Last Hearth was beautiful, even in the distance as they had ridden away from it a few days before, the flicker of the flames that kept the keep warm and gave it its name burning brightly, if not far from her view. Lyanna had felt a coldness settle about the caravan as they departed Winterfell, most of the Prince's entourage had chosen to stay behind at the seat of the Stark's, much to her father's chagrin. Winter was always coming in Rodrick Stark's mind, and the depletion on their stores was well felt with the elegance and hospitality given in accordance to the hosting of royals. She was expected to marry in a year or so, she knew, her father was in the final stages of sealing a betrothal for her with the Baratheons, though she had her eyes on a dragon, not a stag. Rhaegar was warm when they were alone, though in public he grew ever the more formal, especially when his betrothed was near.
Lyanna had an immediate dislike of Rhaenys, simply because the woman looked down on her whenever her gaze fell upon her, leaving Lyanna feeling rather small. She felt as like a child next to the foreigner, where Lyanna felt plain in appearance, Rhaenys seemed exotic, with her silver hair, lilac eyes and expensive wardrobe. A single gown worn by the future princess could have fed Wintertown for a few moons, notwithstanding the oversized jewels she wore. Yet Rhaegar seemed not to care a lick about Lyanna wore, his eyes seemed to follow her form wherever she moved, his fingers finding excuses to touch her, to hold her even in the barest of ways. The Northerners seemed to find the Prince's liberties too extensive, but they did not understand the Southron manners Rhaegar possessed.
Rhaenys had begrudgingly offered to allow Lyanna into her wheelhouse but despite the growing chill she continued to refuse the offer, for she enjoyed spending time with Rhaegar, who rode close to her side as the Wall loomed ever closer ahead. A group of riders were spotted in the distance, bearing the banners of the crows. "The Lord Commander sent a welcoming party, it seems." Lyanna voiced aloud, which broke Rhaegar from his thoughts quickly.
His eyes were clouded as they interceded with the dozen black brothers, ranging from a youth of no more than fourteen name days to a grizzled man in his fifties. The men all seemed well adjusted to the cold, layered in frostbitten furs and dark clothing, living to their name of crows. They all bowed in respect to Rhaegar as the royal party stopped to take a rest and greet the new comers. From the looming shadow cast by the Wall, Lyanna guessed they would arrive to the structure before the night completely fell. Dismounting from her horse, she watched Rhaegar greet the men and ask them of their journey, always the gallant prince.
Yet the men seemed to be staring at the wheelhouse more than the silver haired man before them and Lyanna turned to see the door of the carriage swing open and the lady-in-waiting exit. Aeyma was dressed in thick layers, yet still she shivered as her shaking hand reached out to guide her lady. Dressed in a shimmering gold, Rhaenys was a glaringly bright image amongst the white snow and black furs that surrounded her and Lyanna felt envy heat up within her. Even her boots seemed to barely make an indent upon the thick snow as she walked with a grace Lyanna could never hope to possess and as she took Lyanna's place at Rhaegar's side, a handful of the crows bowed deeply, sinking a knee into the snow before the group, shocking all who stood around them, for they barely nodded a head at their prince, yet formally bent the knee before his betrothed.
Aeyma seemed fearful, her eyes darting between the black brothers and the future princess as the wandering crow that had travelled with the royal party moved to join his fellow men. Rhaegar had a fire in his eyes, rage contained behind the forced smile he gave to his betrothed as they linked arms, Rhaenys purposely putting herself between Lyanna and Rhaegar. With a final, slight nod towards the men, Rhaenys smiled darkly at Lyanna, pleased with the display of power. The northernmen who had joined the party glowered at this display and when Rhaegar and his betrothed began to walk away from the center of the party, the men all purposely acknowledged Lyanna with nods of their heads and a soft, "my lady" as they moved to follow the prince.
"Aeyma?" Lyanna called out to the woman trailing behind the royals a few feet respectfully behind them, causing the poor thing to jump before she turned and curtsied. Lyanna waved her towards her person and when the servant stepped to her side she began to walk once more, allowing her pace to be slow enough that they had distance between the main group.
"Yes, Lady Lyanna?" Always aware of protocol, the former slave attempted to stay behind Lyanna, but she looped her arm with the woman's, causing her eyes to widen in silent surprise.
"The servants whisper of Lady Rhaenys's favorite companion, they say you hail from a land of magic." Her words lept with an interest only slightly falsified, for she was both interested and attempting to win her trust. "Far beyond where Lady Rhaenys hails."
Aeyma nodded, her face guarded, "My mother was a whore in Assiah, she sold me to Lord Baelaerys when I reached my fourth name day, so his daughter might have a companion." Her words were crisp and cut, as if rehearsed or stated often, though Lyanna did not know which one was more the truth.
"And your father agreed to this?" Lyanna questioned, though the look of amusement on Aeyma's face caused her to regret asking.
"My mother was a whore." Aeyma repeated, causing Lyanna to feel like a fool. "The children of whores rarely know their father, if anything my mother could have narrowed it down to the men she serviced within a few weeks." Her dry tone revealed that the list would have been too long to sort through.
"You are a bastard then." Lyanna did not mean to offend, she simply stated the truth. There was a power in being true born, even a bastard of a great lord was still a bastard, where a true born could rise simply by the virtue of being born within a marriage bed.
"We are all the product of our parents' carnal desires." Aeyma stated flatly and Lyanna could see the servant was losing interest. She moved to distance herself from the lady, revealing a molted patch of skin just above her right wrist, badly burned and chapped from repeated abuse. The skin seemed discolored and possessed patches of what appeared to be boils, as if her wrist were held in hot liquid until the skin scarred.
Lyanna stared at the woman's wrist even after she pulled her sleeve to cover the exposed expanse of flesh, the damage already done. Aeyma looked at her the same way a colt looked at Lyanna when she entered her stall in the stables while the mother horse was away: spooked and ready to fight or flee. "Aeyma…." Lyanna held her hands out, attempting to appear in control yet nonthreatening.
"I have to go, my lady will be expecting her midday meal." The servant lifted her skirts and moved briskly, putting as much distance between her and the northern lady as she could. Lyanna moved to grab her, to keep her in her sights, but she recoiled once she realized she had been reaching for the wounded arm of the servant.
"My lady?" A deep voice called out with a hint of hesitation, and she was surprised to see Arthur Dayne before her. The man wore a deeply troubled frown as he glanced between the retreating figure of Aeyma and Lyanna herself, standing immobile in the snow. He repeated Lyanna's previous actions, looping his arm in hers to escort her to the large tent being quickly constructed for the nobles to eat within before finishing the final leg of their journey to the Wall.
The two never did quite get along, yet with both staring at the quickly retreating form of Aeyma, they seemed to silently align themselves with another. Walking slowly, the two strolled arm in arm before Arthur broke the silence, "The lady Rhaenys enjoys her baths hotter than even the prince...the servants whisper that when Aeyma's flesh begins to blister, she knows the bath is properly prepared for her lady."
A shudder of revulsion chilled Lyanna to the core, matching the look on Arthur's face. "She is a human being…" Lyanna whispered, not daring to raise her voice for fear of keen ears overhearing her.
"She is a slave." Arthur replied flatly. His armor creaked in the cold as they moved towards the tent, the sound of a freshly made fire complimenting the squeal of the dying chickens brought to be freshly plucked and roasted for the meal. "A master cares little for the pain of their property."
"Slavery has been outlawed for hundreds of years!" Lyanna replied hotly, raising her voice without meaning to. A woman wrapped in a ridiculous amount of furs turned to watch with a scandalized eye, no doubt gathering fresh gossip for the meal.
Arthur pinned her with a stare, silencing her without speaking himself. "In Westeros, but the lady is not Westerosi, neither are any in her entourage, her servants were all once slaves, and a slave without a concept of freedom cannot be given it." They walked in silence, mulling over the knight's words as they entered the freshly erected tent, masked with thick layers to keep out the chill.
Rhaegar was already seated in the handful of chairs pulled in a wagon behind the wheelhouse, the red of his doublet matching the silk cushions placed behind his back and no doubt under him as well. His eyes did not even flicker to hers, for he was preoccupied by Rhaenys, who poured a goblet of hot, spiced wine and fed the cup to his lips by her own hand. Envy flared up in Lyanna as her mind worked to fashion a plan to get Rhaegar alone, to convince him that Rhaenys was cruel, unfit to be his Queen, his anything really…
"Lady Stark!" Jon Umber smiled at her from his seat three places down from the prince, well within earshot, she knew, as the entire table turned to the sound of the great, booming voice. They called the man the Greatjon, as everything about him took up space and called for attention. He waved her towards the open seat between Rhaenys and himself, no one else seeming to notice the two women's discomfort at being so close to one another.
"The prince and I were discussing the merit of visiting the Godswood beyond the wall. They say the weirwood tree has grown for thousands of years!" The Greatjon seemed excited at the prospect, though the prince did not seem to share his enthusiasm.
"Yes, in a place known as the Haunted Forest, sounds like a lovely spot to visit." Rhaegar smiled at Rhaenys's quip, though it made Lyanna angry.
"I am sorry that the Old gods' place of worship does not suit you, my lady. Perhaps you prefer the Seven gods of the South suit you better, or a foreign deity from the land in which you hailed from?" Her words were dripping in false sweetness and she enjoyed the look of withheld outrage on Rhaenys's face. "What faith does your family hold?"
Rhaenys seemed at a loss for words, the first Lyanna had ever seen her as such. She appeared to be grappling with whether to tell a lie or the truth, until Rhaegar placed her hand in both of his and smiled, encouraging her silently. "My father raised me to believe in the power of fire, there was no specific deity, simply tales of fire and ice and the power of the human spirit."
The entire table stared at her for a moment, a few nobles raising a brow at her explanation, before a man wearing far too many layers to be from the North burst out in laughter. "I suppose the power of fire is far more realistic than praying to trees." His jape caused the Southerners to laugh, while the Northerners glared hotly at the man.
"Is it so abstract a concept to pray to a living thing with a face rather than a flame with the ability to harm?" Lyanna was surprised to see Rhaenys come to the defence of the Old gods, until she turned to her betrothed, "My love, might we venture to see the tree? I have read that the faces can grin or frown or laugh...how ironic would it be to see a laughing tree in the center of a supposedly haunted forest?"
Those gathered around the table began to laugh, agreeing with the future princess. Lyanna watched Rhaegar quickly agree to his betrothed, yet he shocked them all when he turned to Lyanna, publicly addressing her for the first time in ages. "Lady Lyanna, you are a devout follower of the Old gods, yes?" When she nodded, he continued, "Might you be our guide then? I'm afraid Green men are in short supply in these parts."
Rage, a flickering flame in Rhaenys's eyes flashed and died away as a mask of indifference slid into place, but it was all the prompting Lyanna needed, "Of course, my prince."