It's been an age since I've put anything out, but I thought I'd try my hand at GoT. This is a pairing I've really liked, and with the final answer of Jon Snow's parentage soon to be revealed I thought now would be a good time to explore Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen's relationship. There are to be two chapters. I'm working with a blend of the TV show and book, so some details from one bleed into the other.
This takes place at the Harrenhall tournament about a year before Robert's Rebellion and Lyanna's "kidnapping."
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Once the last notes of Rhaegar's love ballad faded, a soft applause and calls for more music filled the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. He bowed slightly, smiling to see such ardent approval. It was far favorable to the cheers he received on the jousting field.
Many eyes were damp, as they often were following one of his performances. It was not particularly noteworthy until a shout came from the left of the hall, from one of the three Stark sons. Rhaeger turned to see the youngest, Benjen, leap from the table, face red with wine. And beyond the angry young man, the bright-eyed Lyanna Stark. He swore he saw a trail of tears on her pale cheeks. She moved quickly, though, and it may have been a trick of the dim lights.
Benjen's laughter at her reaction to Rhaeger's sorrowful song had made her face grow hot. But it was not his rough chuckle, however, that caused her to lift her goblet and pour its ruby contents onto his head. No, it was Ned's soft hiss of "Dignity, sister," that proves to be her undoing.
More laughter followed as Benjen sputtered. Lyanna did not linger to see who specifically found amusement in her childish antics. Turning on her heels she swept from the hall, face still burning with embarrassment and anger. However, she was not so lucky as to leave uninterrupted.
Brandon, leaning against one of the pillars that flanked the walls, caught her shoulder before she could finish the escape. Her second-favorite brother's brows were high in amusement. Brandon had a spirit much like her own. "Wolf-blooded," their mother said. His temper easily matched her own, which meant he was more likely than the others to appeal to her better nature when rage colored her vision. They stood in the shadows, just beyond the edge of the festivities.
"He'll seek his revenge, Lya." Her elder brother's grey eyes, so much like her own, twinkled fondly.
"And I am certain I'll see it coming from a mile away."
"You'll give poor peace-loving Eddard an ulcer with talk like that."
She tossed back her head, letting the dark waves tumble back. Isbole, the Stark's ladies maid, had braided her crown so tightly she was starting to get a headache from the strain. "Ned has lived with me long enough to know that 'peace' shall never be the state of House Stark so long as I'm in Winterfell."
Something darkens slightly in Brandon's expression. "Aye, and that will be soon enough. You're lucky your betrothed didn't see that tantrum." He says it lightly enough to make it sound as though he is joking.
"We're all not so blessed as to find love in our betrothals, brother." She squeezed his hand, eyes finding Catelyn Tully from across the room. She sat beside her sister, the sour-faced Lysa. They were in stark contrast — warm Catelyn always looks so welcoming, whereas her younger sister often appeared as if she had a decaying fish directly beneath her long nose.
He smiled at his beloved Catelyn, though she didn't see from her place across the room. "You may be surprised, Lyanna. Robert may prove to be an attentive husband."
That is an idle wish. But she held her tongue.
"I ought to go speak to Ashara," Brandon sighed. "Ned's been making eyes at her all night."
She moved past him, slipping out to the corridor. It was blessedly empty — this early, most of the party was still in the hall. Later in the evening the drunken men would find their way to the stables, the courtyards, and undoubtedly, a few to the brothel beyond the castle gates. If not there, then into the beds of uncautious ladies.
Lyanna shuddered at the thought. Her own betrothed had most certainly done so more than a few times — something her brothers had bragged about long before her father and Robert Baratheon made the marriage arrangements. She was not blind to all his faults, though he appeared to be blinded to hers.
This was perhaps most troubling. He seemed to be under the impression that she was some sweet, gentle lady. The kind that preferred quiet afternoons of embroidery and tea to muddy hunts and hearty ale. Lyanna liked a garden stroll as much as the next person, but she preferred wandering in the godswood to nearly anything. She rode, not sidesaddle and not in some gilded carriage like spoiled Cercesi, but like a man with both legs around her stallion Nightfire. On the occasions that Robert paid her mind her preferred to preen over her like she was some kind of delicate songbird. It was through sheer will that she'd not fully given him her mind — well, will and her father's forbidding glances.
She did not fear Lord Stark. He prized his sole daughter as much as his sons, but he was not blind to her use as a means of forming alliances. Rickard truly believed that Robert would be a fair and loyal partner to her, believed he might be one of the few that could keep up with the fiery lady wolf. She secretly thought Robert was misjudged in this regard. But she's not protested. There probably were no better matches in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Robert was sufficient. Still, at times Lyanna thought she would perhaps rather be alone in eternal girlhood or as a sister.
Those options were not open to her. Come a few short years, she would wed Robert and become a Baratheon. Then she would leave the North she so loved and —
The mere thoughts threatened tears again. She straightened, and focused on her walk. At night, the cold castle was dreary. From the windows, she could see mist creeping up from the lake. She inadvertently shivered.
Tomorrow her brothers were to partake in the competition. She wished they had more friends. Rickard was not particularly social, so outside of their bannermen, House Baratheon and House Tully, the Starks were not particularly close with any other families. It was the first time she'd even been to such a gathering since she's started down the path of womanhood. Now fifteen, it had been over four years since the Starks as a whole had gathered at such festivities.
She turned a corner aimlessly, her thoughts punctured when she collided with the chest of a very slight, yet solid person. Lyanna flew backwards, apologies bubbling forth. They faded when she realized who stood before her.
Rhaegar Targaryen's fair hair glowed in the moonlight streaming in from the tall windows that lined the corridor. He appeared as surprised as Lyanna. The prince blinked down at her with his curious colored eyes before apologizing softly. "My humblest apologies, my lady. I hope I did little more than startle you."
"It is I who should apologize, my lord," she replied hastily. She couldn't help but stare. "I was simply very absorbed in my thoughts. I'm very sorry."
She tentatively awaited his response. While nearly everyone described the Dragon Prince in the kindest of terms, it was known that his father was quite mad. Goodness knows whether that madness was hereditary. And if so, whether it might choose to rear its head during a chance encounter with a young Stark.
"As was I," the prince replied gently. "On such as fine night, it is too easy to let them slip away from me."
"Do you consider the night fine?" She was shocked she dare to question his opinion, but Rhaegar appeared amused by her inquiry.
Crossing his arms, he leaned against the stone, smiling down at her. "Do you not?"
Lyanna lifted her chin. "I do not prefer mists and half-moons, my lord."
"I would think a winter wolf such as yourself wouldn't mind a bit of chill," he observed.
He knew her to be a Stark. Again surprised, Lyanna tilted her head. "I do prefer the cold at times, but misty is shifty, needless stuff."
Rhaegar laughed. "I have never heard it described as such, my lady. But perhaps you are right. Tell me, why are you not joining in the festivities? Were you banished following that display, with the wine and your younger brother?"
Her face felt hot again. Rhaegar felt some vague pleasure upon seeing her flustered expression.
"He was being rather difficult, my lord. I choose to leave of my own will, however. I find the crowds rather tiresome. I would much rather an evening left to my own devices."
The prince smiled. "As would I."
"I am glad to find a friend in this, then, sire."
"I hear that you are very skilled with a horse, my lady. They say you and your eldest brother are practically centaurs, and ride as though you came out of the womb on a horse. Will you be participating in any of the riding events?"
The thought was shocking. While lady warriors were not unheard of, Rickard Stark would under no circumstances allow his only daughter to partake in knightly pursuits. He barely allowed her to train with a sword.
"Oh, no," Lyanna replied. "My brothers certainly shall, and I look forward to supporting them. But I shall only be a spectator during this tournament."
"That is a pity. I can imagine you're quite a sight to behold on a horse."
"One can hope," she said, wryly. "But I'm afraid it shall not be seen here, my lord. Perhaps another time."
"I would like that," he said, genuinely. They smiled at one another, softly.
As if suddenly realizing herself, Lyanna curtsied suddenly. "I ought to go now, my lord. My maid is likely frantic, and my father would like to see me before I turn in, I am sure. He will wonder where I have disappeared to."
"Then by all means, assuage his fears. But allow me to escort you back to the hall. It's quite dark and I know Harrenhall can be a maze in the night hours."
She allowed him to lead her back. They were relatively quiet. Every so often she glanced up at him, finding once or twice those startling purple eyes on her. The usually-bold wolf maid was unsure of herself, and simply gazed back with her own wide grey orbs.
When they reached the doors to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, Rhaegar took pause.
"Thank you for the stimulating conversation." He gave her a gracious half-bow, claiming her hand a kissing the fingers lightly. It took him longer than necessary to let go.
She searched for something to say in parting. "Tomorrow begins the joust. I wish you well."
"I hope you do not spread your wishes too thin, for I know your brothers compete as well."
Lyanna smiled. "Aye, my lord, and there is luck enough for them I'm sure, with our family behind them. Still. I hope you do well, my prince."
"I shall look for your face in the crowd," he promised. It struck her as odd to make such a declaration — why should he seek her out when Princess Elia would be there to cheer him on — but the strangeness didn't linger long in her mind. He finally released her hand, and Lyanna curtsied again, slipping back into the dull roar of the great hall.
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Hopefully I will have the next chapter up by the weekend!