𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 : A Game of Thrones Story

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

The ride to Winterfell had been primarily silent, with the clatter of the horses' hooves hitting the ground the only source of sound. There was tension in the air to say the very least. Freya's dissatisfaction became clearer and clearer the more they neared their destination. Freya peered out of the window as they arrived at Winterfell. She felt apprehensive about the whole thing, how was a marriage between sworn enemies supposed to work out? She let out a sigh, if only she had the freedom to choose her own suitor.

The newly reigning King of the North himself, Dorren Stark, was the one to receive them upon their arrival, alongside his doting wife, Lady Caryss. Dorren was a plump man with long graying hair and a full beard. Lord Rodner was quick to notice how much frailer the man appeared to be since the last time he had seen him eye to eye. Lord Dorren Stark had been long known for his seemingly impenetrable demeanor. However, the man Lord Rodner was witnessing from his carriage was nothing of the sort.

"That's the King of the North?" Freya asked, raising an eyebrow. "He looks sickly to me." Perhaps he'll die and I'll be Queen sooner than I thought, she thought.

Lord Rodner nodded. "I suppose even the great Wolf King of the North cannot avoid the perils of old age." He commented just before one of the Stark servants scurried over to open the carriage door for them. Lord Rodner climbed out of the carriage then helped his wife descend the steps, followed by his younger sister.

"Be nice." He hissed in Freya's ear.

Freya glanced up at him with a playful smile, "I'm always nice."

Lord Rodner simply let out a quiet huff as he allowed the aide to help them out into the cold winter air one by one.

"Lord Rodner!" King Dorren Stark boomed out in greeting. "I cannot believe I am about to say this but it is nice to see you, my boy."

The closest thing he had to a smile formed on Lord Rodner's lips. "The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace." He politely replied. Pleasantries were not on the new Lord of the Dreadfort's agenda. However, he figured it could not hurt to at least fake it for the moment being. What kind of example would he be setting for his young sister otherwise?

"And you must be Freya." The King said, glancing at the black haired teen.

Freya dipped a curtsy to the king, "I am, Your Grace." She said politely.

"My, what a pretty little thing you are." Queen Caryss interjected, almost as if the fact had come as a surprise.

"Your Grace is too kind." Freya said with a smile. She hated every moment she was forced to play nice with the Starks, and came to the realization that this would be the rest of her life. She kept a smile on her face, resisting the urge to scowl.

Queen Caryss smiled at Freya, then turned her attention to Mariya who had been silently standing by her husband's side. "You have not changed a bit, Mariya." The Queen of Winterfell said, her long chestnut hair flowing in the wind.

"And you have not aged a day, my queen." Mariya replied with courtesy. Nevertheless, a hint of discomfort between the two could be noted by anyone who paid close enough attention. It was to be expected, she presumed. How else would a mother react to meeting the woman who publicly rejected her beloved son years after it happened?

"Come inside, it's far too cold out here for ladies such as ourselves." Queen Caryss said.

Freya and Mariya followed Queen Caryss inside of the keep and Freya couldn't help but look around as she was led inside, it was impressive, to say the least. The overall feel of the keep was vastly different from the dark and dreary atmosphere the Dreadfort was known for.