Chapter Text
“They sure are a sight for sore eyes,” Brandon whispered to his brother as they entered the Great Hall of Riverrun.
Ned glanced at his brother’s impish smile and sighed. Brandon’s attitude towards women could be frustrating sometimes but Ned had to admit he had a point. The Tully sisters standing next to each other did paint quite a lovely picture.
Lord Hoster Tully introduced each of his daughters to the Stark brothers. Lady Catelyn, the eldest in both birth and beauty, had been groomed as the future Lady of Riverrun ever since her mother’s passing. Then came Lady Lysa, a shy, pretty maid of fourteen. The youngest girl, little Lady Edma, visibly had trouble not to fidget before her father’s guests. She was but seven years old but you could already see she would grow up to be as lovely as her sisters.
People whispered than the gods had not been kind to Hoster Tully when they saw fit to bury his three sons into the ground and give him three daughters. Yet, Ned did not see how any man could consider Lord Tully cursed for fathering these three beauties.
At the welcoming feast, Ned was seated next to Catelyn, of course. He was a little bit intimidated at first. What did Hoster Tully’s fair heiress think of marrying a plain-faced, second son? If Catelyn Tully was disappointed by what she saw, she hid it well and was courteous and kind. They managed to have a somewhat impersonal but pleasant conversation as Brandon flirted with Lysa Tully and made her blush as red as her hair.
As they were escorted to their chambers after the end of the feast, Brandon slipped to his brother:
“This is a very good match, brother. You get both the Riverlands and the prize of House Tully. I am quite jealous.”
When Lord Rickard Stark had written to Riverrun about a marriage alliance, he had asked for Catelyn’s hand on Brandon’s behalf. It was Lord Hoster that had asked for Ned instead. “Your eldest stands to inherit Winterfell. Catelyn can neither rule the Riverlands from the North, nor live separated from her own husband. However, your second son Lord Eddard is also quite close to Catelyn’s age and could eventually settle with her in Riverrun.” Lord Rickard had promptly accepted and secured his son a glowing future as de facto Lord of the Riverlands.
Paradoxically, the Lord of Winterfell had a lot more trouble finding a suitable wife for his heir than for his spare. Brandon had almost been betrothed to Elia Martell. The Princess of Dorne had visited Winterfell and had liked both his brother and the North. However, her fragile health was worsened by the cold climate and the Maester said that living in the North would endanger her life. She regretfully had to leave.
Ned had been sad to see her go. The Princess of Dorne had a kind heart and a sweet wit and Ned would have liked to have her as a goodsister. When he had learned that the King had refused Lady Cersei Lannister as a bride for Prince Rhaegar and instead chosen Princess Elia, Ned had been unable to suppress a smile. When Rickard Stark had written to Casterly Rock to inquire about Lady Cersei’s hand, he had received nothing but a cold, haughty rebuttal.
However, it seemed the Lord of Winterfell had finally found a bride for Brandon. Lord Mace Tyrell had a maiden sister only a few years older than Brandon, Janna. Ned would stay in Riverrun for a while to get to know his betrothed as Brandon would ride to the Reach and hopefully meet his own.
“I am sure Lady Janna will be as lovely as Lady Catelyn.”
“She better be”, quipped Brandon. “Goodnight, Ned.”