Chapter Text
[RHAENA]
The cool air nipped refreshingly at her face, a stark contrast to the oppressive summer’s embrace of King’s Landing. The city, which was a melting pot of various qualities of people, had an air that hung heavy and seemed to suffocate Rhaena Baratheon from the moment she stepped within its walls.
When she was young, her father, Stannis Baratheon, had departed from Dragonstone to tend to his duties on the Small Council within King’s Landing. Rhaena remained on Dragonstone until her thirteenth Name Day when she bled for the first time. Following this, her fathers wife, Lady Selyse of House Florent, was adamant on sending her to Stannis in King’s Landing to find her a wealthy suitor.
Rhaena knew only later that this was Lady Selyse’s revenge— a foul attempt to remove her from all of their lives. She was the daughter of Stannis from a previous marriage, and a child born out of love unlike Shireen who was a failed attempt at a male heir. A boy would’ve been ideal, but Stannis knew Rhaena’s strength and intelligence could rival any male child he might’ve bore. That was most evident to him when they were reunited in King’s Landing.
Men, older than himself, came to Stannis begging for her hand in marriage. And he refused every single one of them for the sake of her happiness.
But she was sixteen, unmarried, and with the war that was most certainly brewing, he needed allies. Once the death of Jon Arryn had reached his ears, he had disappeared from the city within the hour. Him and Lord Arryn had stumbled down a dangerous path of conspiracy, and that would mean he had to return to Dragonstone and consolidate his power— prepare.
Rhaena was instructed to follow her Aunt and Uncle through to the North. The Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, was going to be made Hand of the King. It would forge an even stronger bond between House Stark and House Baratheon, yet Stannis needed one that was unbreakable— such as the vows of marriage.
Robert revealed his desire to match the eldest Stark daughter, Sansa, to his oldest boy Joffrey. But if Stannis’ hunch was correct, all that marriage would do is bind the Starks to the Lannisters. He needed something foolproof which only his daughter could provide.
Rhaena held no clue as to why she had to follow her Uncle to the North, but Robert would make his intentions clear soon enough.
She rode towards Winterfell on horseback, a request which gave her Uncle Robert a hearty laugh, but he humoured her nonetheless. Her Aunt Cersei detested the idea and referred to it as unladylike. Rhaena cared little about her jest, she was trained to be more than just a Lady of Dragonstone.
The sight of the Castle was welcoming as the day grew nearer to its end. The temperature had dropped dramatically, making Rhaena’s cheeks appear with a soft tint of red. Her cousin, Joffrey, had done nothing but remind her of her place. He would reaffirm how he would need to enter the gates before her— something about respect for the future King and not wanting to insult the Starks with a woman riding in on horseback. He took his mothers stance, and declared her too, to be unladylike.
Though, that wasn’t at all how it was perceived to the Starks.
Her horse, Blaze, trotted along behind the tall and manned Baratheon flags that flapped furiously in the Northern winds. She was one of the first to ride in behind Joffrey, drawing attention away from her cousin and onto herself.
Ned Stark observed the girl, discovering that her dark eyes reminded him of both Robert and Stannis alike. Under the hood of her royal blue cloak, he also spotted the curls of her raven black hair. She was a Baratheon, if he ever saw one.
Though there was something unfamiliar that he couldn’t place until Robert emerged through the gates. Then, it became obvious. Her skin. It was easily several shades darker than her Uncles. Her father and Uncles always had porcelain skin, whereas hers was like golden honey— made for the climate of Dorne.
Stannis had always claimed she was lucky to have such a complexion, alongside every other feature she had inherited from her mother.
Rhaena’s hair was black, like her Grandmother Allyria Martell and her father Stannis, but unlike her mother who had the silver hair of a Valyrian.
Jaehaera Baratheon, Rhaena’s mother, was born a Vaeleris, and Jaehaera’s mother, with her dominant features, was from Dorne. The Dornish were known for their attractiveness, although Rhaena wasn’t so sure being attractive in her world was a good thing. Perhaps it was why she reeled in so many old men, hoping to marry her and be the first one to bed her youthful-self.
Arya Stark, alike the girl in many ways, beamed up at her when she saw the sheath of a shortsword from under her cloak. It appeared she was not only proficient in horse riding, but also with blades too. One could only wonder what kind of wild thing Stannis Baratheon had raised.
Jon Snow, standing proud behind the Starks, found his eyes glued to this woman. And despite these masculine traits, she was more graceful and ladylike than most of the other highborn women he had met.
When removed her hood, Jon sucked in an icy cold breath. Even Theon beside him couldn’t contain himself.
An armoured knight, Ser Jaime Lannister approached the Baratheon’s horse as she adjusted herself to dismount. He held up a hand for her, and she met his gaze through his helm. She offered her uncle-in-law a tight-lipped smile and accepted his gentlemanly gesture.
With ease, he helped her feet touch the ground and as she took off her gloves, she tried hard not to think about the mud that was now collecting on the bottom of her cloak.
King Robert, who had already reacquainted himself with the Starks, stood proud of his niece.
“My beautiful niece, Rhaena Baratheon,” King Robert grinned, holding an arm out for her as she walked over. She kept her head fixed up straight, handing off her gloves to one of the Kingsguards. “Sometimes I wonder how such a girl is the spawn of my younger brother.”
Rhaena couldn’t help but smile. The Baratheon men were quite handsome in their youth, but stresses of the war and crown overtook them with the years.
“Let us not give my father all the credit, Uncle.” She said with a smirk, turning to the Stark’s.
Ned Stark, with a warm smile, bowed his head. “My Lady, I hope the trip to Winterfell was not too rough.”
“It was not, My Lord.” Rhaena politely returned the gesture. “The cold is refreshing, I find.”
Ned brightened at her words, watching as she turned to his wife Lady Catelyn.
“My Lady.” Catelyn greeted.
Rhaena repeated the greeting back to Lady Stark, her eyes then following down to the small boy beside her. She moved across, lowering slightly to meet the eyes of the boy. “Hello, what’s your name?”
Catelyn smiled warmly down at her son who seemed excited that the attention was on him. “Rickon!” He squeaked.
“It’s lovely to meet you, My Lord.” She straightened up, meeting Catelyn’s thankful gaze and smiling. Then, she moved on, coming to a halt at the eldest Stark boy.
He was positively gorgeous, with icy blue eyes that couldn’t seem to pull away from her face since she had arrived. “My Lady.” Robb spoke, taking Rhaena’s hand and pressing his lips on her skin as one might the Queen.
Rhaena was almost taken back by the gesture until she caught the excited exchanged between Lord and Lady Stark. Her smile faltered, but as the handsome boy raised his head, she couldn’t help but let the smile flit back onto her face.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lord.” She said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Robb Stark was uncommonly attractive— or maybe it was just that the people of King’s Landing were commonly unattractive. His face was freshly shaven, and his dark auburn hair made him a perfect reflection of his mother. But his stance, his mannerisms and the strong shape of his face called a likeness to his father.
Robb smiled down at her, eyes following her as she moved onto Sansa.
“My Lady.” Sansa bowed her head.
Rhaena smiled, but then her eyes drifted past Sansa and onto a boy that looked remarkably like Lord Eddard Stark. She recalled her Uncle laughing many nights ago during their trip as he mentioned Snow, a living reflection of the only dishonourable deed Ned Stark ever committed. A bastard.
Her eyes softened upon meeting his own gaze. They were large and dark, like a doe. His face was shaved clean and he had hair the colour of aged oak that curled in a similar way to Robb.
Upon her gaze, the boy looked down quickly, keeping his eyes trained to the dirt. Rhaena’s eyes flitted back over to Sansa and she made sure to smile politely as she lifted her head.
She went on to greet Arya and Bran Stark, and Rhaena immediately noticed the girl's interest in her.
“Who taught you how to ride a horse?” The girl asked loudly out of turn.
Lady Sansa beside her turned, and scolded her sister's rudeness. “Forgive us, My Lady.” Sansa spoke meekly, and her nerves fell short when she saw the amused look on Rhaena’s face.
“A man they call Ser Davos Seaworth.” Rhaena revealed to the little girl. She then pushed aside her cloak and flashed her sheath. “He taught me a great many things, which my father allowed me to continue when I made my way to King’s Landing.”
Arya Stark beamed up happily at the woman in awe. She had never wanted to be born a girl, but fate decided otherwise. Though for now, Arya seemed content that a lady as elegant and respected as Rhaena Baratheon could accomplish proficiency in many masculine talents.
Finally, Rhaena moved on to the last boy, the second youngest, Brandon. He was a gentle child, and bowed his head respectfully.
“Robb, escort Lady Baratheon and her handmaid to her bedchambers.” Catelyn demanded watching as an olive-skinned young woman came rushing to Rhaena’s side. She had stronger features than Rhaena and a more pronounced nose that suggested Volantene background.
“Certainly, mother.” Robb obeyed, stepping out of line.
“Take me to your crypt.” King Robert demanded, coming to Rhaena’s side with Cersei trailing behind him. “I want to pay my respects.”
“We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.” Cersei interjected, making Robert give her a sharp look.
“Ned.” Was all Robert said, heading off in the direction of the crypt. Lord Stark looked at Cersei apologetically before following her husband.
Robb looked between Rhaena and Cersei, seeing the young girl offer the Queen a look of pity. Though, Rhaena knew that her aunt didn’t want her pity and the girl herself wasn’t one to give it so sparingly.
“Come now, My Lady.” Robb offered, holding out an arm for Rhaena. She looked to him, and a soft smile graced her face.
Accepting his arm, she turned and gestured for her handmaid, Vaera, to follow. The three headed off indoors with Vaera at a larger distance behind Robb and Rhaena.
“Are you enjoying the North so far, My lady? Not everyone is so fond of the snow.” Robb asked as they entered the castle halls which were notably empty as much of the staff and residents were outdoors to greet the King.
“I enjoy the cold, My Lord.” Rhaena responded, unlinking arms with him and clasping her hands behind her back. Then, a half smile flitted across her face. “Although I cannot say the same for my Aunt and cousins.”
“Aye, they didn’t seem quite as pleased to arrive as you did.” Robb replied, turning his head to the side to catch her smile. People that looked like her were quite uncommon this far North, she was almost refreshing in that sense. “How long does His Grace plan on staying in Winterfell?”
“Until he’s made his way through the entire brothel in Winter Town, I’m afraid.” Rhaena spoke, coming to a halt when she realised what she had said out loud. Robb paused, turning to look down at her with amusement.
The two stared at one another until grins broke out of their faces. As they came to walk again, Rhaena gaze flickered down to the stone ground. “I apologise, My Lord. I shouldn’t say such things about our beloved King.”
“No need for apologies, My Lady. I rather enjoyed that.” He said mischievously, making Rhaena smirk up at him. She then turned to see behind her and saw her handmaid looking down to the ground with a knowing smile.
“I saw the–” Kingslayer. Robb almost said. “--Ser Jaime Lannister help you down from your horse, is it true what they say about him?”
“That he’s the most handsome man in all of Westeros?” Rhaena asked jokingly, a jab at Robb’s broad question. She did, however, know many people who would consider her uncle-in-law as such.
Robb smiled down at the woman, stopping right outside her door. “That he’s the greatest swordsman who ever lived.” He corrected with a nod.
Rhaena had trained with uncle Jaime whenever he had the time. Sometimes she liked to think he liked her, but then moments would shine through where his sharpness would make her think otherwise. She thought the same with her aunt, Cersei. She sometimes treated Rhaena like she was her own child, but there was a distance in her, something that wouldn’t allow her to love. Cersei Lannisters love was reserved only for those of her own blood— not for the blood of Baratheon, whom she loathed more than anyone. Though, there were some times when Cersei wondered what it might be like to have a daughter as intelligent and graceful as Rhaena— masculine hobbies aside. It wasn’t that Myrcella wasn’t these things, but there was just something calling about Rhaena, something that made her a magnet of affection.
“It’s hard to say for certain, although he did let me disarm him once.” Rhaena revealed, bringing her hands from around her back and holding them together at the front.
Robb looked down at her in surprise. “You’ve practised with swords?”
Rhaena tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Do you find that so hard to believe, My Lord?”
“N-Not at all!-- My Lady.” Robb bit down on his tongue, reaching over and opening the wooden door. He then allowed both the Lady Rhaena and Handmaid Vaera to enter inside the room before him.
He stood by the door, a polite gesture to show he means not to invade Rhaena’s space.
“It isn’t much, but it’s built to keep you warm during the cold nights.” Robb told her, a proud sort of look on his face. He was certainly content with himself, and proud of his Northern heritage.
“It’s perfect, My Lord. Thank you.” She nodded her head at him.
“Supper will be ready come nightfall. I’ll have someone remind you.” Robb took a step outside of the room and grasped onto the door.
“Thank you again, My Lord.” Rhaena repeated, this time with a smile.
“It’s my pleasure, My Lady.” Robb bowed his head, shutting the door behind him.
The second his heavy footsteps faded, Vaera turned to Rhaena with a grin.
“He is quite handsome, My Lady.” She said, making Rhaena laugh.
“Quite.” Rhaena repeated, nodding her head in agreement.
“Although, did you manage to spot Lord Stark's bastard? The other handmaids were gushing about him before I left with you.” Vaera admitted, and an unwilling blush covered Rhaena’s tanned cheeks.
Her mind flashed with images of the dark-haired man with ever darker eyes. “He was the one with the dark curly brown hair?”
“Yes, My Lady.”
Rhaena’s lips formed a thin line. “Perhaps a suitable match for you then, Vaera.”
Vaera laughed out loud. “I apologise, My Lady.” She quickly recovered, looking to the ground.
“It’s quite alright, Vaera. You needn’t worry about formalities when we’re alone.” Rhaena reassured, a friendly smile on her face.
Noticing her trunks already in the bedchamber, her mind flashed over an idea. “Could you come undress me? I would like to wear something more fitting for supper.” Rhaena asked her handmaid, to which she obliged.
“Which robe does My Lady suggest?” Vaera asked, expertly sifting through the clothing she had been the one to pack in King’s Landing. Rhaena stood by the mirror, watching her handmaid in the reflection.
“Whichever will impress Robb Stark the most. If we are to be wed, I will have to highlight all my assets.” She said, eyes lifting knowingly once she caught her handmaid's shocked reaction.
“I’m sorry, My Lady. Your father made me swear not to say anything.” Vaera said with a tone of panic.
“It’s alright, Vaera.” Rhaena tried to calm her alongside herself. She was angry her father didn’t tell her, but also relieved that Robb Stark was an outlier to all the previous men that had asked for her hand. Rhaena knew her fate someday was to marry, and so far, Robb Stark had shown nothing but respect to her.
Ned Stark was known as an honourable man, so she at least knew the family she may marry into are decent people. There’s no doubt in her mind that Lord Eddard Stark had instilled his own values into his children. It’s quite possible that Robb will become a beloved Lord someday, just as his father.
Then, her thoughts flitted back to the bastard, and before she knew it, her mouth was opening. “Would you consider courting the bastard?” She asked, flinching partially as his title came out harsher than she intended.
“No, My Lady. I’ll serve you until I’m grey and my knees give out.” Vaera smiled, removing Rhaena’s overdress leaving her in her corset.
“You are very devoted, my friend.” Rhaena smiled, watching Vaera unveil a lovely winter gown.
“It’s perfect, Vaera.”
[JON]
Robb hadn’t stopped grinning upon his arrival back to Jon. Though he was, in all fairness, extremely relieved.
Not much was attached to the name Rhaena Baratheon. She was Stannis Baratheon’s eldest child, a capable woman, and to some men in King’s Landing, extremely critical. Nothing was said about her beauty, her grace and her quite surprising humour. But everything was said about how she is just as blunt as her father.
Though Stannis approved of the betrothal, she was his heir. Illness could take Shireen before she’s old enough, and if Rhaena was married, then who could possibly be set to inherit Dragonstone? Certainly not Renly who would never have heirs himself.
Rhaena had always been set with the idea that if she were to marry and join with another house, she would maintain ladyship to Dragonstone and leave Davos Seaworth as castellan. Shireen could safely live out the rest of her days there, but to hells with Lady Selyse.
Jon Snow knew only that Lady Baratheon was set to marry his half-brother. He knew she was a powerful woman with powerful connections, but he hadn’t expected someone so young, someone the same age as himself. Jon could only hope that she would be kind to him in her joint rule with Robb. Though, just based on first impressions, he didn’t expect otherwise.
Though, he supposed it didn’t matter much. If he followed through joining the Night’s Watch like he dreamed of, then they would live out their days in Winterfell unbothered by his presence. He was a token of dishonour to the Starks— all of them. A stain on their family crest.
At least, that’s what Catelyn Stark believed. Then, somewhere along the way he started believing it too.
“Don’t hurt yourself by smiling too hard.” Jon commented, eyes glazing over Robb jealously as he waltzed over. He rarely had moments where he felt genuine happiness, Lady Catelyn made sure of that.
“I’ve never seen a girl quite as pretty.” Robb replied, leaning against the wooden fence by a training dummy.
“Aye, perhaps I’ll ride south and find out if they all look like her.” Jon joked, smirking at Robb when he saw him laugh.
“I doubt it, brother. Not even the Queen is as pretty.” Robb commented, and Jon shifted uneasily hearing this.
“The Lannisters could have your head for that.” The bastard warned, bringing his voice lower.
Robb grinned, moving closer to Jon and bringing his voice down. “Let them try.”
Jon shook his head, moving away from his brother to prepare better clothing for the evening temperature.
“Jon!” Robb called, making the boy halt. He turned his head, eyes questioning.
“My mother says that it’s best if you don’t dine with us at the feast tonight, she doesn’t want to insult the King.” Robb told him, tone hesitant. “I’m sorry.” He added, knowing how this might hurt him. He knew if he was in the same position, words like that would sting.
And to Jon, they did.
There he was again, reminded of how he will always be the lesser child, how he will always spare the small part of resentment towards Robb and his other siblings— towards Ned Stark for putting him in this situation. For bringing him into this world as a symbol of dishonour.
With a tight jaw, Jon nodded. “I know.” He replied curtly, turning back around and walking off.
He didn’t know, but he knew that he should’ve expected something of the like.
Jon sometimes thought living as a peasant or farmer somewhere on the outskirts of Winterfell would’ve been a better life. Sure, in this life he had a highborn education, and combat training in multiple forms, but he carried a heavy guilt every single day of his life. Something that crushed him, and drowned him no matter how hard he tried to break from the surface. Joining the Night’s Watch would free him, he thought. A bastard is just another man there.
Eyes trained to the ground, he took off his overcloak, turned a corner ready to retreat to his bedchambers. Then, paying no attention to where he was walking, a body crashed into his own.
“Pardon me!” A feminine voice graced his ears. “My sincerest apologies.”
Jon looked up, eyes settling on the highborn lady with raven hair and gorgeous honey skin. He almost was at a loss for words, but realised he would have to say something to relieve the awkwardness of their predicament.
“No need to apologise, My Lady. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Jon spoke, his voice soft as he came to realise how close they were. Her beauty was much more intimidating up close where he could see her uncorrupted skin and a gentle lightness in her brown eyes– They weren’t as dark as he thought.
“Please, the fault lies with me.” She insisted, a smile fluttering across her face.
Jon felt like this was the first time he had seen a girl before. It felt utterly ridiculous.
“If you insist, My Lady.” Jon bowed his head.
As he looked up, he noticed her eyes narrow in on his cloak. “Are you getting ready for the feast?” She asked, a genuine intrigue in her tone.
Jon shook his head. “No, My Lady. The Lady Catelyn did not want my presence to offend Your Grace.” He revealed, trying to show no hint of his own hurt at that prospect.
Even then, she seemed to note his resentment. “Why would your presence offend my uncle?” She asked, head tilted in confusion.
Jon’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth slightly ajar at her directness. “Forgive me, My Lady, but I am a bastard— Lord Stark’s bastard, Jon Snow.” He spoke rather quickly, feeling shame as he revealed his circumstances to her. However, she didn’t take it as poorly as he suspected. As a matter of fact, she looked rather unmoved.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Jon Snow.” She tested his name, and he felt a type of exhilaration hearing his own name fall from her lips like a prayer. “No child chooses to be a bastard. It would be rather silly of me and my family to hold that against you— the King more than any of us.” She said, referring to Robert and his bastard spawn littered across King’s Landing.
“I-“ Jon stammered, never hearing words like this come from the mouth of another highborn.
Rhaena, seeing his unease, allowed her face to soften. “I’m sorry, Jon Snow, have I offended you?” She asked, so genuine and caring Jon thought he might tear up. It was endearing— a way people never spoke to him.
“No!” Jon exclaimed quickly, almost making her jump. “No.” He repeated quieter. “I appreciate the sentiment, My Lady. If only more thought as you did.”
She nodded, smiling at him once again. “Where will you be during the feast?” She then asked, brows furrowed. “I’d hate to think that you’ll miss a warm meal on such a cold night.”
Jon bit back a grin. “I’ll be quite alright, My Lady.”
“Rhaena, my name is Rhaena.” She said, unsure of if he had known who she was.
“Lady Rhaena.” He corrected, then giving a curt nod and stepping around her. “Excuse me.”
Her eyes followed him as he moved off at a rather quick pace.
Heading back to his bedchambers, Jon let out an uneven breath he didn’t realise he was holding in. He was allowed to think she was pretty. But that’s where his thoughts must end.
Perhaps he was just overly excited at the prospect of a woman showing interest in him. Girls stared at him all the time but none had ever really spoken to him. He had been alone in the room with a naked girl once, with fiery red hair that was alike to a Tully.
It was Robb Stark’s name day, and many from across the North had come to visit. One in particular wanted to have her way with Jon Snow, and having little experience and plenty of energy, he couldn’t refuse. Yet when the time came in the candle-lit stables, he froze. It was like a shard of ice had struck him through the chest.
A reminder of who he was. A bastard. And what an awful thing that was to be. He would be a hypocrite to enjoy that girl when there’s a risk she could fall pregnant. Then, into the world would come a bastard like himself.
The girl was merely a handmaid. She held no titles, no claims and thus her child would be far worse off than Jon is.
He couldn’t allow himself to be that cold, that careless. He wouldn’t bed a woman unless he was absolutely sure she was the one he would marry.
And he could never marry someone like Rhaena Baratheon.
Not that she would be interested in him anyway, he was just reflecting. Furthermore, she was promised to Robb by her uncle and father. That was perhaps the one thing the two had ever agreed upon.
Jon was getting ahead of himself. For all he knew he’d be riding out to the Night's Watch within the fortnight. He was sure everyone at Winterfell would approve.
Missing out on this night's supper was quite alright with him. He would have to get some training in, and hope that all his practice would amount to something worthwhile in the future. Whether his future place was at Winterfell, or like his Ranger Uncle Benjen, somewhere beyond the wall.