Lyanna gave her brother a hard stare and held the crown of roses to her chest protectively. "If you touch it, I shall gouge your eyes out," she hissed unrepentantly at Brandon even as Ned tried to step in between them. "This is mine."
"Are you completely without shame? The man is married." Her brother's roar carried to her ears, making Lyanna flinch.
"Mayhap I am," she retorted angrily. Her eyes went to Ned, begging him to help her. He owed her. It was the least he could do. "Leave off, Brandon; not even Robert minded."
But Robert was a fool. Lyanna was relieved though. She would not have wished to cause more trouble.
Ned, seeing his chance, took her by the arm and pulled her away to relative safety. "It's just a few flowers. Be reasonable. And you, Lya, don't goad him."
Brandon shook his head, muttered a curse and was gone. Left alone with Ned, Lyanna drew away from him. "He helped us. He might have brought me before the King had he had a mind to."
"Oh, Lya. My poor sister." He embraced her despite the fact that she held herself as stiff as ice. "Try to put this behind you."
She would have to. Lyanna thought with distaste about what awaited her after the tourney. Barely able to hold in her shudder, the she-wolf pushed against her brother's chest. "You are crushing my prize." If she was to have at least one good memory she would not have it destroyed by carelessness.
Rhaegar sat in a chair, behind his desk, in the air solar of his keep. He was watching his firstborn play with her black cat. Or rather he was observing the way in which Balerion artfully dodged his daughter's each and every attempt to catch him by the tail. The gods knew Rhaenys had some unexpected strength that did not come from her lady mother.
"Father," she squealed when Balerion swiped a small paw at her warningly. The pet did not seem at all pleased with being dragged into the girl's lap. "Look, father. Dragon."
Rhaegar nodded his head at her, while a smile formed upon his face. "Fearsome beast, indeed, my dearling." The cat yowled when Rhaenys pulled on one of its ears.
Deciding that that moment would be as good as any to rescue the pet, Rhaegar stood up from his seat and walked towards his daughter. Distracted, Rhaenys let go of Balerion and he dashed away, to hide somewhere in a dark corner. His daughter held her arms out in an imperious sign to be picked up. Complying, he took Rhaenys into his arms.
"Where is mother?" the child asked after a brief silence, small arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
"Your lady mother is in her rooms, waiting for your brother or sister to arrive." And a long wait it was. Rhaegar could not help but worry.
The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon line, leaving behind dying rays in a sea of purples, violets, oranges and pinks. The dying light had a mesmerising effect its warmth was moving, as the struggles of a knight before the foe. And the inevitable fall would follow.
There was still no news of Elia or the babe. Rhaegar had left Rhaenys in the car of her nursemaid, certain that the poor child would soon be seeking the bed.
As for himself, he could not rest. When his daughter had been born, Elia had nearly lost her life in childbed. The maester had warned them that another attempt may cost Elia her life. "Her Grace is much too drained to carry yet again," the man had said, for Elia refused to ever allow him in her presence again. Another maester had been called to Dragonstone.
And they had tried once more to have a child. Mayhap is had been wrong to do so, but in the current climate not to do so would have been utter madness. The Crown Prince sighed, trying to push away the doubt. He did so wish his mother had been more cautious in planning his marriage. Alas, that chance was gone and would never come back.
He had wondered at the hurry in which the Princess of Dorne had wished to see them wedded and only before the Septon, when he'd finally laid eyes on Elia, did Rhaegar understand. By then, of course, he could not more refuse to wed than he could bring the dead back to life.
It had been a well-crafted plan on the part of the Dornish Princess, and daring besides. More importantly, it bore the fruit of success. The cost, however, no one could have anticipated.
There was a knock on the door.
The maester entered, his frame stooped and trembling. He bowed towards Rhaegar and looked around the room fearfully. The Prince stopped himself from sighing. "So, maesters, what news do you bring of my lady wife?"
"Your Grace," the thin, high voice sounded unpleasantly in Rhaegar's ears, "it is finally over. Alas, the news I have is not of a fair nature."
Hold tightening upon the wooden back of the chair, Rhaegar closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. "Whatever it is that you wish to tell me, maester, do not hesitate."
Mayhap others would have grown angry, demanded impossible feats, but Rhaegar, out of all people, knew very well that in childbed there was only blood, pain and the Strangers touch, indiscriminately choosing which babes to take and which mothers to kill. Not even the brightest minds of the age could change that.
The man fell to his knees before Rhaegar' "My deepest apologies to Your Grace, but your lady wife had been delivered of a stillborn babe." Beads of sweat coated the maester's forehead. The Prince let go of the wood. "Twas a son, Your Grace."
His heir. Clenching his teeth against the pain those words produced, the King's oldest son forced himself to step away from the chair. He could feel the maester's eyes on him, but, for the moment, could not think of little else but what he'd just heard.
There was to be no Aegon, it would seem.
A bitter smile painted his lips.
Elia rested beneath the thick furs, her dark hair drawn over one shoulder in a thick plait. Her dark skin was unusually pale and the matters were not helped any by the candlelight. Her constitution, while never what one might call strong, seemed to wither even further beneath the toll of delivery.
Rhaegar closed the door softly behind him. The strong scent of blood lingered in the air, thick and unpleasant. It put him rather in the mind of a battlefield. His lady wife raised her head and gave him a lingering, almost-accusing look.
Ignoring that, Rhaegar stepped to where the ewer and cloth were. The pristine cloth was dipped in water and wrung. Then he walked towards the bed once more.
Much too exhausted to fight him, Elia allowed the wet cloth to wash the sweat from her forehead, but even a blind man could make out she was only doing so on account of incapacity to send him on his way. Likely she wanted to be alone, to grieve.
"Did you see him?" Elia demanded quietly.
"Aye." Rhaegar could say no more. Instead he pulled back and deposited the cloth on a chair. What words could he possibly use to console her?
"I am tired." She turned her head away from him, to face the wall.
Understanding the dismissal, Rhaegar nodded even though she could not see him. He did not want to be in her bedchamber and she did not want him there. It was best to go.
"There can be no other babes," the master was telling him. "She is barren, your lady wife is. She will not conceive no matter what we give her. Apologies, Your Grace." The man inclined his head to hide his eyes from Rhaegar's gaze.
There was nothing to be done, it would seem.
"I understand, you may leave." His dismissal was quickly acted upon, the maester retreating out the door in two heartbeats' time.
What to do? It was simply impossible to leave matters be. This was no longer about some prophecy. It was not about some old writing upon dusty pages. Heavens, he could not possibly leave the realm in the hands of his little brother. The boy, much as Rhaegar loved him, was their father's son. Viserys had Aerys' temper but none of his charm.
It would simply not do.
Holding his face in his hands, the young Prince tried to chase away the persistent ache of loss.
Elia had locked herself in her rooms and refused to come out. Not that she could have even if she wanted to. In a manner similar to the birth of Rhaenys, his lady wife had been left bedridden. "Gods, what am I being punished for?" he asked the sunlight streaming in through the window.
An insane father, a poor tortured mother, an ill wife and a brother unfit to be his heir; Rhaegar groaned, shook his head and curbed the urge to find some wine.
He would need to visit King's Landing.
"You would leave me here? After what I have gone through?" Elia's eyes filled with tears. "I lost my son." The stubborn set of his jaw was the flint to ignite his own fury. "Am I to be forgotten here as you travel about while our son's ashes have not yet grown cold."
Deciding that he had had quite enough, Rhaegar stood to his feet and levelled an icy glare towards her. "Lady wife, need I remind you there is no explanation I owe you?" It galled him to no end that she acted as if the loss had been only hers. The burden was his as well.
"I shall write to my brother," she groused unhappily, one tear sliding down her cheek. "I refuse to be treated thus."
"Write then, my lady." He was at wit's end with her. If he tried to comfort her she accused him of not understanding, if he sought his own comfort she claimed he was insensitive to her pain. "He was my son as well."
Those were his parting words to Elia Martell before he made his way out of her bedchamber and down the hall to the spiralling stairs and out into the cold.
There had to be something he could do, the Prince told himself, walking the path that led to the stables. Yet nothing came to mind. Except one thing. He remembered the girl at the tourney, the one he'd given a crown of roses to.
What was the Stark girl's name?
Lyanna Stark smiled at her good-sister and embraced Catelyn Tully tightly. She was a good sort. "I am very glad that you are to be my good-sister. You cannot imagine what it is to grow with Brandon for a brother."
"Was he that horrid to you?" Catelyn laughed, patting Lyanna's back gently.
Electing not to answer, for her lies were not polished, Lyanna drew away. "I have kept you long enough, I daresay." She kissed Catelyn's cheeks again and broke away from the other woman in order to allow the next person in line to congratulate her.
Making her way to Ned's side, she sat down in a chair. "They look happy together."
"So they do," her brother agreed. He gave her along look, as if trying to determine something. Lyanna turned to gaze back at him, if only to needle him with such impertinent perusal. He was not the only one who could do so.
"Do you not think you could be happy if you tried?" Ned sighed. "For me."
"If you asked me to cut my own throat, I would do it. If you asked me to rip my heart out, I would do that too. But you have no right to force me into feeling anything for," she paused, fighting with herself over the words she should use, "your friend," she ended up saying the words as if they were poison upon her tongue.
Chastised, Ned glanced away from her.
She had not meant to hurt him.
Edmure Tully gave her a charming grin. "Are you certain you cannot remain here any longer?" Their palms met as they circled one another. Behind them the pipes reached a crescendo and the fiddlers produced a high, loud sound. "'Tis a pity to be so soon parted."
Lyanna laughed at her good-brother's antics and gave a quick nod of agreement. "Were it up to me I would not leave at all." They stopped and drew further apart as the song faded into another. Edmure bowed and Lyanna curtsied.
Ethan Glover was coming towards her, a jovial smile upon his lips. "Lady Lya, a dance for a dear friend of your brother's." He placed a hand upon her shoulder.
"I should like nothing better." She allowed Ethan to pull her among the dancers as a lively melody filled the hall. It was an easy enough dance, a reel she'd learned as a young girl from her mother. And Ethan was a good partner.
If only she could stop time and remain as she was in this moment.
Alas she could not. Suppressing a sigh, Lyanna smiled wider and followed Ethan's steps with her own, twirling in a wide arch.
"Shall you join us to the Eyrie, noble squire?" she asked by way of making conversation.
Ethan laughed softly. "Careful now, my lady, else I shall think you've set your heart of me." Ethan lifted her up with ease. "Brandon has been pestering the lot of us to go. And I confess I'm curious. Though I know not how his bride will like this."
Brandon shot her a disapproving look, but Lyanna was having too good a time to mind her brother. Besides, he ought to pay attention to his lady wife, not to his sister. Kyle Royce stared back at him with a mocking expression. "What, Stark, aren't we allowed to make conversation with your sister now?"
"See that conversation is all you make unless you want to taste my steel, Royce" Brandon shot back without an ounce of hesitation. Catelyn placed a hand on his shoulder, murmuring something Lyanna could no make out.
"I say, Stark, your sword may be put to better use," Elbert Arryn called out.
Lyanna stifled a giggle at the hue of red which attacked her sister's cheeks. Gods, her brother's friends were so amusing. "Now, now, you are being too cruel," she intervened. "I daresay I shan't ride with you any longer if this be your act." Kicking her horse in the flanks, Lyanna took off ahead of them.
Brandon was the first to follow, spurring his own horse on. "Slow down."
"Only if you catch me," she replied over her shoulder.
They used to race in Winterfell too. It was a pity Benjen had had to go back home. He might have obliged her with less fuss. Brandon would, at times, drive her insane.
"Lyanna Stark, you know not what you ask for." Those words she ignored in favour of speeding along the road even faster than before.
If they kept it up they might even make it to the Eyrie before sundown.
"Allow me, my lady," Elbert said, holding a hand out towards her. Lyanna offered him a grateful smile and allowed Lord Arryn's heir to pull her down from her horse. It had been a pleasant ride, but they'd decided that, for the length of road that was left they would walk, and later, of course, they wo0uld have to make use of mules.
The Eyrie towered ahead of them. Yet before stood the Bloody Gate. "A dozen armies have smashed themselves to pieces upon these gates during the Age of Heroes," Elbert boasted, tucking Lyanna's hand in the crook of his below reverently. Gallants they were, all of Brandon's companions. And harmless besides.
"If only Visenya Targaryen had followed their brilliant example," Lyanna replied airily, more to needle the knight than anything else. Elbert chuckle, muscles flexing beneath the palm of her hand.
"You've quite a sharp tongue on you, lady. I shall enjoy watching you slay Baratheon." Lyanna thought it a pity that her sharp tongue could not slay her betrothed in truth.
He might have said more but the Knight of the Gate, having spotted the part, called out loudly. "Who would pass the Bloody Gate?"
"'Tis I, Elbert Arryn. I've come as promised with company." He nodded towards the rest of them.
The gates were opened slowly, as if to test their patience. Lyanna took the time to glance at her good-sister and her brother. They were whispering between themselves, secret words not meant to be shared with the rest of those gathered before the Bloody Gate.
Having been passed back into the care of Ned, Lyanna listened to the description he gave of what lay ahead. "There are three waycastles. The first is the one called Stone, the second is Snow and the rid we call Sky."
Looking down at her feet, Lyanna shivered. They were awfully high as it was. "I cannot understand how you enjoy this, brother. I am barely able to keep from falling off this creature." Riding mules was different than riding horses. One of the animal's ears twitched, as if in disagreement. "Do you reckon it'll throw me off?"
"Not if you are gentle," Ned laughed. "There is no need to worry." It was easy for him to speak so, given that he'd taken the road many a time before. "What a look you have on your face. It could sour milk."
That was only because she had unfortunately touched upon a thought of Robert. The very notion brought her a pang of discomfort. She did not voice it, however. If anything, it would only start another heated debate she had no desire to participate in.
So she decided it was time to move her attention to another subject. "Say, brother mine, have you had any ravens from Dragonstone lately?"
Her brother's face went red. "Hush, Lyanna."
"So Ashara Dayne has written." A smile bloomed upon her face. "I am glad to hear it."
Ned glared at her. Lyanna did wonder at that though. Ashara Dayne had seemed more attracted to Brandon. Although, to be fair, Brandon was impressive at first glance. She could only hope that upon further acquaintance Ashara had found something to admire in her younger brother.
Rhaegar dismounted and was enveloped in an embrace by his mother. Behind her, the two watchdogs his father had hounding her bowed to Rhaegar, their dry, wrinkled faces set in expressions of suffering to best convey their status as septas.
"I am so very glad that you have come," the Queen spoke quietly, her frame wracked by a tremble. "I thought you away with your lady wife. You've not even written."
"'Twas not something to commit to paper?" he replied, releasing her from his own hold. He hadn't had the heart to give the news in such a way. "The King is not present?"
"He shan't be leaving the Red Keep, you know that. The last venture to Harrenhal seems to have been enough for him." Rhaegar gave a nod and levelled a hard stare towards the two septas that had stepped closer. "Has the child been born?"
"Stillborn. A son." For some reason he could not bring himself to give anymore details.
He knew very well that his mother understood, intimately so, the nature of his grief, Rhaegar did not protest as her hand took his. She offered no words on that subject, but started speaking on his brother. "Viserys has missed you. He was truly joyful to learn of your visit and much saddened at not being permitted to come out and greet you."
"'Tis of no consequence. I will not hold it against him." The Prince felt his mother lean harder against him. "Come, mother, winter has arrived and the cold cannot be good for you."
"I knew it would end as such," the King grimaces, his cup dangling precariously over the edge of the small table. "Too weak, that one." He made a sound in the back of his throat, a sort of displeased snarl. "Should have called it off."
It stood on the tip of Rhaegar's tongue to ask his father why he hadn't. Alas, that would not improve the situation any. What Rhaegar needed was a solution. And he had one in mind, but knew not how to broach the subject to his father.
Thankfully, he was not alone in his planning. The Queen, having left Viserys to his play, returned in their midst. "The Targaryens of old took more than one wife in such cases," she pointed out, opening a tome that looked rather like it hadn't seen the light of day in decades. "In fact, according to the law passed by Aegon the First of his name, it is permitted that such take place especially in case the wife is barren, or otherwise rendered infertile."
Aerys leaned back against his chair, a wolfish grin on his face. "Aye, so they were allowed." Of course, most of the queens and princesses had not had trouble on that account so the law itself had not been much in use. "The maester is certain she is infertile then?" Rhaegar nodded his head. "Then we had best begin looking for this bride of yours."
"Then it is agreed upon." Rhaella closed the tome with a soft sigh.
"There are quite a few possibilities," his mother announced, holding out a list. "Of course, your father would protest to most of them. But I believe that in this, the decision should be yours. I have made a few suggestions, yet I can do no more."
No doubt the King had blamed his wife for the situation, given that the decision of wedding him to Elia had come from Rhaella. "Who do you think would be met with the least protest?" Rhaegar questioned, glancing at the names.
There was no mention of any Stark maiden. Something like regret gripped him quite suddenly.
The Queen laughed. "You should be searching for the one you think right, not for the one who will be met with the least opposition."
Rhaegar had the inkling suspicion that most of the noblemen would raise a protest on the grounds of religion, just as his father would make it difficult by conditioning the choice. For instance Cersei Lannister would not do, even if he somehow managed to convince Tywin Lannister, the King would never accept such a union. It had been proposed before and nothing had come of it.
"If only I knew it by looking at their names." Such a feat, however, proved impossible. Names revealed little but a house. And what he needed was ent5irely different.
"You shall make the right choice," Rhaella assured him standing to her feet. "Have some faith."
Words were all good and well, but they did little to help him.
When she had been a girl standing no higher than her father's knee, Lyanna had fallen facefirst against a mound of snow much to the amusement of her brothers. She had furthermore ripped a tear into her new dress. Her response, of course, had been to weep until Brandon helped her up and dusted the snow off her dress, promising all would be well.
After that, however, she'd learned to take misfortunes much better under the guidance of two older brothers who did not think much of tears and a younger brother for whom she had to be as much a model as Brandon and Ned did.
That had understandably led to her assuming a level of self-composure that was to be lauded.
There were still sights which could bring strong emotions out from within her though. And one of those sights seemed to be f her betrothed half-undressed upon a bank of hay with a scantily clad woman beneath him. Little was left to the imagination and certainly Lyanna saw more than she had ever wanted to see.
A lucky lady indeed, that was what she was, the she-wolf thought not without an edge of bitterness.
Behind her she could hear the crunch of snow beneath boots. She did not know who had entered behind her until the person spoke.
"What manner of disgrace if this?" Brandon's voice e boomed past her.
It was her own fault, Lyanna supposed, for having pushed for them to arrive earlier.
She turned around to escape the sight.
"If he would shame me so even before marriage, even knowing I was on my way to see him, how can I possibly endure a lifetime with him?" The question was not one that expected any sort of answer. Lyanna supposed she'd posed it more to get it out of her mind than to have any words from her brother.
Ned was looking at the ground, presumably inspecting the scoured stone. He'd not yet managed to speak more than a dozen words put together. And he gave no response to her, which Lyanna appreciated. She might have poured her anger out on him.
Brandon would have killed Robert, she was certain. He'd even unsheathed his sword. Fortunately, Lord Arryn had been called upon and with the help of Elbert and a few others parted the two. Lyanna would have wished the man to be late by a few more minutes at least.
The sound of footsteps running towards them rang loud in the ensuing silence. A young woman jogged through the door, much better dressed than she had been before. At a close look one could discern that she was no servant as Lyanna had first assumed, but rather a noblewoman.
She looked at Lyanna and Eddard with fearful eyes, seeming to bed them for understanding. Lyanna gazed away from her, not feeling strong enough to be anything but uncivil.
Another door opened and Brandon strode out, fuming angrily. No sooner than his eyes landed on the lady that he grimaced. "You must be Myrelle Longthrope then. Go on, Lord Arryn will see you."
"I never imagined he would do something like this," Ned tried to excuse his friend's behaviour. Even as he spoke the words, though, he was well-aware that the damage had been well and truly done. Myrelle Longthrope was not woman of the smallfolk, after all, and any dalliance had a price. Lord Arryn had been clear in that.
"One more word about that worm," Brandon growled.
For her part Lyanna was unsure whether to feel sickened or relieved. She had managed to escape wedding Robert Baratheon, but her pride was not thanking her for it. Matters had made it so that he'd be forced to take to bride the woman he'd been dishonouring in his ward's stables, if only to satisfy Lord Arryn and the demand which came from Lady Myrelle's brother.
Has they arrived a day later, Lyanna would have not known of it. She would have gone of to wed Robert and suffer at his side for the rest of her natural life. The very thought brought a new wave of melancholy over her.
"Lya, I truly am sorry," Ned said, placing a hand upon her shoulder. The brotherly gesture helped her relax a smidge. She was not, however, at ease.
The lingering feeling that something was not quite right persisted. But in her apartments in the Maiden's Tower she was surely safe. "I know, Ned," she offered, turning to face him with a wan smile. "You could not have predicted this tangle."
Brandon spewed out some word Lyanna was certain were unacceptable in polite company and trudged out the door.
The wind howled and blew into the room, making the curtains tremble. Lyanna tossed and turned beneath her blanket, trying to fall asleep. She had little luck in that. She'd thought that leaving the window open might help her, the sounds reminiscent of home, but she was far too troubled. Instead she sat up and searched the small table beside the bed for a candle stub.
Mayhap she could read a bit to soothe her nerves.
Lifting the covers, she climbed out of bed and walked towards the fireplace and lit the candle. Afterwards she barred the window and slid back into bed. The bound scrolls were wrapped in leather as she'd left them before sundown. Lyanna placed the candle in its holder and unbound the papers.
She made herself comfortable against the pillows at her back and leaned over her reading material when something else caught her attention. It sounded like a scuffle. Loud voices were soon to emerge from the darkness. Not at all pleased, Lyanna fastened a cloak around herself and cautiously made her way to the door that led into the ante-chamber. The noise grew louder.
With a moment's hesitation she drew the bar away and pulled the door open to be greeted by the strangest sight yet. Her brothers gave her a warning look which had Lyanna shutting the door with a loud thud and barring it once more.
In that moment Lyanna knew that she would spend the rest of her life thanking the gods for her good fortune in avoiding wedding Robert Baratheon.
Rhaegar haled back the urge to roll his eyes as his father loudly declared that none of the options he'd been presented with would make suitable brides. He intended to send another lord on some foolhardy journey to Essos for a bride. That had not worked well the first time and Rhaegar was certain a second attempt would yield no better results.
A knock on the door interrupted the tirade. The King allowed whoever was on the other side to enter. Varys came in. "A message from Winterfell, Your Grace. It might prove to be of much aid."
It was to Rhaegar that he passed the message however. Without minding his father's questions, the Prince broke the seal and began reading. It was a stroke of luck, to be certain, and one he'd not dreamt of.
"Well, what is it?" the king grunted, is wine cup clinking softly as it met the wood of the table.
""Lord Stark wishes to formally break the betrothal between his daughter and Lord Barartheon and demands that he be paid back the money he gave Robert Barartheon with the understanding that he was to take Lady Lyanna Stark to wife."
"Stark you say?" His father rose from his seat. "Stark. Isn't his daughter the one you crowned?"
"The very same." Rhaegar held his breath a moment, hope springing to life.
"We've yet to make a strong bond with the North," Varys offered. "They would be staunch allies."
"What do you know about this girl, Master of Whisperes?"