Chapter Text
“Brandon,” Cassie whispered, poking the squishy flesh of his cheek. “Bran, it’s getting late!”
Brandon couldn’t contain his amusement as the world came into focus around him. He blinked open his sleepy eyes and turned his head towards the younger girl. His fingers came up to rub the slumber from his face.
“It’s indecent to sneak into a man’s room, Cassie,” he groaned, stretching his arms above his head. “Especially as my little brother’s betrothed.”
“It is also indecent for me to fight,” she countered. She turned to look out the window. The sun was higher than their usual schedule. “Which is why we are running out of time! They’ll be up soon and we won’t get to spar.”
Brandon smiled lazily over at Cassie. She might give him the most painful of headaches, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed their mornings sneaking into the Wolfswood together. When he and his future sister-by-law found common ground and often enjoyment in one another’s company.
That was, of course, before he tried forcing himself on her.
After, their mornings stopped. No longer did his day begin with easy conversations and challenging spars. Instead, Brandon’s early hours were spent brooding in places no one would find him. He kept to himself, quietly stalking the castle’s halls. Over the next few weeks, he heard the staff whispering their concerns regarding their lord’s ward. He tried to ignore it, tried to write it off as her own fault, but his guilty conscience often reminded him of the truth.
The morning he decided he couldn’t take the castle tiptoeing around him and Cassie any longer came about when he passed the stables where Ned and Lyanna cared for their horses.
“I don’t know what to do, Ly. She won’t see me. Won’t even open the door for her food until she’s certain I’ve walked away.”
“I’m sorry, big brother. She isn’t responding to me or Ben either.”
“I’ve never known hatred like this, sister. Every time I pass him in the halls, I want to finish what I started. Father has let him off easy and it angers me to no end, Lyanna!”
“It was her choice; you must find peace in that knowledge. Brandon’s always been a brute, Ned. If Father can’t change him, nothing you do will either.”
Brandon’s fists clenched and he changed course almost immediately. He passed Captain Cassel as he went, swiping a ring of keys off of his belt. He didn’t bother knocking or announcing himself in any capacity.
Just stuck the key into the lock and turned.
He pushed open the door to Cassie’s room, slipped in, and shut the door. The tension hung thick in the air already. Brandon wasn’t stupid; he was well aware that the girl knew he’d be the only one to cross a boundary and enter her space without permission.
After all, wasn’t that why they were here in the first place?
He took slow steps towards the bed as he looked around the room. His eyes quickly darted around the scene. Dark. Heavy wood shutters closed. Oil lamps all doused; only small wax candles providing any light. Cassandra’s form muted under layers of pelts and quilts.
His lips slanted upwards as he tried to hide his amusement. A creature of habit if there ever was one. He didn’t announce himself; it wasn’t necessary. Instead, he sat with his back against the headboard, one leg folded and the other draped over the first’s boot.
“I’m disappointed,” he told her while thumbing the corner of his mouth.
“Get out.”
Brandon’s brows shot upwards as the animosity in her voice shocked him. He knew Cass didn’t like him. She liked when he taught her new things, sure. She liked that they both favored their left hands. She even liked when he poked her side and taunted her for one reason or another. She never liked him though. That was painfully obvious. Always goading him, always choosing insults that hit a little too close to their mark, and blatantly ignoring his orders unless they were sparring.
Still, she never spoke to him with so much venom and animosity. He, well aware he deserved such treatment, decided not to press with words. Instead his hands twisted into two different areas of her layered barriers. He dug in deep and ripped the entire stack off of her as they landed on the floor.
And Brandon saw firsthand how much damage he caused. Confident and proud Cassandra Baratheon, betrothed to Eddard Stark, a force to be reckoned with— she was nearly unrecognizable.
Cassie wore the same dress she did the day Brandon approached her. Her hair was greasy and unkempt, she smelt absolutely atrocious, and she looked gaunt in areas where her body was using its own reserves to stay alive.
Brandon looked around the room and found a bowl of fruit that looked promising. He moved across the room and quickly sorted through the moldy and over ripened options to no avail. Nothing looked acceptable for the little lady’s palette.
“Sit up,” he commanded as he returned with a handful of possibly edible apples.
Cass didn’t want to listen to him, but she also knew the faster she complied the sooner he’d grow bored and leave. Whatever game he played would be over. He grabbed the pillow her head had been lying on and tossed it aside. Brandon’s fingers curled around the knife she kept there, a habit Robert instilled in her long ago. He used it to begin carving away rotten bits of apple, hoping there was at least enough to get a nibble out of the fruit. He ignored the awful mess he was creating in his hands.
“For someone with so much bark, sweet girl, you didn’t give me nearly enough bite.”
His gaze left the apple to lock onto Cassie’s empty eyes. She sat across from him, her face devoid of any life. Brandon reached for the water next to him and filled a cup. He held it out for her, but Cass’ eyes didn’t so much as flicker with recognition. He sighed and leaned forward, pressing the glass to her bottom lip.
“Drink, Cassandra.”
He tilted the cup upwards and felt a swirl of pride as her lips parted. He only gave her half, even as she began eagerly gulping— her body desperate for everything she’d neglected to give it. He’d give her more, he just didn’t want her to overwhelm her body with too much at once. He set it back down and offered her a bite of apple after rinsing it with clean water. He wanted to chastise her for the way she nibbled at the already small piece, but even he could recognize that this wasn’t the moment to do so.
“Why didn’t you fight back?”
Her eyes slowly climbed upwards to look at his face. The second their gazes locked, some of her fight returned. Just the smallest flicker, but it was there. Brandon refrained from smirking.
“I did. I lost.”
She popped the remainder of the apple chunk into her mouth, signaling the end of the conversation. Brandon scoffed, already occupying his hands with dissecting the next apple.
“No, you thrashed around a bit. Then you surrendered.”
Cass managed to find the strength to glare in his direction. In defense of the girl, she possessed the type of frown that would make any man pause. However, Brandon smiled in response. If it took getting Cassie angry to get her fire back, the young man would not complain. After knowing her for over a decade, Brandon knew how to make her tick.
“Since when does the mighty stag surrender,” he goaded.
He held out a large slice of the fruit with his blade. Cassie didn’t take it. She simply continued to stare with an irritated sneer. Then she turned her head to the side, bringing her arms up to cross her chest. He watched as her fingers curled over opposite shoulders. She looked so small in that moment.
Brandon never hated anything more.
His jaw clenched with his guilt, still not wanting to admit that this was his doing.
“I knew that if I kept fighting, you would only get angrier. Rougher. More reckless. I wasn’t sure how quickly I would lose consciousness and if it was going to happen, I wanted to be awake. I wanted to know what my body went through every step of the way.”
“You spend too much time worrying about what ifs.”
Cass didn’t appreciate that comment one bit. The scowl returned. Firmer. Meaner. Brandon fought the urge to smirk. She hated being seen just as much as he did.
“I want you to teach me,” she finally spoke after minutes of silence.
Brandon raised an eyebrow but trained his features into a bored expression. He simply held out the dagger again, offering the apple. Knowing she wouldn’t get anywhere until she complied, her fingers reached out to wiggle the apple free.
Brandon only spoke once she started chewing.
“Teach you what, sweet girl?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, hands hitting the mattress in her outburst.
Brandon raised his hands apologetically. He had no intention of letting the hated nickname go, but he would respect her wish for now. Just until they were back to a place where he could poke fun.
“I don’t want to experience defeat again, Bran. The next time I’m in such a position, I plan to walk away the victor. I want you to teach me how take a hit— a real one— and remain upright after.”
Brandon couldn’t help but laugh.
“You are a lady of Storm’s End and betrothed to Eddard Stark. You won’t be in a similar position again. You’re absolutely mad, Cassandra, if you believe I will strike you as you are asking.”
Even by the time his laughter subsided, Brandon hadn’t registered the look in her eyes. He was too busy grabbing Cassie another glass of water. When he turned back to offer it up, he found himself met with an image that made her scowl look like child’s play.
Cass sneered up at Brandon, her posture a stark difference from the insecurity he’d just witnessed moments ago. She sat with a straight back, shoulders dropped in confidence, and a glint in her eyes that held a clear message:
Heed my warning.
“Winter is coming, Brandon, and for the sake of my husband-to-be and our children, I intend to be ready when it arrives.”
Cassandra looked at him now with the same intensity his little brother had after pinning him down in the dirt. Brandon sucked in a sharp breath as the realization hit him— even harder than Ned’s strikes had that day in the courtyard.
None of it was meant for him.
Winterfell, the North, ruling. Brandon played his part well, but the truth remained. He hated lessons with his father, learning how to rule King Aerys’ largest kingdom. His doubts outweighed his confidence, which often led to a heated mind and impulsive decision.
This time, he didn’t bring the cup to her lips. He simply let her fingers curl around and claim it as if it were already hers. Because it was.
“You broke something within me, Brandon,” she said with narrowed eyes. “I can’t even leave this room without wondering which face that I trust might turn against me next. So, I care not if I am a lady. I care not if I am younger and smaller. I care not if you have no interest in helping me with this. You will join me for our mornings in the Wolfswood and you will help me build up my physical endurance. And when people begin to ask about bruises or injuries, you will corroborate any story I give.”
She drank from the cup as he stood, no other words needed. His anger grew at the knowledge that she blamed him for her shortcomings. His hands balled into fists as he left the dagger, the apples, and the woman. He reached the door and began to tug it open.
“And Brandon?”
He didn’t turn and neither did Cass. Both knew the other well enough to know when they were listening to one another. The air around seemed to grow thicker, as if nature itself prepared for whatever argument they might engage in. Cass’ head cocked to the side as her eyes remained locked onto the now empty bed in front of her.
“Your father and I have found a compromise. In exchange for mine and Ned’s silence regarding what truly happened in the dining hall, he has promised to remove the head of any Northman who touches me without my permission, Starks included. If you touch me outside of sparring, it will not be Ned’s name to fall from my lips. I will be calling for Ice.”
Cass heard the door slam as he left her and couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She let her feet hit the floor, looking at the mess of moldy fruit Brandon left in his wake. She really did need food. She rubbed at her tired eyes, pulling open the shutters covering the window.
She flinched at her first exposure to daylight in weeks. This new exchange with Brandon left her feeling a bit more in control. The sparring would help in that regard as well, she just needed to find Benjen and see if he would act as a chaperone. She had no desire to be alone with Brandon. The first thing she should do was bathe. The smell was quite rancid.
Before that bath though, she needed to see him. Grabbing a cloak, she secured it around her shoulders and lifted the hood. She didn’t want to look at herself in a mirror. Knowing if she didn’t push herself out the door while riding the high that came with Brandon’s angry submission, she wouldn’t make it all the way to Ned.
Somehow, her feet knew where to take her. She ripped opened the door, ignoring the looks of surprise from castle staff. She passed by Lyanna and Benjen, glad to go unnoticed by her closest friends. She quickly found her way to the godswood, Ned’s place of peace.
She loved entering the grove of weirwood trees with their crimson leaves. She may not have Northern blood, but the gods never made her feel out of place. They welcomed her with open arms since she abandoned the Seven in favor of them. Her eyes found Ned easily once she approached the heart tree. He knelt in front of the mighty weirwood, occupied in prayer.
Cass leaned her shoulder against a nearby tree, bowing her head slightly. She closed her eyes and took a moment to find peace in the rustle of leaves as the wind passed through them. She might not actively worship Ned’s gods, but she found comfort surrounded by their roots.
“I wasn’t aware the old gods answered prayers so quickly,” a familiar boyish voice cut through the silence, but did not disturb the peace in the slightest. “Even if they brought you back to me reeking worse than a boar’s arsehole. I really can smell you from here, love.”
Andra’s eyes snapped open to land on Eddard Stark. His eyes swam with adoration while a loving smile stretched across his face. The second she saw him, now sitting on a log covered by snow, she couldn’t help herself. She hurried over to throw herself into his lap, happy when he caught her in a firm embrace.
“Hold me and suffer,” she laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Ned’s arms wasted no time in winding around her back. He didn’t care about the smell, didn’t care about her grimy hair as he attempted to run his fingers through the knots, and he did not give one single damn about the old, torn dress she wore.
She came back to him— and that was the only thing he truly cared about. So one hand traced circles under her cloak as the other helped her settle into his lap properly. Her head found the crook of his neck as his moved to kiss her oily forehead.
“I do need a bath,” she eventually groaned against his skin.
“Oh, look. The gods answered two prayers quickly,” Ned teased, tickling her side just enough to pull a giggle out of her.
“Take me to the hot springs,” she requested with a pleading whine. “Please, my betrothed.”
“Andra,” he warned with a low rasp in his voice, “We shouldn’t, sweetheart. It’s difficult enough to keep my hands off of you as it is. In the steam of the hot springs? Darling, I’m only a man.”
“Please,” she begged, a small pout on her lips. “I need you close, Ned.”
She tilted her head, bottom lip brushing along his earlobe.
“I’m sure the gods will forgive you for washing another man’s touch from your wife’s body.”
Ned’s eyes drifted shut, already knowing he’d give in to her. The reminder that they would be wed soon made it hard to choose otherwise. He stood, helping to steady her as she did the same. Their fingers laced together and she began dragging him behind her. He glanced back at the heart tree one final time. He prayed they would help Brandon find happiness and contentment with his future bride. Ned knew his brother well enough to know the news of his own betrothal is what got them into this mess.
Eddard Stark did not know that his old gods had their own plans for the current heir to Winterfell’s throne. Plans to remove him from the line of succession, plans that would unfortunately mean losing the current King in the North, plans that would use most of the gods’ remaining strength. They would lose more than half their numbers, but it was necessary in order to rebuild and flourish without the threat of the Others. Their champions needed to have the standing to rally all the land. This would separate the pair for quite some time, but each of them would find happiness in that fate.
Sacrifices must be made if the world were to survive the upcoming Winter.
Now, the gods watched as their champions prepared to face the strength of the Seven. They’ve set forth their own warrior, one much stronger than the reigning Queen of Winter. If they were stronger, if they had one more heart tree, they would have been able to turn the tide in her favor, as they’ve done nearly all her life.
Without her, the king would fall.
Cassandra Stark needed to walk away the victor.
Yet, they could not interfere. The recent sacrifice strengthened them just enough to heal the boy. They wouldn’t be able to do much with the little bit they had left; they still needed to sustain themselves. They needed more. This battle would have to be won with skill and endurance.
They would see just how much wolfsblood their queen possessed.