The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Eight

If Robert was not his king then Ned was fairly certain that he would have hit him in the jaw by now, it wasn't that he did not love Robert for the gesture but such attention was something that he had never been used to nor had it been anything that he had ever truly craved, between Brandon and Lya and Benjen he had always managed to slip into the background.

He had never truly minded, Ned had found his place there. He had been raised to know that once Brandon was the Lord of Winterfell then he would serve Brandon as one of his loyal bannermen, with his own little insignificant holdfast that no one would care about and his wife, who would most likely be the second or third born daughter of a northern house that he had never heard of before and that would have suited him perfectly.

But then Brandon had died, he had died in one of the worst ways that Ned could ever imagine, and their Father had died with him and the lordship of Winterfell had fallen on to his head, even if he did not want it he had no choice in that and thus he was given the seat of the Starks, and he then rode off to the war that needed to be waged if the death of his kinsmen was to be avenged.

And in the end he had been given the wife that was meant for Brandon as well, love had grown between him and Cat and there were no words in any man's tongue that would express how grateful he was for that, as he was uncertain if he could bear it to have a wife who was not pleased with him but he had been spared all of that.

What he wouldn't give right now to be back in Winterfell with Cat, in their bed together and holding her in his arms while Robb and Jon swung wooden swords together down in the yard, while Sansa sang so sweetly as she made such beautiful needlework, while Arya brought despair to her Mother while she ruined whatever new dress that had been labored on that night, Bran joining his sister in giving them more grey to their hair by scurrying up and over and wall that pleased him to do so and the sweetest sound of Rickon's breathless laughter as he chased the chickens across the courtyard.

It was a beautiful thought, but when would he be able to have that again? Winterfell was thousands of miles away and Bran was broken, as like as to never open his eyes again and his wife was not the same woman since, the sight of him at Bran's bedside had torn at his heart and Ned had never wanted to leave her like that, but his King had need of him and Ned had always done his duty. It had soothed him somewhat to see her again in the capital stronger than she had been, but it had only been for a few too few moments before he had sent her back to the North to prepare for what was to come.

Robb had tried his best to be brave, Ned had seen that look before. That look when your entire world had been turned upside down and burned to ashes. He had worn that look before when his Father and brother had died and it had all fallen on to him and it was his turn to be brave and now it was Robb's turn as well, despite everything it made Ned proud of his son and heir even if he wished that it never had to happen to him.

Rickon had been distraught at their leaving and Ned was still uneasy as to what happened when his youngest child had come to say goodbye to them, he had kicked and screamed as one of Catelyn's maids brought him forth. Ned had tried to calm him, to tell him to be brave but Rickon was only three and he would not be soothed by any of Ned's words. He had simply screamed that he did not wish to go and that he hated him before he ran off, the little black wolf pup hurrying after him.

And then it was time to say goodbye to Jon as well and see him off to the Wall, he had hoped that Cat might change her mind when it came to sending Jon away or that he might be able to convince her to change her mind at the very least. He might have been able to, if not for Bran's fall from the First Keep. Jon had asked about his Mother, if she was still alive and if she knew where he was going, if she cared.

And Ned had no idea what to say to any of that, so he did what he often did when it came to Jon, to keeping him as safe as he could. He lied. He promised his son that once they saw one another again, that they would speak about his Mother. But he was going to be the Hand of the King, to serve Robert in that role for as long as his King had need of him, when would he ever be in the North again to keep that promise to Jon?

It shamed him to lie, but Ned had a promise to keep.

If nothing else, then at least he still had Sansa and Arya with him. Sansa seemed to be as enthralled with this damned city as much as Ned, and her sister, loathed it. Poor Arya did seem so miserable, and the knowledge that she had hidden that blade from him had done little to improve his own mood or hers, to say the very least.

But she did seem happier now that he had let her keep her Needle, and that he had found her a new dancing master for lessons. If his Father was still alive, then he might have been horrified by it. But it would have made Lya smile, though no doubt she would be offended that he had not thought to ask her to teach his daughter the art of swordplay.

Arya would have to grow out of it of course, but she was still young and there would be time enough for that. For now, so long as it made her happy, she could have what she wanted.

Sadly, he did have to be somewhat firmer with his King. Ned cleared his throat and spoke to his friend as they broke their fast together. "Your Grace, again I am grateful to you for hosting this tourney for me, truly I am. But I am concerned about the coin that is going to be spent to pay for all of it, it's not just the prizes for the victors that is the problem. Everything about the tourney costs money, and with the debts that are already owed...I simply don't think it is a good idea to proceed with it."

Robert laughed, as loud and hearty as when he was a boy and for a moment it seemed to Ned that all the passage of years had fallen away and he was a boy again as well. "You worry too much Ned, you always have. There is always enough coin to pay for everything, Littlefinger always manages to find more coin somehow."

Ned frowned at the mention of Littlefinger, Cat might trust the man from her youth but Ned did not know him and Cat had not seen him since they had been at Riverrun together, for all that he trusted Cat's judgement something about the other man did not sit well with him but he had brought him to Catelyn, when he truly had no reason to do so that Ned could see.

So for the moment, at least, he would keep Littlefinger close even if he did not wish to do so. As for his tenure as Master of Coin, it was true that there always seemed to be more coin for whatever fancy possessed Robert next but that did little to sooth Ned's concerns, the saying about how Littlefinger could rub two gold dragons together and make a third might indeed be true but Robert had always been a man of great appetite, even in his youth, unless Littlefinger could make two dragons breed a hundred then that did not seem as useful.

And it had not stopped the debt that his King had fallen into either, the gold that was owed to Tywin Lannister was bad enough but to also owe such coin both to Mace Tyrell and to the Faith of the Seven as well...it had made Ned's head pound with frustration as he tried to make sense of how Robert had gotten himself into this, or how Jon Arryn had allowed it to get this bad.

"Besides Ned, you are the King's new hand." Robert said with a shrug as he lifted his horn of ale up to his mouth and drank deep from it. "A celebration is expected to be had and I am going to give the people one, if you like it or not. The ravens have already been sent, to every single corner of the realm. Knights from the closest castles to the city are already starting to arrive, we cannot just send them away now. Besides, I hear some of your own men want to take part in it as well."

That was the truth Jory wanted to take part and Ned did not have it in him to deny him, Sansa had also been breathless when she heard that they were to have a tourney and while his eldest daughter had never disobeyed him he knew that she would also not be quick to forgive him if he denied her this. "Yes, one or two of them."

"And their Lord? What about him?" Robert asked with a grin as he held a fatty piece of bacon in between his thumb and his finger. "You weren't half bad with a sword, as I can recall. Why don't you get on a horse and show all these fancy little shits how a real man fights, you'd beat the whole lot of them, you know that."

"Your Grace does me an honor to speak so kindly, though I am fairly certain that it is undeserved." Ned spoke and then brought his own horn up to drink from. "Regardless, I am not one to fight in tourneys. We do not truly have any of them in the North, we only fight when we truly have to and war is not a matter for games."

"Oh Ned, it's always good to know that no matter how much I change or how old I get, you are always going to be there to remind me of how miserable you northern lot are." Robert laughed loudly and, despite himself, Ned found himself smiling as well. He had missed Robert greatly, and being with him again made him feel younger than he had done in years and years.

But they were both men grown now, and each of them had their duties that needed them. Ned waited for Robert to calm down before he asked his next question. "Prince Lewyn, why did you extend him an invitation to court?"

Robert frowned. "The Dornish boy? Well, I didn't. It was Jon's idea in truth, he'd been writing to Doran Martell and apparently it was some scheme of theirs that they conjured up together, and I didn't see any reason not to have him here. I honestly don't speak to him to that much, no more than I speak to any other courtier anyway. Why? What about him?"

If the truth was to be told, Ned wasn't sure why he had brought up the heir to Dorne. He seemed to always be in the back of his mind as of late. Ever since Winterfell, in fact. Jon Arryn had been fine, an old man yes but strong and by all accounts nowhere near the end of his life, and then a sudden illness had just started in him that would cause the end of his life and Lewyn Martell was the only thing that had seemed to change at court before he had fallen ill.

The young man himself had claimed that he had only been at court for about half a year and that did not strike Ned as just a random chance, there was something else that he could not see happening. The fact that Stannis Baratheon had abandoned the city and sailed for Dragonstone as well, set a fire in his mind as he tried to understand.

Lysa had abandoned the city as well and made for the Eyrie with her son, and in her hidden message to Cat she had claimed that the Lannisters had killed Jon Arryn, that it had been the Queen who had done it. Was that the truth of it? Had it been Cersei Lannister who murdered Jon? Had she used Lewyn Martell as her catspaw? Did Lewyn Martell have nothing to do with it what so ever? Did the Queen have nothing to do with it? Was it someone else entirely?

Or was Jon not murdered at all, and the message that had been written to Cat just born out of the madness of grief? To be sure after his own Father and brother had died, his mind was filled with strange thoughts that at the time he thought them seemed only right, only for him later to look back on them and realize how foolish they had been.

In the end, it seemed. Ned knew nothing.

He finished his ale and his plate and begged his King for his leave and once Robert had granted it, Ned left his presence and began to make his way back to the Tower of the Hand. As he was crossing the courtyard, music began to reach his ears and he looked up to see a man sitting on a bench, strumming a strange instrument.

At first he did not think much of it, after all with the tourney being announced it would only make sense for singers and players to start arriving just as much as knights, but when he looked closer he realized that he was not any mere player and it was in fact Prince Lewyn, and laying curled at his feet was his elder daughter's wolf, the gentle creature seeming to be caught in a deep slumber.

Ned approached him and Prince Lewyn looked up as his shadow fell over him, a smile that Ned could not read appearing on his features. "Lord Stark, I suppose I should call you my Lord Hand now." He placed his instrument, it looked somewhat like a lute though it's neck was much shorter. "I am glad to see you, I hope that my playing did not disturb you."

"Not at all." Ned spoke as he looked at the instrument. "You play well."

"My lord is too kind, my skill with the Oud is nothing to be overly proud of. By the accounts of my cousin Nymeria, I have fingers too thick to play it properly. Like sausages, she says." Lewyn's lips twitched. "Of course, I must master it then if for no other purpose to show her how wrong she is."

"Of course." And despite himself, Ned could not help but feel his own lips twitch as it reminded him much of Benjen as he and Lyanna went off to the godswood, for their sparing lessons that they all thought that the rest of them did not know about. He glanced down at Lady who had just begin to stir, apparently displeased that the music had stopped. "I hope that my daughter's wolf is not bothering you, Sansa does her best to train her but a wolf is still a wolf and a direwolf will ever be even more wild."

"Oh, it is no trouble. I rather fear that Lady had grown somewhat fond of me." The Prince reached down and scratched behind the she-wolf's little grey ears, Lady tilting her head to rest it on his leg. "Lady Sansa does know that she is with me, she's taking her meal with the Queen and Princess Myrcella at the moment and poor Myrcella is rather afraid of them, I am afraid to say and so she asked me to keep her company."

"I see." And Ned did as he watched as Lady continued to nuzzle the Dornish boy for a moment before she settled back down on the ground and stared up at the Prince, who with a long suffering sigh sat back down on the stone bench and picked up his strange lute once again and began to strum it slowly. The direwolves did not allow anyone near them that they did not trust, and Lady seemed to trust Prince Leweyn.

Did that mean then that Ned should trust him as well? He wished that he had his own wolf, if the litter mother had survived than perhaps she would have been his wolf as well and he would know who to trust and who not to. But Lady trusted Prince Lewyn, and at least for the moment that was good enough for Ned and he allowed himself to relax, if only ever so slightly.

"Is my Lord looking forward to his tourney?" The reminder of that erased what little good mood Ned had managed to recover and he was not able to stop the heavy frown from spreading out across his face and Prince Lewyn seemed to notice it as well as a frown of his own appeared on his face. "I am sorry my Lord, I did not mean to cause offense."

"You caused no offense, Prince Lewyn. Merely an unpleasant reminder as I am afraid that the prospect of a tourney does little to cause me any sort of joy. Even less so, when it is in my own name." He knew it was a gesture that was kindly meant, most of Robert's gestures were but Ned wanted to bash his head against the nearest wall in response.

"I hope my Lord will not be wrought with me then when I tell him that I intend to take part in the tourney." Ned's shock must have shown on his face then as Prince Lewyn let out a little chuckle. "We Dornishmen do have tourneys, though certainly not to the extent of these kingdoms between the North and Dorne, but we do have them. And my uncle Oberyn would never forgive me if I did not do some thrashing myself, and I did make a promise that I would compete."

Ah, there was a lady involved. In that moment Ned was reminded of Brandon and how he would always try and impress some maiden or other with his skill at arms. More often than not it worked and it would get that poor maiden into trouble, Brandon always was lucky that none of his maids had gotten herself with child and then appeared at the gates of Winterfell.

He also hoped that Lewyn wouldn't get his maid into trouble either, but then he was Dornish.

"I must be off now, I will see my Prince another time." Ned bowed his head and walked off as Lewyn strummed another song on his strange lute, while Lady slumbered gently at his feet.

End of Chapter Eight


Wow.

Okay first of all, I am so sorry for the delay. I fully intended to write another chapter and update it well before now, but sadly my father died this month, it was very sudden and came as a shock to all of us so writing, both any ideas and any will, was very hard to find and I only just recently got the drive back to do it.

So, this is the first of anything I've written since then.

So, a few things about the chapter itself. Ned's opinion of Lewyn, keep in mind that the North also shares some of the same racist beliefs about the Dornish as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, the amount of distance between the North and Dorne and what little they do know of them is probably passed on to them by the other kingdoms, so yeah.

Ned's suspicion of Lewyn is also more to do with the fact that he's trying to fit all of the pieces together about how Jon Arryn died, Lysa claims that the Lannisters killed him, the official story is that he's died from a sickness but there's also this boy from a kingdom that has been unofficially ostracized from the rest since the Rebellion who came to court just half a year before the Hand of the King died from an illness that just appeared out of nowhere.

Lewyn is a suspect to Ned, cause everyone is.

Next chapter, a Lewyn chapter and we get into the tourney. "Evil smirk."

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With a ton of love and much gratitude,

DiscordantSymphony