Infrequent updates! Canon-typical warnings...this is a mature story!
Chapter One:
297 AC
It was a warm morning, sitting in the white sand along the shore was a young lady. The sun was warm on her skin, a salty sea breeze filling her nose with every breath. She watched the waves crash and the seabirds dive into the water. Daena was content.
Nearly an entire moon ago, her father — Lord Lucerys Velaryon — had left for White Harbor after receiving a letter that several of his ships had been pillaged and sunk by a Skagosi Lord. He also received news that several northern lords were heading to aid House Manderly after the attack. Daena did not suppose the northern lords needed his help squashing the rebellion, but Lucerys was a prideful man and would not have sat idly by after ships of his had been sunk. He demanded respect and was a man of his word.
Daena was the oldest daughter of Lucerys Velaryon and Princess Helaena Targaryen, and even at four-and-ten, she was a beauty to behold. Blonde hair that edged on silvery-white, smooth lily white skin with seashell pink undertones, rosy cheeks and the wisteria purple eyes of her Valryian ancestors. She had a brother, Jacaerys, who was two years older than her and he was easily Helaena's favorite. The only other Velaryon child that had lived past infancy was Viserra, who was the youngest and their father's favorite.
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 foreseen 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. While not dragonlords in Valyria, some did eventually become dragonriders in Westeros.
"Septa Nerissa is looking for you, Daena,"
Startled, Daena jumped to her feet, clutching her chest. "Shaena!"
Shaena Celtigar laughed, "I called your name a few times! I did not mean to scare you."
Daena took a long breath to steady her heart, "Too lost in thought, I suppose."
Shaena was easily Daena's closest friend, and had been for several years. Lord Celtigar had sent Shaena to Driftmark in hopes to foster a friendship between the girls and eventually, have Lucerys find a suitable match for his daughter. Shaena was older than Daena, but only by a few moons, and they meshed so easily together.
Shaena's dark violet eyes studied her friend carefully, knowing she had been worried when Lucerys sailed off to battle. "Any reason you're sitting out here all alone?"
Daena pursed her lips, looking back to the sea, "I was hoping to see my father's sails."
Shaena frowned, "Let us stay here then, I'm sure Viserra would benefit from some dedicated time from Septa."
Daena chuckled. It was no secret that Viserra was as unruly as she was curious, frequently pulling out her braids or running barefoot along the shore, or skipping lessons or talking in riddles.
The girls took turns braiding each other's hair, watching the horizon. Daena knew skipping the Septa's morning lessons and Ser Merlys' afternoon tutoring would lead to a punishment of some kind, but the peace of the beach was too hard to leave.
Daena pulled Shaena's silver hair out of her face and into several braids, which she looped together into an old Targaryen style. It was a pretty style on Shaena's head and made her look so regal. In the sun, her skin had the fiery glow of dawn, the bronze ochre of her father and the golden radiance of her mother.
Eventually, the two made their way from the beach back to the castle, where Septa Nerissa found them. Helaena's voice echoing in the hall made it clear she was not too far behind. Daena's mother was not a very nice woman, and Daena was never sure if Helaena had always been nasty and unkind, or if it had only been spurred on after her brother's throne had been usurped.
Shaena had been sent to her room to have supper alone, while Daena was forced to sit at the dining table and watch her family eat without her. Jacaerys looked annoyed at Daena's empty plate, but did not speak on it and Viserra looked far too lost in her own head to notice.
"It is your duty to learn what Septa Nerissa teaches you. You will one day be Lady of a Great House and you need to act like it, or you will shame us all. I will not raise ungrateful brats or plain simpletons." Helaena said, taking a sip of fine Dornish wine. "A lot has been taken from us and your father and I are working very hard to give you what you have. Do you think every daughter gets to learn what sons do? Do you think we got you a tutor to learn politics for nothing?"
Daena knew better than to answer when her mother was in this mood, where she just wanted to ramble about how appreciative her children should be. Helaena had never received an education like either of her daughters and had come to envy them. She knew they needed to be cunning and politically clever to get them where she wanted them, and to simply survive the depravity of the world. Daena was only a pawn in her mother's game for the Iron Throne and she knew it.
In the end though, Jacaerys was the biggest player in their mother's Great Game. He was the perfect embodiment of what a Velaryon Targaryen child should be: salt in his blood and fire where his heart should be. And 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.
Helaena fully believed Jacaerys had more claim than that of Robert Baratheon (or any of his bastard children). Robert had to trace back to his paternal grandmother for a Targaryen ancestor in order to solidify his claim, while Jacaerys was a Targaryen in all but name — but Helaena knew how to play it smart. No one could know of her treasonous thoughts. She had watched the fall of her family's dynasty and she wanted to ensure she did not make the same mistakes.
Half expecting her mother to continue, to compare her to Jacaerys or her own days in court, she looked up to meet her mother's indigo eyes. Not expecting Helaena's eyes to already be on her, watching her expectedly, Daena did not speak right away.
Daena cleared her throat, eyes flickering around the room, to the servants in the corners waiting to fill plates or take them away, and guards at the Great Hall's entrance, to her siblings. Jacaerys's eyes kept still on his plate of food, unable to look at her, while Viserra was staring intently into the flames of the candle across from her.
"You're right, Mother, I should be more grateful for the life you have given me. Many apologies. It will not happen again."
"It better not, Daena." Helaena's tone was sharp like dragon's teeth, void of emotion and love.
There was a pause, "Iā korzion anne dēmāt va se iēdar ñāqes, iā dōron, se zokla kivio isse zȳhon ondos." Viserra said in High Valyrian, eyes lost in the flickering candle flame, before blinking and digging back into her food. ( An armored horse sits on the watery horizon, a stone lobster and wolf pact in his clutch. )
"That's nice, dear." Helaena said offhandedly, sipping her wine and waving away the servant girl who had poured it.
Daena stared at her sister curiously, Viserra had begun to be increasingly peculiar, but most in the family were ignoring it. Jacaerys met her gaze before glancing back at his other sister.
After being sent to her room with no supper, Daena sat in front of her hearth in hopes it would bring her serenity. The fire was warm and comforting, but did nothing to quell her grumbling stomach. She took a long breath, annoyed and frustrated; a part of her wanted to throw something, but she sat still on the floor.
A knocking on her door brought her back to her senses, and she was quick to answer it, fearing it was her mother.
It was Jacaerys, a soft smile on his lips, a plate of food in hand.
Daena quickly ushered him into her room, "How did you sneak that up here?"
He shrugged, "Mother went to her chambers early."
They sat on Daena's bed, and she dug in. Herb roasted potatoes, a freshly seared filet of perch, mashed peas and bread. It was gone within a few minutes. The meal had been hot, and not lukewarm like it was leftover.
"Lollys made it up fresh. She knew I was bringing it to you." Jacaerys told her, smiling.
"Thank you, Jace, I appreciate this."
"Mother would not have done much to me if she had caught me, it was no hassle."
The morning came slowly, the sun peaking over the horizon and into Daena's window. She felt no desire to rise and begin her day, she wanted to sleep it away. To not face her mother or the Septa.
While breaking her fast with Shaena, Lucerys' sails were spotted on the horizon, along with the ships he had brought along with him. Each of the children were quick to run down to the docks to meet their father and the men that had gone with him. Their father was nearly to the docks by the time Helaena made her way to join them.
Lucerys looked battle worn and weary, but he had his shoulders set and his back straight despite it. There was a grin that stretched across his face at the sight of his family, sea blue eyes bright. And when he joined them on the docks, the children noticed a little girl standing behind him shyly, looking glum.
She was small, as young as Viserra if not younger, dark brown hair and icy azure eyes. Her skin was a pale ivory white, the smallest hints of a coral pink in her cheeks. She could not meet any of their gazes, her eyes focused downward on the wooden planks of the dock.
"A rebellion squashed," Lucerys started, "I took in one of his children as our ward — this is Anja Magnar."
Helaena wrinkled her nose looking at the little girl, then at her husband. Viserra waved at her with a tiny smile. A churning started in Daena's belly, the little girl was no ward, it was not hard to guess that she had not been given voluntarily.
"Daena, I would like to speak to you after supper." Lucerys said, before ushering the ward off to a few maids.
The girls returned to the Septa, and Jacaerys went back to his training, yet the day was not sitting right with any of them. A ward had been accepted into their home, and something else was lingering in the air and they all knew it.
Supper came quickly, and they all sat together and listened to Lucerys' battle stories. Anja had joined them, not saying a word and not touching her food.
Lord Rorick Magnar had rallied nearly all of the Skagosi and claimed himself to be the King of Skagos. They struck White Harbor first, and sank the ships in the harbor, in hopes to halt trade into the north. The Skagosi had faced major loss, but refused to surrender until their dead mounted to nearly six hundred. Rorick had also lost his eldest son and heir in one of the final battles, which Lucerys had guessed was the final strike needed to win. The rebel lord's remaining children were lost to wardships to ensure his ongoing peace and loyalty.
Daena could tell how uncomfortable the little Magnar girl was, the way she shifted in her chair and the scrunched look on her face made her look pained. Daena's stomach rolled uneasily, eyes flickering back to her half eaten plate of food. It looked so unappetizing now.
After their food was cleared, Lucerys had Daena stay in her seat, while Helaena ushered her other children and the ward out of the room. Once Helaena was seated again, they turned to their oldest daughter.
"They say blood spilt in battle can not only bring men together, but their houses too." Lucerys began. "The Warden of the North joined the battle, and his strategies partially led to our victory. House Stark is one of the Great Houses, and is a friendship I hope to keep into the years to come." Like Viserra had whispered to him right before he sailed off: a crown comes with the wolf.
Daena noticed the sour look on her mother's face, and worry grew in her chest.
"I proposed a marriage between his eldest son and my eldest daughter to solidify our alliance. He considered it and wishes for you two to meet before he accepts. We leave in a fortnight — we agreed to meet in White Harbor."
Daena realized quickly that there was no choice here for her, only duty. She had always expected to be married off one day, but a northern house seemed so outlandish. Her mother had talked about wanting a southern house, like Tyrell or Redwyne, even Tully or Whent, which had more value to Helaena.
It took a moment to process how Lucerys wanted her to respond, and Daena smiled, "That seems like a lovely match, Father, it would be the utmost honor to solidify your friendship with a union of our houses."
Lucerys nodded before excusing himself, to gather the necessities for the trip. Helaena sat watching her daughter and Daena squirmed under her heavy gaze. It felt that with appeasing her father she was failing her mother, and a dread filled her. Helaena got up from her seat with a long huff and left the room.
The next fortnight was a chaotic flurry of preparations: gathering the goods they wanted to gift Lord Eddard Stark, along with the supplies Lucerys promised to Lord Wyman Manderly. The seamstress was entrusted to make several dresses and nightclothes for the cold, and Septa Nerissa taught Daena more about the northern lords after her regular lessons.
Daena and Lucerys left in the morning for White Harbor, leaving the rest of the family behind. Lucerys did not wish to deal with Helaena's anger about the betrothal, seeing as how unhappy it made her.
Daena was not the best seafarer, nor was she very sea savvy, and Lucerys only had a handful of lessons to teach her on their ship, The Sea Wench, but most of it was clouded by her anxiety. Her direwolf needlework never seemed up to par with what her Septa wanted and she insisted Daena continue to practice on the journey to White Harbor, and it was still not improving.
The closer the fleet got to the North, the colder it became. While Driftmark always had the sea breeze and occasional strong winds, the Bite seemed to be harsher than what she was used to. Even in the wool dress, fur coat, thick cotton socks and high boots, Daena still tensed up on the deck.
Eddard Stark, Wyman Manderly and his heir Wylis, met them on the docks. It appeared Eddard had the same idea as Lucerys, only bringing his eldest son along, though he was no where in sight.
To Daena, all three men were unmistakably northern; long, stony faces, with scruffy beards and dark hair. They had a distinct look in comparison to any man she had ever seen in the south. Lord Wyman was the most welcoming, and while his harbor was not in the best condition, New Castle was wonderfully kept — Daena had heard several stereotypes from the serving girls in her home that the northern men were savages, but she had been taught that Lord Stark was one of the most honorable men in all of Westeros. If one ignored the fact that he had a bastard.
The two Velaryons were welcomed with a feast in Merman's Court, the great hall of House Manderly; Lord Wyman seemed most honored to host both Eddard and Lucerys, as well as host the future Lord of Winterfell and his potential bride. House Manderly had no suitable match for Robb Stark, as Wylis' two girls were younger than Viserra and while they could have been betrothed and married once they flowered, Wyman was most grateful that Lucerys' men were helping repair his harbor.
Wyman had both families sit at his table, their guards sitting among the Manderly people. It was in the candle light that Daena first saw Robb, two years her senior. He was lithe under his furs, with gray eyes like the ocean in a storm, a mop of auburn curls and patchy scruff along his cheeks and jaw. His eyes were alight when he saw her, filled with a youthful glee, with a charming smile. Daena's heart quickened at the sight of him — he was much more handsome than she had anticipated.
"My Lady," he said, taking his seat beside her, his thick northern accent prominent. His father and Lucerys sat to his left, with Daena, Lord Manderly and his family to his right.
She met his eyes, "My Lord."
Her beauty surprised him, but it did not quell his anxieties about marriage. It was his duty, he knew, and his father had expressed that a betrothal with the Velaryons was a good one. Robb had expected to fall in love with a northern lady and marry her, but he knew his mother had mentioned Southron ladies from time-to-time.
Arranged marriages had left a sour taste in Eddard's mouth after Lyanna, and swore to never put his children through it if they had not wanted it. While Eddard was an honorable man, he had wanted the two children to meet to ensure they liked each other enough to marry, then a betrothal could be accepted.
"I hope your journey treated you well." Robb said, glancing at her.
Daena blinked before looking over at him. She had never traveled very much, her mother having a large impact on the fact she had not been well experienced in much other than Driftmark and King's Landing. "It was as one would expect."
"It is very thoughtful of Lord Velaryon to assist in rebuilding White Harbor."
Daena knew thoughtful was not the correct term for the bribe it actually was, but she agreed for his sake. "He did not wish to sit idly by when he had the means to help."
Robb nodded thoughtfully, "That is very honorable of him."
Daena pursed her lips, looking at her plate. Venison, a thick brown gravy, with roasted potatoes and turnips, and a blood pudding — all very different to what she had been used to eating. She took a hesitant bite of the food, knowing it was unladylike to refuse the kindness of her host.
"I have heard your father has taken on another ward as well." She said, glancing at Robb.
"Aye, Sigrid Magnar. The new heir Fenrir went to the Karstark's." Robb told her. "Your father took the little sister, no?"
Took. "Yes, Anja. She is barely eight."
Robb frowned, but said nothing.
They continued their meal in silence, listening to the loud conversations around them. Lucerys was laughing heartily, always a man to be gracious and friendly. Wymar was telling battle stories, from the sound of his pride.
Daena sipped her wine, mildly surprised that it had not been watered down. It warmed her belly and she sighed.
"May we go on a walk tomorrow? I fear getting to know each other in noisy halls will do no justice for either of us." Daena told him.
Robb looked back over to her and nodded, "A clever idea. The godswood is not too far from this hall, I believe that would be an. . .acceptable place to meet."
Daena briefly wondered if they would need an escort, she knew not of Robb's character. At six-and-ten, he was nearly a man grown — it could not be acceptable for them to meet alone.
After breaking her fast in her room in the Manderly's Guest House, Daena's old handmaid Essie helped her into a new woolen dress, dyed a deep blue with silver threaded embroidery along the hems. Her heart was racing, mildly worried about getting lost but also about talking to Robb alone.
Thankfully, her guard, Ser Myland, was posted outside her door and helped escort her to the godswood. When Daena made her way inside, she let her eyes wander around at the trees within it. Driftmark had an old altar to the Valyrian gods, near abandoned along the shore, which Daena had only seen once when she was exploring with Jacaerys as a child. A Sept for the Seven Faced God was erected during the time of Aegon Targaryen I's reign. All she really knew was the Faith of the Seven, and the Old Gods seemed so foreign.
Daena knew from her studies that most within White Harbor followed the Faith, but the godswood had stood for far longer than any castle in the area and demanded respect for it. As the Manderly's were a northern house, a godswood was just commonplace.
Exploring more, she grew anxious, wondering if she should have waited for Robb near the outskirts or if she was to meet him somewhere inside. Ash, elms, oaks, hawthorne and soldier pines stood towering and old, a chill in the air. Daena did not have to travel far before catching sight of a white barked tree, with blood red leaves and an old carved face. A weirwood tree.
Robb sat on one of the old roots curved above the dirt, looking at the weirwood in what appeared to be contemplation. She stood still a moment, watching him — beside the southern attributes he must have inherited from his Tully mother, there was something so starkly northern about the scene before her.
Her violet eyes flickered to the face of the weirwood, where Robb had his gaze set. The eyes, red with dried sap, stared deep into her soul and Daena had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched.
She crept closer, unsure whether to be quiet or announce herself. The closer she got to Robb and the weirwood, Daena could hear him faintly praying in a tongue she did not recognize. Harsh and clipped, yet concise from Robb's lips, her eyebrows furrowed trying to pick out some of the words.
Robb heard her approach, a twig snapping under her boot to alert him. He looked over at her and smiled, noticing the confusion on her face.
"Old Tongue," he explained simply. "Most northerns still speak it; some of the smallfolk only speak broken Common Tongue, if any at all. It's the duty of high and low lords to know how to speak to their people. All of them."
"Even so long after the Conquest?" questioned Daena. "I thought those who learned it only did so for themselves and not necessity."
"There was not much southern influence during the time of the Targaryens, Common Tongue was only really necessary among the high lords, merchants, travelers and the like." Robb told her, glancing back at the face on the weirwood.
Nodding her head in understanding, Daena took a seat on the tree root next to him. Even in her furs, she could feel Robb's body heat radiating off him sitting so close.
"My grandsire, Lord Rickard Stark, sought to change that. Sent my father to the Eyrie and proposed southern marriage alliances for his children. He welcomed in southern commonfolk, though not many came, but the lords and ladies then needed to speak both tongues. It's been that way ever sense."
Not many generations for all to learn Common Tongue, Daena thought, which explained why some smallfolk only spoke broken Common Tongue, if any at all. Daena's native tongue, High Valyrian, was spoken frequently on Driftmark — but Common Tongue was also heard on the island, and the Velaryon's knew both. It dawned on her then that she would be expected to learn the Old Tongue once she wed Robb — if the betrothal was accepted.
Robb and Daena continued talking under the gaze of the weirwood — and Leona Woolfield, Wyllis' wife, who sat at the edge of the clearing embroidering quietly, but noticeably looking up to check on them. Robb asked briefly about High Valyrian and the culture of Driftmark, before trading some facts about the North and Winterfell.
"I have tw—one brother, and two sisters." Robb explained, wincing at the near mention of Jon, unsure of Daena's thoughts on bastards.
"Only a brother and a sister," Daena told him, thinking about her little family.
The midday sun slowly fell down to the horizon, and Ser Myland came back to fetch her before supper. She whispered her parting to Robb before she headed back to the castle.
The handful of days they got together seemed to pass in a blur. They frequently met in the godswood, or were escorted through the streets of White Harbor or the corridors of the castle. Daena thought it had all happened far too quickly to decide if this man would be a good husband — but in the end, that decision was not hers. Lucerys had already made it, and now it was only up to Eddard and Robb to accept.
Which, on the day of their parting, they had. Daena Velaryon of Driftmark was betrothed to Robb Stark of Winterfell, and they would wed when the two came of age.
On the trip back to Driftmark, Daena did not feel any different, now betrothed. She wondered how much would change in the four years it took for her to reach eight-and-ten, and how much would change with her would-be husband.