The War of the North. An examination of the Northern Role in the War of the New Dawn – Maester Rickard Janal, Professor for Medieval Westeros at Oldtower University
Chapter 3: Tourney at Harrenhal
(...)
What truly did happen between Lady Lyanna Stark Baratheon and King Rhaegar at Harrenhal remains a mystery, lost in history and time. All information we do have access to come from either secondary or even tertiary accounts.
In "King Rhaegar, the Otherbane" a book written by Maester Flordian, a contemporary of Lady Baratheon and King Rhaegar whose writings are widely accepted as rather farfetched and outlandish, claimes the young Northern girl, at the time of Harrenhal only 14 years old, seduced the Prince to secure Northern Influences within the Court. Maester Flordian examines the claims of witnesses of the Tourney of Harrenhal, handmaidens and stablehands and squires from all over Westeros. The fact that Maester Flordian did not interview a single Northerner however lays great problem with Maester Flordian's writing. Nowhere in his book does he examine the statements of any person close to either the Starks or the Targaryens, resulting in such outlandish claims as the fact that Lyanna Stark seduced more than a dozen men from all corners of Westeros and even Essos during the Tourney at Harrenhal.
At the otherside of the extreme spectrum we find Maester Callinos examinations in "The Kingmaker". The book examines the entirety of Lyanna Stark's life and a whole three chapters are dedicated to the Tourney of Harrenhal, including the year before and just after. In "The Kingmaker" Maester Callinos states the hypothesis that the Lyanna Stark was a innocent girl from Winterfell, who fell prey to the predetory nature of King Rhaegar, who was long bored of his Martell wife and needed to sate his Targaryen Madness. While Maester Callinos' "The Kingmaker" is surely a fantastic and true examination of Lyanna Stark's person, the Maester falls prey himself to the anti-Targaryen sentiment that was rampart during the sixth century.
Surely the truth of Harrenhal falls somewhere between these two extremes. As a sheltered 14 year old it is unlikely that Lyanna Stark was a true seductress at Harrenhal, however it is just as unlikely that King Rhaegar, who by all other accounts was a just and fair king for the time he lived, seduced a 14 year old when his wife was nearby and still heavily pregnant. However it is known that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen crowned Lyanna Stark at the Tourney of Harrenhal and they kept in contact with each other in the months afterwards, a story we will pick up in another chapter.
(Source: pg 50-52, The War of the North. Janal, R. Property of the Oldtown University Library)
Lyanna doesn't even pay attention as the moment that changes her life forever occurs. In retrospect it would have probably not even mattered if she had.
She jokes around with Brandon, both giggling about something she won't remember later when the crowds around them fall deadly quiet. Truthfully, she had stopped caring for the jousting as soon as Bran and Ben had been defeated early on. Not even she herself had the opportunity to compete today, not after the Prince had found her in the Godswood the night beforehand. They were all only still in the stands because Benjen was excited to see the victor of this tourney.
Lyanna was sure Robert would rather lick his wounds somewhere with a woman, after being defeated by the young Jaime Lannister earlier.
Brandon had never cared for jousting anyway, much preferring to hold a sword than a lance.
And Lyanna herself would rather be in the north, than sit another day in the stands at Harrenhal, sweating in the horribly unpractical southern fashion. If she had a choice, she would rather sit upon her horse racing along the countryside near Winterfell with Bran than spend another minute in Harrenhal.
She had been looking forward to the Tourney at Harrenhal. Kind, lovely Bethany Bolton had told her the South was wonderful, for she had been taken there by her husband after their marriage. Oh how Lyanna missed Bethany, her dearest friend in the north. What she would give to have her here now, a fellow woman of the north beside the stuffy women of the south, to keep her company.
Lyanna did not enjoy the South. Not the heat, not the people and especially not the Southerners with their stupid curtseys and strange customs.
She looked when Brandon hissed her name, staring at the crown of blue winter roses on the tip of the unbroken lance, the Crown Prince was holding out towards her.
The crowd tittered and Lyanna stared at the Prince in confusion. Nodding at her, he tipped his lance just enough the flowers fall onto her lap.
Why? Why would the Prince do this? Why would he name her – Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, betrothed to Robert Baratheon – his Queen of Love and Beauty. She gripped the roses tight, ignoring the pain that blossoms nearly instantly, and refused to look up at the crowd, who were still silent.
"How dare he." Brandon hissed and his fingernails dig into her upper thigh as he holds her aplace. She looked over at him and inhaled sharply. She hasn't seen Brandon this enraged since, well, ever. He had not even been as enraged when their father had announced his betrothal to Catelyn Tully and that fury had ended with the destruction of much of the Trees near the Winter Garden in Winterfell.
Martyn and Rodrik Cassel both grasped Brandon on the shoulder and held him down. Her father looked stricken, as if in his wildest dreams he could not have believed this, staring at the wreath on Lyanna's lap. Even Eddard, calm and quiet Ned, was fuming. He too watched Brandon warily, but the main focus of his wariness lay on Robert.
Robert's fair skin had turned bright red and he sat at the edge of his seat, glaring at the way the Prince had gone off to. He suddenly turned to Lyanna. "What did you do?" He hissed at her, spittle flying across their seats.
Lyanna's gut dropped. He think she? This was typical, Lyanna thought angrily. "Me?" She snarls back at him and Robert's face twists. Her heart races, in a mix of excitement, shock and anger.
Even Ned, sweet Ned, looks surprised. "Do you really think..." He trails off. He looks at her for a second. All he says is "no" and Lyanna frowns. Ned is her brother! He should believe her not some stupid boy from the stupid Stormlands.
"You are stupid, you stupid..." Lyanna trails off as Benjen grabbed her hand and pulls her up.
"Let's go Lya." He says, shooting Robert and Ned a withering glare.
All together their party left the stands. Whispers and points guide their way away from the stands to their tents and Lyanna feels so helpless. She cannot drop the flowers – that would be an insult to the Prince and the royal family. She cannot keep the flowers – that would spur the rumors further.
Just before they turn the corner of where the stands can still see them, Lyanna looks at the flowers one last time and drops them on the floor. She couldn't care less about insulting the royal family. The Prince made a fool of her, her family and all of the north. Why would she care about his stupid feelings?
She catches Brandon look at them. They look at each other for a moment, but Bran nods and grabs her hand tightly. His thumb rubs across the ridge of her hand and Lyanna sighs. At least Bran and Ben stand by her side.
"Lyanna." Her father says just before she wants to duck into her tent. "Lya. Keep your head down. We do not need you to shame us, our family and the north."
Lyanna frowns. "I never -"
Rickard sighs. "I know that, little Lya." He touches her hair where the curls escaped her braid and sighs. "You are so like your mother."
Both Rickard and Lyanna flinch. Even Bran, who stands behind their father, looks surprised and Ben looks gutted as they all stay silent for a moment.
Lyanna had only been 7 years old when Lyarra Stark had died, Ben younger than that. Since that day Rickard Stark had scarsely even said her name, grief clouding his view, even of his children. He had sent Eddard and Brandon away, his two elder sons, and had left the raising of Lyanna and Benjen to his mother and grandmother.
"Lyanna. Southerners like to gossip. They talk and they judge and they are not like us." Rickard said softly, still touching her hair. "They will call you his whore and a slut and perhaps even his mistress. You mustn't let anything get to you. The prince made a mistake. You mustn't let that defeat our family." Rickard looked over at his sons and Robert, who stood a little offside. "That goes for you as well, boys."
"But father, he..." Benjen started.
"Robert. Please join me in my tent." Rickard interrupted and he disappeared into his tent.
Robert moved to follow him, but stopped in front of Lyanna. "Lya. I never meant … I trust you … Lya, I love you."
Lyanna did not look at Robert in fear of striking him. No matter how much he claimed to love her, he had still thought the worst of her for a moment at least. With a sigh, Robert follows Rickard into his tent, realizing she would not speak with him. Lyanna lets out a breath she did not even know she was holding.
"Think of your honor, Lya." Ned said quietly, running one hand over her hair. He looked at her for another moment and stepped away.
Lyanna frowned at him. Honor. What did honor have to do with anything? Damn Ned and Jon Arryn and their stupid "as High as Honor". What use was honor now?
"Come on, little foal." Bran grabbed Lyanna's hand again and tugged her away, off to the godswood. Benjen followed them at a slight distance.
People standing around the tents tittered at them as they walked past, but Lyanna gritted her teeth and kept her head high. Her father was right. Southerners were idiots, but that was no big surprise anymore.
Howland Reed was sitting in the Harrenhal Godswood, in front of the heart tree. He looked up as they entered and smiled at them. "Lya." He said softly and touched his heart.
"Howland." Lyanna smiles at her new friend. It was too rare Lyanna was able to meet new people and Howland was so kind and a truly great friend to her and the Starks. He reminded her of home, or at least of what she knew. He was a comfort in this strange south.
"I can punch him for you, if you'd like." Brandon says suddenly. "The Prince."
Lyanna rolls her eyes at him and punches his arm lightly. "You heard father. We do nothing. It doesn't matter anyways. We will go back home soon and no one will care anymore."
Robert has calmed by the next morning, smiling at her with the same adoration as always.
Lyanna tries to smile back, but she fears it comes out as more of a grimace. Robert doesn't seem to care, turning back to Ned, chattering about something.
Lyanna rolled her eyes as soon as his back was turned, and Ben elbowed her in side while grinning. "You mustn't be unkind, Lya." He said, though the humor in voice prevailed.
Lyanna resisted to urge to stick out her tongue and brushed past her brothers and betrothed to the breakfast table.
The rest of the day was spent packing. One more night was to be spent at Harrenhal, with a marvelous feast planned by Lord Whent, who had invited all the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms to dine with him, for the evening.
To say Lyanna was dreading it was an understatement. She had not seen any southerners today, but she did not believe they would not still be outraged by the events of the day before. She had no interest in spending a night with people who would judge her for something she had no control over, especially not if the Royal Family would also attend Lord Whent's feast.
Ben camped out in her room for most of the day, having packed most of his things before, and he watched as she fretted over a choice of gown for the evening.
Anything too expensive and well made would probably send the Lords and Ladies in attendance in yet another fit of outrage, but too simple and Lord Whent would take great offense.
"Just pick any one of them, Lya. You will look beautiful in them all.", had been Ben's helpful advice. She had responded by throwing a slipper at her brother, who shrieked and chased her through the room.
In the end, Lyanna had chosen a pale gray gown, which the tailor had just finished a week before they left for Harrenhal. It was a simple dress made of the finest wool the North had to offer, fitted tight to her bodice, but loose enough at her arms and legs that she would be able to dance properly. The front and back of the bodice were embroidered with small, delicate witch holly in black thread, with tiny berries in red. It was a Northern Style dress, nothing elaborate, but Lyanna adored the dress.
She left her hair open, only braiding the front out of her face and fixing her curls into the most relaxed she could manage. Adding just a simple silver necklace with a wolf charm, Bran had given her at her last name day, Lyanna looked in the looking glass and had to stifle a laugh.
She looked more Northern than she had in years. The pale gray of her dress brought out the dark gray of her eyes, making them appear lighter than usual. Against her skin, that had been darkened by the weeks in the Southern Sun, and her wild dark hair, her eyes stood out more than usual.
"You look great, sister." Ben had proclaimed when she had finished. He had picked the exact opposite colors she had, a black doublet with gray embroidery. She grinned at him and reached up to fix his long hair, which hung in his face.
"You as well, my brother." She reached up to fix his long hair, which hung loosely in his face.
Together they made their way to where the rest of their family was waiting for them. To Lyanna's amusement, they had all picked some variation of their family colors.
Her father wore a dark gray satin doublet with white direwolves dancing around the neckline. Despite the graying hair at his temples, he made an impressive figure, standing twice as broad as Lyanna herself and still as strong as each of his sons. He smiled at her and Ben as they approached, nodding his approval.
Ned was wearing a gray leather doublet and he too smiled at Lyanna and Ben as they approached. "Robert will be stunned." He promised and Lyanna rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself.
Brandon wore a black leather doublet, with a gray wolf stitched on above his heart, paired with fine leather boots. He stood even taller than their father and
Lyanna grinned at her brother as she recognized the wolf on his doublet. She had made it the previous year, spending many moons on perfecting the delicate stitching. She had been so proud when she finished, as nothing she had embroidered before had looked as polished. Rather than keeping it for herself, Lyanna had given it to Brandon. Somehow the wolf she had stitched out of the delicate silver thread had reminded her of her brother, even with the sword she had planted between its teeth in a sudden strike of inspiration.
"I didn't know you made a doublet with my wolf!" She exclaimed, grinning up at Brandon. "It looks good."
"I know." Brandon said with a grin. "I had one of the women in Winter's Town make it after you gave it to me. After all no one had ever made something so beautiful for me before."
Lyanna blushed and hit Brandon in the shoulder. "Shut up!" She exclaimed.
Before Brandon could respond, their father addressed all of his children. "Don't let yourself be provoked, no matter what or who." He told them, looking each of them into the eyes separately. "And do not provoke anyone, no matter who or why. Promise me."
"We promise." They chorused together and even Father had to stifle a grin.
"Good." He said. "Let's go."
Lyanna brushed past her brothers and stepped next to her father, who held out his arm for her to grab. He smiled and kissed her forehead. "My beautiful Lya."
"My beautiful father." Lyanna said, grinning up at her father. Brandon, standing behind them, snorted loudly. A great man their father was, a beautiful one he really was not. Too many wars had scarred his face and life.
They walked through the camp grounds, followed by an attache of other Northerners. Lyanna was sure they were not the only family to do so, and others probably looked more impressive in golden or red or green or blue family colors. Still Lyanna imagined they made a good figure as they walked through the grounds, a mass of grays and blacks.
"Lord Rickard Stark, his sons Brandon, Eddard and Benjen and his daughter Lyanna and the Northern Attache." The Herald called out as they entered the great hall.
Lyanna looked around. Most had already arrived. As wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but it felt as though nearly everyone was staring at her. She stood up straighter and lifted her head, fighting a scowl. Father squeezed her arm lightly and she looked up at him and caught him gently smiling at her.
"Lord Stark." Lord Whent arrived before them suddenly. The minor Lord was dressed in lavish yellow and black, nearly blinding Lyanna. His salt-and-pepper locks brushed his shoulder as he bowed slightly. "It is an honor to have hosted you these past days."
"We thank you for your kind invitation, Lord Whent." Her father said, his voice grumbling by Lyanna's side. "We have enjoyed the last weeks."
Lord Whent led them towards their places, beside the Tyrells interestingly enough.
Robert, who sat beside his brother Stannis, was waving at them from his place beside Lord Luthor Tyrell, who glowered at the younger man. Lyanna waved back at her betrothed, whose grin nearly split his face.
"Thank you Lord Whent." Father said as all sat in their seats and Lord Whent bowed before returning to the table beside his wife and daughter, the daughter whose title as Queen of Love and Beauty Lyanna had unwillingly usurped.
Lyanna looked at the girl from where she sat. Marisa Whent was a pretty girl, a bit older than Lyanna, with strawberry blonde hair and a round face. She wore a gown so fine Lyanna almost felt sorry for the other girl, as Marisa Whent barely dared to move in it. The girl wore more jewels and pearls than Lyanna had ever seen before. Not all of the jewelery in Winterfell amassed to the wealth Marisa Whent was wearing tonight.
Lyanna didn't turn away as Marina Whent turned to look at her and her gaze seemed to burn into Lyanna's face. The girl glared and Lyanna looked away, face burning.
Lyanna's eyes caught Cersei Lannister. The other girl was staring at her, an ugly scowl planted firmly on her face. They stared at each other for a few moment, before Cersei's attention was grabbed by her uncle Kevan Lannister.
"Princess Nymeria Martell, her sons Doran and Oberyn Martell, good-daughter Mellario of Norvos and granddaughter Arianne Martell and their Dornish Attache." The herald called out and Lyanna watched as the Martell family entered the hall, dressed in all reds, yellows and oranges.
Suddenly aware of the seat still empty beside her, Lyanna felt a sense of trepidation as Lord Whent led the Dornish Party closer and closer to their side of the great hall. She stifled a groan as Princess Martell was sat only a few seats away from Lyanna. Lyanna didn't look up from her empty plate as someone took a seat next to her.
She was tense and it was obvious fairly quickly that whomever sat next to her was as tense as she was, as there was no movement and no sound from next to her. Lyanna looked up slightly and winced as she recognized Oberyn Martell, the Princess's brother.
She watched out of the corner of her eyes as he settled in his seat, jaw clenched.
"Lya." Ben said suddenly from beside her and Lyanna looked up just in time to see the King enter the hall.
Everyone fell silent immediately, bowing their head as much as possible in the presence of the King. He was followed in by Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, as well as a large bald man Lyanna did not recognize.
"Your Grace." Lord Whent said quietly. "It is an Honor."
"Yes." the King said, looking at his side to the Bald Man, who leaned forward and whispered something in the King's ear. "A marvelous Tourney, Whent. And a well deserved winner."
Lyanna suppressed a shudder at the King's voice, high and almost vibrating as he spoke. It grated in her ears and she reached below the table to grab at Ben's hand.
Lord Whent smiled and led the King to his seat, a place of Honor above the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms. To his right sat the Bald Man and to his left Prince Rhaegar.
Lyanna felt a rush run through her entire body as she saw the Princess take a seat next to Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna looked away quickly.
Gods. Why was she feeling guilty? She was not at fault that the Prince had named her Queen of Love and Beauty. It wasn't her fault.
"I thank you all for letting House Whent and Harrenhal host this Tourney for my daughter's name day." Lord Whent stood in the middle of the room and raised his arms. He smiled benevolently and Lyanna fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Now, let the feasting begin!"
There were only a few bursts of conversation as the food was brought in by servants – rare, for a feast, and Lyanna wondered if this was all because of Prince Rhaegar's actions. Of course it was not helped by the fact Lord Whent had seated her beside Oberyn Martell, the brother of the woman slighted.
Lyanna felt Oberyn Martell stare at her back. She turned to look at him and they found themselves staring at each other. Lyanna realized it was stupid to be surprised, but she could see her surprised mirrored on his face. A surprise that turns into disgust quickly, as he scowls at her, his eyes burning into hers.
They have never spoken before? How can he hate her so?
It takes Ben grabbing her elbow for Lyanna to turn back around again, away from Oberyn Martell. The others have started eating by then and Lyanna starts eating methodically,
There is little conversation during the eating. Lyanna keeps her head done, eating slowly. Lord Whent serves a local dish from every Great Kingdom and Lyanna tried to not make a face at the unfamiliar tastes.
It was only much later the feast really started, Lyanna thought, when the dancing begun. The bards and musicians Lord Whent had hired were talented, knowing when to slow the music and when to perform songs everyone knew.
Lyanna was asked to dance by Robert first. He twirled her around the whole dance floor, laughing the entire time. They danced for about a dozen songs, until Lyanna pushed him in Lysa Tully's direction and collapsed beside Brandon.
"My lovely sister the dancing queen of Westeros." Brandon teased her as she tried to catch her breath. Unable to speak, she stuck his tongue out at her brother, causing him to erupt in loud, boisterous laughter. Several people on the floor looked up at them and Lyanna watched as Brandon waved at a young girl with a Tyrell Rose on her dress.
"Bran." She admonished quietly, looking over to where Catelyn Tully was dancing with her uncle. Brandon's betrothed seemed to stear clear of the whole Northern Party this night. She had looked upon them once when the feast began and Lyanna sensed the elder girls disapproval.
Brandon rolled his eyes at her. "Don't be a stick in the mud, Lya." He said, reaching over and thumbing at her nose. "Come on then, dancing queen. Dance with your poor lonely brother."
Groaning in jest, Lyanna let Bran pull her upright and they approached the dance floor together.
It was a slow song and Lyanna frowned at her brother as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "Oh Brandon." Lyanna whispered in his ears, affecting the high tones of a Southern Lady. "How truly improper. What would the Mother say?"
Bran laughed, resting his chin on the top of her head as they gently danced to the music. "Should we ask the Bard for a proper Northern Dance?"
"Would they know any?" Lyanna wondered. She adored dancing with Brandon. Whenever their father hosted a feast at Winterfell, dancing was always the most important part. Northern Songs and Dances had quick tempos and heavy beats and the Dances were fun, but truly exhausting. Ben was good for the softer Northern Dances and Ned was a considerate dancing partner, but Brandon was fiery and knew to dance so well.
"Let's ask." Brandon decided.
The Bards looked surprised, but one of them offered the Summer Snow Sound – the most common of the Northern Dances, but a simple one. Lyanna and Brandon grinned at each other and hurried for the Northern Party that sat further down into the hall to fetch others. Nearly everyone, even Ned and Ben, joined them on the dance floor.
"My Lords and Ladies, the Summer Snow Sound." The Bard announced, before the simple three note chord started.
Lyanna and Brandon looked at each other, grinned and nearly together, the men shouted: "Ay!", leading into the quick upbeat song Lyanna knew so well.
They all stomped their feet twice, before the dancing really began, again the men shouting: "Ay!", as Lyanna and other ladies approached their partner. Lyanna twirled around Brandon, and finally lost herself in the dance.
Between a couple of twirls she caught glimpses of their audience. Of the Royal Family watching, faces impassive and still. Of Catelyn and Lysa Tully, who were staring at them in confusion. Of the Tyrells watching. And of Robert with his eyes completely fixed on her.
She guessed this was an unusual type of dance of Southerners. Loud stomping and clapping was not typical in the South. It warmed Northern Blood in the Dead of Winter.
Old Nan said it was Queen Val, wife of King Jorah the Winterwarmer, so many thousand years ago, who had invented the Winter Dances with her daughters to keep Winterfell and Winter's Town from freezing during a dreadful winter. Old Nan said it was tradition to dance since then, to warm their blood and to shatter the ice that sometimes built on the floors during the death of winter with their stomping.
Brandon and Lyanna clapped their hands together with force and Brandon laced their fingers together. Recognizing the last chords and beats of the dance, Lyanna reluctantly pulled away. She was breathing hard when they all came to a stop.
The rest of the evening went by quickly as Lyanna danced some more with Bran and Ned and Ben and even their father. Eventually she was dizzy from dancing and wine both and Bran laughed at her as she stumbled.
It was late when they exited the great hall, the cool night a welcome reprieve to her sweaty face. Ben laughed with her as they made their way back to the Northern Tents, walking as steadily as they could. Martyn Cassel reached out twice to steady her as she slipped on the mud of the ground.
"Lady Stark."
Lyanna, Ben and their guards froze and Lyanna turned towards the somewhat familiar tones of Prince Rhaegar.
The Crown Prince stood a couple of feet behind them. He was still dressed in parts of his black armor and a simple circlet of black gold rested on top his long silver hair. "Might I have a word?" He asked her, bowing slightly but never losing eye contact. He was smiling and Lyanna frowned at the man.
What in Planetos was the Prince doing?
Ben grabbed her arm before Lyanna could respond. "Lya." He said sharply, but Lyanna raised a hand to stop her brother from talking more.
"No, your grace." Lyanna said simply.
The Prince looked surprised and almost angry, snapping upright at her refusal. "Lady Stark?"
"My daughter is honored by her crowning as Queen of Love and Beauty, your grace." Out of seemingly nowhere Father stepped before Lyanna and looked at the Prince, shielding her from view. "And the North is honored by the very same crowning as well."
The Prince stepped back, surprise clear on his face. "Of course, Lord Stark." He craned his head to look at Lyanna, who looked away immediately.
Father looked back at Lyanna, his eyes kind but his face hard and solemn. He spoke like the Lord of the Winterfell then and not her father. "Go on. Wait for me in my tent."
Lyanna waited only for a split moment, before taking Ben by the arms and nearly pulled him back to their tents.
Even as they arrived, a scowling Benjen wouldn't leave her side as she made herself comfortable in her father's tent. The tent was littered with letters, papers, ink and quills, and a game of chess sat on the sturdy wooden desk. A Stark Banner hung over the desk.
It was as though her father had shrunken his solar back home and taken it with him.
Lyanna walked forward to pick up a golden coin that lay beside one of the letters. A coin of the Reach. From a time before the conquest, when the Gardener King still ruled the Reach. Lyanna recognized the print off of one of Maester Walys books. What was father doing with an old coin of the Reach?
Before she could ask Benjen, Father stepped into the tent, a deep frown on his face. "Benjen, leave us." He commanded, in a tone he used only as Lord, a tone that was not to be disobeyed.
Ben shot her one last troubled look, before leaving Lyanna to face her father alone.
"Tell me when you met the Prince, Lyanna." Father said without waiting for Lyanna to speak. His face was stormy now, but it did not seem his anger was against her. He sat down behind the desk and looked at her expectantly.
"I swear nothing happened, father! I swear it!" Lyanna said, voice rising louder with each word. Why was it that no one believed her that she did nothing wrong?
"Sit down!" Father snapped, pointing at the seat opposite him. She obeyed him instantly. "Lyanna, my darling daughter. I believe you, but you must tell me why the Prince has taken such an interest in you."
Lyanna watched her father's face carefully. He didn't seem as though he was not telling her the truth. There was no lie or disapproval in his face, only concern as he looked at her wearily.
"The Prince found me two nights ago in the Godswood." Lyanna started slowly. She watched her father's face. He frowned at her words and she hurried to clarify. "I was … They were … I was just trying to make the squires pay for hurting Howland! I swear it father!" Her voice rose in distress. "I never meant to disobey you! I was just trying to teach them a lesson! They were hurting Howland and the Reeds are a vessel of the Starks. What message would it send if the Starks could not protect one of their own!?"
Father stayed silent as Lyanna grew more distressed. He had never allowed her to swing a sword, or joust, or do anything reserved for the men, but riding horses. She had not just not obeyed her father, she had actively lied to him and done what he always forbid her to do.
"Please, Father! I never meant to hurt anyone! I just … I did not think the King would take offense. The Prince let me go. Told me I was a brave girl, took my shield and sent me away. He swore he would not tell! I don't know why he is … what he is doing."
After a few moments of silence Father took a deep breath. "So you were the Knight of the Laughing Tree?" He said finally and Lyanna nodded, not looking up from her hands intertwined with her dress. To her surprise Father laughed and as she looked up she saw him shaking his head, smiling. "Oh my Lya. You are so like your mother. My little wild wolf."
"Are you not angry?" Lyanna asked, confused. She would have sworn her lord father would be enraged at her, not only for disobeying his order, but also for fighting in the Tourney.
"No Lya, I am not angry." Father said with a sigh. "You are young and there is so much wolves blood in you. I wish I knew what to do with you."
"Let me learn proper sword fighting?" Lyanna asked hopefully.
Father laughed. "From what I saw of your fighting against those squires, I would say one or all of my sons have already taught you much."
"Not enough." Lyanna pouted.
"No swordsman will ever have learned enough, Lyanna. That is the first lesson every fighter learns." Father said softly. He stood up abruptly. "Get some rest, Lya. We will leave early tomorrow. I believe everyone is anxious to return back home."
Hello! I am reythrace, or thallen as i am known on ao3. This is crossposted to ao3 and my attempt at a huge-ass ASoIaF Alternate Universe with Lyanna Stark, who despite never really appearing in the book captured my heart. I hope you like this and please Read&Review!