Chapter Text
“We’re going to the North,” Robert declared.
Cassana paused, a forkful of roast swan halfway to her mouth. She looked over at her father, brow raised. “We’re going north?” she repeated. Tommen and Myrcella glanced between themselves while their mother sipped her wine, face stoically blank.
“Aye, to Winterfell,” her father confirmed, taking a swig of ale.
Cassana’s thoughts raced. Half of Westeros stood between King's Landing and Winterfell, a royal visit that far away would be a massive undertaking, and not something to be done lightly. For all that her father and Eddard Stark had been raised as foster brothers, after the rebellion that had given Robert his crown they had only seen each other a handful of times, and then only due to the Greyjoy Rebellion. Alone, a King traveling to visit one of his lords was a strong political statement, but the entire royal family did not travel so far without an explicit purpose. A purpose, she imagined, that likely had to do with the recent death of Jon Arryn. “Father," she said, "do you intend to ask Lord Stark to be your Hand?”.
Her father nodded, “Aye." He turned to Joffrey, "and I intend to ask his elder girl’s hand for you, Joffrey.”
Her brother grinned, “Truly? I am to have a Stark queen then?”
From the corner of her eye Cassana could see her mother sneer, Cersei's usually lovely face pulled into a displeased grimace.
Robert shook his head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself boy,” he warned, “I plan to ask Ned, but he may not agree, and if he doesn’t I won’t force his hand.”
Joffrey sneered. “He wouldn’t dare. Marrying the prince is a great honor, his daughter would be queen,” he argued.
Their father slammed his goblet onto the table. “Listen here, boy-!”
“Sansa is the eldest girl right, Father?” Cassana loudly interrupted.
Robert looked at her, giving her a half hearted glare. “Aye. Sansa,” he said, taking a drink from his cup. “Then Arya is the younger.”
Cassana smiled, “Regardless of the possible betrothal, do you think they would come to court for a year or two? It would be wonderful to have another girl my age at court.”
“Possibly,” Robert answered, “the Starks don’t often travel south of the Neck, but Lady Stark is a Tully by birth, she may want southron matches for the girls.”
“I wonder if the Lady Sansa would enjoy hawking,” Cassana mused, “it would be a lovely way to get to know my possible future good sister.”
Her father nodded approvingly. “A good idea, my girl. And I’m sure Ned would appreciate his daughter being welcomed into the capital so warmly.”
Cassana beamed, ignoring the glare Joffrey sent her way.
“I’m sure my betrothed would be far too busy to indulge such trivial pursuits,” he scoffed, stabbing a piece of his swan.
Her cheeks reddened at the insult. “Shut up, Joff,” Cassana hissed. “You’re just jealous because when you tried you weren’t even capable of handling a half grown yearling!”
Her mother slammed her goblet onto the table. “Cassana! Do not speak to your brother that way,” she rebuked.
Robert snorted. “She’s not wrong. The trip north will do the boy good. The Seven know you spoiled him rotten. Ned has four boys, maybe by some miracle they’ll toughen him into acting like a real Baratheon.”
Cassana smirked, biting her tongue to keep from laughing at her brother. The identical sour looks on the faces of her mother and brother nearly broke her composure.
“Father, the younger two Starks are eight and three,” Myrcella pointed out.
“Then your brother will have met his equals,” Robert retorted. Cassana snorted, shooting her little sister a grin.
Their mother scowled at them. “Cella, Cass, if you can’t behave like ladies you can eat alone in your rooms,” she hissed.
Cassana winced as Myrcella ducked her head at the admonishment. “Sorry mother,” they murmured.
“Come off it, woman. If Joffrey is to be king he should not need his mother to defend him from his sisters’ teasing,” Robert retorted.
“Do you think they’d want to play with me?” Tommen asked quietly, looking at their parents.
“Speak up, boy. I can’t hear you halfway across the room,” Robert ordered, gesturing down the long table. Tommen flushed, sinking down slightly in his seat.
“Of course they will, surely they know lots of fun games you can play in Winterfell,” Myrcella offered, smiling at her brother.
The youngest Baratheon grinned at his sister’s support. “You know, Winterfell is built on top of a hot spring,” he said, “so the castle is much warmer than it should be, even during winter!”
Robert grinned, gesturing to Tommen with his goblet. “Aye, it is. You’ve been paying good mind to your lessons haven’t you?” Tommen beamed, nodding excitedly.
“Ned talked about it often. He also mentioned there are hidden places in the Godswood where the water bubbles up and forms pools. While we’re there perhaps you and the Stark children could find one.”
“Absolutely not!” Cersei hissed. “Tommen will not be galavanting about the northern wilderness with a bunch of Stark brats, and neither will the rest of the children!”
“So we won’t be going hunting then?” Cassana asked, pouting. Her mother began to turn an interesting shade of red, gripping her goblet so hard her rings seemed to be cutting into her fingers.
“Of course we’re going fucking hunting, your mother is speaking out of turn,” Robert spat, “and furthermore, woman, you will hold your tongue! Do not insult the Starks in front of me again!”
Cersei sneered back. “I will say whatever I please. It is bad enough you want to marry my son to one of those northern barbarians, I won’t allow the rest of my children to be tainted by them!”
Robert’s face flushed an angry shade of purple. “Children, leave,” he ordered.
“Father, I-” Joffrey protested.
Robert slammed his fist onto the table, “Now, boy!” he roared.
Cassana shot from her seat, grabbing Myrcella’s hand and dragging her to her feet. She pushed her sister around the table and towards the door. Tommen had the good sense to stand from his seat, but Joffrey was still sat at the table, trying to argue with their father. She reached over and grabbed his arm, hauling him up and towards the door.
“Cassana!” he yelped, trying to pull away from her.
“Shut up, Joff!” she hissed. She pulled him out of the room, joining Tommen and Myrcella out in the hall. As soon as the door swung shut, there was a loud crack from the solar, and their mother cried out in pain. One of the Kingsguard at the door flinched, and even without seeing his face Cassana could tell it was their uncle Jaime.
“Cassana! How dare you-” Joffrey started.
Cass slapped her hand over his mouth and winced as shouting began to erupt from the dining room. “Uncle, could you please take the children to their rooms?” she asked, turning to Jaime. “I am going to send for a maid to bring some meats and cheese to us.”
Jaime shook his head. “Lord Commander, could you escort them? I would like to stay and comfort the Queen once this is over,” he asked, turning to his fellow kingsguard.
Selmy frowned in disapproval but nodded, ushering the children down the hall to the royal apartments.
Cassana cringed as a round of yelling was punctuated by another slap from inside the room. She looked at her uncle, his face closed off with a mixture of anger and sadness. “I don’t know how you stand it,” she murmured, glancing to the door.
“Lots of practice, Princess,” he answered, his voice thick with emotion. “Run along now, your mother would not want you hearing this.”
She nodded, “yes, Uncle,” and turned down the hall in search of a maid.
Nearly six turns of the moon later and the royal family was finally nearing Winterfell. Cassana strained to see the out of the small windows of the wheelhouse her mother had forced her into that morning. Tommen sat on her lap, excitedly watching the northern moors as they slowly began to show signs of civilization.
“Tommen, my love, sit beside your sister. We are nearly to Winterfell and you will crease her dress sitting like that,” their mother said, eyeing the front of Cassana’s gown. Tommen pouted but moved to stand.
“Here, you sit by the window, I can see over you,” Cassana said, sliding down the cushioned bench, away from the wheelhouse’s window.
“Thank you, Cassie,” he said, giving her a sweet gap toothed smile. She kissed his temple in response, peering over him and out into the northern countryside. This close to Winterfell the land was mostly cleared for grazing and farm land, but the occasional copse of trees dotted the landscape.
The air in the north was much more pleasant than in King’s Landing, the breeze brought the crisp scent of heather and pine rather the stench of the city dwellers and all their animals. It reminded Cass of the hunting trips, of riding, sometimes for days, deep into the Kingswood with her father in search of prey. Joffery never had the patience nor aptitude for hunting, much to their father's chagrin, and Tommen and Myrcella were still too young for such strenuous activity, so Cassana alone accompanied him on those trips. No one would ever accuse King Robert Baratheon, the Demon of the Trident, of being a peaceful or gentle man, but during those days there were flashes of the kinder, happier man her father had been in his youth. She could see it in the way he would gently correct her grip on her bow, the joy in his eye when he handed her the jesses to her first hawk, the way he roared with pride and praise when she felled her first deer. War and grief had torn her father down to a drunk, lecherous, even cruel man, but in those days he looked as if he had finally found a moment of peace. Good memories, though they were likely at an end.
Cassana was fourteen, a woman flowered who would soon be ready to be married off to another house to strengthen the new Baratheon dynasty. More than likely Joffrey would be betrothed within the fortnight, and as the eldest daughter Cassana would soon follow.
The pragmatic part of her, the Lannister part, wondered at which lord or lord’s heir her parents would promise her too. Cersei Lannister would have nothing but the best for any of her children, so it would have to be a man of a Great House.
It would certainly not be the Martells. Even without their bloody history with the Baratheon crown, the heir to the house was a woman, and no second in line would ever be good enough for her mother’s firstborn.
House Tully was also almost certainly out of the question. The heir, lord Edmure, was nearly two decades her senior. Such a match was not unheard of for nobility, but there were better options for her and a marriage would bring no real benefit to the crown. He would be the next queen’s uncle, his blood connection to Sansa enough to secure the Riverlands.
She expected her mother would push for a Lannister match for her, likely the elder son of her great uncle Kevan. It was well known even outside House Lannister how little her grandfather thought of her uncle Tyrion, it was just as likely he would pass Casterly Rock to his brother’s children as to Tyrion. Even if Tyrion were to inherit and marry there was no knowing if a dwarf would be able to have healthy children, so either she or her children may rule the Rock after Tywin.
Robert Arryn was a candidate her father would likely endorse. The late Jon Arryn had been his foster father and Hand for many years, his eldest daughter in marriage would be a fine reward for their loyalty. She had met the boy once or twice and he was a sweet thing, firmly attached to his mother’s skirts but that was not too unusual for a boy so young. He was only six years after all, and a long betrothal would see Cassana the opportunity to shape him into a man that would make an agreeable husband, if perhaps not an overly interesting one.
The most pragmatic, at least in her mind, would be a match to the Tyrells. The Tyrells had been Targaryen supporters during her father’s rebellion, and at present had no real loyalty or affection for the Baratheons. Sure their third son and her uncle Renly were close, but that would never be enough for Lady Olenna to truly switch allegiances to the king. No, the Queen of Thorns would need a marriage and a trueborn child to have any interest in the Baratheon crown’s well being. In the same line of thought lay the reason a match between Lady Olenna’s granddaughter, the lady Margaery, and her uncle Renly would not be fruitful. Cassana was well aware of her uncle’s… dalliances, and like her uncle Tyrion it was unknown if he would or even could sire children. There would be a chance it would be a beneficial alliance, but Lady Olenna was not the type to gamble with chances.
More advantageous would be a marriage between herself and Lord Willas. A half Baratheon child as the future Lord Tyrell would give House Baratheon sway over the Reach and its vast wealth in the immediate future, while in turn giving the Tyrells a position of power in court and a future chance at putting a Tyrell queen on the throne. Queens were often chosen from cousins and extended family of the king, so Cassana’s granddaughter or great granddaughter could one day find herself on the throne. In the meantime the riches of the Reach and the Crownsland would flow back and forth with the trade deals that often accompanied such matches.
Beyond politics, Willas Tyrell was a man Cassana could picture herself standing beside as his wife. A mild mannered and intelligent man, he was older than her by a good fifteen years but by all accounts healthy and good natured despite an injury to his leg during a tourney in his youth. He also seemed to be a very thoughtful man, his suggestion had led House Tyrell to send Cassana her first and favorite hunting hound as a tenth nameday gift, a beautiful chocolate Stormland Retriever she named Willow. The dog had been bred from Lord Willas’s personal pack of hounds, and in addition the man kept and bred peregrine falcons and horses of various breeds. She and Lord Willas had several hobbies and interests in common, so it would be a happy match at least, perhaps blossoming into a loving one as the years ticked by.
Still, in her heart of hearts, her Baratheon side wondered what it would be like to be Lady of the lands she and her family now rode through. The North was a wild place, untamed and free in a way that made Cassana itch to jump atop her horse and ride off into the hills. A noble kingdom famously loyal to a legendary ruling dynasty that stretched, unbroken, for eight thousand years and only bowing to the devastating might of dragons.
It was this land that birthed her father’s great love, the lady Lyanna Stark, and mayhaps Cassana, the most Baratheon of her siblings, would find someone like that here for her as well. Lord Stark’s heir was of age with her and still unbetrothed, but Cassana knew better than to raise her hopes. A queenship for their daughter was a far greater prize than even an eldest princess for their son, and no matter how powerful a family was, marrying two children to the same house would be foolish. A selfish part of her hoped that Lord Stark would reject Joffrey for his daughter, citing the deaths of his brother and father in King’s Landing, or the death of his sister in the south, or even Joffrey’s own character failings should it come to that, but she doubted it would come to pass. She could dream all she liked, but the political instincts bred into her by her Lannister family told her to prepare for life as Lady Arryn or Lady Tyrell.
“I think I can see it!” Tommen announced.
Cassana blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts and leaning over her brother to look. Just over the crest of the hill she could see the tips of Winterfell’s towers. She grinned. “Finally! We’ll be out of this damn thing soon,” she declared.
Cersei sighed, shaking her head. “Cassana, do try to keep the vulgarity to a minimum. I would like for the realm to believe I raised my children to be princes and princesses rather than Flea Bottom urchins,” she said, raising a brow at her eldest daughter.
Cassana looked back at her mother and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Mother,” she apologized.
Cersei nodded, glancing at the window herself. “Mind yourselves while we are in Winterfell,” Cersei said, “all three of you. This is not King’s Landing, this is not Casterly Rock, this is not Storm’s End. Winterfell is the home of a great lord who is not family, despite what your father thinks. Do you remember what I taught you about outsiders?”
“Anyone who isn’t us is an enemy,” the siblings recited in unison.
Cersei smiled, nodding approvingly at her children. “Good, remember that and be on guard my loves.”
“Aye, mother,” Cassana murmured, ignoring the look Cersei gave her. Her mother’s diatribe always sparked skepticism in her mind. The Queen's attitude towards outsiders always seemed short sighted in Cassana’s opinion, but considering the political turmoil of Cersei’s youth it wasn’t an entirely illogical mindset to have.
There was a short knock from the outside of the carriage. Her mother leaned over, opening a small panel on the wheelhouse’s door. Jaime appeared in the gap, his handsome face halfway covered by his helmet. “We are almost to Winterfell, it will take perhaps a quarter hour to arrive,” he said.
Cassana’s mother smiled, “thank you, Jaime.” He nodded in acknowledgement.
“Of course, sweet sister. If you would excuse me, my Prince, my Princesses,” he said, winking at Cassana and her siblings.
Her mother closed the viewing window and turned to her children. “Like I was saying, I expect you to mind yourselves and act like the royals you are,” she warned, giving Cassana in particular a knowing look.
Cassana grinned, “of course, Mother!”
Cersei sighed, shaking her head at her daughter’s antics. They rode the rest of the way toWinterfell in silence, Cassana and her siblings practically bouncing in excitement at the prospect of finally arriving at their destination. Cassana watched the window as slowly, the wheelhouse turned into Winterfell’s courtyard before coming to a stop. She watched as her father rode past the wheelhouse, coming to a stop before a crowd of kneeling people. Her view was cut off as the drivers came up to the door. The door was opened and a set of stairs placed down to allow the royal family to disembark.
“Cassana,” her mother prompted, waving to the open door. Cassana nodded, gathering her skirts and rising. Her legs were unsteady after hours of sitting in the wheelhouse, but she descended the stairs, stepping out into the cool northern air.
Her father was greeting a man who could only be Lord Stark, a tall, broad shouldered man wearing a black tunic and a massive fur cloak. To his left was the Lady Stark, a beautiful red haired woman of age with her own mother, and to his right, Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell.
Cassana stepped aside, making her way to the head of the wheelhouse as her siblings exited behind her. Myrcella came out after her, coming to stand next to her. She scanned the crowd as Tommen and her mother exited the wheelhouse.
Next to Robb could only be Lady Sansa, her bright Tully red hair setting her apart from her siblings. Then came Lady Arya and Lord Brandon, the picture of Stark children with their dark hair and long faces. The two teenage boys behind them she guessed were Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s ward and bastard respectively.
She felt a pang of jealousy seeing the Stark bastard right behind his trueborn siblings. Her own half-siblings were a major cause of tension in the royal household, when she was younger there had been a months long fight over her father’s wish to bring his eldest baseborn daughter to court as a lady-in-waiting for Cassana. Her mother had taken massive insult over the idea of the king’s bastard coming to court at all, nevermind waiting on Cersei’s trueborn daughter. Their arguments were constant and rang through the Red Keep, and only ceased when Jon Arryn stepped in and advised her father to drop the issue. Cassana, at the time newly ten namedays, had lacked to courage to speak on the idea and lost the chance to truly know one of her half-siblings.
She learned of a handful of her half-siblings over the years, though she had only spent time with two of them. Edric Storm was the only one of noble birth, the son of a lady from House Florent. The boy was being fostered at Storm’s End, and as such they had met several times during trips to the Stormlands. Besides Edric she knew of two that were confirmed to be her father’s, the girl Mya who her father had wanted to bring to court and a girl named Bella who lived in the Riverlands.
There were a pair of boys in King’s Landing she was almost certain were her father’s, a whore’s son who she had never seen but had heard Jon Arryn speak of, and a blacksmith’s apprentice named Gendry who lived and worked on the Street of Steel.
Gendry’s identity was the only one she had discovered by herself, she had first seen him when visiting a goldsmith with Jon Arryn and had mistaken him for her uncle Renly. Arryn’s reaction only cemented the idea in her mind, upon seeing Gendry he had gone white as a sheet and hurried Cassana back to the Red Keep sputtering about the heat going to her head. She had spent a handful of stolen hours with him over the years, brief moments on official errands into King’s Landing and the rare times she managed sneak away from the Red Keep, but it wasn’t nearly as much as she would have liked.
Cassana was pulled from her thoughts as her mother crossed the courtyard to greet Lord and Lady Stark.
“Ned!” her father called, “take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”
She grimaced, already anticipating the disrespect Robert was about to pay her mother.
“We have been riding for a month, my love,” her mother said, “surely the dead can wait?”
Her father didn’t so much as look at his wife. “Ned,” he ordered, turning and striding toward the castle proper. Lord Stark had the decency to look contrite, but he bowed his head and followed after her father.
Cassana broke rank with her siblings, striding over to stand beside her mother.
Her mother glanced at her, fury brewing in her emerald eyes. “My daughter, the Princess Cassana,” she murmured.
“Your highness,” Lady Catelyn greeted, curtseying.
Cassana dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Lady Stark, it is an honor,” she said, smiling. “My father has spoken frequently and fondly of your house over the years, it brings me great joy to finally have the opportunity to finally meet you.”
“The honor is ours your highnesses,” Lady Catelyn replied, “may I introduce my son Robb and my daughter Sansa.” Cassana turned and smiled at the eldest Stark siblings, offering her hand. Robb took her hand and kissed it while Sansa dipped into a graceful curtsey. Cassana couldn’t help but flush slightly when she met Robb’s eyes. The young lord was very handsome, he had inherited his father’s strong jaw and beautiful blue eyes. He still had some baby fat but his high cheekbones and broad shoulders hinted at the very attractive man he was quickly growing into.
“Perhaps we should go inside,” Cersei interjected, subtly nudging her daughter, “it is quite cold and we have been on the road for a long time."
“Of course your grace,” Lady Catelyn said, “please, come with me.”