No Need To Match!! - Blog Posts
throughout most of her life, rosalyn had been led to believe that her destiny lay within the north. her father, in those rare moments of interaction with his youngest daughter, would tell her over and over to prepare for the north. there she would be away from the vale, from his sight and someone else’s issue to deal with. after all, her sister ravella would be sealing an alliance with a powerful vale lord, making her a valuable asset for the kingdom closer to their own. in this intricate dance of politics and marriage, his other daughter could be used to help the kingdom close by them. thereby securing alliances and ensuring prosperity. but the tapestry of fate often weaved intricate patterns, and the eventual upheavals of war and death transformed their predestined lives.
and yet, here she stood once more, poised for betrothal, this time not to a stark lord but to a stark king—a union that would elevate her status to that of a queen.
upon the first engagement announcement, rosalyn had delved into a tome detailing the teachings of the old gods. recognizing that her children would grow up worshipping these ancient deities, she diligently pored over the book's pages, seeking to imbibe the knowledge. yet, as the days elapsed, the book eventually returned to its place on the shelf, its purpose temporarily fulfilled. now, however, she found herself pulling it down again, gently wiping away the dust that had gathered, ready to plunge into its wisdom again.
outwardly, she adhered to the tenets of the faith of the seven, a virtuous woman of the vale, as expected. but always, there lingered that fractional part within her—a questioning spark. it was not solely due to the old gods book she had perused; rather, it was a lingering sense of unease that never seemed to abate. how could she reconcile the cruelty of her father, who wielded his power like a merciless blade, with the reverence he received within the sept? the hypocrisy of it all gnawed at her. in a realm where faithful followers constantly bickered, killing one another, how could these acts be deemed righteous? for years, she had sat in the sept asking the gods to reveal answers, but none came. a veil of guilt shrouded her thoughts for entertaining such heretical notions, leaving her to ponder whether her father's maltreatment was somehow justifiable. her uncertainty deepened, threading uncertainty into the future she envisaged for her children, whom she hoped to raise in the worship of the old gods.
the eyrie's godswood provided the setting for the newly engaged first real meeting—an apt fusion of the old and new, a bridge between two belief systems that had yet to fully intertwine. a strange kinship settled within her as the ancient trees that should be watching over them, sharing her sense of a divided spirit.
"many attribute the statue to alyssa," she shared, a soft, knowing smile gracing her lips. "my mother was among those who believed it. strangely cruel, isn't it? to cast a statue of her weeping while she ceaselessly sheds tears over the giant's lance.you know the one name my father forbid my mother to name any of us was alyssa. he thought it would bring bad luck down upon them." a faint laugh colored her voice, but it was a laughter born of contemplation as the thought of her father caring for his own daughters. at least he didn’t curse them with bad luck.
as the topic shifted to the godswood's trees, rosalyn's gaze turned towards where the tree should be. "attempts have been made to transplant the heart tree here, but the very rocks seem to thwart the endeavor. an unfortunate pity, for i can only imagine the beauty it would bring to this sacred space," she mused, a yearning note in her tone. “i have read of the weiwood heart tree in the north many times in my books but have never seen one in person before. i am looking forward to seeing the one in winterfell.”
his next question, led to the briefest of pauses in her response. as she fashioned her reply, it could have been perceived as her merely searching for the right words or perhaps due to the intricacies of her needing to lipread. but deep within, she battled the impulse to reveal her innermost thoughts. yet, in this initial meeting as fiancés, restraint triumphed. "yes, i have been raised within the faith of the seven from infancy. within the vale, there are not many who veer from this path," she replied, maintaining her calm facade. her eyes met his gaze, a subtle challenge in her demeanor. "and you, i imagine you are a practitioner of the old gods. i've delved into texts, but true understanding often evades the confines of mere pages."
| a starter for @rosaaaryn | | time: flashback, year 2 | | setting: the day before their wedding, king owen stark and princess rosa arryn speak in the godswood of the eyrie |
They were betrothed once before. Back in a time before the dance. His father thought it would be a great way to unite their houses and their regions, before the dance. Before the war that came and dissolved most unions in favor of others or security. His father talked about it so often that when they weren’t fighting, he tried to avoid the man’s gruff words. And now he would do anything to hear those words again. Sons were meant to bury their fathers, didn’t make it hurt any less. He missed the man now, not half as much as he missed his mother, but he was close to his father. They spent so much of their time together that he often still found himself entering what was once his father’s office and sitting at the table instead of the desk only for Jon to tell him to move.
The godswood of the Eyrie wasn’t a godswood at all. The godswood contained no heart tree. Owen thought it more of a garden than a godswood and he looked forward to the day he would go home again. There was something more important than being homesick and it was securing his family, the royal line, and making alliances. Military and trade alliances and it was best to start close to home. They were once betrothed, years ago. They were quite different now, at least he felt different. Ten years on, war changed him and the crown he wore felt quite heavy.
“Princess Arryn, they say this statue is Alyssa Arryn.” Owen spoke as he walked up to the marble statue of the legendary woman. The crypts of Winterfell were filled with statues of Starks and their direwolves. The godswood of Winterfell didn’t hold any great statues or fountains, only the many trees, the small and cold pool at the ancient weirwood heart tree. “Our learned men say weirwoods can’t grow up here…” Owen didn’t know why he was speaking of the Gods. It seemed a good place to start.
“And you, you follow the way of the seven?”