A/N: This is the first time I've written since I finished 'A Northern Light' and the first imagine/one shot I've probably written in over a year. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Brief mentions of death and miscarriage (before the fluff comes)
Word count: 1450
Any feedback, comments or messages are very welcome and appreciated. I would love to know what you think of my little stories.
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It was fair to say your marriage to Ned did not come without heartache. Not just on your behalf, but his too. Both of you were still quietly mourning the loss of your respective spouses, when the suggestion of a possible betrothal between the two of you was suggested quite eagerly amongst the lords of the north.
Grief set aside, you could see the political sense in it. You were the eldest daughter of House Bracken, a small but beloved vassal to House Tully, and not so long ago you were married off to the north. Castle Hornwood became your new home. And although it was a small house, it was fiercely and forever loyal to House Stark and in return, regarded highly by Eddard Stark. And so, it made sense. Marry off the newly widowed Lady Hornwood, born and bred in the Riverlands, to their much beloved liege lord. It held both sentiment and most importantly, practicality, hopefully keeping the powerful Tully's as allies to the vast north. Maybe even more importantly, was the proof of your fertility.
While it was true, that Eddard Stark had already fathered five children with his dearly departed wife, plus one bonus bastard, Westerosi customs would always silently demand more. And maybe considering the fact the he already had three trueborn male heirs, it wouldn't seem like such a slap in the face to the larger houses across Westeros, if the Warden of the North married a highborn from much less lustrous stock. Regardless, the greater number of heirs produced the better. And your brief and rather upsetting encounter with motherhood, was proof enough of your worth.
Just six weeks after you exchanged your marital vows under Castle Hornwood's sacred heart tree, you realised your moonblood was well overdue. And after a brief visit by the castle's maester, he confirmed what you already knew. Your sweet husband, that you barely knew, but already loved, was overjoyed and his joy fuelled yours. Until, just two months later when your happy new life came crashing down. A fatal fall from a horse took his life, the stress and grief of the tragedy taking with it the life of your unborn child.
Your devastation and heartbreak was still raw and bleeding when the northern lords began to scheme. With a Hornwood heir no longer growing in your belly, you were a good choice for their liege, and the title for Lord Hornwood could be simply passed down to the closest living male. That was the reality for a highborn woman in Westeros. You were born, you married, you bred and you died. If you were lucky, the man chosen to be your husband would be good and kind to you. And if you were truly fortunate, love would bless the union.
