Ice Will Suffice

Futurefic!, assuming Daenerys is now Queen of Westeros, Jon is Rhaegar and Lyanna's son and did not die on the Wall, the Others have been vanquished and the realm has not dissolved into general chaos.

All characters and rights belong to George R.R. Martin, I'm just playing with them. I'm well aware GRRM does not approve of fanfiction, but I don't approve of all of my favorite characters being killed off, so I guess we're even. Spoilers up to ADWD.

Pretty sure I'm the first to pioneer the pairing I have in mind…which will be confirmed at a later date, though if you have a guess, feel free to let me know. There will also be other various pairings mentioned/displayed throughout. Read, review, enjoy, be confused, critique, I welcome it all. Flames, however, will be used to bake Frey pies, which offending persons must eat.

oOo

Most people assumed that he would need a fiery Southron bride, someone to melt his icy exterior and balance out his Northern stoicism; Margarey Tyrell perhaps, with all her sweetly nettled charm, or even the Queen herself, all passion and blazing eyes and a temper to match that of her dragons. However, if they had ever actually asked him his own preference, he would have told them that his desire for fire had died with Ygritte and her flame red hair on the Wall. All he wants now is someone to soothe the burn she'd left in her wake.

oOo

THE MERMAID

The longer she stood there, alone in the silence, the more it seemed to her that she could hear the crash of the waves echoing inside the hall. Familiar painted creatures swum around her; the huge shark on the left wall she had named "Wylhem" in her youth, the eel that had always frightened her during thunderstorms, and if she squinted, she could just make out the battling kraken and leviathan in the dim light. These creatures had been her companions as a child, each one a friend she had given life to as she pretended to swim through the Merman's Court when all the courtiers had left for the day. She had imagined herself a mermaid then, a sea nymph of unsurpassed beauty and terrible power, so very different from the scrawny slip of a girl with lack-luster blonde hair and a high thin voice. She would make believe that she was queen of the ocean, ruler of all the sea creatures, from the mighty whale to the tiniest shrimp. But, unlike the haughty Lannister Queen (for even the people of White Harbor knew that Cersei would never be anything but) or the last, tragic Targaryen Queen, she was a just Queen, a helpful Queen, one who listened to her subjects (however pretend they might have been) and did her best to solve their problems.

It was the reason she had, at age eleven, dyed her hair green on a whim. To be a true mermaid Queen she would have to look the part, and that included having hair the color of seaweed and only ever wearing varying shades of blue dresses. She smiled at the memory of her mother's shriek at discovering her youngest daughter dumping a bottle of green dye over her head. The resulting disastrous color had become her most recognizable trait, though now, bowing to the wishes of her family, she had allowed the color to soften from seaweed to sea foam (which could nearly be blonde, if one squinted and she was outside and it was a particularly bright day).

She was shaken from her reverie by her sister's voice echoing in the large room.

"Don't go."

Wylla Manderly turned and gave her sister a soft look. "You know I must."

"Let Harry go in your place! He is a Lord, a Northman—"

"And a Karstark." Wylla said calmly. "I must do this, sister, for our family. Harry, for all his honor and strength, cannot represent the Lords of White Harbor as he is not one of them." She paused, giving Wynafryd a significant look. "And he is your husband, sister. Would you send him away with such ease?"

Wynafryd glared back at her. "You know I love him, Wylla. Gods know I do, but I love you as well! Harry is fierce and brave and strong—"

Wylla gave a merry smirk. "Am I not? Sometimes I think you hardly know me at all."

"When was the last time you fought a battle?" Wynafryd hissed. "Or killed a man?"

"I wasn't aware that a diplomatic meeting at our liege lord's castle would be so dangerous—"

"This is not a laughing matter, sister! The Starks are not securely back in power. With every remaining Northern house represented, there are bound to be quarrels! The new Lord Stark is hardly more than a boy…and still there are those who think that this plan of bending of the knee to the Targaryens is a hideous insult to his family's memory!"

"He has been beyond the Wall, Wynafryd. He is not some green boy, playing at being a Lord and dreaming of tournaments. If what you say is true, and there are those who doubt Brandon Stark's ability to lead, he will need a faithful supporter more than ever."

Wynafryd gave a great sigh and covered her eyes with her hands. Wylla pushed a lock of her green hair out of her eyes and took her sister's hands in her own. "I do not want to leave you, Wyn, but I must do this. For you, for the Starks, for the North! But most importantly…for Grandfather. He has asked me to do this, and I cannot deny him. Not now, not when he is so ill."

"More reason why you should not go!" Wynafryd hissed. "He is old and feeble; his mind, it hasn't been the same since the Bastard of Bolton, it wanders—"

"His mind wanders?" Wylla said in an icy tone. "His? Grandfather may be old and dying sister, but even now, he is not weak minded. Perhaps you have forgotten the business with the Freys , the plot to which you were privy to whilst I remained in the dark; that was not the work of a weak minded man."

"That was years ago! He is not the same as he was then…and, Gods be good Wylla, how can you still you rage at me for knowing something you did not? How could we have told you the true plan? I could never have lived with myself if you knew—if you had seen!" She stopped, her fingers tightening around Wylla's. "I wanted to spare you…you were a child, a fifteen year-old child!" Wynafryd insisted.

"I am no longer fifteen." Wylla spoke, her voice deadly calm. "And have not been so for some time. Kindly stop treating me as such."

Wynafryd opened her mouth to retort when both sisters froze as the sound of a throat being cleared met their ears. They turned to see their father slowly approaching them. Age and his time imprisoned in Harrenhal had drained some of the fat off Wylis Manderly's bones; though still larger than most men, he was a shadow when compared to his father. There were obvious circles under his eyes and he moved slowly, despite his weight loss. He had never divulged what had happened during his time as a captive of the Lannisters, and it seemed he never would. He reached his daughters, his piercing blue eyes flickering from one to the other.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"How can you allow him to send her, your precious mer-girl, to that-that council of death!" Wynafryd asked, whirling to face her father.

Wylis ignored the flash of anger in Wylla's eyes and turned instead to his eldest daughter and touched her cheek gently. "Lord Stark has asked for representation from all the houses, child. Would you have me refuse our liege lord at this, his hour of need?"

"Why not Harry—"

"Harry is a Karstark, as are you now, Wynafryd." Wylis said wearily, rubbing his eyes. "Would you have him leave you now, in your condition?" Wynafryd flushed, and rested a hand on her just-swelling stomach. Her father continued, "You and he will return to Karhold. His place is there, as is yours, helping to rebuild it. Your grandfather is too ill to go, I am too tired to fight with the unyielding zeal of younger men, you are married and expecting; Wylla is the only suitable choice. Not only that, but she will do the most good for the young Lord Stark; she will be both a true friend and loyal ally, something he will sorely need."

Wylla flushed at her father's compliment and looked away as he smiled softly at her. Wylis reached out to her and took both her hands in his.

"And your mother will roll her grave as I say this, I am more glad than ever that you have remained unmarried, as you, unlike dear Wynafryd, have nothing to hold you here, except for the love of two foolish old men and a sister."

Wylla's eyes filled with tears. "That is hardly nothing, Father."

"It is when compared to the orders of a liege-lord." Wylis drew her close to him and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You have always been brave, daughter of mine, brave and stubborn and sweet. Winterfell is not White Harbor; these men will know nothing of you except your family name and who your grandfather is. You must prove yourself to them. Give your mind rule over your heart; they will look for reasons to call your judgment into question because of your youth and because you are a woman. Temper your sweetness with logic, but do not be afraid to stand up for what you believe in. They will respect you for it. Have faith in Lord Stark, have faith in yourself. But never forget: there are ghosts in Winterfell, my child. And they are always looking for company."

Wynafryd choked back a sob, and Wylla felt her stomach drop at her father's words and she hid a small gulp.

You can do this, Wylla Manderly. Remember what you are fighting for, who you are fighting for, what you're protecting.

She vividly recalled having to tolerate the Freys and their horrid lies about the late King in the North, her father's initial appearance after his return from Harrenhal, the loss of nearly all of her childhood boy-friends. She must be loyal to the remaining Starks; they and their family had paid for the North with their blood and their happiness.

"I won't fail you, Father."

Wylis managed a tight smile. "I know you won't." He turned away from them, looking around the great Court. "It seems only yesterday I would find the two of you in here, dreaming of fish and handsome sailors to steal you away…"

Wynafryd was wiping tears away and did not answer. Wylla shook her head. "That was only Wynafryd, Father. She was the beautiful princess, waiting for rescue, but I always played the mermaid. And a sailor, handsome or no, cannot catch a mermaid."

"And what do mermaids do to sailors that try to catch them?"

Wylla looked away, and thought of the Freys, of pie, of her grandfather's horrid nickname, of the trials her family, her friends, and her home had faced during the long war. She looked back at the kraken and leviathan, at the starfish beneath her feet, at the eels and the octopods and the sharks swimming in the painted deep.

All of them bow to the power of the merman.

With that thought in mind, she raised her head with her answer.

"They eat them, Father."

Wylis smiled and pulled her into an embrace, nearly smothering her against the still-great girth of his belly. "Never forget that, my mer-girl."

oOo

The night before her departure, Wylla sat at her window, gazing out at her beloved sea. The chill did not bother her, though winter was in full force and most places north of the Neck were blanketed with snow and horribly cold. She would risk the cold for her favorite sound of sea meeting shore. She had fallen asleep to the roar of the ocean for eighteen years, save for the nights she had spent visiting her sister at Karhold. She would miss the rhythmic sound of the crashing waves, as familiar to her as the heartbeat of an old friend.

Winterfell is supposed to be the jewel of the North! Home to the great Godswood, surrounded by forests, with rooms heated from springs below…I should be happy to go there, to be of use to my liege lord.

She paused, closing her eyes to appreciate the sound.

But it shan't be like New Castle. Not like home.

The door to her room creaked open, and Wylla jumped. Wex stood in the doorway, grinning at her.

"Not funny Wex! You know I hate being snuck up on!"

The boy gave a shrug and ambled into the room, throwing himself casually into her desk chair. It had been there, after the whole business with Ser Davos of rescuing Rickon Stark from Skagos, that she had taught him his letters and words. After he had learned enough to carry on a conversation (albeit on paper), he had declared himself a squire to House Manderly, eager to repay all that they had given him. More so than that, Wex was her very closest friend, one whom she trusted above all others (even Wynafryd, especially since her sister had married). He drew out paper and a quill (which she kept at her desk at all times, specifically for these visits). He scribbled something and then held it out for her to read.

Are you ready to go?

"I'm not sure, Wex…I'm a little frightened."

Wex's eyebrow raised, nearly disappearing into his dark mop of hair. You, frightened? You stood up to murdress Freys in front of the intire cort! What could frighten you, mermaid?

Wylla stifled a grin and reached over and corrected the words he had misspelled before answering. Wex stuck his tongue out at her, and she gave him a small shove. He underlined the last sentence he had written and raised his eyebrows. Wylla sighed, running a hand over her face. "I have never gone this far from White Harbor before…Winterfell is different from everything I know, far from my family, far from the sea…What if I come off as stupid? As a silly little girl who knows nothing of war, and even less of how to live life after one?"

You are not stupid, Wylla. You are brave and kind and good. Even jaded lords will see that.

She smiled and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Wex."

And b'sides, he wrote, a wry grin appearing on his face, you will have me there, to prevent you from doing anything foolish.

Wylla gave a happy shriek. "You're coming with me? Truly?" Wex nodded, smiling. Wylla threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I am so glad! I shan't be alone with all those noblemen who will look down their noses at me, not with you by my side!"

Wex's face had gone red the minute she had moved towards him, but now he managed a timid smile and reached for the paper again. Wylla released him and watched the quill fly over the paper as he wrote.

I'm hardly likely to strike fear into any one, Wex paused to gesture at his lanky frame, made even thinner by his sudden increase in height in the last year (he was now over six feet, and towered over most men in White Harbor) causing Wylla to give a giggle, but if my presence will be a comfert to you, I am glad as well.

"You know it is." She said, looking him directly in the eye (while he had shot up in the past year, she had not and was unlikely to ever be taller than her miniscule height of just past five feet, and as such they were nearly the same height while he was sitting down and she was standing), still holding tight to him. She looked up and smiled. "You're my dearest friend Wex, and I would be glad to have you with me always, especially since you know Winterfell much better than I."

His face fell. I would go wherever you asked of me, but I must admit I am loath to go back to that place. So much death happened there…I fear I will be followed by gosts wherever I go.

Wylla unwound her arms from him and stepped back, placing her hands on her hips. "What happened to Theon Greyjoy was not your fault Wex. You were a boy; what more could you have done?"

He deserved better than the fate he was born to. He was just a boy too, Wylla. A lost boy with no place in the world, whos family didn't care for him, who was just trying to leave a mark on something, anything.

"You can't talk like that in Winterfell." Wylla said, shaking her head.

Wex's writing became jagged as he angrily wrote. I'm not talking, I'm writing. What are they going to do? Take the scribbles of a bastard squire from the Iron Islands?

"They very well could! They will not understand…I don't care that you're ironborn, you're more than that to me, but Theon…he is still a turncloak to them."

Hasn't he suffered enough? Isn't obvious he didn't kill the Stark boys, as one is the one calling us all there anyway, and the other is a terror whos trip to Skagos is known all over Westeros? All he did was try to make his father proud!

"He killed people, Wex! And his father was Balon Greyjoy, who, from your own account, didn't care one lick about him! His tale is sad enough without adding your death to it. What does my grandfather always say? 'The North remembers.' They will always remember that the Starks raised him, that Robb loved him, that they trusted him…and he repaid them with murdering people he'd known his whole life, by leaving the King in the North without the strength of the Iron Islands against the Lannisters. There is nothing you can say to them that will make them think better of him.Please, Wex, you'll get yourself in trouble by defending him…"

He was my friend.

"And you are mine." Wylla said.

Wex stopped writing, and looked up at her. Blue eyes pierced into brown, and he gave an inaudible sigh. He gave a nod and watched as Wylla's shoulders relaxed.

"Please don't think I don't understand…I just can't see anything happen to you, and we Northerners, on the whole, are not known to be tolerant…"

Don't. Don't lump yourself in with them. Wex wrote viciously. You are not the same. You forgive.

Wylla gave him a weak smile. Wex rubbed his eyes, sinking back into the chair. She moved closer and stroked his hair. "You will need your rest; the journey north will be hard, especially in winter. Good night Wex."

He gave her a small smile in return. Good night.

She turned back to the window as the door closed behind him.

Farewell, sea.

She drew the thick shutter back over the window. She quickly changed into her sleeping gown (the chill she had ignored either had come back in full force) and climbed into her bed, swathing herself in her many furs. Trying to sleep, her mind was full of what might await her in Winterfell.

She had heard many tales of the new Lord Stark; despite being a cripple, he was the late King Robb in miniature, one of the bravest men in Westeros (he had, after all, gone Beyond the Wall with only a simple minded stable boy and two crannogmen as companions), a Warg, and an admirable leader as well.

However, this praise was tempered with her acquaintance with his younger brother; Rickon was wild and fierce, and had terrorized many a chamber maid in New Castle after his rescue (or abduction, if one listened to his side of the tale) by Ser Davos Seaworth. Rickon had grown to tolerate her, and would only mildly scowl and hiss at her attempts to manage him (sometimes, she could even make him smile), whereas he had loathed her mother, ignored her father, and tormented Wynafryd with mischievous delight. There was something so heartbreakingly sad about Rickon, because in his sweeter moments she saw the boy he might've been if Lord Eddard had never gone to King's Landing. She knew that when he returned to Winterfell at the end of the war she had been one of the few, if not the only one, sad to see him go.

If the elder brother is like the younger, I do not have much hope for this being a pleasant gathering of the Northern Houses. If they get the tiniest inkling that they're being snubbed or, Gods help us, treated rudely, all of the ghosts in Winterfell couldn't keep the Starks in control.

With that, she leaned up, blew out her candle, and then drifted into sleep.

oOo

Many weeks later, she nearly cried in relief as Winterfell's stony gates rose into view.

"Almost there, milady." Ser Daniel Flint said, giving her a kind smile. Wylla managed to give him one in return, despite the aching pain in her back and legs. The snow had been too thick for a wheelhouse, so she had been forced to go the entire way on horseback. She generally enjoyed riding, but after two—or was it three?—weeks in the saddle, she never wanted to see a horse again. Wex rode up beside her, laughing silently at her grimace.

"Oh hush you smug squid, not all of us are used to travelling such distances."

Wex smirked, ignoring the disapproving look Ser Daniel was giving him. None of her grandfather's sworn knights understood their lady's attachment to the ironborn squire, and they still did not fully trust him. The gates were mercifully open, and the small White Harbor party rode inside. Ser Daniel helped her dismount. Wylla resisted the urge to throw herself on the snowy ground and kiss it. Another of her grandfather's knights offered her his arm as a swarm of stable boys descended upon them, leading their horses out of the cold. She looked around, absorbing the castle's great stone walls. It was clear parts had been recently rebuilt. On the walls lingered scorch marks, and the wooden structures looked scarcely more than a few months old. Still, it had an air of grandeur and majesty to it that White Harbor lacked.

This was a place of Kings, Wylla thought

The small group was approached by a pretty girl, dressed warmly in brown furs. Her green eyes were warm and she smiled at all of them, before focusing in on Wylla.

"Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Manderly."

Wylla was a little startled at being greeted so directly, but managed a smile all the same. "Thank you, Lady…?"

"Reed. As the snow is too thick, Lord Stark cannot greet you himself, but he would like to see you as soon as possible. If you will follow me, please."

Wylla exchanged a quick look with Ser Daniel, who nodded. The group followed their guide through the huge doors and into Winterfell's newly rebuilt Great Hall. Her grandfather had told her tales of how ruined it had been after the sacking of Winterfell, but it was clear that much masonry and effort had been put into restoring it to its former glory. Wylla felt extremely small and insignificant in the huge hall. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she realized her party was not alone. At large tables against the walls sat the other Northern lords and their underlings.

We are one of the last to arrive. Wylla realized with a jolt. Nearly all the other houses seemed to have someone already seated at the tables. There were only three other ladies acting as representation; Lady Jonella of House Cerwyn, who looked very disinterested, one of the many Ladies Mormont, who shot Wylla a wink, and Lady Dustin, whose shrewd eyes were sweeping every inch of the room with disdain. The rest who were watching her were men, and looked rather unenthusiastic about her presence. A huge man sat at the seat closest to the raised table of the Starks; Wylla could only assume that this was the Greatjon that she had heard so many tales about. And there, now directly in front of her, was Lord Stark himself.

In the hugeness of the Hall, Wylla was struck by just how small he seemed. Could this boy truly have gone beyond the Wall? He hardly looked old enough to wield a sword, let alone hold control over one of the more vast kingdoms in Westeros.

But then Brandon Stark turned his face towards hers, and she saw in a sudden rush how this could be the same boy reputed to be a Warg and the near-King in the North. It was all in his eyes, those strange, other-worldly eyes that flickered oddly between blue and green. In them she saw pain and intelligence and wisdom and strength, she saw beauty and terror and wondrous understanding, and most of all, she saw the North, from dangling dangerous icicles to the soft snow that hadn't been walked on yet. In that moment Wylla Manderly knew that she would do whatever this boy asked of her, not because he was a Stark or because he was her liege-lord, but because his eyes spoke more to her than anything had in her entire life.

She realized she must have been staring, for Wex nudged her and gave her a strange look. Blushing, she nearly ran into the Lady Reed as they came to a halt at the front of the Hall. The lady gave her a wry look over her shoulder before turning back to the front.

"My Prince, may I present Lady Wylla Manderly, representing White Harbor."

Wylla gave a curtsey and met his queer not quite blue, not quite green eyes.

"Welcome to Winterfell, my lady. Your seat is at the table directly to my-"

"Wylla!"

She was barely able to pinpoint where the voice was coming from before a blur of tangled hair and warm furs crashed into her. Arms wrapped around her waist in a tight embrace and as the Hall made noises behind her (some of surprise, some of distaste, some of amusement), she recognized just who was clinging to her.

"Hello to you too, Rickon."

The fierce little boy lifted his head and beamed up at her. "Meera told me you were coming but I thought she was lying because you love White Harbor and I didn't think you'd come and usually people never do what they say they're going to do like how Mother and Father and Robb and Sansa and Arya said they'd come back but they didn't but you came so that means Meera's not a liar and neither are you."

She gave his hair a gentle stroke and noticed someone had finally been able to cut it, though it is still far longer than what is normal for a nine year old boy. He unwound his arms from around her and took one of her hands in his and practically dragged her over to the table that his elder brother had started to mention.

"You get to sit here because I trust you and Bran says we need people we can trust and I said you were one we could so you get to be close to us." Rickon said with an air of finality in his voice. "Also Shaggy doesn't like many people but he likes you and he likes the Greatjon so that's why he's here too."

"Where is Shaggy?" Wylla asked, allowing the boy to eagerly push her into the seat.

"Bran says the wolves make some people uncomfortable so they're in the gallery." A scowl made its way onto his face. "I don't care if they're scared of them but Bran says good lords must consider their peoples' feelings too."

"He is very wise to say so." Wylla said. Rickon shrugged and appeared to be prepared to launch into another tirade when a voice cut across him.

"Rickon, I'm sure the Lady Manderly would like to be able to sit without you bothering her."

Wylla gave a tiny start; she had not noticed him approaching. The Lord Stark sat in a wheeled chair (which she knew was modeled after her Grandfather's) and the Lady Reed stood behind him. Rickon frowned at his older brother. "I'm not bothering her! Am I, Wylla?"

"Not at all." Wylla said politely. For this she earned another ferocious grin from Rickon, a wry look from Lady Reed, and an amused smile from Lord Stark.

"Nonetheless, I must speak to her about this council. Why don't you go check on Shaggydog and Summer?" He suggested. The younger Stark's face lit up and he exclaimed something in the Old Tongue. Lord Stark chuckled and answered him. Wylla looked back and forth between them, confused.

"Don't worry, they aren't saying anything about you." Lady Reed whispered conspiratorially.

"Can you really understand them?" Wylla asked, amazed. She only knew it was the Old Tongue because it had been all that Rickon would speak when he first returned from Skagos, and the wildling woman Osha had had to translate for him.

"A little. But I cannot speak a lick of the Old Tongue." Lady Reed said. "It's quite funny to watch the lords' faces contort when they have a long conversation in it and not one of them knows what's being said."

Wylla peered around her and noticed that it was indeed true; most of the lords near enough to make out the conversation were grumbling, obviously frustrated at not being able to understand what was being said little more than 5 feet from them. With one last exclamation, Rickon darted from the room.

"I apologize for my brother's rather enthusiastic greeting of you, my lady. Ever since your grandfather sent the news that you were to be coming in his stead, he has been rather excited."

"I'm happy to see him too, my lord." Wylla said, cheeks heating as a doubtful look crossed his face. "Truly, I am. I was fond of him when he was in White Harbor."

"I think you're the only one who would say so." Lord Stark leaned forward, a pensive look on his face. "Even many people here in Winterfell cringe when he approaches them, and yet you welcome him with a smile and a gentle touch. Why is that, my lady?"

"It is not his fault he is wild. Skagos is not a place to be trifled with. Any child would become wild after spending time there. The Gods are merciful indeed to have kept him as sweet as he is; the ferocity he displays was a necessity to keep himself alive. The other Lords and people of Winterfell should be thankful that he has returned to them at all. Many a grown man has gone to the Stone Isle and never returned; the fact that a small boy did is nearly a miracle."

"You're loyal to him." Lady Reed said. "Even though he's as unpredictable as the wind and as sweet as a tart lemon-cake. Why?"

"Because he needs someone to be loyal to him. Because he is just a boy, noble house and ancestry aside. But also because he is a Stark, and they took my ancestors in when no one else would, which would make it high time that a Manderly repaid the favor. And because your family has suffered enough without people adding prejudice against a damaged child to the long list of abuses laid against you."

Lady Reed and Lord Stark exchanged a look. He leaned forward in his chair, finally looking like the fourteen year old boy that he was, an eager smile upon his face.

"I see now why Rickon likes you so much. My brother has no patience for simpering or glossing of the truth; honesty and bluntness are the best ways to reach him. You certainly have both traits in abundance."

Wylla blushed again and opened her mouth to protest, but was quickly shushed by a gentle motion from Lady Reed.

"You're embarrassing her, Bran."

It was Lord Stark's—Bran's—turn to blush.

"Oh, please don't be embarrassed! We could use more honesty in Winterfell…it's been lacking ever since Father made the journey to King's Landing."

Did he just compare me to Eddard Stark?

While Wylla reeled with that thought, Bran continued on, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"A guard will come to your chambers at nightfall. Dinner will be in my solar tonight."

"Pardon?"

"Don't be late."

He gave her a smile before wheeling off to Lord Umber's table. Lady Reed touched Wylla's hand softly.

"It truly was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I'll see you at dinner."

And then she too, was gone. Wex, who had respectfully moved away during the exchange, wandered back to her side.

He wrote: What was that about?

"I think," Wylla said, acknowledging a nod from the Greatjon and yet another wink from the Ladies Mormont, "I may have just passed some kind of test."

oOo

Author's Note: I promise this all has a point. This is not going to be a short story; right now I already have the next five chapters laid out and the main plot-point hasn't even been hit yet.

Anywho, when I read ADWD, Wylla really stuck out to me. Something about this tiny slip of a girl defying her Grandfather and the dastardly Freys to defend a man she'd never met really captured my interest. Since she only appeared in one chapter, much of her personality is how I've imagined her. Stubborn, honest, but very genuine and sweet. Somewhat like a combination of Sansa and Arya would be, though obviously she has some flaws (her temper, as evidenced in the book, being one, and a few more I plan to hash out in later chapters as well).

Bran and Meera will reappear in the next chapter, as will Rickon and a few other familiar faces. Don't think I've forgotten about the Dragon Queen and the other lovely folks down in King's Landing; Tyrion, Aegon, Jon; or Arya on her adventures, or Sansa in the Vale. They all will make appearances soon enough.

Also, this as this story is going under the 'Romance' category, and I'm saying it's about Jon and Bran, I feel like I should say, in bold font:

THIS IS NOT SLASH. THERE WILL BE NO INCEST. JON AND BRAN WILL NOT HAVE A WEIRD TARGARYEN/LANNISTER/BLEHBLEHBLEH RELATIONSHIP. THEY ARE BROTHER/COUSINS. THAT'S IT.

Moving on!

As far as ages go, dear George isn't very clear on how old everyone is over the course of the books, so I have created my own timeline (with some reference to the book). Sir Martin does give us some definite dates, such as Margarey and Joffrey's wedding day, the first day of the new century, which would be the year 300. So, I decided to go from there.

I found a very helpful source that compiled a list of many of the main character's birth years. In this story, I am saying that the war has been over for around two years, assuming it ended in 302 which would make the beginning of this story set in the year 304 after Aegon's Conquest (the original Aegon, not the one previously known as Young Griff).

As such, here are the ages I'm going with:

THE STARKS

Sansa: Born in 286—she is now 18 years old

Arya: Born in 289—she is now 15 years old

Bran: Born in 290—he is now 14 years old

Rickon: Born in 295—he is now 9 years old

THE LANNISTERS

Jamie: Born in 266—he is now 38 years old

Tyrion: Born in 273-he is now 31 years old

Myrcella: Born in 290-she is now 14 years old

Tommen: Born in 291-he is now 13 years old

THE TARGARYENS

Aegon VI: Born in 281-he is now 23 years old

Jon: Born in 283-he is now 21 years old

Daenerys: Born in 284-she is now 20 years old

THE MARTELLS

Doran: Born in 248-he is now 56 years old

Arianne: Born in 277—she is now 27 years old

Trystane: Born in 287-he is now 17 years old

THE TYRELLS

Willas: Birth year unknown, likely one to two years older than Garlan; 28-29

Garlan: Born in 277-he is now 27 years old

Loras: Born in 282-he is now 22 years old

Margarey: Born in 283-she is now 21 years old

THE TULLYS

Edmure: Born in 273-he is now 31 years old

Roslin Frey-Tully: Born in 283-she is now 21 years old

THE MANDERLYS

Wyman (Lord Lamprey): Born in 239-he is now 65 years old

Wylis: birth year unknown, likely in his mid to late 40's

Wynafryd: Born in 280-she is now 24 years old

Wylla: Born in 284-she is now 20 years old

OTHER CHARACTERS

Brienne of Tarth: birth year unknown, likely in mid-to-late 20's

Jorah Mormont: Born in 255-he is now 49 years old

Barristan Selmy: Born in 237-he is now 67 years old

Gendry Waters: Born in 285-he is now 19 years old

Davos Seaworth: birth year unknown, likely in his mid 40's

Meera Reed: Born in 283-she is now 21 years old

Theon Greyjoy: Born in 279-he is now 25 years old

Asha Greyjoy: Born in 276-she is now 28 years old

Jeyne Poole: Birth year unknown, likely the same age as Sansa; 18

If the characters are mentioned in this list, it's because in this story they are alive or are of whereabouts unknown. If they're not mentioned, it's because I believe they'd have to be dead for this story to occur (examples include Stannis and Cersei). However, I feel as though I should warn you that just because they are on this list now does not mean they're all guaranteed to stay alive.

That being said, there are probably some characters I'm forgetting that are indeed alive in this story but have yet to make an appearance. Feel free to message me with any questions.

I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter; please feel free to review and let me know how I'm doing.