By mid-morning his lady's silk purse was as flaccid as a sow's ear. Coin she had in plenty - or so she said and thought - but mail never came cheap and it was never so dear as on the very morn of a tourney. She had started off with a plump purse; her father and brothers were indulgent and doted upon her, but all the same they had only supplied her with enough to buy a few woman's trinkets and gewgaws. They had thought that she had gone to see the market stalls with Lord Tully's daughters, she had given them the slip with the air of one practiced at deception.
To this end, the young lady was most aggrieved and after they had visited half-a-dozen stalls she shook her purse disconsolately. It did not chime as merrily as it had when she had first set out, with him and her youngest brother. "I never knew how dear armor came," she said wistfully, with the sweet innocence of a great lord's daughter. She fingered a fine pair of gilded vambraces longingly. At home, in her northern castle, she had no doubt a master smith and armorer and she was accustomed to plate and armor being conjured from thin air, as though by a magician's wand.
Her brother nodded gravely. "You could ask Robert for more money," he suggested brightly. "He loves you."
She grimaced and clouted him lightly on the head. "It wouldn't be seemly," she said, pitching her voice high so that it reminded one of a highborn lady's nasal drawl, "besides he'd want to paw up my skirts for the favor, Ben, you know that. Or he'd ask me what it was for." There was no help for it but they must return to the stalls they had visited, sell back the few pieces they had bought and gather under an apple tree in the meadow to reassess how much their purse could hold out for.
Lady Lyanna had heeded his gentle suggestion of the morning and dressed as plainly as a serving maid might. A highborn maid wandering through the smithy booths would attract undue attention and were she to be seen purchasing plate and mail fit for a tourney knight the rumors would spread like wildfire. They would say it was for her lover in penury, Howland well knew, and if they saw her with me they would name me as her despoiler. Lord Stark was a good and benign man, as high lords went, but he would never stand for a stain on his daughter's name.
Now she sat disconsolately under the apple tree, knees pulled up to her chest. Her gown was white lambswool, the hem spattered with blue roses. "What am I to do?" she demanded.
He could only see one solution for her. "My lady, you might permit me to make the purchases on your behalf." She had about as much notion of the ways of the world as a kitten might, nor did he blame her for it. She was too fair and fine and highborn for it.
She threw him a quick, mischievous look. "Aiding and abetting, Howland?" she teased him. "I could scarce be heard over the din of your recriminations last night."
"You will have your way, lady," he said neutrally. "I thought it folly to oppose you." She will balk, he had told himself this morning. She will balk at the last moment and it will put an end to this madness. For sure anything I dared say to oppose her would only spur her further.
"You'll need a shield," her brother said suddenly. "And a device of your own since you must be a mystery knight."
"Yes!" she said eagerly, diverted from the weariness matter of suiting her meager funds to the task. She cocked her head, considering.
"Our arms with the colors reversed?" Benjen suggested. "A white wolf on a gray field."
Too obvious, Howland thought, exasperated by the child. Fortuitously the thought had occurred to Benjen's sister as well and she dismissed it. "A blue rose?" Howland suggested, inspired by her gown.
"Too maidenish," Lady Lyanna decreed. Thoughtfully she began to plait together the drifts of apple blossoms on the ground beside them. She was a highborn lady in all but her hands, Howland thought. They were strong hands, square-palmed and small-fingered, as ready for hard labor as a village maid's. The skin was tanned, knuckles shiny with calluses and feathered with fine cuts. She smiled when she saw him looking at them. "I ride like a northwoman," she said evasively.
"If you had a septa she'd make you sleep in chickenskin gloves to make them soft," Benjen told her sagely. "Leastways that's what I heard Lysa Tully tell her sister when she got a good look at your hands."
"Our arms with the colors reversed?" Benjen suggested. "A white wolf on a gray field."
Too obvious, Howland thought, exasperated by the child. Fortuitously the thought had occurred to Benjen's sister as well and she dismissed it. "A blue rose?" Howland suggested, inspired by her gown.
"Too maidenish," Lady Lyanna decreed. Thoughtfully she began to plait together the drifts of apple blossoms on the ground beside them. She was a highborn lady in all but her hands, Howland thought. They were strong hands, square-palmed and small-fingered, as ready for hard labor as a village maid's. The skin was tanned, knuckles shiny with calluses and feathered with fine cuts. She smiled when she saw him looking at them. "I ride like a northwoman," she said evasively.
"If you had a septa she'd make you sleep in chickenskin gloves to make them soft," Benjen told her sagely. "Leastways that's what I heard Lysa Tully tell her sister when she got a good look at your hands."
"Perhaps I should have a pair of chickenskin gloves as my sigil," she said absently. "A pair of bloody hands, a..." Suddenly her face brightened and she laughed. "A weirwood! Why didn't I think of that before? A white weirwood - what could be more fitting?"
"A laughing weirwood," he said softly, captivated by her face and the laughter brimming in her eyes. She had eyes as gray as a mist, a man could lose himself in those eyes. Fool, he told himself, she's to marry the storm lord and even if she were not promised, she's not for the likes of you. He was her liege man, he could never aspire to be more.
"Yes," she agreed, blithely unconscious of the thoughts rushing confusedly through his mind. "I shall be the Knight of the Laughing Tree." She jumped up, pulling her brother up with her. Everything she did, she liked to have it done quickly. "Lets go see that woman over there painting the shields, Ben, we can talk to her." She giggled, "I'll tell her its for my sweet lover. Howland, you can go see the armorers for me, I suppose you'll have more luck with then than I did."
"Your wish is my command, lady," he said, inclining his head gravely as she skipped away, as merry as a child. And, much as he longed to, he never voiced his thoughts. Nor will I ever, he thought sadly. For never would it be meet.
He's as sweet as a coney, Ashara decided, and near as woolly-headed. Ned Stark reminded her of her pets at Starfall - the lambs in the meadows, the pretty little fawn Arthur had once brought home from a hunt just for her, the fluffy little puppies tumbling out of their baskets in her stepmother's chamber. When she smiled at him, he would turn red as a poppy and once when she touched his arm lightly and unconsciously, he looked ready to burst out of his skin.
Lynesse called him a northern stoat and said he had no manners and how could Ashara stand to make polite conversation with him when he barely answered, but she felt a great tenderness for him. He can't help himself, she'd defended him, he's just shy.
Oh well, Lynesse had said with a shrug, resuming the brushing of her long golden hair, if you want to adopt that horse-faced thing...
Ned Stark's face was long and yes, it did indeed remind one uncommonly of a horse, but Ashara had just begun to insist that it had a dignity of its own before she stopped herself. He's just a boy to flirt with, she reminded herself. To amuse yourself with. He's not even the heir to Winterfell, you can do much better than him, surely you can. Hadn't they all told her that? The coin of her power was her beauty, she must never squander it but wait instead for the highest of course she was too young to be thinking of marriage, only fifteen, when she married she would marry well, Ned Stark was only a plaything to divert her at the tourney...
Luckily, before she could snap at Lynesse, her princess had sent for her. Elia was in her own chamber, very poorly and with only her closest Dornish maids in attendance. She had thrown up twice after dinner and was sitting up in bed, sipping a cup of willow tea, when Ashara came. She had wanted some chatter and light company, a little music to soothe her before bed. Prince Rhaegar should be with her, Ashara thought as she often did, if he loves her as much as he claims why is he never there when she needs him? Still she had not voiced her doubts, she knew better than to do so by now. More like than not, the prince was ensconced in the great libraries at Harrenhal - he could never resist the lure of a book he had not read. If I were his wife I would never be as meek and indulgent as Elia, she thought, I would blow the roof down yelling for him.
Afterwards, when Elia was fast asleep, Ashara had dared asked Alys Santagar, one of the senior ladies of Elia's bedchamber, if she suspected anything. Did she think her food might be poisoned?
"She had a taster," that dour dame had told her. "And he's fine, as far as I've had word. I fear the poison's inside her, poor lady." And when Ashara had stared at her, not comprehending, she had patted her belly gently.
No, she can't, Ashara thought. It would kill her to have another baby. But she knew as well as any of the princess's woman that even so, Elia would die in trying to do her duty.
"You look grim, my lady."
They were walking together in the flower gardens at Harrenhal, in the time before the tourney would begin. He had surprised her when she was picking flowers to wear in her hair, he had been going to the godswood he told her and she invited him to help her with her flowers.
She was thinking on Princess Elia and she looked up startled when Ned Stark spoke. "I feel grim," she said honestly. With another man she would have laughed lightly and diverted the conversation. Men want to be amused, not preached at, her stepmother had told her. But with this one it was different, his face was solemn but his eyes were kind, he looked as though he might understand her. And they say northmen are of a serious bent of mind, not much given to laughter anyways. "I was thinking about the princess. She is so poorly." She did not of course reveal what Alys Santagar had told her - it was early days and it might not mean anything after all. Pray gods it does not.
"No one can take her place," she said rebelliously, "the Lannisters try their best to push their girl at our lord prince, but I've known Cersei since we were both twelve years old. She's a dreadful thing, spoiled and selfish. She would make a terrible wife for Rhaegar and I don't think he likes her much either."
"You speak of their marriage as though it were a settled thing," Ned observed dryly. "Why should he take the lady to wife if she is not to his liking?"
In spite of her worries she could not help laughing at him. "You are an innocent in the ways of the court, Ser Eddard," she said, "has Lord Arryn taught you nothing?"
He smiled, not at all hurt by her teasing. She liked that about him - some men were so quick to take insult. "He has done a poor job with both Robert and me when it comes to the ways of the world, I suppose," he said equably. "Though I doubt I shall ever have much to do with court matters, my lady - I am only a second son after all."
"Yes, but surely you will hold a fief under her brother's name someday?"
"That should be no trouble." He smiled wanly. "I am of the north, my lady, and I know of its ways."
"Oh yes, you're a northman," she said and decided to tease the solemn-faced boy. "I've heard such things of northmen..." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him. Any man of sense would have taken that as an invitation to bawdy talk. Ned Stark only looked gravely puzzled and at last she laughed and touched his arm. "You are a sweet thing. I only meant that I had heard that in the north, the men and women have the blood of wargs and skinchangers. Greenseers too."
"The greenseers are the crannogmen," he corrected her. "Or so they say. These are only stories, Lady Ashara, hearth tales. There is little magic in the north now, if there ever was, just as little in the south."
"Yes," she said dreamily, remembering something she had once overheard the prince tell the princess. "Magic is fading from the world. It began to die when the dragons died."
He bowed gravely to her. "My lady, if you will excuse me, I must needs arm for the tourney." Northmen were seldom knighted - it had to do with some aversion to being anointed by the seven oils of the Faith, she had heard - but Lord Stark's second son had been raised in an Andal household. On his eighteenth nameday he had knelt by his foster-brother's side and they had been knighted together by Lord Arryn. He would fight in the tourney though he had assured her, with disarming candor, that he was but an indifferent jouster and had no hope at all of winning glory on the field.
"Of course, Ser Eddard. I wish you luck." She smiled at him. Twice he made to leave her, only to come shuffling back, blushing and bowing and mumbling incoherently before scuttling back. By his third attempt she had guessed his purpose. She was already unlooping her violet silk girdle before he could repeat his attempt a fourth time. "Wear this for my sake, Ned Stark," she said warmly.
He was beet-red. "My lady is gracious. Have you- have you-" he hesitated, "I am sorry to be so forward, but have you given your favors to any other man today, Lady Ashara?"
"Yes," she said. As one of the leading beauties of the court she always had half-a-dozen men - at the very least - clamoring for her favors. Ser Barristan for one, constant as ever. Her brother who's allegiance was sworn to her and Princess Elia. Lady Santagar's son. She sighed when his face drooped a little - so he thought she had given him her favor for pity? The dear, silly boy. "But I have not given them this." She stood up on tiptoe and brushed her lips lightly against his, a butterfly kiss. Only for a moment, but it was enough.
"My lady- my lady-"
"Oh hush," she said, smiling faintly. She touched his shoulder lightly and was unable to keep herself from adding, "You silly boy." When he finally took his leave of her, his smile seemed as wide as his face was long.
A/N: Will add more to this chapter later...
