Rickard Stark had expected many reactions when the truth finally came out.
Anger would have been understandable. Shock was almost guaranteed. He had even prepared himself for outrage from Viserys Targaryen. The young prince had every reason to react badly to the news that his widowed mother was carrying another child.
What Rickard had not expected was how simple the matter seemed to the people of Narnia.
The discussion took place in one of the private sitting rooms of Gryffindor Castle. A comfortable fire burned in the hearth while afternoon sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking Telmar. Outside, the city continued its daily routine. Merchants moved through crowded streets, ships entered and left the harbor, and children played in the castle gardens. Life carried on as though nothing unusual had happened.
Inside the room, however, a decision was being discussed that would affect the rest of Rickard Stark's life.
Rhaella sat near the window, one hand resting unconsciously upon the gentle curve of her stomach. Lyanna occupied the seat beside her, watching both of them carefully. Sirius lounged nearby in a chair, trying very hard to appear uninvolved while clearly listening to every word. Viserys stood near the fireplace with his arms folded across his chest.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable so much as thoughtful. Everyone understood the situation. The only question remaining was what would be done about it.
Eventually, Rickard broke the silence.
"You should have send me a letter."
Rhaella looked up from where she had been staring at the dancing flames.
"I know."
Her answer was simple, without excuses or defensiveness.
Rickard studied her for a moment before asking quietly, "Why didn't you?"
A sad smile touched her lips.
"Because I wasn't sure."
"Sure about what?"
For several seconds she said nothing. Then her gaze lowered toward her stomach.
"I wasn't sure the child would survive."
The room became very still.
Rhaella's hand tightened slightly against her dress.
"I have buried too many children, Rickard."
Viserys visibly flinched.
The words carried a weight that everyone present understood.
"I have carried children who never breathed," Rhaella continued softly. "I have held babies who lived only long enough for me to memorize their faces."
Her voice never broke, but somehow that made the confession even more painful.
"I didn't want to tell you and then lose another child."
Rickard felt something tighten in his chest.
There was no answer to that. No comforting words.
He had buried his wife. He had believed Lyanna dead for years. He understood loss.
Not the same loss but enough.
Enough to recognize the fear behind her decision.
After another long silence, Rickard lowered himself into a chair opposite her and rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
"Then there is only one problem."
Lyanna frowned slightly.
"What problem?"
Rickard's eyes settled on Rhaella.
"The child."
That earned another frown.
"What about the child?" Lyanna asked.
Rickard sighed heavily.
"In Narnia, nobody will care."
He gestured around the room.
"Your people don't care who is noble, who is common, who is born inside marriage or outside of it."
Sirius immediately nodded.
"Nobody really does."
In Narnia, people were judged far more by their actions than their birth. Bastardy carried almost none of the social stain it did in Westeros.
Rickard sighed again.
"But outside Narnia..."
His expression darkened.
"The child will be called a bastard."
The word landed heavily in the room.
Viserys immediately looked uncomfortable.
Nobody liked the term. Especially not a prince raised among the traditions of Westeros.
Rickard continued quietly.
"The child will spend their entire life hearing whispers. Judgments."
Rhaella remained silent.
"My child deserves better than that."
The child would grow up carrying a name, a reputation, and a legacy they had never chosen.
Rickard sat quietly for several moments.
Then, as only a Stark could, he made a decision.
A Stark decision.
He looked straight at Rhaella.
"Marry me."
Sirius nearly fell out of his chair.
"What?"
Rickard ignored him completely.
His eyes never left Rhaella.
"I will not have my child born dishonored."
Rhaella blinked in surprise.
"Rickard..."
"You are a widow."
"Aye."
"I am a widower."
"Aye."
"We are both old enough to know exactly what we're doing."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"We already have a child on the way."
Lyanna immediately covered her face with both hands.
"Oh gods."
Sirius looked between them in amazement.
"Grandfather just proposed marriage."
"He did," Lyanna confirmed without uncovering her face.
"That was surprisingly direct."
Rickard snorted.
"I am a Stark."
Somehow, that explained everything.
To everyone's surprise, Viserys suddenly started laughing.
The tension shattered immediately.
Even Rhaella found herself smiling.
"I suppose that is true."
Rickard leaned forward.
His expression became serious once more.
"I will marry you right here in a Narnian temple."
Then he added quietly, "And afterward, I will take you home to Winterfell."
The word home struck harder than anything else he had said.
Rhaella simply stared at him.
Home.
It had been a very long time since anyone had offered her one.
Not a castle.
Not a title.
Not a political arrangement.
A home.
The last time she had truly felt she possessed one had been before madness consumed Aerys and before war destroyed everything she loved.
For the first time in years, tears gathered in her eyes.
"Are you sure?"
Rickard reached across the small distance separating them and took her hand.
"Aye."
There wasn't a moment of hesitation.
Viserys watched the exchange quietly.
The situation still felt strange. For most of his life, Rhaella had simply been his mother. The Queen Mother. A constant presence.
Now, suddenly, she seemed like something else.
A woman who deserved happiness.
The realization lingered in his thoughts long after the meeting ended.
Later that evening, Viserys found himself sitting with several friends near the harbor. Eric was there, along with a pair of sailors, two academy students, and a blacksmith's apprentice. Naturally, the conversation eventually turned toward the news.
Viserys told them everything.
Their reactions surprised him.
"Sounds good," Eric said immediately.
Viserys blinked.
"That's it?"
"What else?"
"My mother is marrying Lord Stark."
Eric shrugged.
"So?"
The blacksmith apprentice laughed.
"They like each other."
"Probably."
"They're having a child."
"Definitely."
The group burst into laughter.
Viserys buried his face in his hands.
"You people are impossible."
"No," Eric replied with a grin. "We just think people should be happy."
The young sailor looked toward the harbor where dozens of ships rested beneath the evening sky.
"Life's short."
His smile softened.
"I've buried friends at sea."
The laughter faded.
The others nodded quietly.
Eric spoke again.
"If two people find happiness together, why stop them?"
Viserys stared at him.
Such a simple answer and yet it felt completely reasonable.
By the time he returned to Gryffindor Castle later that night, his doubts had disappeared.
The following morning he sought out Rickard Stark personally.
The old Lord of Winterfell was walking through the castle gardens when Viserys found him.
"Lord Stark."
Rickard looked up.
"Prince Viserys."
Viserys shook his head.
"No."
Rickard frowned.
"No?"
A smile slowly appeared on Viserys's face.
"If you marry my mother..."
He hesitated briefly. The word still felt strange.
"...then you'll be family."
Rickard stared at him for several seconds.
Then a slow smile spread across his weathered face.
"Aye."
Viserys extended his hand.
"You have my blessing."
For perhaps the first time since arriving in Narnia, Rickard Stark looked genuinely surprised.
Then he took the offered hand firmly.
"Thank you."
News spread through Narnia with remarkable speed.
By evening, everyone inside Gryffindor Castle knew.
By the following morning, much of Telmar knew as well.
The reactions were overwhelmingly positive.
Lyanna quickly discovered that secrecy was no longer possible.
If there was going to be a wedding, then there would be a proper wedding.
And if Lyanna Gryffindor was organizing it, proper meant memorable.
Temple priests were informed. Invitations began circulating. The kitchens immediately doubled their workload. Decorations started appearing throughout the castle.
For the first time in years, Rickard Stark found himself smiling for absolutely no reason.
And for the first time since leaving Westeros, Rhaella Targaryen looked genuinely at peace.
The wedding day arrived beneath clear blue skies, and from the moment the sun rose above Telmar's harbor it became obvious that the entire city intended to celebrate.
For perhaps the first time in the histories, a Stark lord and a Targaryen would be married not beneath the Seven, not before a septon, and not before the heart trees of the old gods. Instead, they would exchange their vows within the Temple of Frigga, surrounded by a kingdom that had embraced both of them as its own.
The city awoke early. Bells rang throughout Telmar from dawn onward, their cheerful music carrying across the harbor and over the rooftops. Children ran laughing through the streets carrying baskets filled with flowers while musicians set up in the marketplaces and played festive songs. Merchants closed their stalls long before midday, and sailors arriving from distant ports quickly discovered that no serious business would be conducted today.
The Temple of Frigga had never held such a crowd. Long before the ceremony began, every bench had been filled. More people stood along the walls, and others waited outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the event. Children squeezed themselves into any available space while elders complained loudly and then immediately made room for them anyway.
Outside, the great weirwood tree spread its pale branches across the square. Its white leaves rustled gently in the morning breeze, and beneath its canopy stood several Children of the Forest. Their presence drew almost as much attention as the wedding itself.
The Children rarely attended public gatherings. Most preferred their groves and hidden forests to crowded cities. Yet today they had come willingly. Some carried garlands woven from flowers and weirwood leaves. Others brought small wooden carvings as gifts. Their quiet presence seemed to give the occasion a sense of importance that even the excited crowds could feel.
Inside the temple, Lyanna struggled to maintain her composure.
Across from her stood Viserys Targaryen, and the young prince looked as though he would rather face an army than walk his mother down the aisle.
"You look terrified," Lyanna whispered.
Viserys shot her a wounded look.
"I am terrified."
"You are only walking Mother down the aisle but you sound as if you're preparing for battle."
"I would honestly prefer a battle."
Nearby, Daenerys giggled loud enough for half the row to hear.
Viserys groaned.
"This kingdom enjoys mocking me."
"Because you're easy to mock," Daenerys informed him cheerfully.
"I am still a prince."
"You are," Lyanna agreed. "A very nervous prince."
Across the temple, Sirius faced a challenge of his own. He had somehow appointed himself commander of the flower procession, a responsibility he was taking with deadly seriousness despite the fact that none of the children involved appeared to share his concerns.
Obara, Tyene, Nymeria, Daenerys, and Sirius himself each carried baskets overflowing with colorful petals.
"Remember," Sirius said sternly for perhaps the eighth time, "the flowers go in front of them."
"We know," Obara replied.
"You already told us."
"Seven times," Tyene added helpfully.
Sirius ignored the interruption.
"We do not throw flowers at Grandfather."
Nymeria tilted her head.
"Why not?"
"Because that would be rude."
Obara looked genuinely disappointed.
"I was planning to."
Even Sirius couldn't maintain his seriousness after that.
Near the front row, Ellaria Sand watched the chaos with a smile. She had attended countless weddings in Dorne over the years, but this felt unlike any of them. There was no rigid separation between highborn and lowborn. No arguments about precedence. No endless concern about who sat closer to the front.
The temple doors opened.
Conversation died instantly.
Everyone rose to their feet.
Rhaella Targaryen entered the hall.
A collective gasp spread through the crowd.
She wore a gown of silver and white. By the standards of the old royal court in King's Landing it was simple, but simplicity only seemed to enhance her beauty. Her pregnancy was visible now, impossible to hide, yet somehow it made her appear more radiant than ever.
For years Rhaella had carried the weight of loss upon her shoulders. She had survived madness, war, exile, and grief. The sadness had become so familiar that many people no longer noticed it.
Today she looked happy.
Beside her stood Viserys.
The young prince had finally stopped fidgeting. For the first time all morning, he looked every bit the son of kings.
Rhaella glanced at him and smiled.
"Ready?"
"No."
Her laughter was soft and warm.
"Neither am I."
Together they began walking forward.
Flower petals immediately filled the air.
Sirius led the attack with great enthusiasm. Daenerys followed close behind. Obara dumped nearly half her basket in one throw, forcing Tyene and Nymeria to join in so she wouldn't win whatever competition she had invented.
The aisle disappeared beneath a carpet of flowers.
Laughter spread throughout the temple.
Even Rhaella could not stop smiling.
At the front stood Rickard Stark.
The Lord of Winterfell had faced kings, rebellions, and war. He had negotiated with powerful lords and stared down enemies beyond the Wall.
At this moment, however, he looked remarkably nervous.
When Rhaella finally reached him, Viserys paused.
For a moment the temple seemed to hold its breath.
Then the prince gently took his mother's hand and placed it into Rickard's.
"Take care of her."
The words were quiet, but everyone nearby heard them.
Rickard's expression softened.
"I will."
Viserys nodded once before stepping back.
The ceremony began.
The priestess spoke of companionship and loyalty. She spoke of finding joy after grief and purpose after loss. She spoke of family, not as blood alone, but as the people who chose to remain beside one another when life became difficult.
More than a few eyes grew moist.
Especially when she spoke of second chances.
Because everyone present knew what the bride and groom had endured to reach this moment.
Then, just as the ceremony neared its conclusion, a large enchanted mirror positioned near the altar suddenly began to glow.
King Harry Gryffindor appeared within the mirror, covered in dust. Behind him enormous construction projects stretched across the horizon as workers moved through what would eventually become a new city in Essos.
Harry looked around.
"Am I late?"
The temple exploded with laughter.
"You are!" Lyanna shouted.
Harry sighed dramatically.
"I leave for a few weeks and suddenly everyone starts getting married."
Rhaella laughed.
Rickard shook his head.
Harry's expression softened.
"Congratulations."
His voice carried clearly throughout the hall.
"To Lord Rickard Stark."
He paused.
"And Lady Rhaella Stark."
Thunderous applause followed.
Rhaella actually blushed.
Harry looked directly at Rickard.
"If anyone deserves happiness, it's the two of you."
The ceremony resumed moments later. Vows were exchanged. Promises were made. Before the gathered people of Narnia, Westeros, and Essos alike, Rickard Stark and Rhaella Targaryen became husband and wife.
The celebration afterward consumed the entire city.
The great hall overflowed with guests until additional tables had to be placed outside. Then more tables were added. Then even more. Eventually everyone stopped trying to count.
Food covered every available surface. Roasted mountain goat, whale steaks, fish stew, crab, lobster, fresh bread, honey cakes, berry pies, and enough ale to float a fleet filled the hall.
At some point Sirius organized another flower battle.
The resulting chaos left petals stuck in Viserys's hair, Lyanna's dress, and one unfortunate giant's beard.
Ellaria laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
And through it all, Rhaella Stark sat among friends and family without fear, without politics, and without the endless burdens that had defined so much of her life.
Later that evening, as music and laughter echoed through the hall, Lyanna quietly watched her father and Rhaella sitting together. Both looked content. Both looked at peace.
She rested a hand against her own growing stomach and smiled.
Perhaps life truly did offer second chances.
Judging by the laughter filling Telmar that night, everyone in Narnia seemed determined to make the most of them.
Author's Note:
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