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He did not ask for stories, he demanded them, in a manner only firstborn Stark boys could, and despite his Tully looks she saw so much of Brandon in him that she could never find it in her heart to reprimand him. His tales were simple ones, in which good always triumphed over evil and schemes were straightforward and open, not underhanded and secret.
“There once was a king who was old and weak, in body and in mind, and he ran his kingdom with the iron fist of a madman. But the king had a son who was the opposite of his father – young, kind, and bright – and the lords of the land, thinking of the welfare of their people, sought to replace father with son.
“The lords approached him, bowing low. ‘We beg of you, oh beloved prince, save your people from this tyrant. Their lives are wretched, full of fear and hunger, and they look to you for their deliverance.’
“But the prince hesitated, unsure of which path he should choose, for he had sworn oaths to both father and people alike, and he could not betray one in favor of the other. He told the lords that he would consider it and return to them with an answer within the fortnight.
“The question weighed heavily on him. He consulted no one, for his head and his heart were conflicted. Frustrated at his own indecision, he thought of what others might do – his wife, the knights in his guard, his ancestors, the woman he loved.
“And when he made his choice a fortnight later, he never looked back.”
“He became king, right? And he was brave and strong and honorable, and the people rejoiced at his reign.”
She clucked and cocked her head, taking in his eager eyes.
“Yes, my little lord, he was brave and strong and honorable.”
But he never became king.
- o -
She had little interest in her brother’s stories of kings and conquests and valor, and so Nan began to weave more elaborate tales of chivalry and romance – there were still noble kings and scheming usurpers, but now there were noble sisters and imperiled maidens, princesses and queens.
“Once upon a time, there lived a fair maiden, and she was so kind and good that everyone who met her adored her. Her father arranged a marriage to a southern lord, and she wept when she learned of it, for she loved her home and did not wish to leave it. ‘Father,’ she begged, ‘do not make me marry this lord, please Father, let me stay with you and my brothers.’
“Her father was unmoved, for he had given his word and he was a man of honor. He swore that the wedding would not be for many years and that she would remain with her family until then. But the young maiden had changed, for she knew in her heart that her time was fleeting, and she wandered around the castle, bidding farewell to her favorite haunts.
“Alarmed at her depression, her brothers took her to a tourney, hoping that the company of other ladies, the jousting, and the feast would cheer her. But her betrothed was present too, a constant reminder of her approaching fate, and she was more melancholic than ever.
“It was there that the noble prince saw her and, struck by her spirit and her sadness, he fell in love with her. As she passed him, he begged a favor to wear on the morrow’s joust. And when her eyes met his, love took her, for his too was an unhappy soul, trapped in a prison not of his own making. But she refused to give him her favor, for she knew that he was wed to a princess, kissing him softly on the cheek instead.
“She smiled as she watched him ride to victory in the joust, and her brothers were relieved to see her happiness return, but their relief turned to despair as the prince approached their party to gently rest a crown of winter roses on her lap.”
“His Queen of Love and Beauty,” the girl said breathlessly.
“Yes, he named her the Queen of Love and Beauty. Her heart was full of joy and love, even though the King was angry and his princess was sad. Her brothers resolved to take her safely home before anything might happen, and she returned to the lonely exile that she called home. But the prince could not forget her, and she could not forget him, so they started to exchange letters in secret.
“As the day of her wedding approached, the letters ceased, and the girl grew restless, for the prince was coming to take her far, far away.”
“Did he rescue her, Nan?” she asked, eyes shining with excitement. “Did the brave prince save her and make her his princess?”
“Another time, my dear one. I’ll tell you how it ends another time.”
She was young yet, and Nan did not have the strength to tell her the ending: rescue is not the same as salvation, and sometimes the tower is safer than the castle.
- o -
She was born feisty, and Nan knew to expect interruptions. She never cared for the heroes – or for the villains – she was most interested in the minor characters: the servants, the craftsmen, the downtrodden, and the overlooked. She had an eye for detail and games, and her stories quickly became complex portraits of intrigue and mystery where she would race to guess the ending before Nan could tell it.
“There once was a girl who hated embroidery, who preferred galloping through fields to dancing, who would rather shout after her brothers than sing. And she was beautiful, yes, but she had an even more beautiful spirit – for she had a hatred for all things cruel and unjust.
“At a tourney with her brothers, she saw three squires kicking at the dirt and, curious, she approached them. A small boy lay at their feet, curled into a ball as he tried to escape their blows, bloodied and bruised. ‘Stop,’ she shouted. ‘Stop, I command it, he is one of my father’s men.’ And they laughed at her, but they stopped their attack, spitting on the tiny figure as they returned to their tents.
“The next day, an unknown knight entered the lists, wearing mismatched armor emblazoned with a heart tree – the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he was called – and he challenged each of the squires’ knights.”
“It was the girl, Nan! It was the girl! In disguise!
“Yes, it was the girl, for she wanted to punish the squires for their disrespect, but no one recognized her, not her betrothed or her brothers, who did not think she was capable of such actions.”
“They shouldn’t have doubted her.”
“No, they should not have, for the mysterious knight defeated all three opponents easily, before riding away, never to be seen again. The girl rode straight for the nearest heart tree, giving her armor to the Old Gods as thanks.”
“If it were me, I’d never take off my armor,” she said. “I’d ride through the land and dispense justice to those who deserve it.”
And with that, she jumped up and stabbed at the air with an invisible sword before running off to dispense justice to the boys in the yard.
“I know you will, my fierce wolf.”
- o -
He was wise and steady where his siblings were wild, and despite his claims, she always knew that knighthood was not his calling. He did not love the adventurous tales or the scary stories as much as he said he did – no, his stories were interesting things where reason and intelligence were valued more than bravery and strength, where the most frightening thing was the unexpected, the unknown.
“There once was a dragon prince who wanted to be a brave knight, a defender of the realm. But he was small and weak – his arrows did not fly very far, his sword could not find its mark, he could not control his horse – and so he abandoned his dream and sought another. He took up books as his shield and the quill as his sword, and in time, he became quite learned, as familiar with the ancient texts as any at the Citadel.
“As he looked through his father’s library, he came across a scroll that he had never seen before, and it was dusty and tattered, as though it had lain untouched for centuries. ‘Legend says that a night without end will return to the world, bringing death and destruction in its wake, and in that darkness the servants of ice and of fire will wage their final battle. But the gods are not so cruel, for they shall send a champion to defend to mankind, and his shall be the song of ice and fire and he shall prove the ruin of both.’
“And the young prince knew then what his purpose was in life, knew why the gods had made him weaker and smaller but blessed him with such intelligence and curiosity. He was to be the champion of mankind, the light in the darkness.
“As he thought more about the prophecy, though, he noticed a flaw in his reasoning. He was blessed by fire, not by ice, and the champion needed both to defeat evil. For just as every soul has its complement, so does fire need to be tempered by ice, and ice to be warmed by fire.
“So the noble prince began his quest, seeking the ice to his fire, for together theirs would be the song to save the world. And it was many years later when he finally found it, the other half to his soul. But it was not complete, not even then, for the prince was wrong and they were not to be the saviors of mankind. Their song was born in fire and in ice, and it died in ice and fire and blood.
“But some day a night without end will return to the world, and so will the champion, and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”
He did not speak when she finished her story, just looked up at her, eyes wide with fear and longing.
“How do you know he will, Nan?” He asked timidly, after a long pause. “How do you know the champion will come?”
“Because, my wise wolf, I have heard the song. Can you not hear it in the wind?”
He closed his eyes, listening to the silence that surrounded them for a moment before they snapped open. And in his frozen blue eyes, she swore she saw a flicker of flame.
- o -
He could never sit still, but she was approaching an age (had already passed it, really) where all she wanted was to sit still, and her stories grew as short and stooped as she.
“There once was a young lord who was wild and carefree; his laughter would echo in the richest halls and his hammer would sing on the battlefield, for he was a great warrior. And he was blessed with the most beautiful gift a man could have – silver and dragonglass and rubies and pearls.”
For her eyes were bright as silver, her hair dark as dragonglass, her lips red as rubies, her skin pale as pearls.
“But then a prince stole his treasure, secreting it away to a hidden tower. And the lord grew angry, vowing revenge at any cost, even though his friends counseled him to be calm and see reason. So he rode after the prince, his hammer raised high, curses on his lips, and with one fell swoop, he killed him and plunged the world into chaos.
“By then, his treasure was gone, and he spent the rest of his life searching for it. He did not find it, though, no matter how hard he looked, for it had never truly been his in the first place.”
But he had fallen asleep, and the moral of her story went unheeded.
- o -
“What about my mother, Nan,” he had asked almost since he learned to speak. “Could you tell me stories about her?”
She would smile toothlessly, her eyes disappearing in a tangle of wrinkles, and pat him on the head affectionately. “No, little one, I cannot tell you stories about your mother.” And instead she would tell him the story of Bran the Builder, of the Night’s King, of Aegon and his dragons, of the beginning of the world and its end, of gods and villains, heroes and maidens. And he would gasp and laugh and clap, his question forgotten until another lonely day, another cruel remark about his parentage.
She never lied to the boy, but he did not have her skill with words and his questions were poorly formed. She could not tell stories about his mother, but she had them, so many of them, burning deep within her heart, aching to be shared.
The time she first rode a horse. How she always found the earliest rose of winter. The day she stole Brandon’s sword. Her face when she learned of her betrothal to the Baratheon boy. The castles she built of snow. The dreams she had of wolves and dragons. So many stories – some short and funny, others long and exciting – but all tinged with sadness.
Nan had a gift with words, yes, but she had a gift with silence too.
There once was a girl who I loved like a daughter, who was smart and kind and brave, who dreamed of adventure and love and freedom. But she was trapped by duty and family and marriage, and she could not escape her tower, no matter how hard she fought or how far she ran. And there once was a prince, who loved her when he should not have, who freed her only to put her in another tower. And her father was too honorable, and her brother too wild, and her betrothed too angry, and this house drowned in death and tears and heartache.
And you, little one, you were her adventure and her love and her freedom. You were her greatest story.
One day, she vowed, she would tell him the story of his mother, when he was older and wiser and knew the weight of the world. One day, she would tell him the truth of it.
But the day never came, and the story, waiting to be told, died with her.