*I wished to update this story much sooner than now. Unfortunately, over the holidays, I suffered an injury that required a hospital visit and I have been recovering ever since. I apologize for the delay and hope to get back to a better schedule.

298 AC

Robb Stark

His father had summoned him, Edwyle, and his mother into his solar. When he had arrived with his brother, his sister Sansa was already present as well. Entering through the door, Robb walked over to lean against one of the walls while Edwyle elected to stand with his hands behind his back. Their mother had yet to make her appearance.

"Boys. Are you well?"

"Aye father. We were staying with Bran." Edwyle somberly commented.

Robb's father attempt at small talk was washed away like ice from a warm summer rain at the mention of young Brandon. Robb moved to speak just as his mother walked into the chambers. Gone was her smile when she laid her eyes on her children. Since Brandon fell, his mother has had a permanent scowl or frown upon her fair face.

"My love, children."

His father leaned back in his chair and held out his arm for his mother. Walking from the entrance of the solar to his arms, they embraced before his Lady mother leaned on his shoulder.

"Children, we are here to discuss the avenues of Sansa's marriage prospects. Currently, we have three viable options. The first of which is Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden, and the Reach."

"I heard he suffered a leg injury, although I am unaware in the ways of medicine as the maesters are…does his injury prevent him from…you know…siring?" Robb interjected.

"Robb, let father speak, then we can discuss." Sansa ordered him, far more serious than she usually did.

"Our second option is Edric of the House Dayne, Lord of Starfall."

"And the last?" Robb questioned.

"…" His father remained silent; Sansa shot him a curious look before she took the lead in the discussion.

"My last option is Lord Roose Bolton." And then the seven hells opened up.

"What?! What is the meaning of this? What happened to the Martells!" His mother shouted, looking at his Lord father expectantly.

"He's thirty winters older than you! What in the blazes are you thinking!" He himself shouted. The only one who remained quiet was Edwyle, yet even he had a surprised look on his face.

In some moments, his father managed to calm down his mother and then stood, slamming his chair into the wall behind him. He did not raise his voice however, his father rarely did.

"There will be peace in this chamber or so help me I shall have all of you sweep the snows off the walls for the next three winters." He once more took his seat and, clasping his hands together, spoke. "Let's take this one at a time. First, the Tyrells."

"The best marriage I can see. Tie ourselves to one of the richest houses, as well as probably have some better trade deals for winter." His mother commented.

"The King will like it too. He's too angry to marry one of his children to them, but he needs them loyal. What better way than to marry into his best friend and closest ally's family." Robb also agreed."

His father nodded but grimaced. "Aye…aye, you are both right, but I sense that marrying into that family would cost us more than we might realize. The Queen of Thornes is a dangerous woman and I hold no disillusions that she would include Sansa in her games."

"What about Lord Edric?" Sansa asked.

"Well for one, you are of the same age, which would help with any awkward situations. It would also tie us to a very powerful vassal house of Dorne…though I have yet to see why we gave up the Martells." His mother pointedly spoke to her husband.

"Not to mention it may help with repairing some of the bad blood between Dorne and The North. While not the Martells themselves, the Daynes are amongst one of their more powerful vassals. Of the two southern marriages, Lord Edric would be better received by the Northern lords."

It wasn't exactly an answer his father provided, but it kept the discussion moving. Once he spoke, the room was silent, it appeared that no one wanted to broach the subject. It seemed his mother grew tired and spoke first.

"Sansa…I cannot begin to describe how…disappointed I am in your belief that Roose Bolton is a good match."

That is the understatement of the century. "Sister…Lord Bolton is over three decades older than you, he is an…odd man as well." He elected not to go into the Boltons history. It seemed no one wanted to mention it.

Sansa opened her mouth multiple times throughout, finally she spoke once he finished. "I know, I know. But just listen. House Bolton is amongst our most powerful vassals. As I have explained to father, House Bolton is not dangerous because of their acts. I am fully aware of the history between our two families."

Since she spoke, she spoke with an urgency, as if she was attempting to speak all she wanted to speak, expecting someone to interrupt her. Seeing that they were all paying her the attention she asked for, she continued, calmer.

"House Bolton is dangerous not from their army or their lord himself, but from the mere presence of them."

"What do you mean by that?" Robb coaxed out.

Sansa sighed, like she was trying to teach the simplest concept to a babe, but the babe didn't understand.

"The greatest threat to us from the Boltons is the mere symbolism of them. The Boltons are the last house to have challenged ours, and people still remember it. If I were to marry into the house, it would finally bring them into the fold, no child raised by me would seek to usurp their cousins. We could negate their greatest advantage over us." Sansa looked to father at which point they both nodded softly. Curious, wonder what that's about.

"Just as the sun rises, so too does it set." A voice softly spoke. Sansa's, his parents, and his attention snapped behind him, to where Edwyle was still standing quietly. Damn, I nearly forgot he was here.

"What does that mean Ed?"

Clearing his throat, he spoke directly to Sansa, not to father or mother. "You see the best in your idea. I admire that, truly. Sansa, you have impressed me today, only over decade old and you have given in depth thought about all these options, but as for the Boltons, I believe you may be skewed."

He walked further into the solar, making his presence larger. "You believe that a child between you and him would not seek, and therefore not be a threat, to our House. But have you ever given the thought that perhaps he would be one step ahead? You'd give him a son and suddenly you'd pass away in an 'accident?'"

It was amazing watching his brother. This is must have felt like for those older to be speaking to his Lord father when he was younger. Edwyle was fast embracing the title of the 'Quiet Wolf' as well. Speaking only when needed too, but with great wisdom.

"Sansa, I am so proud of the research and thought into this, but, I have no doubt should you marry into House Bolton, one way or another, within three generations, I wholeheartedly believe that a Bolton will be sitting in the Great Hall of Winterfell, rather than a Stark."

Sansa hung her head. Why would she be upset about the growing resistance to Roose Bolton? Then realized, it wasn't the Bolton himself, it was herself. She hadn't thought of all the possibilities. Walking further, Edwyle placed one of his hands on her shoulders.

"You should be proud of yourself Sansa. I think I speak for all of us that you made some great points. Points that, in our opposition to such a match, we'd never have thought of." Edwyle got down on one knee and held Sansa's hands. "But if you were to marry Lord Bolton, I believe you'd be signing the death warrant for all of us."

Robb could hear her sniffling. "I just thought that I could bring peace to our last greatest rival. I…I…I would also be closer to family."

"Hey, hey, I know. Shhhh, I know. Fear not sister, you have proven yourself to all of us, let it not be said differently." He stood back up and looked around the room. "I think we can safely say that a marriage to House Bolton is off the table."

None in the room spoke against it.

Ser Barristan Selmy

He enjoyed the North. It seemed his charge did as well. He hadn't seen Robert Baratheon in a better mood since he took the throne. The King would not stop speaking about how great it was. It was good, he'd never deny it, but he missed his own home, the Stormlands. It did help that the North was filled with starker people. No pun intended.

The people were more direct, blunt. But they were also fiercer, more deadly. To this day, he could count on one hand the people who gave his swordsmanship a run for its gold dragon. Ser Arthur Dayne was one, he supposed he should add Ser Jaime to the list as well, much to his annoyance, and Ser Brynden 'Blackfish' Tully. The other, was Lord Eddard Stark. He had faced the man on the Trident, and the way he swung his sword Ice was something to be commended.

He remembered that day like it was just yesterday, he supposed that he would for the rest of his life. He was already in the middle of his life at the Trident, gone were the youthful dreams of grandeur and stupidity. Yet even he thought that the young Lord of Winterfell would have been easy prey. A blade like Ice is not an average blade. Sure it was Valyrian Steel, making it lighter, but it was still a greatsword. Believe the Northerners call them Claymores. Regardless, a greatsword is not an easy weapon to learn. Many think of it as similar to an arming sword, but this was far from the case.

The length and weight of a greatsword made it so most wielders wielded them like warhammers. Smashing and sweeping in great arcs with great strength; fearsome, aye, but relatively easy to counter if one knew how. He made that mistake that day. Eddard Stark wielded Ice as if it were nothing more than a practice sword. True, he used great sweeping maneuvers and attempted to hammer him back, but Lord Stark also slashed, pierced, lunged, and blocked with his sword of his with great skill.

And yet, he never once heard the Quiet Wolf boast of his skills. Nor did anyone hear of it. It was through his advice to the King that spared him and allowed a maester to see to his wounds. He would never, ever admit this to the new King he swore to, but he still thought about the Rebellion, the causes, outcomes. He was bitter still about a great number of things but couldn't deny the reason for it.

He hated Tywin Lannister. He supposed he was not the only one. Tywin had been insulted by Aerys II, no doubt, but to order the deaths of the Princess and her children…unforgivable.

He thought Hoster Tully lived up to his House's sigil very well. A fish looking for advantages where they could be found, always ambitious, yet never fully reaching his potential.

Jon Arryn had been in a bad position. He wouldn't deny that, yet he was sure things could have been handled differently.

Barristan cursed that Stannis was not the eldest, instead of Robert. Robert was a great warrior, but a terrible king.

But Eddard Stark. He was perhaps the only one Barristan did not have an ounce of a grudge against. He was there that day. That terrible day. It was beyond stupid for Brandon Stark to demand of things to Aerys like that. But it was honorable for Lord Rickard to demand a trial by combat. And it would sicken him to this day, watching how that sacred right was perverted by a mad man. Of all the leaders of the Rebellion, it was Eddard Stark he held no blame for.