Of White Trees and Blue Roses

I own nothing. This all belongs to GRRM, and I'm just playing with the story he gave us.

~X~

Chapter Two – The Welcome at Winterfell

Embarrassed, Robb finally made his way to the Great Hall, but instead of his friend and his younger siblings he came across Lord Rickard Stark, and Brandon Stark, Lord Stark's oldest son and heir, amongst other strangers.

It seemed that the Lord of Winterfell already knew of the reasons for his Robert's delay as he sat cold and sombre on his high seat. Starks were the descendants of the frozen kings of the north, Robb thought. Aye, and he could see where Ned got his long, stone face from, too.

Robb worried about the impression his future in-laws now had of him, and rued the fact that he had drank so heartily the night before. Lord Stark, however, gave little away as he formally received and greeted the young Lord Baratheon of Storm's End.

Brandon Stark, standing by his father, was a different man altogether, and a very different breed of wolf to the one Robb was more familiar with. His smirk was barely concealed, and more than once or twice, he was sure he heard a hint of mockery in his tone.

Robert had no doubt that he would find this brother-in-law to be more like himself than Ned in terms of personality. Yet another brother that he would prefer over his own blood. He could swear that Stannis had been born with a poker up his arse, and Renly was more of a sister than a brother at times.

Finally, the introductions were over, and Brandon led Robb from the hall with the promise of showing him around the castle. As soon as they were out of earshot, however, he turned and said, "I'll show you your chambers, and you can try to sleep it off. We're feasting you tonight. You don't want my fellow Northmen to think we're wedding Lyanna off to someone who can't stomach their ale, do you?"

Brandon slapped him on the back and Robb felt himself go pale.

"It's good for you, a little hair of the dog. Or should it be hair of the wolf?" The Stark's loud laugh echoed, just as Robert's did when he was feeling more himself.

Not wanting to seem like a weak southerner, Robb did as he was told, taking off a few layers of clothing and climbing underneath the furs on the bed. He'd expected Winterfell to have the same chill that could be found outside but he was surprised to find it strangely warm.

Sleep claimed him quickly, and he dreamed of sitting on Jon Arryn's chair back in the Eeyrie, something that he often did when his guardian was out of sight, just for the thrill of it, though this time he had female company. A beautiful maid dressed simply in a blue dress sat on his lap, her face flushed with exertion, her long dark hair dropping over her shoulder. Her large brown eyes were smiling as her lips parted and said his name in a way that made his entire body tighten.

~X~

Benjen looked up at his father, his two elder brothers, and his sister at the table with their guest, Robert Baratheon—Ned's friend and Lyanna's betrothed. For a moment he wondered if he was jealous; he wanted to sit and talk to Ned about what he'd learned in the Eeyrie and find out what the knights there were like there. He also wanted talk to his brother's friend and find out whether he was the fearsomely strong warrior he was made out to be, he was certainly built that way, and whether Ben would get the chance to try lifting the huge war hammer he'd already heard tales of.

Then Ben looked around at the men he was sat with and didn't rue a place at the table at the head of the room at all.

"Greatjon?" He turned to the large man sat diagonally opposite him. "How many men have you killed?"

Taking a large gulp of ale, Greatjon Umber, a young man but already towering over most in the room, slammed his cup down hard, and then the tale began. Once Greatjon was finished the story which enraptured Ben but earned groans from others around them, another man started boasting of his deeds, and then another. Sipping carefully on the ale his father had allowed him, knowing fine well that Lord Rickard would be counting how many he drank, ready to send him to bed once he considered he'd had enough, Ben sat and listened intently.

He loved occasions such as this. Never bothered by his position as third son, Benjen had always dreamed of being a Ser rather than Lord Stark of Winterfell—fighting evildoers and protecting the innocent, known throughout the realm. Even now as he grew to be a man he still ate up Old Nan's tales of heroic deeds and brave knights slaying fantastic beasts.

In Ben's opinion, Lords and direct heirs seemed to have very little fun. His own father had to sit aloof in his chair rather than in amongst his men and hearing their stories—Brandon suffered a similar fate and Ned too, when he was home. Robert Baratheon glanced his way once or twice, and he also looked like he would have preferred to be on the benches rather than seated in the place of honoured guest.

Earlier, Robert had looked almost green, but his face was looking healthier by the minute, though he drank carefully, Ben noticed. He also looked across at Lyanna a lot, when he thought she wasn't looking.

Poor Robert. It seemed that he was as sour on the idea of getting married as much as Lyanna was. He'd emptied his guts as soon as he'd been introduced.

His sister had told Ben that marriage was a curse that male gods inflicted on women, who hadn't even asked to be born girls. Once she got married, she'd have to leave Winterfell to live elsewhere, and do needlework instead of secretly practising jousting in the woods with him.

She wasn't the only one of his siblings already betrothed. Brandon was promised to Catelyn Tully, the eldest daughter of Lord Hoster of Riverrun. It didn't seem like a fair swap to Ben, as he doubted that any new tales from the Riverlands Catelyn Tully might bring would be half as fun as jousting with his sister.

Besides, Ben had heard men on the benches and in the yard say that when a man and woman were first wed, you hardly saw either of them for a while. He didn't want Brandon taken away, too. What with Ned being Jon Arryn's ward in the Vale, Ben would be on his own.

Truth be told, Lyanna was Ben's favourite sibling, and he would miss her when it was time for her to go, no matter who else remained to keep him company. But Robert didn't seem so bad—if she was lucky, maybe her husband might teach her how to use his war hammer? After a few moments of pondering Ben decided that he hoped not. It was embarrassing having to admit that you were less skilled than your sister; if Lyanna couldn't practise, then eventually he'd be the better fighter of the two.

Catching each other's eyes, Lyanna winked down at Ben, and they shared a smile.