bakerstreet | Arranged

Arranged

Arranged Marriage

Marriage for love is a such a modern concept. In the past, marriage was
recognised as a social contract. Unions were entered into for many
reasons: to obtain property, to unite families, to carry on a bloodline,
et cetera. Whatever the reason, congratulations, you're getting married!

How to Play:
Post with your character | fandom | and any preferences.
Be sure to mention any scenarios you are interested or not interested in playing.
Tag Others.
Be awesome to each other.
Have fun!

POSSIBLE REASONS:
STATION: You come from a royal, noble, or otherwise distinguished family who has chosen a suitable spouse for you.
FEUD: You are being married to put an end to the bitter enmity between your two families.
ECONOMICS: Your economic state and/or your station will improve through the union, though one of you may be marrying down.
EMPIRE: You and your spouse are merging your businesses and/or property to create something more influential or profitable.
TRIBUTE: You have been offered as a gift or appeasement, alternately you're the spoils of war.
BLOODLINE: Carrying on your distinguished family name has fallen to you and the equally well-bred spouse of your family's selection.
DISAPPROVAL: Your marriage has been arranged to keep you away from the person with whom you truly wish to be.

POSSIBLE SCENARIOS
FIRST MEETING: This is the very first time you're meeting your future spouse.
COURTSHIP: To get to know each other and encourage affection, your family has approved of you going on dates.
ENGAGEMENT PARTY: Be it a huge, formal affair or a small, intimate get together, you're celebrating (or pretending).
WEDDING DAY: The big day!
RECEPTION: The big party!
WEDDING NIGHT: Every meme needs a smut prompt, right?
HONEYMOON: Where will you go with your new spouse and what will you do there?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[It seems to me like he'll need something to help back up his new rule, and I can work with either format.]

Genya is chosen, not for her regal bearing nor due to any sort of noble blood. She is chosen because she is beautiful, and she listens closely. She's a very good diplomat and the best spy the Black General has. When word reaches Ravka across the Narrow Sea, they hear of a new King in the North. They hear how he is of bastard blood and has found a brotherhood amongst the Free Folk. It's the potential that Grisha can find a place to belong, find a place where they will not be ostracized or hunted.

Genya Safin arrives in a white kefta with her flaming red hair arranged in cruel amongst she shoulders. It is dreadfully cold in the North. It brings bright color to her cheeks when she is helped off her horse to greet the Northern King in the courtyard amongst all his people. The General has sent Genya with a modest retinue, but it is all she needs.

She gives a deep, respectful curtsey for the King. He is both nothing and everything like he's been described. He has a long face of brooding nature, but he is young. Apparently the best swordsman in all of Westeros.

"Thank you for welcoming me and mine into the North, Your Grace," she greets.

This had been Sansa's idea, and eventually she had persuaded him. They need help to defeat the threat from the north, and if they can't get that help from Westeros, then they must look outside of Westeros. Which was when Sam had stepped in with some suggestions, and then the arrangements had been made. The North would get coin and soldiers, and once it's all sorted, the ones called the Grisha would get sanctuary at Winterfell.

He had seen her coming from the battlements of Winterfell, and the first thing that had drawn his attention was her flaming red hair. It brings to mind another woman with hair the color of flame, and the twist in his stomach that comes with thoughts of her. By the time the newcomers had made it to the courtyard of Winterfell, he's waiting for them there, surrounded by his own men and a fair number of the wildlings (who don't really understand why Jon finds it necessary to marry, but at least they have another thing to tease him about now).

He responds with a bow, after which he offers his hand. "My lady. You are welcome."

She's learned everything she could about the Starks and the North. She's learned about the tragedy in their blood and that of the First Men. They had been kings once, and they have a king once more. Similarly, she's learned about the other Houses of Westeros and the other regions. The politics. It will make her more of an asset as the King's wife if she can quickly understand the political landscape.

"This Fedyor," she introduces the smiling man in the red kefta to her right. There is a blonde woman in red to her left though the embroidery is of a different color. "And this is Ekaterina. They are my part of my guard."

They are there to chaperone and keep her safe. They watch and ensure that all goes as part of their deal demanded. Genya takes his hand as she steps closer

"Your honor us," she replies then gestures to the others that bring chests of goods brought over from Ravka. Cured meats, pickled vegetables, candied citrus, grain and more. They've brought bolts of fabric, wool and furs and silk and lace, the last two of which is meant as a gift for the King's sister that serves as Lady of the Keep. "We have brought men and women as well as gifts to commemorate the alliance of our people."

He doesn't know as much of her situation as she does of his, although he knows enough. He knows that the alliance is advantageous to them both, which is all he needs to know at the moment.

He places a kiss on the back of her hand, then releases it. "They are welcome as well." Attendants step forward to take the chests and cart them away to storage spaces; there's the smell of roasting meat coming from the direction of the kitchens. There's a feast being prepared to welcome the guests, which is sure to be surpassed only by the wedding feast. The irony of the fact that Jon wasn't allowed at the last feast but now there's one being held in his honor hasn't been lost on him.

He turns to his right. "This is my sister, Sansa. And," he turns to the left, "my maester and all around chief advisor, Sam."

There is a beautiful woman with red hair standing next to her betrothed. They say her hair is the color of weirwood leaves though she's not yet set her eyes upon one. She's told that the Starks have a godswood unlike any other. She greets Lady Stark and the Maester Sam with equally respectful curtsies. The advisor, Sam, has an earnest mien to him. It's a sharp contrast to Lady Stark's cool expression.

"A pleasure," she replies. She looks back to her people. Her personal items are being brought forward. It is a modest collection. She is no princess or nobility. She is one of kind amongst the Grisha, but most importantly, the Black General, the one who holds dominion over them has chosen her. "Would it be alright if my people and I are shown to our quarters? I'd like to refresh myself after our travel then I hope you will give me a tour of your keep."

She is under no qualms that this is a love match. It's a match of convenience and alliances. Still, she would like to get to know the man that is to be her husband.

His life seems to be tied up with that of red-haired women. It's just something he'll have to get used to, it seems, at least until Arya puts in an appearance and brings something of the shared Stark looks with her.

"Certainly. You've had a long journey." It had been long enough when King Robert and his family had come for a visit, and Genya and her retinue have had to come from farther.

"I'll be in the great hall when you're ready."

It is Lady Stark that runs the keep, so it is she that escorts Genya to her quarters while directing servants where to take things and where to send people. Genya and the rest of the Grisha are staying in a wing that had newly renovated after the sacking of Winterfell. It is the second best set of rooms in the keep aside from the King's and the Lady's. Genya and Sansa make polite conversation with one another though really they're trying to feel one another out.

Ekaterina and Fedyor trail behind them, but so does an incredibly tall woman who seems to be the Lady's personal guard. Genya is quick to realize that Lady Stark is of the discerning sort. She's politically savvy, and she'll sniff out any disingenuous intentions. It will take time to earn rapport and camaraderie with her.

Genya thanks after she's led to her rooms. It's already for a fire roaring and a four poster bed. Behind closed doors, she releases a breath. She knows Ekaterina and Fedyor will be close by, but she feels a little overwhelmed by it all. She's finally here after planning and thinking and wondering about it. She refreshes herself with the basin of water and brushes her hair until the red gleams. She needs little Tailoring. The cold brings color to her cheeks of its own.

Ekaterina escorts her to the great hall where the King and his people have gathered. She finds King Jon at the center of it. The hall goes quiet when she arrives. She keeps her head up as she approaches. "Thank you for our lodgings. You have been most generous, Your Grace."

It had been strange, at first, to take over the chamber that had once been occupied by his lord father and his lady wife, but it's the best room in the place and he's the king now, not the bastard. He supposes that it had been just as odd for Sansa to take over what had once been Robb's chamber, though of course both of them are just relieved that none of the keep is occupied by a Bolton anymore.

Lord and Lady Stark had shared a chamber, and perhaps one day it will be that way for him and his wife, but not for the moment. They are strangers to each other, and not married yet besides.

He's deep in conversation with Sam when she enters, apparently reminiscing about something. Jon stands when she approaches, and Sam fades into the background to give them privacy. Around the edges of the room, staff prepares for the feast to come, piling dishes and cutlery on every available surface.

"Please," Jon indicates a bench across from him, "have a seat. Would you care for some ale, or some wine?"

Her Grisha begin to trail in. All of them dressed in their colored keftas that denote their order. Reds for the Corporalki like Fedyor and Ekaterina. Blues for the Etheralki. Purple for the Materilaki. It is only the embroidery on the keftas that speak of their order specialization. Genya is the outlier. She wears white, a servant color, but that is not something the Northmen will understand. She's pleased to see the Grisha integrate and sit amongst the people of the North instead of all together. They've been given strict orders to integrate and build relations.

"Wine please," she requests as she takes a seat. The hall is so warm yet there's no source of hearth anywhere. She looks about to see if she can find what's causing the comfortable heat, but she comes up with nothing. The smell of food coaxes her appetite back. She's been quietly anxious and unable to eat all day on this day of arrival.

"The General promises to send more Grisha to your aid," she assures him. "Once we are wed. I have a scroll to give you that details our alliance in writing. We are committed to your cause, Your Grace."

The King might accept Grisha help, but they've all been walking on eggshells to see how his people will react to their abilities. They've been called witches and burnt and slaughter for what they could do. This is the chance for a new opportunity. A new home. A safe have.

He grabs a pitcher of wine and two goblets from a nearby table and places them between the two of them on theirs. He settles on the bench again and pours some wine.

"That would make you just about the only ones in Westeros who are." He'd had to look outside the borders to get aid, since everyone else is too busy fighting over the throne to pay any mind to a warning coming from the bastard of Winterfell. Well, let them fight over the Iron Throne. He'll just save all of Westeros while they're not paying attention. There will be no throne to fight over if the Night King isn't stopped.

Truthfully, he doesn't know how the smallholders will react to the Grisha among them, but he's willing to accept them and their aid. Westeros is more important than any divisions among the people. The smallholders will just have to learn to live with having wildlings and Grisha in their midst.

"We are to be married. Surely you could call me Jon."

"Then I must insist that you call me Genya," she says in return. Her smile is a soft, hopeful little thing. The stories she's heard of the King is of his bravery and leadership. He rules justly and fairly, willing to make the hard decisions as needed. He's brought the Free Folk on this side of the Wall, and they live amongst his people. She hopes he can do the same with the Grisha. They will be assets for the war to come because of what they can do. The Grisha had helped king before without receiving respectable recompense or standing amongst the other Ravkans. This time, they hope it shall be different. Grisha fighting for another King, but also with one of their own as Queen.

She sips at her wine and watches as the servants begins bringing out platters of food. It all smells delectable. Roasted meats and vegetables, hearty stews and brown breads. She wonders what the flavor profile will be like.

"How long before the enemy Beyond the Wall reaches us?" she asks quietly. Perhaps it's not very polite dinner talk, but she can see the stress that likes his face as the threat hands over their heads.

He knows that once the threat is gone, the wildlings will likely wish to return to the other side of the Wall, and he doesn't begrudge them that. There are many reasons to prefer life there, and if he weren't King in the North, he just might join them. But that's a thought for another life.

How he always ends up in charge of things when he didn't set out to be...

Once there were lords of this hall who sat above the salt, at the dais at the end of the room, but Jon prefers to sit among the others. Although at the wedding feast, they will both sit at the end of the room, and chosen others with them. This is a feast, true, but it's still an informal one.

"It's difficult to say. It depends on how quickly his army grows." He's done what he could to slow that growth, bringing the wildlings here, burning the dead, but he knows that the Wall won't stop them forever. Not anymore. "Months. Perhaps as long as a year."

Being as he's the king, platters of food arrive at their table first, as Sansa and Sam come to join them.

"It will give good time for my people to prepare and arrive. What of their weaknesses?" she wonders. Finding any sort of information regarding the White Walkers had proven to be much difficult. There is no such stories in Ravka, so much of it she's learn on the journey to Winterfell. "I believe you and the General have corresponded regarding how the Grisha can best serve and support you, not just in battle, but around the Keep. There are some that have a talented green thumb for your Glass Gardens."

When Sam and Sansa arrive, she gives them a greeting nod. Sansa is paying attention to the line of conversation though she does an excellent job to make it appear as though she isn't. She's a sharp woman, the Lady of the Keep.

She thanks the servant for the food they've brought out to them. Having once been a servant herself, she makes it a point to learn faces and names and to show gratitude for what they do.

Truthfully, there aren't really any stories about the White Walkers in Westeros either. Even the brothers of the Watch would say that the Wall was constructed to keep out the wildlings if anyone were to ask them. This threat is so old that it has been completely forgotten about. Everything that Jon knows about them, he has discovered himself.

So of course he knows exactly what their weaknesses are. That was hard-earned information, and he's been thinking about it since he discovered it, since their only hope of defeating the Walkers is by using these to their advantage.

"Fire and dragon glass. And Valyrian steel." The last of the three is nearly impossible to get, unless someone already has some, so they'll have to rely on the other two.

The Grisha are more prone to believe in what others might consider outlandish or fantastical. They have their abilities after all. It is not so uncanny to them that such beings like the White Walkers exist. The Black General had seen an opportunity, and he'd swooped in and taken it for its advantages. Genya listens closely as Jon listed out the weaknesses.

"Fire shall be easy enough," she murmurs. Inferni could help in that regard. She's not as sure about dragon glass or Valyrian steel. Both sound rare, none of which have ever been found in Ravka. "Where might one find the glass and steel? Our Durasts can fabricate whatever weapons you need quickly if the materials are readily available."

She wants to show Jon that he can have a partner in this marriage. They might not be a love match, but they can be mutually helpful to each other. Genya had long given up dreams of love after everything.

It had been the knowledge of a group of people who could control the elements that had convinced Jon to go along with this plan. If they have to get help from outside of Westeros, then so be it. Having people who can help by doing more than providing just coin and numbers is what sold it. It's his hope that helping to save the North and all of Westeros will help the northern smallholders to accept both the Grisha and the wildlings among them. Jon himself can shape their opinion, too, by accepting them. The smallholders have always accepted him as one of them, despite the fact of him being a Stark and raised at Winterfell, because his status is little better than theirs.

"There's dragon glass at Dragonstone. I've heard that it's in the hands of Danaerys Targaryen now." If it were still in Stannis' hands, getting access to it would be easier, but alas, that option is no more. "I plan to send a delegate to her to ask for her aid in allowing us to buy the dragon glass." If not, he doesn't know what they'll do.

"Valyrian steel is impossible to find. The knowledge to make it was lost when Valyria fell, so new weapons have not been produced in generations. Luckily I happen to have some. Long Claw, my sword, is made of Valyrian steel. Otherwise we won't find any unless someone in possession of some offers it to us, which is unlikely."

"The Dragon Queen," she murmurs with a thoughtful expression. Daenerys Targaryen and her three dragons is certainly a big player on the board. However, it seems as though both she and Cersei Lannister prefer to quibble over the Iron Throne more than anything else. The Grisha had little care for who sat upon the throne. They sought a home for themselves, one King Jon is willing to provide in exchange for assistance in his war. It's a small price to pay. Especially if it means getting themselves a Grisha Queen. "An emissary will be the best course of action," she agrees, "one of your people and one of mine as a show of unity."

It would also be helpful to send a Heartrender. That ability would be helpful if they got into any trouble in Dragonstone. She eats her dinner with prim enthusiasm. The food is flavorful and rich. She knows the North is making indulgences for their welcome feast and the wedding feast. Their stores has to be rationed carefully for the oncoming winter. It's why she'd brought so much goods and resources in return.

"We'll make do with what we have. Our combined numbers shall surely become a formidable force," she says with carefully controlled optimism. She knows she hasn't truly seen the threat, so she doesn't want to underestimate it. "They tell me you have a direwolf, Your-- Jon," she stumbles for a moment on using his given name. "That he is as large as a horse."

The sounds of revelry grow around them as the household knights partake of the food and ale. Curious glances come in their direction as those who weren't in the courtyard for the Grishas' arrival sneak a peek at their future mistress. (There will be crude gestures later, after the wedding, though at the moment, they take care that neither their king nor his betrothed can see anything of the sort.)

"Perhaps Sansa would like to go," Jon suggests, knowing full well that she's listening even if she's pretending not to be. By that point, Genya will be the lady of the house, and Jon wants to transition Sansa into an advisory role. Especially since she has declared her intention not to marry again, being an emissary for her brother would be a good fit for her.

"Ghost. I'll introduce you on our tour of the keep. He doesn't mind crowds, but they mind him. He makes them nervous."

If his sister is as clever and shrewd as she appears then Sansa will be an excellent emissary to send to contend with the Dragon Queen. The woman, to her credit, only gives a wry smile as she drinks from her goblet. Genya glances among them to check on the Grisha. They are of the same sort of humble background as the Northmen. They converse easily with their new comrades and regaling them with stories of their journey across the Narrow Sea. Relieved that that is going well for now, she turns back to Jon.

"I would like that. I've been your godswood is a beautiful sanctuary. That the tree has leaves as lovely as your sister's hair," she offers up. She relishes the cold of the outside. It reminds her of winter in Ravka. "You follow the old gods as I understand it, yes?"

She's curious to learn about them. Ravka has Saints and the Maker, but Westeros has their old gods and the new.

"It's the finest godswood in all of the North." All of Westeros too, technically, but since there are none outside of the North, he doesn't feel the need to mention that. "I'll show you that as well."

He refills his goblet of wine before continuing. "We do. Everywhere else in Westeros follows the new gods, the Seven, but up here we prefer the old."

"It feels older here in the North. More of an ancient touch to it," she tries to explain. Maybe it's the less cultivated landscape. It's not a constant busy bustling area such as Os Alta, the capital of Ravka. There's a wildness to it even to this side of the Wall. She's curious to see what's on be other side of that will ever be possible. She finishes her meal and relaxes in her seat with her wine. Her belly is full, and she feels content.

"Supper was delicious," she praises, "I hope to give your cooks my finest regards. The meal was hearty and warming."

"We're descended from the First Men, the same as the wildlings. Or so the story goes." It hasn't been proven definitively, but there's plenty of reason to believe it anyway. "The more southern areas of Westeros have had a greater mix of populations. They have changed more from outside influence, but we like our traditions here."

He sops up the last of his stew with a hunk of bread and shoves the dish aside while he chews. "They will be glad to hear it. Their opportunities to show off their skills will be few and far between soon." Winter is coming, after all. "Are you ready for a tour?"

"Indeed," she agrees. She rises from her seat to join him as they walk out of the hall together. She catch Fedyor and Ekaterina's eyes and subtly shakes her head. It will simply be her and Jon. She thinks they should get the chance to get to know one another alone instead of under any watchful eyes.

She's curious to see the rest of the keep. She likes the old bones of it. It tells of stories and people long past. It's modest in comparison to the Grand Palace which is garish and gauche with all its gold and silver.

"Will you tell me more about your traditions here?" she asks to continue their conversation.

"Certainly." Soon enough they'll be her traditions too, although there will be room for her to follow her own traditions. He doesn't want to take that away from her. "Is there one that you would like to hear about first?"

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lmk if this works!

it's great!

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