Rhaena and Dayan, At Stonehome
"Lord Rickard sent them to Essos, father." Her single statement makes Dayan's blood boil. She stands resolute in the face of her father's anger.
"The first chance we have, we bring them here. All of them. I got Rickard to agree to us fostering the child for half a year every year, after his first nameday. With Lyanna here, he can properly know his mother, and eventually the history. Amarantha needs to see the children, especially her namesake, and young Valyria."
Rhaena knows better than to interrupt her father, so she waited until he was done. Stormhearts did not use marriages to get allies. They preferred other shackles, like fostering.
"Valyria could foster with the Mormonts for a year or two, and Amarantha could foster at Winterfell." The suggestions appeased Dayan. Yes, his granddaughters could foster at a later age. His grandsons would be a problem, but he supposed
"Dayan and Darrod could foster with the Greatrivers."
His daughter sighed. "Guessing and assigning futures is dangerous. Mara has Brandon, and Lyanna has Arthur. We will foster Jon Stark Targaryen, and Winterfell may yet be graced with my dear niece. We have done our duty, for now." Dayan nodded.
"Rest, daughter, this will not be easy." With a neat curtsey, Rhaena exited her father's chambers.
Mara and Brand Wildwolf with Lya and Artur Morn, on the way to the Free Cities.
Mara had always loved a good bout, and watching her husband face off against his goodbrother was invigorating, She had carved wooden staves for herself and Lyanna, as she had sent Rhaena home with her own Staff of Valyria, hoping against hope it would be borne forth again by one of her nieces.
"Mara, come on! You can see Pentos from here!" Sighing contentedly, she raced to her husband, who was grinning from ear to ear.
'The Gods can throw anything at us, and I could take it, so long as I had Brandon.' She thought.