Winter is Coming: House Stark Quest

So it came to pass that you rode for the seat of House Baratheon - and House Durrandon before them. Legend said Bran the Builder had designed Storm's End, as he had Winterfell, the Hightower, the Wall, and countless other great works across Westeros. Legends also said that some forgotten god of storms still raged against his daughter's heirs with great winds and rain.

There had been so word of the Golden Company, though the Braavosi had assured you most diplomatically that they would inform you at once should that change. From Pentos you received no answer. Any efforts to bribe merchants or employ spies of your own for information had failed.

No matter. The Targaryen was friendless (at least for now) and had fled Westeros. You would secure your hold over the continent today and in doing so begin a dynasty to last a thousand years. It was comforting to inflate the situation, to dream of a glorious future, when the truth was somewhat less riveting. You were off to marry a young, plain-faced girl so that you could steal her father's throne.

What could possibly go wrong?

---

"Kneel before Her Grace Shireen of House Baratheon, First of Her Name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms."

Stannis Baratheon's daughter was no older than Arya, yet she seemed greater than her years as she stared down at you from the throne of Storm's End. She was not a pretty girl, it was true, and likely would not be a beautiful woman. There was a certain strength to her presence, though, a sort of iron conviction.

Her eyes were like his. A piercing grey-blue that you could read no emotion in. Her hair was a cloud of raven-black, bound into a tight braid over her shoulder. And there was the greyscale, stiff and pale-grey ripples that warped her cheek and the top of her neck into something a snake's skin.

[] Kneel.
[] Bow your head.
[] Nope.

"Betrothed," she said in a voice which carried far for a girl of her age and size. Her mother was beside her, a portly and unappealing matron of House Florent with the hints of a mustache on her upper lip. Stannis had been no handsome knight like his younger brother, but you could be grateful Shireen took after her father. "We have expected you."

You nodded. "My lady." The words would not come easy. Did she see you as the Orys to her Argella? Some stranger here to wrap her in his cloak and use her name (her father's name) to rule what ought to be hers. "The parallels are somewhat obvious."

Wait, shit, was that out loud? Her lips twitched for half a moment. "Not wholly, my lord. The arms of House Baratheon - my father's men - have not yet broken faith. And I would hope they might have the decency to allow me my shift were they to turn on me. I am no ripened beauty like Argilac's daughter."

You opened your mouth, then thought better and stifled the nonsense that came so quickly to your tongue. This was no younger sister to trade japes and jabs with.

In the silence you took the opportunity to examine the room. Many of the men here had come from Dragonstone - replacing the Renly loyalists that Stannis had viewed as traitors. Ser Davos was there at her side - you had recieved word from King's Landing (or its ruins) as you rode that he had departed upon Stannis' death leaving another to govern the refugees. His jaw was tight but he offered you an acknowledging nod.

One of Shireen's hands rose up and began to squeeze absently at her braid. "You have put us in a difficult position, Lord Stark." Her other hand waved dismissively at your half-formed apology. "What is done cannot be undone. I am too young to bed. Three, four years and none would question our right to share and govern the Seven Kingdoms. Would that we had more time." Her fingers were tighter now, such that she might have pulled out a clump of those raven black strands. "The bedding will have to wait. The ceremony can not."

She rose and stepped down from her seat, approaching you. Stannis had towered above you - and King Robert had been ever taller. Shireen was not a tall girl, but perhaps she would grow into her height. Perhaps you would grow to fall in love with her as father and mother had. Or perhaps not.

But your marriage would keep Westeros safe. It would keep the peace and allow countless others to find love and joy in their marriages and children. Perhaps that was enough.

[] Which kingdom's resources and men will you send North and which will you keep in the South? What is your plan and strategy for addressing the wildling incursion and Targaryen pretender? The next update will switch to another Stark's POV. Write-In!

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