Chapter Text
284 AC — First Week, Second Moon
It was the third time Benjen shifted his weight and the fifth time he cleared his throat. It was infuriating. But before she could say anything, the sound of thunder —dozens of hooves on the frozen ground— drummed from outside the gate, ever closer.
She had not seen her cousin for more than ten years now, him having left for the Vale when she was only counting seven name-days. True, she had read some of the letters he had sent Benjen and the odd one for Lyanna, but they rarely contained anything beyond retellings of what he had done the past moon of his fostering. Mostly weapons training. Those few to Lyanna were filled with even more nonsense, praising Robert Baratheon like a merchant would a lame horse. She rolled her shoulders. That man was King now.
A rather loud snort from one of the horses broke her out of her wandering thoughts.
Eddard Stark, second son of uncle Rickard, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, stood before them like a wet dog. His hair had the same shade of earthy brown as Benjen's and hers, but his eyes were far darker. Benjen’s were the colour of ash and hers the colour of cloudy silver, but Eddard’s were so dark they could be mistaken for black. The dark circles underneath them did not help. The fur of his wolf pelt cloak was matted, dusty and disgusting. Droplets of rain, dripping from his hair onto the pelt, were bouncing right off.
She let out a sigh as she bowed, glad that Benjen at least copied her movement, although noticeably delayed.
“Winterfell is yours, my Lord”, she called out, her voice confident and strong and for all the assembled people to hear. Mostly widows, old men and children too young to have followed into war.
“Thank you, cousin Raya. Benjen. Brother”, Eddard replied, nodding once to each of them. His voice was deep, rumbling. Like thunder rolling over the sky.
She opened her mouth, ready to instruct the nearby servants but then— the wail of a babe.
All eyes focused on the bundle in Eddard’s arms, but Raya’s were firmly on his face. A drop of rain landed on the man’s cheek, slowly running down like a tear. More drops followed.
“We better get inside”, she said, faint.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
The large desk in the Lord’s solar was covered in half-finished letters, dozens of scrolls and towers of books, looming high. Benjen and her had spent the majority of their time confined to his room, each day desperately trying their best to keep the North together. Benjen had done so silently, ever the stoic northman that he was. Raya had done it cursing. Frequently and loudly. At everyone and everything.
Lady Lyarra had been holding the keep together with a steady hand, but she had suffered until her broken heart had killed her. Benjen and Raya had wept for days.
It was strange to see Eddard seated in Lord Rickard’s chair. His father’s chair. Even stranger that he had a babe in his arms.
She exchanged a glance with Benjen, so quick that she was sure Eddard was unaware of it. They had worked in tandem for moons now and could understand each other with few words, sometimes none. Benjen would not question him, loyal as he was to his brother.
Raya let out a sigh, squared her shoulders and met her cousin’s dark eyes. “Are you certain it is yours?” She was brusque, but care and kindness had no place here, at this moment. And she lacked the sleep for it anyways.
“Yes”, he ground out, but Raya had not heard. There was a flicker of guilt and shame crossing his face, gone as quickly as it had come, but she had seen it. It was the same expression that Benjen had when he did something infuriatingly stupid without consulting anyone. Like hiding Lyanna’s letter.
“Who is the mother?”
“Dead”, Eddard said.
Raya bared her teeth. It was almost funny how bad both brothers were at lying and how good they had become of giving replies that did not answer the question.
“Does it have a name?”
His shoulders slumped. “Jon. After Jon Arryn.”
“And what do you plan to do with him?”
He looked at her as if she had asked him why the sky was blue. There was a burning desire deep inside her belly to open the casket of honeyed mead that Lord Cerwyn had sent them two weeks ago.
“Your lady wife”, she ground out between her teeth, “ought to arrive in two moons or less, with your son. Your trueborn son.” Raya had only a faint knowledge of the Faith, learning bits and pieces from the few Manderly’s she met so far, but she knew that the south had no fondness for bastards. The Blackfyre’s made sure of that.
He was still staring at her. She let out another sigh. All three of them lacked sleep, him even more than they.
“I will have the servants prepare a room for him, Lord Stark.”
He flinched, as if she had slapped him. Benjen shifted his weight.
“Thank you”, he said quietly.
They would have to talk tomorrow then.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Lyanna’s letter wilted like a dying flower under the heat of the fire, quickly turning into ash. A log cracked loudly.
“Why did you not say you knew the truth?”, Eddard finally asked, his eyes firmly on the flames dancing in the fireplace.
Raya folded her hands in her lap. It would be unseemly to strangle the Lord of Winterfell.
“Because I needed to know if you would lie to me. Us”, she said, glancing at Benjen. He would have taken the lie and made it his truth. It was easier than the reality of it all.
Eddard finally turned around, his dark eyes meeting hers.
“No one else can know.”
“If that is your command, Lord Stark”, she replied, clenching her jaw. At least he knew the potential of the boy. His mere existence could cause another war.
“Stop calling me that.”
“But that is what you are.”
He stared at her for a moment. His shoulders were slumped, she had not seen him smile yet, not even smirk, and the circles underneath his eyes were barely any lighter than yesterday.
Raya pinched the bridge of her nose.
“You are Lord Stark, no matter that you were never supposed to be it or that you do not want to. Lord Rickard and Brandon were murdered”, she said, ignoring the flinch from both Eddard and Benjen, “and you are next in line. True, Benjen and I were basically Lord and Lady Stark while you were fighting in the south, but we only managed because all the Lords were gone too. The most important thing we had to decide was whether to muster more levies to go south!” She slammed the flat of her hand on the desk, wincing at the pain. Five deep breaths later, she unclenched her jaw, meeting Eddard’s eyes again. “Do not lie to us, Lord Stark. We are your family. Benjen and I are here to help you, to hold the North together in your name and in service to our House.”
Benjen’s hand on hers was cold and slightly sweaty, but the tension in Raya’s jaw and shoulders melted away. They had gone every step of the way together, after all.
“The lone wolf dies”, he said, his eyes moving from Raya to his brother.
“But the pack survives”, Eddard finished, the edges of his mouth twitching into an almost-smile.
“As wonderful as this is”, Raya said after a moment, watching the almost-smile die, “we do need to speak about your wife, Lord Stark.”
“Eddard.”
She only hummed in response.
“What about her?”, he finally said, melting further into the chair.
“She will be furious about Jon being here.” Her eyes moved from Eddard to the fireplace behind him. Lyanna’s letter was gone by now, just more ash underneath the logs. When Benjen had brought it to her, crying and shaking like a beaten dog, she had read it a thousand times and more before saying a single word. Raya shook her head, ripping her eyes away from the orange glow. “Bastards are seen differently, south of the Neck. Jon is only a few moons younger than your trueborn son, close enough to make any southron woman nervous.”
“She would not harm him.”
“Of course she would not”, Raya agreed, almost grinning at his confused look. But she did not. “She is the daughter of a Lord Paramount, born and bred to be a great Lady. She is more likely to shun him, make him be someone that can be beaten and screamed at without someone lifting a finger to stop it, because she is Lady Stark and a Tully and all that.”
“Catelyn— How could you think that?”
“Because Lyanna did that.”
Raya’s head snapped to the side. Benjen was looking right back at her, his cheeks flushed. Whether in anger, guilt or shame, she did not know.
“What do you mean?”, Eddard asked, his voice faint.
She squeezed Benjen’s hand, keeping her eyes on him. “When Brandon left to foster with the Dustin’s, it was only Lyanna, Benjen and I. And Lyanna hated it that Lady Lyarra gave me the same love she gave her. Once, I found horse shit in the boots your Lord Father had given me for my tenth name-day. A few moons later, servants stopped attending me, often leaving me with a cold hearth to shiver through the night. I think it went on for about seven moons, until Benjen tried to surprise me for my next name-day and found me in my bed, lips blue and feverish. Lady Lyarra personally sat next to my bed for the next fortnight.”
“Lyanna— She would not—”
“But she did!” Benjen’s shout echoed through the room like thunder.
Raya squeezed his hand again, turning to look at Eddard.
“Lyanna was cruel to me, yes, but only so because she feared I would take her place. I do not know what Lord Rickard and Lady Lyarra told her, but after my sickness, she never bothered me again. True, we were no friends either, but I did not expect us to be. But that same fear, of Jon replacing your trueborn son's place, could make Catelyn cruel as well. And she has much more power than Lyanna ever did.”
Eddard’s expression was one full of pain. He and Lyanna had only seen each other once every odd year, getting to know each other through letters every odd moon. Benjen knew her best of them all, not just the cruel streak she carried within her, but all of her.
“What do you suggest then?”, Eddard said weakly.
“If the world was good, we would have to do nothing and Jon could grow up in peace.” But the world was anything but. Raya’s mother had died a year after she was born, the dead babe in her belly killing her, and her father had died only three years after that, falling off his horse during a hunt. She knew of them, but she had never known them. Lady Lyarra had tried to be a mother to her, but the coldness of Lord Rickard had always kept Raya at a distance. She was a Stark, yes, but not part of them. The same was true for young Jon. She shook her head and let out a sigh.
“Do not leave any decisions regarding the boy to your wife. He might not have the name, but he has the blood. He is part of the pack. Let Benjen and I be his guardians.”
Eddard looked between them, his eyes narrowed. A shiver went down Raya’s back.
“No”, she merely said.
“Father and Mother were—”
“ No .”
A wolfish grin spread over his face. “I could command you.”
“Hullen is quite taken with me. Horse shit is very difficult to get out of bedding.”
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Raya handed him the selected scrolls, all of them announcements of births from northern Houses. Maege Mormont had another daughter to count among her growing brood and Raya herself had gained another Karstark cousin. And Lord Manderly had become a grandfather once again.
“Lord Cerwyn has finally gotten his heir then”, Eddard muttered, rolling the scroll back up.
She wanted to roll her eyes. The man had a daughter of age with Benjen and yet.
“Has Benjen already sent a reply?”
“ I thanked Lord Cerwyn for the mead and in turn sent him a barrel of apples.”
Eddard stared at her, his eyebrows drawn as if she was a great puzzle.
She pinched her nose and took three deep breaths. “L– Eddard. Benjen is a third-born son. If all had gone according to Lord Rickard’s plan, then he would be in the Night’s Watch by now.”
“What are you saying?”
“Benjen has his strengths and none of them are in the scope of managing a household, let alone the whole North”, Raya said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Lyanna and her had been taught at Lady Lyarra’s knees on how to manage a great keep, in the hopes they would both marry into one. Lyanna’s lessons were doubled when the betrothal to Robert Baratheon was announced and Lord Rickard had outright told Raya he was in talks with Master Tallhart and Lord Umber for a husband for her.
“And what has he done then?”
“He sat where you sit now, reading letters, messages and anything else I gave him”, she said, sitting back down and reaching for the stone sealing stamp. It was made thousands of years ago and one of the corners was cracked and lost. “He put the wax seal on all correspondence, but it was I who wrote most replies. Three moons ago some bandits cropped up near the King’s Road and he rode out to deal with them.” It had been the first time he had killed someone. He had refused to leave this room for two whole days and had not spoken a word of it since. She had not pushed him either.
Eddard was quiet for quite some time.
“You have my thanks then, cousin.”
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
The rookery was a place of peace for Raya, for not many disturbed her when she tended to the flock of ravens. Maester Walys had gone south with Rickard, leaving only the servants to care for the birds in his absence. Raya had even a favourite — one of the older ones, in service for many years already. He was trained to fly to White Harbor, but he was smart enough to find his way to House Manderly’s vassals too. A clever bird, and pretty too, with feathers as black as the night.
“There you are, m’lady”, someone wheezed, breaking her out of her peace and thoughts.
“Elric”, Raya greeted, her voice soft.
“M’lady”, the boy repeated, taking big gulps of air. The rookery was on top of the Maester’s tower, nine flights of stairs total. “Lord Stark’s asking for you.”
“Thank you”, she said, gently patting the wild locks of the boy. Brown, the same shade as her hair. And Brandon’s. Thankfully, he was too old to be one of his bastards. Maybe Rickard’s. “Sit, catch your breath”, she instructed, gesturing to the dust-covered chair in one corner. “And feed the ravens for me.”
It took her no more than twenty minutes to leave the rookery and find herself once again in the Lord’s solar. Benjen was already there, comfortably draped across one of the chairs.
“Eddard”, she greeted, turning her head to watch her older cousin. The stress that had plagued Benjen seemed to have jumped from one brother to the other.
He wordlessly handed her a scroll, the mud-red wax seal featuring the trout of House Tully. The script inside was neat, reminding her of Maester Walys’ notes. Another Maester then. The words were nothing new — Catelyn, young Robb and the woman’s personal guards and servants were on their way north, estimated to arrive within a moon and a half. They would send another raven from the Twins.
“Do you wish for me to prepare a feast?”
Eddard grimaced.
“She is the daughter of a Lord Paramount”, Raya sighed, rubbing her temple. “And more importantly, your wife and the mother of your child.”
“We lost more than one harvest during the fighting.”
Eddard had asked for those reports almost immediately. Calling the banners had pulled many off the fields, letting the harvest rot. And even worse, many of those men had died in the south, meaning farms and fields would remain barren for at least another harvest.
“True”, she conceded quietly, “but we do not need to ration yet. A modest feast is well within our means, cousin.”
“Fine”, he huffed. “But that was not why I asked you here originally.”
Raya folded her hands behind her back and patiently stared at him. Benjen had once, drunk on ale and mead, confessed that her silence was even worse than her cursing.
“B-Benjen and I have been talking”, Eddard spluttered, a rather ugly flush coming to his bearded cheeks.
She merely raised one of her dark eyebrows, quite like Lady Lyarra had used to do when someone had said something especially foolish.
“You are the only one with the education to hold Winterfell together”, he said, voice now stronger. “And the south is surely a sore subject among our vassals…”
Raya let out a sigh.
“Eddard, please just say what you mean to ask of me.”
“I would name you Lady Stark instead of my wife. I need a northern woman’s touch to heal some of the wounds festering across the North.”
Her stomach dropped.
Notes:
This is my first time publishing something and English is not my first language, so please excuse any hiccups along the way.
Chapter Text
284 AC — Third Week, Fourth Moon
They were in the middle of going through the census done by House Manderly when Elric came running, wheezing like an old man ready to keel over.
“M’lords, m’lady! A coach, coming up the King’s Road!”
“They will be here within the hour then”, Eddard said, already out of his chair.
“Thank you, Elric”, Raya said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder, “Please inform Gage to prepare bread and salt.”
He took a deep gulp, bowed and ran off, almost crashing into Eddard on his way out.
Raya pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath before addressing the two men ready to bolt.
“I will let the servants know to prepare baths for us. I trust each of you selected acceptable clothes for receiving our guests.” Her eyes were firmly on Benjen.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Lady Catelyn had come with the second half of her dowry, judging from the wagons following her coach. Raya remembered the day, moons ago, when the first half had arrived — a wagon full of grain and three caskets of riverlander wine. Benjen had stolen a bottle and promptly declared it too bitter to enjoy before drowning himself in honeyed mead. He had taken the wine with him anyway.
Raya shook herself, watching as the coach came to a stop in the middle of the courtyard. The wagons were directed to the stable. Each one was accompanied by two men in Tully livery, their heads moving left to right, their eyes everywhere and nowhere and never for long.
Winterfell was a mighty keep indeed.
The door of the coach opened with a loud creak, spilling forth two young women that looked so alike it would surprise Raya if they were unrelated. Blonde hair, blue eyes, far too many freckles across their round faces. A heartbeat later and her eyes finally landed on Lady Catelyn Tully, pale skinned and with hair like fire.
She wore a shockingly simple dress at first glance — river blue in colour, with the side of the bodice laced with mud-red silk cords, no doubt to accentuate Catelyn’s narrow waist. On second glance the dress was the most expensive Raya had ever seen. The shimmering fabric could only be velvet, though no doubt there was a wool underskirt and other layers underneath, judging from the lack of shivering. The dozens of embroidered trouts, likely the result of hundreds of hours of work from a dozen skilled hands, along the bottom of the skirt were gleaming like pure silver, their eyes made from rubies.
Raya’s eyes moved to Eddard, bowing over his wife’s hand. He wore a simple woollen doublet and even simpler breeches, stuffed into his boots that had seen him march from the North through a war, all the way to Dorne and back. She should have bothered him more about getting a new pair made. His cloak, wolf’s pelt, of course, was not even his own — a servant had found it in Lord Rickard’s wardrobe, dusty as anything because it had been deemed too simple for the Lord of Winterfell. But it was the only cloak that did not look laughingly small over Eddard’s broad back and shoulders.
Benjen was even worse, for he had never been given anything fine enough for meeting such high nobility. He wore a mismatch of Eddard’s and Brandon’s old clothes, some pieces clearly still far too big for him.
Raya herself had, with Eddard’s leave, taken one of Lady Lyarra’s old dresses. It was one from her youth, where she had not yet been Lady Stark. It was grey, as many of her clothes were, and made from wool. It split at the sides, revealing the breeches and boots underneath. Comfortable and practical more than anything else. The only true luxury was the leather belt with a bronze buckle Raya had found and the white fox fur lining the trim of the dress. Raya herself had undone the stitches of the rabbit fur that had decorated the dress before.
When she looked up again she met the deep blue eyes of Catelyn Tully.
“My cousin, Raya. My Lady Mother raised her alongside Benjen and Lyanna.”
“Lady Catelyn”, she said, performing a curtsy to the best of her abilities, “I welcome you to Winterfell.”
“Lady Raya”, she replied, merely nodding.
An awkward silence stretched over the courtyard before Catelyn startled, seemingly only now remembering something.
“Mariya”, she called out.
A moment later another girl —blonde hair, blue eyes, freckled face— came out of the coach, a bundle of furs in her arms.
“Your son, my Lord”, Catelyn said. “I have named him Robb, in honour of our King, your friend”, she declared proudly, her voice loud enough that even the men busy unloading the wagons would hear.
Raya took a step forward, looking at the babe in Eddard’s arms. There was not much to see, with him being deep asleep and swaddled in fur like a sausage. There were some light tufts of hair, the colour of dying leaves in early autumn. Auburn, a darker shade than his mother’s hair and yet so unlike his father’s.
“Gwynn”, she called out, watching the black-haired woman come running from amongst Winterfell’s assembled guards. “Please let the others know to stoke the hearth in the nursery.” She turned her head back to Catelyn. “My Lady, do you require the services of a wet nurse?”
“Of course”, the southron woman replied, frowning as if Raya had called her a sour-faced trout.
Raya ignored her perceived insult and turned her attention back to Gwynn.
“Speak with Sabryna about it first, it may be she is unwilling to take another babe. If so, Old Nan ought to know someone else.” Eddard had offered Wylla, the dornish woman that had nursed Jon all throughout Westeros, to stay with them, but she disliked the cold of the North. And even more so, Raya assumed, she disliked the Starks.
“As you command, Lady Stark”, Gwynn replied, bowing her head and running off, her thick braid whipping behind her like a horse’s tail.
When her attention returned to Eddard and his wife they were already moving towards the Great Keep, Catelyn’s servants following their lady like three ducklings. Benjen was speaking with Hullen, likely discussing where to store the coach and the horses.
Raya turned to watch the workers unload the wagons. One was already emptied, with crates full of brown furs. Even from this distance they looked incredibly soft. The remaining three wagons were filled with rolls of cotton, linen and flannel, most kept in their natural colour but one each was dyed the blue of House Tully.
“Who of you is in charge of Lady Catelyn’s escort?”, she called out.
One man, clearly far older than most others that had come, bowed low before her, his chain mail hissing like a snake from the movement.
“Name’s Robar, m’lady”, he said, voice gruff, “I was named Lady Tully’s personal guard, with Lothar there.” He pointed to another guard who was grasping his spear like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance”, Raya said, nodding towards him and the second guard. “You and your men may take residence in the guest hall, with permanent rooms being readied for Lothar and yourself in the coming days. Tonight we feast, but I would ask of you to refrain from overindulging. Please come speak with me on the morrow, so we may resupply Lord Tully’s men and send them on their way again.” She would rather not feed more mouths than necessary.
“As you say, m’lady.”
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Catelyn looked as if she had sucked on a dozen lemons at once, her mouth pursed eerily like a fish would and her pretty river-blue eyes burning with fury.
“Your son, my Lord?”, she asked, her voice quiet. Too quiet. It made Raya’s hackles rise.
“His name is Jon.”
Raya’s eyes met Benjen’s. They had both urged Eddard to introduce her to the boy after the feast, preferably once Lord Tully’s men were gone already, but he had insisted.
The silence in the nursery was heavy and uncomfortable. Not even the babes dared to make a sound, though both were wide awake. Jon’s eyes, grey like Eddard’s, though far brighter in shade, were looking up at them, slowly blinking as if he was taking them all in for the first time. The colour was no doubt another blow to Catelyn – Robb’s eyes were the same shade of blue as his mother’s. True, there was a chance they might brighten, to become more grey than blue, but at his age it was unlikely.
“Your son”, the woman repeated, her head slowly moving from Jon to Robb. Her own son was slightly bigger, but not so much that it was clear he was the elder of the two.
Raya took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Catelyn was too well bred to curse and scream at Eddard, but she might be too furious to remain silent. To her surprise, she did neither.
Catelyn Tully stood like a statue, back straight, chin up and staring into her husband’s eyes like they were merely talking about the weather during her journey.
“A true pleasure to have met him, my Lord”, she said, her voice sweet, “and a good name. After your foster father and my good-brother, Lord Arryn, I assume?”
“Yes. My Lady—”
Her head, her fiery hair flying, turned to look at the woman standing in the shadow of the door. Sabryna, one of the many young widows working at Winterfell, bowed her head, a few locks of her light brown hair falling into her face.
“Then your sons will be milk brothers”, Catelyn said, though it sounded more like an insult.
Raya tiled her head. Your sons.
“I am tired from the journey”, the woman said suddenly, her blue eyes meeting Raya’s. “Would you be so kind as to show me to my rooms, Lady Raya?”
“Of course”, she replied smoothly, offering her arm to her and ignoring the bewildered looks directed at her from her cousins. “I will send servants with hot water, so you may take a bath as well. If you wish to rest until the feast, I will have them notify you once all preparations are done.”
“That would be splendid”, Catelyn replied through clenched teeth.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
The feast was quite modest for Winterfell’s standards, but Eddard had insisted on being as frugal as possible without insulting his wife and her men — which he had already thoroughly done by presenting Jon to her. Judging from the furious glares from the Tully men on the lower tables, word had gotten around already.
Eddard, seated at the centre of the high table, was trying and failing to engage his lady wife in conversation, getting no more than one-word replies from her. Benjen, to the left of Eddard and to the right of Raya, was already well into his fourth mug of honeyed mead. Mead was already sweet, how he could sweeten it even further was a mystery to Raya.
Gwynn, a nervous smile on her face, stopped in front of Eddard, presenting him with a plate of meat. The bigger pieces were deer, hunted mere days ago, and the smaller ones were rabbit, salted and peppered to show some kind of wealth. Raya would have preferred a boar, but the hunters had been rather unlucky.
It was quite uncomfortable to watch Eddard offer the best cut of the deer to his wife, only to be met with a wall of ice and a demand for salted fish instead.
Raya took a deep breath and straightened her spine. This would be a long fucking feast.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Raya eyed the three young women that had accompanied their lady to the North. Becca, Mariya and Marissa Vypren, distant cousins to the current Lord of their House and, surprisingly enough, not triplets. They were each one year apart, with Becca being the oldest and of age with Benjen. While at first they had looked identical, now in the light of Raya’s solar and stood next to each other it was rather easy to see the difference between them.
Becca had a gap between her front teeth and nonetheless was quick to smile. Her blonde hair was also a shade darker than her sisters, and by far the longest, though one could rarely tell since all three usually kept them in relaxed fishtail-braids.
Mariya was the quietest of them all, tasked with looking after young Robb. Her blue eyes were also a darker shade than her sisters, more ocean than river.
Marissa, the youngest, would often wring her hands or pull her fingers when nervous, drawing attention to her raw fingertips. She had a talent for embroidery and was in charge of her lady’s wardrobe, be it clothing her or fixing stray threads within moments.
On the other side of Raya’s solar stood the servants she had selected —Gwynn, Edolyn and Lya— so Catelyn’s could learn the layout and schedule of Winterfell.
Gwynn, her dark hair tamed into a simple braid, was the oldest of the three, though only a year ahead of Raya herself. She was the daughter of a guardsman, gone south and gone missing. The same fate was true for her sweetheart, a stableboy that had brought Gwynn flowers whenever he could. When most of the levies had returned, beaten and broken, she had been quietly hopeful, often finding work around the gatehouse to watch the King’s Road. When days turned into weeks and finally moons, she had stopped. Her laugh had not been heard since, but her smiles were slowly coming back.
Edolyn, of age with Benjen, was as quiet as Mariya, though her silence was caused by her stutter. Sentences took longer, harsher words more likely to choke her entirely. Yet she was as loyal as any other and well used to exhausting work, being one of the few that woke hours before dawn to stoke hearths, wake others and haul bucket after bucket of water through hallways.
Lya, counting only four-and-ten name-days, was one of the youngest servants around, besides young Elric. She had been named in honour of Lady Lyarra, as many daughters had been. She had also blushed fiercely whenever Brandon had come home from the Barrowlands and deigned to speak with her, that arrogant smile plastered on his face. Lya had not smiled since that cursed raven from King’s Landing had come.
“I would pair you as such”, Raya said, her eyes returning to the three blondes, “Becca and Gwynn, Mariya and Edolyn and Marissa and Lya. You may come to me and switch, if you think you would serve other duties better.”
All six bowed before her, the Winterfell servants noticeably lower. The Vypren girls would likely only complain to their lady directly.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
The cold was biting, yet it was such a familiar feeling that it could never truly bother her, certainly not here, in Winterfell’s godswood. The great weirwood before her had an equally familiar face carved into the bone-white bark, likely fashioned after a Stark of old. Perhaps a King. Perhaps a beloved son, gone too soon. If she kept staring, she could see a familiar slope in the nose, the brow, the mouth. Lord Rickard, Brandon, even Eddard and Benjen. It filled her with sorrow and love in equal measures.
Her peace was disturbed by the sound of voices.
“Winterfell is as large as I imagined it to be”, a voice conceded, though Raya could hear the disdain dripping from it like a melting icicle, “but there are so many parts abandoned and neglected, it is quite a shame upon House Stark. Brandon always spoke well of his home, but I fear he was so rarely here he might have forgotten all the ugly parts.”
“Quite true, my Lady”, another voice simpered.
Catelyn and one of the Vypren girls, taking a stroll through the godswood.
It was more instinct than active decision to hide behind the weirwood.
“He never mentioned her”, Catelyn continued, a sniff following the words, “this strange cousin of theirs. He spoke in length about Lord Rickard and my lord husband, sometimes even of Benjen and Lyanna, but not once did the name Raya leave his lips.”
“She seems quite arrogant, my Lady.” Their steps, muffled by the moss and fallen leaves on the ground, stopped in front of the weirwood.
“What an ugly thing. But you are right, dear. Her newly found station has no doubt inflated that ugly head of hers”, Catelyn giggled, though there was no humour in the sound. “I bemoan that there is no Maester tending to the ravens, otherwise I would have already sent word to my lord father. To name a third cousin as Lady Stark instead of me, his lady wife and mother of his true-born son”, she said, hissing like a snake, “it shames me. Has he not already dishonoured me enough?”
Raya could not make out the girl's response, the blood rushing through her ears like the wind howling through the treetops. She took a deep breath, relishing in the coldness burning in her lungs.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Catelyn found them seated in Eddard’s solar, all three of them bent over census records from all over the North.
Objectively, Raya had known that the North had paid the most of all in this rebellion, with scores of good men dying long before any fighting happened at all. Lord Rickard and Brandon’s death came to mind immediately, but each had been accompanied by more than a dozen loyal guards, true northmen whose bones would never see their home again.
The numbers presented to them spoke for themselves. Twenty-thousand men had gone south and barely more than half had managed to return. Houses Glover, Dustin and Ryswell had lost almost all their fighting men, crippling their might for generations to come.
Raya met Catelyn’s furious eyes with sorrow in hers. Whatever she wanted to complain about, it died on her tongue.
Eddard and Benjen’s heads snapped up, watching the silent staredown with equal amounts of concern and confusion.
Catelyn sniffed, folding her hands before her and turned to look at her husband.
“My Lord”, she simpered, grating on Raya’s already fraying nerves, “I was wondering if we could call on the services of a seamstress. Much of my attire lacks the warmth needed for my new home and—”
“Sabryna could help your servants switch out some of the lighter furs”, Eddard said, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
Raya wanted to take the mug Benjen was using to hide his face and throw it at her cousin’s hollow head.
“I know of a woman in Wintertown that would suit your purpose, Lady Catelyn. Her name is Fryda. Would you like for me to send for her?”
She sniffed again and only nodded stiffly. She was gone as quickly as she had come.
Notes:
I think it feels a bit short, but eh. Let me know what y'all think :)
Chapter 3: A New Peace
Chapter Text
284 AC — Second Week, Fifth Moon
Raya had expected something to happen sooner or later, but she was still taken by surprise when Edolyn and Elric came running, the former near tears and the other, as usual, out of breath. It had taken a few tries before Edolyn had managed to share what had upset her so, but Raya was already halfway out of her solar before the young woman had finished her retelling.
The scene in front of the nursery made Raya’s blood boil.
Gwynn, cradling her red cheek and fighting back tears, stood in the doorframe, blocking Catelyn’s three ducklings from entering. She was baring her teeth like a she-wolf, ready to rip them apart if they dared approach her again. From within the nursery they all could hear both babes crying.
“What happened?”, Raya asked, her voice barely louder than the wailing and her pale eyes fixed on young Marissa. The girl flinched under the scrutiny, shrinking into herself.
“Lady Catelyn commanded them to put Jon somewhere else”, Gwynn ground out.
“Put him where?”, Raya drawled, still staring at Marissa. The girl took a step back, hiding behind her older sisters.
“T-The s-s-stables for a-all she c-cared”, Edolyn said, glaring at the three as fierce as she could manage.
“Lord Stark shamed our Lady!”, Becca snapped, stomping her foot — quite like a child many years her junior.
Raya let her eyes wander over them all. Gwynn, fierce and protective, Edolyn, confident and furious, and then Becca, Mariya and Marissa, looking various degrees of ashamed, guilty and terrified.
“Edolyn, please fetch Eddard and Benjen for me. Elric, go and find Old Nan and Sabryna.”
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Eddard rubbed his temples, no doubt nursing a rather painful headache. Benjen too looked more than unhappy with the situation, keeping his eyes on the babes near the roaring hearth. Sabryna was quietly distracting both boys, making silly faces and noises.
“Catelyn denies it all”, he finally said, breaking the semi-silence of the room.
Raya let out a deep sigh. Of course she did.
“Nonetheless, Becca struck Gwynn. Such an attack is unseemly for personal servants of such standing and if she is unwilling to chastise the girl, then I will.”
“Any violence—”
Raya waved him off. She would not condemn a silly girl to lashes or the like.
“I would have her work the kitchen, hearth and stables for a moon. The hard work might give her some time to reflect on her actions.”
Eddard met her eyes, searching. Maybe for cruelty, maybe for something else.
“Very well. I will let Catelyn know.”
“And do remind her that she is not Lady Stark. Any decisions regarding where someone is sheltered is my prerogative, not hers. Jon is your son and therefore entitled to be housed in the family nursery. In a year or two he will receive his own room in the family wing as well, likely next to Robb’s.”
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Only a day later, Catelyn tried again. Raya pinched the bridge of her nose, taking deep breath after deep breath to calm herself.
“We’re sorry, m’lady”, Rhyna muttered, bowing her head even lower.
“We are!”, Britta agreed fervently, tugging at her apron.
“I do not blame either of you”, Raya ground out, taking another deep breath. Both of them had only been hired the week prior, working the hearths and the kitchen unless they were needed elsewhere. “Return to your duties, please. If I have need of your tellings again, I will send Elric to fetch you, but it is unlikely.”
“Thank you, m’lady”, Britta muttered, bowing once, twice, before taking Rhyna’s trembling hand and scurrying out of the solar like mice being chased by a cat.
It took Raya only a few moments to go down the hallway and stand before Catelyn’s room, the heavy wooden door closed. She could hear muffled voices on the other side, but could not make out any words.
Her knuckles knocking on the wood silenced the voices immediately. It took far too long for Mariya to open the door, her blue eyes widening in shock. She quickly stepped aside.
“Lady Raya”, Catelyn greeted smoothly, her face a mask of peace. “Do you wish to come in and share some tea with me?”
Raya’s head turned left and right, her eyes moving down the hallway on either side of her. There were quite a few servants around, most polite enough to pretend to be busy with something. One of them kept dusting the same spot on the wall-mounted shield.
“No, thank you”, she said after a moment, turning her attention back to the woman before her. “I merely came by to settle some matters with you.”
A look of apprehension and then confusion fluttered over her mask of peace, gone like the wind.
“Lady Raya—”
She raised her hand, stopping whatever excuse the woman had thought of.
“I have no doubt you enjoyed a far more elaborate and rounded education than I, but even though you were betrothed to a northman twice, you seem to be confused and even ignorant about northern customs.” Raya tilted her head, watching the servants out of the corner of her eye. Some had stopped pretending altogether, openly staring at them. She turned her pale eyes back onto Catelyn. “You have been married to Eddard for nigh on a year now and been here a bit more than a fortnight now, and yet in all that time you have done nothing but been bitter, taking offence at everything we have said and done and never once asked for clarifications and explanations. I am here to remedy that now.”
A thunderous look had come over Catelyn’s otherwise beautiful features and she closed and opened her mouth like a fish out of water, desperate for air.
“The North has lost much, if not the most”, Raya said, ignoring the spluttered indignation of Catelyn, “We lost our Lord and his heir, an uncle and cousin, a father and brother, and our Lady and her daughter, an aunt and cousin, a mother and sister. The North went to war, bleeding and dying for a daughter that would never come home, for a south that could not care less if the next winter takes us all.”
Hundreds more would die in the coming year or two, starving and freezing. She took a deep breath.
“No one had prepared Benjen and I to take up the mantles of Lord and Lady Stark, holding the North together with nothing but desperation and hope in equal measures. And we still do. Eddard, Benjen and I were never meant to rule, not a meagre keep and certainly not the North. We take each day as it comes, sharing the burden amongst each other. The toll of the dead, climbing higher with every raven, news of harvests rotting in their fields.”
Her pale eyes met Catelyn’s, the fury she had felt open for her to see.
“And yet here you are. Bitter that Eddard, a man thrown into marriage and war and duty and honour and life and death all at once, has found a piece of peace and love amongst all that blood and pain. Yet here you are, with your southern beliefs and your faith and you look at Jon as if he is no mere babe but already ready and waiting to kill Robb and take his place. Here you are”, she spat, taking a deep breath.
The silence between them was heavy. The servants were like statues, wide-eyed and full of fury and sorrow and so much emotion it was hard to look them in the eye. So she did not and turned her head, meeting Catelyn’s. Tears were swimming in them, ready to spill.
“Here you are”, Raya repeated, her voice soft again. “Your education, your knowledge, all that you are could be of use to us. To ease our burdens, to help the North recover. Our bannermen have bled and died and lost brothers and sons and so much more. They are wounded and just as bitter as you are, furious at a south that has seen them fight and given them nothing in return. Lord Rickard is dead. Brandon and Lyanna are dead. Good northmen are dead. And more will die.”
Another deep breath.
“If you wish to remain ignorant, to remain a southron woman married to a northern barbarian, then at least do us the courtesy of not interfering. We do not need you to make our life any harder than it already is. But if you wish to adapt, to change, to become the wife of a northern Lord, then you need to learn.”
Raya held her gaze for a moment longer before nodding, once. She left her there, standing in the doorway with her mouth open and tears falling down her cheeks.
The decision was Catelyn’s.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
It seemed neither Catelyn nor the servants had whispered about Raya's outburst anywhere near where Eddard or Benjen could have heard of it, for neither brought it up with her in the following days. Though Eddard did mention that his lady wife had become unusually quiet these past few days, often silently praying or spending her time in the nursery, embroidering something. Gwynn had informed Raya that Catelyn had walked the godswood multiple times as well, usually only accompanied by her guards and no one else.
Catelyn herself came to Raya’s solar at the end of the week, flanked only by Robar and Lothar, both of them looking quite uncomfortable to be standing there.
“Lady Stark”, she said, every single letter drenched with humility and respect that took Raya’s breath away, “do you have a moment to speak?”
“Of course, please, sit. Elric, go and fetch some refreshments for us.”
The boy almost bumped into Robar on his way out, running as fast as his short legs would take him. It was quite endearing, although Raya would never say so aloud.
They were quiet, enjoying a silence without tension between them, until Elric returned with a plate of fresh bread, a spread of cut meat and two mugs of mead. Raya rewarded him with a fond smile, watching the boy return to his self-appointed place in between the shelves, like a statue or decorative vase. He was too young for most of the work around Winterfell, so he had appointed himself Raya’s personal fetcher, whether she liked it or not.
“Lady Stark”, Catelyn said after a moment, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She was the very image of a southron lady as Raya had imagined them to be — raised into simpering obedience, seemingly naturally demure and with such an effortless elegance to every movement that anyone else felt like a cow on a frozen lake. “I came to plead for your forgiveness for my handmaiden, Lady Becca. I cannot deny that she has acted beneath her station and unbecoming of a noble Lady, but she is young and sheltered and I vow—”
“Peace, good-sister”, Raya said quietly. “I understand that she acted as such because she is loyal to you, which is admirable, truly. And yes, she is young and far from home, but none of that excuses her behaviour, it only explains it. If it pains you to see her removed from your direct influence, then I will allow her to refrain from working the stables.”
Catelyn bowed her head, a small smile on her lips. It seemed genuine.
“But you have not come to me to negotiate your handmaiden's punishment, good-sister”, Raya said, almost grinning at the look on the other woman’s face. Like a rabbit caught in a trap. “If I may, northerners, men and women alike, do best with honesty and directness. We have not the temper and time to dance around topics like most southrons seem to prefer.”
There was a tenseness to her shoulders that reminded Raya uncomfortably of how Catelyn had taken her furious outburst mere days ago.
“True”, Catelyn confessed, raising her chin in an attempt to look confident. The tremble in her voice betrayed her most cruelly. “I have thought much about what you have told me, Lady Stark”, she stubbornly continued, yet the warble made her wince, “and my ignorance brought shame upon myself. I was delighted when my lord father informed me of the betrothal to Lord Brandon, even more so when we met. He was handsome, in a way quite rare in my homelands.” There was a wistful note to her voice.
Raya could understand her well. Brandon had been very handsome indeed, combining the best features of both of his parents within himself, yet he too was aware of it. Raya remembered it well when he had come home from the Barrowlands and confessed he had taken Barbrey Ryswell’s maidenhead. The raven of her father had come that same evening. Lord Rickard and Brandon had fought so loudly that every word could be heard through the closed door of his solar.
“When he— died”, Catelyn continued slowly, “I had thought my world had ended.” Her hands clawed into the skirt of her dress, a rather simple one made from northern wool. Fryda’s work, undoubtedly.
“I must confess that I have no experience in such matters”, Raya offered, “Lord Rickard was seemingly in talks of a husband for me, but only in his last few moons before he rode south.” She had found the correspondence, buried in Lord Rickard’s solar. The Tallhart’s were merely a masterly house, quite like a landed knight in the south, but they were staunchly loyal and in the end, Raya was only a distant cousin, but a marriage to any Stark would have honoured them. House Umber was a different matter, with two men that were willing to take Raya as wife — the Greatjon and the Smalljon, father and son. One widowed and the other seemingly unwilling to take a wife, since the offer for her hand had come from his father only. Neither correspondence went anywhere and she gladly ignored that the offers had not been withdrawn.
“I am certain he would have found you a worthy husband”, Catelyn said, a timid smile on her face. Although Raya and she were of an age, it seemed Catelyn was honestly deferring to her as she would an older woman. It was quite strange.
Raya herself very much doubted Catelyn’s words. Lord Rickard had been quite generous by taking her in, but she had overheard one too many conversations about alliances, dowries and other such matters to see him as anything but a cold man, unwilling to see his children as anything but rather annoying extensions of himself. Lyanna’s unwillingness to marry was the matter of many fights between them.
“My lord father raised me with the knowledge that I would marry a great lord”, Catelyn said, her hands relaxing. “The betrothal to Brandon was no surprise, though I had never thought of a northern husband before then. He was always charming when he came to visit me, and very kind to my younger siblings. Lysa and Edmure were quite taken with him too. But when word came that he—” The words died on her tongue.
Raya remembered that day well. Preparations had been made for Lord Rickard to go south, to witness Brandon and Catelyn’s marriage in Riverrun. Laughter had filled the halls of Winterfell and there was a thrum of merriment that was rarely seen. When the raven had come, Lord Rickard had not said a single word. Neither had Lady Lyarra, though the tremor in her hands had been so pronounced she had trouble eating for two days. The Mad King’s demands were outrageous, more than enough to call the northern banners and go to war, but Lord Rickard had done nothing in that matter. One day, he had simply named Benjen the Stark in Winterfell, kissed Lady Lyarra one last time and rode south, towards his doom.
Mayhaps it was the first time he truly saw Brandon for his son and heir, instead of his legacy and pawn. A desperate attempt to save him from the fate that was as clear as the moon on a cloudless night.
“My lord father had me wedded and bedded within a day of Eddard arriving at Riverrun”, Catelyn continued, a bitterness clinging to her words, “though at least I knew my husband from Brandon’s stories.”
Raya made an agreeable noise. Catelyn’s younger sister had been rather hastily married to Lord Arryn, decades older than the girl and widowed twice already.
“When the Maester confirmed my pregnancy, at first I was so afraid. My lady mother died when I was young and my lord father never remarried, so there was no one I could speak to. When my son was born”, she said, a warm smile stretching her face, replacing the sadness that the mention of her mother had brought, “I was the happiest I have ever felt, I am sure of it. Truly, I think only a daughter would make my heart swell even more with love.”
She could understand the feeling only in the abstract, in the vague sense that she too would have children some day and would watch them be half herself and yet grow to become their own person.
“Seeing another babe already settled, it shook me”, Catelyn confessed, lowering her head. Her hands were once again buried in the fabric of her skirt. “The Faith teaches that children born out of wedlock are born of sin, made from lust, lies and weakness and they only grow to become wanton and treacherous. And who am I to contradict the words of septons and learned men? Have the Blackfyre’s not devastated the Seven Kingdoms over and over again? Have the Riverlands not suffered most during the Dance?” There was true fury in her voice.
Raya shifted in her seat, unsure of where this conversation was going.
“If I may offer a northern perspective, Lady Catelyn?”
The woman nodded, her jaw and shoulders tense with anger. But there was something in her deep blue eyes.
“We do not need septons or septs for marriage, merely a weirwood tree for the Old Gods to be witness to such a union. Our weddings are nothing more than the bride and groom once again declaring their intent to marry, with few words and even fewer ceremonies. Most smallfolk do not even bother with that much, merely sharing home and hearth and life. True, it is somewhat different for the likes of us, with ancient family names and countless duties to our people. But Jon is a Stark, not in name, but in blood. Many will honour him like one, wherever he goes in the North. He will be sought after, for he will make a good husband. And all that even if Eddard would not love him. But he does, and so do Benjen and I. Jon will be loved, whether you do or not. He will be given land, a title, a name. He is family. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”
“I— I confess, I do not understand.”
“The North is a vast and harsh place, Lady Catelyn. The climate is no doubt the most prominent threat, but there are also Wildlings and Ironborn threatening our borders and shores. We have lost many good men in the rebellion and will be vulnerable and weak for years to come. There are a thousand matters more pressing than the perceived rights of a boy born in the middle of a war to a dead and nameless mother. And even if he were to press his claim, nothing would come of it besides angering and disappointing his family. There is no possibility that Eddard would allow Jon to usurp Robb, especially since Benjen’s children would come before him.”
Catelyn was quiet, though the tension had vanished at some point.
Raya met her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“I can guarantee you, good-sister, Jon will be no threat to your children. I will make sure of it.”
Chapter Text
284 AC — Third Week, Fifth Moon
Eddard had the servants bring in a fourth chair, so obviously delighted about his lady wife’s surprising presence that Raya had a vivid recollection of the time when Farlen’s hounds had gotten into the meat storage.
Elric handed Raya the slim books, ledgers counting House Stark’s grain storage and how much yield the glass gardens gave and a few loose notes, copies of reports from all over the North of their estimated storage. Some Houses, like the Boltons and Ryswells, had grumbled when questioned, but the promise of potential support financed by House Stark itself had silenced those voices quickly.
Raya spread the ledgers on Eddard’s desk, already having marked the necessary pages.
“My understanding of the North’s current situation is as follows”, she began, drawing all attention to her, “The majority of Houses already suffered the loss of the latest harvest and are either late or entirely unable to plant for the next one, which means at least another, if not two, harvests will be meagre indeed.”
A look of alarm spread on Catelyn’s face, since only she had not heard such news before.
“House Stark’s granaries are sufficiently full, meaning we will not need to ration if we keep our stores closed to the smallfolk and our closest vassals”, she explained further, glancing at the dark look on Eddard’s face, “But such behaviour is unbecoming of House Stark. We will likely need to begin rationing right away, to stretch our stores as far as possible until new harvests can replace what we give.” She turned towards Benjen.
Eddard had read through every census sent, counting the number of dead and dying each day to give them all a better view of the North’s ability to rebuild. Raya had used her familial connections to three of the major Houses within the North —Glover, Bolton and Karstark— to make inquiries regarding their harvests and storage, letting them spread the word in her stead. Most ravens had returned with alarming numbers and Raya feared that some Houses had outright lied to make them look better than they truly were. Benjen had been the one to scout through Lord Rickard’s ledgers regarding House Stark’s incomes, outcomes and riches, often quietly cursing his father’s disdain for eligible penmanship.
“Our forefathers were as frugal as we hoped”, Benjen said with an almost-smile. “But the rebellion has cost us dearly. If we need to buy grain elsewhere, we should barter if possible.”
“The Tyrell’s would deny us outright if we approached them with anything but coin”, Raya argued. Eddard had shared what little politics he had witnessed during his stay in King’s Landing. Most grain from the Reach would go to King's Landing and the Stormlands, to pay their due in food instead of blood.
Catelyn cleared her throat, a rather wobbly smile on her face.
“If I may make some suggestions?”
All three Starks bowed their heads.
“House Frey has by far the best lands for farming”, she said, sniffing with disdain and yet elegance, “They lost nothing in the fighting. Their granaries are no doubt overflowing, but they too would insist on coin above northern goods and they are as likely as the Tyrell’s to overcharge the North.”
Raya had heard much and more about House Frey.
“Are there others you would recommend? We can spare the coin, if they will be fair to us.”
“Any House along the Green, Blue and Red Fork of the Trident would have the stores to spare grain”, she mused, tapping her chin with her elegant finger, “but, personally, I would say both Houses Vance would be open to favourable deals. House Goodbrook suffered from the fighting at the Stoney Sept and will not have the coin to purchase much, so they too rely on my father's generosity.” Here, she smirked. “And if you are clever about it, you could play House Vance against House Vance, driving the price of their grain down to a more acceptable one.”
Raya mirrored her expression, smiling with far too many teeth. How wonderful it would have been to have this Catelyn weeks ago.
“I also intend to inquire in the Vale regarding grain”, she said after a moment. “The grain purchased there can be taken by ship to White Harbor and distributed along our eastern side, while the grain from the Riverlands would come up the King’s Road and be distributed everywhere else through Winterfell.”
“House Royce?”, Eddard asked, very well aware of their shared great-great-grandmother.
“House Belmore”, she suggested instead. “House Royce is far more known for their bronze and their sheep than any grain they produce, likely only enough for their own needs. If our connection were more recent, it would be worth at least asking.”
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Benjen had personally selected the couriers that would take House Stark’s request for trade south.
Grygor, a lad counting five-and-ten name-days, with black hair and dark eyes, had been of the group that had fought the bandits some moons ago. Sadness clung to him like stubborn mud ever since. He was to ride for White Harbor and take a ship for the port of House Corbray, downriver of House Belmore. No one wanted him to brave the Vale’s mountain range and be killed by the mountain clans stalking the roads there.
Haethinn, counting seven-and-fifty name-days, had hair so grey and pale that one could mistake it for a fresh layer of snow if he stood still too long. He had been deemed too old to follow Eddard south and he had grumbled about it ever since. He was half-brother to Hullen, Winterfell’s master of horse, and favoured the animals just like his kin. Haethinn was to ride down the King’s Road, follow the River Road to Riverrun and then ride for Wayfarer’s Rest and Atranta.
It would take either over a moon, more likely close to two or even three, if the weather was bad and the roads unsafe, but when Benjen had asked, they had accepted.
Wishing them farewell and good weather was a strangely solemn affair, the cold wind racing through Winterfell’s courtyard and tugging at the bulky fur cloaks. Spring, in the North, was quite the same as winter for some time, and only because the Maester’s had declared it as such did not mean they were right — after all, they had been wrong only three years prior.
It was a matter of minutes to see Grygor and Haethinn secure their provisions and small purses of coin to their saddles, mount up and vanish behind Winterfell’s gates. Grygor through the East Gate, Haethinn through the South Gate.
Raya personally had sent out the ravens to White Harbor, House Corbray and both Houses Vance, so they would expect the riders sooner or later. Her favourite creature had cawed at her until she had given him another handful of dried seeds and nuts for his troubles before taking flight towards House Manderly’s lands.
Now, it was only a matter of time. And perhaps a few prayers to the Old Gods.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
"We cannot feed all of them", Raya said quietly, shifting in her chair. "Grain from the Vale can be distributed to White Harbor, the Dreadfort, Last Hearth and Karhold, but any smaller settlement too far from the rivers will be difficult. The same goes for any grain from the Riverlands or further south. We can bring them to Winterfell only because of the King's Road. We can only feed those closest to us, no more."
"I must agree", Catelyn said, her voice solemn. "Even if we could have use of the Mallister fleet, the Ironborn are too large of a threat to risk grain shipments along the western coast."
Eddard's face turned even more sour.
"But surely we could find a way to feed our people somehow?"
"The smallfolk already hunt and forage the woods", Benjen said, "but they are bound to hunting rabbits, which do not have a lot of fat. A temporary permission for them to hunt other animals could help."
"Over-hunting could also harm the North in the long run", Raya replied, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Mayhaps we could implore those keeping livestock to cull their herds, leaving only enough to breed them up again?"
"Both", Eddard decided. "One deer or boar per two families with children and culling the livestock."
284 AC — Second Week, Sixth Moon
Lady Raya Stark,
We are honoured that House Stark has thought of us in their need.
The King’s, Seven bless him, rebellion has taken much from our House and lands, yet of course not as much as from you and yours. House Stark is in our prayers.
Regretfully, these circumstances force myself to remain in our lands, to ensure order and enforce the King’s peace. In my stead I will send my son, Ser Bennedikt, veteran of the rebellion, to escort your man to Winterfell and speak in my name.
We wish for favourable trade between our Houses.
We Ring True
Lord Benedar Belmore, Lord of Strongsong
284 AC — Fourth Week, Fifth Moon
Lady Catelyn Tully Stark,
Our ancient and loyal House is willing to lend aid to House Stark.
My Lord Father has given me leave to make the journey personally. I will bring news of your birth House and your brother, Edmure.
The Faithful
Ser Ronald Vance, House Vance of Atranta
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Lady Catelyn Tully Stark,
Lord Hugo Vance, Lord of House Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest, is willing to lend aid to our allies, House Stark, and our liege lord’s kin.
Lord Hugo Vance sends his son and heir, Ser Karyl Vance, as his representative.
The True
Maester Pottyr, in faithful service to House Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest
284 AC — First Week, Seventh Moon
Ser Bennedikt Belmore was red of hair, quite like Catelyn, but the shade of it was less fire and more rust, a rather unflattering colour that clashed horribly with the purpure coloured cloth peaking out from underneath the pieces of plate armour, gleaming silver. The cloth spoke of trade with Braavos and the silver-coated metal of quite some wealth, since only a handful of Houses bothered with fitting a second son in such costly armour.
Even his horse, a snow-white destrier bred for tourneys, was covered in purpure cloth.
The man bowed low before Eddard, gave a respectful nod to Benjen and mimed a kiss above the gloved hands of Catelyn and Raya with such ease that there was no doubt the man was quite charming in nature.
“Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Belmore”, Eddard said, gesturing for Gwynn to step forward with the bread and salt.
“I thank you, Lord Stark”, he replied, his cracking voice betraying that he was almost two years younger than Benjen, barely counting as a man at all.
Yet Raya could see it in his eyes, that same expression Benjen had since the bandits, only far more pronounced. A sudden and frightening knowledge that killing a man was easy. Lord Benedar had not exaggerated — Ser Bennedikt was a veteran of war, no doubt having earned the title of Knight of the Vale many times.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Catelyn had politely declined to join them in their talk with Ser Bennedikt, far more eager to spend the time in the nursery and embroider clothes that little Robb had yet to grow into. Sabryna had, quite smugly, mentioned that Catelyn had started making doubles of everything — one for Robb, one for Jon.
So it was only Eddard, Benjen and Raya, across from them a lone Ser Bennedikt. He had peeled the gleaming armour off him, yet the clothes he now wore were just as expensive. Purpure cloth, embroidered with gold and silver thread in the shape of bells.
"Let us speak honestly with each other", Eddard suggested, relaxing into his chair. "I have fostered in the Vale for nigh on a decade and have met your Lord Father twice, as far as I can recall. He seemed an honest man, proud of Strongsong and loyal to House Arryn."
"He is all that, my Lord", Ser Bennedikt agreed, a shy smile fluttering over his face that turned proud, "My Lord Father was very pleased when I was knighted at the Trident."
"Then tell us what your Lord Father can offer us, Ser", Eddard said, mirroring the proud smile, though Raya could see the strain at the edges.
Benjen and her had studied a rather outdated map of the Vale that they had found buried in Winterfell's library, with borders of Houses long gone. If House Belmore could give them nothing, they would need to look elsewhere. If Houses Vance could give them nothing but morsels either, they would sooner or later need to deal with House Tyrell. Or worse, House Frey.
"My Lord Father gave me leave to offer you six barrels of emmer, two barrels of rye and four barrels of oats. Any more would take too much out of our stores, but by the next harvest we could offer you half that again."
Raya could not help herself and openly stared at the young man before her. She had not dared to hope for a third of what he offered. She had said as much to her cousins. Before either of them could speak again, Raya leaned forward, eyes narrowed.
"Has your Lord Father given you a price for such amounts?"
"Sixteen silver stags, my Lady."
Her pale eyes narrowed even further and with quiet delight she saw him squirm. The price was fair, burying the treacherous thoughts of something else being at play.
"Ten stags", she replied.
"Thirteen."
"Two silver moons." Fourteen stags, seven worth a single silver moon. It was one and the same, but phrasing it as such made it sound more than it was.
"Agreed."
Her smile had far too many teeth, she knew, but winter and war had leeched many northern stores. For House Belmore to offer such amounts of grain she had expected to pay a golden dragon. She settled back into her chair, like a predator with a full belly.
"Your Lord Father mentioned trade between our Houses", she continued, "Has he shared any precise requests, Ser Bennedikt?"
"He has, my Lady. Our House lost a trading ship to a storm some moons ago and need replacing. Northern timber would be welcome."
Raya let her eyes wander over to Eddard.
"Lord Manderly's ships ought to go south for trade soon anyway", he said. "Ser Wylis would not mind a short detour for Strongsong to speak of such details with your father personally."
"Ser Bennedikt might as well speak with Lord Wyman directly", Raya suggested, turning her grey eyes on the young man before them. "If you are inclined, you could be taken home by ship, though I am unsure how well your horse would handle the waters."
He in turn gave her a thankful smile — he had crossed the Vale's mountain range with only a small party to come north, greatly putting himself at risk. His companions had turned around at the border to the Riverlands.
284 AC — Second Week, Seventh Moon
Ser Ronald Vance of Atranta was even younger than Ser Bennedikt had been, no doubt the reason why an old steward on an equally old mule had accompanied him up the King's Road, protected by four men in the green-white livery of their House. Raya did not wish to think what a boy his age had done in the rebellion to earn him a knighthood.
Ser Karyl Vance and his companions, half a dozen seasoned men, had come only moments later, their horses huffing and puffing as if they had driven them to near collapse. And they likely had — Catelyn had openly said that the rivalry between the Vance branches was almost as bad as the one between Houses Bracken and Blackwood, though with far less bloodshed and not nearly as ancient.
Raya had thought the House had split during the Dance, one part of the family loyal to Queen Alicent Hightower and her children and the other to Queen Rhaenyra and hers, but Catelyn had openly laughed. According to histories, as she was taught them, House Vance had split for a far more benign reason — the original House Vance had been plagued by a sickness, leaving only two sons behind. They were forced to split their father's land between each other. Years of Riverland politics and later the Dance had only widened and then split the distance between them.
Raya cleared her throat.
"Be welcome to Winterfell, Ser Vance, Ser Vance", she said, her eyes going from young Ronald to Karyl. "I hope the journey was not too arduous."
"We thank you", Ronald's old steward said, bowing low before her. "We are honoured that House Stark and our liege's daughter have thought of us so favourably as to ask for our assistance. I am Darryn, of House Smallwood."
There was little doubt in Raya's mind that it would be the old steward Eddard would speak with. Catelyn had shared all her knowledge of both Houses Vance with Raya, hence why she knew that House Smallwood was the only vassal of House Vance of Atranta and that many of their wives were found amongst that family. Even Ronald's own mother was of House Smallwood.
Ser Karyl, quite the opposite of young Ronald, was a man grown, with a wife, two daughters and a third child on the way. Underneath his blackened plate armour, embossed with a dragon with piercing yellow eyes, one could see fine cloth with golden-threaded embroidery, of both dragons and golden eyes.
"Lady Stark", he greeted, his voice booming as if he feared she could not hear him from five steps away. He did quite an elaborate bow, almost laughingly exaggerated. "I too am honoured", he quickly added, a rather charming grin on his face.
"Our servants have prepared hot baths for you and your men", Raya said, nodding towards both parties that were covered in thick fur cloaks and here and there she could see someone shiver. "A small feast is prepared for tonight as well."
Both the boy and the man bowed their heads and quickly shuffled off, following young Elric towards the guest quarters.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Catelyn had recommended seeing Ser Karyl and Master Darryn at the same time, in the hopes of using their mutual hostility against them for better trade deals for House Stark.
Her prediction had come true — both men were, in the same breath, praising the fertile lands of their House and denouncing the lands of the rival one.
"—Atranta is far closer to the source of the Red Fork, the benefits of which have been written down extensively by Maester—"
"—yet our fields are on flatter land and we have mastered the use of the river's regular flooding for the crops, following the writing of the Citadel—"
Raya's grey eyes met Catelyn's blue ones, noticing the twinkle of amusement in them. Eddard too was looking quite entertained.
"Ser Vance, Master Darryn", Catelyn finally said, her reprimand gentle. It ended the stream of arguments between the two men immediately.
"As you both have said", Eddard began, his deep voice a rather unsettling contract to Catelyn's sweet one, "Houses Vance both have fertile lands and the knowledge to cultivate it. The North lacks good farming land and after the rebellion the hands to work the fields. It is my duty to provide for the men that have followed me into war and my dear wife has recommended your Houses to ask for support."
Raya had instructed him in what to say, while Catelyn had asked for leave to do the actual haggling, since she was far more familiar with the Riverlanders and their thinking.
In the end it turned out both Houses Vance could offer the same amount of grain — two barrels emmer, two of rye, two of oats and two barrels of plums —from Atranta— and peaches —from Wayfarer's Rest—.
"—14 stags for all eight barrels—", Darryn suggested, his offer broken by Ser Karyl's voice.
"—13 stags, a far more fair price for House Stark—"
On and on it went, the both of them haggling each other up and down and barely glancing at the Starks.
Raya mirrored Catelyn's satisfied smirk, her eyes flittering towards her cousin. Eddard sat there with an equal amount of amusement and horror in his eyes. Benjen had looked the same, the first time Raya had him sit in with a meeting with a nearby farmer to haggle for a fair price for the meagre harvest he had offered. Benjen had politely refused to do so a second time.
"—11 stags, my lord would not want me to accept any less—"
Ser Karyl's fist met the wooden desk.
"Ten stags, my last offer."
"Accepted", Eddard quickly said, a wild smile on his face that showed too many teeth. "Ten stags for each, correct?"
Ser Karyl and Master Darryn exchanged a quick glance before reluctantly nodding. No doubt they would have haggled each other down even further, but anything lower than ten silver stags would be an insult to their respective lords. Better to stop them there and foster a good relationship than to gut them.
"Master Darryn", Catelyn said, her voice sweet, "I would like to speak with Ser Ronald, for I have not heard news of my family for quite some time."
"Of course, my Lady", the man eagerly replied, bowing twice as he was led out of the solar.
Raya's eyes were already firmly on Ser Karyl's face. Rhyna had overheard a conversation between the knight and one of his men.
"Ser Vance", Raya said, catching the man's attention, "Catelyn mentioned you have two lovely daughters already. May I know their names?"
The man practically beamed with pride.
"My oldest is named Liane, after her grandmother on my wife's side, and my second Rhialta, after my own grandmother, Lady Rhia of House Grey. If the Gods are good I will be blessed with another child on my return."
"So we heard", Raya said. Catelyn, gone to accompany Master Darryn, had said that taking three ladies of the same House was done purely because of the rebellion. It was likely that she would send two of them back home, after finding suitable replacements. Liane, already counting five-and-ten name-days, was a good option. "Have you thought of one of your daughters attending to Catelyn?"
Ser Karyl's proud smile turned calculating.
Notes:
Chapters will be coming much slower now - I'm caught up with what I've written so far (working on Chapter 5 right now) and I spend quite a lot of my time at the local swimming pool each day to prevent becoming a puddle of sweat.
Chapter Text
284 AC — First Week, Eighth Moon
Maester Luwin, a second son from a second son of House Hunter of the Vale, was already an old man, counting more than fifty years to his name. He had served at his kin's keep before serving at Riverrun for only a year before the rebellion broke out. After expertly handling Catelyn's pregnancy and birth, Hoster Tully had agreed to request a new Maester entirely and send the talented man after his eldest daughter, to serve in Winterfell instead.
"Lady Stark", the man greeted, bowing low before her.
"Maester", she replied, eyeing the two young boys at his side. They wore rather cheap imitations of the man's robe, made from finely woven wool and with more pockets than Raya could count. Theirs were made out of simple wool, looking quite scratchy as well.
"Ah, yes — these ones here are Grenn and Jasper", the man quickly explained, a nervous smile on his face. "They have assisted me most helpfully in Riverrun and Lord Tully allowed me to take them with me. If you allow it, I would employ them in the same manner here."
Acolytes, though unofficial ones. Catelyn had only mentioned Jasper, the son of a Riverrun servant that had cared for the ravens in the Maester's stead.
"Of course", Raya said after a moment, replacing her neutral expression with a warm smile. "I will let the servants know to prepare two additional beds for the Maester's turret." Her eyes moved to the wagon behind the Maester, laden with crates and bundles of things, half of which made no sense to Raya. "I will leave you to settle. If you have need of anything, simply call for Rhyna." She had assigned the girl to take care of most matters for the Maester, while Josselyn would stoke the hearth at night and clean their sheets every week.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
"The shipment of grain from House Belmore has already arrived at White Harbor and will be distributed among Houses Manderly, Locke, Flint, Hornwood, Bolton, Karstark and Umber by Lord Manderly himself. Two days ago we also received word that the wagons of House Vance of Wayfarer's Rest have started making their way north. I expect another raven from House Vance of Atranta within a week or two", Raya explained, handing the Maester the ledger detailing the purchases of grain. "I have already made a list of other Houses to contact and would like you to look over them as well. The grain we bought is not nearly enough, especially if the next harvest fails as well as the last one."
Maester Luwin hummed quietly to himself, flicking through the ledger and surprisingly quickly reading through the last decade of purchases and trade.
"If I may share my observations, my Lady?", he asked after a few moments of silence.
Raya gestured for him to continue. She too had read through the ledger, though not as thoroughly as she likely should have.
"House Stark cares much for the people of the North, often spending enormous sums of coin to purchase the grain to not only feed their smallfolk, but also any who ask", he said, tapping an open page full of numbers. Raya could not make out the details from where she sat. "No doubt an honourable thing", he continued, his voice a bit apprehensive, "but also a great expense that would beggar House Stark during an especially long and harsh winter. Would it not be better to improve local farms, their yield and how the grain is stored?"
"Do you have precise ideas, Maester?", Raya asked, leaning forward. "If we had no need to purchase grain, the North would be better for it."
"I agree", he said, all nervousness gone from his voice, replaced by unrestricted excitement, "and while I hold some knowledge and have many more ideas, I, ah—", here he flushed, a rather strange expression on a man so old, "I would need to read more about the North, my Lady. Methods I have learned in the Citadel, studied in the Reach and adapted for the Vale might not be possible for northern soil. Plants that would thrive in the Mountains of the Moon might wither in the northern mountain range. I need time to research, my Lady."
The man seemed decades younger, the eagerness of learning thrumming through him so loudly that even Raya could hear it.
"Of course, Maester Luwin. It would be quite a shame to waste more coin and resources on things that would not work", she acknowledged, "and if you need someplace for practical studies, there are some patches of dirt near the glass gardens yet unseeded."
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Gwynn and Rhyna both had reported the Maester and his acolyte's activities to Raya, quite perplexed by the man being elbow-deep in dirt and manure almost daily. It became clear quite quickly that Luwin had left Jasper to handle the ravens and any messages, while Grenn was tasked to check in on Robb and Jon twice a day, which in turn left the Maester himself to search and read through Winterfell's ancient library and experiment with northern soil directly.
Even now there were smudges of dirt on Luwin's robe.
"My Lady", the Maester began, the words almost stumbling over each other in all his excitement, "I believe the northern soil near Winterfell is quite similar to what I have worked with in the Vale."
Raya relaxed into her chair, surprised at the weight that had left her shoulders. Perhaps the frequent sightings of the man hands-deep in dirt had given her hope. She gestured for him to continue.
"Not only the Reach and the Vale, but even the fertile areas of Dorne make use of a four-field crop system", the man said, eyes shining with utter delight, "though what is planted differs in each region. I have some ideas for which crops would work best in northern climate and soil, but I cannot guarantee a successful harvest without extensive research, especially if the fields are faced with frequent bouts of summer snow. I propose the implementation of the system on one farm close-by, so I can regularly observe the progress."
"Which crops do you recommend?"
"One would start with rye, then turnips, followed by clover and barley. Rye is much hardier than most other types of grain and would do better in the northern climate. And the clover can be used to feed livestock."
"What is the purpose of planting them in such succession?"
The man flushed slightly, opening and closing his mouth multiple times before a frown wrinkled his forehead. He was not used to explaining, perhaps.
"Some plants, like wheat, stress the soil. If one keeps planting wheat, then the soil becomes weak, resulting in bad harvests or even sickness. Quite like what happens to a body if one has only meat all their life — the humours need balance, both the ones of the body and the ones of the soil. Other plants, like turnips, heal the soil to a certain extend, but plants like clover, not much use for people, heal it even better. If combined with fresh manure from livestock grazing the fields, then clover can be more than a mere salve for the soil."
Raya hummed, tapping her desk with her fingernails in the rhythm of her heartbeat.
"Ah, if we already are on the topic", Maester Luwin said, "then we ought to discuss the livestock as well."
Raya blinked at the man.
"Whatever do you mean, Maester?"
"From my observations I can tell that the northern breed of cow and sheep are adjusted to the climate here, but my kin in the Vale regularly import livestock from Braavos to bring fresh blood into the herds grazing near the mountains. Before I was called to serve at Riverrun, I had advised my Lord and cousin of not only doing so, but to further only allow certain rams to breed — bigger ones, with more wool and in good health. The result will likely only be seen in two or more generations of sheep, but I am hopeful. The same can be done here, but instead of importing livestock from Essos, House Stark could look even further north. Animals from the other side of the wall must be well adjusted to even harsher climates, I have no doubt."
"So you propose we send men to go ranging in the North, herd together cows and sheep if they even find any and bring them to Winterfell? That sounds quite impractical."
Luwin shifted on his seat.
"Ah, yes… but perhaps Lord Stark could come to an accord with the Night's Watch? The herds gained from such an undertaking could be kept within the Gift and the yield shared with the men on the Wall."
"There is much to discuss between my cousins and I and even more to think about", Raya acknowledged after a few moments of silence. "Return to your duties, Maester."
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Old Fryda, one of Wintertowns rare permanent residents, and Old Nan were related — how exactly no one but them knew, but anyone who knew them both could see that their malicious smile was the same. Where Old Nan relished in scaring young children with stories of the Rat Cook and the Night King, Fryda found amusement whenever one of her needles found flesh instead of cloth.
Raya, pricked twice already, simply stared at the woman.
"The children", she said, after yet another prick, "where do they sleep?"
"Plenty of abandoned shacks 'round here, m'lady", the old woman huffed, pinning the soft fur to the fabric and pricking Raya again, "Wintertown's perfect for them thieves."
"Thieves? Have they turned to crime?"
The old woman waved her off, turning to pick up another piece of fur.
"A loaf of bread here and there, every two days or so. They are starving, Frygg says. 'Doubt they make it to the next winter."
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Eddard had been a stranger to Raya when he had returned to Winterfell to call the bannermen. He had taken the news of his mother's death with a coldness that had rattled Benjen, so much so that he had refused to speak with his brother until Eddard was leaving to go to war. Raya had not asked what her younger cousin had told his brother the eve before in the godswood, but judging from the bone-crushing hug they shared on the morrow, they had made peace.
He returned an even bigger stranger, battle-hardened, broken-hearted and with Lyanna's boy in his arms.
Yet these past few moons had changed him, and in turn their relationship. No longer was Eddard a lost man, barely older than a boy, burdened with duties he barely comprehended. He, like Raya and Benjen, had to grow up, quickly.
Now he was truly Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, husband and father, a good cousin and brother, all in once.
Yet he still managed to surprise her, foremost when he had named her Lady Stark and then time and time again, whenever he put Raya's advice and opinions as equal to his own.
"Cousin", she called out, stopping a few steps behind him, her eyes on the weirwood's sorrowful face. Eddard came almost every day to pray to the Old Gods.
Benjen and Catelyn kept their distance, though for different reasons — Benjen because he was ashamed of the letter he had kept hidden and Catelyn because she strictly kept to her southern gods.
"Cousin", Eddard replied, standing with a grunt and patting the dirt off his breeches. "Share your thoughts with me."
"You already know them, cousin", she sighed, though nonetheless sat down on one of the boulders forming a ring around the weirwood. "Maester Luwin cannot guarantee the successful implementation of these measures, but doing nothing at all will only harm the North in the long run. The harsh isolationist stance taken by many of our ancestors has brought much harm to us, seen each winter." She did not mention her true thoughts regarding Lord Rickard's plan to bind each of his children to the south. Raya's own marriage to a northern Lord and Benjen being sent to the Night's Watch would have only delayed the inevitable. If Robert's rebellion had not happened then sooner or later a northern Lord, like Bolton or Umber or even Karstark, would have caused a civil war, claiming the Stark's were abandoning the northern people and their plight.
"Then tell me of these farmsteads you mentioned", Eddard said, sitting down on the boulder next to her.
"The ones Benjen and I selected are completely abandoned. The one half a day's ride east of us, near the White Knife, belongs to Britta, a widow I employed in the kitchens. Her husband died from a fever a couple of years ago and her three sons died in the south. I am certain she would be willing to manage the farm for us if we give her men to work the fields. It is quite the ideal place for Maester Luwin to try the crop rotation."
"And why has Britta not taken another man?"
"Britta is almost as old as the Maester himself. Her child-bearing years are well behind her." She turned to face the weirwood, her grey eyes meeting the bleeding orbs of the familiar face. A Stark long forgotten, weeping. "There are many orphans scurrying around in Wintertown already — it would not take much to argue she ought to take one or two and raise them as her own, to continue working the farm after she is gone."
Raya turned her head, meeting the kind eyes of Eddard.
"With your leave, my Lord", she said, knowing the title put distance between them, "I would request permission to claim a few buildings in Wintertown and to build an orphanage for the children already here and others across the North. Most serve no use in the lands of their dead parents, slowly starving themselves."
"And what purpose would they serve here, besides draining our granaries?"
She shifted her weight.
"They would stop stealing, to begin with. Fryda mentioned that Frygg, the Baker, loses a bread or two almost daily. The older children could work on the nearby farms or start training to bolster our depleted guard and levies. Others could be taught a trade and a few might even be willing to leave for the Citadel. Or the Wall." Raya knew no Maester born in the North and the Wall always needed men.
"I will think about it", Eddard promised after a moment, offering her his hand. "But let us go and find Britta first."
284 AC — Second Week, Eighth Moon
Britta, daughter of Brynn and Yutta, was a stout woman with a stern face, aged from the rough weather of the North and the decades of hard work on her father's farm. She had selected three boys from the pack of orphaned children — Mykael, one of the oldest, and Maryno and his much younger sister, Sara. The three of them had been scrubbed and washed by servants, making them presentable for Eddard.
Raya stopped before the children, inspecting the clothes they were given. They rags they had worn would be reused as cleaning cloth and they were given newly made but simple woollen tunics and breeches and for young Sara, Catelyn had personally knitted a pair of gloves.
"M'lady", Mykael greeted as soon as he noticed her looking at him, bowing low before her.
"Children", she replied, looking them all over.
Mykael and Maryno were clearly unrelated, the former having black hair, brown eyes and a rather chiselled face with an unfortunately large jaw, and the latter having straw-blonde hair, blue eyes and a slim face. Sara was basically a younger copy of her older brother, though her face was quite a bit rounder still. Britta had picked these children because all three came from other farmsteads, similarly abandoned like Britta's — Mykael's mother had died in childbirth years ago, while his father and older brother had died in the south. Maryno and Sara had different mothers, Maryno's dying in childbirth and Sara abandoning the family for another man a moon after her birth. Their father had gone south as well, though he had returned, only with half a leg and a useless arm. He had sent them to Wintertown to find relatives that had been long dead, leaving them to haunt the town with the other orphans.
Britta had said that their father likely knew there was no one there, but Wintertown was a better place than slowly starving on their farmstead. A kinder fate. No doubt they would find the father dead, if at all.
Raya kneeled down next to Sara, the young girl only counting four name-days.
"Lady Catelyn wished for me to give you these", she said, presenting her the gloves. "She was feeling rather unwell today, otherwise she would have given them to you herself."
The little girl blushed, muttering a thanks so quietly Raya almost could not understand her.
The door to Eddard's solar opened and out stepped Britta, a grin on her face.
"—Luwin will come by once every fortnight and might stay a day or two, but otherwise you will be left to your devices", Eddard said, only glancing at Raya and the children.
"Then I can only thank you, m'lord. And you, m'lady", Britta said, bowing to him and to her.
Raya waved her off.
"You have served us well here, Britta, and I have faith that you will be a pioneer amongst the people with the Maester's new crop system. Once your success is proven, the fields of the North will feed all of us once again."
The woman returned her smile and bent down to pick up little Sara.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
There were multiple maps of Winterfell in the keep's library, the oldest of them barely eligible. Only two maps, relatively new ones, showed the buildings of Wintertown, and even then only the oldest of buildings.
Wintertown was officially a seasonal town, growing in winter to house most nearby smallfolk and even some coming from as far as the Barrowlands and shrinking to only a few dozen people in the warmer months. Yet one of the maps split the buildings into three boroughs.
The ancient remnants were made up from only half a dozen large buildings in the northwest, near the godswood and had housed the original builders and masons that had created Winterfell in the first place, at least according to the writings. Those houses had been burned twice, together with Winterfell itself, by the Red Kings of House Bolton in ancient times. The old town was a ring of buildings directly around Winterfell's outer wall and the ancient remnants, having served as homes to Wintertown's first settlers and now housing their proud descendants, which usually remained in the town no matter what season. The new town was everything else, mostly simple houses and shacks that were more hazard than home.
"A mere orphanage will not be enough", Eddard said, turning his head to make his neck crack. "Our family has neglected Wintertown for centuries and now most of the houses are nothing but hovels."
"What is it that you are suggesting then?", Raya asked, handing one of the maps to Catelyn.
"Wintertown needs to be rebuilt."
Her eyes moved towards Benjen.
"We can afford it", he said, grinning at her. "We are no Lannisters, but we have more than enough coin for it."
"And you wish for me to lead this project?", Raya asked after another moment.
"Out of all of us, you know the smallfolk here the best. Not to mention that an orphanage is not a forever home for the children. Once they are too old they need to leave and find a way to earn coin themselves."
She took a deep breath.
"In turn, you ought to name Catelyn Lady Stark."
Catelyn's blue eyes snapped towards her, wide and uncertain.
"She ought to take slowly over, so I can concentrate on matters such as Wintertown fully. Of course", she said, turning to look at Catelyn herself, "you can always come and ask me for advice and input and I will not leave you to fend for yourself. For now, I would say you take over the day-to-day matters of Winterfell. Come see me in my solar tomorrow and I can explain it all to you."
"Then you agree?", Eddard asked. "You will rebuild Wintertown?"
Raya let out a sigh, though she could not deny the excitement bubbling up within her.
"I will speak with the people living in Wintertown year-round before I make any actual decisions. And I need to contact Lord Manderly and request an army of stone masons and builders from White Harbor. But yes, I agree."
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Catelyn was quietly humming to herself, the tune foreign to Raya's ears. The rhythm moved like water, swelling in speed and volume like the ocean's waves. A lullaby of the Riverlands then. Young Robb let out a delighted gurgle, quietly babbling half-formed words.
"It is quite strange to see them grow so quickly", Raya confessed quietly, lowering Jon's woollen blanket. She was embroidering paw prints of wolves on it, while Catelyn was embroidering actual wolves on Robb's blanket. Catelyn was far more talented than Raya.
Catelyn only smiled, her expression so soft that Raya had to look away.
A mother's love — Lady Lyarra had looked at her like that too, often with a gentle hand on her head and accompanied by even softer words of encouragement or praise.
Raya cleared her throat.
"I would continue your lessons about the North now, unless you wish to do so another day."
"Now is fine with me. It is rare that we have a peaceful moment just between us."
"House Mollen and Wells were once small noble Houses, comparable to knightly Houses of the south, and have been decimated in the rebellion. Their lands will officially be reabsorbed into House Stark's personal domain by the end of the year."
"Decimated?", Catelyn replied, lowering her needle.
"Lord Mollen was childless and already quite old. He refused to take a third wife, but I think he knew the issue was with him and not with any of his wives. He died at the Trident. House Wells was already in a precarious situation, with three bastard sons of similar age fighting over the lordship. They petitioned Benjen to decide on the matter by the time they returned north, but none of them did. We know for certain that Bran and Tarrek, the oldest and youngest, were killed at Stoney Sept, but Ragnarr might still be alive. If he finds his way home, he will be named Lord Wells."
"You sound… sceptical."
Raya let out a sigh.
"The rebellion is over for almost a year now. Injured northmen were sent to heal near Riverrun, as you well know, and returned in waves within three moons after the battle at the Trident. If he did not come with any of them, then he is most likely dead. Whether he fell at Stoney Sept like his half-brothers or at the Trident, it does not matter. House Wells is likely extinct."
"What will Eddard do with these lands, once they are officially reclaimed?"
"Nothing, I assume. Their lands are barely developed, containing maybe two or three farmsteads that are likely abandoned and neither House had a keep, only a fortified manor. If there are soldiers left, then they will be absorbed into Winterfell's guard. Smallfolk may come and settle here or remain in their lands, after all it does not matter to them whether Eddard or someone else is their overlord."
Catelyn merely hummed, returning her focus to the blanket.
"House Cerwyn are one of our oldest and most loyal vassals. Lord Medger's grandmother was Aregelle Stark, making us kin. Jonelle, his daughter and until recently his only child, is the same age as Benjen. Her brother, Cley, was born earlier this year. If the boy survives to his first name-day, he will replace Jonelle as Lord Medger's heir."
"Aregelle Stark?"
"Cousin to our great-great-grandfather, Beron Stark. House Cerwyn has a vassal of their own — House Condon. They are one of the few that follow your faith, so they have true knights amongst their ranks."
Catelyn perked up.
"Who else follows the Faith of the Seven?"
"House Manderly and most of their vassals. There might be some individuals here and there, but I could not tell you any names."
"What are the chances of a meeting with some of House Manderly's members?"
"Unlikely, at least for now. Perhaps next year one of Lord Manderly's sons will make the journey to Winterfell."
Catelyn hummed, returning her attention to the blanket.
Raya cleared her throat.
"Lastly, there is House Whitehill. They have a feud with House Forrester, vassals of House Glover, mainly because of ancient history and the movement of borders. They lost their access to the ironwood grove within the Wolfswood a few generations back and therefore quite a bit of income. If we do not curb this animosity, I am certain their feud will turn just as bloody as the one between Blackwood and Bracken."
"I thought you would favour House Whitehill, since they are your direct vassals?"
Raya eyed her for a moment. Her own opinion was already well known to Eddard and perhaps another voice sharing it would help settle the matter in the future.
"I personally dislike Lord Ludd Whitehill. The same goes for his heir, Torrhen. Both of them perfectly embody the words of their House — Ever Higher. Lord Ludd made an offer for my hand in marriage to his third-born son, but thankfully Lord Rickard declined right away. Even now, when that same son is his heir, House Whitehill is not of an acceptable standing where they could expect a Stark to marry into their family, not even a distant cousin like myself. The bloodshed between Whitehill and Forrester a few years ago only harmed them further."
"What bloodshed?"
"Lord Gregor Forrester's second son, Asher, fell in love with Lord Ludd's only daughter, Gwyn. The two of them attempted to elope, without their respective father's approval. Men died, Asher was injured. Lord Gregor banished him to Essos to prevent any further harm. I believe Lord Ludd would prefer if they had gone through with it, giving him a foothold in House Forrester. I also believe that if Asher and Gwyn had eloped that Lord Gregor's eldest, Rodrik, would have met quite an unfortunate fate. And once Gwyn was with child, so would have Asher, followed by any male born to House Forrester."
"You truly think him such a villain?"
Their eyes met across the room. There was doubt in her blue eyes, though more on the desperate side than anything else. Catelyn did not want to believe a man so cold and cruel was near her.
"I do", Raya said after a moment. "House Whitehill has been a bane to House Stark, just like the Bolton's, only not so ancient. Actually, how does House Tully manage the quarrel between Blackwood and Bracken?"
Catelyn straightened her spine, an expression of pride settling over her features. It happened whenever Raya acknowledged she had been Lady Tully almost all her life. She ought to do so more often.
"House Tully is quite like House Tyrell — many of our own vassals are more powerful than we are, at least in matters of men at arms and personal history, which forces us to perform a rather exhausting dance of appeasing and soothing the tempers of the Riverlords, but only for a while. Permanent favour given to any of them will cause unrest amongst all others, doubly so in the matters of Blackwood and Bracken. Some of my ancestors let the King settle their matters for them, but only rarely. I am certainly glad they caused no actual strife during my father's time yet."
"I see", Raya muttered. "What would you suggest to Eddard, if he were to ask?"
Catelyn was quiet for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration and thought. She only gave Raya her attention again when she finished the third wolf on the blanket.
"I would give Asher leave to take Gwyn as his wife. Such a marriage would bind them together without risking either heir, but if Lord Ludd is as you say he is, he will need to be kept in check in other ways."
"The Whitehill's have no children young enough to foster, but the Forrester's do. Mayhaps showing Lord Gregor favour in taking young Mira into our care would curb Lord Ludd's ambitions for a while."
"It could give them false hope in regards to a future betrothal to Robb." A slight grimace flittered over her face, gone as soon as it had come. "Or Jon."
Raya gave her an encouraging smile. She was trying. Jon remained a sore subject, but Catelyn's motherly instincts seemed stronger than her pride.
"Perhaps being truthful with Lord Gregor about the intent of the fostering would eliminate any false hopes", she suggested. House Forrester was a vassal of a vassal and therefore a rather unsuitable family for bringing forth Robb's future bride. "Any further children of House Whitehill could be taken as well."
Fostering was usually done to build friendships, as Lord Rickard intended with Eddard and Robert, or to see if children could grow to respect each other enough to tolerate a marriage between them, as he had done with Raya and numerous families. While House Bolton had no boys her age during her earlier visits, House Glover and Karstark did. Though the Glover's were too close kin to consider anyone but a distant cousin as her husband.
"A hostage", Catelyn said, pulling Raya out of her wandering thoughts.
"More or less. Any child of Lord Ludd would be treated well, but I doubt he would not see our intent behind it."
"A delicate situation."
"And an unlikely one, in truth. Asher has been in Essos for three years now, if he even lives." He had been counting barely four-and-ten name-days when his father had banished him. Sellswords rarely did well and one as young as he? Raya shook her head.
"Better to have a vague plan than to flop about like a fish out of water."
Raya grinned.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Maester Luwin had gone and come from Britta's farmstead, reporting that the true work had begun — a dozen men, volunteers from Wintertown, were doing the heavy lifting of cleaning up the fields from the rotten harvest and repairing any tools necessary. He also reported that Britta had been quite busy teaching the children their way around the equipment, though Sara had not been allowed to touch any.
Raya let out a deep sigh. They would have to buy seeds for the farm soon, to allow the first harvest as soon as possible. A few animals would not go amiss either — a few goats and a cow, northern breeds to survive upcoming winters.
"—so many ideas, my Lady!", Maester Luwin gushed, almost dropping his notes as he scrambled to pull forth the one he wished to show her.
"Calm yourself, Maester", Raya chuckled, leaning back into her chair. Her eyes fell onto his Maester's chain, which was nothing more than a rather simple-looking choker made from few links and held together by a leather cord. Lead, silver, steel, black iron and even a link of valyrian steel, the rippled steel gleaming in the torchlight. "I had the impression you were learned in only agriculture, healing, herblore and ravenry. And magic."
"Ah, the Higher Mysteries are quite a fascinating thing", he quickly said, tugging at his chain nervously. "But magic died when the dragons did, no doubt about it. But you are correct, my Lady. I have not done the final steps of obtaining a link for architecture, but I nonetheless attended quite a few lectures at the Citadel. Any my ideas are nothing more than observations from the cities I have seen — Oldtown, King's Landing and even White Harbor."
Raya bowed her head in acknowledgement. In truth, she had little idea of how the Citadel worked beyond the surface of it.
"Ah, yes", he muttered, pulling forth a crumbled piece of paper covered in equal parts writing and ink smudges. "Wintertown will likely never compete with Oldtown and certainly not with King's Landing, the North lacks the population for that, but it could nonetheless grow to become an impressive town, a place of refuge in the harsher winters and a place of commerce in the warmer moons."
Luwin handed Raya the paper, but the Maester's casual handwriting was as atrocious as Benjen's — intended to be eligible for only the author. The paper itself was nothing more than numbers, many crossed out and replaced with new ones, often smaller ones, and words. Raya struggled to make out most of the words, but the first was 'Apothecaries', followed by a four.
"I fear you must explain, Maester", Raya said after another moment, rubbing her eyes. If she tried to stubbornly read it, she would only reward herself with a headache.
"Ah, of course", he said before clearing his throat, "Grenn has finished the survey you requested. According to him, there are about six dozen residents left in Wintertown, not counting the men that have left to work on the farmstead. Half of these six dozen are veterans of the rebellion, injured or crippled to prevent them from picking up the trade they did before the banners were called. The other half are those who half always lived in Winterfell's shadow, like Fryda and Frygg. Ah, there is also the, uh, inn", he said, coughing. The Smoking Log was officially an inn, but the people usually referred to it as a brothel. "And then there are the orphans. Grenn was only able to give me an estimate of four dozen children, of varying ages. I suspect the number being closer to five dozen children, with the majority being between the age of two-and-ten and six-and-ten."
The numbers did not surprise Raya, she had known from Fryda that many women whose husbands had not come home had turned their eyes elsewhere, either to places where they knew their family lived or even south, to find a new husband in the lands of our new allies. Catelyn had mentioned that it reminded her of the Widows Fairs after the Dance.
"It is likely we will lose most of the residents, while the numbers of the orphans will only grow." Especially once she would actively request them.
"I do agree", Luwin said, "Grenn has made note of those that have said they will remain, for one reason or another." He pulled out another piece of paper, handing it to Raya. This one was clearly written in a different hand, though one that was quite new to writing altogether. Luwin had taught Grenn and Jasper personally.
There was a long list of names, most unfamiliar to Raya — the orphans. All but three had the comment of 'temporary?' next to their name. Mykael, Maryno and little Sara were noted as 'moved, employed at Britta's farmstead'. A rough explanation for their new circumstances, but nonetheless true.
Below the long list of orphans were the names of Wintertowns permanent residents, most of them marked with 'moved' or 'intents to move'. Fryda and Frygg were noted as 'staying', with the handwriting being quite a bit more shaky next to Fryda's name. Only three more would remain — Edgar, a blacksmith more familiar with making horseshoes than anything else, and Alys and Bessa, mother and daughter and in charge of the Smoking Log.
"Very well done", Raya said, "but please explain what you wrote, Maester."
"Ah, of course. I have made a list of important buildings that a town or smaller city would benefit from, such as bakeries, more than one inn and the like. I can refine it further, if you wish, and include old records from what the population might need in the colder moons."
"I would appreciate that, Maester. I have had no time yet to reach out to Lord Manderly in regards to builders and masons."
The man bowed his head, collected his notes and scrambled out of her solar.
Notes:
Eighth is one of the worst words, for sure.
Chapter Text
284 AC — Fourth Week, Tenth Moon
Once again the members of House Stark were bent over dozens of maps depicting the entirety of the North, from the nine-and-ten castles of the Night's Watch —most of them long abandoned— along the Wall to the borders of the Neck's swamp. The most recent map had been commissioned by Lord Rickard, though now after the rebellion quite a few of the smaller noble Houses were extinct, and had been even illustrated, showing the Wolfswood and the more fertile region of the Barrowlands.
"House Woolfield already have impressive herds of sheep, it would take them nothing to give Lady Lyessa enough to start a new herd. White Harbor could export the processed wool across the Narrow Sea and south. A betrothal between Landor Flint and Wylla Manderly would bind all three families together", Eddard rambled, rubbing his chin.
Raya leaned forward, catching Catelyn's confused gaze.
"Leona Woolfield is wife of Ser Wylis Manderly. Lady Lyessa is the regent for her son, Robin Flint of Widow's Watch. Landor is her second and youngest son, of age with the second daughter of Wylis, Wylla." Both her and Landor had been born earlier that year, only two weeks apart, and a marriage between them would allow the heirs, Robin and Wynafryd, to have even better matches.
Catelyn gave her a thankful smile.
"But would Lord Manderly not be displeased with us negotiating a betrothal in his stead?", Benjen asked.
"If we were to outright do so, yes", Raya said, "but Lord Manderly is a smart man. A few subtle references and he himself might take the step to formalize it. And even if he does not, no marriage between Wylla and Landor would stop the Houses from cooperating. House Woolfield has the sheep, House Flint the better land to feed them and House Manderly the workshops to process raw wool."
"But why do we need to expand the sheep herds to begin with?"
To Raya's surprise, it was Catelyn that replied.
"Because every winter, the North has to decide if they need coin or wool in the face of surviving the cold. Expanding the herds makes that choice obsolete."
284 AC — First Week, Eleventh Moon
Robb and Jon looked utterly peaceful when asleep, a stark contrast to the wailing of the past few days. While they had started teething a while ago, the pain seemed to have increased, keeping both Sabryna and Catelyn awake for most nights.
"Raya?", a voice mumbled, quiet and low.
Catelyn had fallen asleep in one of the chairs, Robb's blanket draped over her lap. She had finished it a moon ago, yet kept insisting on adding more wolves to it. From a dozen chasing after each other along the edge, the blanket now sported over thirty.
"Forgive me for waking you", Raya replied, her voice equally quiet. "I merely wanted to look at them. We have been so awfully busy lately."
"Eddard and Luwin have kept us quite busy with their plans, yes", Catelyn agreed, straightening herself on the chair. Falling asleep again would only give her an achy back tomorrow.
"We had no time to continue our lessons on the North either", Raya muttered, tucking Jon's blanket a bit more closely around him.
"Perhaps connecting these lessons with Eddard's plans would be useful?"
Raya hummed, sitting down across from Catelyn.
"House Ryswell, then?"
Catelyn merely nodded.
"Contrary to general belief, House Ryswell are quite young in the grand scheme of things. In ancient times it was House Ryder that ruled the Rills as Kings. House Stark made them submit and somewhere between then and today, House Ryswell replaced them. Rodrik Ryswell is the current Lord, with five children to his name — two daughters and three sons. The relationship between our families have soured, mainly because Lord Rickard slighted them twice. Lord Rodrik wished for Bethany to be Brandon's wife and Barbrey to be Eddard's, but both suggestions were turned down rather… harshly", Raya said, remembering well how indifferent Lord Rickard had been to either Ryswell daughter, in comparison to Catelyn herself. "Bethany became Lady Bolton and Barbrey was quickly married to Lord Willam Dustin."
"Why the haste?"
Raya eyed Catelyn, unsure if she truly did not know. She was reluctant to speak the truth, but Catelyn had practically begged for honesty, moons ago.
"Brandon took Barbrey's maidenhead during his fostering and wished to marry her. He was already betrothed to you by then and Lord Rickard refused. Once it was clear that Brandon did not get her with child, Barbrey was married off to Willam. As of now she is the ruling Lady of House Dustin, though I do not doubt that within a year or two Willam's kin will come to petition her removal. She is a Dustin by marriage and a young widow, with no child of the blood. I am surprised her father did not command her to remarry."
Catelyn was quiet for so long that Raya feared she had fallen asleep again.
"He made me believe he loved me", she finally ground out, the fury in her voice evident. "He mentioned that woman, once. He—"
"Brandon was incapable of loving anyone but himself", Raya said, almost wincing at how harsh she sounded.
Catelyn's blue eyes met hers. They were full of hate and hurt.
"His arrogance went hand in hand with his pride. He never wanted to marry to begin with, for he loved to sleep with any woman pretty enough, and certainly not a southron bride. I think he hoped by getting Barbrey with child he could escape the fate that Lord Rickard had created for him."
The silence stretched between them, though it was not an awkward one. Catelyn's hands, trembling from rage, were clawed into Robb's blanket. Minutes went by, the quiet only occasionally broken by sleepily babbled words from the babes.
"Brandon", Catelyn finally spat out, "would have treated me worse." It was neither a statement nor a question.
"I do not believe he would have hurt you physically, but", Raya said, hesitating for only a moment, "I do believe that he would have fathered many bastards throughout his life." If he had not already. Elric was the living proof that even Lord Rickard, happily married to Lady Lyarra, would occasionally stray from the marriage bed.
Catelyn lowered her head, the fiery strands of her hair obscuring her face.
While the woman had thawed quite noticeably towards little Jon, his presence was still a rather sore spot for Catelyn. Raya averted her eyes, letting her gaze wander over Eddard's son. Robb was a bit bigger than Jon, due to being a few moons older. His hair was already a strange mixture between his father's brown locks and his mother's red hair, looking like Eddard's until light shone onto it. Thankfully his eyes had brightened noticeably, being a pale blue instead of a copy of his mother's ocean-coloured eyes.
Perhaps she ought to speak with Eddard about telling Catelyn the truth about Jon.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Eddard's solar was uncomfortably quiet after Raya had stopped talking. Benjen was tugging at the hem of his tunic, pulling loose threads from it.
"And you truly believe she will not tell anyone?", Eddard finally asked.
Raya almost scoffed. Catelyn had not received any letters these past moons, not from her father, her sister, or anyone else. She was a lonely woman, drowning herself in the care for her son and what little tasks she had been granted these past few moons.
"I doubt she still harbours the fear that we would let Jon usurp Robb's rights as your heir, but telling her the truth would certainly get rid of it. Then it is only a matter of thoroughly explaining Princess Elia and her children's fate to her to make her understand that Jon's identity can never be revealed to anyone but family. Even Jon himself cannot be told until he is old enough to truly understand what it would cost us if the wrong people knew about it."
Robert Baratheon would demand Jon's head. Mayhaps even Eddard's. The North would not yield, meaning war. Jon Arryn would be caught in between, either falling behind his King or not. Most likely, he would remain neutral, advocate for peace. The Crownlands would likely rebel or join the North, far too fond of the dragons as they are, while the Westerlands and Stormlands would rise for the King. The Riverlands would follow the North. Dorne would remain neutral, most likely, unless their hatred for the Lannister's was strong enough to make them unwilling allies. The realm would be split into factions.
The Iron Islands would likely raid the western shore, uncaring for the unfolding conflict and only seeing it as an opportunity to reave.
"I will have to think about it", Eddard said into the quiet of the room, pulling Raya back from her spiralling thoughts.
"I could not ask for anything more", she conceded.
284 AC — Third Week, Eleventh Moon
Eddard handed Benjen a stack of paper — notes from the purchases of seeds and a few animals for Britta's farmstead. The rye was already planted, in the hopes that it would grow enough to protect the fields from snowfall later this year and allow for an early harvest the coming year.
"I do not feel comfortable with telling Catelyn the truth, yet", Eddard confessed quietly. "While I am fond of my wife, we are still strangers."
Benjen handed Raya the papers, with Maester Luwin's report on top. Britta's farmstead had been one of the largest near Winterfell, using their close location to the White Knife to irrigate their fields with the river water, but it also meant they needed quite a few hands to seed the fields. The men that had been sent to clear them up had opted to stay on as farmhands, leaving even more buildings in Wintertown empty.
Raya's grey eyes met Eddard's.
"If you wait too long, she will be furious. A year, two at most. If we do not tell her by then, we might as well take the truth to our graves."
"You truly think so?"
"I do."
Eddard let out a deep sigh.
"A year, then. We will tell her at the end of next year."
"You will tell her. You may count on my support, and Benjen's, but you need to explain it to her. It was your decision to hide him as your son. You could have said it was Brandon's bastard, son of Ashara Dayne. Or even keep him a secret until you came here and ask for Benjen or I to claim him. True, any other option would bring different issues with it, but still."
Eddard grimaced.
"You are right, of course."
Raya hid her knowing smile behind the papers.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
While not proven true, it was generally believed that both Houses Flint, of Flint's Finger and Widow's Watch, originally came from the Flint's of the mountain clans. In turn it was also believed that the branch west of the Neck was the older of the two, simple because the land itself was referring to the Flint's. It was all ancient history, lost because records were only kept within orally told stories.
Lord Byam, the Flint of Flint's Finger, was already counting eighty-and-two name-days, yet the glint in his eyes spoke of an active and healthy mind. He had come to settle the matter of his succession, well aware that another winter might mean death for him.
"Bram", the man said, his voice wheezy, "is a good lad. Three sons, all hale and healthy. Thorren is the oldest, three-and-ten."
"What is your relation to him, my Lord?", Eddard asked politely.
"Bram's my oldest surviving nephew of my late brother."
Raya exchanged a quick glance with Catelyn. All Raya could tell her was that Lord Byam had outlived his own sons and grandsons, the last of them falling at the Trident.
"Do you expect there to be resistance?", Eddard asked after a moment. The matter of succession was usually not something House Stark involved themselves with.
Lord Byam let out a rough laugh, the sound lapsing into a coughing fit. It took quite a while for the old man to breathe clear once again.
"I know there will be resistance, Lord Stark", he said, almost spitting the words. "My House has been blessed with many sons, but most of the lads are nothing more than vicious chicken, ready to pick each other to death for my seat and title."
It was the harsh truth. Lord Byam himself had been blessed with five sons, each of them having at least one true-born son and multiple bastards, if Raya's information were accurate. Bouts of sickness had thinned the herd, so to speak, leaving Lord Byam with a single son —the eldest— and two grandsons, one of which had been kicked in the head by a horse and died a fortnight before the northern army started their march south. His son had died two moons later, never waking from his sleep. House Flint of Flint's Finger was filled with the Lord's nephews, cousins of various degrees and more bastards than any other, yet succession could see the family rip each other apart.
"What do you require of me?", Eddard finally asked.
"Your support in my named heir and perhaps more direct protection for his sons, certainly for Thorren."
Eddard's eyes found Raya's, a silent plea in his.
"We could certainly foster Thorren and his younger siblings here at Winterfell", she said, "and Bram is welcome to personally accompany them to meet Eddard and Catelyn. Otherwise, perhaps a visit from Benjen and I to your family's seat. I have never been south of Moat Cailin."
A satisfied smile spread over Lord Byam's wrinkled face.
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Catelyn had taken over the duty to ensure Lord Byam's guest quarters were comfortable. The old man was not inclined to stay longer than he needed to, so he would only spend a single night at Winterfell before making his way back home.
"The lands of Lord Byam are even better suited than those of Widow's Watch, a herd of sheep could boost the economy for Bram and his sons to further secure their place."
"You have my leave to discuss such matters with them once you visit them", Eddard said. "Are you certain we ought to take all three of Bram's sons?"
"If the situation is as dire as I suspect it is and as Lord Byam eluded to, then his wishes will be ignored the second his last breath leaves him. Bram will be killed, the children too, and more likely quite a few more."
Eddard let out a tired sigh.
"Cousin", Raya said gently, "we might be dealing with quite a few succession issues in the coming years. Lord Byam is only the first to approach us. House Dustin might be next. Even the Cerwyn's are not secure." Jonelle Cerwyn had been her father's heir for near two decades now, but the recent birth of her brother Cley had shifted the dynamic again. Yet the boy was, like his mother, sick since birth. There was a chance he would not make it to his first name-day. Lord Medger's mother had been the sister of the late Lord Condon, making it possible that they would demand another member of their family and cousin to Lord Medger himself to be made heir in place of Jonelle.
Eddard let out yet another sigh.
284 AC — First Week, Twelfth Moon
"How would we even contact the mountain clans? They are nomadic in nature, hold no ravens and rarely venture outside of the mountain range."
Raya lowered the ledger detailing ancient trading agreements between House Stark and the other northern Houses. Nestled in between two pages she had found a crumbling contract between Harlon Stark, King of Winter, and Rogar Bolton, the last of the Red Kings, written in the runic script of the Old Tongue. Sadly, Raya was only ever taught the most basic runes and therefore was unable to make out anything besides the names.
"The same way one would request entrance to Greywater Watch — you present yourself for all to see and wait for them to approach you", Raya replied. "If you truly wish to include them in your plans, then you must personally go. I doubt they would accept Benjen or I in your stead."
The mountain clans did not care for politics and rarely got involved in anything that did not concern them to begin with, though they had sworn themselves to the Stark in Winterfell in ancient times and had yet to even bend their oath. If they were called, they answered, loyally.
"The matter is not pressing enough to excuse myself wandering through the mountains for days or even weeks, yet. Perhaps in the coming year then."
Raya let out a hum, her eyes already on Lord Rickard's map that now hung behind Eddard's chair.
"Would you be opposed to employing a member of House Tyre permanently?"
"Whatever for?"
"Besides the mountain clans, they are the only family that speaks the Old Tongue before the common one. I would like to learn from them and have them teach the children in turn. The language of our ancestors has been largely forgotten."
Eddard narrowed his eyes at her. Raya lifted the yellowed parchment from the pages.
"Until Aegon's Conquest, all internal official correspondence of House Stark was written in the runes of the Old Tongue. After, within a single decade, the use of our ancestor's language practically vanished. I am not saying we ought to return to the practice, but we should still be fluent in it, if only to make some sense of these contracts."
After a moment, Eddard nodded.
284 AC — Third Week, Twelfth Moon
Frú Raya Stark
Vár ætt sómi ér lysta at annarr ætt Stark vár kyn tunga. Seni minn ellztr, Rickon, þjóna at kennima ðr. Vaenta sik í helmingr tungl.
Our House is honoured that you wish to have one of ours teach the members of House Stark our ancestors tongue. I have sent my eldest, Rickon, to serve as your teacher. Expect him within half a moon.
Vér Minnask — We Remember
Marrok Tyre, Magnar at Renan Standa, Lord of Renan's Rest
Notes:
There is not much regarding the Old Tongue in the wiki or on the website of the inventor of Valyrian, so I'll be using Old Norse to the best of my abilities.
Chapter Text
285 AC — First Week, First Moon
Benjen cleared his throat for the second time, breaking the strained silence between them. Raya had feared that he would bring up the topic again, once everything had calmed down enough to allow for such a conversation.
"No", Raya said, before Eddard could even open his mouth.
"Why not?", Benjen cried, almost stomping his foot like a petulant child.
Raya rubbed the bridge of her nose, already feeling a headache building up.
"House Stark is weak. Children as young as Robb die plenty enough and women die in childbirth all the time. All it takes is a bit of misfortune and we would be left with nothing but us three, and a bastard. So no, you cannot join the Night's Watch."
"I was raised to join them!"
Raya hummed in quiet agreement before meeting Eddard's dark grey eyes.
"Both Benjen and I will need to marry, have children of our own."
"I do not want a wife!"
Her pale grey eyes snapped to meet Benjen's narrowed ones.
"It is your duty to House Stark to secure the succession, Ben. If Eddard has no more children, then yours will be next in line. If you are so determined to serve in the Night's Watch, then follow Jeor Mormont's example — have children, have a secure line of succession and then leave to serve the North."
"Who would you have me marry then?", he scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head, looking anywhere but at Raya or his brother.
Raya leaned back in her chair. There were plenty of widows left behind, most of them young enough to have more children. Lady Lyessa would be an option, having two sons to continue her late husbands line. Another option would be Lady Barbrey Dustin, effectively removing her entirely from House Dustin and preventing a succession war between her and blood-related members. She was a couple of years older than Benjen. Though there was no doubt in Raya's mind that he would prefer someone closer in age, like Lady Jonelle Cerwyn or a Karstark cousin. After all, she had no wish to condemn either of them to a loveless marriage.
"There are plenty of options", she said after another moment. "Some you will like less than others, but the decision should be yours. Perhaps", she added, turning to look at Eddard, "it would help if he were to meet some of the potential brides."
"What are you suggesting?"
"We already talked about our need to speak with certain Lords or Regents in person, especially those we have more concrete plans for, like House Manderly and Umber. Benjen and I could make a tour throughout the North, mainly for these projects and further assessing their needs, but at the same time we could look for potential marriage candidates."
Benjen muttered unhappily underneath his breath.
Eddard leaned forward, a rather concerned look on his face.
"If done incorrectly, it could anger quite a few Lords. The Maiden's Day Ball after the Dance was a disaster for many Houses."
"So it was", Raya agreed, "but we would not announce it at all. If Benjen favours one of the women we will meet, then we will invite her and the head of her family to discuss the betrothal, marriage, bride price and dowry, otherwise the only things we will discuss during the tour will be the projects and the petitions your vassals will bring before us."
"And what if Benjen favours none of them?", Benjen said, almost snarling.
Raya's and Eddard's heads snapped towards him. Benjen wilted under their combined gaze.
"Then you will marry for duty, like Eddard and Catelyn have done", Raya said, almost gently. Lately, she and Catelyn had often spoken about her marriage prospects besides Eddard and the conversation had been rather depressing.
House Tully generally avoided marrying any member of either House Vance and neither did they look at the Houses Blackwood and Bracken, to prevent their feuds from growing further and involving them. The only other acceptable Houses in the Riverlands were the Darry's, Frey's and Whent's. House Darry had lost much of their land after the rebellion, due to being Targaryen loyalist, and further fell out of grace when Ser Willem fled to Essos with the remaining Targaryen children. House Frey, while a good option in theory, was no option at all. Lord Frey had so many sons, many of them already married, that marriage for Catelyn would be very far beneath her, sullying her in a roundabout way. Additionally, the man's actions during the rebellion, delaying answering the call of his liege for weeks, could not be rewarded. And House Whent, if they had not been diminished to a single elderly woman during Robert's rebellion, was Catelyn's mother's House, making them too close in relation in many people's eyes. She had to marry outside the Riverlands. Yet many Lord Paramount's had no sons her age, free of any kind of duty unlike Jaime Lannister, and the rebellion prevented Lord Tully from reaching out, being forced to take the next best option after Brandon's death — Eddard.
Raya shook her head, turning her pale gaze back to her cousins.
"With your leave, Eddard, I will inform Catelyn of the additional duties she will take over while I am away on the tour."
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Raya and Catelyn were sharing the same solar for weeks now, with two desks across from each other that built an island of organized chaos. One wall of the room was entirely covered in towers of books, ledgers and loose papers the two of them and Maester Luwin had collected regarding the North's economy, going as far back as to the times of Lord Barthogan Stark. They often shared the solar with Benjen, going through the documents and comparing them to the current financial records.
"I feel ill-prepared", Catelyn confessed after a moment.
"You are not", Raya said immediately, letting out a huff. "Cat, you have been working beside me for almost three moons now. You were the Lady of Riverrun since you were one-and-ten. From the beginning you were far more qualified than I, with the only gap in knowledge being regarding northern customs and House Stark's history. If something comes up during my absence then you ought to ask Eddard or Gwynn."
"How long will you be gone?"
"The majority of the year, I say. I do not plan on staying anywhere longer than I have to, but Lord Flint's visit and the rapid emptying of our granaries are concerning. Speaking of, we ought to consider buying more grain in the near future. Lord Manderly has graciously agreed to trade with Braavos and supply the eastern shore if necessary, but our western side and the Night's Watch will be growing desperate quite soon." Especially if the Ironborn would raid again.
"When do you leave?"
"In a fortnight, although all the ravens to the noble Houses will be sent by tomorrow. House Cerwyn will be our first and last stop. Here, I made a copy of the travel plan", Raya said, handing her the list of holdfasts Benjen and she would be visiting.
From Cerwyn they would ride south, to Greywater Watch and Flint's Finger. House Reed's ancestral keep was ever on the move, preventing even the smartest ravens to find their way to it. Raya had sent a rider, asking if they needed House Stark's support. The rider had returned, empty-handed. A crannogmen had taken his message but had sent him back without a reply. And ever since — Silence. Eddard had mentioned that the message had likely been forgotten, since Lord Howland had accompanied him to Dorne and back, forced to travel from White Harbor to the Neck on horseback.
From Greywater Watch they would ride to the Flint's Finger, giving the weight of two members of House Stark to Lord Byam's words. They would only stay a week, leaving at the same time as Bram to accompany his sons to Winterfell. The boys would remain there for many years to come, likely.
Their next stop would be Barrowtown. Raya expected a rather cold welcome from Lady Barbrey herself, but the woman could not afford to slight House Stark in any way, if she wanted to keep her position as the ruling lady of House Dustin. No doubt plenty of the late Lord Willam's relatives would wish to speak with Benjen and her. All in all, their stay at Barrowtown would be a rather delicate and uncomfortable one.
After that, they would ride for Greenhill Keep, House Ryswell's seat nestled in between the rolling hills of the Rills. Their welcome would be not much warmer than Lady Barbrey's, but Lord Rodrik would be very interested in the proposal for a more distinct northern breed of horse, especially with the contract that would bind House Stark to a future purchase.
Torrhen's Square and House Tallhart were next and while Raya was sure they would be warmly received, she was also sure Master Helman would mention the talks of betrothal between him and Lord Rickard for Raya and one of Helman's nephews before the rebellion. Eddard had already given her leave to denounce his father's promises, if any were given, but nonetheless, she was not looking forward to the conversation.
From Torrhen's Square they would ride for Deepwood Motte, the wooden fortress of House Glover. They would be their guests for nearly a fortnight, due to Raya's familial relations, no doubt seeing their closest vassals too, before taking a ship to Bear Island, to see House Mormont.
They would take another ship from Bear Island, sailing through the Bay of Ice and up the Gorge to the Shadow Tower, the most western keep of the Night's Watch. From there they would ride for Castle Black, stay a week, and lastly, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, before turning south again and riding for Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber. There, Raya would no doubt be subjected to another conversation regarding Lord Rickard's interest in a potential betrothal.
House Karstark, their next stop, would house them at the Karhold for another fortnight, once again due to Raya's familial relations. Then, they would ride for the Dreadfort. Although Raya had argued for another fortnight, she had relented when both Eddard and Benjen had argued against it — while she understood that Houses Stark and Bolton had a bloody history, her own grandmother had been Lord Roose Bolton's aunt and she had spent plenty of time at the Dreadfort in her younger years.
From the Dreadfort they would ride for Hornwood, where Lord Halys and his family would host them for a week before their journey took them further east, to the lands of the Flint's of Widow's Watch. Lady Lyessa and her sons would only host them for a few days, their holdfast too small and suffering from two failed harvests already. They would ride for Ramsgate, the seat of House Woolfield, vassals of House Manderly, and stay for a couple of days before continuing their tour to Oldcastle, the holding of House Locke. Eddard and Benjen's grandmother had been a Locke by birth, so they would stay for a fortnight.
Their last official stop would be White Harbor, the North's only city and House Manderly's pearl. Raya had already planned a fortnight for their stay, knowing the jolly Lord would welcome them heartily for moons if they were so inclined. But their stay was mainly for discussing trade and harvests.
The tour would then end with another stay at Castle Cerwyn, before they returned to Winterfell.
Raya's attention turned back to Catelyn.
"If you truly need my advise specifically, then I promise I will send a raven whenever we reach or leave a holdfast, so you always know where I am. But in turn, promise me, Cat, that you will speak with Eddard first." She had noticed lately that Catelyn preferred to speak with Raya, even for topics where both knew her husband would know more.
Catelyn let out a soft sigh.
"I promise, Raya."
ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ — ᚠᛁᛉᛒᛗᛚᛟ
Rickon Tyre was only a year older than Eddard, but he seemed somehow ancient. Raya firmly faulted the traditional clothes, leather, fur and bones of all things, and the fact that the man had come not on horseback, but on the back of a massive elk.
"Lord Stark", he greeted, his voice even deeper than Eddard's. "My father sends his regards." Then, his eyes, brown as the earth, moved to look at the rest of them. "Lady Raya, Lady Catelyn, Lord Benjen", he said, nodding to each of them.
"Lord Rickon—"
"I am no Lord, my Lord", the man said, interrupting Eddard almost gently. "The Night's Watch are our overlords, yet the Black Brother's hold no lands and no titles."
Queen Alysanne's New Gift had taken quite a bit of House Umber and the mountain clans lands, in the process giving the Night's Watch House Tyre and a few others as direct vassals but without the structure. House Tyre had lost their lordship.
"How would you prefer to be addressed?", Raya asked.
"Kennimaðr Rickon, my Lady. Teacher."
She gave him a warm smile and gestured for Gwynn to bring bread and salt. They would have to discuss the absence of Raya and Benjen and what exactly Rickon was supposed to do until they returned. Thankfully, Eddard had agreed to learn the Old Tongue as well, so he was likely to be graced by Rickon's attention for almost a full year.
285 AC — Third Week, First Moon
Eddard had insisted that Benjen and Raya be accompanied by a dozen guardsmen and that each of them had two horses that would take them from Castle Cerwyn to Deepwood Motte. The Black Brothers at the Shadow Tower had replied the week prior, confirming that they had enough horses to spare to lend them for the remainder of the journey back to Winterfell.
The horses, most of them palfreys and two rare chargers, were carrying six sacks each, filled with dried and smoked pieces of meat, cheese and two water skins, enough to get them from holdfast to holdfast without going hungry. They would also be accompanied by mules, one per three people, carrying tents, sleeping bags and thick furs. Most holdfast were a day or two apart, making it necessary to camp out in the cold at least once per ride.
Raya, as the only noble Lady in their party, had chosen Edolyn as her companion. They would share a tent and a room in the holdfasts, only apart for the few moments when Raya would use the privy.
The roar of a horn echoed through Winterfell's courtyard, followed by the organised chaos of a dozen men, armed and armoured, mounting up.
"Good-sister", Raya called out, her voice barely loud enough to be heard, "farewell."
Catelyn, a rather wobbly smile on her pale face, performed a elegant curtsy.
With one last glance at the red-headed woman, Raya turned and clicked her tongue, letting her palfrey fall into a comfortable trot. Castle Cerwyn was only half a day's ride away.
Notes:
A new year for House Stark and the prelude to some big conversations you can look forward to. :)
I know the chapter is a bit short, and the next one might be the same, but it made no sense to combine them or anything, so I'll try to post the next one relatively soon.
Joan_of_Arc on Chapter 3 Mon 11 Aug 2025 03:19PM UTC
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Last Edited Sun 17 Aug 2025 04:08PM UTC
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