Chapter Text
~Year 282~
“Rhaegar, come out and die!” Brandon Stark hollered as he dismounted from his horse, his men following suit. Each of them were clearly his friends, except for the youngest among them who must have been his squire. Daena looked at them all confused and slightly worried, after all he was yelling that her brother should show up and die. Brandon’s wild grey eyes landed on Daena; his face harsh as he approached the princess.
Brandon’s thoughts were as wild as he was. His eyes glanced at the two soldiers standing a few paces behind the princess, her sworn sword nowhere in sight. He could take her; his men could hold off the soldiers while he grabbed the Targaryen princess. Her brother would understand his pain and anger if his sister was taken. Brandon stared at the princess. His grey eyes wild like that of an animal backed into a corner.
“Brandon Stark, what brings you here?” Daena questioned as she took in how enraged he looked. The hot-tempered man clearly had some grievance with her brother. The trouble was that Rhaegar hadn’t returned from his hunting trip.
“Where is Rhaegar? Where is Lyanna?” Brandon demanded as he stood before the steps that led into the castle. The heir to Winterfell took notice of how confused Daena looked by his words. She must not know he surmised. “Your damned brother kidnapped my sister Lyanna.” Brandon threw the accusation at Daena’s feet, watching as her confused expression turned to shock and horror.
“He what?” The only words Daena could muster as her body filled with a cold dread. Her fingers drummed together in fear as Brandon made his way up the steps towards her. Thick gloved fingers gripped her arm tightly whilst Brandon began pulling her down the steps back to his horse. “Let go! Rhaegar’s not here!” Daena hollered as she clawed at his hand pulling her, her feet dragging across the ground in an attempt to halt his movement.
The two soldiers drew their swords, dashing down the steps to protect their princess. Four of Brandon’s men drew their swords and rushed the two men, cutting them down with ease and remounting their horses. Blood pooled on the floor as servants in the courtyard screamed and ran. The distant sound of more soldiers running to the yard at the commotion.
Brandon, fed up with the princess’s clawing at his arm, whirled around and grabbed her waist. With a grunt Brandon threw Daena onto his horse, mounting the stallion seconds later. Pulling Daena tight to his body as his heels kicked the sides of the horse, urging the stallion to move. The group of northerners all began to gallop out of the city with Daena. The heir of Winterfell deciding to steal the Targaryen princess in response to his own sister’s kidnapping. The Mad King denouncing the Northerners as traitors to the crown for this act.
Dirt flew into the air as horses raced across the Crownlands towards the Riverlands. Brandon demanded his men to keep riding until they reached Riverrun. Daena’s white-silver curls a tangled mess as she sat in front of Brandon on the horse. The hem of her dress covered in cold mud, her hands desperately holding onto the saddle for dear life. The thought of jumping from the galloping horse was tempting, but most likely she’d break her neck and die. Thus, Daena felt the only choice she had was to remain on the horse and play nice with the wolves.
Days on end Daena was thrown onto Brandon’s horse for hours, they would only stop when the horses had to rest. The nights were cold and the ground harsh, stones and fear making it impossible for Daena to sleep. Dark circles slowly grew under Daena’s eyes as her cheeks grew gaunt as she feared being poisoned by the Northerners. Was this how her father felt? She understood his paranoia now.
Nonetheless, Brandon did not harm her nor did any of his men. Twenty days they rode, reaching Riverrun by dawn of the twentieth day. The men rode into the courtyard as the gates shut behind them, dismounting while Lord Hoster Tully stormed towards them. Fury written on the face of the older man; his brown hair streaked with grey.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Tully demanded to know as he scowled at Brandon. The auburn-haired Catelyn Tully stood near the entrance to the Godswood. She had been praying for her beloved Brandon’s return with Lyanna, but it wasn’t the dark-haired Lyanna Brandon arrived with. Lord Rickard Stark stood next to Catelyn with a deep frown on his face, with a shake of his head he walked over to his eldest son.
“Retribution! Let’s see how Rhaegar likes losing a sister.” Brandon claimed as Daena slipped off the saddle, her violet eyes trained on the ground while her hands gripped her dress. “He’ll have to return Lyanna if he wants her back.” The wild wolf grinned at his father believing his actions would force Rhaegar’s hand.
Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Hoster Tully both looked at the disheveled princess with pitiful eyes. Their quarrel was with Rhaegar, but no one could find the dragon prince, so his sister would have to be another piece on the board. Lord Rickard grabbed his son’s arm and pulled the boy away towards the Godswood for a private conversation, leaving Daena with Lord Tully. Weary violet eyes met blue as the old man waved for servants to take Daena away. To the surprise of everyone, Daena went without a fuss, likely too exhausted to fight.
The servants brought Daena to a small room in a tower with red sandstone walls, a meager bed and table with a chair. The single door to the room was shut and locked once Daena was inside. It wasn’t a cell in the dungeons, the only piece of solace Daena could find. Her dress was torn at the hem of her skirt, mud coating the fabric from the skirt to the sleeves. She hoped they would give her a bath at least, perhaps some clean clothes?
Hours Daena sat in the lone chair, a small sliver of a window the only source of light. The setting sun illuminates the room, casting tall shadows like monsters in the stories she told to Viserys. Her hair was a mess, tangles and large knots that her fingers couldn’t comb through. The creaking of the door caused Daena to turn her head towards the sound. Lord Rickard Stark stood there with a bundle of grey fabric in his hands.
“The servants will bathe you. But the nights are cold.” He said in a calm tone for a man whose daughter has been taken from him. Rickard held out the fabric, a small grey blanket. Daena stood from the chair and only walked close enough to take the blanket before moving away. “You won't be harmed.” The Calm Lord of Winterfell promised her, leaving her with three servants.
Daena was bathed and changed into an old blue dress with scratchy fabric, her hair soaked and combed. She was brought back to her room and left alone again until a servant gave her dinner. It was fish and vegetables, despite her dislike of fish Daena ate it like a starved animal. Braiding her long hair, Daena laid down in the bed with the grey blanket. Sleep evaded her for many hours until dawn broke and her exhaustion caught up with her.
Life continued like this for weeks as Daena remained a prisoner of the Starks and Tully’s. She hardly ever left her room, only to bathe and use the bathroom. Through the small window, Daena could see some of the courtyard and would watch as men rode in. She recognized the large broad-shouldered Robert Baratheon and the shorter solemn faced Eddard Stark; whom she met at the Tourney at Harrenhal. Daena surmised they were here about Lyanna’s kidnapping. Her violet eyes followed the two men around the courtyard until she couldn’t see them when they entered the Great Hall. Slumping in her chair with a sigh as she stared out at the grey sky.