ANTEA
Mornings were Antea's favorite time of day. She loved waking up to the cold north wind brushing against her face and the morning light growing clearer with each passing moment. It was also the quietest time, a precious moment of peace.
For Antea Stark, however, finding time for herself was not always easy. As the eldest daughter of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, her status as a lady came with duties and responsibilities. But having six brothers ensured her life was anything but dull. Inside the walls of Winterfell, there was never a moment of boredom.
Antea sat up in her bed as she heard a knock on the door.
"Come in," she said, adjusting the warm furs wrapped around her.
Though considered a charming lady, Antea was not graceful when she slept. Her twin brother Robb had always teased her about her unladylike sleeping habits since they were children. But what could she do? It wasn't her fault she dreamt of running through the many adventures she imagined.
"Good morning, Antea," came the gentle voice of Cyel Sand as her friend entered, carrying two cups of milk and honey.
This was their secret breakfast. The two girls had shared this simple meal every morning since Cyel had come from Dorne to become Lord Stark's ward. Afterward, they would join the rest of the Stark family in the main hall for the proper breakfast.
"It's nice to see you awake already," Cyel said, sitting on the bed beside Antea.
Antea had many friends, but her most trusted confidante was undoubtedly Cyel Sand. She valued Cyel's honesty and loyalty, trusting her with her life and the lives of her brothers.
"Winter is coming," Antea quoted their house words. "And with it comes the icy wind, but it doesn't bother me." With a smile, she took one of the cups from Cyel's hand, savoring the sweet taste of the milk.
"You are a Stark," Cyel replied with a grin. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
As the girls finished their secret breakfast, Antea suddenly realized how late she was.
"Gods, Cyel!" she exclaimed, jumping out of bed. "You're fully dressed while I'm still lounging!"
Antea rushed across the room to her ironwood trunk. As she opened it, the wood emitted a loud cracking noise that always made her wonder if it could be heard outside her chamber.
She began sifting through the neatly folded dresses, carefully moving the fabrics as Septa Mordane had taught her since childhood. She took her time, not wanting to refold everything.
After a moment, she selected a pale grey dress adorned with white fur at the shoulders and cuffs. It was a gift from her parents.
As she began to undress, she noticed Cyel at the mirror, adjusting the pink pearls in her dark hair.
"I'll never understand how long it takes you to get ready every day," Antea remarked, and Cyel chuckled.
"I'm a morning person. You, my lady, prefer to sleep," she replied, a hint of truth in her tone. Cyel would rather linger in bed than leave her warm furs to fuss with her hair. Antea knew her mother wouldn't approve of such thoughts.
Not that Antea could ever dress like Cyel.
No one in Winterfell could match Cyel Sand's style. She wore vibrant gowns rich with embroidery and adorned herself with jewels—necklaces, earrings, and more. Her hair was always impeccably styled, embellished with pearls, bands, or flowers.
Lady Sand was certainly not someone to go unnoticed among the Northmen.
Antea admired her friend's attention to appearance. In contrast, she preferred simple, comfortable gowns, often tying her wavy hair in a single braid or letting it flow freely down her back.
"Can you help me with this fastening, please?" Cyel asked, and without hesitation, she was on her feet, deftly fixing Antea's dress.
"We should hurry," Antea said. "I don't want to be late."
She dreaded starting the morning with a quarrel with her mother.
The two girls descended the stairs, chatting about their duties for the day. They would start with hawking, as they always did once or twice a week, and Antea loved it. The main reason was that it was the only duty that involved riding in the woods with her brothers. After that, they would have their history and administration lessons with Maester Luwin, and in the afternoon, there would be sewing and singing lessons with Septa Mordane.
"I'm sure Sansa will show us that beautiful embroidery she was working on yesterday."
Sansa was the eldest of her younger siblings, and since she was a little girl of four, she had carried herself with the manners and poise of the ladies from the stories. She was graceful and sweet.
Sansa excelled at sewing, singing, writing, and reading among them all. Every man in the Seven Kingdoms would be lucky to have her as his wife, not only for her many talents but for her beauty as well. Antea's sister had inherited their mother's looks, from her facial features to her lovely auburn hair. Some said that Sansa Stark was one of the most beautiful ladies in the Seven Kingdoms. Antea was sure of it; her sister Sansa was almost perfect, and each day made her a little prouder.
Quick footsteps echoed in the corridor, and the two girls turned just as Antea was bumped into by her younger sister, nearly losing her balance.
"Good morning, Arya."
Arya was their nine-year-old sister. She was thin and restless, with brown hair that was always messy, no matter how many times they tried to tie it back. Her face was sharp, and her large grey eyes mirrored their father's.
"I woke up late, Antea," she replied, catching her breath.
Arya was always in a rush; she was so different from Sansa. Gracefulness had never been her forte. She would rather train with their brothers all day than spend ten minutes in a sewing lesson.
Sansa often scolded Arya, saying that ladies shouldn't behave as she did. Antea usually agreed, though she believed Arya was still young and deserved to have some fun. Despite their differences, Antea and Arya shared a passion for riding. They often went on long horse rides together, just the two of them, since Sansa didn't enjoy it as much.
"So did I," Antea said, fixing Arya's wild hair. "But ladies don't run."
"They do if they're late to break their fast," Arya replied, and at that, Antea smiled.
"They do. I lied," Antea admitted before glancing around and leaning toward her sister to whisper, "But they do it properly."
This made Arya frown. "How can you run properly?" she asked skeptically, her gaze fixed on her older sister.
Antea extended a hand to her. "I shall teach you."
Arya took her sister's hand, uncertain, while Antea turned to Cyel, who nodded with a smile. Antea looked down the corridor once more to ensure that neither Septa Mordane, Maester Luwin, nor their mother was around. Satisfied, she took Arya's hand and began to run, with Cyel close behind.
Arya squeezed her hand as they raced, and Antea couldn't help but smile when she heard her laughter. As they turned the first corner, Antea slowed to a brisk walk. As usual, Maester Luwin was in the corridor with some servants.
"Good morning," she said politely, and they bowed their heads in response.
"My ladies," the man replied courteously.
When they were out of sight, the three girls started to run again. That was what they did: they kept running, slowing their pace down whenever someone was nearby, and then dashing forward again until they arrived at the door of the great hall.
"Now you know how a lady runs," Antea said, adjusting her sister's hair as Arya giggled.
"I understand how a lady cheats," Arya replied, making Antea laugh. That was true, but they had been proper—not always, but in spirit. Even ladies could have their fun.
Arya smiled at her before turning to enter the hall, followed by Antea and Cyel.
Winterfell's main hall was huge. Usually, it was where her father, Lord Eddard Stark, hosted feasts, inviting every single citizen of Winterfell.
What Antea liked most about that hall was the chair that belonged to the Lord of the North. Carved into the armrests were two heads of direwolves, proving that the chair had belonged to her family since the Starks were Kings in the North. The direwolf was the sigil of her house. That chair belonged to her father now, and one day it would belong to her brother, Robb.
But that day was far off. For now, they were just children.
"Good morning!" Sansa was already there, sitting at the table with a gentle smile. Meanwhile, Arya had dashed over to hug Jon Snow.
Jon Snow was one of Antea's six brothers—her half-brother, actually. That was why his name wasn't Stark, but Snow.
"Snow" was the name given to bastards in the North, and Jon was Eddard Stark's son, but not Catelyn Stark's. Antea didn't know the story of Jon's birth, partly because her parents had never spoken of it and partly because she didn't care. She was just glad he existed. Jon was her brother as much as the others.
Antea loved him dearly. Jon was gentle and introverted, skilled with a sword, or so she had heard from the Master-at-Arms, Ser Rodrick. He had a beautiful smile, even if he didn't show it often. She wished he would smile more; his face was cuter that way.
"Good morning, Antea." Turning her head to the right, she saw Theon Greyjoy standing up.
Theon Greyjoy was her lord father's other ward. At nineteen, he found everything amusing. His face always bore a cheeky smile. He could be quite cocky sometimes, but to Antea, he had always been gentle—very gentle, according to Sansa's closest friend, Jayne Poole. Antea didn't like how that girl spoke about people around the castle, but she knew Theon enjoyed the attention of women.
"Always so proper," she said, getting closer to the table and looking at the boy. "I never know if you're mocking me." She then sat down as Theon regarded her with his usual cocky smirk.
"You wound me," he said with a bow of his head. "I was offering my respects to my lady."
Antea shook her head with a chuckle, and she heard Cyel do the same. The girl giggled lightly as she took her seat next to Theon, who observed her with a playful glare.
Theon and Cyel had always acted like they were siblings, perhaps because they were both the Lord's wards and far from their homes. While Cyel came from the South, Theon was a man of the North. His father was Balon Greyjoy, who had proclaimed himself King of the Iron Islands after countless failed revolts. To maintain peace following the last rebellion, her father, Ned Stark, had taken Theon away from his homeland as a hostage. And now, Theon Greyjoy was one of the two wards of the North.
Theon was a few years older than Antea, but he always acted and spoke like a grown man, even though he still argued with Jon over trivial matters. Jon and Theon behaved like young rivals. Antea had to admit that it was very easy to start an argument with Theon Greyjoy; he was overly confident and very blunt. But Antea knew there was more behind their rivalry, and one reason for it was Robb. They were both very fond of Robb, who held affection for both boys. But a special bond was reserved for Antea.
"My heart belongs to you," Robb would always say to Antea.
Robb and Antea were like one person. No one understood her like her twin did. No one could calm her like he could. As simple as it was, no one in her heart could ever take Robb's place.
Robb was the perfect eldest brother; he was strong and caring, and each of them looked up to him. But he could be stubborn, and sometimes the only one who could make him see reason was Antea. They had never truly argued, not about serious matters, anyway. For Antea, it was hard to stay mad at Robb.
Looking around her, she realized that her mother wasn't there.
Probably she's busy with Rickon, she thought. Rickon was the youngest and wildest of her siblings. At just three years old, he required more time to get ready for the day, which delayed her mother's breakfast routine.
The love that Antea held for her mother was difficult to explain in words. She loved her as every daughter should, but at the same time, it was all too easy for the two of them to start arguing. The fire of their anger would ignite unexpectedly, and sometimes their loud fights could be heard echoing through the corridors of Winterfell.
Antea often felt like she disappointed her mother during those moments, as she was the only one among her siblings who would engage in heated quarrels with the Lady of Winterfell.
With her father, it was different. Lord Eddard Stark seemed cold at first glance, but he truly wasn't. He was a great father, caring for all of them. Antea loved it when her father hugged her; she felt completely safe, as if nothing could ever hurt her.
"You're very lucky, little man, that I was the one who found you instead of our mother." Robb's voice echoed in the hall, and turning around, Antea saw her twin enter the room with her little brother Bran.
Knowing Bran, Robb must have caught him climbing the walls of the castle. It was a curious hobby, but she wouldn't lie—he was quite good at it. Bran climbed in the rain, the wind, and the snow. Their mother was always worried when he wasn't with them; she feared he might hurt himself. But Bran always reassured her, saying, "I don't fall."
"I wasn't even halfway up!" her little brother replied.
Antea knew that wasn't the truth.
Bran could usually be found on top of the giant walls or running across the roofs. Lately, even the guards had started chasing him whenever they saw him climbing. But no one ever caught Bran, and her little brother found too much joy in that, thinking of it as a game.
"A game I always win," he would proudly declare every time.
When Bran walked by Antea, she took him by the arm and sat him on her lap. The boy burst into laughter.
"Where's my kiss, squirrel?" Antea asked, starting to tickle him. Bran kept laughing, bringing smiles to everyone in the hall.
"Give me my kiss!" Her little brother looked at her with a grin before sweetly kissing Antea on the cheek.
"My turn now," Antea said, kissing him all over his face as he laughed again. When she finally let him go, he took a seat, passing Cyel, who smiled at him sweetly, making him blush as he sat down between Arya and Sansa.
"I want one too!" Robb called from behind Antea, who shook her head.
"You're too old for such things," she said with a smile.
Her twin chuckled before leaning over to kiss her on the hair. After that, he sat down in the empty chair next to her.
"Do you wish for a kiss as well, Theon?" Cyel asked with a tiny grin, making Sansa giggle quietly.
The two girls were the same age, both born at the end of the last winter, eleven years before. They shared many interests, such as stories and songs. They were even Septa Mordane's favorites. While Sansa excelled in singing and sewing, Cyel was best at dancing and mathematics. These shared interests had brought them closer over the years.
Theon glared at Cyel. "From you?"
"Cyel would not kiss you," Bran said as he grabbed a waffle from the plate in front of him.
"And why is that?" Arya asked with a smirk. "Would she kiss you?"
Bran's cheeks flushed as red as fire at his sister's words, and he immediately shoved Arya.
"Arya!" he exclaimed. "Shut up!"
Arya laughed loudly, holding her belly under Jon's fond gaze.
It was not rare for Bran and Arya to bicker; they had always done it. The two were close in age—Arya was nine while Bran was seven—and because of that, they were always in competition with each other.
"Good morning, children." Their mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, had just entered the hall, leading little Rickon by the hand toward the table. Upon seeing his siblings, Rickon tried to run to them, waving his hand.
When Lady Catelyn's voice rang out, Jon, Cyel, and Theon fell silent and stood up, bowing their heads to greet her. The Lady of Winterfell nodded in acknowledgment, careful not to look at Jon as she did every morning.
It was the same as it had been for as long as Antea could remember.
Lady Catelyn was a very good mother—caring and warm, strict but also kind. She showed kindness to everyone except Jon Snow, whom she treated with coldness and distance.
Antea could understand her mother's point of view. Being betrayed by her husband must have been a terrible feeling, and Antea couldn't blame her for that. But why did she hate Jon? He didn't ask to be born; it wasn't his fault. This was the main reason Antea and her mother often argued.
"I'm glad that you are all on time," the Lady said, sitting in her chair next to Lord Eddard's. "Your father will be joining us soon. He received a message."
Antea felt a surge of curiosity. She always wanted to know what was going on around Winterfell. Sansa often told her she was too curious.
"What are your duties for the day?" Catelyn asked as the servants brought fish to the table.
"We'll be going hunting this morning," Robb said, looking at Theon with a smirk. The boys always loved the morning hunt.
"Will you come with us, Mother? Hawking?" Sansa asked sweetly. Catelyn stroked Rickon's hair and turned to her daughter.
"Not today, my sweet. But I'll be there for your singing lesson."
Arya groaned, leaning back in her chair, and immediately Jon nudged her to sit up straight.
Before anyone could say anything, Eddard Stark entered the room, wearing his cloak and a pensive expression. Something wasn't right; he usually had a little smile on his face. Whatever was in that message was not good.
As he greeted them, Jon, Cyel, and Theon stood up, bowing their heads.
"There is something wrong, my love?" Catelyn asked, looking at her husband. Antea observed him as well; her father seemed concerned.
"We are not going hunting this morning," he said in his usual calm voice, and Robb and Jon exchanged worried glances.
"Another deserter of the Night's Watch," Eddard said. At his words, Antea looked down at her lap. She knew exactly what would happen to the man, and so did her brothers, who immediately stood up, followed by Theon Greyjoy.
"Bran," Eddard called, and when he heard his father say his name, Bran stood up as well, while Catelyn's gaze shifted between her husband and her child.
"You will join us today; it is time for you to learn." Antea took a breath.
The idea of her seven-year-old brother witnessing a man being beheaded was not what she wanted for him that morning. However, it was necessary. These were the Starks' ways, the law of the North, and Bran had to learn it.
Deserters of the Night's Watch were sentenced to death by beheading at the hands of the Warden of the North.
Bran nodded and quickly followed his older brothers, leaving his sisters, mother, and Cyel watching. None of them were happy about that decision, but they knew that every Stark had to learn the tradition. One day, Rickon would have to learn it, too.
"Antea," her mother said gravely once her husband and sons left the room, "since the morning hunt has been canceled, you'll have free time until your lesson with Maester Luwin. You can take your sisters." Antea nodded.
"Of course, Mother," she replied.
It was easy to find something to do to pass the morning. The Stark children always loved to spend time together.
The girls decided to go to the Godswood and sit near one of the pools of hot water—the same water that flowed through the giant walls of Winterfell, keeping it warm against the cold of the North.
Sansa and Arya went to the kitchen to fetch some fresh-baked waffles, while Antea and Cyel searched for a blanket to sit on instead of the grass.
As they looked for it, Antea's thoughts drifted to her brothers. She realized that this was the fourth deserter in a short time. Antea did not remember that ever happening in her lifetime.
"You look so pensive, Antea," Cyel's voice reached her like a whisper. Antea had never heard Cyel raise her voice.
"As do you," she replied, knowing her friend and her thoughts. "Our way is the old way."
At her words, Cyel nodded. "I'm accustomed to that," she said. "I've been raised to know these ways."
Cyel had grown up in Winterfell since she was a child, but she had been taught to embrace both Northern and Dornish traditions.
Dorne was not part of the Seven Kingdoms, and its customs were very different from those of any other land. Cyel had to learn her father's people's ways just as she learned the Northerners'.
It made sense given the reason behind Cyel's stay in Winterfell.
"I found it!" Cyel exclaimed, holding up the blanket. Antea smiled lightly, and together the two girls brought it outside.
They spent the morning talking and gossiping, much of it prompted by one of Sansa's friends, Jayne Poole. Antea didn't dislike Jayne; after all, she was just a girl. But sometimes, Antea found Jayne's comments inappropriate for someone of their age.
Along with them was Palla, the cannel master's daughter. She was a sweet girl, and whenever she didn't have duties to attend to, she spent her time with the Starks, playing or chatting.
"Antea, can I fix your hair?" Sansa asked, moving closer to her sister. She had always loved playing with Antea's hair since they were little.
"Of course you can," Antea replied. Sansa smiled happily and began to braid her hair.
Meanwhile, Arya had found some blue roses. These rare blooms only grew in the North and were stunning. They had been Lyanna Stark's favorite flowers, Lord Stark's sister, who had died fifteen years ago. Antea had never met her; when she and Robb were born in Riverrun, their mother's home, Lord Eddard had been fighting in the South to save Lyanna, who had been kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. Lyanna Stark never returned home to the North, and that upset Antea the most. Her biggest fear was to leave Winterfell and never see it again.
"We could make flower crowns," Cyel suggested, sitting next to Arya and taking a rose in her hand. She had always been fascinated by the flower, especially since three blue roses were the sigil of House Rosemberg of Thornhill, of which Cyel's mother, Lady Phelya Rosemberg, was a part.
"Please, Cyel, could you teach us to make one?" Jayne Poole asked enthusiastically. Cyel nodded with a polite smile.
"I do not want a crown," Arya complained, and immediately Jayne began to giggle, but she stopped as soon as Antea shot her a glare.
Antea did not appreciate how Jayne treated her little sister. She knew how Jayne referred to Arya—"Horseface." Antea had overheard it just once, and her anger had taken over. She had screamed at Jayne, making her cry. But she wasn't sorry for it; no one could insult her sister.
"Sansa, dear," Antea said while Sansa continued fixing her hair, humming as she heard her name, "what can we do with flowers?"
"A flower is like a lady," Sansa replied, finishing her work. "It is always needed." Antea noticed Cyel smile as she taught Palla how to entwine flowers.
"If you don't want a crown, Arya," Sansa continued, "you could just put them in your hair."
"I do not want a head full of flowers, Sansa!" Arya shot back. Antea decided to intervene to prevent what could easily turn into a fight.
"Just one flower, then," she suggested, turning to Sansa with an encouraging smile.
Sansa always hid her feelings well when she was hurt by Arya's words, and Arya never realized it.
"I'm sure a flower will be just fine," Sansa said, smiling at her little sister. Arya snorted but allowed Sansa to fix her hair anyway. Antea noticed Arya stopping at every mirror to check the flower nestled in her hair throughout the day.
It was afternoon when Lord Stark and his sons returned. The girls didn't notice, as they were busy with their sewing lesson under Septa Mordane's watchful eye. She wouldn't let them leave until the lesson was complete. Septa Mordane was responsible for their education to become perfect ladies; she was very strict, correcting them on everything from their speech to their posture. Her favorite was Sansa, and she was proud of Cyel too. Arya was another story; Septa had a hard time with her. But Antea was the one she was strictest with; after all, she was the eldest.
"Girls!" Bran's voice called, making them turn. He had a huge smile on his face. "You have to come with me, now!" he exclaimed, rushing into the room.
"Brandon!" Septa Mordane scolded him. "Behave yourself!"
Bran looked at her for a moment, then at his sisters.
"Alright," he said and dashed out of the room. The girls exchanged surprised glances as Cyel tried to stifle a chuckle.
Why was Bran so excited?
They had just resumed sewing when the door burst open again. This time, Jon and Robb were with Bran, all three holding something.
"Puppies!" Arya exclaimed, throwing her work aside. Even Sansa stood up, taking the puppy Bran offered her with a smile.
"She is so soft," Sansa said, bringing the puppy close to her face.
Meanwhile, Arya ran to Jon, who handed her another puppy.
"It's a she," he said, and the little puppy began licking Arya's face.
Antea remained seated, watching Bran show his own pup to his sisters and Cyel.
There was something strange about these pups; they weren't exactly dogs, but they weren't wolves either. What were they?
"Don't be jealous," Robb said, approaching his twin sister. "There's one more for you."
Antea stood up, her eyes fixed on the little black-furred creature. It was a direwolf. She couldn't believe it—real direwolves before her eyes, and there was one for each of the Stark children, even for Jon Snow.
Direwolves were ancient creatures, not found on this side of the Wall.
She cradled the little pup in her arms. She was so small and warm, her gaze never leaving Antea's, almost as if she wanted to tell her a secret.
"Robb, how… where did you find them?" Antea asked, feeling the puppy sniff her.
"They were just born," her twin explained, while Jon approached them with a little pup as white as snow.
"Their mother was dead. Jon convinced Father to keep them." Antea smiled gratefully at Jon, who dropped his gaze, blushing lightly.
"You chose her for me?" she asked Robb, looking at her direwolf. Robb and Jon exchanged knowing smiles.
"She and another one were inseparable," Jon said.
"The other one is mine," Robb added, showing her his dark grey direwolf.
That must have been a sign. All the Stark children had received a gift from the gods—these direwolf puppies. Such creatures hadn't been seen for ages.
Now Antea needed to find a name for that little bundle of black fur.
"I feel like wishing you good luck," Antea said to Jon, who frowned.
"Why?"
Antea chuckled. "Now Cassie will want one too."