Chapter Text
- Third Moon. Year 277 AD -
Of all his children, Rickard had the most confidence in his eldest daughter.
Eddara was born on the longest night of the year she was born. Lyarra had cradled her in her arms, still stained with blood and placenta, whispered blessings, and told her she would leave a great mark on the world.
Lyarra left this world two years after giving birth to Benjen.
If Winterfell survived, it was thanks to Branda, who took Eddara under her wing and raised her. By the age of eleven, Eddara was already moving through the halls of the former Kings of Winter with the bearing of the Lady of Winterfell.
Fourteen days after her birth, she was already a full-fledged young lady. Her bleeding began two moons ago. Any other lord would already be sending ravens to his bannermen, weighing his options, moving pieces. Which of his loyal vassals would he give Eddara to in marriage?
Rickard looked at the map of the North.
The Manderlys were a good choice. They had connections to the south but were northern enough to recognize the value of Edda.
"My lord," he heard the voice of Maester Walys.
Rickard looked up at the Maester. Walys approached slowly, a parchment in his wrinkled hands.
"A raven, my Lord," said Walys. "From King's Landing. From Tywin Lannister."
Rickard took the parchment from his hands and Tywin Lannister's elegant, curved handwriting appeared before his eyes.
"His Royal Highness Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, will embark on a tour to the North. He will depart from Dragonstone for Winterfell in a couple of days, where he will rest for a few days, and then continue his journey to the Wall."
The prince requests hospitality in accordance with ancient laws.
—Lord Twyin Lannister, Hand of the King”
"I begin the preparations, my lord."
"Tell Eddara that the prince is coming," Rickard informed her. "She is the hostess of Winterfell."
The room remained silent for a few more minutes until Rickard asked.
"Do you think the prince is coming to the North for another reason?"
"I don't know what you mean, my Lord?"
"No prince has ever gone to the Wall for a mere visit," Rickard replied. "The last time a Targaryen visited the North, there were still dragons in the sky."
"Does this have anything to do with Lady Eddara?"
Rickard took a deep breath.
What did the visit of a prince without an extensive royal escort, without a declared military purpose, without a prior agreement mean?
The most obvious answer was the least likely… but it still hit him hard.
Marriage.
Alliance.
And then, like a flash of lightning through the snow, his mind turned to his daughter.
Eddara.
She was his eldest daughter. Not the most impulsive—that was Lyanna—nor the most politically astute—that would be Brandon someday—but certainly the most balanced. The one most tempered by the North.
He had the serenity of wolves that observe before they pounce. And gray eyes that seemed to see more than they said.
A Stark at her best to present herself before a prince who did not yet have a fiancée.
An opportunity that would not come around again.
A possibility for the North.
For the Starks.
For her.
Rickard ran a hand through his beard, meditating.
The decision weighed heavily on his chest. The North did not surrender easily, not with alliances, not with kisses. But the stability of the kingdom had hung by a thread for years. Aerys was becoming increasingly erratic, volatile, dangerous.
A strong heir, linked to a powerful house like his, could mean a very different future for all of them.
Rhaegar Targaryen.
Eddard Stark.
Was it possible?
Was it desirable?
Rickard wasn't naive. The Targaryens had always chosen their spouses from among themselves. But Rhaegar had no sisters. There were no dragon princesses left for him. And the rumors of Queen Rhaella losing every child she conceived in the womb, from cradles occupied for days, only fueled the speculation.
So yes.
It was possible.