The Gods Eye lake was lapping at the coarse sand of the shore with short little waves. The water was calm and grey under the same dim sky that had conferred an austere, solemn air on the events of this past afternoon. She had entered the lists incognito, to redress an insult that was done by three stupid squires to a lad she met yesterday – incidentally, right in the middle of his being insulted. Lyanna splashed some cold lake water on her flushed face and sat down to try and make some sense of what had just happened, well screened by a growth of bushy willows up the sloping shore, the events of the past two days pressing thick on her memory.
Yesterday at this time of day she was scouting the near vicinity of the tourney grounds where they had just arrived that morning, while her brothers were still busy putting up their silk tent and overseeing the unloading of their party's luggage (Ned was keeping an eye on the glass-topped wooden boxes with the plants). Lyanna took the opportunity to sneak away, just for half an hour she thought, before they would need her help with the clothes. Their best clothes needed unpacking, airing, sorting, checking if anything needed to be cleaned or mended. The festive garments hadn't been worn for over a year now, as her lord father wasn't in any hurry to celebrate anything even after the eleven moons of mourning had been over. The tourney at Harrenhal, though, was called at shorth notice with the arrival of spring, and they had no time to sort out their clothes at home.
No sooner had she left behind the last row of the newly raised tents than she spied a group of three young lads at a distance, viciously kicking something on the ground. Lyanna hurried there, still holding a tourney sword in her hand, which she had grabbed as they were unpacking and forgotten to put down. What they were doing didn't look good, and as she approached she realized it was someone and not something that they were kicking. By a forked frog spear thrown on the ground a few feet away and by the victim's swamp-green dress, already much bloodied, she recognized him to be a crannogman.
"That's my father's man you're kicking!" she yelled, charging at them with her tourney sword as soon as they looked up at her. She took them completely by surprise, so they scattered at once, trying, too late, to hide their faces with their sleeves. She was gifted with a lightning-flash, instant memory for faces. The face of the young man on the ground was not familiar to her, though. His nose was bleeding, maybe broken, and there was a gash in his left cheek. She promptly knelt beside him, asking if he was much hurt and whether he could sit up.
About an hour later the crannogman Howland Reed was reclining on a camp berth in their large tent, dressed in a clean set of Ben's clothes, which fit him a little loosely. His wounds were washed out and treated with the purest sunflower oil simmered pink with tutsan, an unsurpassed remedy for superficial wounds and burns, according to Old Nan. Howland was Lord Reed's eldest son and had spent all of last winter on the Isle of Faces here in the Gods Eye Lake, learning their lore from the last children of the forest, who still survived there, although they were never seen anywhere else. He didn't tell this right away, while Brandon was talking to him. Lyanna cringed with embarrassment, remembering how clearly his polished, confident manner was out of place with the little crannogman, making him shrink into himself, as if he felt even more beaten than before. Brandon suggested they could arm him for the tourney tomorrow, so he would have ample chance to right his wrongs. Reed was visibly disconcerted and started muttering something about the isolated way they lived at Greywater Keep, never attending any tourneys and not even keeping any jousting spears at the armory. Only after Ned entered and sat down close to him, while Brandon excused himself and hurried out, did young Reed begin to show some signs of reviving. Lyanna was even able to persuade him to come to the feast Lord Whent was holding that night – with the extra profit of having Ben rummage through his trunk himself, hissing curses and shaking out clothes moths, till he found for Howland a nice dull-green tunic decorated with silver thread and a pair of decently fitting hosen, which only needed a bit of folding and stitching at the ankles.
Later on, after dark, Lyanna slipped out to spy around, and eventually spotted the faces of all three of Howland Reed's abusers. It was easy to browse through firelit, unsuspecting faces around bright campfires, as she hovered unnoticed in the dark. They turned out to be squires of a Frey, a Haigh and a Blount.
Her reverie was broken by a rustle in the willow bushes up the bank. She quickly looked around to see if any pieces of the armor were in sight. They were borrowed by Ned piecemeal from their camp neighbors on the pretext of having broken this detail and lost that, the night before. Nothing was visible, she had been careful enough to hide it all in a little hole in the sand under a sprawling bush, which she marked with a bit of white ribbon torn off her handkerchief, tied discreetly to one of the lowest branches. She and Ned should have no trouble finding the place when the moon rose and then returning the spare gauntlets, dinted plate and nondescript helmet to their owners. Someone was noisily approaching, crashing through the growth down the lake's sloping bank.
"Who is there?" – she shouted.
"My lady, please excuse my intrusion. I wanted to make sure you were well." The voice belonged to a person so unlikely to have appeared there that Lyanna was at a loss to identify it for a few moments.
It was the same voice that sang "Summerhall Sunsets" last night, the song that made her cry. It had a note of some rare, mellow, warm metal in it, not known to smiths, more enticing even than the pure silver cords of the harp that Prince Rhaegar played so well.
She had a few moments to get over her astonishment before he appeared in the clearing.
"Your Grace, there is no cause to be alarmed for me. I only wanted to enjoy the calm of the waters," she gestured awkwardly at the majestic grey expanse of Gods Eye. His arrival, dreamlike and unexpected as it was, didn't bode well. She was wondering how she could make her hiding out here appear natural enough, in her sweat-soaked padded doublet and breeches smelling of horse, dishevelled and still flushed from the jousting in spite of the cold water she had splashed in her face. Why on earth would the prince, of all people, go out to search for her, and more disturbingly still, how did he know where to look?
"Oh, then I will not disturb you for long, lady Lyanna. My royal father sent me out with a discreet search party to look for the mystery knight, who disappeared so suddenly after his victory. His Grace would like to reward the man from his own bounty, once he discloses himself."
"His Grace is very insistent," Lyanna couldn't help blurting out.
"Yes, I would say that's just the word, my lady… Have you perchance glimpsed anyone resembling our winner in armor and stature, hurrying out of sight, as you made your way here? You must have left the tourney grounds about the same time as he, seeing as I left soon after and found you already here?"
"No, Your Grace, I haven't seen anyone who might be him. I am sorry I can't be of use to you in this – I left the audience earlier, right after the mystery knight's victory was evident. I was a little indisposed. Perhaps a slight fever."– She gestured at her face and hair. - "I thought the calm and cool of the lakeside might do me good."
"Then I will no longer disturb your rest, my lady. If you chance to see the owner of this, tell him the king is eager to see his face and give him proper reward, whoever he may be." – As he spoke, Prince Rhaegar slipped down the shield that hung behind his shoulder, out of her sight, and showed it to Lyanna. Seven hells. She had hung her shield on the broken bough of a young ashtree as she entered the lakeside growth, to remove her helmet, which suddenly started feeling very tight and oppresive about her head. Turns out she never took the damned shield off that bough. The laughing weirwood she painted on it last night was now laughing at her.
Prince Rhaegar bowed to her and retired, crashing through the tangle of branches. Well, it's not he who is the clumsy, awkward bumbling fool around here.
There was nothing left for her to do other than stay on the lakeshore for as long as it took for things to calm down in the camp – whatever it might be that ensued from Rhaegar's visit. No one else came to trouble her. She moved a few hundred yards east along the shore, further away from the camp, where the growth was taller and one could find a really snug and hopefully well-hidden cove under the low-growing branches of a redwood. After a while she fell asleep on the sand, having pulled her grey woolen cape over her head.
She woke at deep dusk, and hurried back to the Starks' main tent. On her way she stopped to listen by a campfire of the Darry men: one of them, sitting on a flat slab of wood and burnishing a helmet placed on the ground between his knees, was saying:
"So King Aerys is pissed off that this Knight of the Laughing Tree has escaped like that. No friend of the king, he says. Only the shield was found. I say, good for him he made off clean. The king is as quick to flare up of late as spilled lamp oil."
Ned leaped off his camp bed as soon as he heard the rustle of the tent flap, although she was intent on entering quietly. He rushed to embrace her, then took her by the shoulders and beamed at her face.
"This was good jousting, sister! 'I require no other reward, only that you teach your squires honor!'" – it came out funny, as he tried to reproduce her shout in a half-whisper. – "You should have heard your booming voice! We need to note the way that helmet's visor is made, before we give it back – I would love to sound like that too, when I speak to my enemies from inside my own helmet!"
"Ned, I have been found out."
"What do you mean, Lya? The Knight of the Laughing Tree has vanished into thin air, except for his shield, which Prince Rhaegar found by the lake. Great move, that was, too. The talk is that the mystery knight might have been a wizard from the Isle of Faces, who could breathe water and just walked back home under the lake."
"Prince Rhaegar found me, as well as the shield. He seemed to have known I went down to the shore to hide, and cut through the brambles right to where I was. Hell, my brains must have leaked out, I swear! How could I hide everything else and just leave that bloody shield behind!"
"Lya, please, calm down first. Do you want more people to hear you?" – he jestured towards the tent walls. – "The prince clearly made no connection, we would have known by now if he did."
"Damn it, he said nothing, but I'm sure he added two and two together and figured out my sweaty doublet and red face had to do with that shield I left hanging on the goddamn ashtree, just twenty yards above where I thought I was hiding."
"He said nothing, that's right. That may be all that matters."
She considered it a moment, than grinned and hugged him, giving him a slap on the back.
"You know, brother, you may be right after all. I'll wait for a better reason before I get really worried about this."
"Vayon, will it please you get us some ale and something to eat for Lyanna?" – Ned called outside the tent. – "You must be starving. I hope the mutton stew is still hot enough from the embers."
The mutton stew with barley and mushrooms was just the thing, even if it was less than hot – everyone else had had their supper long before she came back. Once she finished eating, they stole back to the shore in the light of waxing moon and brought back her borrowed armor – they could return it piece by piece before the end of the tourney. After that Ned started preparing for the night, with the other two brothers and Howland Reed, whom they invited to stay with them in the main tent for the entire tourney. The young men were all tired out after this long day. But Lyanna was still excited and wakeful, so she asked Brandon's permission to go to the fair grounds for a while.
Even at this late hour, the open glade at the center of the tent camp teemed with folk, rang with music, puppet shows and mummery, and dozens of stalls offered beer and mulled wine, honey cookies and every kind of pies, sausages of uncertain composition, wrinkled late winter apples and other fare for the festive crowd. Armor and trinket traders and sellers of camp necessities such as firewood, lamp oil or sleeping mats had mostly finished for today.
She came up to a stall selling mulled wine, under a tall birch whose trunk and expanding lower branches were decorated with little lights. Having ordered a cup, she heard the cloaked and hooded man who approached in the meantime, order:
And one for me too," in the same familiar voice she heard earlier today.
She looked up at him quickly, his face well shaded by the low-drawn hood of a dark cape, and resisted the impulse to greet him by his title and name.
The stall owner had the expediency to have placed three or four trestle tables behind his stall, deeper into the shade, further away from the crowded cenral glade. Probably to prevent his glazed earthenware cups from wandering off in all directions, Lyanna thought. Without saying a word, they both headed that way. For chairs, there were a few round firewood billets. Lyanna brought two delightful puffy fried flatbreads for them before settling down across the table from the prince.
"My royal father was passing pleased with your House's gift of winter plants, lady Lyanna," Rhaegar began tentatively. - "I, for my part, liked the roses most. Such noble colors: pale blue, snow white, icy pink."
"I am very glad to hear this, Your Grace."
"If they could grow all the way up north in the winter, surely they will thrive in King's Landing."
"Have you been given instructions for your gardener on their care?"
"Yes, your brother Ser Brandon enclosed a rather ponderous parchment from your Maester. Are there any spells in there, or recipes of magic potions to make the plants grow in the middle of the winter?"
She was uncertain if he was joking or not. Still she chuckled.
"No, Prince Rhaegar, I suppose the greater part of the parchment is about making the lamps and drawing swamp spirits to light them."
"Swamp spirits?"
"It is all my lady mother's invention. When my parents traveled north from Oldtown after their wedding, she was astonished at the wandering lights they saw in the swamps of the Neck. They shone whiter and brighter than any candle, oil or wood fire. Within half a year she returned to the swamps and stayed there in some roadside inn with her party, until she devised a way to capture the airlike swamp spirits where they rise from the deep of the bog, and bring them home squeezed into oxhide bags, sealed with pitch all over. Now don't ask me about the lamps, it's complicated as hell, we had to build another smithy to make them. But it's the lamp light that allows the plants to grow in winter in our greenhouse. Before there were lamps, there was enough warmth but not enough light for the roses to bloom and for strawberries to ripen in the dark season. The heat comes, or course, from the hot water that courses through the greenhouse walls, same way as the older parts of the castle are heated. I suppose in the Red Keep you will need to take care of that too."
Prince Rhaegar was listening raptly, but she paused.
"Gods be good, I have never heard any of this about the late Lady Leona. And I am truly sorry for your loss – now I have a chance to give you my condolences in person."
Thank you, Your Grace," - Lyanna sighed. She should have been concerned about spilling the secret her parents kept all these years, but instead of embarrassed she felt fiercely proud of her mother. – "No wonder you did not hear about this, my family decided it was safer to keep these occupations of my lady mother in secret, to avoid annoying curiosity."
"On my honor as a prince, your family's secrets are safe with me – as well as your own, lady Lyanna." – His eyes burned her for a moment, bringing up a blush into her cheeks – but not a blush of shame, it was a surge of a different, uplifting mix of feelings. – "But how did lady Leona come by this incredible skill with fire and metal?"
"And glass and minerals too! I shouldn't be telling you, but since I've started, I am willing to carry on. My lady mother was a Hightower of Oldtown, from one of the lesser branches of House Hightower. When she was twelve, she ran away from home, disguised as a boy. From a child she loved spending time at workshops and smithies, she told me, looking at how materials were transformed and how things were made to work. When she approached nearer to womanhood, her parents began to object to her walking about in stained and smoked dresses and to her lack of interest in more proper occupations for a noble family's daughter. So that's why she eventually ran away and came to the Citadel as an orphan boy. After they questioned her and saw that her mind was tenacious and lively and her hands able and deft, they accepted her as a novice."
"Her parents had been combing all of Seven Kingdoms for nearly three years, thinking she was kidnapped and most probably died a terrible death, since the kidnapper never asked for a ransom. She, for her part, attempted to leave the Citadel as little as possible, and that was not difficult: they apprenticed her to their smith, who was himself a maester. She couldn't dream of a position more fortunate. Luckily too, she was a girl of spare build, and grew more lean and muscular from her work, so it wasn't too hard for her to pass herself for a boy wearing baggy enough clothes, which the maesters didn't mind. (She did once have to deal with an older acolyte who tried to molest her, thinking she was a boy, but she promised him to tell the archmaester about all his advances and threats, so he thought it better to leave her alone). The only thing that worried her was her voice, which didn't break as boys' voices do. But before they ever started suspecting anything, the maester smith began sending her on errands to the port, to fetch the rare ores and minerals from the ships that often brought such things to Oldtown, for the captains knew that the Citadel was a sure customer for such things. One of these days her younger brother Gerold spotted an acolyte in the street, whose eyes were disturbingly like this sister's, even though his face was rough and dark. Gerold was only five years old when Leona disappeared, so he wasn't certain. Still Ser Hugo Hightower set a spying post in a tavern in the street that led to the port, and eventually she was spotted and approached by Ser Hugo's squire. My mother told me that she was always grateful to her father that he did keep the terms she set for returning home. She demanded her dowry to be given to her in coin, to set up a foundry for rare metals in the metalworkers' street. And not to be hindered in anything that pertained to running that foundry. Her parents were grieved and shocked by these demands, but too glad she was found alive to put up much resistance. They agreed, only on the condition that she wear a mask and a false name in the foundry, and proper dress and gloves at home - especially when they had visitors."
Lyanna smiled and fell silent.
"This is one of the most extraordinary stories I have ever heard – or read about. But do I understand it right that your mother intended never to get married?"
"You are right, Your Grace, that was her intention. She believed she wasn't made for a lady's life – nor did she receive the training customary for young ladies."
"How did she end up then as the lady of one of the seven great Houses – if you forgive my question? For even if she wereeducated as a lady, her father's house in Oldtown would not be the first place where a heir to Winterfell and the North would look for a bride – forgive me a thousand times again."
Lyanna couldn't help letting out a little laugh,
"True, he didn't come to my grandfather Hightower's house to look for a bride. He came to the metalworkers' quarter, to look for some good Valyrian steel."
"I see then. Like the great lord he was, he carried away what was the rarest and most precious to be found there."
Lyanna looked down. The prince's final remark felt to her pleasant and disturbing at once.
That evening they talked on and on about her and his family, before Rhaegar excused himself and returned to the castle of Harrenhal, where Lord Whent had no trouble housing even a bigger party than King Aerys's.
The next day she sat with her brothers, attired like a proper lady, watching Prince Rhaegar ride in the lists and win the tourney. When he rode up to where the Starks sat and crowned her with the wreath made of their own roses, she shuddered at the feeling of something ominous taking place – he should have ridden to the royal platform where Princess Elia was sitting, have placed the crown on herhead. What was happening felt like ice cracking in spring on the river. Festive, loud, dangerous, unpredictable. But only for a fleeting moment.
In the evening, the Starks were invited to sup with the royal family. Lyanna would have given almost anything to avoid showing up in that hall and sitting down at table with Princess Elia. However, Brandon was adamant and told her that the excuse of being indisposed would sound ridiculous, or worse, suspicious, as the royal family had seen her hale and hearty just a few hours ago. Ned whispered in her ear that it would make things worse with the Princess if she declined to come. So, with Benjen's help (she wouldn't abide a stupid gossiping maid), she brushed out and plaited her slate-dark hair and donned her dress of dull azure silk with black trimmings, to match the honor of the royal invitation. Then she draped a silver grey mantle over her shoulders, to avoid looking ostentatious. Her conflicted motives might be laughable if she voiced them – but the brightly polished waist-length mirror, forged by her mother of some lightweight alloy specially for traveling, asserted she looked quite impressive nonetheless.
It was an almost private event, compared to the tremendous feast of two nights before. Queen Rhaella with Prince Viserys didn't come to Harrenhal; Rhaegar and Elia's little daughter remained at King's Landing too, with her nurses and her grandmother, who was exceedingly fond of her – thus Elia answered to Brandon's polite enquiries. The king retired early, accompanied by the Hand, Lord Tywin Lannister, who looked all bitterness and poison despite his iron-reined reserve. Both of his twin children were absent – Lyanna learned that Jaime, newly raised to Kingsguard, was sent off to King's Landing right away, which prevented him from taking part in the tourney, and his sister never showed up this evening, without anyone even knowing the pretext. Brandon, after having shared that bit of information about Jaime, talked mostly to Lady Ashara Dayne, Princess Elia's companion. (If Jaime did take part in the tourney, Lyanna thought, perhaps Rhaegar would not be the winner. Anyway, it all turned out as it did.) Ben took Howland Reed to show him around the legendary castle, as Howland had never seen it except from the outside. So she ended up in a close circle over spicy white dessert wine, cheeses and dried exotic fruit, with Rhaegar and Princess Elia, while Ned hovered on the periphery of the conversation, listening intently but saying little. They were talking, naturally, about today's tourney. Rhaegar was rather quick to sense the great awkwardness on Lyanna's part toward Elia, because of the crown of roses. Indeed, it didn't take a brilliant mind like his to figure out she wouldbe uncomfortable. He began tentatively:
"Lady Lyanna, Her Grace is glad that Winterfell roses were bestowed where they belonged by right. Truly, they should crown the heiress of the extraordinary lady Leona, whose presence made winter flowers bloom in the North."
Elia nodded in assent.
"This is so kind of Your Grace, I am most thankful," was all that Lyanna managed to return. Her mind was busy puzzling out what stood behind this approval, and how much Rhaegar had to tell his wife of the Stark parents' story in order to obtain it. Ned picked up the thread that Lyanna seemed to be losing:
"As Brandon told His Grace King Aerys, our lord father sends his apologies to the royal House for not coming to the tourney. He is still grieving sorely for our dear mother, even though the year of mourning is already over."
"This is so very touching," - said Elia. – "I would not imagine such a tender heart in a stern-looking man like Lord Rickard." – Her lively, penetrating dark eyes looked genuinely saddened. – "Although all I ever saw of him was a distant glimpse at the celebration when Rhaenis was born – so I shouldn't be too quick to jump to conclusions."
"He could be stern with anyone but Mother," – Lyanna broke in. – "You know, he would sometimes call her 'our Lightbringer,' when he thought no one could hear."
Elia smiled, Ned frowned, and Rhaegar looked up in shocked surprise that he didn't quite manage to conceal.