Chapter Text
Genna
261 AC
‘We will not name our son Brandon, there have been far too many of those already.’
Her betrothed turned sharply at her pronouncement yet he did not look truly shocked. Genna had the feeling that little truly shocked Rickard Stark. He moved closer to her, looking down at her form with those intense gray eyes, so light they almost shone like silver. She must look ridiculous to him, wrapped in multiple furs and still rubbing her gloved hands for more warmth.
His own figure was quite striking, she was forced to admit. Even at six and ten, the same as her, he stood a little over six feet with the long Stark face and grey eyes, more silver in his case. Unlike her golden brothers and numerous Lannister cousins, Rickard was attractive in a rather savage way - his beard was particularly impressive, covering the lower half of his face yet it neatly trimmed around all edges, making him look older than he was. His shoulders were broader than what she was accustomed to, most Northmen were, she’d noted, and his chest broad and arms wide. Yes, he was very pleasing indeed, he’d do quite nicely as a husband.
‘It is nearly traditional at this point. There have been many Brandon’s over the years.’ The timbre of his voice was so deep it made something unfamiliar shoot through her body. Yes, these Northmen were made large, tough and savage. One had to be to survive in this land that snowed even in the bloody summer.
Genna put on her best haughty expression - a rather good one in her opinion - and sneered. ‘Be that as it may, I prefer we pick another notable Stark. The next Lord of Winterfell should be far greater than all that came before, even you, my Lord.’ His beard twitched and Genna fought the urge to stamp her foot.
‘You’ve been avoiding me, my Lord.’ She tried again. He only nodded his acquiescence.
‘I did not know what to make of you at first. This betrothal only came about because I met your brother on the battlefield and he recognised that we have many similar goals in life. He suggested it, seemed to think your Lord father would like his only daughter to be a Lady of a Great House once more and I’m as good a choice as any.’
Gennna knew he was right. Tywin had made this happen and she would forever be grateful for it - ever since he had voiced his objection to the near betrothal with a Frey boy Tywin had been her champion. And rightly so, the only daughter of a Great House as wealthy and great as House Lannister deserved nothing less than being the Lady of another Great House if being queen was unattainable. It just so happened that Rickard Stark was the only available one of the picks of the lot: Mace Tyrell was still a toddler, Steffon Baratheon besotted with his Estermont betrothed and Hoster similarly with his Whent girl. Doran Martell would have been a good option, only 2 years younger than her but Tywin did not consider the Dornish worthy of her hand. Jon Arryn had married Branda Stark a few moons ago, another marriage borne of the blood of the War of the Ninepenny Kings.
Still, Genna was particularly unhappy that she was not Rickard’s first choice and the mere luck of a devastating winter chill had carried Lyarra Stark from this world too soon, freeing Rickard for another marriage. It did not bode well for this marriage if her betrothed still carried a flame for his formed betrothed.
‘Very well, my Lady. We shall name our sons anything other than Brandon.’ She looked up in surprise, Rickard was positively smiling. ‘No Benjen’s either,’ she added quickly, while he was in the mood to grant her a boon. ‘No Benjen’s.’ he affirmed.
Rickard studied her a little more, something like surprise in his eyes. ‘You’ve studied our histories, I see.’ This was delivered as more of a question than a statement.
‘I had to. When House Stark marries from the South they always marry from First Men Houses and there has never been an alliance between our two Houses in recorded history. I assumed your bannermen would not take kindly to an Andal becoming the Lady of Winterfell and attempted to prepare.’
He actually smiled at that, his teeth were straight and white and Genna felt a flutter in her stomach.
‘It will not be easy at all, my Lady-’
‘Genna,’ she quickly interjected. ‘You will be my Lord husband in a few days' time, please call me by my name.’
‘Genna.’ He sounded it out, testing the foreign name on his tongue. It came out rather rough due to his Northern brogue and she thought she quite liked it. ‘You may call me Rickard then.’ She nodded in acceptance.
‘This marriage will not be easy for either of us. As we speak, House Stark has been reduced to myself in the main branch. Lyarra - ‘ his voice faltered briefly at her name but he shook it off and continued. ‘Lyarra has passed on and so has Great Uncle Rodrik. Branda’s children will be Arryns so it is up to me, to us, to ensure the future of this House. The lords are not happy that I passed over their sisters and cousins for a Southroner.’
Genna had the feeling that Rickard was the type of man who did not coat his words in sugar. He wasn’t finished, from the way his chest expanded. ‘I would also like this marriage to be a success.’ He looked so earnestly at her that Genna could do nothing but nod reassuringly at him.
‘I wish the same, my - Rickard.’ And she truly did. This was not the match she would have made for herself, nor him by the looks of things but here they were. She was also a foreigner in this land and would rely on him almost exclusively to make the transition easier. They were so young though, to be entrusted with the responsibility of the largest region in Westeros and about to embark on a marriage as well.
‘That is why I am here.’
The godswood at Winterfell was nothing like the one in Casterly Rock, this ancient place of moist earth and decay. This was a place where followers of the Old Gods came to worship and expected those Gods to answer. It was three acres of forest within the ancient fortress and Genna felt that it was much the same as it was 8000 years ago when Bran the Builder raised Winterfell in this place. Trees stretched in every direction she could see: soldier pine, ash, chestnut, ironwood, oak and others she could not name yet but the true attraction was the Heart Tree. With its white bark and blood red leaves, she could see why the First Men considered this tree sacred. There was nothing quite like it anywhere, she would wager. It stood tall, taller than all the other trees around her and broad as well with a face carved into it, weeping red sap the colour of fresh blood - that face stared at her nearly aggressively and Genna drew her furs tighter around her. Never had she felt more like an intruder anywhere and the black pool beneath the tree didn’t make it seem any more welcoming.
Steeling her nerves, she declared ‘I wish you to teach me the ways of the Old Gods.’ Rickard stared at her in surprise. ‘I know there is no place for the Seven in the heart of the North and I do not want our future son to be seen in the light of his Andal mother, or to give your bannermen cause to question my place here, nor his and any of our other children.’
Rickard smiled again, even more broadly than before and Genna’s heart skipped a beat. He was ruggedly handsome, this Northman of hers and she found herself thanking the Mother for small mercies’ part of her had been expecting a beast of some kind. Her betrothed held out his large hand for her to take and Genna placed her own small and dainty one in his. He led her towards the Heart Tree where he had been standing before she interrupted him.
‘We kneel and bow our heads.’ He demonstrated the movement. ‘State your wishes before the gods, there are no intermediaries here. Simply ask for what you want.’
Genna looked down at the bone white roots of the great weirwood. I wish to thrive here, I wish for this land to thrive and for our House to be stronger than ever . It seemed to her the wind whistled a little louder through the branches.