ACT I.
Take us the foxes, the little foxes, [...]
A swirl of red hues played across the cavernous dome stretching endlessly above. The specks, with their high colouring and cheerless song, continued to hold Lyanna's attention as she stretched her legs out even further, the hem of her skirts dragging through the thin layer of snow only to dig into the mud coverlet which followed it. She supressed a sigh and brought her hand together over the stiff bodice of the dress. She should have asked to have it laced a lot looser. It made for a truly uncomfortable experience. Her eyes darted back to the foliage. One of the leaves dangled daringly close to the edge of the water, as if asking to be plucked and plunged into the pit.
Her lips parted. Lyanna was counting. Wondering if she could dart over there quickly enough for her fingers to take hold and tug the leaf free.
"What are you doing, girl?" the sharp voice of her grandmother snapped her out of her trance. Starting, she instinctively turned towards the source of the noise. "We are not here to dream. Assume proper position and come pray." The unhappy moue brought back all manner of memories, particularly of being chased around the nursery I hopes of having one sharp object or another removed from her possession.
"Yes, my lady," she answered tersely. Under the hard scrutiny of her paternal grandmother, currently the only elder left to supervise them, little ones, she braced herself for what would follow. Lyanna rose, slow and careful in her movement, so as to avoid tearing the delicate flounces. That would only bring her more grief.
Grandmother Marna's expression soured even further. "Look what you've done. Do you think coin for cloth grows on trees?" She glowered. Unfortunately, her grandmother was having none of it. "Ungrateful girl. Why do you insist upon being a vulgar wretch? Do you not understand it will not serve you at all down the line?"
She refused to answer as was always the case when accusations were hurled her way. Instead, she knelt at her grandmother's side. The old woman shook her head. "What would your dear departed mother say, to see you thusly? The poor woman is turning in her grave."
"You know nothing about my mother," she returned with impertinence. She was game as far as insulting her went. But her mother was another issue entirely. "And you most certainly know not what she would say. My mother loved me."
"No doubt she did. You were a clever little girl, quick and good. That was the girl she loved." Lyanna scowled. "I fear that is not an argument. Your mother expressly asked that you fall into my care."
"If grandmother Arya died," she retorted.
Nonplussed, her grandmother continued as though Lyanna's outburst had not even registered on her ears. "As such, it falls to me to teach you the ways of a lady. And learn you shall. If I have to tie you to a chair."
The argument would drag on and on if she vocally opposed. Lyanna allowed her chin to fall into her chest and closed her eyes, hoping that might quell the woman's desire to speak. As expected, her grandmother returned to beseeching the gods. Lyanna followed the ruse for a few minutes.
Praying to the gods was useless. Her knees were starting to hurt. She had been kneeling before the tree every single day since her return to Winterfell, day after day, moon turn after moon turn and year after year. Had the gods heard her, they would have answered. Bitterly, she threw a glare at the carved face staring incessantly back at her. The red eyes regarded her without a shred of interest. The dispassion prompted her contempt. Just like an uncaring child with a doll to old and torn to serve any purpose, so had these supposedly benevolent guardians seen fit to treat her. She owed them nothing, not her mind and certainly not her heart.
Engaging in a staring contest with the souses wood was pointless. She knew that much. Nevertheless, pinned to her spot, she remained staring, shouting profanities in her mind. It was all she could do not to rise and kick the old scarred bark.
Her grandmother continued with the usual murmurs, might be in hopes that she would join. Lyanna patently refused to indulge her. While not entirely insensitive to the nature of the woman's concern, she could not and would not accept solace from an inconstant power, be it the gods themselves. On the other hand, her grandmother was not entirely looking to drive her insane. There was method to her insistence. She could recognise as much for the simple fact that relish it or not, she was approaching the age where her brother would find that keeping a sister was more bother than reward and she might summarily find herself packed off to live with such a thing they called man. Obviously her own brother was a man, but he was not just that. What she spoke of was that creature her grandmother had endless supplies of warning about. Likely as not, it was a dangerous beast her brother considered giving her away to.
With her luck the particular beast he had in mind was one of his carousing friends. How she loathed those young fops. Why was it that there was not a single worthy man of respect among the bunch? Lyanna would have gladly declared her intention to jump off the Wall rather than join her destiny to the likes of Lord Arryn's heir. Stupid children with nothing on their mind other than making merry. She vowed not a single serious matter passed their consideration.
And Ned was no better, forever trying to convince that she ought to trust Brandon's judgment. Easy for him to say. Brandon was not yet thinking of sacrificing him. Her petulance followed its usual course, trickling into glares and smothered imprecations. Such passed her time until grandmother decided they had had quite enough of the gods for one day.
The old woman rose to her feet, surprisingly agile for someone her age. Even sitting in the damp coolness of winter's beginning, she was spry as ever. If only her other grandmother might have lived, she would have at least had a kind soul. This one was about as kind as the thorny vines imprisoning her winter roses. "Well, what is taking you, child?"
She followed the other's example with exaggerated slowness. Alas, mayhap guessing at the aim, her grandmother simply saw to shaking dirt and dust from her skirts with a firm hand. "Come here," she ordered, tugging on Lyanna's arm. Unable to oppose, she fell in line, allowing for her own skirts to be smoothed over and cleaned to the best of the matron's abilities. "I understand your reluctance." Lyanna said nothing to that. Her back was to Marna and she could not appropriately show her disbelief. "I know you believe I do not, but I was once your age. And indeed, we are more alike that you think."
She could not help a sound of distress at the notion. She was nothing like this bitter, blind and beastly woman. She would never force any granddaughter of her own into a vow of silence and she would most certainly not have the temerity to suggest marriage might help with a high-strung temperament. More importantly she would never dismiss honest testimony as the mere ramblings of a feverish mind. Lyanna turned on the older woman. "I am nothing like you. Not even a little." She was like her mother, and grandmother Arya, if anything.
The dowager smiled, the sort of indulgent smile one gave a misbehaving young imp. Her teeth clamped tightly, a tick manifesting in her jaw. "If that will help your mood, granddaughter." Anger boiled. "Since you have so thoroughly ruined this one, I suggest changing it for a different one," she spoke, pointing an accusing finger to the dishevelled kirtle which Lyanna experienced not even a twinge of guilt over. She had not insisted they go a-begging the gods' favour on a day that was sure to be mud-filled. "Your brother will not appreciate an exhibition of your part." The reminder came with a grab for her shoulder.
Biting into her lower lip, Lyanna forced herself into a calmer frame of mind. She would not allow Brandon's plans to upset her. If it came to that, she would frighten the suitors away herself. A whisper here and there and they would run for the hills. Lyanna knew all about young boys. She was closely acquainted with several. Indeed, she would simply work around whatever obstacles faced her.
Led to her chambers, Lyanna pretended meekness for the benefit of a few young pages running amok in her courtyard. Brandon would do better to keep them in check. But then she supposed juggling ale and responsibility was not an easy thing. Grandmother chided the boys, sending them off with a light scowl. Luckily for them, she reserved her full-fledged glare for her and her only. "It is hardly fair that they are allowed only a second-tier demonstration from you, my lady," she noted daringly once they were out of earshot.
"They are hardly worth the effort." She smiled subtly, trying to hide it from the older woman. "You, on the other hand, could drive a saint to exasperation." They climbed the stairs, arms linked. Her grandmother stopped for nothing and no one. She simply made her way through passing servants and guests alike, acknowledging those who needed it with a regal nod of the head. One would think she had spent her days at court putting those ,silly creatures down and out of their misery. Lyanna almost felt the need to ask if she'd been weaned with the Queen, absurd as that was. Her grandmother was ancient. The Queen had to be a few decades her junior.
Finally brought to her quarters, Lyanna was pushed through the door none too gently into the awaiting arms of Marsia Locke. The girl smiled her greeting, flushed face alerting Lyanna to the fact that her cold head was not yet a thing of the past. "What are you doing out of bed?" grandmother demanded.
"I was just–" The explanation was cut short when the old curmudgeon found her tyrannical nature beyond a thin layer of worry. She ordered Marsia back to bed, calling for Thyme. The young servant girl scrambled out of the adjacent chamber, carrying in her arms a long, dark kirtle. Lyanna frowned. It had been her mother's. And she had placed it at the bottom of the coffer in which she kept her kirtles.
"Where is that sister of yours?" The question obviously startled Thyme. She stammered out a reply and bobbed apologetic curtsies. "Never you mind. She'll not be rid of me so easily, that Tansy. Running off to the stables, no doubt." Lyanna dearly hoped Tansy had an explanation prepared for when grandmother found her. "Thyme," she snapped, "bring out the hot irons. Marsia, make yourself comfortable in bed. Your presence will not be required this evening."
"But, grandmother, Lyanna–" This too was cut off in time for her grandmother to enlighten poor Marsia upon what it was that she would do. Lyanna gave her companion an appreciative smile. She had done her best. Marsia was simply not confrontational, her grandmother, thus, had an easy time of being the poor thing to her will.
"It would be bad form to be entirely without female company. Unless you suggest I beg the boon of one of my brother's friends," she said. "I personally think Ethan Glover would look the part were we to give him a large enough dress."
Marsia fell into a snicker. Ethan Glover was a nice enough boy, but, good gods, did he look more a girl than Lyanna. Even with his impressive height. "Enough of you two." She pointed towards Thyme. "That one will accompany you."
Thyme stammered out a protest this time. Not that it helped. Her grandmother turned a glare upon the servant girl. "I don't expect you to make conversation, girl. Just keep your mistress company." Lyanna winced. Tansy would have gratefully stood up to the challenge. Her younger twin, though, was far less likely to succeed. If only because she would try to plaster herself to the wall and try to disappear between the cracks. That would favour Lyanna, of course, who by comparison would likely seem outgoing and genuinely interested in conversation. She dearly hoped that somehow she would not end up thought of as charming.
Finding herself firmly caught in the trap, Thyme slinked away, presumably to get her hands on a pair of hot irons. Lyanna sat down in her customary chair and shooed Marsia to the bed. Her grandmother had only this to say, "Do not even think to plan some shenanigans. I will know and I will be certain to put an end to it."
"Why are you warning me then, grandmother?" Lyanna asked innocently. "If you already know what I plan, then surely it would be more productive to try taking me by surprise and foiling whatever I have in mind rather than warning me and giving me a chance to change anything."
"That smart mouth of yours will surely get you in trouble," the woman warned, leaving her with a wag of the finger and a cluck of the tongue. Lyanna took it with the same grain of mellow annoyance she always summoned whenever her elders made a point of condescending to her.
Marsia sighed from her perch atop the furs. "One of these days she will lose her patience."
"And strike me with her cane? I doubt it. 'Tis not merely for show." Her kin shrugged softly. Marsia had taken a shine to Thyme for a reason. They were birds of a feather and grandmother would play the both of them as a fiddle.
Thyme returned with her sister in tow. A thoroughly shamed Tansy bowed her head in abject remorse. Unable to tell how much of it was truth and how much pretence, Lyanna simply had her help with the hot irons. "Careful how long you hold it," she warned, not relishing the possibility that she would show herself at her brother's table with singed hair. Marsia sighed from behind her as Lyanna adjusted the looking glass so she might see herself and over her shoulder she even caught a glimpse of her companion. "Forlorn?"
"How much you shall never know," Marsia quoth dramatically. She arched an eyebrow at the look thrown her way. "I am most desolate. To think that I am to miss the grand supper. Bring me back some lemon cakes if you can manage it. 'Tis the only joy I can derive under such circumstances."
"Very well. I will risk my life and good name in this endeavour," she answered in kind, allowing Thyme to tug at her hair as her sister parted the curtain into thick strips.
"Not too much, I hope." Turning on her side so she might get a pillow under her head, Marsia watched the proceedings with attention. "Whom shall you give your favour to?"
"I haven't decided. Brandon assures me he will make the choice for me if I tarry, which you can imagine has set me to ease." The girl snorted, Tansy followed her example. Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "He seems to favour Lord Arryn's heir. But Ned has presented him with the possibility of Robert Baratheon."
"Certainly, I imagine these propositions are very respectable," Marsia claimed lightly, twisting her fingers around a string running from an embroidered flower. "Have you considered writing to Aunt Branda? She could delay whatever plans my lord has in this regard."
"'Tis not a delay I am looking for." The other nodded. Lyanna took her eyes off of the reflection staring at her. She allowed her eyes to fall to her lap. A smudge on the light material troubled her for a few moments. She tried brushing it off, but apparently dried mud could only be scarped off of skin, not so much off of cloth. "I do hope though that my brother has promised to at least try and allow me a choice."
"He will. Brandon is not quite the ogre you make him out to be." Not entirely invalid a view. High-handed though he was, she did recognise he tried to steer them in what he believed was the best direction. "Rathe-ripe rapscallion, he is frustrating I should think, but you must allow that Maester Walys has given valuable advice and he follows brilliantly."
"Maester Walys believes the world in a place of goodness." She scoffed at the notion. "My brother is equally unthinking. Our father, may the gods rest him, was a strong character; but he had years and years to come up with such a structure. Our good master merely stoked his ambitions; I fear Brandon is having a lot more than mere ambition engaged."
Marsia nodded and turned on her back. "You are entirely too harsh upon the poor man. I cannot say I am surprised."
They maintained a light stream of chatter, jumping from one subject to another. Marsia for all she suffered the effects of a head cold showed little for it and acted for all the world as though she'd be able to come down. But then some might take exception to having their soup sneezed near. Tansy and Thyme were done with their work as well, allowing the newly curled strands to fall down her back. She admired the result and fingered one of the strands which had ended over her shoulder. "Well, that ought to do it. What think you, Marsia?"
"You've my admiration. But I shall say no more than that." She laughed. The words were more than enough. She took it for what it was and rose from her seat, spreading her arms in an attempt to help Thyme with the unlacing which remained to be done. Thyme tugged on the laces while Tansy straightened the kirtle which had been laid out.
The preparations continued, with Lyanna garbed appropriately and Thyme enduring her sister's poking and prodding, seeming somewhat ashamed by the attention lavished upon her. For her part, Lyanna made no move to help and Marsia sent the girl a commiserating look. "You will take care of the poor hare, won't you? Snakes run amok your brother's gardens."
"A wolf keeping guard over sheep?" A dry look was levelled her way. "Of course I shall. I can hardly permit the poor girl come to some unpleasant situation solely because my grandmother did not have the fortitude to foresee I shall need more than one companion."
"Pythoness she is not." Lyanna considered the claim.
"She could have fooled me." At times she genuinely did think her grandmother capable of telling one's morrows. Fortunately, she suspected it had to do with intuition based on observation, not with some sort of sorcery. Although sorcery would have been more entertaining and potentially frightening to her suitors. A witch for a wife was not something men desires, as far as she'd been told.
Once everything was in order, Lyanna left Tansy with a stern order to look after Marsia, to which the infirm replied with a snort. She did not protest though when Tansy walked closer to the bed, leaning over in an attempt to fuss over her charge.
Thyme simply followed Lyanna down the corridor until they reached the top of the stairs. "Link your arm through mine," she instructed, moving to accomplish as much. It would be much more expedient, she considered, to simply allow the poor little sprite to follow her about. But then she wanted a shield as much as she wanted a companion.
The main hall was decked in all sorts of fandangles and embellishments. All of which, her grandmother would undoubtedly point out later, cost a lot of coin. Coin which her brother seemed to have no trouble throwing on such shallow things. Tansy took in the scene with wonder. There was an almost reverent bent to her movements, as though she feared any sudden step on her part would break whatever spell had been cast upon her.
Well-used to entertainments, Lyanna somehow found the wherewithal to avoid gawping. Some of Brandon's close companions noted her arrival before her brother. Ser Ethan Glover, with all his height, moved particularly fats to secure a position at her side. "My lady, your brother was starting to worry you would never come down."
"I doubt Brandon even noticed," she replied dryly, nevertheless taking the proffered arm and encouraging Thyme to take the other; the girl refused with a shake of the head, showing signs of a spine for once. "I hope we shall not inconvenience you." Her deliberate use of the plural form seemed to awaken the man to the fact that she was not alone. He inclined his head towards the servant girl and hesitantly offered the use of his other arm to her.
"Indeed not; why should I object to the presence of two perfectly lovely creatures such as you? I do believe I shall be the envy of every man present." Brandon notwithstanding, she suspected he might, if only for the fact that they had gathered to plague her with proposals of marriage and whatnot.
Her brother took her arrival with just a smidge of suspicion. Their eyes met and held. She could hear the warning ringing in her ears so loud was his stare. "Sister, come, sit with me for a few moments." Knowing a temporary dismissal when they heard one, Brandon's merry band dispersed. Lyanna hoped they found some strong wine to drown themselves into. Thyme stood aside, but did not wonder off too far. As such, it was as near to being private as the two of them would be able to get without leaving the hall.
"I have had a letter. It seems we are to entertain lofty guests. I hope you will do your best to make me proud once you hear who we are to have."
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Grandmother pressed the quill between her thumb and forefinger. The tip was raised forehead level as the matron paused in her writing. For a moment Lyanna thought she would play bullseye to the sharp end of the feathered writing instrument. "Have you considered using your head?" she asked with a deep-seated contempt which brought surprise to her face. "Did I teach you nothing?"
Lyanna straightened her back. "I thought my brother wanted to seal some sort of deal with a house he already has in his sphere of influence."
"Why would he have told you what the case was, were he set against it? Think, girl. No one else will do it for you." Lyanna had been thinking. She had come to her specifically because she had thought about it. The quill found its way upon the surface of the table. "I hate to be the one pointing out the obvious," Lyanna snorted; the old witch was glad, "but if indeed you wish to have gains, your aim must be high."
"Is this an endorsement?"
"Not at all. It is a piece of advice." Marna Locke stood to her feet. "You have a duty to this house. So far you have benefited from its care. Might be 'tis time pay some of it back. If you should refuse, I will certainly not pursue the matter any further. Your brother, however, might wish to ease the burden of our current state and even you must admit a bride price is a most expedient solution."
"Poor man; if only he had more than one sister. He would never need worry over coin again." Her grimace pleased grandmother none. "I carry no blame for his deed or lack thereof."
"Certainly not, but you will, nevertheless, be part of the aftermath. Unless, of course you choose to wed. Why do you think women wed, child?" She opened her mouth to reason, but Marna Locke cut her off with a dismissive wave of the hand. "No doubt you will give me some claptrap about ardour and love."
"I am not that much of a fool," Lyanna spoke softly. She lowered herself in an available chair. "But I will not wed simply to be free of Brandon's influence. Were I to take one of his friends, it would be no different from allowing myself to live the rest of my existence under his thumb. And no matter how well he means, that is unconscionable."
Marna nodded. She did not interrupt a second time though, might be sensing that Lyanna had just been warming herself. "I need someone far removed from his influence. Someone who will not be cowed by any demands, moreover, he should have two thoughts to rub together at the very least. I do not think my demands too high."
"Then it seems the gods have granted your request." Her eyes narrowed; the gods were likely laughing in their beards about her predicament. That aside, she did not believe for a moment those above experienced a twinge of emotion in regards to the hardships of those below them. Her grandmother, on the other hand, was not so pessimistic in her approach. "In this life, you may depend only on yourself entirely. Others will come and go, emboldened by interests or held back by gain. It falls to you to sieve through smiles and frowns and pick and choose your allies. One day, I will be gone. Your brother will have a family of his own. The other two shall as well. You cannot remain dependent on them, like a rock dragging them down. 'Tis up to you whether you take the risk and make a choice for yourself, or should you allow Brandon the chance, he will do as he thinks best."
"What if I choose wrong?" Might be that was the crux of the matter. When father had lived, she rebelled against the small things, brushing rules off and getting into scrapes. Once Brandon assumed responsibility, she went against his dictates on a slightly larger scale. But she had never truly defied him. Not in any way that mattered. "I am not nearly as well-travelled as my brothers. It does put me at a disadvantage."
"Experience does not help when one's eyes were closed all the way through," the old woman huffed. It was as close an accusation she would ever level at her dear grandson's head. "In order to make you feel his inferior, Brandon needs your consent first."
Flushing, Lyanna quickly masked a frown. "But what if I am wrong?"
"Then you will live with the results. 'Tis better, in my experience, to regret having done something, not having not done it. Upon this matter, I believe you have heard enough. Should you have further need of me, you know where I am."
And just like that, she was dismissed. The brusque manner might have disheartened her, had she been under the impression that grandmother truly was on her side. As matters stood, she excused herself, making her way without.
A lone servant boy passed through. Lyanna incline her head in greeting. He bowed. She ignored his presence in favour of pondering her next move. She could sneak back to her chambers, but she ran the risk of waking Marsia and the poor girl was feeling poorer yet this day. She could, on the other hand, go into the gardens. There she ran the risk of being accosted by one of the many guests. The reprehensible, self-serving part of her asked that she return forthwith to her chambers, Marsia's head cold be damned.
She did the exact opposite. It was always worth keeping in mind that the reprehensible, self-serving part of her brought her quick satisfaction followed by much suffering. Once or twice was lesson enough for her. The arduous path it was then. With a soft sigh, which she hoped would not spell out her general mood for long, she dragged her feet down several flights of stairs, shuffling her way along empty corridors.
Her predictions were surprisingly accurate. Elbert Arryn was badgering his squire about something or another when she happened upon them but as soon as he took notice of her presence, he all but forgot his grievance with the young boy and turned towards her, all smiles. "Lady Lyanna."
"Ser." She smiled back, a thin stretch of lips. "Come down to take advantage of the good weather?"
"And of the good company." How glib he was. "Your brother rode off with Robert and Ned." Sometimes she wondered if he forgot that Ned was her brother as well. "And I find myself rather lonely at the moment." Squire notwithstanding.
"Indeed. I can see how you would, ser." There was nothing for it. "Would you care for some company, since yours has departed, then?"
"If the request is not too much." His squire, she suspected would act as shadow to his master and follow them about. She acquiesced graciously. "You are most generous, my lady."
"For such a long-standing friend of my brother's, how could I not?" Her rebuff did not go unnoticed. Fortunately, Elbert took it with good enough cheer that she did not feel obligated to excuse her behaviour. He'd always been the obliging sort. Too easily led as well. Better not to raise his hopes. "I have heard His Grace shall be joining us. I understand my brother made his acquaintance in King's Landing. They struck a particular friendship?"
"Ah, His Grace," Elbert chuckled. "To be entirely fair, my lady, I cannot tell. It seemed to be they rubbed along well, but your brother cannot help making friends wherever he goes. It did not surprise me that His Grace joined the ranks."
"Forsooth. Is he as accomplished a jouster as they say, His Grace?"
"I did not have the fortune of matching skills with him, but I saw him run against Ser Arthur Dayne. It was a splendid show, to be sure." He proceeded to describe some of the techniques used. Lyanna listened with intent. Last she'd pretended at jousting her she had landed on her backside and the hurt had been with her for ages. It was not a prospect she relished encountering again. Still, if Se Elbert was game, she could listen, indeed very gratefully, to a few stories.
They continued their ambling through the gardens, her companion talking at lengths. She posed a few questions of her own. "Might be we can prevail upon your brother to allow a demonstration. It shan't be as grand as a tourney joust, but I do not see the reason for which he would not allow it."
She supposed there was not. Lyanna agreed. "If you can accomplish as much, I will be forever grateful."
"That is more than enough reason." He helped her over a patch of thornbush.
More in charity with the man, she felt a genuine smile tug at her lips as he explained one of Brandon's follies to her. "I swear to you, my lady, to this day he avoids honking fowls." Lyanna could not hold back her laughter.
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Marsia sucked in a sharp breath, her elbow sinking gently into the cage of Lyanna's ribs. "I say, your brother is the meanest narrator there ever was. He forgot the most significant of details." Struggling to keep a straight face, Lyanna attempted to shush her companion.
"Hush, Marsia." Brandon had just finished introducing Ned and Benjen.
"And this," he stopped before Lyanna, "is my sister, Your Grace." Lyanna dropped into a curtsy, without daring to hold the man's gaze for too long. He might detect amusement and think to ask for its source.
"I do not suppose she might do me the favour of glancing my way," the Prince said with enough humour that no one could mistake his intent. Blushing hotly, Lyanna consigned her fear of discovery to the back of her mind. Rising her chin, she levelled as direct a stare as could be. He chuckled. "Quick to comply."
"For fear of chastisement. Older brothers are a frighteningly loud lot," she answered quickly before she could change her mind. Brandon glowered at her outburst.
The chuckle turned into laughter. The company he'd brought along followed his example. "Never having been in such a position, I shall take your word for it, my lady."
He put his hand forth and she offered her own. Princes were, by and large, not required to show such appreciation to any woman, be she their hostess or otherwise. It was a gesture of marked approval. "Stark, I am surprised you did not mention her more often."
"I thought Your Grace should come to his own conclusions regarding my kin." Brandon could occasionally be subtle, it seemed. His look promised they would talk later. Lyanna gave her best innocent smile.
The Prince turned his eyes upon the young lord. "Sometimes encouragement is required. Nonetheless, given that we are here, I shan't hold it against you, Stark."
Somewhat surprised at the camaraderie, she watched as the introductions went on. Approached by one of the Prince's companions, Lyanna met the stare of a soft-looking, yet clearly curious woman. She was also pregnant, if Lyanan did not miss her guess. Elia Martell, her mind supplied before the other had a chance to open her mouth. "I must commend you on your deftness. I was not half as quick when I met him. He still teases me to this day." She did not need to ask who he was.
"You are most gracious, my Princess." Elia laughed and caught one of her hands between her own. The same of Rhaegar had held.
"And you, my lady, are too kind." She had recently wedded Ser Baelor Hightower, as far as Lyanna recalled. Sure enough, the man stood a shirt distance away, speaking to Ser Glover. The lines had broken and people milled about.
"You must be tired. After so much time on the road." Small talk she found infinitely irritating, even when she had to go through it with the nicest of people.
"It was not as bad as all that. But I could do with a stool." She patted her rounded middle. "I am not as I used to be." The faux-mournful note was met with a strange look from the woman's husband.
"Certainly, let us find some stools then."
She did not have much of a chance to learn the Dornishwoman any better. Their just-arrive guests were treated to wine and salte bread. She saw to excahnging a few words with each and every single one of them, after which she was quickly joined by her brother, no doubt for whatever words he wished to exchange with her.
"What did I ask?" Brandon whispered harshly as they moved together up the stairs, mounting the steps at questionable speed. "Not to make a spectacle. It was not a difficult request."
"It was hardly a spectacle. Now, were I to run about bare-arsed–" His palm clamped over her mouth. Lyanna, who did not quite manage to spot herself in time, muffled the rest of the words against the callused skin.
"If this is your idea of entertainment, I need must ask that you stop. At once." He worried too much. Lyanna gave him a look to convey just that. "We've so much to gain. If you could only keep yourself from ruining our good image. He was amused by your antics today, but the man is a Targaryen, just like his father. I have seen men burn for less than a cross look."
He released her lips. "But you said it yourself, His Grace bears no ill-will towards us. Surely you would not heap the sins of the father upon the sun."
"I wish I knew him well enough to answer that."
"I see. So you have decided to invite a dangerous lunatic into our home, and–" She did not let something as inconsequential as a wall of flesh stop her this time. Brandon did not look pleased. "You cannot just stop my speech whenever you hear something you do not like."
"Would you be willing to bet on that?" She glared.
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"Surely the situation is not so dire." Ned shook his head, apparently in agreement with her. "I have read the books."
"Half of the expenses can easily be covered by Lady Catelyn's dowry." As mercenary as it was to consider a woman's dowry before one considered the woman herself, Lyanna could not bring herself to make too much of a fuss over it.
"That is precisely the trouble. I do not think I can wed her."
"I beg your pardon!" She was aware her voice had risen an octave or two by the wince on Brandon's face.
"Why precisely is that?"
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The very pregnant Elia Martell and her handsome husband were placing bets among themselves as to whom would win. The very beautiful Lady Ashara Dayne offered her a lax smile. "One can never be certain, you see. My brother and His Grace are close enough in skills that 'tis hardly safe to make any bets."
"I see." Brandon had lost nobly enough and Lyanna was relieved that at least none of his friends were to get her ribbon either. That would be as good as a declaration in her brother's eyes.
She watched Rhaegar Targaryen lead his horse to the end opposite Ser Arthur Dayne's. Only great risks entailed great rewards. Lyanna did not beg the gods though.
.
.
.
The rough wool inside the cap scratched something fierce at her head. Lyanna had always thought a headful of hair would provide adequate protection against such attacks as the one she was currently suffering under. Needless to say, she could not seem to get her headache to subside either. But that was to occupy her mind another time. Lyanna had just finished settling her mare in her appointed stall and was dusting her hands off when a yell along with a pair of reins flew her way.
She caught more out of instinct than deliberate design. Her fingers wrapped around the straps as her eyes came upon an arguing duo. Ser Arthur and the Prince were caught in a heated debate. All appearances aside, she could not detect anger but rather determination on both parts. For a brief moment she thought of slipping away undetected.
"Am I to understand that I have been gifted with a horse?" Both men became stock still.
Lyanna held up the reins, eyeing the steed. "Beautiful creature, but I thought knights seldom parted with their horses." Ser Dayne had certainly not surrendered his. She smiled, turning her gaze upon the men.
"Well, my friend," Arthur teased, "it seems you are to endure a defeat yet again. Say, Lady Lyanna, what would convince you to never return the horse?"
Rhaegar shooed Arthur with a vaguely rude gesture. "I say, is it not unfair to trick me out of my possessions?"
"Only if it was deliberate. As far as I can tell, you have tricked yourself. You may offer something in exchange, I suppose, and I shall consider returning him." The horse nudged her gently and she nudged back. Playful beast.
"Ah, my kingdom for that horse, lady." She could tell he was in jest, but since he had suggested it, she produced an appropriately weighing expression.
"Your kingdom, you say, Your Grace?" He nodded. Was he not in jest. She continued on gamely, "No; that would be robbing you blind. Since it would be ill-bred to accept, you should suggest something else."
Arthur, who apparently had no other business but to be nosing about, put forth, "Were you coming or leaving, my lady?"
"Leaving actually. I have just taken my morning ride." As if she had to explain. The state of her, dusty and, dare she say it, unkempt, it was hardly a mystery.
"Good," the knight went on, "His Grace was just saying to me that he is interested in the Northerner method of building glass gardens in the North." Could he be anymore obvious.
"I thought you were just telling him your opinion on, err, dirks, was it?"
"She is much too quick for you, Dayne. Best give up before any fatal injury is dealt."
Her vanity stroked, she bit down upon a smile. "But if His Grace does so desire, I shall take him to the glass gardns." Provided the state she was in, he would have to be a madman to consider as much as kissing her cheeks.
Apparently the suggestion was timely made. The knight chuckled and nodded towards the Prince. "I believe I have a stable boy to find."
"Or two," Rhaegar tugged the reins out of Lyanna's hand and pressed them into Arthur's.
The Dornishman grinned and promptly made himself scarce. Lyanna stared after him for a few moments. "Ah, I should not have given that horse up."
"Alas," the Prince returned. His hand pressed across her back in silent guidance. Lyanna stiffened for just a moment before she followed along. But her hands were already climbing, reaching. "What are you doing?"
"Taking this off." She lifted the cap, releasing the concealed mass of hair. It occurred to her that he had not once seen her hair in any state other than combed and curled and dressed. A blush threatened to spread over her cheeks when she noticed him staring. She twisted the mass over one shoulder. "It is not the most comfortable of pieces," she added, resisting the urge to comb her fingers through her tresses. Instead she tied the cap's laces to her belt, securing the scarp of pelt and wool.
"It is straight." Fortunately she did not pose a dumb question to that.
"Bone-straight. I suppose the length does not help matters." Self-consciously she tried to gauge his reaction. There was nothing for her to find. "Fortunately one can fall back on hot irons."
"I would not suggest falling back on hot irons, my lady. You might burn yourself." Unwittingly, she laughed. Rhaegar reached out and tugged a strand towards him. He wrapped it around his fingers, producing a dark slash against the light tones. It was soft. Lyanna had some vanity of her own and her hair, the gods knew, was what she chose to be vain about. It was something she shared with her mother, the bone-straight tresses. Thus they benefitted from her love and care, which meant regular washings and thorough combings. He let go.
"Do you always take everything in such a literal sense?"
"Are you always willing to walk off with a stranger, my lady?"
Her lips pursed. "No. You are my first." He did not falter, not precisely, but he did slow his pace. Rhaegar held her gaze. She stared back. "You lost to Ser Dayne on purpose, did you not? Why?"
"So I might do this." She blinked. He lost so he could take a walk with her? But Rhaegar was already closer than before, one hand upon her shoulder. The other at his belt, he pulled out a hunting knife. She jerked backwards instinctively.
Appearing not to mind her reaction he removed his hand from her shoulder to tug at the same strand of hair from before. The blade made no sound. The shorn strand did though; Lyanna imagined it was a screech. "What–"
"You do not wear ribbons," he answered. Perplexed, Lyanna awaited further explanation. "That ribbon was of no value to you. It cost me nothing to let Dayne, or whoever else have it. After all, I had my eyes set on the true prize." He dangled the long strand before her eyes before wrapping it around his finger.
Belatedly, her hand rose to the side of her head, feeling for the stump of her lost lock. "One is required to ask permission before doing such a thing."
His grin held something akin to cruelty. She gulped. "You are a fascinating young woman. Nevertheless, I know more than you think I do." She took a step back. He did not follow. "You would not refused me the boon"
"I might have." Her breath broke sharply against the ensuing silence. "I would have," Lyanna insisted. "You are rather full of yourself, Your Grace. Such a trait is seldom appealing."
"It is merited though." Then he followed. Lyanna had no hope of outrunning him, even in breeches. Thus she kept still, following his movements with her eyes. Muscles tense, she waited. "I am not unreasonable though."
Just like that, he cupped her face between his hands and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. No, not even a kiss. More like a brush of his lips only a millimetre away from hers. "I hope that satisfies your vanity, my lady." He drew back.
At a loss, she breathed in and out, staring uncomprehendingly at his face. Until the reality of the situation dawned upon her. Boiling anger rose to the surface. She grabbed at his shoulders. "What do you think you are doing?" Surprise registered upon his features. "You've no right to take advantage of me like that." And to prove her point, she went on. "Either you give me a fighting chance or I make one for myself. Either way, Your Grace," she spat the title out venomously, "either way, I refuse to be the sole giver here."
The knight in the face of his most dangerous foe remained unmoved. "What could you possibly give me that I cannot find anywhere else?" The blow was immeasurable in strength. Set back on her heels, Lyanna let go. "You may give me an answer at the tourney. "
"Brandon will not take me to the tourney."
"Make him." She had expected that he might at least suggest talking to her brother. The backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek. "If you truly wish to, you will be there. With your answer."
She considered laughing in his face. There was no need for her to give him any reasons; she qualified just by being. But Lyanna was not so much of a brainless girl that she might go along with such an answer. "I adjure you to wait upon my answer then, Your Grace."
"How could I possibly refuse?"
They had reached the glass gardens. Lyanna led him within and was not surprised to see others were about. A sigh of relief left her lips. She did not think she had the strength to endure more of him on her own.