A DAUGHTER'S DUTY

NED

Ned Stark released a weary sigh as he set down the raven scroll, confirming that the new settlements on the outskirts of White City—were finally complete. Houses had been constructed to accommodate the Yi Tish arrivals, built in a curious blend of Northern practicality and Eastern design that had already drawn curious onlookers from throughout the region.

The advance party Ruyan had sent ahead months ago—almost immediately after Robb had agreed to the marriage—had proven surprisingly effective. The engineers, craftsmen, and administrators she'd dispatched had worked alongside Northern builders, introducing construction techniques that allowed them to work through the harsh weather that would normally have halted progress. She even sent the first batch of plants, like the bamboo that they have already started growing at the godswood and near Moat Caitlin. It was a small gesture that spoke volumes about the princess's pragmatic nature; she had anticipated the need for preparation long before most would have considered it.

The extensive repairs to Winterfell would be finished before his son's party arrived, though only just. They had prioritized first the new settlements in Winter Town, then the essential structural repairs to the ancient fortress itself. Questions spread like wildfire throughout the North—whispers of foreigner sightings, strange settlers, and most persistently, rumours about Lord Stark's heir and his mysterious "diplomatic mission." Tomorrow's harvest feast would force Ned to address these rumours directly, a prospect he did not relish.

The sound of the solar door opening drew his attention. Catelyn entered, her posture rigid with the same contained anger and resentment that had characterized her movements since learning the truth of their son's circumstances. Though months had passed since that revelation, the wound remained raw.

"The preparations for the feast are nearly complete," she said, her voice cool and controlled. "The Cerwyns and Tallharts have already arrived. The Umbers and Karstarks are expected by midday tomorrow."

Ned nodded, studying his wife's face. "And you've had the east wing for Robb and..."

"For Robb and his wife," Catelyn finished, unable to keep the bitterness in her voice. "Yes, of course."

Tomorrow night, they would formally announce Robb's marriage. This revelation would undoubtedly spark outrage among Northern houses who hoped to see their daughters become the future Lady of Winterfell. The political implications were far-reaching. What angered Catelyn most was the ripple effect this foreign marriage would have on their own children, a fact Maester Luwin had bluntly reminded them after they received Robb's latest letter.

"We will need to wait for Robb's return before finalizing any betrothals for the others," Ned said carefully. "He will be Warden of the North after me. The alliances his siblings form will need to complement his own."

"And his wife will join those discussions?" Catelyn asked, her voice nearly a hiss. The thought of a foreign princess helping decide the futures of her children was clearly unbearable.

Ned met her gaze steadily. "Cat, she is our gooddaughter now and the future Lady of Winterfell. These alliances will affect Ruyan's people as well as ours. She may even arrange marriages between some of her people and our bannermen's children to strengthen ties."

Catelyn sank into the chair opposite his desk, some of the fight leaving her body, replaced by the weariness that seemed to plague them both these days. "Do you have any thoughts yet? About who our children might marry?"

Ned ran a hand over his face. He had been considering this question for months, weighing political advantages against his children's happiness, tradition against necessity. "I've been thinking of betrothing Bran to Howland's daughter. Moat Cailin will be his after the repairs, its only fitting he marries someone who knows the neck's defenses. Robb mentioned in his letters that he has ideas for its restoration. We'll discuss it when he returns."

"Bran wants to be a knight," Catelyn said softly, a mother's concern evident in her voice.

"He can still foster with the Manderlys and earn his knighthood," Ned reasoned. "White Harbor has the closest thing to a chivalric tradition in the North. He could serve as a bridge between the two cultures."

Catelyn nodded slowly, accepting the compromise. "And what of Arya and Sansa?"

This was the harder question, and Ned's expression grew more troubled. "Arya is of an age with the Greatjon's second son. We could invite him to foster here, let them grow up together and see if they might suit."

The suggestion earned another slow nod from Catelyn. It wasn't a poor match politically, and the Umber temperament might actually complement Arya's wildness rather than seeking to tame it.

"And Sansa?" she pressed.

Ned sighed. His eldest daughter's dreams of knights and southron princes made this particularly difficult. "There are several Northern heirs who would be suitable. You should speak with her before the feast so she can at least form impressions of the boys who will undoubtedly seek her attention. Nothing needs to be finalized yet, but..." He let the sentence hang.

"But she will definitely have to marry North," Catelyn finished for him, a familiar sorrow in her eyes. "Oh, Ned! Because of them, our children's choices have been stolen, just as Robb's was."

The accusation hung between them, not entirely fair—nor entirely without merit. Ned reached across the desk to take his wife's hand, his touch gentle despite the calluses earned from years of wielding Ice.

"We wanted them to have what we have," he acknowledged softly. "A marriage that began as duty but grew into something more. They are Starks, and that name carries responsibilities. But we can at least let them know those they might be matched with, give them time to find affection where duty demands they look."

The anger in Catelyn's eyes softened slightly, though the worry remained. "I'll speak with Sansa tonight," she conceded. "She should be prepared for tomorrow."

As his wife rose to leave, Ned found himself thinking of his son—the boy who had left Winterfell nearly two years ago and the man who would return in his place. What changes would he see in Robb? What foreign influences had shaped him? And this princess who would now be his lady wife... would she ever truly belong in the North?

CATELYN

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the windows of Sansa's chamber as Catelyn Stark entered, finding her eldest daughter seated at her embroidery frame. At twelve, Sansa was already showing signs of the beauty she would become—her auburn hair, inherited from Catelyn herself, falling in neat waves past her shoulders, her blue eyes focused intently on the direwolf pattern taking shape beneath her skilled fingers.

"Sansa," Catelyn called softly, closing the door behind her. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

Sansa looked up, her face brightening at the sight of her mother. "Of course." She set aside her embroidery and smoothed her skirts, the picture of ladylike composure that had always made Catelyn both proud and wistful. So unlike Arya with her wild ways, Sansa had embraced every lesson in propriety and courtly manners with genuine enthusiasm.

"You've done beautiful work," Catelyn observed, gesturing to the embroidery. The direwolf was exquisitely rendered, each stitch placed with precision that belied Sansa's young age.

"Thank you, Mother. It's for Robb when he returns." Sansa's eyes lit up with excitement. "I can hardly wait to see him again. Do you think he's changed much?"

The innocent question twisted something in Catelyn's heart. How to explain that the brother returning to Winterfell would be far different from the boy who had left? That he would bring with him changes that would ripple through all their lives, including hers?

"I'm certain he has," Catelyn replied carefully. "Two years is a long time, especially at his age."

She took Sansa's hands in hers, gathering her thoughts. This conversation had been postponed too long already.

"Sansa, you know that many lords will be attending the harvest feast tonight with their sons."

Sansa nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Yes, Mother. Jeyne says that Cley Cerwyn can't stop talking about me whenever he visits his father. And Daryn Hornwood is supposed to be very handsome now."

"The feast will indeed give you a chance to become better acquainted with several young men of good Northern houses," Catelyn continued, choosing her words with care. "I wanted to speak with you about this before the announcements are made tonight."

Sansa tilted her head curiously. "What announcements?"

Catelyn took a deep breath. "Your brother Robb will soon return to Winterfell. When he does, he will not be alone. He has... married while abroad."

Sansa's eyes widened. "Married? To whom?"

"Do you remember the Yi Tish scholars who visited us almost two years ago?" Catelyn asked, unable to keep a slight edge from her voice. "The ones who shared medical knowledge and studied our ways?"

Sansa nodded slowly. "The lady who spoke with Maester Luwin about preventing childbed fever?"

"Yes," Catelyn confirmed. "That lady... she was not merely a scholar as we were led to believe. She is Princess Ruyan of Yi Ti, the daughter of their Emperor. And Robb has married her."

"A princess?" Sansa gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. "Robb married a real princess, and we didn't know? How could she have been here and not told us who she was?"

Sansa's indignation almost made Catelyn smile despite the gravity of the conversation. Her daughter had always been enthralled by titles and stations.

"It seems she came here to assess our family and the North for an alliance," Catelyn explained, carefully omitting the darker truths about how Robb had truly come to be in Yi Ti. "And now that alliance has been formalized through marriage."

Sansa's expression cycled through wonder, confusion, and then growing comprehension. "But... that means Robb won't marry a Northern lady as everyone expected."

"Precisely," Catelyn said, relief flowing through her that Sansa had made the connection without further prompting. "And that, sweetling, brings me to why I needed to speak with you today."

Understanding dawned in Sansa's eyes. "Because of Robb's foreign marriage, my own marriage becomes more important."

Catelyn nodded, impressed by her daughter's quick grasp of the situation. "As the eldest Stark daughter, your marriage will now carry significant weight for the North. With Robb married to a foreign princess, you must marry a Northern lord's son. There can be no match with a southron house for you, as we might once have considered."

Sansa's face fell slightly, and Catelyn knew her daughter was thinking of the stories she loved—tales of gallant knights from the Reach or the Westerlands, of tourneys and southern courts so different from the stark practicality of Northern life.

"I... understand," Sansa said slowly, disappointment evident in her voice. "Is there already someone chosen for me?"

Catelyn shook her head. "Not yet. Your father believes you should have some say in the matter, within reason. The feast tonight will allow you to observe the sons of our bannermen. You should pay particular attention to them."

She squeezed Sansa's hands reassuringly. "Cley Cerwyn, whom you mentioned, is a possibility. As are the Karstark boys, though they're somewhat older. Domeric Bolton is accomplished and well-educated from his time fostering in the Vale."

At the mention of House Bolton, Sansa's expression grew uncertain. Even at twelve, she knew the ancient rivalry between Stark and Bolton and the whispers about the Dreadfort that made even grown men uneasy.

"I'm not sure I'd like to live at the Dreadfort," she admitted quietly.

"That's precisely why your father wants you to form your own impressions," Catelyn explained. "A suitable match must consider many factors—the political advantages, certainly, and whether you might find happiness there. Your father and I were strangers when we wed, but we built a life together. We hope the same for you."

Sansa was quiet for a moment, processing this new reality. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller than before. "I always thought I might marry a Southron lord."

The words pierced Catelyn's heart. This was one more thing taken from her daughter because of the Yi Tish princess and her imperial ambitions.

"I know, sweetling." Catelyn stroked Sansa's hair gently. "But we all have our duties to our family and our people. Sometimes those duties require sacrifices."

Sansa straightened her shoulders, visibly gathering her composure. "What should I look for tonight? How will I know who would make a good husband?"

Catelyn felt a surge of pride at her daughter's practical question. Despite her dreams of southern knights, Sansa understood duty.

"Observe how they treat those beneath them—servants, younger children. Notice if they listen when others speak or if they only wish to hear themselves. See if they can laugh at themselves or if their pride is too easily wounded." Catelyn's voice softened. "And pay attention to how they make you feel when they speak to you. Sometimes our hearts recognize truth before our minds do."

Sansa nodded solemnly, absorbing her mother's words. "Will I be betrothed soon, then?"

"Not immediately," Catelyn assured her. "You're still young, and these things take time to arrange properly. But it's wise to begin considering possibilities now."

Sansa was quiet momentarily, then asked hesitantly, "What is she like? This princess who will be Robb's wife?"

Catelyn tensed, struggling to find an answer that wouldn't betray her own bitter feelings toward the woman who had, in her mind, stolen her son. "She is... skilled in many areas. Educated. Reserved in her manner." She paused. "I didn't know her well during her stay here. None of us did, it seems."

"Do you think she'll be kind?" Sansa asked a note of anxiety in her voice. "Will she be a good sister to us?"

The innocent question caught Catelyn off guard. She had been so focused on Ruyan as a threat, as the instrument of Robb's removal from his home, that she hadn't considered how her other children might view their new good sister.

"I hope she will be," Catelyn said, choosing her words carefully. "But regardless, we will show her the courtesy due to Robb's wife and the future Lady of Winterfell. That is our duty as Starks."

Sansa nodded, appearing to take this instruction to heart. "I'll be courteous to her, Mother. Perhaps she knows songs and stories I've never heard from the East."

Despite herself, Catelyn smiled at her daughter's resilience. "Perhaps she does."

"Mother?" Sansa's voice grew thoughtful. "If the Northern lords see that I'm willing to marry one of their sons, won't that help them accept Robb's princess more easily?"

The perceptiveness of the question surprised Catelyn. "Yes," she admitted. "That's part of why your marriage has become even more important now."

Sansa nodded a new determination on her young face. "Then I'll help make it easier for everyone. I'll be the perfect Northern lady."

As the bells began to ring, signalling the approaching hour of the feast, Catelyn stood. "We should prepare now. Remember what we've discussed. Observe carefully tonight, but say nothing of this conversation to anyone, not even Jeyne. The formal announcement about Robb will come from your father."

"I will, Mother." Sansa rose as well, smoothing her skirts with newfound purpose. "I am a Stark of Winterfell, and I know my duty to the North."

Looking at her daughter—poised, dutiful, yet still innocent—Catelyn felt pride and a mother's protective sorrow. The game of alliances and politics was beginning for Sansa far earlier than Catelyn had wished. Yet another consequence of the foreign marriage that had been forced upon them all.

But as Sansa moved to select her finest dress for the feast, her steps light with the resilience of youth, Catelyn hoped that whatever the future held, her children might find happiness in the paths duty required them to walk—just as she and Ned eventually had.