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Sitting in the great hall of Winterfell with his head leaning back against his chair, Robb Stark watched with a keen eye on the festivities that'd taken hold within the heart of Winterfell. The great hall had been transformed into a state that he doubted he would ever see again. Members of four of the Great Houses of Westeros were gathered under a single roof for the first time in he didn't know how long. To an outside observer, everything might seem completely normal. Bards were playing in the corner, their music bringing a lively air to the hall that prompted more than one man and woman to leave their seat and dance across the middle of the hall. And the members of each house were seemingly being very cordial with one another. But the truth was that this peace that'd descended upon Winterfell was balancing on a sword's edge and the wind was blowing.
It was in the eyes. The slight shifting and the tightening whenever a member one House would approach a member from a differing House. Almost as if they were expecting a dagger in the back here and now. And then there was also the fact that, after the initial entering of the hall, each House had pretty much separated themselves from the other, sectioning off each part of the great hall as if each side was preparing themselves for battle. He knew that gatherings such as this one was important for the future as whenever this many nobles gathered it was inevitable that one—if not more—alliances would be struck before the gathering was through. And as he watched his sister Sansa be led across the dance floor by a newly healed Willias Tyrell, Robb had a suspicion as to a potential alliance that might be struck.
'She isn't the only Stark who is enjoying themselves,' Robb's own voice sounded in his head. 'In fact, you seem to be the only one of your siblings who is not enjoying themselves tonight.'
Unfortunately, the betraying voice in his head spoke true. While he was stuck at the head table constantly keeping an eye on the other houses to make sure nothing nefarious took place, his siblings were mingling with their guests and seemingly having a great time of it. Jon had moved from his seat the moment it was appropriate to do so and had taken up the spot right next to Princess Arianne. Ever since the moment he sat down, Jon and Arianne had put their heads close to one another and began talking, though about what he didn't know as he couldn't hear them over the noise in the hall. But he was sure that their closeness to one another, and the fact that the two had seemingly disappeared right after arriving this morning, would set more than a few tongues wagging. His brother had told Robb quite a few times about the woman's beauty, both in mind and body. And now that Robb had met the woman who had so captivated his brother, all he could think was that his brother had been understating matters. The woman was stunning. Though in his eye she still paled in comparison to Talisa.
Sitting almost right next to Jon was their sister Arya, who'd followed Jon after he'd left his seat to join the Martells. Though unlike his brother who was completely enthralled with Arianne, Arya seemed to have her attention focused on the bastard daughters of Prince Oberyn, the so-called 'Sand Snakes'. Warrior women who, according to Jon at least, were just as good with their weapons of choice as any man he'd ever met. So, it was little wonder as to why his sister, who dreamed of casting aside what was expected of her and forging her own path, was drawn to them. Thankfully though, the daughters of Prince Oberyn seemed to take Arya's presence completely in stride. Hells, if anything, within a few minutes Arya seemed more at ease with the bastard girls than any of the other visitors they'd had in Winterfell over the years.
Bran, much like Sansa, had drifted towards the Tyrell's, or more specifically the middle son of the Tyrells, Ser Garlan Tyrell. A knight of the Reach and a man said to be one of the better swords in the south. And just like Jon and Arya, it was little wonder as to just why his brother had made his way towards the man, who was now at least humoring his young brother with some tale or other. Despite being trained by Lord Nox, his brother's dream of becoming the greatest knight Westeros had ever seen had not diminished in the slightest. If anything, they'd only intensified as his brother's training began.
"Such a heavy demeanor is not befitting the heir of Winterfell tonight, Robb. Not while your brothers and sisters are enjoying themselves so."
It was all Robb could do not to jump out of his seat at the sound of her voice. Instead, he managed to remain calm as he rose to greet her. 'Gods! Am I so distracted that I didn't even…notice…her…? By the gods, old and new.' Talisa was always beautiful to him, but tonight, there was just something about her tonight that truly took his breath from him. Her hair was done in a traditional northern style braid and slung over one of her shoulders and she was wearing a pale blue dress that covered most of her body while still hugging her curves. If not for the darkened color of her skin, he would say that she was a true northern woman.
"Lady Talisa," he greeted her, doing his best to calm his racing heart. This was their first feast such as this since Lord Nox's wedding feast…and the less said about that night the better.
"Robb," Talisa greeted him before turning her attention to his father, "Lord Stark, please forgive my tardiness. A woman unexpectedly went into labor in Winter Town and it was an unfortunately difficult delivery for both the mother and babe. And I didn't feel right leaving either until I knew they were both alright."
"There is nothing to forgive, Lady Talisa," his father replied in greeting. "You were doing your duty to the people of the North. None here will begrudge you for that. Please, join us. The Tyrells have graciously provided the food for tonight's meal. Though, I fear that even if we invited every man, woman, and child in Winterfell to dine with us, there will still be some left."
His father wasn't lying in that regard. Upon their arrival, the Tyrells had immediately set about trying to make a good impression on their hosts by revealing enough food to feed a small army through a campaign. Ideally it was supposed to last for the duration of their stay, but given the fact that his sister and Lord Nox healed Willias Tyrell's leg from it's longstanding injury, the Lady Olenna Tyrell pressed the need for a lavish celebration for his recovery.
"I can see that," Talisa nodded, taking note of the piles of food, the weight of which Robb was sure was making the table legs buckle. "Perhaps when the night is through, we can send any food that is left to be distributed to those unable to join in the celebration tonight?"
His father nodded as Talisa took the seat to Robb's left and began putting a small amount of food on her plate. "Your thoughts mirror my own, Lady Talisa." His father said as Robb retook his seat.
"Talisa, please Lord Stark," Talisa said, filling her glass with watered downed wine that'd been set out for Robb and Jon. "I have been…basically a ward of Winterfell for nearly a year now. I have little connection to my past life and title. And that is the way I prefer it to be."
"As you wish, Talisa," his father nodded before turning his attention away from Robb and Talisa and back to the hall itself.
Wracking his brain, Robb tried to think of something to talk about as Talisa carefully picked at her meal. "The new mother in Winter Town. Will she be alright? And her child?"
Taking a sip of wine, Talisa nodded. "Aye. It was not an easy birth. The baby had not turned fully before the birth begun. Mercifully we didn't have to forcibly remove the babe from the womb, which could've caused quite a few more complications. But in the end, the mother and her new son pulled through and after a bit of rest will be back on their feet within a few days."
Blinking, Robb tried to wrap his mind around what she'd just told him. "What do you mean by…forcibly removing the babe from the womb? Surely, you don't mean that you… Well…cut the child out?"
To his horror, Talisa merely nodded. "That is exactly what it means. The process isn't unheard of and isn't nearly as bad as you might think it is. But it is still a last resort and only used when the life of the child and the mother are at risk."
Shaking his head to keep the image out, Robb tried desperately to find another topic to talk about. "Are you…finding the North to your liking, Talisa?"
Talisa paused in her eating and leveled her gaze at him. "You are horrible at small talk, Robb," she said not unkindly. "It's been a year since I left my home, most of which has been spent here in Winterfell. And my answer to that question is the same as the last time you asked it of me…which was two days ago if I recall correctly."
From beside him, Robb could swear that he heard his father try, and fail, to stifle a laugh. "Sorry," he said ashamedly.
"Don't be," Talisa replied, giving him the slightest of grins. "You're to be the future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. It's your prerogative to ask the same question again and again. Even if you already know the answer."
Sighing, Robb turned his attention away from Talisa and back to the dance floor. His sister Sansa had left the dance floor and was now sitting next to Lady Margaery Tyrell and the two were engaged in a seemingly animated discussion, though about what he had no idea, nor did he necessarily want to know. But those dancing in the center of the hall had not stopped just because his sister and Willias had vacated their spot. In fact, it seemed as if more people had decided to take the opportunity to enjoy themselves. Lord Nox was expertly leading Lady Nyra around the floor, his grace and technique once again putting even the most seasoned of dancers to shame. But what surprised Robb was the fact that his brother Jon was also now in the center of the floor with the Princess held lightly in his arms. And judging from the look of shock on his face and the look of satisfaction on the Princess, it was not necessarily Jon's idea for the two of them to dance.
'Well,' Robb thought with a grin, seeing an opportunity to get one over on his brother. 'Jon might be a far better sword than I. But perhaps there is an area that I can truly outshine my brother.'
Waiting until she had finished with her meal, Robb rose to his feet and offered his hand to Talisa. "My lady, will you do me the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"
Robb smirked as he was finally treated to the sight of Talisa being put on the back foot for a change. "And what will everyone think if we do, Robb?" Talisa asked, her eyes looking around the room. "The heir of Winterfell and future Warden of the North sharing a dance with a foreign lady from Volantis?"
"They will envy my luck. For I will have been graced with the chance to dance with the most beautiful woman in the hall," he answered her, not backing down and still holding his hand out waiting for her to take it.
Talisa glanced down at his offered hand, and then looked up to meet his eyes, his heart beating faster and harder with each moment she stayed in her seat. "Very well," she said at last, bringing a wave of relief and joy rushing through him. "I do hope that you know your steps. I would like my toes to remain unmolested come morning."
"No worries of that my lady," Robb replied with confidence as Talisa took his hand and led her out to the center of the hall.
Once they reached the center of the mass of people, Robb wrapped his right arm around her waist and took her right hand in his left as she placed her remaining hand on her shoulder. Waiting for the music to shift, Robb immediately began leading Talisa around the floor with a grace that'd been engrained into him from the endless dance lessons his mother had forced upon him. 'I hated those lessons…and I let mother know it too.' He lamented as he guided Talisa through the other dancers. 'And now, now I can't tell her how much I appreciate her insistence that I learn the art.'
"It seems you're not all talk, Robb," Talisa commented, a light smile upon her face. "You're not half bad."
Smiling, Robb spun her around in a tight circle in accordance with the music before taking her in his arms once more. "I hated dance lessons when I was a boy. But my mother was relentless and insisted that I learn the steps of multiple dances," he remarked, his light mood fading slightly at having said his thoughts aloud. "And now I'll never be able to tell her just how much I appreciate her insistence. Or how much I've come to appreciate the hundreds other things she did for me over the years."
Talisa's face fell slightly. "She knows, Robb," she said, her left hand reaching up and gently cupping his face for a moment as they paused their dance.
"Thank you," he said with a smile before taking off once more as the music picked up once more.
After leading her around the dance floor for at least four songs, exhaustion finally caught up to both and they decided without even having to say anything to one another that they'd well and truly earned a break. Leading her back to her seat next to him, noting that his father had moved away from his traditional spot and was now down mingling with the guests, Robb held out her chair for her before retaking his own right next to her.
"That was…exhilarating," Talisa said, smiling widely. "It has been a long time since I've danced like that… Let alone since I've had a competent dance partner."
"I am pleased that I met your expectations then, my lady."
"Met and exceeded, Robb," Talisa commented back lightly. "And stop with the 'my lady'. You more than have my permission to call me by my name."
"Talisa," Robb said, smiling and enjoying the way her name felt on his lips.
The two smiled at one another as they sat back and just enjoyed each other's company while watching the rest of those present enjoy themselves. "Robb…I'm going to be leaving Winterfell."
Robb was caught so off guard by the statement that it took him a while to even realize that it'd been Talisa who'd said it. "What?" he asked when his mind was finally righted once more. "Why? I–I thought that you said that you were enjoying your time here? And you're not a burden on anyone! Why would you leave?"
"I have enjoyed my time here, and I have learned more from the sorcerer in terms of healing than I ever thought possible," Talisa nodded, giving Robb a sense of hope that she might just change her mind. "But I can see, especially after watching your sister and the sorcerer heal that young man over there so easily, that I am not needed here. Not when they can heal an injury that is unhealable by any normal means. But outside of Winterfell where the people do not have access to such miraculous capabilities? That is where my skills will be needed."
Robb hated it, but she had a point. Just about everyone within Winterfell and Winter Town would wait days to have a chance to see the sorcerer, or now Sansa, for the chance that they might heal whatever ails them. Granted most were turned away due to the illness or injury not being severe enough to warrant their attention. But a skilled healer like Talisa, and even Maester Luwin, were all but wasted in Winterfell. And if there was one thing about the Northern people, they were not wasteful.
"When…?" Robb started, then paused as he had to swallow a large lump that formed in his throat trying to keep him from saying the words. "When will you leave?"
"Not for some time. Months…Maybe even a year or more. There is still much I have to learn before I can set out as a healer." Talisa answered, bringing a new wave of hope to Robb. "And there is also something else I wish to do. Something that I will more than likely need your and your father's help wi –"
"Whatever you need, I will see it done," Robb said eagerly, hoping to win some favor with her.
What he got instead was a quick flick to the nose that he didn't even see coming. "A lord, even a lord-to-be, should not be so eager to grant requests like that, Robb, until they have time to hear what is being asked and consider the ramifications should they fulfill the request. I know your father taught you better than that."
Hiding the wince that threatened to overtake him, Robb nodded. "Aye, you're right. What is your request, Talisa?"
"I want to organize a group much like the Rangers you have patrolling the lands of the North," Talisa explained to him as he poured them both some wine. "But unlike your Rangers, who are hunting down bandits and undesirables, the group I wish to form would be a band of healers who travel from village to village and treat those who would be otherwise unable to receive the care they would if they lived near a castle with trained healers."
Taking a sip of his wine, another gift from the Tyrells, Robb took a moment and truly thought over Talisa's proposal before saying anything. In theory, the idea had a lot of merit. Healers, usually Maesters, never really strayed far from the holdfasts that they were assigned to. Which usually left the smallfolk to rely on the village elders or anyone who had even the slightest bit of training in the arts of healing. If an injury was bad enough, the smallfolk would make the trek to the nearest holdfast hoping to see those with more experience, but that journey was usually not without risks. Having a group of healers traveling around the land giving aid to those who needed it? It would certainly do much to boost the faith of the smallfolk in their lords and ladies who ruled them.
But while the idea was a good one, there were multiple issues that would need to be resolved first before they could go forward with the idea. The first being just how would these healers earn their coin to pay for their healing supplies and other basic amenities? The smallfolk could pay them for their service of course, but he doubted that many of those they would be treating would have the coin to pay them in full. Which meant that this group would be relying heavily on the donations of the Lords and Ladies of the land for their coin. Which meant they would have to look at the taxes and see what could be moved around to make sure they could get the coin. Perhaps they could combine the group with the Rangers?
The coin for the group was just the first problem though. The second would be ensuring the group's security. Once word got around that there was a traveling group of healers who worked for little or nothing, few would be foolish enough to bring them harm. But that didn't mean that it wouldn't happen. There were those out there who wouldn't care about the fact that they were a traveling group of healers looking to help people. They would only see an easy target to attack. So that meant that they would have to provide some sort of security for the group as well. And lastly, they came to the issue about just who would be part of this group. Obviously, Talisa would be leading them. But outside of his sister and Lord Nox, Robb could count the number of trained healers he knew of on one hand.
"The idea has merit," he said after thinking for some time on her proposal. "There are a lot of details that would need to be worked out before the idea could be brought before my father for approval. But I would be more than happy to help you with the organization of this group of healers, Talisa. If that is what you truly want to do."
Talisa favored him with a smile, then made his heart nearly leap out of his chest as her hand lightly fell atop of his own. Without thought, his hand turned seemingly of its own accord so that his palm was flush against hers and their fingers wove together, locking their hands together. Smiling at Talisa, Robb sat back and took a moment to enjoy this one simple moment where he and the woman he hoped to spend the rest of his life with sat together and watched the feast going on around them.
Sighing heavily, Ned Stark entered his private solar adjoining to his bedchamber and immediately sought out the comfortable chair that was positioned just before his hearth. The feast to welcome the visiting Houses to Winterfell had dragged out long into the night. Far too long for his tastes. And in fact, he could even still hear the feast still ongoing even from his chambers. 'Gods only know what tonight's gonna cost us,' he sighed, feeling a headache begin to form. 'And the gods only know how much the rest of their time here will cost us. One visiting great house would be costly. Three at once…? The only saving grace in all of this is the fact that all the Houses at least realized the burden they were placing on us and have sought to ease the burden by bringing either coin or supplies of their own to distribute. But even with their aid…this is going to be a long and expensive gathering.'
Hearing a low whine, Ned turned his head just in time to watch Winter saunter into the room and drop down onto her belly before the fire. The difference in the she-wolf from a year of proper feeding still amazed Ned. Her body had filled out more and she'd grown at least a hand if not more during that time. She could now lay down on the floor and rest her head on the arm of his chair without straining her neck. And the pups were showing signs that they would be just as big, if not bigger, than their mother by the time they finally stopped growing.
"I hear you, girl," Ned nodded as Winter whined once more, the sensation of exhaustion fluttering through the strange connection he felt with the she-wolf. "I'll take a war any time over dealing with the politics of the noble houses and the game they all love to play."
Winter gave off a huff and rolled over so that she was laying on her side with her belly facing the fire trying to warm herself. Despite not caring or even wanting to play politics with the south, Ned was not ignorant of them. He knew exactly why these Houses had come calling on Winterfell. They wanted power. Specifically, they wanted the Sorcerer's power. And since Nox was a man who was not so easily swayed, they had set their sights on the next generation, his children and those who were and could be trained by Nox to wield his power. Along with the power of the sorcerer, they also wanted to know just how the North had managed to advance themselves as in a few short years in hopes of duplicating their success. And they weren't even trying to be discreet in their desires either, which irked Ned more than anything.
All throughout the feast, Willias Tyrell had kept close by Sansa, entertaining his young daughter with stories of Highgarden or tales of the Reach. And whenever he was not impressing himself upon his daughter, then either Garlan or Margaery were. Did they truly not think that he would notice just what they were trying to do? Or did they just not care? His sweet red-wolf was only two-and-ten, barely even a woman. And granted many highborn ladies throughout the realm were either betrothed or were being negotiated for at her age. But still… She was his daughter damnit!
The Lannisters were a bit more cunning in their desires. Though that was more than likely because their need for getting the blood of magic into the Lannister line was not as strong as the Tyrells, given that Joy Lannister was now one of Nox's acolytes. But they were still doing all they could to learn the secrets of the North, some of which he knew that Tyrion Lannister had managed to figure out. He'd wanted to restrict the half-man's movements in Winterfell, but Nox advised against it. Instead, he ensured Ned that they had a safeguard against Tyrion stealing and spreading some of the more profitable secrets of the North. Though when he found out just what that safeguard was…it was honestly the first time he truly wanted to strike his friend. They, unknowingly to him, had acquired Tyrion Lannister's own secret daughter safely in Winterfell and working for the Sorcerer. The only thing that had stopped him from striking his friend was when he stated that they needn't hold the girl hostage to keep the half-man quiet. They just merely needed to keep her safe from the rest of the lions.
But while the actions of the Lannisters and Tyrells annoyed him, it was the presence of the Martells that had him the most ill at ease. Relations between the North and Dorne had improved greatly over the years since Nox's arrival, but it was still tense after what befell Elia Martell and her child at the end of the Rebellion. On the surface it seemed like the ruling family of Dorne had come north to do exactly as they said: discuss further trade with the North in hopes of expanding the glass trade further south, perhaps even to Sothoryos or the Summer Isles. But when you looked closer, it was easy to see that that was not all they were after. Princess Arianne had made her intentions towards Jon very clear to just about everyone. And that worried him greatly.
There was a good possibility that the girl's interest in Jon was truly genuine, which it honestly looked to be. And in truth, it wasn't a bad match at all. While he desperately wanted to keep Jon in the North, perhaps even make him Lord of one of the recently vacated keeps, the Dreadfort for example, he knew that anything he offered Jon would fall well short of the chance to become the next Prince Consort of Dorne. The marriage would also work to truly repair the relations between the North and Dorne and it would give them an ironclad trading partner. But in the back of his mind, there was still a nagging suspicion about a potential match between the two. And that suspicion was born from Jon's true parentage. If the Martells somehow discovered Jon's true parentage, they could potentially try and push him towards the throne. No. They wouldn't even have to do that. They would just have to let his parentage slip into the right, or rather wrong, ear. And the moment word reached Robert, his friend's anger would do the work for them as he knew that the king would demand Jon's head immediately for being the son of Rhaegar. And once that happened, Dorne would take up arms in defense of their Prince Consort, as would those who still held loyalty to the dragons. And then either he or Robb would be stuck with having to choose between Robert or Jon.
He knew exactly who Robb would choose. And he knew that many of the North would follow the choice. Not because Jon was the son of Rhaegar, but rather because he was the son of Lyanna Stark. And because he had made a name form himself within the North on his own merits. But what was truly disheartening in the whole scenario was not the prospect of war, but rather that he himself did not know who he would choose. His brother in all but blood? Or his nephew who has become his son, in name and blood. 'No. You do know exactly who you would choose. Afterall, you made the choice years ago when you promised Lyanna on her deathbed that you would protect him from everyone. Should Robert ever learn of his true heritage and demand his execution…I would raise my sword against Robert and declare Jon my king. I wouldn't be pleased with the decision, but I would do it in a heartbeat.'
Resting his head back against his chair, Ned closed his eyes and allowed his senses to drift. And as soon as he did so, he immediately opened his eyes and sat up straight. 'Of course I would not be allowed a moment's peace tonight.'
"Milord," one of his guards called out from the hall. "La–"
"I know who's there," Ned grumbled, taking a moment to compose himself, because the gods knew that this conversation was about to tax him like no other. "Show Lady Tyrell in."
Huffing, Ned got to his feet as the guard showed the dowager of House Tyrell in while Winter only barely raised her head to see who had come in before laying back down and closing her eyes. "It is quite late, Lady Tyrell," Ned said, greeting the old woman politely.
"Pah, neither of us may be spring chickens anymore, Lord Stark, but the hour is hardly that late," Olenna replied, brushing off his concern as she claimed one of the two seats before the hearth, the one that Cat usually sat in during their quiet nights together. "And if your concerned about rumors being spread, don't. I've long since passed the age where I am interested in late night dancing between the sheets. Even if it would be with a strapping lordling like yourself."
The thought was not one Ned wanted to entertain, so he pushed it from his mind as he retook his seat. "I take it you have a reason for calling upon me now instead of on the morrow?"
"Of course, I do," Olenna shot back, pulling out a rolled piece of parchment from within the confines of her robes and brandishing it towards him like a dagger. "Let us cut to the chase, as you Northerners are so fond of doing. You know why I dragged my grandchildren across Westeros to meet with you and your family, don't you?"
Sighing, Ned nodded. "In light of recent events, House Tyrell has lost much standing with your bannermen. First not fully committing to the field with the Targaryens. Then the reduced trade with the North, not something that would hurt the Reach in a significant manner, but noticeable to those who relied on the trade for coin. And most recently, the plot of the Maesters that has been brewing under House Tyrell's leadership since before even the time of Aegon the Conqueror. No doubt some of your bannermen are starting to think that they might be better suited to stand as Wardens of the South. You need allies. Strong allies. And you're here to secure the North as your ally through marriage. Given the way your children were acting during the feast, you are hoping to take my eldest daughter Sansa and turn her into the next Lady of Highgarden."
Olenna gave him a look that showed she was mildly impressed with him. "And there are those in the south that believe you Northerners despise the game, Lord Stark."
"I do despise it," Ned countered. "It's a waste of time and resources that could be put to better use."
"That's debatable," Olenna shot back. "But despite your hatred, you play the game far better than most I've met. You're handling of the Sorcerer and keeping him locked to Winterfell by naming his lady wife as your Stewardess was a well thought out play. Then there is the fact that your eldest son and heir is obviously courting that young woman, Talisa Maegyr, who just so happens to have the same family name as one of the Triarchs of Volantis. Then there is the fact that your bastard boy is so obviously besot by the Martell girl. Should either or both courtships bear fruit, then the North will have gained ironclad trading partners in both Sunspear and Volantis. Which would allow you to expand Northern trade far beyond the reach of most other Houses in Westeros, making the North the most dominant exporter of Westerosi goods. Quite the ambitious goal, Lord Stark."
Ned was just about to counter her, saying that her thoughts were not his own. But the words died on his tongue. 'If people think you are doing something and are so convinced that they are correct, don't correct them even if they are wrong.' He remembered Nox telling him during one of their many discussions involving the politics of the south. 'That way, their own arrogance blinds them to what you are actually doing.'
"The North has stayed stagnant for far too long," Ned replied instead, neither confirming nor denying Lady Olenna's thoughts. "It has served us well in the past, but times have changed. And the North must change if we are to survive the whatever the future might hold for us."
He noticed that Olenna was eyeing him critically from her spot next to him. "Quite the view to have, Stark. And a drastic change from what many have perceived the North to be in the past. Now, are you going to open that contract up and read it? Or are you going to make me wait for winter to set in fully before you make your decision?"
Truthfully, Ned wanted to do nothing more than to throw the contract in his hand right into the fire and watch the thing burn. He and Cat had talked about their children's futures and their eventual betrothals many times in the past. But talking was as far as they'd ever gotten on that subject. Hells, he hadn't even finalized a betrothal for Robb yet. And now, here he was, holding a betrothal for his eldest daughter. His little red wolf.
Breathing out through his nose, Ned broke the wax seal on the rolled parchment and began reading over the contract before he could rethink his decision not to throw the thing into the fire. The contract was more than just a simple betrothal contract, it was also tide into a trade contract as well with a few aspects thrown in that were usually not normal for a betrothal. The contract itself and the contents within were certainly not unheard of, but they were not typical either. And for the most part, all the terms within the contract seemed to benefit the North, or rather House Stark specifically, over House Tyrell and the rest of the Reach.
'They're desperate,' Ned realized as he started going through the contract once more. 'They're doing everything they can think of, even coming here in person, to obtain a bride from House Stark. Is their position truly so precarious in the Reach? They've even put in a clause stating that there will be two wedding ceremonies. One in Winterfell before the heart tree for which House Stark will pay for. And one in the sept at Highgarden, which House Tyrell will provide the coin for.'
The only part that truly seemed to benefit House Tyrell in specific was the terms of Sansa's dowry. Instead of coin, House Tyrell wanted a single Valyrian steel sword, at least a longsword in length. Such a dowry was almost unheard of outside of one reserved for a Princess of the Realm. And if not for the fact that they had a stockpile of Valyrian steel thanks to Nox's expedition into the ruins of Old Valyria, Ned would've rejected the contract outright for that one clause alone.
"Well, Stark? Do we have a contract or no?" Lady Tyrell all but demanded as she sat seemingly impatiently by his side.
Rolling up the contract, Ned thought over his words carefully before responding. "Your terms are most generous. Besides the requested dowry, though considering Master Nox's recent success, I find myself without cause to deny the request. But –"
"Anything before the word 'but' Stark is horse shit and you know it," Olenna cut him off, surprising Ned slightly as he'd often said the same thing. "The North may not have the best recent history with the Reach, considering the Maesters and the failed marriage between the Mormonts and the Hightowers. But she will be the future Lady of Highgarden and wife to the Warden of the South. She will want for nothing. And the North and the Reach will benefit greatly from a union of our two houses."
"But," Ned pressed on over Lady Tyrell and giving the old woman a look that caused her to freeze momentarily. No doubt because as he recognized that his own anger that'd crept into his voice had turned his eyes the slightest shade of yellow. "My daughter is still a young girl of two-and-ten. And I will not see her wed for at least another five years."
The old woman overcame her surprise quickly as his words reached her. "Reasonable. Marriage serves little use if the bride hasn't bled yet and is unable to bare children."
"Additionally," Ned pressed on, trying his best not to let the words of Olenna put him off. "I will not agree to this betrothal unless my daughter finds the betrothal agreeable as well."
The look Olenna gave him was one as if he'd grown a second head right before her. "You would hold up the betrothal and the betterment of your people on the decision making of a two-and-ten-year-old girl?"