"I simply find it strange, is all," Lyanna spoke over Brandon's protests, eyeing the letter from King's Landing with no small amount of distrust. "To think, this link has existed for a long time. Black Alys has been dead for many a year. Did this knowledge somehow disappear for so long a time only to reappear, so conveniently, might I add, now?"
"You are a suspicious little thing," her father said, admiration shining through. "It will serve you well." Lyanna shrugged in reply to that. "Nevertheless, your brother is correct; to decline the invitation would cast us in poor light."
"I had no intention of suggesting we refuse." That was not entirely true. But then, her father need not know every single one of her thoughts. He certainly did not need to know what she'd gathered on the illustrious figure of the well-beloved Crown Prince's son last his path led him to them. Despite that, if her father was determined that she drag herself through a year or two at court, she would accept that. "I was merely wondering as to the reason behind such an unexpected invitation."
"Come now, you know as well as I that the Crown Prince's son remains unwed." For good reason. "If the Queen should offer a favourable look, it would not go amiss."
"He is ill, father; very, very ill, if rumours hold true." And no wonder. It was just what he deserved for his philandering ways. A man ought to grow up at some point. The Crown Prince's son had not done as much; she hadn't the inclination to look kindly upon those who refused to face reality anymore than she took to deserters fleeing the Wall. Lyanna could barely abide a frolicsome nature in her own brothers, let alone in a man she must share her life with. "I should think it more an insult if marriage were offered."
"Might be they mean to wed one of the younger sons off. In any case," Brandon spoke rather loudly, "this is not what is most important. You need not make any promises of that nature and shall have the excuse of an absent guardian until the eve of the new year should any unscrupulous cad press his suit."
"I do not know about cads," she offered in a relaxed manner. "I do, however, know that father might not agree with you." He was the one who had brought up marriage, after all, not she. Her lips compressed in mutinous challenge; daring her sire to deny it.
"'Twas my meaning you should not be insensitive should such an opportunity rear its head. Not at all that you ought to encourage any attentions." Not that encouraging attentions would change the course of fate. He knew as much. It was simply not fated that she capture the attention of a claimant to the throne. "We are understood then; you leave for King's Landing upon the new turn."
"If that is your wish, lord father, of course I am." She had no true objection to raise and her brother seemed almost eager to have her gone; presumably as he would soon have a bride to occupy his days with and a head-strong opinionated sister posed a threat all of its own.
"And glad I am for that. Brandon, leave us. I've a few matters to broach which needn't interest you." That too was most interesting. Lyanna smoothed a hand over her skirts. She prepared herself, if only because the painful squeeze of her stomach signalled the potential for troublesome requests rearing themselves. Her brother acquiesced and left her and father to their talk. "Your aunt will be there; I take it there is little need to remind you of your promise."
"I haven't even the faintest inclination to compete with her," she replied without much thought. Aunt Branda had soured long years past and whatever the cause of their current correspondence, it was unlikely that her ire had passed. "In any event, I am not her sister and have naught to gain by goading her."
Father's brow furrowed. "Do not speak such of your mother. She was a kindly woman." Except to her sister whom she could not suffer at her side for one reason or another. That, indeed, was a curious point of view. She chose not to pursue the line, however.
"Apologies, father; I did not mean any insult. Aunty has nothing to fear of me. I am going to court by request not desire and do imagine whatever Her Majesty's reason for calling me forth, it shall find quick solution."
"Would that I were as optimistic. I'd no wish to ask before your brother but are you certain you've no need of one of your brothers. I can write to Jon Arryn. He will spare Ned." A smile blossomed upon her lips, yet she shook her head.
"Poor Ned. He would not refuse, that I know. But what good would it do? Nay; I shall see you come the new year. Truly, father, I can survive."
He chuckled. "There was never any question of that." He patted his knee in invitation, a gesture Lyanna remembered well from her early youth. She accepted it and moved from her seat, throwing her arms around him in a loose embrace. "But you cannot fault an old man for wishing to know his daughter safe."
Warmed, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Stubble scratched her lips and chin. "I should worry too, if you were leaving us." It would be absurd to resent love and care. She'd heard the argument made that it was a mark of disrespect for her father to fret so about her. But he fretted for all his children, and she much doubted he harboured disrespect for his offspring as such. "I will write, and you will know that I am well."
"One takes what one can. I daresay, you must not forget to write though. I take it as a promise."
"It is a promise, father. I shall write as often as I can." Though she did not doubt there would be much to keep her otherwise engaged. Still, it cost her nothing to give him her word.
Rhaegar paused, his pace faltering. His eyes strayed towards the end of the hallway, but to no avail. The shadows yielded naught forth. He sighed. Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, distracting him from the flickering flames. "We don't have to be here." The unfortunate thing was they were the only ones waiting without. He said as much to his friend.
"I cannot leave him to suffer alone." And to think he had arrived in an unplanned manner and might have well happened upon the scene when only a pyre might be required.
The Dornishman did not release him. "As to that, it does you credit. But I doubt any man would wish himself beset with spectators at his deathbed." His friend had a way of putting such matters into perspective. Nevertheless, Rhaegar shook his head. "What good will our lingering do? The ravens have been sent. 'Tis not your burden to bear."
Certainly not, after his last encounter with his uncle that was clear. Rhaegar agreed in so far; he hadn't a duty to Aegon the man. Aegon his kin, however, had yet to release him from his obligations. He gave no decipherable answer to his companion. Thus, it surprised him little when Arthur produced even more words. "This is a bloody horrible situation. We might refrain from making it worse."
"If you fear an adverse response so much, you may make for King's Landing on your own." After all, he had a dragon, a considerable advantage over the horse-riding entourage insisting upon joining him.
"You are being deliberately obtuse," his friend accused, finally pulling back his hand, only to cross his arms over his chest. "Is it not enough that Duncan takes every opportunity to belittle you? Must you give him further cause? For make no mistake; he will see your presence at his brother's bedside as cause enough."
His father's namesake, Duncan the Younger wielded considerable power at court. Since his elder brother's inadequacies became well known throughout the kingdoms, he had attempted and succeeded to fill in the empty spot Aegon left behind, with the understanding that he was, effectively, his father's heir. That was to say, Aegon would most probably never wed, never have sons of his own; he would never even livelong beyond the first flush of youth, if his current state was any indication. Naturally, Duncan the son had forged himself a path to what would soon be his official position.
Rhaegar did not resent that. He hadn't a right to. Having been born the first grandson of the King's second son, there was scant option for him other than to accept his position with dignity. There was always the option of railing at fate, rebelling at its callous treatment and visiting grief upon those close to him; and he had considered his distaste for that particular path when he dared face the serpents living within him at length.
He did, however, begrudge Duncan the ease of his loathing. The whole situation would be much easier to bear if he were convinced his mere existence was a reasonable motive to shoulder the blame for Aegon's current situation. Unfortunately, Rhaegar did not see quite what Duncan meant when he stared with baleful eyes at him.
"You worry too much," he finally replied, shaking his head lightly. It was an unfortunate situation, that one could not show interest in one's kin without the threat of suspicion looming ahead. But it was, and he could do little but accept it and move on.
"And you never do enough worrying." Arthur sat upon the bench, leaning his head back against the wall. Despite his nagging, he would stay; or so indicated his actions.
The door to his cousin's chamber creaked open and the maester's head poked out. "The fever broke." Relief wrapped itself around Rhaegar, in spite of knowing the miracle would be short-lived. "Will Your Grace be staying, after all?"
"It would be best, I daresay."
"In that case, the rooms have been readied, Your Grace."
"I should like to see my uncle."
The Queen was not at all what Lyanna would have expected. For some odd reason, despite her Blackwood origins, her mind had forever associated her with Prince Aegon. But nay; her look called to mind more a starless sky than an autumnal field. The Crown Prince's wife was the one who had given Aegon his features. Lyanna straightened herself, not entirely ignorant of the speculative gaze the two levelled upon her.
"You needn't be so formal," Queen Betha assured. "My good-daughter and I are not in the habit of resenting a bit of disarray."
Jenny of Oldstones nodded her agreement. She had caused quite the stir when she'd wedded the Crown Prince. One would expect her to be a great beauty, at the very least, or possess an aura. Sorely disappointed, Lyanna had to make do with an unremarkably plain woman, noteworthy for a lack of any and all extraordinary traits. Certainly, her hair held a fair amount of reddish strands amid its otherwise earthy tones; but that was all. No matter; it was her fault for having expected to be entertained during her stint at court. She ought to have known that since no one made mention of Lady Jenny, as she was at times mockingly called, being in possession of striking looks, she was likely not.
"How was your journey?" the younger woman asked, indicating that Lyanna ought to take her seat. "The roads, as I've heard it, are in poor state."
Rain, sleet and healthy frost, and all of them in close succession. No wonder the roads were in poor shape. "I try not to complain; my lord father saw that I was as comfortable as I could possibly be."
"Northerners are nothing if not thorough," the Queen allowed, her expression losing some of its cheeriness. "I imagine 'twas why the response to my letter was delayed. Your father must have thought long upon the matter."
Sawolfyr stretched wide wings as though in preparation for flight. Rhaegar simply rubbed at the side of her neck, praising her softly enough that no one might hear. He dismounted, glancing about in search of his mother. What he did see, though, was his grandmother.
He offered her a courtly bow, though he did not go as far as to kiss her beringed hand. "I quite despaired of having you back with us," the older woman said, gifting him one of those smiles she reserved for those moments in which she was pleased. Rhaegar could only wonder what manner of mischief he was to untangle next. "Now, pet, shake the dust from your shoulders and pay my words heed."
"But of course, Your Grace." Had Duncan stirred trouble for grandfather with the Stormlords yet again? He did not particularly relish another run-in with Steffon Baratheon. The man was fair, aye, but as sharp as any blade he'd come across and not like to be taken in by a few pretty words. At least he was not half as bad as Lord Tully. That one could not be pleased. His stomach soured at the thought of Lord Tully and his two daughters. Not that he held any grudge against the girls, for he was certain they were goodly maidens; their father, however, had best pray whatever good-son took him on had a head for intrigue, else he wound find his lifespan severely shortened.
"Your mother is not best pleased with the Queen, that I can tell you." His steps checked at the words. But if grandmother saw it, she did not pause. "You know Her Majesty had it in her head to call Lord Stark's daughter to court. I daresay she hoped one of the younger girls might make a companion of her." He nodded. He'd heard as much. "There is but a small problem." He cocked his head to the side. "You are aware your uncle's relationship with Rogers' widow took a turn for the worst. Well, he has decided making calf eyes at the woman's niece is the perfect ointment for his wounds."
"Her niece?" He did not imagine Lady Rogers took the slight too well. For a brief moment, his brain conjured the image of a buxom servant girl thrown into the hallway with an angry statuesque woman towering over her, a river of oaths beating down upon the crying wench. Rhaegar shuddered. "Poor girl."
"Poor girl indeed. She has taken refuge with your mother-for you know how Rhaella's sweet nature has her helping out whenever she can-but that begets its own host of troubles." Grandmother cleared her throat softly. "You know how your father dislikes being outdone by his kin. Once he heard the poor dear came into your mother's keeping, he near tripped all over himself trying to get close to her."
"Fascinating as the situation is, grandmother, I do not know why I must know of it. The lady is not like to escape unscathed. She will have to choose one or the other." He felt sorry for the girl, but it was truly none of his business whom Lord Stark's daughter entertained.
"We were thinking that she would not," the woman disagreed, eyes meeting his. Rhaegar's gaze turned sharp upon her. He did not like the look upon her face. Not at all. "Come, you are a knight, and she a lady. It is only right that her plight should touch your heart."
The only thing the girl's plight touched was a nerve.
Lyanna shuddered as though someone had stepped upon her grave. She'd been hard at prayer, begging the old gods and the new alike that she would not become a means to shame her family. Though she'd written to father, and she knew either he or Brandon would eventually come, her instincts told her it would be much too late.
It was all auntie's fault. If she hadn't goaded the younger Duncan none of it would have come about. How she loathed that woman. She was not contended to whore to her heart's content but had to drag her into the mire as well. And put her in the path of Prince Duncan the Younger. At least Prince Aegon hid naught of his nature and one could smell the stench of decay upon him and see the signs of illness from miles away. Her lips thinned until she thought the pressure might break skin.
"I see you cannot concentrate at all," Princess Rhaella said upon a sigh. She put down her cards. "There now, child; it will all turn out well, you shall see." She wanted to believe her. But what chance did she stand against princes of the realm.
Before she could speak though, the door opened to admit a yet unknown figure. To Lyanna's chagrin she found herself releasing a long breath of relief. The young man had the look of a Targaryen and at a guess, she'd say he was the Princess' eldest son.
"Rhaegar," his mother greeted, jumping to her feet and trotting towards him so as to wrap him in an embrace.
"Lady mother," he answered warmly. There was no discernible emotion she could attribute to him, but his eyes were warm. Until they fell upon her, their gleam turning speculative. She had the faint notion that he was assessing her.
"How rude of me," the Princess laughed, "I have all but forgotten about you, my dear." She turned to Lyanna and beckoned her to a standing position. "Son, this is Lady Lyanna Stark." She dared a small nod towards him while he busied himself searching his mother's face when it turned to him. "And I should be most glad if you did her the great favour of giving her the protection of your name."
Her heart stopped. She had assumed they meant to have the Prince escort her home. Or some such scheme. Not marriage. "Your Grace," she found herself protesting before she could bite her tongue.
"Methinks the lady doth protest a tad much, given the circumstances. Shall you wait until either my sire or his cousin father a child upon you?" She gaped. "You'll find the pickings to be slim for a woman who is full of a bastard. Be it a royal bastard." Never in all her life had anyone spoken to her so discourteously.
The most troubling part was that the vile man was not wrong.
Furthermore, the Prince turned on his heel and she did not doubt he would have left had she not cried out, "Your Grace!" He paused and turned his neck enough that she could make out half his face. "Your manner is most insulting, your address coarse and your finesse lacking. Were I less desperate, I should rather die than accept your aid. But I am desperate."
She hoped he knew what it cost her to humble herself before him in such a manner.
"Nevertheless," he spoke, his voice smooth, reminiscent of his father's, "I am not, lady."
"I do not believe you would be so mean-spirited as to hold my rash reaction against me. 'Tis simply that I'd not heard of the plan before, and it did rather take me by surprise." She made a thoughtful sound, trying to stall. "The solution is not displeasing to me, and I should make you a good wife, if you but allow it."
The daughter of Lord Stark, descendant of kings, bartering like a common fishwife. The gods were laughing themselves silly, she did not doubt. "I will be forever grateful to you." To his face. In her mind she was quite content to curse him to the devil.
The Princess sat down upon her stool once more, picking up her cards. She seemed to be enjoying her game, ignoring her. Lyanna swallowed. "Surely you understand what a favour you would be doing me." How she hated that her voice trembled. He was facing her, listening with a serene countenance. The wretch. "I will do my best by you, Your Grace, to see that my debt is repaid."
Interest flickered to life upon his face. "And how do you mean to repay me, lady?"
"In the manner a wife repays her husband."