Chapter Text
(281 AC - King's Landing)
King Aerys the Second sat upon the Iron Throne with an air of absolute authority, the metal biting into his flesh as it always did. But he scarcely paid attention to the stings anymore.
Before him, his Hand – Tywin Lannister – stood with his customary stillness and severity. To his right, Queen Rhaella remained silent, her hands clasped before her, long accustomed to quiet obedience. And before them all, Princess Shaena stood alone, her violet eyes wide and wary.
Aerys smiled at her, but there was no warmth in it.
"The matter has been settled," he said, voice smooth. "You will marry Eddard Stark."
Shaena's breath hitched, her body frozen at his decree.
"Eddard? But—" Her gaze darted toward her mother, seeking refuge, but Rhaella did not meet her eyes. Shaena knew then the Queen would not intervene in her favour. "But Brandon—"
"Brandon Stark is dead," Aerys cut in sharply. "Your hand was promised to the heir of Winterfell, so you shall have Brandon’s brother, the new heir.”
Shaena hesitated.
"I do not know him.” She murmured. She had never set foot in the North, but at least, had met Brandon once, years ago when the betrothal had been agreed.
Lord Tywin’s expression did not shift, but his gaze cut toward her with something that might have been disdain.
"Your knowledge of him is irrelevant," he stated plainly.
“What does it matter which son takes you?” Aerys asked, his voice dripping with contempt. “ You should be grateful, girl. The match is most desirable.”
Shaena’s fingers twisted in the folds of her gown with anxiety. She had known – when the news of Brandon’s death arrived — another match would be arranged, but she had naively hoped there would be more time. She was still four moons short of being five and ten name days.
"Please, Father, I—"
"Please?" Aerys repeated mockingly, rising to his feet. His robes swayed around him as he descended from the throne and approached his daughter, each step more menacing than the last. "This is the will of your father and King."
Shaena flinched but did not step back, though her breath came quicker now.
"You are a dragon, girl. Do not snivel like some commoner.” He grasped her chin with sharp fingers, tilting it upward so she could not look away. "You will do your duty.” He commanded. “You will go north, you will wed the Stark boy, and you will bear him loyal sons to the Crown.
Words died in her throat before they could form. There was no defying him, she knew that. Her mother’s silence had been proof enough.
"Yes, Father," she nodded, resigned.
Aerys let her go, nodding in satisfaction and stepped back.
"See it done.” He said turning to Lord Tywin. “The wedding will take place in the ninth month of this very year."
"It will be as you command, Your Grace," Tywin said, bowing his head.
Shaena did not move as her father returned to his throne. She did not look at her mother. The decision had been made, and she had seven moons to come to terms with it.
(281 AC - Winterfell)
Eddard and Rickard Stark were alone on the solar of Winterfell. The last embers from the dying hearth casted shadows on the stone walls. Ned sat across from his father, hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles pale. Lord Rickard regarded him with the same steady gaze he always had, but now, grief weighed heavy in his eyes.
Brandon was gone.
His brother, the rightful heir, the one meant to lead House Stark after their father, had been taken by God’s cruel hands three moons before. Ned had spent countless nights trying to accept it, trying to believe that Brandon would not stride through the doors with that ever-present grin, boasting of his next hunt or his last conquest.
Rickard exhaled heavily, setting aside the raven’s message that had arrived from King’s Landing that morning.
"The King has sent word,” he said at last. “He is still determined to see the alliance through."
Eddard grew still in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do you mean?"
His father straightened his back, weary but resolute.
"You will take Brandon’s place.” He explained. “You will wed Princess Shaena."
Ned felt the words freeze his blood. "Father..."
"I know this is not what you wished, nor expected.” Rickard’s gaze softened, and he reached out, resting a firm but gentle hand over Ned’s. “It is… somewhat distasteful that she was promised to Brandon. But the Gods are not kind, son. The King’s decision is final and we cannot afford to refuse."
Ned swallowed hard.
He had grown up knowing his duty, but this was different. Marriage was not a battlefield, not a blade he had been trained to wield. He knew little of the princess, only whispers—a comely, fearful girl raised in the shadow of a cruel father, a girl who had spent her life in the viper’s pit that was the capital.
"She will not want me," Ned murmured.
"She won’t have much more choice in the matter than you," Rickard replied quietly.
Eddard looked away, toward the narrow window that overlooked the courtyard.
"Will she loathe me?"
Rickard hesitated. "Perhaps, at first. But you are a good lad, Ned. You will not be cruel to her. She will see that in time."
Ned closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
In seven months, he would be wed to a woman he had never met. A woman who, if Brandon had lived, would have been his brother’s.
He opened his eyes, fixing his father with a look of quiet resolve.
"I will do my duty, father."
TBC...