brother wouldn't shut up about it."
Rhaenys didn't. She let the matter be.
So, it was down to her Aunt Ashara and little Dyanna Stark to sew her a Mormont marriage cloak. A project, which, both of them had been rather excited to take on.
She'd never once dreamed that she'd ever be married, much less to a literal Northern Barbarian-even if he looked more like a pirate at the moment. Yet as their day came fast approaching, Rhaenys' mind kept thinking of what would happen afterward. Of the days to come.
Starag had already told her of his plans for both Bear Island and Sea Dragon Point. And while Rhaenys was already lamenting how little downtime they'd have before they got right to work, she respected the decision.
Her Bear liked getting things done fast, efficiently, and thoroughly. It was a… momentum of sorts. She could see why, though she probably didn't understand completely. If one was doing things fast, the world could not catch up with them at all.
As such, he wanted to begin work on Bear Island, and even send a large delegation to Sea Dragon Point right away. He'd even contacted Lord Wyman Manderly and requested several dozen men-at-arms and builders to be sent. Not to mention he'd borrow a sizeable force from Lord Stark as well.
Rhaenys knew already that Sea Dragon Point was a big project, but now that it was slowly becoming real, it seemed more and more as if Starag knew exactly how everything would play out.
But her thoughts had gone much further than the next year. No, she had wondered more about their children, and of how'd they look when they'd grown bigger and bigger with each passing moon.
She looked at him when she noticed his right eye open slowly. The lightning-blue orb seemed to drink up her whole form in a ravenous gaze.
"Good morning, my love." Rhaenys beamed at him as she perched her chin on his firm muscled breast. "How was your morning spar?"
He'd always left their bed early each morning that they'd been in Winterfell. Every time, Arthur had dragged him out to the courtyard to spar until the sun rose. Then, her Bear would come back to their room, wash, and return to bed. With her.
"Draining," He said as he rubbed the sleep out of his right eye. "But nothing a good cup of coffee can't fix."
"Would you like me to go make you one?" She asked.
His hand cupped her cheek softly. The large thumb had brushed aside her hair. "No point in doing that right now. We'll be going to breakfast soon enough."
Rhaenys nodded and lay her head back on his chest. Immediately, she could feel his pulsing heart behind the carapace of lean muscle and bone. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
She didn't mind doing such menial tasks for him. In fact, Rhaenys found herself enjoying his stern, authoritative orders. She wanted to take care of him in any way she could, and she knew well enough by now just how much he enjoyed his coffee. Especially with honey.
"Rhaenys," He started off. She looked up at him again, wondering what he was going to say. Her Bear seemed to be reflecting on something rather deeply as if he'd been racking his mind on whether or not to tell her.
A pit had grown in her stomach. What would it be? She didn't possibly know, but she hoped it wasn't anything bad. Would he call it all off? She wondered with palpable fear.
His hand had smoothed along the curve of her back as if to calm her. "I didn't exactly have a wedding gift in mind for you…"
The biggest wave of relief had flooded her mind at that moment. A wedding present? She thought to herself. Now it seemed rather silly to the intense dread she had felt just moments ago.
"It doesn't matter, love." She climbed up his torso and planted light kisses on his neck. Now they were face-to-face. "All I want is you."
She felt his hand slide up her thigh. "I know. But… there is something I've been meaning to tell you. And it's something I should've told you much earlier…"
Rhaenys looked deep into Starag's lightning-blue eye. "What is it?" She asked. The anticipation in her belly was almost too much to bear.
Her Bear let out a small exhale of air. Still, he kept his eye firmly locked with hers. "It's about Jon…" He said finally.
Jon? What about him? Rhaenys thought of the boy almost as a little brother of sorts. The kind who would always give sweet smiles and be there for his siblings no matter what.
But what was Starag getting at?
She nodded for him to go along. He did so.
"What I am about to tell you cannot ever leave this room or go beyond the two of us. Not even to our children, or to my aunt, or even my cousins. Nobody else must know. Do you understand?"
The hard, ice-cold edge in his voice left little doubt that this was more than a serious matter. It was stringent and conditional. If she accepted, there was no going back.
Shakily, Rhaenys nodded her head. She was all in at this point. He was trusting her with a secret, however dangerous it was, and she wouldn't let him down.
"Good girl." Starag smiled slightly, and his fingers began playing with her hair. "Jon isn't Ned's son. His biological son at the least. And neither is he Ashara's son."
What? But then… Who was he? Why was he being raised as one of Eddard Stark's sons if not…
How old is he? Jon was eleven years old. And it only made sense that he'd been conceived long after the tourney at Harrenhal. Not only that, but he was so very similar to Lord Stark. What with the grey eyes and long stern face. What else could he-
As her mind had fired off immediately, Starag had decided to put her thoughts to rest. "His mother was Lyanna Stark. And his father? Well…" He said with a heavy pause.
That singular piece of the puzzle. That one name. Lyanna Stark. It had clicked in Rhaenys' mind instantly with one great snap!
"Lyanna! I promised! I'll look after him!" His howl back in the Water Gardens so long ago had come to mind. Of course...
The whole reason the rebellion had taken place was that her father had supposedly kidnapped Lyanna and had whisked her away from her family in the middle of the night. Even her uncles had wished ill upon the Stark girl for catching her father's eyes, but perhaps…
All of it made sense suddenly. Her own father, Rhaegar Targaryen himself, had given Lyanna a child. Jon.
Jon was her brother. Her half-brother technically speaking… Yet…
Rhaenys could not stop the warm wave of tears from sliding down her cheeks as she fully realized what had happened. She had a brother. She wasn't alone anymore in this world… She had her brother with her after all…
She felt Starag's arms wrap gently around her as she fell onto his chest and wept her happy tears of delighted joy at the news. Neither of them said a word.
It had turned out to be quite the wedding gift after all.
The Godswood was completely silent.
In the massive clustering forest of elm and chestnut trees, the small gathering had commenced for the beginning of the marriage ceremony. The ground was layered thick with powdery snow, though not a single flake was falling from the sky.
Starag Mormont was like a sentinel in front of the great weirwood heart tree that had stood imposingly in the center of the godswood of Winterfell.
Nearby, Ned and Ashara had gathered along with the Sand Snakes as well. Arthur also stood close by.
And standing to Mormont's left was his aunt and his cousin. He'd already filled them in on his betrothed's true identity, to which both of them had nearly lost it. Thankfully, however, he had sworn them to secrecy.
The fewer people who knew, the better. At least, that's how it would have to be from now on.
It was to be a small ceremony after all. He'd wanted to use her real name, as he did not want to lie in the face of the Old Gods. They had been far too kind to him up to this point.
Even now, as he stood underneath the red leaves and in front of the brooding carved face of the heart tree, Mormont could not help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into.
Look at you… Tying the knot. His father would've been proud were he here. So would his mother were she alive.
How quaint it would have been to see their little Starag grow up and get married… Even to a woman much younger than himself, it wouldn't have mattered to either of them. They just wanted to see him wed to a good woman.
This is it. He thought to himself as he saw Oberyn entering the godswood. He was arm-in-arm with Mormont's bride.
She was wearing a northern-style dress. Much thicker cloth and with a fur collar, though the material was a dark forest green, and was embroidered with silver. Over the top of her shoulders, however, was the bright and fiery orange cloak. Stitched rather elegantly into it was a red sun pierced by a golden spear. She was simply magnificent.
Their approach was maddeningly slow.
Now, as everything was about to change for him, he took a step back in his mind and thought of everything.
There was no dread or oncoming feeling of doom. This girl had given him peace in a lifetime of war and death. Rhaenys Targaryen was among the many comforts he'd received in the terrifying and grinding scourge that had been his life.
Now, he'd be playing a much different game. No longer would he be a simple foot soldier in one man's army. He'd command his own forces, his own state for that matter. Sure, he'd be a bannerman, but now he had his own men who would fight and die for him.
The boy who had left Winterfell after Robert's Rebellion, who had wandered out into the world in search of lands, titles, women, and gold… Had finally come back home with all four as a Man. He'd gotten what he wanted. And now…
And now it was scary on some level to him that he'd need to set a new goal. A new mountain to climb, a new conquest to undertake, new land for him to conquer.
He'd do it, of course. Yet the nerves that tingled without end had made him wonder just what exactly he'd aim to do. What would he do next? How would he get there?
Starag Mormont realized he wanted to leave behind a legacy that would carry on his name into legend. He wanted people to remember his name thousands of years from now, just as everyone around him remembered Brandon the Builder, Aegon the Conqueror, or even The Last Hero.
He wanted House Mormont to permanently leave behind its humble beginnings. He'd more than give the North, and even the rest of Westeros as well a strong reason to respect the name Mormont. Just as the name Lannister carried its unspoken authority on the lips of every nobleman from Winterfell to Sunspear.
And at his side, at every step of the way, would be Rhaenys Targaryen.
She was now standing just a few meters away. Even underneath the veil, Mormont could see the red that dusted her cheeks. It was time.
"Who comes?" Starag asked. "Who comes before the gods?"
Oberyn gave him a light, yet threatening smile. Mormont understood completely. "Rhaenys of House Targaryen comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg for the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?" The Red Viper had replied.
"I," Starag boomed into the godswood. "Starag of House Mormont, the Young Bear, Ironbane, and the Lord of Bear Island. I come to claim her. Who gives her?"
"Oberyn of House Martell, favorite Uncle of the bride." The Dornishman had said with quite possibly the best poker face Mormont had ever seen. It had taken all Starag could to not burst into laughter.
The Red Viper turned to face his niece. All the while, Starag pretended not to see the laughing smiles of everyone else attending. He needed to be ice-cold.
"My lovely niece, Rhaenys… Will you take this man?" Oberyn asked.
Rhaenys simply kept gazing at Starag the whole time. Her eyes had crinkled underneath the veil, and her beam was loving. "I take this man." She said unwaveringly.
They joined beneath the heart tree. Rhaenys was much shorter than him, just around his torso in height. He took her dainty hand in his and they knelt before the milk-white tree, with the brooding carved face staring directly at the both of them.
He closed his eye for a few moments as he prayed to his gods. You've been more than kind to me when you did not need to be. I shall spend the rest of my life repaying you, and the people I love, as well as those I lead. You have my word.
When he did finally allow himself to see again, for only the briefest moment, he swore that he'd seen the blood-red eyes of the heart tree glow a crackling blue. Just like in his vision…
And then they'd darkened, snuffed out almost immediately. Starag supposed that his prayer had been heard and would leave it at that.
They had both stood up, but neither said a single word as Mormont had removed the Martell cloak from Rhaenys' narrow shoulders and handed it to Oberyn.
Then, Maege had come to his side with the thick dark green and brown cloak that Starag's daughters- if he had any- would likely be wearing to their own marriages one day.
It too had a bear's pelt for a collar and was likely snug seeing as how it had wriggled slightly in its warmth. It fit her perfectly.
Slowly, he lifted the veil over her head of dark red hair. Those thin lips were waiting for him.
Starag lifted Rhaenys off the ground and kissed her, immediately feeling those pink lips press back against his own just as firmly. That was it. He was married. He'd call this woman his wife until the day he died.
Life was certainly full of surprises, wasn't it?
The feast was a glorious affair.
Were one speaking to another, they'd have to whisper in each other's ears just to hear the other. Either that or they'd only have to seclude themselves into their own private corner of Winterfell's dining hall.
Men and women, regardless of their birth, were dancing wildly on the granite floor. Their feat stamping the ground in sync with the music being played by the bards.
And sitting high up on the Lord's table were Starag Mormont and his… family.
Not just his aunt and cousin, but also the Starks as well. And Oberyn, with his children. And even Arthur Dayne.
And then there was his wife.
Mormont watched silently as the rowdy gathering quickly embraced the joyful chaos that gripped the dining hall. Everyone's blood was flowing, and he had no doubt that most of them would be absolutely hungover the following morning.
They had long finished their food. Now that the long dinner table had been both cleaned and cleared, with the exception of a bowl of wild blueberries and mugs of coffee, it was now being used for other things.
To his right, he had heard both his aunt, his cousin, and Nymeria Sand burst into fits of giggles and laughter at something Rhaenys had said to them.
Far down at the other end of the table, Mormont had seen Jon sitting on the flat armrest of his chair while he strummed at his pale orange and silver lute. Listening to him play were Margaery, Bran, and Dyanna.
He had immediately known what both Garlan and Arthur were speaking about, as the Sword of the Morning had clasped his hands together as if he were holding Dawn, and swung his arms in an upward motion. There was a grin on his face as Garlan slapped his hand on the table and chuckled.
Oberyn Martell sat on one side of the dinner table, while on the other side was Robb Stark. They both held cards in their hands, though Mormont couldn't tell what they had specifically. Judging by the single flipped-up card in between them, he figured that Oberyn was probably teaching the lad how to play Whist.
He nearly chuckled when he saw Oberyn lay down what was a… Dragon of Clubs over the top of Robb's Queen of Clubs. The boy threw down his cards and smoothed back his hair in frustration.
At the head of the table, Mormont had seen Ned get up from his seat and offer his hand to Ashara. The Dayne woman had smiled gladly and lovingly at her lord husband and took the offered hand. Soon enough, they had left the dais and begun mingling with those dancing in the middle of the hall.
He felt the table rattle slightly underneath his elbows and looked down the long stretch of wood to see who had caused the interruption. Starag couldn't stop himself from grinning at the sight of Arya Stark holding a broom as if it were a spear.
Obara and Tyene had clapped their hands as Arya thrust the end of the broom up towards the ceiling, almost like she were Princess Nymeria reborn.
They both cackled when Arya brushed the straw end of the broom into Dyanna Stark's raven-black hair, completely undoing the once pretty northern braid, and making the eight-year-old girl very angry with her sister.
Dyanna immediately gathered up her dress and jumped up onto the table. She began chasing Arya, who had already set off in Starag's direction.
Mormont took the opportunity to stand up and move aside, though he kept his chair firmly planted on the ground.
The five-year-old Arya was extremely thankful as she stepped down onto the chair and sprinted off down the steps, still with the broom in hand.
Dyanna followed behind her, though she was a bit slower due to her dress. She too had disappeared in the dancing crowd of men-at-arms and castle servants.
These people were the reason he was still alive. He should've died long ago in some ditch in the Westerlands. Perhaps even during the tourneys, he'd taken part in the last few moons, or even against that Shadowcat…
Yet it was these moments, with his family, that he lived for. They were why he kept coming back. He'd take great care of them in the days to come. In his own way.
Starag Mormont stifled his exhausted yawn. It had been a long day, and he'd like to get as much sleep as he could before he was woken up by Arthur early the next morning.
He'd absolutely refused to do a bedding ceremony. Rhaenys was his wife, and her body belonged to him alone. He'd be damned if he'd let any other man get a glimpse of it, too. Mormont wasn't that generous.
She looked up at him then. Her smiling violet eyes had taken in his whole form and the inviting look on his face. Knowing what it meant, she too had gotten up from her seat.
They had said good night to their family, and he'd even given a reluctant Arthur permission to dance with Dacey if he so wished to do so. And then, Starag had taken Rhaenys into his arms and carried her out of the dining hall. All the way back to their room.
He opened the great oak door with one hand and laid Rhaenys gently onto the bed.
She looked absolutely exquisite in the dim candlelight of their room, and outside, beaming through the window, was the pale moonlight that shone brightly against her auburn-brown hair and the small lock of white-gold.
They said nothing as he got up and locked the door. Then returning to bed, he cupped her cheek with one hand while the other had begun to slide the shoulder of her dress off the smooth pale-gold skin.
Rhaenys shifted so the thick cloth would slide off easier. "For your eye only, Starag." She said lovingly. And with mirthful eyes.
He smirked as he palmed her right breast. It was warm and soft, the nipple was hard and firm. "If you're going to make any quips about my one eye, you may as well make them funny at the least. As it stands, I'll just have to spank you, Lady Mormont."
The threat had only ignited an intense burning flame behind those violet eyes. They hungered for more now. "Are you not worried that others will come to save the damsel in distress, Lord Mormont?" She said, her arms hooked themselves around his neck.
"No," He shook his head lightly. "Nobody would dare wake the sleeping dragon in my arms."
His wife's lips had curled upward into a matching, wicked smirk. "You must show me your technique, my lord. I've heard that dragons prefer to sleep alone."
"They taught it to me back on Bear Island." Starag had lowered himself slowly, so as to tease the girl. "Supposedly, it's an old Wildling tradition. It's how they kept themselves warm in the frozen lands beyond the Haunted Forest."
"And what's that, Lord Mormont?"
"Shared bodily warmth. Completely naked."
Rhaenys's arms tried to pull him down further, but Mormont kept himself posted on his elbows. "When will the lesson start?" She asked in a low, hungry voice. Her hips were gyrating against his knee.
Mormont allowed himself to be brought closer, and now they were nearly inches apart.
"Now."