Despite being the youngest child of six and the only daughter of the House of Stark, it had been Claera Stark who had been the last to know of her engagement to the second son of House Targaryen. Her family had sworn fealty to Princess Rhaenyra before she had been born, but with the deteriorating health of King Viserys. It had sparked hushed whispers of fear in regards to the succession as their King still backed Princess Rhaenyra rather than his first born son, Aegon Targaryen.
It hadn't made sense to her why she was to marry him, nor would her parents explain to her why. Just that she was to be wed to him by the end of summer.
However, it had been no surprise to her that she had been promised to such a man in his position. She was a lady of an Old and Great House. It was all expected of her to be married off for political and strategic gain. Which is why she accepted it for what it was. A transaction. They were sending her off to show fealty to the true heir born.
Yet, the biggest disadvantage of her arrangement to her husband-to-be was her lack of knowledge. Her Father cared not for politics or court, which kept her locked away in their castle up North, far from court, with her five older brothers, her parents, and the maids and servants. Her mother cared for court, it was where she was born and raised from House Tully and married her Father. Which was why it was a constant argument between them that often caused many tense family dinners.
Her Father had taken her brothers out for a last hunt before they were to depart in the morning for King's Landing, they were to spend their spring there, before the wedding would take place.
A formality to the rest of the court. A show of goodwill was to demonstrate that two Great Houses were joining in holy matrimony.
"Claera," her handmaiden clicked her tongue. "You must stop daydreaming, you are to have an early sleep, in preparation for tomorrow's journey."
They were to leave Winterfell in the dark of morning, and travel by carriage on the King's Road for two weeks, where they would arrive in King's Landing and stay in the Red Keep for three months until the wedding and then she would be left there and her family would return to Winterfell.
She would never return to Winterfell, never return home. Her husband would be the prince and would find it unnecessary for them to visit her childhood home unless it was required of them.
Claera sighed softly, tearing her gaze away from the window where the last rays of sunlight were fading into dusk. "I know, Elara," she replied to her handmaiden, her voice carrying a hint of resignation. "I just can't shake this feeling of... uncertainty."
Elara moved closer, her expression sympathetic. "It's natural to feel that way, my lady. But you have been raised to handle whatever comes your way."
Claera offered a faint smile, appreciating Elara's attempt at comfort. Although it was sorely lacking for the most part. "Thank you, Elara. I suppose I should try to rest." She rose from her window seat, peeling off her robe as she moved towards her bed.
"Goodnight, my lady."
"Goodnight Elara," she watched as she blew out the candle and left her room, the door closing behind her.
As she settled beneath the covers, Claera couldn't help but let her mind wander once more. She thought about the upcoming journey, about the unfamiliar court she would soon find herself in, and about the prince she was betrothed to, yet knew so little about.
Hours ticked by with her tossing and turning in bed, unable to find sleep, she slipped out of bed. Tying her robe closed over her nightgown, she slipped her slippers on and left the comfort of her room, following the familiar halls, her deft fingers running across the stone walls with glee.
If this was to be her last night then she would thoroughly enjoy it the way she dictated. Running down the steps down into the kitchen, she packed a blanket along with a basket of fruits and cheeses and along with a lantern, she left out of the side door that would lead her outside.
Navigating the familiar terrain, she smiled as she came upon the Weirwood tree, its white bark and five-pointed, blood-red leaves and sap were a comfort that she would miss.
Setting up her blanket by the small pond, she laid atop of it with the lantern and her basket of food. Determined this would be the way she would spend her last night.
Under the serene glow of the lantern, Claera settled onto the blanket, feeling the cool night air caress her skin. The sound of rustling leaves and distant howls of wolves surrounded her, creating a symphony of familiar melodies that soothed her restless mind.
She plucked a piece of fruit from the basket and nibbled on it thoughtfully, her gaze drifting up towards the star-strewn sky above. The stars seemed to twinkle with secrets and possibilities, reminding her that despite the uncertainty of her future, there was still beauty and wonder to be found in the world.
Lost in her thoughts, Claera allowed herself to simply be in the moment, reveling in the tranquility of the night. She felt a sense of peace wash over her, grounding her amidst the chaos of her impending journey.
As she lay there beneath the Weirwood tree, surrounded by nature's embrace, Claera found solace in the simple joys of the present. And for a brief moment, the weight of her responsibilities and the unknown future lifted from her shoulders, leaving her free to bask in the quiet serenity of the night.
"Sneaky sister," Claera turned to face her eldest brother as he approached.
"Alix," she breathed, her initial surprise giving way to a warm smile.
He chuckled, his cloak bearing their family's insignia draped around his shoulders. Alix ran a hand through his short, dark curls before settling down on the blanket beside her.
"I knew I'd find you here," he remarked, reaching for an apple from the basket of food.
"Does Mother know I'm not in bed?" Claera inquired, a hint of dread in her voice.
Alix shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Too preoccupied with packing for the journey, driving the maids mad with her demands. Heard a couple of them plotting to place a dead rat in her bath later."
Claera couldn't help but snort with laughter. "Good. She's been incessant with her lectures."
Her mother had been relentless, harping on about her needlework, posture, her education, the way she dressed, and the necessity of always being presentable for her future husband. She'd even gone as far as dictating her diet, much to Claera's frustration.
Which made indulging in cheese and fruits all the more satisfying, especially after her mother had insisted on cutting her food portions in half to maintain her figure.
Which is why it felt so good to indulge in cheese and fruits after her Mother had the kitchen staff cut her food portions over half to keep her skinny.
"I might even help them," he smirked, taking another bite of the red apple. "She insisted that we needed haircuts to find wives at court. We all escaped, except Orland, mother has her clutches in him."
Her brothers had taken after their Father, all tall and muscled with dark curls and striking dark eyes that bordered black. All handsome with their stubble beards and kind smiles, if not for the fact that all they cared for was hunting, fighting, and eating. They cared not for courtly life or finding wives, which drove their Mother insane.
Claera chuckled at her brother's comment, feeling a sense of relief wash over her at the familiar banter between them. "I'm glad you found me, Alix. I needed a break from all of Mother's fussing."
Alix nodded in agreement, taking a bite of the apple before passing it to Claera. "You're not alone in that sentiment, sister. Mother has been unbearable lately, especially with all the preparations for the journey."
Claera accepted the apple with a grateful smile, enjoying the crisp sweetness as she leaned back against the blanket. "I can't believe this is all happening so quickly," she murmured, her thoughts drifting to the impending journey and the wedding that awaited her in King's Landing.
"It's a daunting prospect," Alix conceded, his expression briefly serious before he reached for another piece of fruit from the basket. "But you possess a strength within you, Claera. More than you realize. You'll navigate this new chapter with grace and resilience, just as you always have."
Claera's response was tinged with a hint of disbelief. "You hold me in high regard."
"If anyone can navigate the intricacies of court life," he replied with a smile, "it's you."
"How so? Because I'm a woman?" Her question hung in the air, laden with doubt and self-reflection.
Jousting tournaments, elegant dances, lavish feasts, and the attention of handsome young knights—these were the dreams of many unmarried high-born ladies. But for Claera, they sparked more anxiety than excitement.
Raised in the sheltered confines of her family's home, she was soft-spoken, shy, and easily intimidated by the grandeur and expectations of courtly life. Though she was accomplished in music and the arts, and often praised for her charm and wit among her family, the prospect of facing the complexities of court filled her with trepidation.
Yet, amidst her apprehension, Alix's words stirred a warmth within Claera, "no, because you are a Stark, and the best of us."
As they sat beneath the canopy of the Weirwood tree, sharing laughter and stories into the night, she cherished these moments of connection and familiarity, knowing they would soon be but memories of a time gone by.
Behind her smiles and laughter, Claera mourned the inevitable distance that would soon separate her from her beloved family.
"You've been sneaking into the kitchens, haven't you?" Claera's mother scolded, observing Elara's struggle to fit her into the new corset gown.
"No, Mother," Claera replied through gritted teeth. "I simply am not the same size as I was when I was ten."
Elara intervened, dropping the strings of the corset. "She speaks true, my lady. My lady has blossomed into her womanhood, and the gowns you've purchased no longer accommodate her."
Her mother crossed her arms, a hint of annoyance flickering across her face. "Fortunately, the dressmaker anticipated this and prepared larger sizes as well."
Claera released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you, Mother."
With a curt nod, her mother dismissed Elara. "Very well, I'll have her fetch the appropriate dresses, and then we shall depart."
Once her mother had left, Claera embraced Elara tightly, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'll miss you most of all, Elara," she confessed. "I'll be lost once we arrive in King's Landing."
Her parents had informed her that a new handmaiden, handpicked by her fiancé, would accompany her to King's Landing. Meanwhile, Elara would remain in Winterfell, tending to her brothers' wives and children once they were married—a scheme her mother had orchestrated, determined to see all her children wed by the end of the next year.
Elara returned the embrace with equal tenderness, her heart heavy with the impending separation. "Don't worry, my dear," she murmured, gently stroking Claera's hair. "We will be reunited when your brothers take their vows."
Claera shook her head, a hint of defiance in her voice. "But it won't be the same."
The older woman sighed softly, her expression tinged with sadness. "It's the way of our world, my dear."
Before Claera could protest further, Elara silenced her with a gentle admonishment. "No more tears, my dear. Your mother wouldn't be pleased to see you with a red and swollen face."
Taking a deep breath, Claera composed herself, nodding in understanding. "I love you, Elara. Thank you for caring for me all these years."
Elara's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she returned Claera's smile. "I remember the night you were born," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You were so small and fragile in my arms, a precious gift to our family."
With a final embrace, the two women lingered in each other's arms, cherishing the moments they had left together before the inevitable separation.
As the carriage rumbled along the darkened road, Claera settled into her seat, the soft glow of the lantern casting a warm light upon the pages of her novel. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the ground provided a soothing backdrop to her reading.
Across from her, her mother slumbered, her exhaustion evident from the lines of weariness etched upon her face. Claera couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her, knowing the immense pressure she must have been under in the weeks leading up to their departure.
With a sigh, Claera immersed herself in the world of her book, allowing the fictional realm to whisk her away from the reality of their journey. The characters came to life before her eyes, their adventures and trials captivating her attention and momentarily easing the apprehension that gnawed at her insides.
As the first light of dawn began to paint the horizon with hues of pink and gold, Claera found herself lost in the pages of her novel, grateful for the temporary reprieve it offered from the uncertainties that lay ahead. And as the journey continued, she silently hoped that the chapters of her own story would unfold with as much intrigue and possibility as those she now eagerly devoured.
Even if her husband-to-be was just as a recluse as they said.