The name remained sealed until Jace returned from the Dragonpit.
Rhaenyra and I waited for him in the same solar where we had first raised the question of marriage. No councillors attended, and no servants remained once the evening meal had been placed upon the table.
Vaeron knew that we had reduced the possible matches to one, but even he had not been told which name survived. King’s Landing had already produced enough rumours without being handed something real to tear apart.
The folded parchment rested between us.
Rhaenyra had opened it twice during the morning, claiming on the first occasion that the seal had set unevenly and admitting on the second that she wanted to examine the reports once more. I had not mocked her for either excuse.
Selecting a bride for Jace was not simply a question of choosing which family would stand nearest to the throne. We were choosing the woman who might one day share his reign, bear his children, advise him during moments when fear or pride distorted his judgement, and endure the particular cruelty reserved for queens whose smallest failures became the business of the realm.
Baela had known that future awaited her since childhood.
Jace entered still dressed in the dark riding leathers he wore around Vermax. His hair had been tied back against the wind, and the smell of smoke clung faintly to him. Vermax had begun shedding several damaged scales along his flank after the Riverlands campaign, and Jace had spent much of the afternoon assisting the dragonkeepers rather than leaving the work to men he did not yet trust completely.
He noticed the sealed parchment before either of us spoke.
"You have reached a decision," he said as he approached the table. His voice remained calm, although the caution in his expression made it clear that he understood how little of his life would remain untouched by the name inside it.
"We have chosen someone whom we believe is worth approaching," Rhaenyra replied. "That is not the same as deciding the marriage without you."
Jace lowered himself into the chair opposite us. "The council may struggle with that distinction. Lord Tyland has already begun speaking as if my wedding is another harbour that requires proper administration."
"The council will not be sharing your marriage bed," I said. "Its opinions therefore possess limits, even if its members have not yet discovered them."
That drew the faintest movement at the edge of his mouth, though it vanished when Rhaenyra placed her hand upon the parchment.
"Before you read the name, you should understand that this is not an order," she said. "We believe the match could serve the realm, but we also believe the woman suits what you told us you wanted in a wife. You may refuse, and we will not hold that refusal against you."
Jace studied her for several moments. "I believe you mean that, Mother, but I am also the heir. If I refuse every suitable match, the question will cease to remain private."
"That is true," Rhaenyra said. "Freedom is not unlimited for any of us, but there is a difference between accepting that you must marry and allowing the council to choose someone you cannot respect."
I broke the seal and pushed the parchment towards him. Jace lowered his eyes. His reaction came slowly. Surprise appeared first, followed by recognition, and then a more guarded emotion that he attempted to conceal by reading the short report again.
"Sara Snow," he said at last.
Rhaenyra watched him closely. "You know her better than your reports from Winterfell suggested."
"I met many people while I was in the North."
"That answer avoids the question without contradicting it," I observed. "Vaeron would be proud, although he would probably insist upon a second draft."
Jace looked towards me, then returned his attention to the parchment. "I did not conceal anything dishonourable. Sara showed me parts of Winterfell while Lord Cregan was occupied with his bannermen. We rode beyond the walls twice, and I spoke with her during several meals. There was no secret promise between us."
"We did not believe there was," Rhaenyra said. "Had we suspected one, this conversation would have begun differently. What matters is whether you formed an opinion of her that might help us judge the match."
The reports concerning Sara were less polished than those sent on behalf of most noble daughters. No father had spent years preparing a perfect description for a royal court. No septa praised her obedience while quietly omitting every quality that might become difficult after marriage. The accounts came instead from men and women who had known her without expecting that their opinions might one day influence the succession.
Sara was fifteen, the acknowledged natural daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark and the half-sister of Lord Cregan. She had been raised within Winterfell rather than hidden upon some distant holding, and Cregan had always treated her as blood even though the laws of inheritance denied her the Stark name.
She rode well, hunted competently, and understood enough of Winterfell’s stores and household arrangements to assist when her brother’s duties drew him elsewhere. Those who knew her described a young woman who spoke plainly without making cruelty into a virtue, who possessed pride without pretending her birth granted privileges it did not, and who had little patience for men who mistook loudness for authority.
Jace folded the parchment carefully.
"She showed me the older parts of Winterfell," he said. "Not the halls prepared for royal visitors or the towers the Starks are proudest of. She showed me a section of the inner wall that leans badly enough to concern anyone willing to look at it honestly. When I said Winterfell had survived thousands of years without falling, she replied that this was precisely the confidence men possessed shortly before stones landed upon them."
Rhaenyra’s expression softened. "She sounds practical."
"She said princes were always shown the parts of a castle that wanted praise and never the parts most likely to collapse. I told her that some hosts preferred to wait until their guests left before admitting repairs were needed."
"What did she think of Vermax?" I asked.
"She was frightened when she first approached him, but she did not pretend otherwise. She listened when I told her where to stand and stopped advancing when Vermax shifted his head. When he eventually allowed her close, she touched his jaw once and then stepped away before curiosity became foolishness."
"That already places her above several lords I have met," I said. "Too many men believe surviving one moment beside a dragon proves the creature has accepted them permanently."
Jace nodded, though his expression remained thoughtful rather than amused. Rhaenyra leaned towards him. "Why did you never mention her when we asked what kind of bride you wanted?"
He did not answer immediately.
"Because she is a bastard," he said at last. There was no contempt in the word, only an acknowledgement of the obstacle that had made him reluctant to speak. "I knew the council would consider that the end of the matter before asking whether she possessed any of the qualities I described."
"She is also Cregan Stark’s acknowledged sister," I said. "The North is not likely to regard her as some nameless girl pulled from a roadside village."
"Southern lords may not care how Cregan regards her. They will say the future king married beneath his station. Some will claim the match weakens my heirs before they are even born."
"They will say something regardless of whom you marry," Rhaenyra replied. "If you marry a daughter of a powerful house, they will say her family controls you. If you marry a girl from a lesser house, they will say the match lacks dignity. If you marry for affection, they will call you reckless. If you marry only for advantage, they will call you cold."
Jace turned the parchment between his fingers. "Sara would hate the court."
"So do most sensible people," Rhaenyra said. "That does not mean they cannot learn to govern within it."
"She would not tolerate being treated as an ornament. She would speak when lords expected her to remain silent, and she would embarrass anyone who believed her birth made her grateful for insults."
"That sounds remarkably close to what you asked us to find," I said. "You wanted a wife who could speak honestly, who possessed duties and interests of her own, and who would not become frightened by either Vermax or the throne. Sara appears to satisfy those requirements more completely than any name we examined."
Jace looked towards the fire. "Baela would have satisfied them as well."
The room quieted. Neither Rhaenyra nor I attempted to deny it.
Baela had challenged Jace without undermining him and understood the burden of dragonriding without romanticising it. She had been prepared to stand beside him as a partner rather than a decoration. Her death did not merely remove a politically useful betrothal. It removed the future Jace had imagined whenever he thought beyond the war.
"No one is asking you to replace her," Rhaenyra said gently. "Sara is not being chosen because she resembles Baela, and she should never be made to live beneath that comparison within our family. Yet the qualities you valued in Baela did not become forbidden when she died."
Jace lowered his gaze. "The court will compare them even if we do not."
"It will," I said. "If Sara differs from Baela, people will say you accepted less than you lost. If she resembles her in temperament, they will accuse you of choosing a substitute. There is no match that will prevent unkind people from being inventive."
"That is not a particularly hopeful description of marriage."
"It is an accurate description of court gossip. The marriage itself may still become something better."
Jace remained silent for some time. Rhaenyra allowed him the silence rather than filling it with reasons of state. The realm required him to marry, but forcing an answer before he had separated his grief from the woman named before him would gain nothing.
Eventually, he looked towards us again. "Did Sara’s name come from Lord Cregan?"
"No," Rhaenyra said. "He has made no approach. The reports were gathered through people who knew eligible women of suitable age and standing. Cregan may not have considered the match possible because Sara has not been legitimised."
"And Sara herself knows nothing of this?"
"Nothing," I said. "That is why I will travel to Winterfell rather than insult her with a proposal carried only by raven."
Jace’s attention sharpened. "You intend to go personally?"
"If you accept the possibility. I will not ask Cregan for his sister’s hand without knowing whether you could willingly take it."
Jace unfolded the parchment again and read the short account. "Sara spoke to me as if being a prince was something inconvenient I carried rather than the whole of what I was. She understood why I came north, but she also understood that I wanted to prove I could accomplish something without either of you beside me. I never told her that directly."
"She recognised it anyway?" Rhaenyra asked.
"She said a prince who only wanted an alliance could have sent a trusted lord with a sealed promise. She believed I came myself because I needed the mission to belong to me."
I understood why that memory remained with him. Jace had spent much of his life being measured against Rhaenyra, against me, against the throne he might one day inherit, and against brothers whose dragons and temperaments differed from his own. Sara had recognised the young man beneath those expectations without pretending the expectations did not exist.
"She is the closest to what I described," he continued. "She speaks plainly, understands duty without treating it as the only virtue, and has lived close to power without believing it belongs to her. She was cautious around Vermax but not frightened away by him. More importantly, I believe she would tell me when I was wrong even if the rest of the court had decided agreement was safer."
Rhaenyra rested one hand upon the table. "Is that your acceptance?"
"It is my acceptance if Sara agrees after understanding what the marriage would require. I will not have Cregan trade her simply because the crown asks politely."
"Neither will we," I said. "I will speak to her directly, and if she refuses, I will return without threatening Winterfell or treating her answer as disloyalty."
Jace considered me for another moment before nodding. "Then ask her."
Dravvaxx and I departed the following morning.
The dragon had recovered fully during the months after Honeyholt. The long scar through his right wing remained visible whenever the membrane opened against the light, but the weakness beneath his shoulder had vanished.
He climbed with the old strength that made each wingbeat feel like an argument against gravity, turned without favouring the injured side, and remained in the air for hours without showing the exhaustion that once forced us to seek cautious landings.
The flight north still required one stop. Westeros appeared smaller from dragonback until distance reminded the rider that kingdoms were more than coloured regions upon a map. We crossed the Crownlands and the Riverlands first, following roads still marked by the war.
Newly repaired bridges stretched like pale stitches across rivers. Blackened farmhouses stood beside fields where survivors had already begun preparing the next planting. Men working below stopped when Dravvaxx’s shadow passed over them, though fewer fled than they would have during the campaign.
A dragon no longer meant that an army followed. That was one of peace’s quieter changes.
We rested near Harrenhal on the first night. The Gods Eye lay visible beyond the towers, dark beneath the evening sky. Somewhere under its surface rested Vhagar and Aemond. Caraxes had died upon the shore, and Daemon’s body had never been recovered.
I did not approach the water. Dravvaxx watched the lake for a long time, his silver eyes following movements I could not see. Perhaps he smelled the dragon beneath it. Perhaps he merely recognised that the place carried death. He offered no roar and showed no desire to descend towards the shore.
We continued north at dawn. The farther we travelled, the less the land appeared damaged by war. The North had paid in men rather than burned villages. Small groups of soldiers still followed the Kingsroad home, carrying weathered banners and the names of companions who would never see Winterfell again. Some waved when Dravvaxx passed overhead. Others removed their helmets and bowed their heads.
Dravvaxx ignored the gestures. He had never understood ceremony and saw no reason to begin merely because men now called us victors.
Winterfell received warning of our approach several hours before we arrived. Riders saw the dragon crossing the hills and sent horns ahead along the road. By the time Dravvaxx circled above the castle, the yards had been cleared of horses, livestock, and anyone unable to follow shouted instructions quickly.
Cregan Stark stood upon the battlements rather than sheltering beneath them.
He had aged since I last saw him, though not through the passing of many years. Command during war left its own marks upon men who remained home while their banners marched south.
He had sent thousands beneath Roderick Dustin, knowing that many intended to die rather than return before winter. Every raven from the Riverlands had brought news of victory beside lists of northern dead.
Dravvaxx landed beyond the outer wall upon ground previously prepared for Vermax during Jace’s visit. Snow and frozen earth burst outward beneath his weight. His wings folded cleanly, and he settled without favouring the old wound.
Northern guards watched with disciplined fear. Cregan came through the gate accompanied by twenty men and a young woman walking at his right.
I recognised Sara before anyone introduced her. She possessed the long Stark face, though softened through the jaw, and dark hair tied behind her head without southern ornament. Her cloak was heavy grey wool lined with fur.
Nothing about her clothing suggested that a future queen had been ordered to greet a prince. She looked more like someone whose morning had been interrupted and who saw no reason to disguise the fact simply because a dragon had arrived.
Cregan stopped beyond the easy reach of Dravvaxx’s head.
"Prince Othorion, Winterfell welcomes you. Prince Jacaerys wrote that Dravvaxx had been badly wounded, although the dragon before us does not appear inclined to admit it."
"He recovered completely," I replied as I dismounted. "The scar remains, but Dravvaxx regards old injuries as private matters and becomes displeased when people discuss them too confidently."
The dragon’s silver eye settled upon Cregan.
Sara watched him for several moments before speaking. "Should we move farther away? I cannot decide whether he is studying us or considering which one of us would be easier to eat."
"He has already fed," I said. "That makes the second possibility less immediate, though not impossible if someone irritates him."
Cregan glanced towards her. "You might allow our guest to enter the castle before testing how seriously he means that warning."
"I was asking a practical question. The dragon is large enough that pretending not to notice the danger would seem discourteous to everyone involved."
"I was warned that you valued practical questions," I said.
That earned the faintest change in her expression. Cregan offered his arm once I had moved away from Dravvaxx. "You flew from King’s Landing rather than sending a raven, which suggests the purpose of your visit deserves more privacy than the yard."
"You may reconsider the warmth of your welcome once you hear it."
"I doubt the matter will surprise me as much as you expect."
His confidence suggested that he already suspected why I had come. Jace’s time at Winterfell had created more than a military alliance, and Cregan was not a man likely to miss the significance of his half-sister spending time with the royal heir.
We entered Winterfell through the outer yard. Steam rose from the hot springs beneath the walls and carried damp warmth through air cold enough to make every breath visible. Men watched from galleries and open doorways. The arrival of a dragonlord attracted attention, but Sara walking beside Cregan drew more careful interest.
The formal conversation waited until we reached Cregan’s solar. He dismissed the guards but asked Sara to remain. Bread, cheese, and hot wine had been prepared beside the hearth. I accepted the wine before discovering that Winterfell considered warmth insufficient unless accompanied by enough spice to punish the mouth for seeking comfort.
Cregan took the chair opposite mine. "You have come concerning Jacaerys," he said. "A matter of war would have arrived first by raven, and a question of governance would likely have brought written decrees. That leaves family."
"You have removed most of the ceremony from my opening."
"The North has buried too many men recently to enjoy watching southern courtiers circle a subject before naming it."
Sara remained near the hearth, though the stillness of her posture revealed that she understood where the conversation was moving.
"Rhaenyra and I have begun seeking a bride for Jace," I said. "Baela’s death ended the match expected since their childhood. He is now sixteen, and while we have no intention of forcing him into an immediate marriage, the succession cannot remain without direction."
Sara’s expression altered at Baela’s name. There was no satisfaction in it. She seemed instead to understand that any woman considered after Baela would be entering a place shaped by grief.
"We considered candidates from the Vale, Reach, Riverlands, Westerlands, Crownlands, and Stormlands," I continued. "The political advantages differed, but Jace asked us to consider more than banners and armies. He wanted someone who could speak honestly, endure court without surrendering herself to it, and understand that a future queen should possess responsibilities beyond producing heirs. Your name remained when the others were set aside."
Cregan looked towards Sara before returning his attention to me. "You are asking for my sister’s hand."
"I am asking whether the possibility may be discussed. I will not claim her consent through yours."
Sara left the hearth and approached the table. "Did Jace know you intended to come here?"
"He did. We gave him the name before I departed and made it clear that he could refuse. He said you were the woman most like the bride he had described."
"That sounds carefully phrased."
"He was speaking carefully because he respects you and because Baela’s death remains close. Carelessness would have been easier and less honest."
Sara lowered herself into the chair beside Cregan. "What does he remember of me?"
"He remembered that you showed him the part of Winterfell likely to collapse rather than the part guests were expected to praise. He remembered that you treated Vermax with caution instead of pretending bravery. He also remembered that you understood why he came north better than most of the men negotiating with him."
Her expression softened slightly. "He came because he wanted the North, but also because he wanted to prove he could gain it without either of you beside him."
"That was his account of your judgement."
"He disliked hearing it."
"He often dislikes accurate observations before deciding whether to learn from them."
Cregan’s mouth moved faintly. "Then the two of them may already understand one another better than most couples promised by contract."
Sara turned towards her brother. "You appear unusually prepared to approve."
"I considered the possibility after Jacaerys left. He treated the people beneath my roof with respect when no advantage depended upon it. Roderick Dustin’s letters praised his conduct in the Riverlands, particularly his willingness to follow Daemon’s signals rather than using Vermax for glory. He kept the promises he made to the North. I have no reason to reject him merely to prove that Winterfell cannot be impressed."
"You might have pretended to require more persuasion," she said.
"That would waste time and insult everyone present."
Cregan then looked directly towards me. "I readily agree to the union, provided Sara gives her own consent and the terms do not attempt to erase her connection to the North."
"They will not. Rhaenyra intends to legitimise her with your approval. She would become Sara Stark before the wedding, but the decree would state clearly that her legitimisation creates no claim against you or your lawful descendants. Her children with Jace would belong to House Targaryen and the royal succession."
Sara’s expression tightened at the change of name. "I have never required Stark to know who my family is."
"No," Cregan said. "However, southern courts will use Snow against you whenever they wish to diminish your influence. A legitimisation will not silence every insult, but it will deny them the easiest one."
"They will find another."
"They always do," I said. "A crown does not protect anyone from malice. It merely gives malicious people more reason to choose their words carefully."
Sara studied me across the table. "What happens if I refuse?"
"I return to King’s Landing and tell Jace that you refused. Winterfell will not be punished, and your brother’s standing with the crown will remain unchanged."
"You would not arrange some lesser marriage to remind me what I rejected?"
"I possess no authority over your future marriage, and I have no interest in punishing a young woman for deciding that the Iron Throne offers more misery than attraction."
Cregan leaned back slightly. "That may be the most convincing part of your proposal."
Sara did not smile. "Why choose me when the realm contains daughters of far stronger houses?"
"Because Jace must live with his wife after the alliances have been counted. Your connection to the North carries real political value, but that alone would not be sufficient. We chose you because the accounts written by people who had nothing to gain described the same woman Jace remembered. You appear capable of speaking honestly without treating cruelty as strength. You have lived within Winterfell without confusing proximity to power with ownership of it. You understand household duty, and you did not lose your judgement when placed beside a dragon. Those qualities matter more to us than another thousand spears already sworn to the crown."
Sara looked towards the narrow window. "The court will compare me with Baela."
"Yes."
"If I resemble her, they will say Jace chose a replacement. If I differ from her, they will say he accepted less."
"Yes."
"You are not making the position attractive."
"I am describing the danger most likely to hurt you. Many people will describe the jewels, ceremonies, authority, and future crown. Those things are real, but they are also what ambitious families use to persuade daughters into lives they have not examined closely."
She returned her attention to me. "Would I be expected to abandon the old gods?"
"No. Jace has no wish to demand it, and Rhaenyra would not permit anyone to make conversion a condition of the marriage. You may maintain your worship and household. A godswood can be used for a northern ceremony if you wish, either before the heart tree here or within the Red Keep’s godswood."
"Would I have any place in Jace’s councils, or would I be expected to smile while men made decisions around me?"
"That would depend partly upon your ability and partly upon the duties Jace eventually assigns. He has already said he wants a wife with responsibilities of her own. Rhaenyra sits the throne rather than beside it, so no one in our family could convincingly argue that a queen’s place is silent ornament."
Sara considered that answer longer than the others. "What has the war made of him?"
It was the most important question she had asked.
"He is more cautious," I said. "He has learned that courage does not excuse disobedience and that dragonfire solves fewer problems than young riders imagine. He lost Baela and Daemon, and he carries both losses quietly enough that many people believe he has recovered more than he has. Yet he remains capable of listening, and he returned from the Riverlands with a better understanding of what command costs ordinary men."
"Has he become cruel?"
"No."
"Proud?"
"He was already proud. The war gave him reasons to control it."
"Does he still believe every northern wall should survive merely because it has survived before?"
"I suspect he now looks upward more carefully."
That finally drew a brief smile from her. Cregan watched his sister with the patience of someone who had already reached his own conclusion and understood that hers could not be rushed.
Sara rested both hands upon the table. "I will agree to the match if Jace still wishes it after we meet again. I will not make a permanent promise based only upon memories formed during one visit, particularly after a war that may have changed us both."
"That is reasonable," I said. "You should see King’s Landing before the wedding and understand the life you are being asked to enter."
"If I discover that the court expects gratitude to make me obedient, I may disappoint several important people."
"That possibility was part of your appeal."
Cregan gave me a long look. "I would prefer that you not encourage her before she reaches the capital."
"I cannot ask Jace to marry her for her honesty and then advise her to practise less of it."
"You will regret that principle eventually."
"I regret most worthwhile principles eventually. That does not make them wrong."
The matter of timing remained.
Many lords would have considered Sara old enough to marry immediately. Fifteen was not uncommon for a political union, particularly one involving the heir to the throne. I had no intention of carrying her directly from Winterfell into a wedding chamber simply because custom permitted it.
"The wedding will take place one year from now," I said. "Sara will be sixteen, and Jace will be seventeen. The realm will have additional time to settle, Winterfell can prepare her household properly, and the two of them can meet again before the vows become final."
Cregan’s brow shifted slightly. "A full year gives disappointed houses time to challenge the choice."
"They will challenge it whether the wedding occurs in a month or a year. The legitimisation can be issued immediately, and the betrothal announced once Sara and Jace meet again and confirm their consent."
Sara appeared relieved by the delay, though she concealed it quickly.
"I would prefer to see King’s Landing before agreeing to spend the rest of my life there," she said. "Jace described it as crowded, loud, and determined to smell worse during summer."
"He was being charitable."
"Then I should visit during summer."
"That would ensure you understand the worst before accepting the best."
Cregan considered the arrangement. "Sara can travel south in six months with a household of her choosing. She will retain northern guards and companions after marriage. She must be free to return to Winterfell for extended visits, and any marriage settlement should protect that right."
"I agree. Jace should also return north before the wedding. He will want to come once he learns you have accepted."
Sara turned towards me. "Do not tell him that I required another meeting because I doubt his worth."
"I will tell him that you refused to marry a man based solely upon pleasant memories and political convenience. He should respect that."
"If he does not?"
"Then the year will have saved you from a poor husband."
Cregan nodded once. "The North accepts the union upon those terms. Sara will be legitimised without entering the northern succession; she will retain her faith and household, and the wedding will occur in one year if both remain willing."
"I will have Vaeron prepare the formal documents. Rhaenyra’s decree of legitimisation can reach Winterfell within weeks."
Sara looked towards her brother. "You truly have no objection to losing your sister to the south?"
Cregan’s expression changed, though only slightly. "I object to the distance. I do not object to the man. Jacaerys secured the North’s support without treating us as reluctant servants, and he honoured the soldiers we sent. More importantly, he appears to value the parts of you that another husband might spend years attempting to suppress. I would rather you become a queen beside a man who listens than the wife of a northern lord who mistakes possession for authority."
The answer silenced her for several moments. The formal discussion continued until evening.
Sara would visit King’s Landing in six months. Her northern household would be selected by herself and Cregan rather than imposed by the crown. She would retain attendants loyal to Winterfell and the right to correspond privately with her brother. No agreement would compel her to abandon the old gods. Her legitimisation would grant her the Stark name while explicitly excluding her from claims against Cregan and his lawful heirs.
The wedding would take place one year from the date of our meeting.
King’s Landing would host the principal ceremony so that the realm could witness the continuation of the succession. A second ceremony beneath a heart tree could follow according to northern custom. Jace and Sara would decide whether it occurred in the Red Keep’s godswood or at Winterfell.
Cregan raised questions beyond the marriage itself. He wanted to know whether Daeron’s grant of Oldtown might create a royal domain too independent of Highgarden, whether Vaeron’s establishment upon the Arbor would provoke decades of Redwyne resistance, and whether the reparations imposed upon the Westerlands could be collected without turning peace into another form of occupation.
No southern courtier had asked those questions so directly.
I answered for nearly an hour. By the time supper ended, Cregan seemed more satisfied with the state of the realm than he had been when we began. He did not believe the settlement perfect, but perfection was not a standard northern lords often expected from politics.
Dravvaxx and I remained at Winterfell for two nights.
On the second morning, Sara came beyond the walls while the dragon finished feeding. She kept a sensible distance until the carcass had been removed and Dravvaxx’s attention shifted elsewhere.
"He is much larger than Vermax," she said.
"Vermax may eventually resent hearing that."
"Jace resented it whenever I compared them."
"How frequently did the comparison become necessary?"
"Only when he began speaking as though Vermax’s speed made size unimportant."
"That sounds like a discussion between young riders who expect dragons to care about their arguments."
Sara watched Dravvaxx lift his head. Blood darkened the scales around his mouth, and smoke passed slowly from his nostrils. "Will Jace truly come north again before the wedding?"
"Yes. I suspect he will begin planning the flight as soon as I return."
"He should not believe my agreement means the matter is finished."
"I will make that clear."
"I have agreed to consider becoming his wife after we meet again. I have not surrendered."
"Jace understands the difference. He spent enough time around Baela to learn that agreement and surrender rarely resemble one another."
The mention of Baela drew a brief silence. Sara looked towards the distant walls. "I do not wish him to believe that marrying me requires him to forget her."
"He will not forget her, and no honest person should ask it of him. You are not being offered the ruins of another woman’s life. You are being asked whether you and Jace can build something different beside what was lost."
She appeared to consider that more carefully than any political promise. "Tell him that I remember our conversations," she said. "You may also tell him that the southern war has not repaired Winterfell’s leaning wall, so he should not return believing everything improved in his absence."
"I will preserve the warning exactly."
She looked doubtful. "You appear like a man who alters messages for amusement."
"Only when the alteration improves accuracy."
"That is not reassuring."
"It was not intended to be."
Dravvaxx shifted behind me, ending the conversation more effectively than a herald could have done. I mounted while the ground crew checked the final straps.
Cregan waited near the gate with his household. Sara stood beside him, still wearing grey wool and fur rather than anything intended for a southern court. Soon Rhaenyra’s decree would reach Winterfell, and Sara Snow would legally become Sara Stark. In one year, if she and Jace remained willing, she would marry the heir to the Iron Throne.
A wedding would not heal the realm by itself.
It would not restore Baela, Daemon, Corlys, or the thousands killed during the war. It would not erase the ambitions and grievances that had once turned succession into bloodshed. Yet it could show that the dynasty intended to continue living rather than merely judging the dead.
More importantly, Jace would receive a bride chosen partly for what the North offered and partly for who she was.
Cregan raised one hand as Dravvaxx prepared to launch. "The North will await the queen’s decree."
"It will arrive before the court has time to invent three false versions of this agreement."
"That may be the fastest any royal document has travelled."
Sara called after me before Dravvaxx began moving. "Tell Jace that I have agreed to consider him for one year. He should not return believing himself already accepted."
"I will tell him that his position remains uncertain and that the stability of the succession depends upon repairing a northern wall."
"That is not what I said."
"It is close enough for court."
Her reply was lost beneath the first thunderous beat of Dravvaxx’s wings. Winterfell fell away beneath us, its towers rising through pale steam and lingering snow. The North extended southward beyond the walls, vast and cold under a clear sky.
Cregan had readily agreed to the union. Sara had agreed upon her own terms.
The wedding would take place in one year, when she was sixteen and Jace seventeen. Between now and then, they would be given something royal heirs rarely received: enough time to discover whether a marriage valuable to the realm could also become one they would choose for themselves.