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Chapter Text

Lyarra Stark was the Lady of Winterfell, a woman of grace and strength. She was known throughout the North for her unwavering loyalty to her ancestors' traditions and deep connection to the Old Gods.

One cold summer night, a blizzard raged outside the walls of Winterfell. Lyarra was amid labor, surrounded by the loyal members of her household. Her husband, Lord Rickard Stark, stood by her side, his worry etched upon his face. The maester, an old and wise man, did his best to ensure a safe delivery.

As Lyarra's labor intensified, the weirwood trees surrounding Winterfell swayed and shook in the wind. The Stark family believed that the Old Gods watched over them, and on this night, it felt like the ancient gods themselves were present.

After hours of struggle and pain, Lyarra gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The boy had the same dark hair and solemn eyes as his father, and they named him Eddard. The girl, however, was an anomaly; she came out with white hair and eyes so blue they seemed white. She was named Ariadne. The maester present immediately pulled Rickard to the side, asking about possible infidelity. Rickard, in his anger, nearly killed the maester then and there.

Rickard and Lyarra were left alone with their newest bundles of joy, and their son Brandon soon joined them. Brandon was let into the room and made a run for the bed. He was quickly stopped by Rickard, who was afraid Brandon would harm Lyarra in his haste.

“Gentle,” Rickard reprimanded him gently as he placed him on the bed.

Brandon peeked at his little sister, wrapped tightly in a small wool blanket. He wrinkled his nose as he noticed her odd coloring. “Brother?” he asked, confusion written all over his face.

Both parents laughed at Brandon’s confusion. Rickard took the time to explain to Brandon quietly. “This is your sister,” he said before slowly grabbing Eddard from where he lay. “This is your brother,” he said, showing Brandon Eddard.

“Brandon, as the oldest, you must protect your younger siblings,” Rickard told him quietly.

“They pack,” Brandon said with as solemn a nod as a 2-year-old could give.

Lyarra smiled as Brandon was shown how to hold Eddard's hand gently. However, a slight frown spread across her face as she looked down at her first daughter, whom she was worried about. How would the lords and ladies of the North receive her child with her suspicious coloring?

As it turns out, Lyarra's fears were not unfounded, but her husband would not allow her name and the father of her children to be questioned. Anyone caught speaking ill of her or her daughter regarding her parentage would be swiftly silenced. Soon, no one dared to utter a word about Ariadne, and as she grew, her eyes slowly turned gray, but her hair remained white, completely unwilling to change.

Ariadne grew into a bright beauty. At the age of four, her mother gave her a little sister. Ariadne was immediately in love. She dreamed of the day her sister was bigger so that she would have more help taking down Brandon when they played princes and dragons.

Ariadne was no princess. She did not want to sit and watch the boys fight, so she fought as well. Brandon was the evil dragon coming to burn her and her traveling brother. She came up with this game all by herself, and she was very proud of it. However, when Lyanna was finally deemed old enough, both Brandon and Ned were shipped off to faraway places where she would never see them again.

It was the night before Brandon and Ned’s departures for Barrowtown and the Vale, respectively.

“FATHER YOU CAN’T SEND THEM AWAY,” Ariadne howled.

Four-year-old Lyanna looked at her sister from the arms of her nursemaid and started crying, setting off one-year-old Benjen, who was slowly drifting off to sleep in his mother's arms. “Ariadne, please. You're upsetting your brother and sister,” Lyarra scolded as she tried to calm them down.

“I don’t care. Me and Ned are supposed to stay together; that's what they told us.” She huffed, stomping her foot; however, she had stopped screaming.

“Ned and I, lovey,” Lyarra corrected lightly. “And who told you that, dearest?” she asked.

“The children,” Ariadne said as if it were obvious. “We’ll never find our wolves if they aren’t here.”

“Wolves?” Rickard asked with a light huff.

“YES! Does anyone listen to me?” Ariadne huffed. She threw her fork down, launching some food off her plate.

“ENOUGH!” Rickard said, banging his fist down on the table. “Your brothers are leaving in the morning, and I’ll hear no more talk of children and wolves. Now you can eat your dinner or go to bed without it.”

Ariadne’s eyes were downcast as she slowly picked up the fork she had discarded in her rant. She felt her twin’s hand intertwine with hers, and the dam burst. She wrenched herself away from Ned and fled the room, wailing. She ignored her brother's cries for her name and ran straight for her room. Ned, however, wasn’t far behind, and before she could close her door and lock it, he burst in behind her.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she hiccuped furiously, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. Ned said nothing and just hugged her as she cried. He didn’t want to admit it, but he also felt like crying.

This would be the first time the two of them had been away from each other for so long. Since birth, they had been attached at the hip; you never saw one without the other. As Ariadne calmed down, the two lay in her bed holding hands.

“I promise I’ll write every day,” Ned whispered.

“It’s not fair, Father should let me come as well,” Ariadne hissed furiously. Now that the sadness had been expelled from her body, she was back to anger.

“Well, how will you find the wolves?” Ned asked.

“The children said you have to be here, I can’t find them alone. Branch said if you aren’t here, the wolves won’t show themselves.” Ariadne said as she played with her fingers.

“Then let's go tonight,” Ned said as if it were so obvious.

“How?” She asked, turning to look at her brother.

“We’ll ask Brandon for help. He knows how to sneak past the guards, and we can bring him with us.”

Ariadne seemed to think it over before nodding. A knock at the door knocked the two out of their planning. Slowly, the door cracked, and Rickard poked his head in.

“Eddard, your sister and I have to talk. I believe it's time you retired to your room,” he said clearly, using his lord’s voice. Ned hesitated slightly, glancing at his sister.

“Now,” Rickard said. Ned quickly hopped off the bed, leaving Ariadne and Rickard alone.

“Ariadne, we’ve talked about this before, your brothers have to go-”

“I don’t want them to,” she interrupted softly.

“I know, but your lessons with maester Walys should have prepared you for this. Your brothers are doing their duty to the North, like you will one day. I’ve let you run wild and play with swords and bows as long as you do your duties as a lady. I’m thinking I’ve been too lenient,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry, Father, but if they leave, they will be lone wolves, and you always say the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. You’re breaking up the pack!” she said, her voice rising slightly.

“Can you trust that I, as your father, know what is best?” he asked as he sat beside her on her bed. Her lip quivered as she nodded slowly. “Then trust that I would never put your brothers in danger. I wouldn’t send them anywhere unless I were assured they would be safe.”

Ariadne began to cry again, using her sleeves to wipe her eyes. She had known there was nothing she could do to stop her brothers from leaving, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try. Rickard's arm went around his daughter's shoulders, pulling her into his side as she cried.

“I promise the pack will remain safe, and Ned will come and visit us. Maybe I will send you to visit him in the Vale one day.” Rickard assured her.

Soon, Ariadne’s crying ended, and Rickard left her to get ready for bed. However, bed was the last thing on her mind. She blew out her lamp and lay in bed as still as a plank of wood, fully dressed. Soon, three knocks came to her door, and Ned and Brandon slipped inside, dressed. She quickly got out of bed and put on her boots before Brandon stopped her.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

So Ariadne held her boots in her hand as Brandon peeked his head out of her door. When it was clear, he moved forward, leaving the room with Ned and Ariadne hot on his heels. The three moved as one quickly and quietly down the halls of Winterfell. When they finally made it outside, they donned their boots and continued their trek to the Wolfswood.

Brandon led the two to a small hole in the wall big enough for children. One by one, they squeezed through the hole and made a break for the Wolfswood. When the three made it to the edge of the Wolfswood, Brandon stopped suddenly, apprehensive.

“Are you sure about this Addy Father said there are bandits and rapists in the wolfswood,” he said holding her hand to stop her from entering the forest.

“Branch told me our wolves are waiting for us. The old gods will protect us. This is supposed to happen,” she insisted, wrenching her arm away and heading for the forest. The three stuck close to each other with no light source and felt around in the dark. They didn’t have to get far into the forest when they heard howls.

“They’re surrounding us,” Brandon said, pulling his siblings close. “I knew this was a bad idea!”

Ariadne, however, whipped her head around looking for any sight of the wolves. Soon, three wolves emerged, slightly taller than a man. As they grew closer, Brandon held onto them tighter. Ariadne was breathless as she stared at them. The one who seemed to be the pack's leader moved closer before slowly lowering her head to

Ariadne, and she reached up and pressed her hand against her muzzle.

“Are these ours?” Ned asked, looking at the three docile wolves.

“No, the babies are ours,” Ariadne whispered as she pointed at the second wolf, heavy with child.

Direwolves had returned to Winterfell.

Chapter Text

“Rhaegar, save him!”

Someone shouted at him, but he couldn’t move; he couldn’t see. The wails of a child accompanied the woman’s scream.

“Who, save who?” Rhaegar shouted as he struggled against the strange force holding him down.

There was so much heat. He felt as if he was on fire. The flames were licking at his pants. He struggled against whatever was holding him back, trying to reach the mysterious woman and save the unnamed babe. He called out again to the woman.

“WHO AM I SAVING?” He shouted.

“YOU HAVE TO SAVE AEGON! HE’S GONNA BURN HIM!”

“WHO!”

“HE’S KILLING OUR SON!!!”

Rhaegar struggled against the binds that were holding him and made eye contact with the pleading gray eyes of a woman. They were filled with tears, and he felt a sudden urge to protect her.

Chapter Text

The godswood was always a peaceful place for Ariadne. Whenever she was there, the world's weight seemed to be lifted from her shoulders. For a few moments, she could forget. At a young age, she took up the mantle of Lady of Winterfell and watched her father become a cold, hard man who rarely spent time with her and her siblings.

She became the person who oversaw her brother and sister, even if she was but 10 herself when her mother died. Benjen knew no other mother. He did not cry out for Lyarra like Lyanna sometimes did. He did not recall the warm, kind, and fierce woman who had brought them into this world.

She came to the godswood to breathe, to grieve the loss of her mother and father, and the loss of her youth. However, she came to speak a few times with the few children who still resided south of the wall. They called her their queen. The Queen of Winter. She did not like to think of herself that way lest she forget and utter those words to someone.

Today was one of those days she sat beneath the great heart tree, her direwolf, Thistle, now nearly taller than a horse, rested beside her. She was at peace, taking in the freshly fallen snow and the cold breeze that blew through the godswood, making the trees shake.

Her peace was brutally interrupted when her siblings, wolves, Ironclaw and Frenya, bounded through the trees, Benjen and Lyanna not far behind them. The wolves made a beeline for Thistle while Lyanna and Benjen nearly toppled over each other to get to her.

“ADY! Brandon is here!” Lyanna squealed, running over to her.

“I wanted to tell her,” Benjen pouted, his once happy mood now ruined.

The news made Ariadne sit upright. Brandon wasn’t due for a visit for a few more weeks. Her father must have called him back sooner without telling her.

“Is he already in the castle?” Ariadne asked, rising.

“No,” Benjen shook his head. A rider was sent ahead, but he’s due any minute. Do you know why he’s here?” he asked as he took her hand. Despite being seven and constantly teased by Lyanna, Benjen always wanted to be close to Ariadne.

“Then we must make haste, I can’t believe Father didn’t tell me. How are we to welcome him properly without any preparation?” Ariadne huffed.

“Oh, please. This is his home. I doubt he cares,” Lyanna rolled her eyes as she ran ahead. Benjen let go of her hand and quickly ran after Lyanna.

Ariadne sighed softly. She did not want to change her sister's fierce nature, but she knew reality would come eventually, and it would hit her hard. She often tried to ease her into it, but Lyanna was as stubborn as they came. The only thing she could do was be there for her when the realization hit.

Despite her little preparation time, Ariadne managed to get Brandon’s room cleaned and prepped for him and convince the cooks to prepare a few of his favorite things for tonight’s dinner. When Brandon finally reached Winterfell, he was not expecting his sister to have most of the household lined up to greet him.

“BRANDON!” Benjen and Lyanna shouted, running towards him as he dismounted. Beron, his direwolf, bounded over to his siblings, and the much too-big direwolves rolled around in the snow, nipping at each other in greeting.

Brandon had grown taller than her father since she’d last seen him. He managed to somehow scoop Benjen and Lyanna up into one hug. When he finally put them down, he turned to Ariadne and opened his arms wide.

“Ady,” he smiled, bringing her into a hug. “I think I’ve missed you the most,” he joked.

Ariadne noted how Brandon’s eyes scanned the courtyard very clearly, looking for their father. She gave a tight smile as she hugged him. During Brandon’s brief visits, he had witnessed their father's cold shoulder but held onto hope that he would change.

“HEY!” Lyanna huffed.

“What, do you think I’ve missed you? You helion,” he laughed as he ruffled her hair.

Lyanna gave as good as she got and landed a brutal, solid hit to his stomach. Brandon leaned over, feigning pain. He groaned, and Lyanna smiled triumphantly. Her satisfaction only lasted for a second as Brandon quickly popped back up.

“You’d need a lot more strength before you could hurt me, runt,” he said, dropping his act and lightly pushing her.

Ariadne stepped between them before their light banter could devolve into a wrestling match.

“Okay, let’s all remain civil and save the rough play for later. Brandon, I’m sure you’re tired, and you have a lot to tell us about what you’re doing back so soon.”

“As if a short ride like that could tire me out,” Brandon boasted. “I could spend days traveling and wouldn’t slow down.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Benjen cut in, however, looking for the customary gift Brandon usually bought him. “Where’s my present?” he demanded, his gray eyes shining.

“Benjen, I’m sure you have better manners than that,” Ariadne reprimanded.

At this, Benjen looked slightly guilty. “Did you bring me anything, Brandon?” he asked, which was good enough for Ariadne.

“Now, why would I bring you anything? I have nothing for misbehaving little pups.” Brandon teased.

At this, Benjen visibly deflated. Brandon turned to Ariadne, deciding to answer her question.

“I honestly have no idea why Father called me here, he said in his letter that it was urgent and of the utmost secrecy,” Brandon said, mimicking their father’s baritone voice.

As he was telling her this, he pulled out a small present wrapped in what looked to be a handkerchief and handed it to Benjen. Benjen unwrapped it, unwilling to wait any longer. Inside was a beautifully crafted dagger with a gleaming red ruby decorating the hilt.

“NO FAIR,” Lyanna shouted as she saw what it was. She quickly tried to snatch it away from Benjen, who scampered out of her reach and behind Ariadne.

“Now enough of that, Lyanna,” Ariadne scolded lightly. “Brandon has gifted you many blades, far too many for Father's taste,” Ariadne reminded her.

The four continued into the castle as Brandon told them of his trip there. Once Brandon was settled in his room, Ariadne got a maid to tend to Benjen and Lyanna, giving the two well-needed baths and readying them for the small feast they were having that night.

However, the strange reason for her brother's arrival bothered her even while she washed. She couldn’t even guess what could’ve possibly warranted her father calling her brother back in such a rush, so secretly, he didn’t mention it to her. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, a maid reminding her of the time. She quickly called the girl in to help her prepare for the feast.

When she entered the hall, her siblings and father were already there. He sat straight-faced at the head table as Brandon laughed jovially next to him, entertaining their siblings with another fanciful adventure of his, no doubt.

“Ari Brandon’s telling us about his adventures through the North,” Benjen said, coming over to drag her to the table.

“Hopefully, everything is age-appropriate,” Ariadne said, taking a seat and eyeing Brandon.

“Peace, sister,” Brandon said with a charming smile, “I’m just telling them about my last visit to see Ned.”

“And how is our brother faring in the south?”

“You know Ned as solemn as ever, however, that friend of his, Baratheon, helps bring him out of his shell. Only the gods know how they became so close.”

“Well, he’s had a lot of experience with you, I’d say it’s not that surprising,” Lyanna sassed.

“I’m different, I’m his brother, his pack. Baratheon is an outsider,” Brandon scoffed, taking a bite of his dinner.

“Pack is not necessarily family, Brandon,” Ariadne said, rolling her eyes. “Just like family isn’t always blood.”

“Your sister is correct, something you haven’t learned with Lord Dustin. He’s allowed you to run rampant in the Rills. Might be time to bring you home.” Rickard huffed from where he sat.

“I still have another year. After all, you were the one who negotiated my fostering for 10 and 2 years,” Brandon reminded him.

Sensing the tension, Benjen and Lyanna turned to their food. The jolly mood immediately dissipated. Ariadne swallowed the lump in her throat and stared down at her food. She could hardly eat with the tension her father had brought with him.

“That was a mistake. I’ll write to Dustin to say you do not need to return to Barrowtown. I’ll hear no more on this. I expect to see you and Ariadne in my solar after you finish your dinner.” Rickard said, standing from the table.

Rickard's exit left a tense feeling in the air. Brandon cursed to himself before standing and leaving the hall. Ariadne sighed before getting up to follow. Benjen was made to follow, but Ariadne firmly told him to finish his dinner. Benjen huffed but followed her orders, sitting heavily in his seat. She headed in the direction of the training yards, the cold air biting at her skin. There he was swinging a blunted sword at a training dummy.

He knew she was there. She had always been the one to try to comfort her siblings in their time of need, but hardly anyone was there to comfort her. It's funny how that works. She watched him hit the dummy a few times, huffing in exertion and anger before speaking.

“It’s Barbrey, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

With one final swing, Brandon dropped the training sword into the snow.

“Yes. Father won’t allow me to marry her, but she’s amazing. I love her, Ady,” Brandon whispered that last sentence. However, he did not expect the following words from Ariadne’s mouth.

“Are you a fool, Brandon Stark?” She was angry and rightfully so.

“Wha-?”

“You have been betrothed to Catelyn Tully for years. I know you cannot help falling in love, but you have a duty as the heir to the North, and you cannot just shirk it on some whim!” Ariadne snapped.

She loved her brother, but like Lyanna, he was reckless. In their father’s words, the wolf's blood ran hot in their blood. However, at some point, you must learn to temper it.

“This isn’t some fling,” Brandon sneered. “I love her!”

“And does she love you? How do you know she’s not after your title, because I can guarantee her father is.” Ariadne snapped, hoping her brother would see sense.

“SHE’S NOT!” Brandon shouted. “I won’t let you speak so lowly of her,” he said, his eyes darkening in anger. Beron, who was nearby, growled, and his hackles raised, sensing Brandon’s anger.

“You are a fool,” She scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head. “And what of the Tully girl?” She asked.

“I don’t know her, just as she doesn’t know me. Her father could find someone else, she'll be fine,” Brandon dismissed.

“Father is waiting for us; we'd best not be late, " she said before starting to stalk off.

“I took her maidenhead; she is ruined for any other man,” Brandon whispered into the chilled air.

Ariadne rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to sigh. Her hands clenched into fists, but she continued on. She didn’t have to turn back, and Brandon followed her at a sedate pace. The silence between the two was tense. As they reached his solar, the door was ajar, as if waiting for the two of them.

They entered to find Rickard sitting at his desk holding what seemed to be a letter in his hand. He stood as the two entered and motioned them to sit. The door closed behind them, making whatever the three would discuss entirely unknown to the rest of the world.

“You have been summoned to the capital,” The lack of an exact addressee had Ariadne looking at Brandon.

“What have you done?” she asked, her heart rate picking up and panic consuming her as her mind traveled to the worst possible scenarios. Everyone had heard talk of the king's rapid descent into madness. Brandon’s summoning could not be for anything good.

“Not Brandon!” Rickard said quickly, noting their panic. “The king has picked a bride for his son, and he has decided to bestow that honor upon you, Ady.”

The nickname shocked her much more than the news itself. It had been years since her father had addressed her so familiarly; their conversations were always distant and cold.

“WHAT!” Brandon shouted, standing abruptly.

“Brandon will accompany you to King's Landing. You will visit the Tullys, and Brandon will meet his betrothed before meeting Eddard on the Kingsroad and heading to the capital.”

“You can’t possibly be considering this?” Brandon asked incredulously.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rickard sneered. Your sister would be a queen, and my grandchildren would be kings. This is an honor.”

“BECAUSE AERYS IS A MAD BASTARD!”

“You watch your tongue, boy. Your words are treason,” Rickard said with a low growl.

“YOU’RE ENDANGERING MY SISTER FOR A BLOODY CROWN!”

“I WOULD NEVER ENDANGER MY DAUGHTER!”

“HE BURNS PEOPLE AND WHAT IF SHE'S NEXT?”

The silence that followed that statement was thick. Both pairs of eyes turned to Ariadne, who was sitting there in silence. Her mind was brought back to the times she was called a queen by the children. Her dream of a dragon flying over her head and circling her was brought to the forefront of her mind.

“It’s not a choice, Brandon. It’s an order, isn’t it, Father?”

Rickard nodded jerkily.

“Then it must be done. When do we depart?”

“You cannot be serious?” Brandon asked incredulously.

“What else can we do?” Ariadne asked. Faced with that harsh reality, Brandon stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Rickard’s eyes followed him out before turning to Ariadne. He slowly came from behind the desk to stand in front of her. He brought his hands up and cupped her cheeks.

“I knew you were destined for great things from the moment you were born. You were born to be a queen,” Rickard said softly.

Ariadne bit back tears. It was the first time her father had done anything fatherly in years. She brought her hand up to hold one of his. The little girl inside of her, who just needed her parents, screamed as she pulled away from him.

“I will make you proud,” She whispered.

“Of that I have no doubt.” He said with a light smile.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since the initial announcement. That week had been filled with a flurry of people arriving, few of whom were to be her lady’s maids while she was in King's Landing, and she was training various people to take over her spot.

Lyanna sat on her bed as she, Myrana Karstark, the youngest daughter of the current lord Karstark, and Raya Snow, a bastard daughter from House Mormont, went through some things she would be taking to the capital. She pulled a beautiful white fur cloak from her wardrobe and hugged it to her chest.

She had long been too tall to wear it properly, but it served as one of the last things her mother helped make for her. Her eyes slid over to Lyanna, who sat on her bed with a pout on her lips. She had made a fuss when she realized she was to stay in the North with their father and Benjen. She turned and shoved the cloak towards Lyanna.

“You should have it,” Ariadne said with a small smile. I have no desire or need to have it altered, and you could give it some more use.”

Lyanna surged from the bed, wrapping her arms around Ariadne. Ariadne returned the gesture eagerly.

“You’re annoying with your nagging, but I will miss you,” Lyanna mumbled against her chest. Ariadne’s shoulders shook as she laughed.

“Take good care of this,” she said with a smile when Lyanna pulled away.

“I promise I will,” she said, glee in her eyes as she gently took the cloak and left the room.

“That was very kind,” Myrana said from where she was packing some of her dresses into a trunk.

“It was only logical, and besides, I’m sure that had Mother not died, Lyanna would have one of her own. It is only right, " she said as she smoothed out her dress.

“Have you had any communications with the prince?” Raya asked with a dreamy smile on her face.

“No, but Maester Walys says that he speaks fluent Valyrian, which is to be expected, so maybe he can help me translate my book.”

The book in question was one she had found on one of the older shelves in the library and had developed a fascination with. She had tried teaching herself Valyrian in an attempt to translate the book. However, the lack of people who spoke the language left much to be desired.

“That’s so romantic,” Raya sighed. Myrana rolled her eyes at the girls' dreamy thoughts. “It’ll be a nice way for you to bond. I hear the prince is very studious and not very fond of the sword.”

“That makes for a weak husband, Raya. A man who cannot protect you is no man at all.”

All three heads turned to look at the new voice. Standing in front of the door was Maege Mormont.

“Well, he is a prince surrounded constantly with the best protection in all seven kingdoms,” Ariadne countered with a smile.

“It’s a good thing I’ve taught ye how to fight, girl, what’s a flowery prince going to do should his ‘protection’ be bested?” Maege asked before hugging Ariadne in greeting.

When Ariadne was more carefree and her mother ran the keep, Maege spent two years training her how to protect herself. Encouraged by her mother, Ariadne had gotten decently good with a bow. Her mother’s death put a stop to all training, leaving Lyanna with the desire but no outlet.

“It is good to see you again, Maege,” Ariadne said with a bright smile.

“Well, it’s not every day a Stark leaves to become a princess, and said future princess writes you personally to ask you a favor,” Maege replied with a raised eyebrow.

“I want you to teach Lyanna how to use a weapon, any weapon, so she can protect herself,” Ariadne said without any preamble.

“Now, if I remember correctly, your father ended all of that. After all, according to that Maester of yours, no southern marriages would be in your cards if you were as wild as the North itself.”

“I will worry about that; I want you to train Lyanna. She has a short sword Brandon brought for her that she is just itching to use. I’d prefer it if she learned safely from someone skilled before she hurts herself.”

Maege nodded sagely. She knew the problems that could occur when one had an incessant hunger for knowledge.

“I’ll do it, however, should your father disapprove, I will throw you to that old wolf. I want none of this to fall back on my shoulders. Gods know I have enough slack from my brother.” Maege said with a grunt.

“You won’t have to worry about my father, I assure you,” Ariadne said with a small smile. She had already made plans to talk with him about it, and she wasn’t leaving without a resounding yes and an oath sworn upon Ice itself.

“Continue packing. I will go speak to my father now, before the feast,” Ariadne said with a determined look in her eyes.

She left the room, the women still occupying it, giving each other worried glances. She walked down the halls, nodding at the servants, who bowed when she passed them. She ignored the sound of her name being called by someone; she had one thing on her mind.

When she approached her father's solar, the doors were shut, and she could hear him speaking to someone inside. She didn’t let it deter her, and she gave three resounding knocks on the door. The talking ceased, and for a minute, nothing happened. Eventually, her father called for her to enter. She opened the door, and inside were her father and Maester Walys. Not allowing his presence to stop her bravado, she continued.

“You are dismissed, Maester. I require my father.”

Walys looked to her father, who stood behind his desk, anger clear across his features. “And who are you to dismiss someone from my solar?” he asked.

Ariadne faltered for a second. She gathered her courage before it could escape her. “Your future crown princess and Queen, " she reminded him.

Rickard stood there for a moment before nodding to Walys. Walys left the solar in a huff. Ariadne stood before her father in silence to be assured that Walys was gone before proceeding.

“I want Lyanna to learn how to defend herself. I have invited Maege Mormont here, and I hope you will allow her to stay to teach Lyanna.”

“No,” Rickard said simply before picking up a paper on his desk and reading.

“I will not take ‘no’ for an answer,” Ariadne replied. “You want her to sneak around and hurt herself because that is the path she will take. She listens to no one and hardly listens to me, and I will leave.”

Rickard looked at her over what he was reading. He seemed to be thinking about what she was saying, so she continued.

“She is to marry the Baratheon boy, and we know she is as willful as they come; compromise with her. Allow her this and balance it with lessons on how to run a keep. I’m sure there is someone who you have decided will replace me in my duties. Let them teach her.”

Rickard nodded; it seemed her passionate speech had won him over, but she would not simply take a yes.

“I want an oath sworn on Ice,” she said, her eyes steely.

Rickard balked at this, offended. “Do you not take me at my word, girl?”

“I’m sorry, Father, but I just cannot risk it,” she whispered.

The two had a staring contest to see who would break first. Ariadne refused to back down. Rickard grunted before standing. He went and pulled Ice from the scabbard he kept hanging behind his desk. He gave her the handle, and she held out the blade towards him. He placed his hand on the blade, and all while glaring at his daughter, he swore his oath.

“I, Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, swear on my ancestors' sword to allow my daughter to take lessons from Maege Mormont on how to defend herself. If she takes her lessons on how to run a keep and be a lady, I swear this on the threat of death should I break it so mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Ariadne whispered, sealing the oath.

“Now leave,” Rickard growled as he took Ice from her.

Ariadne quickly left, knowing her father’s pride was injured and knowing when not to push her luck. Besides, it was getting close to her feast, and she had to prepare. She returned to her rooms, where only Raya Snow remained.

“Why are you not preparing for the feast?” Ariadne asked, slightly shocked at still seeing the girl there.

“My father said I am not to attend the feast as I am a bastard,” Raya said. “I figured I could at least help you prepare.”

“You are my lady-in-waiting, Raya. You go where I go. Now, go prepare yourself quickly. I can call one of my maids to dress me.”

The girl visibly brightened at this and left the room in a hurry. Ariadne called one of the maids who usually served her, and she prepared herself for the feast. When she was finally ready, she dismissed the girl. She looked at herself in the floor-length looking glass that stood in the corner of her room.

“Mother would be proud,” she whispered before leaving her room.

Raya and Myrana were outside waiting for her. “Shall we ladies?”

The three of them made their way to the hall, where music and laughter could be heard. The guard standing before the door announced them.

“LADY ARIADNE STARK,”

As she entered, the hall erupted into cheers, her ladies trailing behind her. The people stopped chatting or dancing to glance at her as she approached the head table where her family was already seated.

When she finally seated herself, her father stood and raised a glass.

“We are brought together tonight thanks to my beautiful daughter. The King has finally sought to remedy the mistakes of his ancestors and honor the pact of ice and fire.”

At that, more cheers were sounded. The Northmen were known as a rowdy bunch, so her father quickly silenced them.

“Tomorrow morning, my daughter, my pride and joy, and my son and heir will set out for the south. The next time I see my daughter, she will have a crown on her head. I couldn’t have asked the gods for a better future queen. To Ariadne Stark, the first Stark to be a queen in 300 years,” Rickard said, raising his glass higher.

Cheers erupted around her, and she could feel her cheeks flush. She demurely took a sip of her wine when prompted. From there, the feast continued. She headed to the floor to dance first with Benjen and then some of her father’s bannermen.

She was soon swung into the familiar arms of Jeor Mormont, Maege’s brother. After him, she was released and finally able to catch her breath. As she made her way back to the table, Brandon cut her off.

“Ari, I would like you to meet Barbrey Ryswell, daughter of lord Rodrik Ryswell of the Rills.”

Ariadne’s smile tensed. She immediately knew something was up. Brandon had some sort of motive.

“My Lady,” Barbrey said with a small curtsy.

“Lady Barbrey told me she’s always wanted to travel south. I thought it would be remiss of me not even to introduce the two of you. Maybe you could make her one of your ladies in waiting?”

And there it was.

“Lady Barbrey, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. My brother has often told me of the beauty of the Rills. I hope to see it one day.”

“It would be an honor to host you,” Barbrey replied.

“I don’t know how big of a household I will be allowed to have. Currently, I am only taking two Ladies with me. You will be the first one I send for when I expand. You’re a beautiful woman. I'm sure we could find you an advantageous match.”

“My lady, I would be just as happy marrying someone in the North. After all, the North's my home.”

“Nonsense, all women leave their homes, maybe a strapping young lord from the Westerlands or the Riverlands,” Ariadne stressed with a smile and a glance at Brandon, whose face had clouded with something not yet anger but close to it.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” Ariadne said before hastily leaving the two of them. She had secretly made her way to the exit, hoping to get a breath of fresh air.

She stepped into the cold outside, the breeze immediately cooling her flushed cheeks.

“How ever, will you survive in the South, I wonder?” A voice asked.

Ariadne turned to see one of the children crouched in the shadows. “SnowyLocks? Why have you come so close to others?” She asked

“You are needed, chosen.” And that was all she said before she took off.

Ariadne let out a loud whistle before following, knowing Thistle would not be too far behind her. She followed SnowyLocks all the way to the godswood, where three other children were waiting. Only one drew her attention. She looked older, and she looked as though she was burdened with knowledge.

“This is BlackKnife. A Greenseer,” SnowyLocks introduced.

“Well met, BlackKnife,” Ariadne said, inclining her head.

“It is time you know our history, chosen, and your duty to this world. Come, kneel before me,” BlackKnife’s voice was deep and gravely.

As Ariadne moved forward, a whine from Thistle stopped her. She looked at her wolf, who watched the proceedings warily. Ariadne placed her hand on her head in a calming gesture before moving forward and kneeling before BlackKnife.

The other two children present grabbed her arms while BlackKnife cupped her face in her hands.

“Now you will see,” she whispered before darkness engulfed Ariadne’s vision.

Chapter Text

Brandon watched Ariadne walk away from him and Barbrey, and he tried to tame his anger. Barbrey turned to him with a stilted smile.

“That went…well?” She asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know.” Brandon sighed, shaking his head lightly.

“She is your sister, can you not tell?”

“No, I can't, Ned's always been better at reading her.”

Brandon tugged on Barbrey’s hand, leading her deeper into the sparsely populated castle from the great hall. Most of their servants were either in the hall or in the kitchen. Barbrey tugged her arm back, pulling them to a stop. She reached up to caress his cheeks, and his shoulders slumped, all tension leaving them.

“What is the matter, my wolf?” She asked gently.

“She knows how much you mean to me, but she’s insistent on my giving the Tully girl a chance.”

“Maybe try talking to her again. She’s a woman, and a sense of duty is something we are raised with. I’m sure she'd change her mind if you tried to show her just how serious you are.”

“I wanted you to come south with me. I don’t want to leave you for too long.”

“You have no reason to worry about me. I will always wait for you, my wolf,” Barbrey whispered the affectionate nickname and kissed his lips. “Be patient with your sister. She is still young and does not know love like ours. She doesn’t understand the lengths people would go to keep it.”

She left, leaving Brandon standing in the halls alone. He sighed deeply. Barbrey was right. When his mother died, Barbrey was there to help him. She didn’t flinch at his anger, mention the tears he shed in the dark, or shame him.

When he bedded her, she was no limp fish. She didn’t lie there and take it; she gave as much as he did. Their coupling was wild and passionate, just like he had always envisioned, and no boring Southron woman could match it.

He stood straighter with a new resolve. He was going to find his sister, and if he had to force her to bring Barbrey with them South, then so be it. To hell with the Tullys. He took off down the halls frantically looking through each room. He slowly stopped as he realized she wasn’t in the castle. He quickly left and made his way to the godswood.

If she weren’t in the castle, she would surely be there. As he made his way there, a loud howl cut through the quiet of the night. He took off faster towards the godswood, knowing that was where the sound came from.

When he finally made it, he was greeted with his sister lying on the ground, her eyes completely white. Thistle lay by her side, whining. He stood there wondering what to do before he sprang into action. He quickly scooped her up and started running towards the castle.

He hesitated at the entrance before heading to her room. His sister may always scold him for his bullheadedness (Never mind that his younger sister shouldn’t scold him), but he knew it would do no good to yell about her condition amid a feast.

He quickly laid her out on her bed and left the room. He had to find Nan. He couldn’t trust Walys not to tell his father, and Nan was the next person he could call on. He found her in the kitchens eating her supper.

“Nan!” Brandon shouted in distress when he finally saw her. Nan rose from her seat at the sight of the young, distressed lord.

“It’s Ari, something’s wrong with her,” Brandon continued.

“Quickly, boy,” Nan said as Brandon led her to Ariadne's room. Inside, Ariadne had stopped seizing, but her eyes were still white and her skin dangerously pale.

“What happened?” Nan asked gently as she looked over the young girl.

“I found her in the godswood like this; she was seizing when I found her. Will she be okay? What’s wrong with her eyes?” Brandon seemed younger than his years as he looked at his sister, who lay still in the bed, her chest barely rising with her breath.

“She is a greenseer or has come into contact with one. Those are their eyes.” Nan said softly. “Whatever she must see is important; old magic is at play here. The only thing we can do is wait.”

Brandon sat heavily in the chair by her bed. Thistle moved over to him, whining softly, and placed her head into his lap. His hand caressed her limp one.

“Should we tell my father?” Brandon asked weakly.

“I will speak t’ae Lord Sark, you watch over your sister,” Nan said, swiftly leaving the room.

Soon, his father entered the room, his features etched with anger; however, when he saw Ariadne, his face softened.

“What happened?” Rickard asked gravely.

“I don’t know, I found her like this in the godswood,” Brandon said softly.

“Were you not watching over her? Were you too busy gallivanting with the Ryswell girl?”

“This is not my fault, and Barbrey has nothing to do with this.” Brandon snarled, standing.

“Your sister lies here in a bed with no known reason and your first thought is to defend your whore?”

“SHE IS NOT A WHORE!” Brandon yelled before his voice got dangerously low. “My sister lies here in a bed, yet you find some way to blame me. Maybe you should have kept a better eye on your Stark Queen,” He growled, his eyes flashing.

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. Do you think I didn’t know your plan to take her South? I know everything that happens in this castle,” Brandon took a step back.

“There will be none of that, do you hear me, boy! I believe you are and will always be a child and cannot see when you are being manipulated. Love,” Rickard scoffed. “Aye, you may be in love now, but you are young and love is fleeting, and you will come to love the Tully girl. Watch over your sister, I’ll end the feast, and hopefully word of this hasn’t spread.”

Rickard left the room, and Brandon slumped into the chair, his anger leaving him boneless. For once, he had nothing to say and no one to say it to.

Chapter Text

When Ariadne regained her vision, snow was all around her, which wasn’t unusual, but Winterfell did not look like this before she grabbed BlackKnife’s hands.

“Where am I? What is this?” She asked BlackKnife

“This is our past, and what could be your future if you do not stop it.”

Ariadne narrowed her eyes to see better through the snow rapidly falling from the sky. As she looked closer, she saw a few tiny houses strewn about. She moved towards the houses and phased right through the door.

Inside, a family of three huddled together around a rapidly dying fire. In the corner lay a small body wrapped in small fur but hardly moving. As she moved towards the blanket, she was stopped.

“Unless you wish to see a dead babe, you should go no further,” BlackKnife warned.

“What is this?” she asked.

“The long night; a winter that lasted a generation. Soon you will see the reason.” Just as BlackKnife finished speaking, the fire's last embers went out.

A squall blew through the house, seeming to shake it. The daughter huddled against her mother and began to cry. The father immediately went for his weapon, a strange-looking thing he held awkwardly.

Suddenly, the door was blown off the hinges, and in stepped men made of ice. Ariadne took a step back in fear. BlackKnife’s reassurances that they ‘couldn’t be seen’ doing nothing to assuage her fear. The men, or monsters, as no man could ever look like that, carried longswords made of ice that seemed to glow in the dark. Their pale blue eyes seemed to pierce her and kept her standing in fear.

The man lunged forward with his knife, but he was not quick enough. The monsters brought down their swords, cleaving the man's head from his body in one fell swoop. The mother let out a wail of anguish, and the daughter buried her face further into her mother's chest. Though visibly frightened, the mother covered her daughter, bringing her closer and glaring down at the monsters. The monsters sneered back, and one said something in a tongue that sounded like icicles shattering on the ground.

“I do not fear you,” the woman said. I fear no man, only death.” As she said this, the monsters laughed mockingly. Then one spoke, but not in the language from before.

“We,” he said in a gravelly, strained voice that spoke of his unfamiliarity with the language. “Are worse than death.”

As one, the monsters raised their swords and brought them down upon the woman and her daughter, killing them. Ariadne brought her hands up to her mouth to cover her frightened scream, but she did not look away.

The two monsters left the house, and the corpses they left behind slowly rose and followed.

“Who are they?” Ariadne asked.

“The others,” BlackKnife responded, his face grim.

“The others are a myth,” Ariadne scoffed.

“Just like the children of the forest,” BlackKnife answered before grabbing her hand abruptly.

Like before, her vision went dark before seeing trees and green fields.

“This is not the North,” Ariadne said gently.

“No, this is what your people call the Trident. This is where we created the Others.”

“You created them?” Ariadne asked. “Why would you do something like that?”

“It was never supposed to be this way; they were supposed to help us defeat our enemies. The first men.”

Ariadne balked at this; she had never been told that part of the story. Everyone had always said that while the children and the first men were at war, they put their differences aside to defeat the others. To know that the children, the ones she admired, were responsible for the long night was devastating.

“It was a mistake. We’ve been living with the regret for centuries. It is now up to you, chosen.”

The two walked closer, and a group of children surrounded a man strapped to a tree. She could not quite see, but something was pressed into his chest, and the man screamed out in agony. His skin began to turn white, and his eyes turned an ice blue.

“We had not meant for him to create others. He was supposed to be the only one, and rid Westeros of the first men. However, we did not consider how he would turn on us.”

Now a white walker, the man broke from the bonds chaining him to the tree and looked over the few children before him.

“Now go, my champion,” one spoke. “Destroy the first men and deliver our home back to us.”

The white walker walked away, leaving ice and snow in his trail. Ariadne turned to the children, who stayed behind celebrating, unaware of the chaos they had just unleashed upon Westeros.

“This is what we need you for,” BlackKnife spoke.

“I thought the others were destroyed. In all of the stories, they are destroyed.”

“Unfortunately, not Chosen,” BlackKnife responded, and once again Ariadne’s vision went dark.

There was snow once again when she regained her sight.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“We are far beyond the wall. The land of always winter, this is the others’ domain.” BlackKnife told her.

The two walked along and came before what seemed to be an ice cave. They ventured inside, and at least a dozen others appeared, all of whom seemed dead. The final one was sitting on a throne, his eyes tightly shut.

“I know what you are thinking, but they are not dead. They lie in wait, a hibernation of sorts, until the world is cold enough for them to wake. There will be signs Chosen, the end of a 10-year summer, will mark the return of the others. Winter will sweep the land like never before, and the others will return.”

Ariadne and BlackKnife looked at the others, who stood along the walls like guards leading up to the throne. Ariadne slowly made her way, studying the monster there. She could tell he had been handsome as a human.

Unlike the others, his face retained most of its human likeness. He had high cheekbones and a strong jawline, the mark of any noble. However, he had the long face that was associated with most Northeners.

“He is their king. He leads them, our first mistake,” BlackKnife sneered, staring at the man sitting still on the throne.

“How do you know of this place?” Ariadne asked.

“Our ancestors passed on stories like yours. Our people tracked them here after Brandon the builder beat them back.”

Ariadne drew closer to him, and suddenly his eyes flew open. In her shock, Ariadne threw herself backwards. It seemed as if he was staring straight into her eyes.

“Fear not, Chosen; he cannot see us,” BlackKnife assured her, but her instincts told her differently. That was not the stare of someone who could not see.

The king moved quickly, too fast for her to register. His hand grabbed at her throat, and his eyes burned into hers. Her screech seemed to rattle BlackKnife into action, who quickly moved to try to remove his hand from her throat. The king whispered two words that would haunt her for years.

“My queen,” he hissed.

Ariadne screamed and thrashed in his grip until she woke back in her room. Brandon stood over her in shock from her scream.

“Help me,” she rasped, grasping at her throat. It burned as if someone had burned her neck. Her vision went black once again.

Chapter Text

It was the day before Ariadne’s departure. Her incident in the godswood was relatively smoothed over and kept a secret that hadn’t spread past a few trusted people. She stared at her wardrobe in distaste. Many of her dresses would remain, as they were suited for winter. Her father had new summer dresses commissioned for her.

“You must stop glaring at it as if you wish to set it aflame,” Myrana laughed.

“I do not like the dresses you picked for me,” Ariadne huffed.

“Yes, well, I thought it prudent to leave the prettier ones, considering you will wear these dresses for the week it takes us to leave the North and never again.”

Ariadne huffed again. Her adventure, if you could call it that, with BlackKnife stayed on her mind constantly and made her fearful. Was it even right for her to go South with what she knew? She fully believed she should stay to help prepare her home.

“I wish to sit vigil on this night,” Ariadne told Myrana.

“This will be the third night this week you’ve stayed in the godswood,” Myrana huffed.

“There are no trees down south. This will be the last time I truly get to see them,” Ariadne reminded her. “This will be the last time I see this heart tree in particular.”

Myrana sighed softly. She knew Ariadne was quite particular with her faith, and she couldn’t entirely blame her, especially since her family had been rewarded with Direwolves for their staunch faith.

“I will stay with you tonight to allow Raya some rest; she stayed with you before. I’ll arrange the guards,” she said before trailing out of the room.

Ariadne was left alone in the silence of her room. She had always known she’d one day have to leave her home, but she had not realized how soon it would be. She had allowed herself to believe she might stay forever.

Night could not come soon enough, and soon, she found herself walking to the godswood with Myrana, three guards trailing behind them, and a small lantern to light the way. The two knelt before the Heart tree and laid their offerings before it: bread and a small jar of cream.

They closed their eyes, clasped their hands together, and began to pray. Their religion was a quiet one, with none of the pageantry and songs of the Seven nonsense—just them. And that is how the night passed, the two girls in quiet prayer as the world slipped away from them.

The leaves rustled, and the branches warmed as they prayed, the old gods listening and watching. As the night dragged on, the tree began to leak blood-red amber from its eyes. As the bells tolled, signaling the start of the day, the two girls would leave, their dresses stained with dirt. They would not see the north for a very long time.

When they got back to the castle, they called for a bath. They would soon be leaving the north completely, and they had to make haste. Milk was added to Ariadne’s water as she bathed, and her maids washed her hair one last time. She would only be taking three of the women with her, as lots of them had family. They were not willing to leave, and she would not force them.

Her skin was scrubbed raw, and her hair washed thoroughly. As she dressed for the journey, she donned her riding clothes. She would only use a wheelhouse once they reached the Riverlands.

She stood in the courtyard, looking over her home one last time, and hugged her younger brother, tears racing down her cheeks.

“I will miss you, Benjen, and as soon as I am settled, I will send for you. Behave and focus on your lessons. Do not let Lyanna run wild and do not let her beat you in your archery lessons,” Benjen cried harder, unable to muster farewell words.

As much as Lyanna wanted to resist, Ariadne would not leave without a hug. “Do not forget about me. I plan to be better than you at the sword. Then I will come South to challenge you,” Lyanna huffed, and Ariadne laughed indulgently.

She even hugged her father, who had a few tears he refused to shed.

“Today, the North loses one of its most beautiful roses,” he whispered softly, words only she could hear. “I will always be there if you should call me, my daughter.”

She pulled away, waved one last time, and mounted her horse. As they rode on, she couldn’t help but look back at her home of seven and ten years and feel a deep sadness settle in the pit of her stomach, almost as if she would never return.

They rode long and hard with the small party they had and were making great time. They had projected they would make it to Riverrrun within the next 6 days, and Brandon seemed eager to get it over with, finally.

Barbrey had stayed behind despite Brandon’s many attempts to get her to come. Ariadne had stood firm, rebuking him at every turn. She had talked with her father and planned to call Barbrey South once her brother returned North.

They had stopped to make camp, and as the guards patrolled their perimeter and the wolves ran off to hunt, Ariadne was finally allowed to rest. After four days on the road, she was already dreading the rest of the trip to King's Landing.

Myrana helped her undress as they readied for bed. Tonight, she would share a bed with her and Raya before waking early to once again finish their trek to The Twins, where she would finally be able to sleep in what she deemed a true bed.

“You must look your absolute best,” Raya grumbled, going through the chest sitting in the tent. “You are to be their future queen; I think a nice summer dress with lots of skin would be prudent.”

“Lord Frey is a lecher. I shudder to think of his eyes on even an inch of my skin,” Ariadne told her, shuddering for emphasis.

“Why not the nice blue, it is quite modest, and we must’nt forget you are a future queen not a whore,” Myrana said directing her gaze towards Raya who simply rolled her eyes.

“I do not care what I wear, honestly. I just want to sleep in a proper bed. This one here is killing me,” Ariadne told them. “I wake with aches every morning. A nice warm soak would help as well.”

“Well, I think the aches can be explained because your bedmate kicks,” Myrana said.

“I do not kick. I can assure you I’ve had plenty of bedmates and no one has ever complained,” Raya huffed.

“Well, men usually don’t complain once they are sated,” Myrana joked, and suddenly she was whacked with a pillow.

The tent descended into chaos, with Araidne being dragged into the brawl. It ended with three worn-out girls and feathers skewed all over the ground.

“Now what will we sleep on?” Ariadne asked, and the girls erupted into laughter.

The day had dragged on, but they finally made it to The Twins, and surprisingly, without much fanfare, the bridge dropped. Their horses were taken to water and herded towards the Frey’s great hall, where they were to be received with bread and salt.

“You cannot take those with you,” one man said, gesturing with his spear towards the wolves. Thistle growled at the motion, her ears going flat against her head.

“We are Starks; we don’t go anywhere without our wolves,” Brandon said. “Besides, we’ll soon have bread and salt; we have no interest in killing our hosts,” Brandon laughed before pushing past the man.

The rest of their household followed suit and sauntered into the great hall, where Walder Frey sat waiting at the head table. The wolves' entrance drew shouts and gasps.

“We’ve finally been blessed to behold another Stark boy,” Walder Frey drawled sarcastically. “And Stark sent a pretty daughter this time,” he leered. “And of course those damnable wolves,” he cursed.

Ariadne could see him shift uncomfortably, possibly in fear.

“I’m sure news has spread by now, but my sister has been summoned to the capital by the king. I’m afraid to say she cannot be sold,” Brandon said with a tight smile.

“Thank you for accepting us into your keep. Though I’ve heard crossing comes with a steep price, please let us settle this before sharing bread and salt.” Brandon said eager to finish this impromptu meeting.

“Since you're just a boy, you really have no power to negotiate any betrothals,” Walder sneered. “How about this, you take some of my children with you. Theres too damn many of them. Marry the girls off and make the boys your household knights or something else. After all, they're never to inherit,” Walder laughed heartily.

“I'm sure being companions of the future queen will boost their desirability. After all, any man worth his salt wouldn’t look twice at them.” Once again, a nasty laugh came from the man, and Ariadne winced in sympathy.

Sure, the women weren’t the most attractive, but she blamed that on their rat-faced father. She looked over the youngest women, who were more likely to be close to her age. Brandon’s eyes slid over to Ariadne, and she stepped forward.

“I will take three of your daughters and add four of your sons to my guard in King's Landing; I think that should suffice.”

“Your brother will also take four of my sons back to that wasteland of yours,” Ariadne bristled at his words. Did the man completely lack any tact?

“That shall be done, however, you should know that any men taken to Winterfell will not be knighted,” she told the man.

“Yes, I know. And I should hope you know those animals are not allowed in my keep, " Walder said, gesturing to the two wolves who stood proudly in the room.

“As is your prerogative as the lord of the keep, however, I ask that you allow our men to tend to them; they are more familiar with them after all.”

“As if I’d send my men to tend to those beasts,” Walder spat. “Bring the bread and salt.”

A maid stepped forward, and finally, they were granted guest rights and were safe in the keep. No man was willing to break guest rights and risk the wrath of the gods.

Chapter Text

He had seen her in his dreams far too many times to count. She would be the reason the dragons returned. She stood before him in his dreams with a gaggle of children, all silver-haired and violet-eyed. Behind them were dragons; with them, no one ever dared dream of rebelling. No one questioned the rule of the Targaryens.

He knew the gods were speaking to him; after all, he was a dragon in human form. All he needed was the girl. He resented his stupid, barren wife for failing to give him more children, but everything was for a reason. He should’ve never doubted the plans of the gods.

As he stared down at the courtyard where his foolish, undeserving son was training, he couldn’t help but think it was a shame that his son would receive such a prize. That girl would give birth to the next dragonlords, and they would unfortunately come from the seed of Rhaegar.

Aerys scoffed and turned away, staring at the books splayed across his desk in his solar. He did not trust anyone else with this task. He needed to find out how to hatch dragons, and he needed to find dragon eggs. There was much to do, but not a lot of time. He could feel his enemies closing in on him, waiting and watching. They were weak without their dragons, and his enemies knew it.

His line had weakened to a snivelling boy of seven years and an even weaker one of twenty. Oh, how his ancestors would weep if they could see them now. Of course, they wouldn’t be allowed to be too angry after all, it was their fault he was in this position. But all that would change; he would do something his father and grandfather had failed at. He would be the one to bring back their Dragons.

He just had to figure out how. There was a light knock at the doo,r interrupting his pensive mood.

“Enter,” he called.

In stepped Varys, his master of whispers. “Your grace,” the man said with his soft voice.

“Varys, where is the girl right now?” he asked, eyes gleaming.

Varys let out a tittering laugh before answering. “They are currently on their way to the Riverlands. They are being delayed as Heir Stark seeks to bring his betrothed to the capital.”

“And what of the wolves, are the rumors to be believed?”

“Yes, your grace, the girl travels with a wolf the size of a horse; however, they do not ride them. It seems they are merely for decoration,” Varys tittered.

Aerys huffed before sitting heavily in the chair behind his desk. “Now, what have you heard of the dragon eggs?”

“My little birds have found someone who claims to own them. I will send someone to inquire about purchasing them.”

“Let it be known money is no obstacle; those eggs are of utmost importance,” Aerys said as he opened another book.

“It is said that Rhaegar has been speaking of heading down the kingsroad to meet his betrothed before she reaches the city.”

Aerys paused his reading, his eyes trailing up to Varys’ face. This could be good, after all, it did not bode well for two people who were to be married to dislike one another. However, he also did not want Rhaegar corrupting the girl and filling her head with any of his nonsense.

“Allow him to go with no hindrances; it is of no concern to me,” Aerys huffed, waving away Varys. You are dismissed, " he said, and without further word, Varys bowed and left the room.

Aerys turned back towards the book he was reading. It was a journal kept by one of the late dragonlords of Valyria.

In times of need, the fourteen flames will always bless the worthy. I have prayed night and day for an answer to my problem,s yet none have come. My dragon has yet to lay a viable clutch of eggs, and my family’s prestige and reputation are mocked by the day. Should this continue, my family will no longer be able to claim the title of Dragonlords. As my dragon has failed, so too has my wife. A child has not quickened in her womb, and my family’s name faces extinction. I have prayed constantly and devoutly. I bless the poor with gold and my presence ,yet I am still in turmoil. I wonder how my name will survive in these trying times.

Aerys snorted as he read the excerpt. The man's name died anyway when the doom came, but 20 years later, his insignificant journal survived. How it survived remains a question, but there is no doubt that the man died along with anyone else who was not a Targaryen.

He flipped past a few of the pages, many of which featured the man bemoaning his fate and poor luck in life, until finally, there was an entry with a happier tone.

I have been blessed with a dream! I have seen my wife's womb filled. Two children reside there, and my name shall live on.

Aerys once again snorted at the irony.

I am still faced with the dilemma of my dragon, but should my family lose our title as dragon lords, my wife has suggested we sell the dead eggs as ornaments. To suggest such a thing is to be punished howeve,r she will have to wait. I concede that she is not wrong. 13 eggs all as cool as stone with no sign of life, we have no use for them, and many would pay a hefty price. I, however cannot spit upon my forefathers or the fourteen flames in such a way that the gods will bless me again, I am sure.

Aerys began flipping through the journal, looking for anything the man had to have fixed the problem with the dragons. He was losing hope until he saw an entry dated just two moons before the man's wife was predicted to give birth.

I must sacrifice him, as it is the only way.

Here, Aerys paused surely, this was about bringing back dragons.

The fourteen flames have shown me how to hatch the dead eggs. I will have two sons, one black of hair and one with silver. I saw myself build a pyre and stack eggs one after another at the base before laying my black haired child upon it.

Then it is set ablaze, the screams of my child pierce the quiet night, but are soon ceased and replaced by the screams of dragons. All 13 eggs hatched at the price of my blood. My wife’s wails are nothing in my ears as I see the dragons once the fire dies. My dragon screeches overhead, and I can see a bright future ahead.

Aerys practically salivates as he quickly flips through the journal, looking for one entry and one entry alone. He finds it dated three months after the last, and only two words were written.

It worked.

The grin on Aerys' face was practically feral, he could feel himself grow in his breeches. He would need to seek out his wife tonight to celebrate. He finally had the solution to the problem. Of course, regular men and women did not work. The person had to have dragonsblood, and they must be pure. A newborn was the only viable solution, and after years, he had finally discovered it.

He could practically hear his grandfather rejoicing from the seven hells.

Chapter Text

After what felt like weeks of riding but was only a few days, Brandon could finally see the peaks of Riverrun crowning. The castle was just as dull as he had imagined it to be. Brnadon knew just beyond those gates was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. He wasn't sure how, but it was expected of him.

He hated it.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ariadne turned to him with a sharp glare. He could practically hear her telling him to behave. Brandon plastered on a charming smile as they passed through the gates and sat straighter in his saddle.

Of course, their arrival was met with the same gasps of fear he had heard many times from people seeing their wolves. The Tully family stood and waited to greet them. His eyes immediately went towards the redhead, who stood shoulders above the rest of her siblings.

“She’s not bad looking for a trout.”

Ariadne once again turned to glare at him. His cheeks were slightly flushed in shame. He had not meant to say that aloud. However, despite her beauty, she was no match for Barbrey. His eyes slid over her and towards more people in the courtyard awaiting their arrival—some faces he recognized like Jeffory Mallister and others not so much.

Their party came to a halt, and everyone dismounted. Hoster Tully stepped forward with a genial smile, his arms open as if greeting an old friend.

“Welcome to Riverrun, Brandon,” he said. Brandon’s eye twitched at the familiar greeting. A small pinch to his side, however, dimmed his anger.

“It is an honor to be here, Lord Tully. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Tully motioned for someone to come forward, and his tall redhead daughter stepped forward.

“This is Catelyn. I’m sure you’ve been anticipating meeting her for a while.”

Catelyn dropped into a low curtsy, and Brandon watched as, for just a moment, the tops of her breasts showed. He could tell it wouldn’t be a chore to bed her. When Catelyn rose, Brandon gave her an endearing smile before bowing and kissing her hand.

“This is my sister Ariadne and her ladies,” Brandon said, gesturing to his sister.

“Ah, our future queen,” Tully said. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well. Tales of your beauty have spread since the news. Welcome to Riverrun.”

Ariadne gave the man a beaming smile before curtsying her ladies, following behind her.

“Please come inside; we don't need to stand out all day. Come, eat, drink, and be merry in my halls.” Tully said, leading the way.

Brandon offered his arm to Catelyn, as was expected of him before following his future good father. He gave a cursory glance backward and noticed his sister had fallen in line with a girl who looked to be around Lyanna’s age. The girl had a very pinched face, as if she had smelled something awful.

He turned back to Catelyn, who had just finished saying something he hadn’t caught. He smiled cordially, hoping she would start speaking again. And she did.

“When my father said you were coming to meet me finally, I was quite excited. Tales of your bravery have reached Riverrun quite a few times. Lord Mallister frequently tells us of your adventures.”

“Jeffory is a good friend; we have had many good times together. However, he failed to mention how beautiful you are.” Brandon charmed her until he left her at the high table with her father.

He sat heavily in his seat beside his sister and immediately reached for a goblet full of wine. His eyes slid over to his sister, who had not even blinked at his arrival. He sighed heavily, slumping backwards in his seat.

“Oh, Brandon, seriously, she could not have been that bad,” Ariadne said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, so you did notice my arrival?” he huffed.

“If you wish to act like a child, I will ignore you. I am not your mother, it is not my job to coddle you,” Ariadne hissed, though her smile remained.

“I do not want to marry her,” Brandon said behind his cup.

“Unfortunately, marrying a beautiful woman is a punishment most heirs dread,” Ariadne said sarcastically. “Surely it is a punishment worse than the seven hells.”

“If you are going to mock me, I will no longer speak to you,” Brandon said, turning away.

“Oh, you do me a great disservice,” Ariadne snarked before turning towards Myrana and continuing their previous conversation.

Despite it being a feast, one of Brandon’s favorite things beside hunting and fucking, he could not find it in him to enjoy himself. He was under the strict watch of his future good family and therefore could not join Jeffory in seducing the servant girls. It was quite a pity.

Soon, the music started, and after more than a few not-so-subtle glances from his betrothed and his sister, he asked Catelyn for a dance. She joined him quite eagerly, and the two danced around the hall.

“I must say, my lady, your skills are exceptional,” Brandon smiled.

“I practice a lot, and please call me Cat, we will be married soon.”

Brandon did not want or need that reminder.

“Is that a nickname?” he teased, and she flushed.

“Since I was young, I have always been Cat, some of my ladies call me Lady Cat,” she giggled.

“Lady Cat,” Brandon said, testing the title on his tongue. “I must say it is quite adorable, my siblings used to call me Bran when they were younger. Unfortunately, it seems they have grown out of it. I would like you to call me that if it is possible.”

Catelyn blushed prettily, and Brandon had to admit the girl was a sight. They continued their turns around the hall until the end of the song. Before Brandon could ask for another dance, they were interrupted by a boy who barely reached Brandon’s shoulder. He had a warm smile, but his eyes were sharp, and barely concealed anger danced in them.

“Lady Catelyn,” the boy said with a sweeping bow. “May I have this next dance?”

“Oh, Brandon, this is Petyr Baelish. He is a ward of my fathers.”

“Baelish? I’m not sure I’ve heard that name before,” Brandon said, a frown marring his face.

“Oh, you wouldn’t, my lord. I am from a small keep in the Vale of Arryn called the fingers,” he said, smiling cordially.

“Understandable,” Brandon nods. Unfortunately, I intended to dance with my betrothed for another song. Maybe you can dance with her after.” Brandon turns towards Catelyn, clearly ending the conversation.

His quick dismissal of the boy did not go over well with him. Petyr’s smile dropped, and his eyes turned cold as the next song started. He returned to the table he was previously sitting at and retook his seat. After more than one song, Brandon finally parted ways with Catelyn.

He made his way back to his seat and did so without looking back. He missed the way the scrawny boy from before cajoled Catelyn into another dance. He sat next to Jeffory Mallister, who had reached their table.

“You looked like you were having fun out there,” Jeffory teased.

“I am simply doing my duty,” Brandon huffed, filling his goblet. He did not want to think about how his duty was one song, yet they carried on for at least five.

“That was certainly more than duty,” Ethan added with a laugh.

“She is not hard to admire. I am never one to deny a woman’s beauty, as you know,” Brandon said, his cheery mood returning slowly with the wine in his system. His eyes trailed over to Catelyn, who was now being led across the floor by the boy from before.

“What do you know about this, Petyr?” Brandon asked Jeffory, gesturing over to the boy.

“Oh, jealous are we?” Jeffory jested.

“Clearly, the wine has addled your mind if you believe that to be true,” Brandon scoffed.

“He’s called Littlefinger around here,” Jeffory chortled. “He’s been a ward of the old trout for a while now; I don’t think I can recall when the boy wasn’t present. Always trailing after Lady Catelyn and her sister. He’s rarely seen in the training yard as well.”

“Hmmm,” Brandon said, his eyes fixed on the dancing pair as the song ended.

“He’s quite strange, no?” Ethan asked, looking at the boy.

“Quite is a nice way to put it. Littlefinger is the very opposite of what a man should be,” Jeffory snorted. “I’d keep an eye on him. It is said that he is very crafty, so it's best not to let him get any ideas.”

The group of three turned their eyes upon Littlefinger as he slowly returned to his seat, and he looked pretty reluctant to do so. As the feast drew to a close, Brandon decided to escort Catelyn back to her chambers under the careful watch of many trusted Tully guards. Too many if you asked him.

“Unfortunately, my lady, you must lead the way as I am unfamiliar with your home.”

“Of course,” Catelyn giggled. “Is Winterfell as nice as this?” Catelyn asked to fill the silence.

“If you are asking for an unbiased opinion, I am afraid I cannot give it, my lady. I believe Winterfell to be the most beautiful castle I’ve laid eyes upon and I’ve seen quite a few.”

“What makes it so beautiful?”

“Well, for one, it is my home,” Brandon laughed, and Catelyn joined him. “But it is beautiful in a subtle way. It is not as gaudy or ostentacious as the Vale, I believe. It has its charms as well. I cannot express it well, for I am not a poetic man, but I believe you will understand me once you come to live there.”

Catelyn watched him with rapt attention as he babbled on. She let him speak of his adventures and home, how he missed his sister Lyanna terribly, and all the pranks the two got up to. He went on until he stopped suddenly.

“It seems as if it is taking us quite a while to get to your chambers,” Brandon remarked. “And despite my lack of familiarity with this castle, I do believe we’ve been through this hall once before.”

Catelyn blushed deeply, her pale cheeks turning a scarlet red. “My apologies, my lord, but I wished to spend more time with you. We have passed my chambers three times already,” she admitted bashfully.

At this, Brandon let out a startled laugh. “I don’t know what to say, my lady, but I also enjoy your company. Maybe we should head to your chambers for real this time.”

Catelyn nodded mutely, and the two quickly reached the end of the hall where Catelyn’s chambers were. She slowly opened her door and gave Brandon a small curtsy.

“Is there a chance you would join me for a stroll in the garden on the morrow, Lady Cat?” Brandon asked.

“I would be honored,” Catelyn said, her face lighting up with a smile, her cheeks turning a pretty pink.

Brandon kissed her hand softly before she entered her room. One of the guards from before led him to his chambers on the opposite side of the castle and left him with a grunt and a bow. Brandon readied himself for bed that night and realized his thoughts had never wandered to Barbrey.

For him, that was a thought he banished from his mind. Barbrey was the love of his life; he did not need to think of her constantly for that to be true. However, as he closed his eyes that night, he did not see Barbrey's beautiful, dark eyes; he saw Catelyn’s striking blue pair.

Chapter Text

Ariadne sat in the garden with Lady Catelyn at a small party their hosts had planned. It was early morning, and the group had broken their fast before starting to sew. She had only brought two of her ladies to the gathering: Myrana and Anya, one of the Frey daughters she had taken with her.

She sat with Catelyn on her right and Alyssane Blackwood on her left. Her ladies were surrounded and getting their ears talked off. Alyssane leaned over to take a look at her stitches. She had made a three-headed black dragon, but it was on a white field representing her house.

“It is lovely, my lady, your stitches are very clean,” Alyssane complimented.

“Thank you, Myrana suggested I get used to stitching a dragon.”

“Are you excited to be marrying the prince?”

“What a silly question,” Lysa scoffed. “Any lady would be excited to marry the crown prince of the seven kingdoms.” She continued derisively. “I think a more prudent question is, how did you manage that?”

“Lysa,” Catelyn scolded.

“I take no offence,” Ariadne told her. “The gods simply blessed me,” she said, smiling disarmingly.

“I would certainly say so,” Alyce Mallister giggled.

Ellyn, her twin sister, continued, “I believe your hair caught the king's eye. It certainly put you ahead of a certain Lannister girl when it came time to decide. I honestly didn’t believe the rumors, but here you are.”

“Oh, I know the old lion is positively fuming,” Maerie Morton laughed. “The little Lannister girl was telling everyone it was only a matter of time until she became crown princess. I almost believed her.”

“To Lady Stark,” Willow Ryger said, picking up a glass of wine. “Thanks to her, we don’t have to suffer a Lannister on the throne,” she laughed.

The ladies laughed and cheered while Catelyn flushed red. Lysa huffed before crossing her arms for reasons unknown.

“I apologize for them,” Catelyn said, focusing on her needlework.

“I find them amusing, it reminds me a little of Winterfell, the women there are just as… brash,” Ariadne said with a small laugh. “I’m sure they will get a laugh out of teasing you.”

“I’ve received enough of that for a lifetime,” Catelyn huffed.

Ariadne’s giggle was cut off when Brandon came racing into the garden. He was out of breath, and his clothes were askew.

“Ari, I’ve just come from the training yard, and those boys Frey gave us cannot hold a sword to save their lives. How does he expect them to be bloody guards for you?”

“Brandon,” Ariadne said with a warning tone, her eyes shifting toward Catelyn.

“Ah, how could I forget?” Brandon plastered a charming smile on his face. “Ladies.” He greeted before turning to Catelyn.

“How are you today, my lady?” he asked, bowing his head slightly.

Brandon charmed all the ladies, and their eyes quickly turned toward Catelyn, who flushed under the attention.

“I am well, my Lord. I hope your accommodations were to your liking,” She said demurely.

“Yes, they were. Perhaps I can take you on a stroll through the gardens later to properly thank you for your care in preparing them.”

If it were possible, Catelyn turned even redder. Taking pity on her, Ariadne interjected.

“What were you saying about the Frey boys, brother?”

“Ah, right. I need to steal the two you have with you. The four in the training yard barely beat the small one. Uh, what’s his name? Finger something,” Brandon said.

“His name is Petyr,” Lysa growled beside her.

“That’s the one,” He said with a bright smile.

“Mathis, Symond, please go with my brother and Brandon. Please be easy on them; they are still young,” Ariadne said with a smile.

“Sister, as you well know, I am more than kind,” Brandon said, throwing a wink towards the Frey girl.

Beatrice Frey, who was in attendance, flushed at the insinuation. Entirely ambivalent about the danger her brothers were in. Brandon quickly left the garden, the two Frey boys trailing behind him. Ariadne’s thoughts wandered as she continued sewing.

She had planned to take another girl with her to be her Lady in King's Landing. So far, she had only one girl on her list, and it seemed that list would remain short since she had taken three Frey girls under her wing. Alyssane was one of the only girls she had a favorable opinion of, and it helped that she followed the old gods.

It certainly wouldn’t be an arduous task to get the girl married. As the small party ended, Ariadne excused herself and took a stroll in the garden, accompanied by Alyssane. The two girls strolled through the gardens, Myrana and Anya trailing behind them.

“I have put some thought into this, and I believe it would be unwise of me not to extend an invitation for you to be my lady in waiting in King's Landing.”

They stopped near a slight arch made of roses as Alyssane paused in shock.

“I-I am honored, my lady.”

“I must caution you if the rumors—” she said hesitantly. “If they are indeed true, this could be dangerous for you. I do not want you to feel pressured to accompany me.”

“It is always dangerous to be at court, but every girl dreams of this. I would be mad to refuse,” she laughed.

“I am glad. I will write to your father to inform him, and should he give his permission—”

“Which he will,” Alyssane said with a grin.

“You will travel with us to King’s Landing in the coming week.”

Alyssane curtsied deeply before rushing off, no doubt to pen her letter to her father. Myrana joined her at her side once Alyssane was out of sight.

“Are you sure about her?” Myrana asked. “Even though she follows the old gods, she is still a Southerner. Do not let our common religion harm you,” she cautioned.

“I am sure,” Ariadne nodded resolutely.

Ariadne looked around and noticed a person was missing. “Where is Anya?” she asked, expecting to see the girl.

“Her sisters have called her. Brandon did not go easy on their brothers. Beatrice is distraught for them.”

“Oh gods,” Ariadne sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples.

The two continued their stroll, heading toward the castle. As they entered the castle, Raya came running towards them. She stopped before them, her face frantic.

“You must come quickly, Brandon has gotten into a fight with Lord Hoster’s ward.”

Chapter Text

Rhaegar watched as Summerhall slowly appeared over the horizon and slowed his horse to a trot. Arthur slowed up beside him as well.

“Your grace, it is hard to protect you if you insist on riding faster and harder than I,” he joked.

Rhaegar let a small smile grace his face. However, as he approached the ruins, he couldn’t help the melancholy feeling that overtook him, knowing all the lives lost due to the desperation to hatch a dragon.

Ser Oswell Whent approached the two of them with a grimace. Arthur began making the usual jokes about Oswell’s age, though the man was barely older than them. Rhaegar dismounted as their horses finally stepped foot on the ruins. Some nights when they made camp, Rhaegar swore he could hear them—the ghosts of those who died that day.

Their screams as they burned, the panic and sadness felt as their bodies succumbed to the wildfire. Despite that, this was the place he felt most at peace. Ironically, the place of such sorrow was his home, more than the Red Keep. He recalled a time when his father spoke of rebuilding the old palace and the sadness he felt. Summerhall was a place that should serve as a reminder of the damage the hubris of the Targaryen name could bring.

He sat down and began to play his harp as Arthur and Oswell set up camp. As he played, the sun slowly set and encased the ruins in darkness. Rhaegar lay on the small bedroll, watching the stars. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he was here for a reason. He could feel it.

As he slowly dozed off, he was startled by some rustling. He sat up and looked around. Oswell slumbered on, but Arthur, who was on guard, grabbed the hilt of his sword. Rhaegar reached for his sword as the sound got louder. Out from behind one of the taller towers, they were attacked. Five dragons as big as horses approached them.

“Are those dragons?!” Arthur asked incredulously.

Rhaegar marveled at their beauty, but he didn’t have much time to be impressed as they began attacking him and Arthur. He fumbled with his sword and swatted one away as it swooped down on him. He did not want to kill them, the symbol of his house. This was a dream, Rhaegar thought in a panic.

“OSWELL WAKE UP,” he shouted. He looked to his left, and Arthur was dead, being feasted upon by one of the dragons. His moment of distraction was all that was needed as one of the dragons landed on him, knocking him to the ground.
He woke up with a gasp, staring into Oswell’s eyes.

“Your grace, are you alright?” he asked, holding his shoulders.

“I-you were dead,” Rhaegar said as he looked around.

“A nightmare, then,” Oswell sighed and pulled back. I must admit I am flattered,” Oswell laughed as he returned to his post.

Rhaegar let out a disbelieving chuckle as he lay back upon the bedroll. He could only wonder what that dream meant. He barely had time to close his eyes before he was yanked up again. This time, he was staring into a face much like his own.

“THE GIRL IS THE KEY.”

Rhaegar pushed at the man holding onto his shoulders; he had to get away. He looked over to where Oswell was supposed to be patrolling, and the only thing he found was his cooling body. Rhaegar scrambled to his feet and grabbed his sword.

“Listen to me, boy,” the man snarled once more. “You must succeed where I failed.”

“Who are you?” Rhaegar asked as he unsheathed his sword.

“You would kill your great-grandfather, boy? I am the reason you are here,” he laughed. “The dragon born in Summerhall was you.”

“What?” Rhaegar asked, slowly lowering his sword.

“You are the dragon from the prophecy. Rhaegar, you are the last true dragon. You must succeed where I failed.”

“What, the dragons?”

“Yes! The Stark girl is the key; your seed must quicken in her womb without her, we are nothing.”

“I don’t understand. What does she have to do with this?”

“SHE WILL BRING BACK THE DRAGONS! SHE IS OUR RETURN TO GLORY! THE PROPHESIZED ONE!” his grandfather shouted. His eyes took on a mad gleam. He could see the greed in his eyes, but there was something else there.

“Wildfire,” Rhaegar whispered in realization.

Aegon lunged for him, and the two fell backward. Rhaegar's head smacked against one of the loose stones, and his vision swam. He could feel flames licking at his skin, though he knew there was no fire.

‘She is the key’ were the last words to ring in his head as he was consumed by a blinding green fire. Rhaegar tried to scream, but the smoke filled his lungs.

He jolted awake to the bright sun and the smell of meat cooking. His mouth felt dry and cottony. He turned to his side, where Oswell was cooking over a small fire. Slowly, he sat up, his head and back aching.

“Oswell?” he asked hoarsely.

“Good morning, your grace, how did you sleep? Oswell asked, turning to look at him.

“Nothing too unusual,” he lied. “Where is Arthur?” He asked, noting the lack of his second Kingsguard.

“He’s gone to fetch some water. We need to make haste if you wish to meet your bride,” Oswell teased.

She is the key

Rhaegar’s head throbbed as he thought of those words again. Clearly the Stark girl was meant to be his wife, and there was no fighting it, though he had no intention to. It seemed the gods were taking no chances with him. He rose and joined Oswell by the fire and began to eat the small meal prepared. Arthur returned with the water and joined them.

“Did I wake in the night?” Rhaegar asked. He was having trouble distinguishing reality from his dreams. He wasn’t aware of whether it was one long dream or two separate ones.

Arthur and Oswell shared a concerned look over his head, before seeming to agree on something silently.

“Not as far as I am aware. Slept like a baby.”

“Babies sleep terribly,” Oswell snarked. “You slept through my watch as well.”

“Hmm,” Rhaegar said without much emotion. He stood and went to his saddlebag, taking out a small book and ink.

He wrote something down quickly before packing it back up.

“We must make haste at this rate; she will beat us to King’s Landing,” Rhaegar said as he began to pack up his bedroll.

Arthur and Oswell noticed the change in demeanour but stood and began saddling their horses for the long ride North without question. Rhaegar watched, his thoughts consumed by his dream from last night. If she were the key to the dragons, then perhaps he shouldn’t dread this marriage as much as he had been.

Chapter Text

Brandon looked away from Ariadne’s furious eyes. She had no intentions of letting him off easy this time.

“Of all the bull-headed, stubborn things you’ve done, this has to be the worst. Sparring is one thing, but fighting Lord Hoster’s ward someone who you outclass in strength. This is a new low, Brandon.”

“He provoked me.”

“He provoked you? Of course, I’ve forgotten you are not a man grown, you are still a child, someone who is easily provoked. How could I forget?” she asked incredulously.

“It is not like that,” Brandon sighed. “What else was I supposed to do? He questioned my honor and dared to question me as if he had the standing to.”

“Brandon,” Ariadne sighed in defeat.

“You weren’t there. You have no idea what happened, yet you come here casting aspersions, assuming I am the guilty party.” Brandon stood up abruptly and began pacing.

“I know you and I saw that boy, he’s barely twice the size of Benjen. Guilty or not, the boy is hurt badly.”

“I just got so angry and lost it,” he huffed, throwing up his hands. He stopped and turned to Ariadne, “You are not going to make me apologize to him, are you?”

“No, you might as well impale yourself on your sword. Stick to your story, he questioned your honor, and you defended it. You will, however, apologize to Lord Tully for fighting in his halls, honor questioned or not, there is a more appropriate way of dealing with that than violence,” Ariadne said as she nibbled on her nail.

Brandon sighed and collapsed back on his chair. “Father said for you to stop that,” he reminded her.

“Worry about yourself, Brandon Stark. Tonight at dinner, you will apologize to Lord Tully.”

“If I were to marry Barbrey, no little boys would question me.”

“Oh, do not start this again,” Ariadne hissed, standing. I expect to see you in one hour, much more presentable and ready to apologize to Lord Tully. We leave in two days, and I will not have you leaving the man thoroughly insulted. They are to be your in-laws and our allies. Don’t ruin this,” she hissed, then quickly turned and stalked out of the room. Jeffory entered the room after Ariadne left, Ethan trailing behind him.

“Gods, your sister is terrifying,” he laughed.

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” Ethan said. “Should’ve seen the dressing down she gave him when he dared to bring up Barbrey again. I was scared she’d make that direwolf of hers eat him,” he laughed.

Brandon rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Brandon, I’d think you a fool if you weren’t afraid of her,” Jeffory howled.

Brandon looked over at Beron, watching the scene play out placidly.

“Thanks for all the help,” he sighed.

Beron’s tongue rolled out of his mouth, and he barked, almost as if he was laughing.

“Even your wolf has some good sense,” Jeffory japed.

“I need a drink,” Brandon huffed as he went to pour himself a glass of wine.

“Don’t go overboard, your sister is still going to be expecting you,” Ethan warned him.

A soft knock was heard at the door, and Brandon called for them to enter.

“Apologies, m’lord. Your sister called for you to have a bath and asked for someone to tend to your eye,” the girl said softly, her eyes remaining downcast.

Brandon let out another huff before nodding his head. Three other servants entered with the girl and a tub. Ethan and Jeffory left, leaving Brandon alone to bathe with the aid of the women, who applied some weird paste to his bruised eye.

Brandon sighed as he enjoyed the hot water that was rapidly cooling. He couldn’t help but miss the hot springs under Winterfell. One of the girls massaged oil onto his shoulders, relieving the ache from his fight. It had been a while since his blood was pumping from a good fight or a good fuck.

He eyed the girl's breast that was leaning over him. The girl blushed deeply, noticing his attention. He smiled and gave her a wink.

“Perhaps you can help me get ready for bed later tonight,” he said to her, and he felt himself grow as the flush spread to the girl's breast. “I think I can finish myself off,” he leered.

The girls giggled before stepping back and curtsying before leaving. Brandon took himself in hand and quickly brought himself to completion before stepping out of the bath. He quickly dried off and began to dress himself. He knew it was almost time for dinner and made his way from his room towards the main hall.

Beron perked up from where he lay across Brandon’s bed and quickly followed after him. When he got to the hall, he noticed Ariadne was already inside. Brandon winced, knowing he was late. He slipped in quickly and walked to the middle of the hall. Hoster Tully sat at the head table, looking down at him.

Brandon quickly kneeled and glared at Ariadne, who rolled her eyes at his dramatics. Lysa and Catelyn looked upon him—the former with contempt and the latter with worry.

“I would like to apologize to you, my lord. The fight in your hall was not proper, despite its reasons. As my sister has tried to beat into my head, violence is not always the answer, but I am only a man,” Brandon chuckled. “So, of course, it is sometimes the answer.”

This drew a few chuckles from the men sitting in the hall.

“But I can promise you this: If there is anything to take from my behavior, it is that I will defend your daughter as fiercely as I defended my honor today.”

At this, Hoster’s lips twitched into a sort of half smile. His brother, Brynden, sitting by his side, grinned widely.

“I accept your apology and grant my forgiveness. Now, please sit and eat. Enjoy your final days here in my halls without worry.”

Brandon grinned before standing and going to sit beside his sister.

“That was a nice apology for just one hour,” She commented.

“You expect so little from me, little sister. I am glad I exceeded your expectations,” he smirked, taking a long swig of wine from his cup.

The serving girl from earlier caught his eye as she daintily placed a platter with chicken on the table. His eyes trailed after her and the sway of her hips.

“Control yourself, brother.”

“There is nothing wrong with a little fun,” he huffed.

“I thought you were in love with Barbrey?” She snarked.

He decided to ignore her snide remark. As supper slowly came to an end, Hoster stood commanding the attention of the room.

“I would like to propose a toast to Brandon Stark, may you protect my daughter as fiercely as you protected your honor today for the rest of your lives. I couldn’t have picked a better husband for my daughter, to—”

The doors to the hall flew open, and a slightly battered Petyr stood leaning heavily to one side.

“Petyr!” Lysa exclaimed, standing and immediately rushing towards him.

“I challenge you to a duel!” Petyr exclaimed, looking directly at Brandon. “I challenge you, Brandon Stark, to a duel for the hand of Lady Catelyn Tully.”

Lysa stepped back from Petyr in shock at his words, her heart breaking. Brandon smirked and took the last gulp of his wine before standing. Beside him, Ariadne whispered a small ‘oh gods’ under her breath.

“I accept,” Brandon snarled. Beron stood from under the table behind Brandon, making for a terrifying sight.

Brandon could feel Beron behind him, glaring down at Petyr, but the boy did not falter, and Brandon had to commend him for that. He was missing this; he could feel the blood pumping through his veins. Tonight he would fuck and tomorrow he would fight. It was just what he needed.

As Brandon left the hall, Ariadne was close behind him. He stopped partway to his room before turning to her.

“Are you going to tell me this is a mistake and I shouldn’t be doing this?” he asked sardonically.

“Do what must be done, Brandon. Just as our father taught us,” she told him, switching to their mother tongue.

Brandon smirked before turning and heading the rest of the way to his room alone. As he opened the door, the serving girl from earlier was lying on his bed. The door shut behind him with a resounding thud.

Chapter Text

Ariadne could feel exhaustion seep into her bones as she opened her door. Catelyn and Lysa stood outside of her room and she knew they would not leave her company without giving her a headache. What followed was pleas from Catelyn and demands from Lysa that she stop Brandon.

“I am sorry, but as you know once a duel has been issued there is not much one can do to take it back. Should Brandon suddenly back out it will make him look weak,” Ariadne sighed.

“It won’t it will make him look merciful. Petyr is just a boy he doesn’t know what he is doing.” Catelyn insisted.

“Then your father should have educated him better,” Ariadne snapped.

Catelyn reared back at her sharp tone as if she were struck. Ariadne sighed before collecting herself and continuing.

“Issuing a duel is not something to be taken lightly Brandon will look weak in the eyes of the Northern lords. As if he is a coward.”

“He is their liege lord it is their duty to serve him regardless of his choices,”

“The North is different if you are weak your rule will be questioned. Why do you think every time there has been a war there has never been conflict inside the North? If you are weak you will not survive and Brandon must project that strength. Sadly, it is at the expense of your friend and there is nothing to be done.” Ariadne reiterated

Catelyn began to cry once more and Lysa looked apoplectic as if she were going to try and strangle Ariadne out of anger.

“You can do something you are just refusing,” Lysa snapped. “Is killing little boys something that garners respect in that barbaric land of yours?”

“I’d watch my tongue if I were you lady Lysa. Small in stature lord Baelish may be he is no boy. I am sure he understood the severity of his words before he spoke them. If he did not he is all the more a fool it is just a shame he won’t live to heed that lesson,” Ariadne sneered her patience gone.

Catelyn’s sobs seemed to get louder before she stood and quickly left the room. Lysa spat at Ariadne’s feet before following.

“How unbecoming of a southern lady such as yourself,” Ariadne shouted after her.

“Maybe Brandon is right. I don’t think she would do well in the North,” Raya said as she entered the sitting room.

“I just want for this little visit to be over and to be on our way to Kingslanding. I don’t want to test the limits of Brandon’s troublemaking,” she sighed.

Raya brought her a cup of wine and Ariadne drank it down quickly. She didn’t consider herself someone who indulged in the drink often but she found the South stressed her enough that she increased her intake.

“Where is my brother?” Ariadne asked.

“He has been in the training yards since first light. I feel for the boy Petyr throwing his life away for someone who would never marry him,” Raya sighed. “It is poetic in a way.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes she was not someone who could see the poetry in the folly of men. Pride would be their downfall as always.

“There is nothing poetic about your pride killing you.”

“Oh don’t be such a grouch there is to be a duel today. Your brother will lose all of his excess energy and you should be in for a peaceful trip to Kingslanding,” Raya said patting her shoulder lightly.

“I suppose,” Ariadne sighed. “This day is becoming all too troublesome I wish I could go back to sleep.”

Raya called for food to break her fast as she had no intention of breaking it with the owners of the castle. Lest she be harrassed by more requests to talk sense into her brother. They ate quickly in silence and Raya helped her dress.

Suddenly the door to her room was thrown open and Ryella Frey, the youngest Frey to join them at 3 and 10, entered excitement plain across her features.

“Petyr Baelish has come to the training yard he said he wishes to duel now.”

“What!?” Ariadne asked as Raya quickly tightened her dress.

The group of three moved quickly throughout the halls to the training yard. Ariadne had planned to talk to Brandon to make the duel at the very least quick and painless yet once again Petyr had sealed his fate.

“He just entered the training yard with maybe a dozen other boys and quickly called for the duel to be had at once,” Ryella exclaimed.

“Maybe he hopes to have a chance if he believes he caught Brandon off guard,” Raya shrugged.

“He has no chance he should’ve taken all the time he had to prepare. That fool,” Ariadne hissed.

A loud and long howl broke through the silence of the castle and Ariadne hastened her speed. She quickly made it to the courtyard and pushed her way through the crowd. There in the center was Brandon only donning a chestplate but Petyr was dressed from head to toe in a full suit of armor.

“It seems the boy isn’t a complete fool it will make it harder for Brandon to kill him,” Myrana remarked from where she stood.

“It is not a bad strategy,” Ethan remarked. “If he tires Brandon out enough he will be able to make quick work of him and take a victory.”

“That would work if Brandon did not have the stamina of a horse the boy is just prolonging his death,” Jeffory snorted.

Once again Beron howled but this time he was joined by Thistle. Ariadne watched as Brandon and Petyr circled each other. Brandon had chosen a longsword and Petyr had picked a bastard sword. Her brother, as vindictive as he usually was, did not plan on prolonging this. She could tell by his stance and his focus.

A fool he may be but there was no denying Brandon was a genius when it came to his physical prowess. Immediately the difference in skill could be seen as Petyr struggled to block a strike from Brandon. Around and around the small yard they went and Ariadne couldn’t help but be confused.

“What are they doing?” she asked Ethan.

“Brandon is weakening the straps of the armor so it falls. After that, he has a clearer shot than trying to edge around it. Especially with his sword choice he planned this, it seems,” Ethan murmured.

Another parry and a failed block from Petyr. The tension in the yard could be cut with a knife cheers in favor of Brandon erupted around them. People shouted out ways to finish the fight quickly and other crude things. Brandon lunged forward with another strike.

Finally, the straps of the armor broke and the chest plate tumbled to the ground. Brandon grinned viciously and attacked with more ferocity hardly giving Petyr the chance to retaliate. It happened so fast that if you blinked during the duel you would have missed it. Petyr’s sword was knocked from his hand and Brandon slashed at him with all his might nearly cleaving him in two. Petyr fell to the ground and just as Brandon was about to deliver the final strike Catelyn forced her way from the crowd and covered Petyr’s body with her own.

“Please,” she shouted her shoulders shaking in fear.

Brandon stopped himself in shock nearly dropping his sword.

“Catelyn!” the Blackfish yelled sternly before trying to drag her away.

“No, please you don’t have to kill him,” she pleaded turning her watery blue eyes onto Brandon. “He’s just a foolish boy please,” she pleaded sincerely.

Brynden pulled at her but she fought viciously against him and made her way over to Brandon approaching him cautiously as if he were a wild beast.

“He’s my friend,” she said softly.

Brandon sighed deeply and turned to face Ariadne tilted tilted her head to Petyr. She hoped for once in his life he would listen to her and finish the job. Brandon however is nothing if not a creature of nature and he dropped his sword conceeding to Catelyn.

“Thank you!” Catelyn exclaimed throwing herself at Brandon and hugging him uncaring of the impropriety of it all.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. She honestly didn’t know what she expected. She felt tempted to order Thistle to finish the boy but she knew that wouldn’t go over well. She could see it in the way the boy glared at Brandon despite his grievous wounds, he was not the type to forgive and forget. Brandon would soon have to deal with him again.

“The winner of the duel and Catelyn Tully’s hand is Brandon Stark,” Brynden announced and the yard filled with raucous cheers.

Chapter Text

Ariadne sighed deeply as the wheelhouse jolted along the road. She had tired of riding for the day and retreated to the wheelhouse but she remembered why she had fled it in the first place. Lysa Tully glared balefully at her from where she sat between her sister and Alyssane Blackwood.

“I’ve heard that women who ride horses don’t bleed on their wedding night,” Lysa said and Ariadne’s head throbbed at the sound of her voice.

“Lysa please,” Catelyn pleaded in a whisper. It seemed Catelyn had tired of her sister as much as everyone else.

“I’m just asking, how will the prince know she’s pure?” Lysa replied shrugging her shoulders in a display of innocence.

“Oh honestly,” Raya hissed. “If anyone's purity should be called into question it’s yours with the way you were hanging off of that little finger person,” she finished rolling her eyes.

“His name is Petyr,” Lysa snapped dropping her needlework in her lap. “And I don’t want to hear about purity from a bastard,” she sneered. “You’re the living proof of some unchaste whore.”

“Please I ask that we refrain from speaking ill of someone’s mother I would hate to have to bring up yours,” Raya growled.

“How dare you,” Catelyn shouted joining the fray. “My mother was nothing like yours.”

Catelyn’s sudden shout prompted the Frey sisters to cower together seemingly afraid.

“She doesn’t have to be she gave birth to your shrew of a sister I’d say-”

Myrna quickly covered Raya’s mouth before she dug herself a hole. “How about a quick rest?” she asked.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ariadne said sighing for the nth time.

Myrna quickly stuck her head out of the small window asking Ethan who was riding alongside them to stop. The wheelhouse slowed to a stop and Catelyn and Lysa were the first ones out. The rest followed behind giving the two sisters a wide berth. Ariadne finally exited the wheelhouse and walked over to her beloved direwolf. She sighed deeply burying her face into Thistle’s fur.

“That bad?” a voice asked.

She turned and saw Lothar Frey, the second son of Walter Frey’s third son. He was a boy of 5 and 10 and was just barely taller than her. She smiled slightly at the boy.

“Worst than you can imagine,” she laughed.

The boy and one of the older Northern guards seemed to be the ones keeping an eye on her. She walked over to one of the trees, where a blanket was laid out under it to give the ladies some shade. She joined the Frey sisters, who were sitting and talking. She leaned her head on Anya Frey, who was of age with her, and sighed deeply.

“Where have Catelyn and Lysa run off to?” She asked.

“They’ve walked towards the creek that is nearby here with Lord Brandon,” Beatrice answered. “It seemed Lady Catelyn was very upset with what happened in the wheelhouse,” she added softly after a moment of hesitation

“I understand and I will have a talk with Raya about this.” As much as Ariadne wanted to remind everyone that Lysa was the instigator, she knew she had to bite her tongue. Despite how Ariadne treated her to them Raya would always be a bastard.

Unfortunately, in their eyes, there was no way to change that unless she was legitimized. Until then, Raya had to pick her battles more carefully. She would have to remember that this was not the North, and the leniency she was afforded there was not provided for her here.

“If Lysa hadn’t opened her mouth so recklessly none of this would have happened,” Alyssane huffed as she sat beside them.

“But Raya is still a bastard,” Beatrice squeaked. Her eyes shifted to Ariadne and she tried to apologize but Ariadne waved her hand.

“You are correct. Maybe one day, that will change, but right now, that is just her status, no matter how much I wish it weren’t.”

One of the servants that was traveling with them brought over some small cakes and wine for them to sate their hunger. The group of five was then joined by Myrana who was dragging a sullen Raya behind her. The two stood before them and Myrana nudged Raya forward.

“I’m sorry for the way I conducted myself, my lady,” Raya said her eyes downcast.

Myrana nudged her again. “And I plan to find Lady Lysa and Lady Catelyn and apologize to the two of them as well,” she continued.

“By the old gods Raya I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize.” Ariadne laughed lifting a cake to her lips to bite.
Myrana snickered beside Raya.

“I’m usually more aware,” Raya huffed. “But that girl is just…” Raya trailed off not finishing her thought.

“I understand,” Ariadne said. “We will still talk later but I suppose I can’t be too angry with you after all you were just defending me.”

“Besides,” Alyssane spoke up, “Lysa was the instigator that girl is so spiteful.”

“I think it’s jealousy,” Myrana said sitting down and pulling Raya with her.

“Well, whatever it is it needs to stop,” Anya spoke up.

The small group continued chatting before they were gathered up to continue their journey. Brandon wanted to try and meet Eddard before the day was done and to do that they needed to keep riding for the next four hours without stopping.

As the women entered the wheelhouse Ariadne hesitated. She wanted to be there to facilitate peace between Raya and the Tullys. Also to make sure there were no more fights but she also didn’t relish being stuck inside the wheelhouse for the next four hours and Brandon had made clear there would be no more stops.

“Would you like to ride my lady?” Lothar asked. “I can have someone prepare your mare quickly.”

She watched as Lysa stormed up the small hill towards the wheelhouse Catelyn hot on her heels and Edmure not far behind them. She shook her head and waved Lothar off. If Lysa’s mood was any indicator they would need her in the wheelhouse.

She quickly climbed in and sat beside Ryella the youngest Frey sister. The small girl blushed to the tips of her ear. She was very shy and quiet and Ariadne could tell she would grow into her looks soon. Lysa and Catelyn climbed in last and sat opposite Myrana Raya and Anya. As the wheelhouse slowly began moving Raya looked up and began her apology.

“I would like to apologize to the two of you, Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa.”

Ariadne could see Raya was struggling. Apologizing even when you were wrong was never easy. Being right made it even harder especially for Raya.

“In my eagerness to defend Lady Ariadne, I forgot myself and insulted your late mother. And for that, I apologize deeply.”

Ariadne had to hand it to her her apology was sufficient and very specific she didn’t apologize for the harsh words she directed at Lysa just the ones directed toward their mother. Lysa huffed and nodded seemingly accepting the apology however it seemed the girl wasn’t going to issue one herself.

“I accept your apology,” Catelyn said pompously.

Ariadne smothered a small smile when she caught sight of Raya’s left eye twitch.

“Thank you, my lady,” Raya said softly her teeth clenched.

The wheelhouse descended into a tense silence. Even though apologies had been issued and accepted there was still bad blood between them.

“Well,” Myrana clapped hoping to dissipate the tension. “Maybe you ladies can tell us about the capital. I hear it’s lovely.”

“Oh it is absolutely beautiful,” Anya gushed her hand over her heart. “I never thought I’d get the chance to live in the Red Keep. It is truly a magnificent place.”

Catelyn nodded in agreement. “I’ve only been there twice myself but it is truly beautiful. You are so lucky to be marrying the crown prince.”

“I’m excited I’ve never been myself but the bards always paint it as some marvel to the human eye,” Alyssane pitched in.

The rest of the four-hour ride passed in companionable talk. Everyone participated except for Lysa herself. The girl sat sewing for the majority of the ride. As the wheelhouse slowed to a stop Ariadne peeked her head out of the window and saw a small inn.

The door to the wheelhouse opened and Brandon stood there smiling charmingly at them.

“Welcome to the Trident,” he told them and helped Catelyn and Lysa out of the wheelhouse. One by one the rest of the ladies followed suit.

“We’ll stay at this inn for the night and Eddard will meet us here tomorrow. Then we’ll set off. We should reach Kingslanding within the next week.” Brandon told Ariadne as he walked her to the inn.

“I honestly did not know I would hate traveling this much,” Ariadne sighed deeply.

Brandon let out a hearty laugh at her expense. “Thanks for being so sympathetic,” she scoffed lightly smacking his arm.

The day dragged on and it began to get closer to sunset. Ariadne wandered outside the inn, Lothar and a guard from Winterfell close behind her.

“My lady?” Lothar asked worriedly.

“Relax Lothar I just want to enjoy the last few hours of sunlight,” She said as she sat in one of the chairs the inn had set up outside. Thistle curled up beside her and the two enjoyed some time to theirselves.

Soon enough Thistle’s head perked up she stood tossed back her head and let out a loud long howl startling Ariadne. A second howl joined Thistle’s and then a third. Ariadne stood in excitement only one other wolf would return that howl. There on the horizon, she saw a few men on horses carrying the banner of the house of Arryn.

Brandon quickly made his way outside of the inn followed by the rest of the travelling party. As quickly as they appeared the small party drew closer and Ariadne could just barely make out Ned but it was no trouble recognizing Fenris. He bolted over towards the group to greet his siblings.

As Ned pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted Ariadne forgot all propriety and ran to hug her brother nearly knocking him over in the process. Ned, as trusty as always, caught her and was able to stabilize the both of them.

“I missed you,” Ariadne said with a watery smile as she pulled away. Soon her smile dropped and she landed a solid punch to Ned’s stomach who dropped to one knee in shock.

“That’s for leaving right after Mother died.” she hissed in frustration.

A boming laugh sounded out startling Ariadne and there stood maybe one of the tallest men she had seen beside Jon Umber. Ned slowly stood up still rubbing at his sore stomach.

“Why do you hit so hard?” he asked her rhetorically.

“You must be Ari,” the man who she could only assume was Robert Baratheon asked.

“Ari this is Robert Baratheon,” Ned introduced.

Ariadne held out her hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Baratheon.”

“Please just call me Robert,” he said lifting her hand to his lips. “Lord Baratheon is my father.”

“A charmer,” Ariadne smiled as he dropped her hand. “Lyanna is going to hate that.”

Fenrir padded over to the group nearly knocking over Robert in his haste.

“Look at you,” Ariadne cooed as she rubbed at his face. “You’re so big now.”

“He’s like a puppy,” she heard Robert whisper. “It’s weird.”

Ariadne continued to coo over Fenrir as Brandon came over. Once all the greetings were finished the party moved into the inn to eat.

“Brandon told us you wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow,” Ariadne said to Ned. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Oh, Ned here wouldn’t let us rest until we got here. I’m sure his poor horse is half dead now,” Robert boomed slapping Ned on the back. Ned’s ears flushed red bringing laughter from Robert and Brandon.

“Stop it,” Ariadne scolded them.

The night continued in a jovial mood Ned’s presence brought a second wind of energy stopping people from retiring for the night. As the night continued Ariadne slipped away Beatrice and Alyssane following.

“Ryella has retired, correct?” Ariadne asked Beatrice.

“Yes,” Beatrice laughed. “Despite her insistence that she is a woman grown she still holds the constitution of a child, she’s been asleep for the past 2 hours.”

“I imagine she will wake quite angry,” Alyssane laughed.

“Addy!”

The three stopped and turned to see Ned walking towards them. He nodded his head at the two ladies and Beatrice flushed bright red.

“I would like to go for a sunrise ride on the morrow if you are willing?” He asked.

“Of course,” Ariadne agreed. “I’m sure Cadence can beat your little Vale horse.” Ariadne challenged.

“A race then, I will see you before sunrise at the stables. Allow me to escort you ladies the rest of the way,” Ned offered and if possible Beatrice’s flush seemed to darken in the torchlight.

Chapter Text

Ned met Ariadne by the stables a while before the sunrise. It was still dark out and the two quickly saddled their horses to begin their trek. There was a small cliff nearby through a small section of the woods that would give them a nice view of the sunrise.

“Stay close,” Ned cautioned. “It is still dark I would hate for some bandits to take advantage of our lack of guard.”

His warning was soon forgotten when Ariadne raced past him. “I’m going to beat you!” She yelled back as she let out a whoop of joy.

Ned quickly urged his horse to go faster. Getting beat by his little sister would be embarrassing. Though, it didn’t seem he would be catching her or Cadence anytime soon. Ariadne slowed to a stop as they approached the small cliff that led to a drop into the Trident.

“HA,” She laughed as she dismounted.

Ned sighed as he followed suit.

“And what is your stallion’s name again,” She asked holding her hand to her ear for show.

“Fleetfoot,” Ned replied to humor her.

“Slow…foot? Dawdler?” She laughed.

“You know if you weren’t marrying the prince I’d suggest joining a mummers troop or becoming the king's fool,” he told her jokingly. “Besides it’s easy to win if you cheat.”

“Sounds like the whinnings of a loser,” Ariadne teased.

The two walked along the edge of the cliff looking at the rush of water down below. It was still dark, though the sky was beginning to turn a light pink as the sun peeked over the horizon. Ariadne sat down her feet dangling over the edge and Ned followed suit.

“What is it?” he asked noticing the small shift in her mood.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” she admitted. “I mean I always knew I would marry and leave Winterfell but I always hoped I’d still live in the North. Among familiarity. I mean, there are no summer snows, and if this is how hot it is how much hotter will it be the more we head south? And I’ve heard King’s landing stinks-” Here Ned snorted.

“Oh no” Ariadne groaned. “Women would kill to have this chance, fathers would kill for their daughters to have this chance and yet I wish to run,” she sighed heavily leaning back on her hands.

Ned watched his sister in his peripheral slowly mulling over his next words. Since their mother died Ned and Ariadne had drifted apart. Although Winterfell would always be his home. He felt he could never return and see the memory of his mother in every hall. It was easier to stay away.

“When Mother died and I came home for her burial, I remember how you took charge of the castle. I thought right at that moment, watching you order the servants about and holding Benjen close to you despite your size, that nothing could break you.”

And he had, his sister had been like an immovable rock in the middle of the ocean. When he returned he latched onto her assurances and clung to her like a man afraid of being swept away and drowned. Unfortunately he had miscalculated. His sister was no rock and he wasn’t the only one clinging to her but still she persevered.

“You’ve always borne the brunt of everyone else's problems without giving the proper care to your own. The night before I left I saw something that admittedly scared me.”

Ned hesitated for a moment as Ariadne took in his words.

“I went to visit Mother in the crypts and I saw you crying in front of her statue. Honestly, I didn’t know what to do so I just left. When I left for the Vale the next morning you seemed as though everything was fine and I put it out of my mind,” Ned admitted softly.

“I failed to be there for you then but I want to do that now,” he told her softly. “If you say, right now, that marrying the prince is something you do not want to do, I will take you back home, damn the consequences.”

The two sat in silence and watched as the sun slowly rose. Finally, Ariadne broke the silence.

“We were both kids and it was our father's job to comfort and care for us. No child is prepared to lose one parent let alone both in one stroke. You didn’t fail.” Ariadne told him softly.

“Marriage is my burden to bear and better it be to a prince than someone else. There’s no better than a prince right?” Ariadne laughed hollowly. “But no more leaving me. I’ll have my princely husband but it’d be nice to have my brothers and sisters as well in my hour of need,” Ariadne admitted.

“I promise,” Ned swore and Ariadne held up her pinky. Ned sighed at the childishness of it but relented. He linked their pinkies together before the two pressed their thumbs together.

“If you break your promise I’ll have you executed,” Ariadne joked.

“Already abusing your powers,” he laughed as they mounted their horses and began their ride back towards the inn. Their horses were walking at a slow pace when the sound of hooves filled the small woods. Through the trees came three men. They carried no flags but flags were hardly needed to recognize them.

At the helm of the small group was man with silver hair. The mark of the Targaryens.

Ned moved closer to Ariadne sensing her nervousness.

“Your grace,” Ned called inclinging his head. “We were not expecting you.”

“It was the luck of the gods truly,” Rhaegar smiled. “I had hoped to meet you in better circumstances,” he apologized.

Rhaegar dismounted and the everyone else followed suit. Ned bowed at the waist as was proper and Ariadne dropped into a curtsy.

“Please rise,” Rhaegar said benevolently and they did. “I had not planned to meet you so early in the morning, my lady,” Rhaegar said kissing the back of her hand politely.

“Nothing like an early ride to freshen your spirits,” Ned joked. “We never received any notice about your coming to meet us,” Ned said lightly.

“I admit it was meant to be a secret. A bit of a surprise if you will.”

“Consider us surprised,” Ariadne said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Rhaegar and Ariadne maintained eye contact in a tense battle of wills.

“We are staying at an inn nearby perhaps we can make that a more formal meeting,” Ned interjected.

“Lead the way,” Rhaegar smiled finally breaking the small battle.

Ned and Ariadne quickly mounted their horses and led the way towards the inn.

“This is highly improper. You were supposed to meet him in Kingslanding,” Ned scoffed in a whisper.

“We must get back quickly. Raya and Myrana will be highly upset,” Ariadne said quietly. “They’ve had the dress he would first see me in planned for weeks. We might have to stop them from committing treason.”

Ned urged fleetfoot to go faster and slowly the inn appeared before them. Brandon was pacing outside of the inn when they finally appeared.

“Gods where were you?!” he screeched.

“Not now Brandon,” Ned sighed as he dismounted and helped Ariadne off of Cadence.

“I think now is the most appropriate time,” Brandon growled.

“The prince is here.”

“What?” Brandon balked as Ariadne hurried into the inn.

“The prince,” Ned repeated and the both of them turned to watch as prince Rhaegar flanked by Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent rode over the hill towards the two of them.

Ned watched as Brandon struggled to regain his composure in amusement. Rhaegar dismounted in front of them and Ned held back a snort of laughter as Brandon managed to get out a your grace accompanied with a bow.

“Forgive us your grace no missive arrived with news of your arrival,” Ned said for his brother who still seemed to be gathering his bearings.

“T’was not widely known. It was my intentions to meet you and escort you the rest of the way to King’s Landing. As long as you don’t mind my company,” the prince joked.

“Of course not your grace, it would be an honor,” Brandon said with a smile. “We planned to head out soon after breaking our fasts please join us.”

Brandon stepped to the side and Rhaegar and the kingsguard walked past him into the inn.

“He is not what I expected,” Brandon remarked.

“How do you mean?” Ned asked.

“His face it is pretty like a girls not handsome as everyone proclaims.”

“Careful brother some might say that is treason,” Ned laughed. “Don’t want you to lose your head. I’d hate to inherit Winterfell.”

“Honestly I’d hand it over to you if it meant I could marry Barbrey,” Brandon sighed.

Ned silently shook his head.

“Not you too,” Brandon sighed rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know much about this Barbrey girl but when you last visited me in the Vale you bedded four maids and didn’t so much as whisper her name,” Ned remarked. “Are you sure it’s love?”

Brandon ignored him and walked into the inn. Ned let out a deep huff before following.

He had no doubt it’d be easier to be at war.

Chapter Text

“How discorteous can you be,” Myrana shouted grabbing different dresses in a huff.

“I could still wear the dress you planned for me,” Ariadne told her gently.

“That dress is not to be worn at some inn in the middle of the Trident,” Raya disagreed vehemently. “It was made for The Red Keep. He’s ruined everything,” she seethed.

“If it wasn’t treason oh I’d - UGH,” Myrana shouted. “You will wear this,” she said holding up a blue dress. “It is simple enough while also accenuating your features. Can you believe this?” she asked Raya. “Of all the ill mannered things you could do showing up without announcement to meet your betrothed is the worst.”

“I feel as though this is still much to extravagant for the inn,” Ariadne laughed fingering the silver threading of the dress.

“Oh godsdamnit,” Myrana hissed.

“Relax,” Raya soothed before standing and rifling through the chest of dresses. “You will wear this,” she called holding up a light blue dress with lace sleeves. The sleeves were decorated with sewn on flowers.

“We will give you two braids to the back before wrapping it in a small bun. You can meet the prince and he will still be stunned by your beauty. It will be fine,” Raya said softly.

“Quickly,” Myrana said standing. “We don’t want to keep the prince waiting.

Soon Beatrice entered followed by three maids carrying a bath. The three girls helped Ariadne bathe and dress. Beatrice finished Ariadne’s hair with a few flowers in the bun and Raya sprayed her with perfume.

Myrana added a light red dye to Ariadne’s lips before dusting her pale cheeks with a red powder, given to them as a gift from Hoster Tully who proclaimed it as the newest thing from Essos, to give her a small hue.

“You’re much too pale anyway,” Beatrice laughed.

Finally the girls were finished and Myrana stepped back to look at their masterpiece.

“Beautiful,” Myrana sighed. “The prince won’t know what hit him,” she laughed.

A knock on the door interrupted the girls Beatrice opened the door and Brandon stood there waiting.

“The prince has asked for a chaperoned walk for the two of you,” he told Ariadne.

She felt her heart race. Was she truly ready for this? She took a deep breath and nooded at Brandon giving him a strained smile. He held his arm out to her and she placed her hand in the crook of his arm then the two left the room.

Every step she took she could hear her heart drumming in her ears. They had almost left the long winding hall of the inn when she stopped. Her breathing picked up and her head felt light.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered.

Brandon looked at her with concern. His lips were moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“I can’t do this,” she repeated shaking her head. Hot tears stung her eyes as they slowly dropped

She wasn’t ready. Despite everything she was still a girl. She yanked away from Brandon and took off in a run. She heard him shouting her name behind her but she couldn’t stop. She made it outside and the sun beamed down on her. She couldn’t stop. She ran further until she could no longer hear Brandon calling for her.

She breathed deeply as she looked around. Her breaths came out more frantically despite how desperately she tried to stop them. She hiccuped as she fell to the ground clutching at her chest.

She was taken by surprise and wrapped in a pair of strong arms.

“Tell me 5 things you can see,” the man commanded.

Her eyes searched the small grove of trees around her. “The sky,” she whispered. “The trees, the grass, my hands, and the birds,” She finished.

“4 things you can touch,” the voice continued.

“You, me, the grass, the flowers.”

“3 things you can hear.”

“The birds, the leaves, and you.”

She could feel her heart rate slow and the drumming in her hea cease.
“2 things you can smell.”

She blushed as she told him she could smell his perfume.

“1 thing you can taste?”

Bile.

She pulled away and made it to one of the trees before the vomit spilled from her mouth and onto the ground. She breathed deeply when she finally stopped. She was offered a water skin and she drank from it greedily before finally looking at her savior.

She let out a shriek and moved backwards as she stared into the violet eyes of the Targaryen Prince.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered before dropping hastily into a curtsy.

“Your grace,” she said.

“My lady please I’m sure I can say we’re very well acquainted now,” he laughed pulling her to rise.

“My apologies your grace it was not my intentions for you to see me in such a state,” she blushed.

The drumming in her head had subsided only to be replaced with a dull ache.

“Please it is not something I am unaccustomed to,” he admitted. “I myself sometimes struggle under the pressures of the world. That exercise is something my mother used to do for me,” he told her with a charming smile.

“I thank you your grace.”

“Please Rhaegar is fine. I suppose my surprise arrival was the cause of this.”

Her blush returned full force and stretched to the tip of her ears revealing the truth of his statement.

“I believe I should apologize. I had good intentions, I wished to meet you without the eyes of kingslanding bearing down upon us,” he joked.

“I can understand that,” she admitted softly.

“I believe I should accompany you back to the inn,” he smiled, holding out his arm.
Ariadne gently took it and together the two began their walk back to the inn. The silence was suffocating until Rhaegar broke it with a small cough.

“I have to admit part of my arrival was due to my curiosity,” He admitted.

“Oh?”

“I had heard tales of your direwolves but not many have yet to actually see them. I wanted to be one of the few who has,” he told her.

“I believe they are out hunting now but when they return I could introduce you to Thistle. She’s the more friendly one of the three,” Ariadne laughed.

“I’d like that,” Rhaegar smiled.

Soon the inn was in sight and with it was Brandon sending out riders to look for her. When he turned and finally caught sight of her she could see the tension drain from him but it was soon replaced by anger.

“Are you mad?” he asked as he ran over to her.

“I’m sorry,” Ariadne winced. “Prince Rhaegar found me and escorted me back here.

“I thank you my prince,” Brandon said bowing his head. “Do you know how many men I have out there looking for you, how could you be so reckless.”

He took her hand from the crook of Rhaegars arm and dragged her back inside the inn. He led her to her room and threw the door open with a flourish.

“Now I know sine mothers death you have assumed charge over all of our dealings, but I am your older brother Ariadne. I worry for you, and running off to gods know where in the middle of the forest and being left alone with your betrothed is not ok. So,” He hesitated. “I am confining you to your rooms until tomorrow.”

“What!?” Ariadne asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes, I am your chaperone and as your chaperone I am exercising my right to give you a fitting punishment.”

“You can’t do that,” Ariadne hissed anger flashing in her gray eyes.

Brandon faltered before strengthening his resolve. “I can and I am,” he said before swiftly leaving the room the door closing behind him.

Ariadne stood there in shock before huffing and sitting down on the chaise lounge under the window.

“This is so bizarre,” she said aloud to no one. She retrieved a book from one of her packed trunks and began to read to pass the time. She received her first visitor when the sun had finally sunk below the horizon.

Ned stood in the door way with a tray of food and a mocking look on his face. “I bring sustenance to the prisoner,” he joked.

“It’s not funny,” she told him as they sat together and began to eat.

“It’s a little funny, even before I left for the vale I don’t remember you being ‘confined to your rooms’,” he laughed.

“It’s because I never have been, this is all so humiliating,” she huffed.

“It’s a fitting punishment, we were all worried about you. Besides there is nothing else he could do. Brandon started pulling out his hair.”

“Gods,” Ariadne laughed. “I am sorry, I just… couldn’t do it,” she finished shrugging her shoulders. “I mean if he hadn’t found me himself I probably would still be hidden.”

Another knock sounded on the door.

“Enter,” she called and Brandon came in with a small tray of desserts.

“I’ve brought cake and tarts,” he told them. Ariadne turned her head away from him in a show of defiance.

“Oh you cannot truly be angry with me,” he scoffed.

Ned reached for a small raspberry tart, “Oh I think she is,” he laughed before popping it into his mouth.

“Stop eating my sweets,” she scolded him, swatting his hand as he reached for another.

“Ow,” Ned said softly rubbing at his hand.

“No sweets unless I can have your forgiveness,” Brandon said pulling the tray away.

“Bribery, a classic,” Ned commented leaning back in his chair.

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at him but Brandon had no intentions of rolling over. The two stared each other down before Ariadne huffed her sweet tooth winning in the end.

“Fine, I guess I forgive you for humiliating me like this,” she said rolling her eyes.

Brandon smiled and sat down placing the tray down as well. “It feels good to win,” Brandon laughed.

“Yes, I also win because I can get another one of these lovely raspberry tarts,” Ned smiled quickly grabbing one before Ariadne could smack his hand.

“I believe the only loser in this room is Ady,” Brandon lightly teased.

Ned and Brandon began to lightly tease her poking at her sides in jest. She pushed Ned away rolling her eyes.

“I don’t see how I am a loser, I will be queen someday,” she said turning her nose up in the air.

“That is true,” Brandon laughed.

“We need wine,” Ned said going over to the small table that held the wine and glasses. He quickly poured three cups and held his up. “A toast to the Starks, a family of winners.”

Brandon and Ariadne let out laughs and the three clinked their goblets together before drinking. Brandon sat his empty cuo down roughly.

“You should get some sleep, we have to set out early tomorrow because of a delay. Thanks to the arrival of a certain prince,” Brandon snarked.

“I will also take my leave,” Ned said as Brandon opened the door. Then quick as a hare Ned grabbed two more raspberry tarts and darted out the door.

“NED!” Ariadne yelled after him poking her head out into the hall. She could hear his cackling laughter through the hall.

Brandon’s laughed joined his as they watched him disappear around the corner.

“Sleep well little sister,” Brandon said before closing the door behind him.

She quickly readied herself for bed. She snuffed the few candles that remained flickering before finally climbing into her bed and drifting to sleep.

Chapter Text

He rode beside Arthur and Oswell watching Ariadne ride beside her brothers. He had to admit she was beautiful. Her hair itself was a marvel. A stark born with hair as white as snow, news was sure to travel. Her hair now, was a mess of white and black he couldn’t remember ever seeing someone with two different hair colors.

“Oswell, have you ever met someone with two different hair colors?” He asked without taking his eyes off of Ariadne.

“No, your grace, can’t say that I have,” he told him. “But I have heard tale of a dancer in Pentos with one green eye and one blue one.”

“Well thats not special,” Arthur scoffed. “They say Lannister’s imp son has one green eye and one black one.”

“But no one with blonde hair and brown hair or anything of the sort?” Rhaegar asked again.

“No, she is a rarity,” Arthur said lowly. “She makes for a terrifying sight with her wolf at her side.

Slowly his eyes drifted to the wolf who was almost as big as the horse. Despite it’s close company the horse seemed unbothered by the wolf, a stark contrast to many of the other horses who were skittish, his included.

“She seems fragile,” he remarked. “When I found her yesterday she was having a fit. Similar to the ones I had as a child.”

“Truly?” Arthur asked.

“Perhaps it is nerves, she had not expected to meet you so soon,” Oswell offered.

“If it was nerves that makes it worst, how can I be sure she can handle the pressure of standing by my side and ruling seven kingdoms?”

“They say she has been running house Stark herself since the death of her mother,” Arthur remarked.

He wasn’t sure if she was the right person, but he had a duty to uphold. He watched her wondering if the fragile girl her found crying was truly her or if that was something he had been privileged to witness.

His thoughts were interrupted by the boisterous laugh of his cousin at something Ariadne said. It seemed Robert’s horse was just as brave as he for he did not seem to scare at the wolves trudging beside them.

They had been traveling for at least five hours before Brandon Stark finally called a halt to the party allowing the horses some rest. If they continued at this pace they would reach Kings Landing within the next two days.

He brushed his horse as she watered at the nearby lake. The people around him moved meticulously refilling water skins and quickly lighting a fire to cook on as they rested. He watched with rapt interest. The people moved as though they had been together for years.

From his peripheral he could see Ariadne slowly approach flanked by two of her ladies and two guards.

“Your grace,” she called curtsying.

He turned with a smile, “Please my lady we are to be wed soon. I believe my name is fitting enough,” he smiled charmingly.

“Then please call me Ariadne,” she smiled back politely. “I thought now might be a good time to introduce you to Thistle.”

“I would like that,” he said offering his arm.

She gently took it and the two walked over to where Thistle was lounging by the lake. At the sight of her owner Thistle perked up tail wagging. She bounded over to them seemingly completely unaware of Rhaegar’s presence.

Arthurs hand rested lightly on his sword as the wolf drew closer. The wolf stopped a short distance away her head tilting to the side as she stared at Rhaegar.

“Thistle,” Ariadne spoke calling her to attention. The wolf’s head turned to her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“This is Rhaegar," she said softly. She stepped forward dragging him with her closing the distance slightly.

“He’s a friend.”

The wolf sniffed the air around him but made no othe rmove. Ariadne waited as if looking for a sign before turning to him.

“Hold out your had towards her palm out,” she told him demonstrating.
He followed her directions and watched as the wolf moved closer towards him. If Ariadne noticed his shaking hand and the fear radiating off of him she didn’t say. Thistle sniffed at his hand cautiously before moving in closer. She sniffed him once more before turning to Ariadne in what looked to be a show of acceptance. The wolf then lowered her head.

“She’s asking for you to pet her,” Ariadne said with a smile.

Rhaegar laughed nervously before gently placing his hand on the top of Thistle’s head right between her ears. Thistle pulled away and turned back to Ariadne.

“till air ais gu do bhràithrean,” Ariadne said.

The foreign tongue shocked him and he turned to her startled as Thistle ambled away.

“Old tongue,” Ariadne said shyly. “My brothers and I learned when we were younger.”

“How?” he asked. “I didn’t think there were many maesters well versed in the language.”

“There aren't," she admitted. “But in the North there are some small villages that live closer to the wall who speak it. Our nanny and a few of our servants used to live in one of them when they were younger. If you listen and pay attention long enough you learn it yourself.”

“Fascinating,” he marveled. “And all of you speak it?” he asked.

“All of my siblings, our parents never learned. It made it fun though if we were angry enough we would speak about them in old tongue in front of them,” She said with a small smile.

“It became less fun when my mother employed a handmaid who spoke old tongue and she began to tell on us,” Ariadne laughed and he joined her.

He remembered his own time after he learned high valyrian saying things about his parents when they made him angry enough. Of course that didn’t last long with his fathers anger. His sad thoughts must have been seen on his face because Ariadne did not let him brood.

“My maester told me you can speak high valyrian.”

“I can, were you asking your maester for information on me?” he teased lightly.

A blush formed on her face stretching towards her ears.

“I have a book in high valyrian. He suggested I bring it to you and you could mayhaps help me translate it.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he offered.
She turned behind them to where her ladies lingered and one of them, who he guessed was a Frey stepped forward and handed her a book. It was a small leatherbound journal with no title. She handed it to him and he opened it and he began to read a few pages.

“It seems to be a diary of some sort. From -” Here he paused as he read the name written in one of the passages.

“Gael Targaryen,” he whispered his fingers passing over the name reverently.

“Gael?” Ariadne asked. “There was a Gael Targaryen?”

“She was the last daughter of Jaehaerys the first and his wife Alyssane,” Rhaegar explained. “Though it is said she drowned herself in blackwater bay. How is it that her diary ended up in the North?”

He flipped through it skimming the pages. Ariadne peeked over his shoulders although she herself could not understand the words written. He could use this he thought as a way to get closer to Ariadne and understand more of her character. He closed the book softly and looked at her.

“Well does it say how it got North?” she asked eagerly her eyes burning with a hunger he recognized. A hunger for knowledge.

“I will help translate this for you a page for every day we spend together up until our wedding,” he offered holding the book out to her.

Ariadne looked him in the eyes searching for something.

“That’s it?” she asked. “Truly?”

“Truly,” he smiled.

“I accept,” she told him taking the book back.

Brandon called for everyone to saddle up as they were to begin the second half of their trip.

“I will ask one of my brothers to chaperone us so we can ride together,” she told him as they walked back towards the rest of the camp. Brandon stood helping lady Tully into the wheelhouse as they approached.

“Brandon,” she called walking slightly ahead of him. “I was wondering if you would chaperone my ride with the prince.”

Brandon raised one eyebrow before turning to look at him. Rhaegar gave him a charming smile and Brandon turned back to Ariadne.

“Am bu mhath leat gun can mi nach eil?”

“Chan eil,” Ariadne said rolling her eyes. “Tha mi dha-rìribh a’ faighneachd.”

Rhaegar could only wonder what the two were speaking of. He wished he had a small window into their conversation and maybe one day he would.

“Chan eil miann sam bith agam a bhith a’ marcachd leis a’ phrionnsa, faighnich do Ned,” Brandon finished turning away from her.

Ariadne turned and began looking for someone before quickly running in the direction of her other brother.

“Your grace,” Brandon said with a bow before walking away.

Soon they began the second half of their journey. This time he was accompanied by his cousin, Ariadne, and her brother. He engaged her with conversation but every so often her brother would say something in old tongue that seemed to anger her. He could not tell if it was light teasing or not old tongue was a harsh language and it was hard to deduce anything from their tone.

“Would you be willing to teach me old tongue?” he asked her.

This seemed to brighten her spirits. “Of course it is a simple language and I believe it is easy to learn. Much less complicated than high valyrian,” she jested.

“Lord Eddard, Ariadne was telling me of some of the celebrations you partake in in the North, have you missed them living in the Vale as long as you have?” Rhaegar asked trying to engage him.

“Aye,” he nodded solemnly.

“Dèan oidhirp, mas e do thoil e” Ariadne growled.

“I especially miss the harvest feast,” Eddard continued with a sigh. “All of the lords of the North gather before the coming winter and we celebrate a good harvest. We also pray to make it to the end of winter.”

“That sounds lively,” Rhaegar commented.

“Yes when we were younger we’d have snow wars with all the children.”
“You haven’t had one of those in a while have you,” Ariadne laughed.

“No, we had one in the vale the last winter,” Robert spoke up. “Ned taught us how to make snowballs and build forts, Northern children truly are creative. three winters I’ve lived through and never would I have come up with such a thing.”

“Has he taken you sledding?” she asked eyes shinning.

Here Eddard snorted. “I didn’t think it was prudent we might have fallen off the side of the mountain.”

“That would be a tale if we lived to tell it,” Robert remarked eyes shinning. “It sounds fun but he’s never showed me such a thing.”

Here Ariadne launched into an explanation of the mountains of Snow in the North and how children would take curved planks of wood and slide down them.

“The first winter here I will show you, it is fun like no other,” she laughed.

A little while longer into the journey Ariadne seemed to grow restless.

“Am biodh e neo-iomchaidh rèis iarraidh?” She leaned over speaking to her brother.

““Tha mi teagmhach, seo an cothrom agad a-nis mus fheum thu a bhith a’ leigeil ort gur e rudeigin eile a tha sa phrìomh bhaile,” he told her.

“An urrainn dhut a mholadh?”

Eddard sighed and silence passed for a while before he spoke up. “How about a race?” he asked.

Robert perked up from his sullen mood once again becoming boisterous.

“Yes!” he agreed immediately.

“Your grace?” Ariadne asked.

He hummed contemplatively before nodding. “I think I will join you. Let’s make it fun if you beat me I will have three pages translated for you tomorrow,” he bargained.

“I hope your horse is fast otherwise you wont get any sleep tonight,” she laughed heartily.

“Where will we stop?” he asked sitting forward in his stirrups.

“Over the next hill there is a bridge that leads over a small river,” Oswell offered.

“Then that is where we will stop,” Robert nodded resolutely.

“Then I will begin the count,” Arthur said also sitting up slightly. “3….2….1.”

Quick as lightning their horses thundered passing the slow riding group. He had to admit she was fast. Robert unfortunately lagged behind his curses and shouts of cheating could probably be heard in Kings Landing. He rode closely behind Eddard, Ariadne in a slight lead.

As they passed the hill he could see the river and the bridge. He tried to urge his horse to go faster but it seemed there was no catching the Stark siblings. Just as he assumed Ariadne would be the winner Eddard seemed to pass her making it to the bridge before her by a hairs breadth.

“Duilich piuthar,” Eddard called.

Ariadne huffed rolling her eyes good naturedly. “You won’t be so lucky next time,” she scoffed.

Robert had finally caught up to them red in the face. “I demand a rematch,” he called laughing.

“I forgot you were ven in the race my lord,” Ariadne laughed. “Where were you?”

“Ha ha,” Robert laughed.

They all watched as the wheelhouse slowly appeared over the hill.

“We will make camp after the next mile,” Brandon told them. “Your grace a rider has come from Harrenhal for you,” Brandon said and a young man on a horse rode forward and handed him the sealed missive.

“Your grace,” the boy said before turning and riding back the way they came.

He stuffed the letter in his saddlebag he would read it as they made camp. The last 2 miles of the ride ended completely uneventful and as they made camp Rhaegar read the missive sent to him from his mother.

My son I would ask that you return home before your betrothed. There are some things your father and I would like to prepare with you. I also have some news I wish to share that cannot be sent in a missive.

-Your mother.

He looked at the people moving meticulously around them and rolled the missive up quietly. He set off looking around the camp. There was no sign of her so he grabbed the nearest servant.

“Do you know where Lady Ariadne is?” he asked politely.

“I believe she’s retired for the night your grace,” the girl said wirth a curtsy before walking off.

He sighed deeply, he had no intention of leaving without saying anything but if his mother requested his return he wanted to get back home. He quickly walked back to his horse and began to saddle her.

“We’re leaving,” he said simply.

Arthur and Oswell followed his lead and before long they were riding out into the night.

Chapter Text

They were less than a day's ride from King's Landing and would reach the gates that evening. He had sent a rider ahead with word of their arrival. After the prince’s swift departure, they had decided to make haste. He didn’t trust the silver-haired bastard as far as he could throw him.

“Ady always told me brooding was my job,” Ned said beside him.

His brother’s presence broke through his stormy thoughts and brought him back to reality.

“Why did the prince take off so suddenly at night without notice?” he asked. “Am I the only one who cares?”

“Yes,” Ned replied simply. “It seems this marriage will happen despite any objections. We serve at the foot of our king, and this is his command.”

“I just want this to be over with, so I can stop worrying.”

“Unfortunately, I think our worries have only just begun,” Ned remarked.

Brandon’s gaze followed Ned’s to where their sister pranced around on her horse, teasing Baratheon. He couldn’t imagine leaving her south without the protection of their home.

“I’ll stay as long as possible,” Brandon said, turning to Ned.

“I’ll stay even longer,” Ned promised. “She won’t be alone if I can help it.”

The sound of her laughter had become rare in Winterfell, but it seemed the trip had lifted her spirits and brought back the girl from before their mother’s death.

“This is what she deserves,” Brandon commented. “Freedom to do what she wishes, go where she wants. I can only see her marriage to the prince as a trap.”

An emotion he couldn’t quite read flickered across Ned’s face before disappearing as quickly as it had come. Brandon wished he were closer to his siblings. The fostering hadn’t driven a wedge between them, but they weren’t as close as before.

“We will protect her,” Brandon told him. “Even from the king and the prince.”

Ned nodded, and Brandon could see a shadow of his younger brother, the cautious little boy who would stop him and Ariadne from their reckless pursuits.

“You’ve grown up, little brother,” Brandon commented before kicking at his stallion’s sides, urging him to speed up.

“What does that even mean?” Ned called from behind, “Of course I’ve grown.” Brandon let out a boisterous laugh in response.

Their party stopped again so Ariadne could dismount and join her ladies inside the wheelhouse. Brandon watched as they selected a dress from one of the many packed trunks, planning to dress her within the carriage.

“Unfortunately, that dress will do nothing for the smell of horse clinging to you,” Brandon called out teasingly.

“Bastard,” she called back, pouting.

“You shouldn’t have let her ride,” Myrana huffed, glaring at him.

“How has this become my fault?” Brandon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Men are always to blame. You’d think you’d know that by now,” Alyssane laughed as the girls re-entered the carriage.

Brandon mounted his horse and began the very short ride to King’s Landing. He handed a missive to one of the younger Frey boys, sealed with the Stark sigil.

“Go to the Gate of the Gods and announce our arrival,” he ordered. The weasel-faced boy nodded eagerly before taking off.

He slowed his horse’s gait and leaned toward the wheelhouse.

“I hope you ladies are ready. We’re approaching King’s Landing. My sister’s troll-like features should be hidden,” he teased.

The curtain was angrily swiped back, and he leaned away, nearly falling off his horse, as the furious face of Myrana Karstark appeared.

“This is stressful enough without your oh-so-witty quips, Brandon Stark,” she hissed before shutting the curtain with equal force.

He could hear Baratheon’s booming laughter.

“Ned always told me Northern women were different,” he laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re at risk of being run through with a sword.”

Ned’s chuckles joined his, and Brandon grumbled in irritation.

“He won’t try that again,” Ned said. “Myrana once put him flat on his arse with a solid punch when we were younger,” he reminisced. Once again, Baratheon erupted into his loud laughter.

“It’s not that funny,” he huffed. He could still feel the ache of where she had punched him in his nose. It had been nearly 10 years, but he would always have a healthy fear of her.

As the city drew closer, he could see the gold cloaks walking the walls. Some of the riders raised the Stark banners, and he watched as the men scrambled to open the gate. The rickety sound of the gate opening set him on edge.

“Into the belly of the beast,” Ned remarked beside him.

He sighed as they progressed into the city. The smallfolk stopped and stared, watching as they passed. It was unnerving. The people of the North were not as awestruck as the people of King's Landing.

They passed them, and he watched as the Red Keep slowly appeared. If he squinted, he could see people gathering in front of the castle. After what seemed forever, they finally were inside the red keep, and there waiting for them was the prince. If he had to hazard a guess, the man standing beside him was the hand of the king, Tywin Lannister, if the blonde hair was anything to go by.

He dismounted quickly and opened the door to the wheelhouse. First, he helped Catelyn out, followed by the rest of the ladies. His eyes finally found his sister, and there was only one word for how she looked.

“You look breathtaking, sister. He does not deserve you,” he complimented.

“If it were up to us, no man ever would, but I guess a prince is as good as any,” Ned continued.

The three approached Rhaegar and the hand, bowing and curtsying as appropriate.

“Please rise,” he smiled. “It is lovely to see you again. This is the hand of the king, Lord Tywin Lannister,” he introduced.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Brandon greeted respectfully with an incline of his head.

Brandon nodded his acceptance, following Lord Lannister and the prince into the keep. As the doors to the castle behind him shut, he felt a foreboding sense of finality; he had a feeling nothing good would come from them being there.

“It will be ok,” he told Ariadne, though he was full of doubt and fear.

As the doors to the throne room opened, the chatter ceased as they were announced. He heard Ariadne take a shuddering breath, and they walked forward together, Ned on her right and him on her left.

Aerys sat on the menacing throne. His silver hair hung limply around his gaunt face, as if the man hadn’t eaten in days. His nails were long, but the rumors clearly exaggerated their length.

The man’s eyes were focused solely on Ariadne. They stopped before the throne and bowed deeply, not wanting to risk his wrath. Brandon began to sweat as he held his bow. A tense second seemed to pass before Aerys finally spoke.

“Please rise,” he called.

When Brandon stood, he finally noticed the rest of the Targaryen family. The queen sat to the left of the throne, and she looked immaculate. Her hair was braided up into a bun, and delicately placed on her head was a crown of gold decorated with blood-red diamonds.

To the right of the throne, Prince Rhaegar stood with his brother, Prince Viserys, at his side. The young boy looked as though he were ready to jump out of his skin.

“I am pleased you have finally arrived at the castle,” Aerys continued. “I hope the journey was not too troublesome.”

“Not at all, your grace,” Brandon said diplomatically with a nod. “We were pleased to accept your invitation, our eagerness to come overshadowed any hardships the journey might have brought.”

The king's cruel smile set him on edge. “I see the tales of your wolves were not exaggerated. Should I set aside a table for them?”

False laughter spread through the throne room as the courtiers indulged the king.

“Thank you, your grace, but I believe the kennels will be enough,” Brandon said.

“Please settle in and rest, the servants will show you to your chambers. You can rejoin us at the welcome feast and regale us with tales of your travels.”

Their party bowed again before following the servants out of the throne room and to their respective chambers in the maidenvault. He let out a deep sigh as he sat down. Unfortunately, the wariness in his bones did not lessen.

Ever since he had set foot in the red keep, he had felt like eyes were on him. Beron walked around the room sniffing at various cracks and crevices; it seemed he wasn’t the only one suspicious. He still had a few hours until the actual feast, and he decided to use that time to relax a little, even if he couldn’t fully. He desired to maybe visit the brothels and burn off some excess energy, but he knew that would not go over well with Ariadne or his betrothed.

He let out another sigh before making his way to the room attached. He could probably sleep for a little while.

Chapter Text

When he arrived back at the Red Keep, he couldn’t help but observe the flurry of activity around him. Servants hurried through the halls, preparing for the arrival of House Stark and their future queen. The air was thick with the tension of anticipation, as every detail of the welcome needed to be perfect. His betrothal to Lady Ariadne had been formally confirmed; the real challenge lay in negotiating the terms of their union. From the little he had gathered about the Starks, it was clear that it would most likely be a simple and pleasant conversation, but he wasn’t so sure since his father would be in the room.

Everyone objected to his marriage to Lady Stark, but no one could say anything. His most trusted friend, Jon Connington, brought the whispers to him. People from the Reach were in a tizzy because he had been offered the elder Tyrell sister, Mina, he believed. Of course, the offer wasn't presented to his father; the girl had tried, unsuccessfully, to seduce him. The younger sister, Janna, was proposed to be Viserys’s bride.

The people of the Westerlands had assumed that Cersei Lannister would be the next queen. She was the daughter of the Hand of the King and came from a very wealthy and influential family; however, his father’s hatred for Tywin Lannister was well known. The girl had even fashioned a small court of women before the news of his betrothal was formally announced.

Dorne was upset because the next best choice would have been someone of similar standing—Princess Elia Martell. From what he had heard, the girl was frail, and bearing children would be a burden for her. He did not desire to put her through that.

When he arrived in the capital, his mother had shared with him the news that she was pregnant. Over the years, he had lost many siblings, and though he tried not to get his hopes up, the joy of Viserys’s successful birth had allowed him to feel happiness again. He dared to hope for another healthy babe, if only for his mother’s sanity. He could not bear to watch her break once more at the death of a child. There was also a bittersweet relief in the news; this meant his father would stay far away from his mother for many moons.

The scouts had recently returned from the gates, announcing the arrival of the Northern party. He must admit that his marriage to Ariadne brought a significant military advantage. Her brother’s close friendship with Baratheon and her eldest brother’s betrothal to Catelyn Tully effectively secured three of the Seven Kingdoms. The fostering with Jon Arryn brought in a fourth. Any other girl would only have the advantage of one kingdom, maybe two.

He stood on the stairs of the Red Keep, waiting for them alongside Tywin Lannister. His mother had insisted he stay by her side in the throne room, but he figured a familiar face might help ease their nerves, especially if they were being met by Tywin Lannister’s cold, unyielding gaze.

To many people, this would be their first time meeting a Northerner. There were rumors of them being barbarians and no better than wildlings. Others thought they sacrificed children to the old gods. He, of course, knew this wasn’t true, but he was interested in seeing the people's reaction to them. His eyes slid over to Tywin Lannister as the wolves finally appeared; to his credit, he barely blinked.

She was breathtaking, that he could admit. As he watched her climb the stairs towards him, her brothers by her side, his breath caught in his throat. Any man would be attracted to her. He thought she was beautiful before, but this was something else.

As they followed him and Tywin into the throne room, he watched as the courtiers peeked over each other to get a glimpse of them. They were, of course, disappointed. Maybe they expected them to show up dressed all in furs that still dripped the blood of the animals they skinned for them. He laughed to himself at this thought.

He enjoyed the gasps and quiet yelps as people caught sight of the wolves. He wondered if this would be their reaction to the dragons ever making a sudden reappearance. He joined his mother beside the throne and watched as the party bowed before the king and introduced themselves.

The exchange between the king and their party was quick. It ended as soon as it began, and the Northern party left the hall for the chambers. Before she left the hall, their eyes met, and the tension hung like a thick cloud of dust. Finally, she turned away, following her brothers.

He sighed as he watched her leave the hall. As usual, his feelings were conflicted. He was not one to be swayed by a pretty face, as many of those flaunted before him; however, he was drawn to her despite his wishes not to be. He had spent years honing his ability to mask his emotions and maintain a calm demeanor. Yet, here she was, a mere woman, and she had stirred something within him that he couldn’t quite name. Was it merely curiosity? Or was it something more?

During the trip, it was different, and he couldn’t quite explain it. Seeing Ariadne in the home of his ancestors set him slightly on edge. His eyes remained on the spot where she once stood. She had changed everything just by being there.

“Come, my son,” Rhaella called.

The moment passed quickly, and the weight of his mother’s call reminded him of his duties. The fleeting distraction she caused was, in the end, just that, a distraction. His mind snapped back into focus, and he joined his mother at the throne, masking the lingering thoughts behind his usual composed mask. He offered his arm to his mother, and they walked to her chambers together.

“She is a beautiful girl,” Rhaella said. “I could see the two of you being very happy together.”

“Happiness is not something oft afforded to nobles. I would also like it, but I need strength more than happiness.”

“You may not desire it yourself, but that is all a mother wishes for her children.”

“I understand your wishes, Mother,” he said softly, his voice betraying none of the conflict swirling in his chest. “But we both know that the realm needs more than happiness. It needs strength, stability, and power. Now more than ever, those things are built, not gifted.”

“Perhaps my son,” Rhaella nodded her ascent as they entered her chambers. “But you underestimate the power of love. I myself have only felt it for the briefest of moments, but it is a strength that can not be comprehended and a power that cannot be tamed.”

She sat heavily in one of the chairs. She was not far along in her pregnancy, but it took a toll on her body all the same. “Love can help provide clarity to a dark mind. You may not think it has a place in the kingdom, but it can help shape a king or kingdom as well as any sword.”

He settled in one of the chairs across from her, the weight of their conversation settling between them. He had always respected his mother’s counsel, even if he didn’t always heed it. She had a way of seeing the world with a softness that he lacked. And while he was resolute in his duty, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to her words.

“Love is fleeting,” he muttered under his breath, half to himself. “But duty is forever.”

His mother’s smile was faint and carried a deep sadness. “Duty is a heavy burden to bear alone, my son. And even the strongest of kings need someone to share the weight. You may not see it now, but perhaps one day you will. Just don’t close your heart to the possibility.”

He said nothing in response, simply bowing his head in acknowledgment. Long ago, he learned that arguing with his mother was fruitless. Instead, he left her chambers with his mind heavy and his heart even heavier.

As he returned to his chambers, his thoughts were again drawn to Ariadne. What was it about her that stirred these feelings inside of him? Did she possess the strength to stand by his side and ensure the longevity of the Targaryen legacy?

These questions lingered in his mind unanswered.

Chapter Text

The music flowed through the hall, along with the lively chatter of the various houses. Ariadne watched and laughed lightly as Robert's mother thoroughly scolded him for teasing his younger brother. She watched as he flinched away from her swats.

A sheepish expression quickly replaced his youthful arrogance as she swatted at him, the sound of her reprimands lost amid the laughter of the surrounding guests. She watched as he winced, not from the sting but from the unmistakable frustration of being caught. But it wasn’t anger in his eyes, it was affection. Even in his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but look at his mother with something akin to fondness, their bond undeniable.

Ariadne's smile softened as she watched the family dynamics play out. It reminded her of her mother. She turned to Ned, sensing the shift in his posture before she even saw his expression. He, too, was watching the scene before them with a mixture of nostalgia and longing. His eyes softened, a look of quiet reflection settling over him. She could see it as clearly as if they spoke the words aloud.

“Someone told me it gets easier with time. I’m still waiting for that time,” Ariadne told him, her eyes refusing to return to Robert and his family.

“Aye,” Ned said solemnly, taking a small sip from his glass.

Another shout from the Baratheon table drew their attention. This time, it was Fenris running away from Robert with a piece of chicken in his mouth.

“Damn you Fenris,” Robert shouted after him.

The small commotion seemed to bring some life back to the twins as Fenris sought refuge near Ned.

“Well done,” Ned praised him as Fenris shoved his large body under the table.

Robert soon made his way over to their table, the jovial shouts from some of the Northmen drawing him in.

“Control your bloody dog,” Robert huffed as he sat beside Ned.

“The last time he heard you say that about him, he bit you.” Ned laughed.

Robert poured himself a glass of wine. “I had to escape my mother's wrath. Teasing Stannis is not nearly as fun when she is around.”

“Teasing your brother should not be fun, Robert,” Ariadne lightly reprimanded him.

“Not you too, I thought at least one of you would be more fun,” Robert groaned.

“I like to believe I am fun, but if you are having fun at the expense of others, it is cruelty,” Ariadne told him, delicately raising her glass to take a sip of wine.

Robert sighed profoundly and slouched in his chair before taking another deep swig of wine. He glanced at Ned for support, but Ned simply shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He also leaned back, looking down at Fenris, who had nestled comfortably beneath the table, his large form nearly taking up the entire space.

“He’s such a sourpuss, and he makes it so easy. Ned’s more of a brother to me than Stannis.”

“Family isn’t meant to be easy. Of course, you might get along with Ned more easily if you grew up with him. Stannis and you were raised apart, and you missed very formative years. If you and Ned hadn’t been raised together, I doubt you’d be friends.” Ariadne huffed.

Robert turned away, the harsh truth stinging.

“Give your brother grace, Robert.”

He rolled his eyes, but Ariadne could tell her words got to him. Her eyes then traveled to Ned, who seemed focused on something across the hall. Her eyes followed his eyeline and landed on the tables at the far side of the hall housing the Dornish. It wasn’t something, it was someone.

She wasn’t the only one to take notice, it seemed.

“Ned, what has caught your eye this evening?” Brandon asked boisterously.

Neds composure remained intact hardly rising to the bait. He shifted slightly, leaning backwards to portray ease and innocence, but she wasn’t one to be fooled. She leaned forward slightly, studying him more closely. "It seems you’ve found something... or rather, someone, of interest."

Ned’s eyes finally shifted, meeting hers briefly before he cleared his throat and gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice low, his words almost too casual. But even Ariadne could hear the slight tightness there, the subtle tension in his voice that betrayed his calm demeanor.

Brandon, ever the provocateur, wasn’t satisfied with the dismissive answer. "Nothing?" he repeated, leaning forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ned, you can’t fool me. I’ve seen that look before. I’ve had that look before.”

Ariadne subtly rolled her eyes. He was drunk enough to start harping about his great love, Barbrey, and she honestly had no wish to listen. Her eyes slid toward Catelyn, who flushed. The girl could not possibly think Brandon meant her.

“The Dornish women hold a beauty like no other. I’ve never had the pleasure myself, but I can understand the desire,” Robert mused.

Ned shifted once again, and Ariadne sensed his unease. Her curiosity grew, but she knew better than to push him too far. Ariadne exchanged a glance with Robert, who was now watching the exchange with a smirk, clearly entertained by Ned’s rare moment of desire.

“It’s nothing. I have no chance with her anyway,” Ned sighed, turning away from them.

“Do not sell yourself short, brother,” Brandon shouted. “Tell me which girl it is and I will retrieve her for you.”

Ned turned away from Brandon, refusing to say anything. “Fine,” Brandon shrugged. “I will ask every Dornish woman at that table for her hand for you.”

Brandon got up unsteadily, and Ned reacted far faster than she thought he would. He quickly wrestled Brandon to the ground.

“Okay,” Ned hissed, his cheeks colored.

Ariadne laughed jovially as her brother unraveled before them. She, Brandon, and Robert leaned close. “I—” Ned stopped abruptly and flushed a deep red

“By the gods,” Ariadne whispered in shock. She had never seen her brother this flustered.

“I don’t know her name,” he admitted.

“Well point her out,” Brandon demanded.

“Pointing is rude Brandon,” Ariadne reminded him.

Ned sighed deeply before once again turning towards the people dancing. His eyes searched the couples before settling on one in particular. “There is a girl dark of hair in a light purple dress. She is dancing with a man wearing the crest of house Martell on his shoulder.”

The three of them searched the floor frantically. Ariadne found the couple but she could not recognize the girl.

“ASHARA DAYNE!” Robert shouted in shock.

“Shhhh,” Ariadne hissed at him. Luckily for them the music decided to swell at that moment covering Roberts outburst.

“Gods kill me,” Ned groaned.

The song ended and they watched as the now named Ashara Dayne made her way back to her table with the Martell prince.

“Ashara Dayne,” Brandon said eyeing her appreciatively. “It seems the rumors of her beauty were not exaggerated,” he said carefully. “I would tell you to abandon all hope after all her brother is the famed Arthur Dayne but I will help you,” He finished resolutely.

“What?” Ned asked.

“Are you prepared to face the ire of Ser Arthur Dayne. I’d worry about your intentions but they’re probably as pure as fresh fallen snow,” Brandon rambled before shakily standing.

“What is he doing?” Ariadne asked, watching him.

Ned’s eyes widened as Brandon made his way towards the Dornish. Due to the distance and the music, it was hard to hear what was being said, but Ashara’s violet eyes turned towards their table, and Ned seemed to darken in color. Ariadne quickly turned away looking elsewhere.

“I’m going to kill him,” Ned said darkly.

“She’s coming over here,” Robert said in shock.

Ashara got up and started towards their table. Her movements were deliberate, her steps smooth and measured, as if she owned the space between them and her. She wove through the dancers confidently, her eyes never wavering from the table where the Starks sat, her gaze focused and unreadable.

Ned’s grip on the edge of the table tightened. His usual calm demeanor was slipping, replaced by a rare sense of helplessness that Ariadne had never seen in him before. He shifted in his seat, clearly unnerved.

Ned’s voice was tight with uncertainty as he turned to her. “What do I do?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question that could be easily answered. Ariadne swallowed, her gaze flicking between Ashara and Ned.

“I don’t know,” Ariadne whispered, her voice barely audible over the rising hum of the room.

“I’d run,” Robert said before quickly standing and leaving.

Ariadne barely controlled her jaw from dropping as she watched Robert turn tail and run.

Ashara’s eyes flickered toward them briefly, a flash of violet in the sea of color and motion around them. It was only for a moment, but it felt like an eternity. And then, without warning, Ashara was standing before their table.

“Lord Stark,” Ashara said clearly. Your brother tells me you wish to dance with me.

Brandon’s earlier bravado seemed to have evaporated. He had retreated to the background, his posture stiff, like a child caught in mischief. When Ariadne turned her gaze to him, he instinctively stood straighter, an unspoken apology written across his face.

“Aye,” Ned said with a nod. “I would be honored if you would dance with me.”

“I would like that,” Ashara said.

Ned left the table and led Ashara to the middle of the hall, where they danced with the other couples.

Brandon slowly made his way to the table, hoping to return unscathed.

“You fool,” Ariadne hissed, whacking his arm. “Was your plan to embarrass our brother?”

“I thought I was helping,” Brandon sighed, reaching for the wine.

“No more wine,” Ariadne growled, swatting his hand. “Instead, you can take your betrothed out for a few turns.”

Brandon sighed before gulping down some water. He turned to Catelyn and offered her his hand. “Would you honor me with a dance, my lady?” he asked with a charming smile.

Catelyn took it shyly, and the two of them joined the others. Her eyes found Ned and Ashara, and she watched them dance. It seemed Ashara was leading the conversation, and Ned was answering with monosyllabic words.

“Could I bother you for a dance, my lady?” Robert said charmingly.

Ariadne flinched at Robert’s sudden reappearance for such a big man he was adept at sneaking up on people. “Coward,” she scoffed.

“I believe it was very brave of me to admit I was afraid. She looked as though she was going to impale him on a sword made of words. I sought refuge believing the worst.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “I believe it would be improper to dance with you before my betrothed. Besides I don’t dance with cowards,” Ariadne said lightly.

“Bah, your betrothed appears afraid of you. If you were to wait for him, you’d never dance.”

The two of them looked over at Rhaegar, who seemed to be watching them. When he noticed their eyes on him, he turned away quickly. Ariadne was disheartened. She thought their betrothal might be more manageable after the little time they spent together on the Kingsroad.

“Fine,” Ariadne sighed. She would not spend her first night in the capital wallowing because Rhaegar was afraid of her, or some other benign thing.

She danced with Robert for two songs before she finally retook her seat. Her face flushed from enjoyment. Her eyes found Ashara and Ned once again. The two seemed as though they would dance together for the rest of the night. Her eyes searched the hall for her ladies, who had abandoned her.

Alyssane was dancing with a knight wearing the sigil of House Florent, and Myrana was dancing with a young Fossoway boy. Finding the others was harder, so she simply gave up. Her eyes again traveled to the royal table, hoping to see the prince. However it looked as if he had retired early. She frowned but got up; she was tired and wished to sleep.

She left the hall with Thistle and Fenris by her side. They were better than any other escort. Her brothers would know where she had gone. She tried valiantly to remember her way to her chambers, but after a while, it was evident she was horribly lost. She sighed and pressed her cool hands against her flushed face.

She didn’t remember drinking too much but it was evident she was at the very least slightly drunk. Her nose was then assaulted with a strong scent of lavender. Thistle and Fenris’s hackles raised, sensing someone approaching.

“My lady,” a silky voice called.

Ariadne quickly turned towards the voice, and her eyes landed on a round, plump, bald man who wore silk purple robes—the famed master of whispers.

“My lord,” Ariadne said with a nod.

“I am no lord,” he tittered. I see you are lost. Might I escort you to your rooms?”

“If you could be so kind,” Ariadne smiled. The two walked side by side in companionable silence.

“The rumors of your wolves are not exaggerated, it seems,” Varys spoke, breaking the silence. “I heard whispers of them, but they are a sight to behold.”

“Yes, my father's wolf is even bigger. I can only hope Thistle will grow to be that big,” Ariadne said.

“I’d keep them close here in Kingslanding. Danger lurks around every corner, and you have every woman in the seven kingdoms vying for your future crown,” Varys warned.

The two came to a stop in front of her door.

“Welcome to Kingslanding, my lady,” Varys said before turning and leaving.

He left her standing in front of her door, apprehension and a slight tinge of fear swirling in her gut.

Chapter Text

Brandon sighed deeply, his steps heavy as he trailed behind his siblings, following one of the palace guards through the corridors of the Red Keep. The muffled sound of footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent hallways.

His head was throbbing with the dull ache of a night too full of wine and laughter. Ned, however, managed to get revenge for Brandon’s show last night. Ned harshly woke Brandon with a bucket of cold water and a warning. He followed it quickly with a thanks before his brother fled his room, leaving Brandon stunned.

The palace guard stopped before large oak doors, where two king's guards stood watch. He knocked heavily twice. An ‘enter’ was heard, and he opened the door for them. Brandon led them inside, where the King, the Hand, and Prince Rhaegar waited for them.

They sat in the three seats that were meant for them. Brandon watched as Rhaegar once again avoided eye contact with his sister. His blood boiled, but he knew his limits, especially before the King; he wasn’t called mad for nothing.

Brandon clenched his jaw. He wasn’t stupid; he knew well enough that Rhaegar’s coldness wasn’t a coincidence. It was deliberate. And that, more than anything, burned him.

"I trust the evening’s entertainment wasn’t too much for you, Lord Stark?" came a smooth voice across the table. It was Tywin Lannister, his gaze sharp as ever, his tone unbothered, as though the very idea of entertainment, or enjoyment, was beneath him.

“Of course not, Lord Lannister. The feasts in the North start at sundown and don’t cease until sunup,” he smiled.

“I’m glad you are so energetic, it will be easier to discuss the terms of the betrothal,” Aerys said, leaning slightly forward. There was a clarity in his eyes that Brandon couldn’t quite believe after the madness he witnessed simmering the night before.

“I come with terms from my father, as you already know, my sister's dowry is not substantial, but it is no small amount either. He will pay 30,000 gold dragons, and with that comes the lands of sea dragon point for any second or third sons to inherit,” Brandon said plainly.

Here, Aerys scoffed. “Those lands are not needed,” he laughed. “My grandsons will not be petty lords of some wasteland.”

Brandon hid his offense at the blatant disregard of their homeland.

“This is unprecedented, but the king would like to give Lady Ariadne a gift for the first child she bears,” Tywin said carefully.

The shock of the offer must have shown on his face because the King laughed gleefully.

“We are to be family, and if she succeeds where my own wife has failed, I would like to reward her for it. The gods know my son is not worthy of a strong lineage.” Here, Aerys laughed, and Brandon watched Rhaegar look to the skies, perhaps seeking strength or patience.

“I am prepared to offer the funding to help rebuild Moat Cailin upon the birth of your first child,” Aerys said, gesturing to Ariadne. “The crown can pay for the rebuilding of a small keep. After all, she will be giving us something much more valuable. ”

Those words hung in the air. Ariadne, though still poised, couldn’t entirely mask the flicker of discomfort in her eyes. She must have known this was coming, how her worth would be bargained over, reduced to a political asset, yet hearing it spoken so plainly had to be unnerving. He could tell the weight of the King’s words settled heavily on her shoulders.

Brandon saw it in the slight tightness of her jaw and how her fingers curled into the fabric of her gown. Her pride and strength stood in stark contrast to the callousness of their surroundings. But she was nothing if not resilient.

“Of course, your grace,” Brandon said through clenched teeth.

“There is one condition if this is to proceed,” The king said. “On the night of the bedding, myself and the grand maester will be there to ensure the consummation of the marriage.”

It seemed this was news to the prince because Rhaegar turned violent violet eyes onto the king.

“Your grace, this is unprecedented. Never have there been witnesses to the consummation of a marriage.”

Aerys barely glanced at Rhaegar, his heavy gaze focused solely on Ariadne.

“We can be out of this place by tonight if you do not want this,” Brandon said softly, switching to Old Tongue.

The king balked at this, his eyes switching between the three.

“We wouldn’t even make it past the gates. She is a prize to him,” Ned said, turning to Brandon.

Brandon stared at the king and watched the anger build in his eyes.

“It’s fine,” Ariadne finally spoke.

“I will make sure this marriage is consummated. Of course, if you are uncomfortable, one of your brothers could also come,” Aerys said with a mad laugh.

“Your grace, this is in no way proper,” Rhaegar said tightly.

“Quiet boy, I am securing your line. You should thank me,” Aerys said dismissively.

Rhaegar got up and left in anger. Aerys barely seemed phased.

The room fell silent, a heavy, suffocating quiet that was only broken by the faint rustling of Ariadne’s fingers as she absentmindedly picked at her hands. The tension was palpable, as though the walls were closing in around them, pressing the weight of the conversation into every corner. Aerys' eyes remained locked on Ariadne, his expression cold, calculating, almost as if he were savoring the power he held in this moment.

Brandon’s fists tightened at his sides, but he knew better than to speak out of turn, and though he wanted nothing more than to tear into the King for his utter disrespect, he had to hold his temper. He could feel the anger burning inside him, but now was not the time. Not yet.

Ned’s gaze, too, was fixed on Ariadne, his expression a mixture of concern and quiet fury. His voice was barely a whisper but laced with an unmistakable edge. “This is madness, Ariadne. You don’t have to—”

Ariadne cut him off with her usual quiet resolve before he could continue. Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but Brandon could hear the faint tremor of emotion beneath the surface. “I will do what must be done. For the good of the realm, after all.”

Her words, though soft, carried a weight that silenced any further objections. Brandon could see the strain in her posture, the way her fingers trembled despite her calm exterior. She was bearing a burden far heavier than anyone in this room could understand, and the thought of it made Brandon’s heart ache.

“I’m sure you’ll find that this is a small price to pay for a crown,” Aerys added, his words dripping with venomous amusement. “After all, she is to be the future queen, and I am merely ensuring the continuation of the king's bloodline.”

Brandon felt helpless. He wished there was something he could do to aid her, but Ariadne was the sole focus of Aerys’s strange, cruel game.

“My brothers will not attend the consummation, after all, we trust you, your grace, and your words.”

Aerys clapped and motioned for Tywin to grab something. “Now that that is settled, we can sign this thing and be done with it.”

Tywin placed a contract down along with an inkpot and a quill. Aerys dipped it carefully before signing his name. He slid the contract towards Brandon. Brandon looked at it hesitantly before once again turning to Ariadne.

He couldn’t help but feel as though his signing would tie an unseen noose around her neck. Ariadne nodded resolutely, a faint smile on her face. This shade of a girl was not his sister. If only a day could do this to her, he couldn’t help but wonder what years would do. He dipped the quill and signed his name quickly, wanting to be done with the entire situation.

As the ink dried, a finality settled into the room. The deed was done, but the feeling of wrongness hung thick in the air like smoke, settling over him.

“The wedding will be held in two moons' time,” Aerys said. “Hosting you until then will be an absolute pleasure, I’m sure." Then the king stood and left Tywin trailing behind him.

“That was awful,” Ned said into the now-empty room, and Brandon could only nod in agreement.

His eyes turned to Ariadne, who had stopped picking at her nails.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“We serve our king, and this is his demand. We can only obey and pray.”

“Pray?” Ned asked.

“Pray we keep our heads,” Brandon said dryly.

“Besides, this is not so bad. Father will be glad about the news of Moat Cailin, you should hurry and write to him,” Ariadne said.

The three rose from their chairs and left the small council chambers. Brandon felt naked without Beron, figuring that leaving the wolves in their rooms would be a better idea. He had no will to write his father other than a missive to let him know they had made it to the capital. However, the news of Moat Cailin's potential rebuild was a great boon to them, so he supposed he should be the one to share the news.

He left Ned and Ariadne in the halls and headed to his chamber to write to his father.