Chapter Text
Ned hadn't wanted to believe it. Would have more happily knocked his own eyes out of his skull, believing them off-kilter more than he would ever believe what they were telling him.
Upon the flowering of some young girls came the names of her Gods-provided mates. Most came with one, sometimes two.
But not his daughter.
No, Sansa's nape held three names - and each one made his frown worsen on his face. The names of Stannis Baratheon, Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister. Almost humorously going in order of how much they bothered him.
Stannis was the least offensive, he knew him at least, back when he was an awkward boy and then when he was a stiff-lipped, strained man who had little love for the brother who Ned had accepted as his own. And already married (though it was socially and morally acceptable to set aside an existing wife should a mate arise, especially should they be a non-mate themselves) with a daughter around the same age as Arya was. But he at least had honor, valuing honesty and hardwork above all else.
Roose Bolton was of the North and he regretfully knew him even better than Stannis, though he wished he hadn't. He was the closest. Married multiple times already, though widowed each, he had unsettling eyes and even more unsettling ways. The Boltons had proven themselves shaky Stark bannermen, given their long history beginning in animosity, but that had been shortened by firm Stark dominion and a marriage pact generations ago. Roose also had a son, a boy older than Sansa was, named Domeric - and, rumor had it, a bastard of his own that lived in a Mill nearby.
But Tywin was certainly worst of all.
A man of six and fifty, with three adult children, one of which was married to Robert as his Queen. Another who flagrantly betrayed his vows by murdering his own King and sitting on his Throne while he bled out. And a third, a dwarf, who apparently preferred living his life within the inside of brothels than his own home. Tywin Lannister was a vicious, cruel man who reined in even more vicious and crueller men, the same who had dropped Elia Martell's children at Robert's feet after the fighting was over. All to destroy Aerys Targaryen. His family, his legacy, everything that he was. All for taking advantage of Lord Tywin's wife and soul bond, Joanna, on their wedding night. The tower to topple all others, Aerys had begun his own downfall when he laid eyes on his best friend's wife.
And now they were all coming to Winterfell.
"Well, with each of them holding a single good trait, perhaps put together they'll form a single fine husband." Catelyn had mused drily, though he didn't mistake her tone for true humor.
"I thought with just Stannis it would be complicated." He said, putting the quill he'd just used to regretfully invite all three lords to his home. "But each of them - has Maester Luwin returned yet with his books? When girls have multiple names, it is typically after the first dies, but all three of them are living and breathing at the same time."
"I imagine it'll be difficult to find outside of the Targaryens, but there must be something." She returned, moving towards where he sat, smoothing his hair away from his nape. The men were always blank, always clueless until his Lady became of age. Unfair, but perhaps more wise, she thought, remembering a duel in the Riverlands, many years ago, back when she was still Catelyn Tully. Of a small boy being cut by her first name, by Brandon Stark, only to stop at her behest. "At least Lord Bolton is close. Perhaps we may persuade a few visits a year after they are bonded."
"She's only fourteen, Cat."
"Her fifteenth name-day is a short way away, Ned. Lysa was the same age when she married Jon Arryn. And he was already twice-widowed by then. And older than any of Sansa's soul names." Catelyn countered. Ned didn't reply, so she continued, understanding his silence for what it was. "Lord Bolton will be quickest to arrive, only coming from the Dreadfort. A two-day ride?"
He sighed. "Or three, if he comes with his household."
"When has he ever?" She scoffed, thinking on the strange Lord of the Dreadfort, his pallid face and his cold, pale eyes. A very odd match for her beautiful, gentle daughter. But this was arranged by beings other than man.
"True. But we will arrange enough rooms for the Boltons in case he does." He said, leaning back into his wife's hands. She rubbed his shoulders. He'd always been tense and solemn, but this business with Sansa would surely age him another decade.
"And then Stannis. And Tywin. Gods - his brother and father-in law both... Robert won't be able to resist."
Roose Bolton replied to the Raven within six hours of it being sent, announcing his immediate plans to come to Winterfell. He needed only a week to first gather his household and make a few arrangements before coming to collect his bride, making everyone grimace as they realized he thought himself Sansa's only soul name.
"It's too late to tell him now, he'll already be on his way. But it will be apparent once he arrives. I've never know Lord Bolton to behave rashly before." Maester Luwin advised.
Perhaps, Ned thought, but didn't say. But he isn't particularly agreeable either. The flayed man is on his banners for a reason.
Robert's reply came five days after it was sent, answering on behalf of both his father-in law and Stannis. And like Ned expected, he couldn't resist coming himself. With the whole caravan, the Queen, both brothers, and children too. They would ride immediately along the Kings Road, and would meet up with Lord Tywin's lot somewhere along it.
"Have the empty rooms inspected and prepared for visitors." Cat had thankfully taken over from there. "We'll be having every spare room occupied, I expect. Have the King and Queen in Lady Lyarra's old chambers, overlooking the Godswood. It has the finest view."
"And Sansa's soul bonds, milady?"
"Oh." Catelyn tutted, thinking on it before she grimaced. "Put them near the Lord's chambers. Roose Bolton, as well, when he arrives. I'd rather not think of any impropriety under our roof this trip, Poole."
"Of course, milady."
Ned turned and peered down into the hall that held his children's bedrooms. He'd station Jory outside of the hall for the entirety of the trip. Maybe Stannis wouldn't dare - but Roose or Lord Tywin? Jory was younger and stronger than both and too loyal to be bribed.
"Is Sansa with Jeyne right now, Poole?"
"Yes, milady. I believe I last saw them in the glass gardens."
/~/
"Well - your stitches are very fine." Jeyne said reluctantly, looking down at the handkerchief in Sansa's hands.
"If only his sigil wasn't the flayed man." She sighed, dropping her hands into her lap, her bondmate's favor clutched weakly in her hands.
"The Bolton name is just as old as the Starks. And you at least just made his sigil small. From afar it just looks like a pink cross." Her friend was at least a goblet half-full kind of person.
Sansa looked back down at the favor. She'd been working on it since her Father received the raven he was coming. She'd picked her favorite ivory fabric, which she knew was very sturdy and braved strong washings, which she'd also used for the two unfinished favors back in her room. Her bond mates were men grown who would prefer practical gifts over frilly hankerchiefs from little girls, she'd thought assuredly. After all, her Father still used the handkerchief she made him when she was twelve and he was a very important man too, just like her bond mates.
"Do you think he will like it?" She asked, rubbing her thumb over the pink stitch of the Bolton house words, our blades are sharp, which she'd taken special care to make even and legible.
"Of course he'll like it!" Jeyne insisted, though she was purposely not looking at the Bolton sigil that rested on each corner of Sansa's favor. She was right, from afar it did just look like pink crosses, but up close as they were, they were so obviously complete with heads, hands and feet. The one thing that Sansa never would've done was omit true details just because they were slightly horrifying. "He's probably never received anything this lovely before." Her friend added.
Sansa smiled bashfully and stood, taking her best friends arm as they began strolling again through the glass gardens. "Do you think the Dreadfort has gardens like these?" She wondered, looking longingly at their small lemon tree which had maybe two dozen unripe, dark green lemons hanging from it's branches.
"My Father might know." Jeyne offered. "But even if the Dreadfort doesn't, surely Casterly Rock will have whatever you need." She teased, making Sansa blush. "They say Tywin Lannister is the richest man in Westeros. He'll probably buy you every lemon in the Seven Kingdoms if you wanted."
"We shouldn't speak of such things!" She exclaimed, embarrassed and yet pleased at the idea as they passed the row of winter blue roses, thinking of what she knew about Casterly Rock. And Dragonstone, her mind added. She couldn't believe that she had three bond mates, all at once! It was rare to even have two, which her Lady mother had, let alone three all at once! Typically when one had multiple, it was due to the first one dying, like her Mother's did. It was only after her Uncle Brandon tragically died due to the Mad King did her Father's name appear right under his brothers. But hers appeared all at once, like some Maester's said the Targaryens did. But then, they would all live in Kings Landing - and her Mothers would lead her to Winterfell regardless, but all of Sansa's bond mates were scattered across the kingdoms!
"Oh I hope you could come with me!" Sansa wished, clutching her friends arm tightly.
"Surely I will! And if any of your Lord husband's protest, you can just convince them otherwise!" Jeyne giggled, nudging her and making Sansa giggle too as they strolled along the paths.
The next day, she and Jeyne were breaking their fast together in the Godswood with tarts and raisin bread that they'd snuck from the kitchens when the horns back at the castle blew, announcing an arrival to the gates.
Roose Bolton had arrived in Winterfell.
Jeyne wanted to rush to the gates, but Sansa was too nervous and didn't want to appear red-faced and sweaty in front of him, so she'd insisted they go no faster than a quick scamper, which got them to the gates last, but thankfully not too disheveled.
"Here, with me Sansa." Her Mother urged, taking her by the hand and placing her between her and Father, who looked stony and solemn. His 'Warden of the North' expression, the same he used to sentence prisoners and do Northern politics. Her Lady Mother in contrast had a soft and regal look, with her features schooled into a polite smile, which Sansa attempted to imitate (though her smile may have been a bit more eager.)
The gates opened at her Fathers command then, and a group of ten horsed men and a small carriage came through, filling the courtyard.
The Lord of the Dreadfort urged his white mare forward, and with an approving look from Father, Theon stepped forward from his place behind their line to take the Lord's reins, allowing him to disembark. Roose Bolton was a tall man and slender beneath the dark-red leather doublet he wore, appearing neither too thin nor too bulky. Over his shoulders was a cloak that may have once been white or beige, but now was rusty, pale pink. His face was non-descript, neither very beautiful nor very ugly. He was clean-shaven, with greying dark hair that he kept close-cropped. The most interesting (unsettling, strange, terrifying) thing about his face were his nearly-colorless eyes, being such a light color of grey that the looked more like two moons in his sockets rather than eyeballs.
You can always find at least one thing you like about a man, her Septas words reminded her in her mind.
"Lord Bolton." Father greeted him as he approached, offering his hand, which her soul bond took politely.
"My liege. I thank you for your warm welcome." Lord Bolton replied, and Sansa decided she liked his voice, though she'd had to strain her ears to hear it. His voice was very deep, but soft and quiet, even while out here in the courtyard, with the noisiness of their household and the whinnying of horses threatening to overcome it. "My Lady Stark." He then said to her Mother, bowing his head respectfully and laying a kiss on Mother's hand at her offer.
Then his pale, cold moon-eyes landed on her.
"May I introduce my eldest daughter, Sansa." Father spoke, voice a tad uncomfortable, though none seemed to notice.
Sansa curtseyed, low and deep, with her head tilted just so, like her Lady Mother taught her. "Lord Bolton." She greeted politely, smiling and trying her hardest not to shiver under his gaze.
"Lady Sansa." Lord Bolton returned, his tone pleasant to her ears. She offered him her hand, and like with her Mothers, he kissed her knuckles, his thin lips cool to the touch.
"We should speak in my solar. I'm afraid we have much to discuss that we were not able to fully detail in a single ravens scroll." Father informed somberly.
"Of course, my Lord. I will follow your way." Her bond mate said agreeably, leaving her with a final nod before drifting out of the courtyard with her Father, leaving his men to be handled by her Mother.
"Well, that was something." Her Mother said to herself before ushering the Bolton men this way and that.
Sansa privately agreed.
/~/
"Three." Roose repeated dispassionately, staring down at the note provided by the Maester.
"It's happened twice before." Lady Stark offered, sitting dutifully beside her husband. "For Aegon the Conqueror's wives and Rhaenyra Targaryen, though they each only had two. A raven has already been sent to the Citadel for more information, but to the Maester's understanding, this is one of the first times in recorded history that three names have appeared at once."
"Who are the other two?" He asked, trying his best not to be angry or frustrated in front of his liege lord and his wife. It would do no good to do so, it was not as if this was their doing. This was doing outside of their comprehension, done by amused Gods who delighted in toying with those under their control.
"The Kings brother, Stannis Baratheon. And the Warden of the West, Tywin Lannister. They have also been notified - they are on their way North as well." Lady Stark said.
Of course this would be the case, Roose thought mildly, remaining calm. He thought of his soul bond, of the lithe, tall, beautiful girl who had curtseyed so sweetly to him, chirping out his name in a way that pleased him like no other. When he'd set his eyes on her, he knew he wanted nothing else so badly. She was tall for a girl, with lovely auburn hair and Tully blue eyes that were like pools to her inner thoughts. He'd frightened her, he knew that, but he would've thought her dim if she hadn't. But something about his person had pleased her in some way. He'd been confident and ready to provide her a few more things about himself to enjoy, until the proverbial 'but' came from his liege.
Three soul bonds wasn't just rare, he had never heard of such a thing at all. Two, yes, by Targaryens like the Lady said, but never three, and certainly none that came about all at once.
And now he was to compete with Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister.
Well, he would be sure there was little competition at all. It would take at least three weeks for horses and men to arrive from Kings Landing - maybe a fortnight, if they'd left as soon as the ravens arrived, which he severely doubted. And even if they had, he was already here, prepared to do what he must to ensure the young girl's favor.
If, Roose considered, taking a glance at his liege, who was leveling him with an unemotional look, her family would allow him such a thing.
"Your chambers have been prepared for you, my Lord. If you are not too tired from your journey, would you care to share your midday meal in the Great Hall with us? Sansa and the rest of our children would be joining us of course." Lady Stark said, standing from her seat, signaling that this was the end of their news for him.
He stood also. "Of course. Allow me though to freshen up first, I would hate to displease Lady Sansa so early in our courtship."
Lady Stark smiled tightly. Lord Stark's lined frown became deeper, but he did not take offense to a Father uncomfortable in his young daughters affairs.
Their midday meal was largely uneventful. He was seated across from Lord Eddard out of respect, but in doing so it placed Lady Sansa, who seated next to her younger sister, three heads away.
Still, he did not shirk this opportunity, taking advantage of speaking with her eldest brother Robb, the Winterfell ward Theon Greyjoy, and then Bran Stark, who'd been not-so-quietly dared by his sister Arya to ask if the Dreadfort really had a skinning room.
"Brandon!" Lady Stark scolded from down the table at the question.
"It's quite alright, my Lady." Roose countered calmly before addressing the boy. "A thousand years ago, perhaps. Though there are a few leathers in the Dreadfort's dungeons that my Father used to suspect was not quite cowhide."
The young children shivered in frightened delight at the ominous suggestion, though his bond mate looked ill-at ease.
"House Bolton has not skinned their enemies in hundreds of years." Lord Eddard reminded down the table to his children, though he knew it was more directed at him, like he knew that the practice had merely been hidden behind closed doors rather than outright unused. Roose knew the letter of the law very well, and he used it to his advantage. 'Enemies' was not the word used in the command those hundreds of years ago, and his liege knew it too. But still, accusations were never thrown, so he left the unaired warnings unanswered, and would continue to do so until explicitly approached.
"Lady Sansa." Roose suddenly addressed her, interrupting her next bite of goat cheese pie. "I've a desire to visit the Godswood after our meal has concluded. Would you do me the honor of showing me the way? With a chaperone present, of course."
Sansa pinked at the request, but was oh so pleased that he had taken the time to invite her somewhere on his own (so she did not have to) but tried her best not to smile too brightly, not wanting to inspire Arya to embarrass her like she so often did. "I would like that very much, my Lord." She said, feeling pleased when her Mother nodded approvingly.
"Septa Mordane will chaperone." Father said, making Arya happy, who immediately turned to whisper into Bran's ear about whatever silliness they wanted to get up to now that her sister was free from her embroidery lessons.
Once their luncheon was over, Sansa took her bond mate's offered arm, which she found to be presented gallantly, and only nodded once to her Septa who'd taken to following a horse-length's away from them as she lead them to the woods.
"Has your brother always quite liked horrible stories?" He asked her politely, following her walking speed.
"Oh yes. Old Nan tells him the most frightening tales she can think of and he's always hungry for more of them." She said, entering through the ancient wrought gate into the small clearing where the little pond and the largest of the weirwoods sat. This one had a few rolled stumps and boulders where her Father liked to sit and polish Ice in his solitude with his little rag and bottle of potato alcohol. She thought at once of the favor that sat in her pocket and wondered when she might give it to him.
"He would have no shortage of them in the Dreadfort. Perhaps he may come and visit while you are in residence. And indeed the rest of your family, as well."
Her heart soared at the offer, and she smiled at him. "That would make me very happy, my Lord." Sansa said, hoping he could sense the warmth in her words. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she slowed their walk to a stop, pausing at a trio of weirwoods on the eastern part of the Godswood. At a distance, Septa Mordane stopped as well. "If I may, I have a gift for you, Lord Bolton."
Roose paused, his pale eyes humorless though his thin lips twitched up into a half-smile. "Do you?" He asked softly.
Sansa slipped the neatly folded hankerchiefs from her pocket and demurely offered it to him, which he took and carefully unfolded over his forearm for his inspection. His fingers looked over each stitch thoroughly, openly testing and appreciating the durability of the stitches and lingering over the small sigil on each corner, and then the inscription of his house along the side.
"A fine favor." He said then, lowering his head to her nobly before tucking her favor in his cranberry-colored doublet, close to his heart. "I apologize that I have nothing to gift back to you, my Lady."
"There is no need to apologize, my Lord." Sansa returned kindly, deciding that she also very much liked his manners and gallantry, despite his unnerving appearance and reputation. How a man acted in private was very different to how he acted on the battlefield after all, and so far he had been very kind and gentle with her. Most of it must just come from being the Lord of such a dark castle, she thought assuredly. Rumors about one Lord of the Dreadfort would pass to the next, no matter the kind of man he was. And her Father would surely not have allowed them out if it were true, bond or no.
"There is need." Roose countered coolly. "I shall have to craft something just as fine in return for you." His promise was nearly coy, making her blush prettily in response. "Do you enjoy sewing very much, my Lady?"
"I do, my Lord." Sansa affirmed, her eyes flickering up to his face, searching for something more in his face that she liked. She knew he was the same age as her Father, his face was smooth and relatively untouched by time. He had a strong looking nose, she thought, sloping out directly from the ridge of his brow and ending in an abrupt end, but she found it unique and interesting to look at.
"You're very talented." He complimented, though it was more matter-of-fact than lush. "I believe we may have a few rolls of velvet in the Dreadfort, though they're from my Grandmother's time. They're yours, if you would care for them, though they are in Bolton colors."
"My Lady, it is nearly time for you to join your sister for lessons." Septa Mordane interrupted, earning her ire for interrupting such a lovely conversation.
"Right away, Lady." Roose said agreeably, regardless, though she was sure he must have been disappointed at the interruption as she was. "Perhaps we should spend some time together later during my stay, should your Father permit it." He suggested.
"Of course. If you are not too bored of it, we could ride to the wolfswood together?" Sansa offered, thinking that they could get more privacy to get to know each other that way, without the Septa lingering too close. Maybe they could even get Theon or Jon to come, as they would surely be more interested in galloping ahead in the woods than spying on her. And she could bring Lady!
"A fine choice, Lady Sansa." Her bondmate's moon-like eyes crinkled with another partial smile, and he kissed her politely on the cheek this time, much to her Septa's chagrin. "I will meet with you on the morrow then."