Chapter Text
The scent of crushed grapes and sea salt drifted through the halls of the Arbor as servants hurried between long tables draped in burgundy cloth. Musicians tuned their harps near the windows overlooking the sunset-colored sea, while golden goblets bearing the sigil of House Redwyne gleamed beneath candlelight. The young lady, Lily Redwyne stood beside one of the windows, twisting the ribbon around her wrist for what must have been the hundredth time that evening.
“He is not coming.”
Her older brother, Runce Redwyne, nearly choked on his wine. “Gods, you say that every hour.”
“Because it is true,” Lily muttered, though her eyes remained fixed toward the distant courtyard. “The North rarely comes to southern feasts.”
Runce leaned lazily against the carved pillar beside her. “Yet you continue inviting them.”
“I invite many houses.”
“Yes,” he agreed easily. “But only one receives letters written in your neatest hand.”
Lily turned sharply. “That is not true.”
“It is absolutely true,” came another voice.
Their father entered the hall with a grin already pulling at his mouth. Lord Osric Redwyne was known throughout the Arbor for his laughter nearly as much as for his wines. His silver-threaded robes swayed behind him as he approached his children.
“Your brother showed me the invitation before the raven flew north,” he said. “You rewrote it three times.”
Lily’s cheeks burned. “Father!”
“What?” Lord Osric raised both hands innocently. “I merely admire dedication.” Runce snorted into his cup and Lily glared at both of them. “I invited House Stark because Lord Stark is honorable and aided the rightful queen during the war.”
“Aye,” said Runce. “And because you have been mooning over the man since you were ten.”
“I have not.”
“You once cried because the North declined attendance.”
“I was twelve!”
“And now you are eighteen and still sending ravens to Winterfell.”
Lily opened her mouth to argue again before stopping entirely as footsteps entered the hall. Her mother, Lady Arra Arryn, descended the staircase with calm elegance, her pale blue gown trailing behind her. Unlike the loud amusement of the Redwynes, Arra carried the cool composure of the Vale.
“You are tormenting the girl again,” she said.
“She torments herself,” Lord Osric replied.
Lady Arra’s lips twitched slightly as she reached Lily’s side. “Do not listen to them.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“But,” Arra continued smoothly, “your father is correct about one thing.”
Lily groaned softly.
“A man does not receive seven invitations from the same lady without understanding her interest.”
“There were not seven.”
Runce lifted a brow. “There were eight.”
Lily buried her face in her hands. The memory still haunted her clearly. King’s Landing. Years ago. Even then, Cregan had seemed less like a boy and more like the North itself—quiet, cold, and impossible to ignore.
Lily had spent years afterward pretending she had forgotten him. Unfortunately, her family had not.
“He likely threw the invitation into the fire,” Lily muttered.
Osric laughed loudly. “If he did, perhaps the Wall melted.”
Before she could protest again, the heavy doors to the hall suddenly burst open.
A servant stumbled inside, breathless.
“My lord!”
Osric straightened immediately. “What is it?”
“The harbor-” The servant swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath.
“There are northern banners entering the Arbor.”
Silence fell. Lily blinked once. Then twice. Runce’s grin widened slowly into something wicked. “Oh, this is fun.”
“No, this must be a dream” Lily whispered.
“The direwolf banner flies beside them,” the servant continued excitedly. “Lord Stark himself has arrived.”
Her heart stopped. Actually stopped. For one terrible moment she wondered if she might faint directly onto the floor like some weak court lady from a song.
Runce began laughing immediately.
“Oh, she’s gone pale!”
Lily turned toward the windows so quickly she nearly tripped over her own skirts. Down below, beyond the stone pathways leading toward the harbor, dark banners indeed moved against the evening wind. Grey direwolves. Northern men.
And at the front, was him. Even from afar, she recognized him instantly.
Cregan Stark.
Older now and broader. The sternness of youth had hardened into something sharper during the war. The southern sun caught against dark hair as he dismounted his horse with practiced ease. Around him, his men looked weary from long travel, though disciplined and alert.
Cregan removed his gloves slowly while surveying the castle before him. Then, as if sensing her stare from impossible distance, he looked upward. Directly toward her window.
Lily’s breath caught violently in her throat.
Grey eyes met hers across the courtyard.
Gods.
Does he remember her from years ago?
Runce nearly doubled over laughing beside her.
“Do you think after years, the wolf from the North still remembers you?”
“Stop speaking,” Lily hissed weakly.
Lord Osric clapped his hands together with delight. “Well then! Someone inform the kitchens that the North has finally decided to visit civilization.”
Lady Arra sighed. “Try not to embarrass the girl further.”
“No promises,” Osric said cheerfully.
Below, the gates of the Arbor opened wide for the arriving northerners. High above in the window, Lily Redwyne pressed trembling fingers against her racing heart while the man she had quietly loved for years stepped into her home at last.
Perhaps it was because so many northern men had entered the hall wearing dark furs and heavy cloaks, bringing with them the cold scent of pine, leather, and distant snow, the hall seemed warmer that afternoon. Their presence stood in sharp contrast against the golden candlelight and rich red banners of House Redwyne.
Lily walked beside her family toward the entrance of the hall, trying very hard not to appear as though her heart was attempting to escape through her ribs.
“Straighten your shoulders,” Lady Arra murmured softly beside her.
“I am standing straight.”
“You look as though you are walking toward your execution.”
Runce smirked immediately. “That is because Lord Stark has arrived.”
Lily elbowed him hard enough that he hissed.
The sound of another pair of footsteps echoed behind them.
“Well, well,” came a familiar voice. “So the wolf truly came south.”
Ryam Redwyne finally entered the hall, tall and broad-shouldered like his father, though far calmer in temperament. Beside him walked his wife, Lady Clarice Florent, who's now Lady Clarice Redwyne, one hand resting gently over the slight curve beneath her gown.
Though only six moons wed, the glow of impending motherhood already softened her features beautifully.
“You missed his arrival,” Runce said.
“I heard,” Ryam replied. His eyes drifted toward Lily immediately, amusement flashing there. He leaned toward Runce, though not quietly enough. “Our little sister’s dream man finally came, huh?”
Lily nearly choked. “Shut your mouths,” she hissed, elbowing both brothers in quick succession.
Clarice laughed softly behind her hand.
“You are cruel,” Lily muttered to all three of them.
“And yet,” Ryam said innocently, “not incorrect.”
Before Lily could threaten violence upon her own bloodline, the large doors to the hall opened fully.
The northern men entered first. Tall, intimidating and weathered from travel and war alike.
Unlike southern knights adorned in bright silks and polished jewels, the men of the North wore practicality like armor. Heavy boots struck against the stone floors while direwolf sigils moved beneath candlelight.
And then he entered behind them.
Lord Cregan Stark. The room seemed to still around him. Lily had remembered him tall but she had not remembered him this tall and gods, he was even more handsome than she imagined him to be after all these years.
The years had sharpened him into something severe and commanding. Dark chair framed a face hardened by winter and war, while grey eyes moved calmly across the hall with quiet awareness.
He looked every bit the Warden of the North and not a boy from a feast long ago.
A lord. A dangerous one, perhaps. Now, Lily understood why Southerners feared him.
Yet when his gaze briefly swept across her, Lily’s stomach still flipped exactly as it had years ago. Gods help her.
Lord Osric stepped forward first, smiling broadly.
“Lord Stark!” he boomed warmly. “The Arbor welcomes you at last.”
Cregan bowed his head respectfully. “Lord Redwyne. Lady Redwyne.”
Lady Arra greeted him with graceful composure. “We are honored you accepted our invitation.”
“I owe House Redwyne an apology for the many invitations left unanswered and declined,” Cregan said plainly. His voice was deep and calm, carrying easily across the hall. “The North keeps a man occupied.”
“That it does,” Osric replied with a grin. “But we are glad the South finally stole you away from your snow.”
A faint flicker of amusement touched Cregan’s expression. Barely there but Lily noticed it immediately.
Osric then gestured toward his eldest son.
“My heir, Ser Ryam Redwyne.”
Ryam stepped forward with an easy smile. “An honor, Lord Stark.”
“And his wife, Lady Clarice Redwyne of House Florent.”
Clarice curtsied gently. “Welcome to the Arbor.”
Cregan bowed respectfully toward her, his eyes briefly noting the child she carried before returning to her face. “My lady.”
“This menace,” Osric continued, gripping Runce by the shoulder before the younger man could escape, “is my second son, Runce Redwyne.”
“Menace?” Runce looked offended. “Father wounds me.”
“You survive somehow,” Osric replied.
Cregan gave Runce a nod, and Runce returned it with an amused grin.
Then came the moment Lily had been dreading.
“And my youngest,” Osric said, glancing toward her with obvious delight. “My only daughter, Lady Lily Redwyne.”
Lily suddenly forgot how breathing worked. She stepped forward carefully and lowered into a proper curtsy, praying to every god that existed that she would not trip before him like she had as a child.
“Lord Stark,” she said softly.
When she looked up again, those grey eyes rested fully on her. Steady, observant.
There was no recognition in them, not truly.
But there was something else.
A slight narrowing of his gaze, almost thoughtful.
For him, she looks familiar.
The thought lingered briefly in Cregan’s mind as he studied her face. Pale golden hair, Arryn blue eyes, graceful posture despite visible nervousness. Her features resembles more of her mother than her father. Had they met before? Perhaps in King’s Landing years ago, during the first time he went South.
The southern courts blurred together in his memory after war and winters and years spent ruling the North.
Still, something about her seemed strangely known to him.
“You honor us with your invitation, Lady Lily,” he said politely.
Lily’s heart nearly stopped simply because he said her name.
“You honor us by accepting,” she replied, somehow managing not to humiliate herself.
Runce watched the entire exchange like a man witnessing the greatest entertainment of his life.
Osric clasped his hands together. “Tell me, Lord Stark, do you intend to return to King’s Landing after the feast?”
Cregan shook his head once. “No. I had intended to ride north again after concluding matters in the capital. Winterfell and the Wall require tending.” His expression grew slightly apologetic. “I know House Redwyne has extended invitations many times before. Now that my duty in King's Landing is done, I thought it best to come here at last.”
“A tragic thing, duty,” Osric sighed dramatically.
“A curse upon this realm,” Runce added solemnly.
Lily rolled her eyes.
Then Runce smiled toward Cregan. “Though surely the Warden of the North might stay longer than one evening? We would gladly host you for a week, if you would be so kind as to agree.”
Lily turned toward him in horror. A week?
Runce ignored her panic entirely.
Cregan glanced briefly toward several of his men standing nearby. One older northern warrior leaned closer as they exchanged quiet words between themselves.
After a moment, the man nodded once. “We have time before winter roads worsen.”
Cregan considered it another moment before turning back toward House Redwyne.
“If my presence would not burden your house,” he said evenly, “then House Stark would accept your hospitality for the week.”
Silence. Then Osric laughed loudly with satisfaction.
“Excellent!”
Runce smirked victoriously. Ryam looked ready to start teasing Lily again immediately.
And Lily herself stood perfectly still while her mind dissolved into complete chaos.
A week.
The Warden of the North was staying in the Arbor for an entire week.
Are the gods rewarding her or is she being punished?