Illyria Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark.
The Northern Beauty who was impossibly more attractive than women in the North were known for being. This simple fact conjuring lustful tales of her porcelain skin and Tull...
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"Robb?" Illyria whispered into the night, a shadow making its way to her bed. Silently, her older brother crawled into her bed, as they'd so often done before.
"I'm so afraid." She uttered, tears stinging her eyes as he pulled her little head deeper into his strong chest. The break of dawn signified the Northern Beauty's eighteenth name day, the day she was intended to be married.
The Bolton's were meant to arrive a few hours later and the affair would commence soon after.
Robb tried his best of console her and wipe away her tears before the little ones came to join them in Illyria's large bed. Soon all six of the Stark children were huddled close together, even Jon relented and joined the sibling's own special little send off.
Illyria fell fast asleep shortly after, the sound of Bran's quiet little snores comforting her and interrupting the loud thoughts.
Day broke and Catelyn tip toed into her eldest daughter's chambers, delighted at the sight of all of her children piled around her.
Ned followed once he didn't see them come out and let out a chuckle at the sight of Arya's feet in Robb's face while Sansa and Illyria were nearly indistinguishable behind their lengthy bright red Tully hair.
"Wake up my sweet children." The Lady sang sweetly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, sweeping Rickon's locks behind his ear.
The happy moment was interrupted by word of the Bolton's arrival. "Up, up, up!" Catelyn's tone of voice twisting with worry as she shooed all of the children out of Illyria's chambers.
The eldest was engulfed in immense loneliness, the Northern air nipping at her nose as her siblings left her bed.
She sat in her thin night gown, pulling her legs into her chest as she was left alone before countless hand maidens flocked around her to draw her a bath and clean her up for the big day.
Illyria sat alone in the large tub, the hot water now a lukewarm temperature.
The sound of the heavy door opening and closing was hardly enough to snap her to attention.
It was her mother. Illyria sighed and exited the tub with her help, dressing into one of her many delicate silk night gowns.
Catelyn was there to do her hair, something she hadn't done since her daughter's fifth summer. Illyria sat in between her legs, letting the Lady gently brush out her hair.
They sat there like that together in silence, enjoying the moment.
Thirty minutes after, Catelyn was finally finished. Illyria's hair was braided into perfection, in a fashion similar to hers when she wedded Eddard.
Never breaking the comfortable silence between them, Illyria turned and collapsed into her mother's arms. The two cried into each others arms until a little knock on the door brought them back into reality.
It was Sansa, she wielded a large bag containing the gown she'd been working on for an entire summer for Illyria's wedding day.
Robb uneasily paced the hall outside of Illyria's chambers. His outfit was tight and stuffy and he perpetually tugged at the collar.
"Is she decent yet?" He poked his head in, against his better judgement. Her grey orbs were ignited by the light from a nearby window, the depths of her eyes capturing his gaze from the tall mirror she stood in front of.
The sudden sound of his melodic voice caught her attention and she turned, letting out a coy smile at his apparent jaw drop.
There she stood, his sweet little sister. It seemed ironic. The Tully girl never looked as much of a Stark than the day she was to become a Bolton.
"He's out in the courtyard!" Linley, Illyria's closest handmaiden screeched, grabbing her wrist and pulling the bride out of her chambers. She thought it only be fair that Illyria at least see whom exactly she'd be married to and patiently awaited his arrival.
"There!" Linley swooned, pointing out the striking young man wandering Winterfell alone. Or at least he thought. A Bolton guardsmen kept a closely trained eye from a distance.
Illyria also watched him intently. He was tall and slender. Long, slightly curled dark hair pushed up and to the side, it was incredibly glossy despite his Northern heritage. The cold unable to dull the colour after winters of bitterness. Nor his lips. Soft and plump.
Illyria made a sudden movement and a handful of snow fell off of the ledge of the platform they were standing on. Startled, Darren's head snapped up and Illyria jumped, letting Linley pull her down to the ground, speaking of old lore.
"The bride and her betrothed shouldn't see each other before the ceremony or else their first born will be cursed!" She went on but Illyria was confused about how nervous he made her. Illyria was never nervous around men. It was always the opposite.
They made their way back and it would soon be time for the ceremony to begin.
"Linley could you run down and-" Catelyn started but was eagerly cut off by her daughter who grew listless at all of the primping. "Illyria we don't have time-" She sighed. "I'll only be a moment." Illyria scurried out the door, letting out a breath of relief to get away.
She walked down the hallway, her white train dragging elegantly below her only to come face to face with Darren. He hadn't seen her yet but it was too late to try and turn around.
"Wait!" Illyria shouted shakily turning her back to him. He caught but a glimpse of her before following suit and turning also, their backs nearly touching.
"What are we doing?" He whispered to her. She retold the story Linley was most likely told from her crazy drunk father. "And who told you this?" He let her finish, chuckling.
"My handmaiden," She stated firmly, unappreciative of his teasing. "If I listened to everything a handmaiden has told me," He trailed off, a smirk on his lips.
"Well from what I have seen, the famous Northern Beauty certainly doesn't disappoint." He told her, his head moving to the side. "Don't look!" She scolded.
"OK, OK." He raised his hands in surrender. "I'm just a lucky man is all."
"Luck had nothing to do with it, Bolton." She snapped, regretting it as soon as it let her tongue.
"Well as long as we're Lord and Lady of the Dreadfort, no harm will come of Winterfell or your family. I promise you." He spoke with sincerity, letting his hand slip into hers.
Robb watched the interaction with suspicion, growing uneasy as Illyria slowly turned to face him. "Alright you two, there will be enough time for that at the wedding you're now both late to."
"My mother is going to kill me." Illyria whispered, running off towards Robb. Darren held onto her hand as long as he could, she smiled as it eventually fell out.
Darren stood there for a moment more, inspecting his fingers for a cause of the spark he felt before running off the marry the Stark girl.
