It would be her ninth nameday soon. Ned pulled on his steed's reins and the beast shook its head. Clearly it did not appreciate such handling. Far from paying that any mind, Ned kept his eyes straight ahead, wondering at the object of his considerations.
Ned had not written to his father to tell him he would join Lord Arryn's to King's Landing in the lord's visit, mainly because he could not account for the man's reaction. It was much safer to keep such plans to himself and see to it that his sole living parent remain unaware for a time.
After all, who knew what sort of girl his sister would turn out to be? And he could not say for a certainty that she would welcome his presence. Lyanna Stark, for all her name might be from the house of the direwolf, was not known to him. She had been no more than a babe upon her leaving, and father had rather cruelly given her away. It would not surprise Ned overly much if she did not wish to see him. Raised among strangers, she would likely feel more at home in their midst than in the presence of an unknown brother.
Yet for all that, his desire to see her was stronger than ever. A glimpse would be quite enough, Ned told himself. He simply wished to see if she'd grown up well, if she looked like a Stark at all and if there was anything of their dear departed mother in her features. He needed to know as much. And whatever answer he would discover to these questions, at least he would have the knowledge.
His horse nickered softly and shook its head again. Ned blinked in confusion. Looking down at his hands, he saw that he'd been gripping the reins too tightly again. Had it been Brandon riding – Brandon who had been born half a horse, if rumours were to be believed – it would not have happened.
"Are you trying to kill the poor best," Robert yelled at him, a large grin on his face. During the festivities, Robert had found himself in the middle of a brawl which had left him with a missing tooth and an bruised eye, accompanied by some scratches and bite marks. Not that Robert seemed to mind them terribly. But Ned had to admit, the look suited him.
"If I am, Baratheon, then it is none of your concern." He had not told his friend much about Lyanna. Only that he had a sister in King's Landing and that he hadn't seen her in so very long that he'd almost been tempted to think her a dream. "If you'd be so kind as to stop staring," Ned said a moment later noting with some annoyance that Robert still hadn't taken his eyes off of him.
Robert laughed. "You'd think you're to attend your own wedding the way you fret. Are you certain we go to see your sister and not your mistress," he japed, not at all minding the glare his friend shot him.
It was not unheard of when it came to Robert for him to be insensitive of other's feelings. Especially where women were concerned. Instead of giving him any sort of reply, Ned chose to dig his heels in the horse's flanks and prompted the beast to take speed. At the head of the column was Lord Arryn and at least that man would know how to hold his silence.
For all the good that would do him.
Ned did mot need to turn around to know that Robert was following him. Still, if he ignored the man, perhaps it would be altogether better for his sanity and their friendship.
"Now don't tell me the jest upset you," Robert called out. "Come. Ned, 'twas not serious." That apology earned him a look from Ned. "Ned Stark, you don't turn your back on me," Baratheon yells as Ned was doing just that,
When Robert did reach him, Ned bestowed upon him a withering look. "That lady you speak of is my sister and I will hear no such words of her." It was without cause that he grew angry, Ned knew, yet he could not stand such japes on account of a maiden of his blood. "Have a care what you speak in then future."
For once, Robert sported a serious mien. "I meant no offence," he excused himself. "'Twas only a jest. But I see that it was poorly done. I shan't ever do such again."
And with that it was quite impossible to remain upset at the man. "Very well." Ned held out his hand and Robert grabbed his arm, a hold which he returned. "Consider it a thing of the past, as shall I."
"If the two of you are quite done," Lord Arryn cut in, levelling a telling glare at the both of them, "mayhap you would find it within you to quit stalling. We haven't all year and dusk is swiftly approaching. Come, lads. No more wasted time."
Not the least bit chagrined, Robert galloped ahead, a trail of dust rising in his wake. For his part, Ned waited for a few moments for his thoughts to settle down before he too took Robert's way only to be challenged to a race. Quickly agreeing to participate, Ned promised to himself that he would win.
What followed was a battle of speed and wits and wills. Both young men were determined and both very much at work to win. Ned prayed his gods that he could make good use of his blood and ride like the wind, like Brandon would. His brother would have never contemplated losing and certainly not to a Southron. So Ned too hard and took flight, holding the reins of his horse tightly and advancing forwards. It took some skill to pass Robert, but when he did, nearing the end of the race, Ned swore the gods were smiling down upon him.
He had just reached the limit when from behind a cluster of shadows a figure emerged, spooking his horse. The beast reared back, rising on its hind legs. Ned let out a terrible sound of horror.
And then he was falling. His head hit the ground and he fell into a deep darkness.
Pain shot through every nook and cranny of his body, along covered, heavy limbs and within his bones. Ned groaned in pain. He tried to open his eyes but his lids refused to part, Obstinately, he made another attempt, then another and another. Somewhere far away voices could be heard. If only he could open his mouth and call for help.
But it was not to be. Within moments of his conscious waking second, he was dragged back into the darkness, though he fought like a madam to escape its clawing grip. It was little use and quite a difficult battle to hold. Tired and unwilling to fight anymore, Ned allowed himself to submerge deeper into the mystifying land of shadows. If it was his destiny to go there, who was he to challenge the gods?
It took little more than a few seconds for the blackness to morph around him. The wall of darkness shook and crumbled, cracking and hissing as it went down, as if in protest. Disconcerted, he tried to step back but some sort of invisible force held him within its grasp and he could but hit his back against, hiss in pain and stumble forwards.
"I have been waiting," a voice said. Appearing from the blankness like a blur upon the night sky, a woman strode forward. Her visage and gate were familiar to him, so was her countenance. "I have been waiting for so long."
Dumbfounded and frightened by the apparition, Ned merely held one hand up. He stretched it forward, but the figure remained where it was. A chasm appeared between them. "Mother!" Ned yelled. "Mother, I'm here."
For a short moment tears blurred his vision. It had been years since he'd seen her. And she looked almost the same. There was something too red about her lips and once blue eyes had bled into a crimson colour that had permeated the iris as well, her skin too pale and her form too thin. It looked more like his mother had morphed herself into a weirood and indeed before he knew it, the human form twisted and contorted. A scream of pain and fright cut through the premises.
What was once a human woman, as resembling one closely, had become a tree. A magnificent tree with long, thin branched and an abundance of blood-red leaves. The white bark shone with a strange light. The face that had been carved within it held some traces of a once feminine face, but Ned could not recognise his mother, for it was not only once spirit that had shaped the face, but many.
"Is this what I am to expect?" he asked loudly, rage coursing through him. "Give me my mother back. Give her back!" But no answer came his way. Biting his lips and pacing about, Ned was losing himself. It felt like he was doing just that and the fault lay with those ghosts.
"You are here for another purpose," a terrifying voice spoke, a thousand voices having come together in it. Ned thought he could distinguish his mother's among them. "We must give to you a message. The will of the gods must be made known to your brethren, mortal."
Ned could not make up his mind if the tree meant to insult him or not. But his mind would not cooperate and he found himself answering. "And what is the will of the gods?" He had not wanted to aid them, not in anything.
It was his mother that he wanted back, the woman father sometimes mentioned tenderly, with melancholy and grief. It was his mother that he wanted to see, not the gods. Yet mortals seldom had such choices when it came to the matters ordained by the divine creatures.
"Listen and listen well, if you do not wish the wrath of the ancient to come down upon you," the voices again spoke as one. There was something so powerful about the mere presence that Ned found himself, even unwilling, drawn in. "There is peril to come. A great danger awaits you all. And if you should fail in the task appointed to you, then all could be lost."
"What task?" Ned did not wish to her a riddles and go insane trying to solve them. "What do you speak of? You muddle the meaning."
"The meaning is clear," the weirwood contradicted. "You must guard the crowned rose that has sprung from stone and guard yourself against the false, or else you and your brethren will meet an end so terrible for nothing; no one shall remember you after, for no one will be left to do so. The choice is your."
"What choice?" The gods were mocking him, Ned was certain of that much. They wished to test him. They were bored and thought to play tricks on him. "I do not understand."
The limbs of the weirwood drew within, and the tree crumbled, twisted and turned until it had once again assumed the form a half-remembered woman. His mother stood before him with a cool gaze and lips thinned and blood-red.
"You must do this, my son. You must." The chasm between them persisted. "Protect her and the answers shall come. You will understand one day."
But he did not want to wait for that one day. "Mother, stay," he pleaded. "Or take me with you." He had missed her terribly.
She laughed, tinkling and sweet, but chilling at the same time. "Oh, my sweet child, I cannot take you with me. The road I travel is one without return. Not yet, my son. Not yet. But one day, I promise to you that I shall come."
"One day soon?" he asked. His hand shot out for her, as if to catch even a spark of her glimmer.
"Aye, but not too soon." He sketched him a bow. "Do not forget, my son. You must protect her."
And with that, the darkness came swirling in from all sides, latching onto him. Ned attempted to pull away, to dislodge it. The last hew saw of his mother was a fading skeletal figure. He would have wished to ask her so much. But he could not, for he was swept away, not to return again as long as life yet lingered within his veins.
When he came to, the wrinkled face of a maester loomed before him. "Ah, boy. You are finally awake, We feared we had lost you." Groggily, Ned tried to give an explanation. But he was stopped by a shake of the maester's head. "Say nothing, but drink of this."
A small cart had been procured for him and the maester had insisted that for the time being Ned ride in that. Lord Arryn had agreed to it, saying that he deserved some rest and he could not achieve that if he rode one of those blasted beasts. "It nearly you a crushed skull, Ned. I will hear no more of it before you are well and ready."
And that would take quite some time. It seemed that during his fall, one of his legs remained caught in the stirrup and the horse, spooked as it had been, managed to drag him after for a short period. The maester had been amazed, frankly, that he had survived. For his part, Ned was certain that it had been his mother to keep him alive and for that he thanked her. Though to find himself riding in a cart was not how he would have envisioned his journey to find his sister.
Robert rode beside him, his face a little pale. "I truly do regret it, Ned. I shouldn't have challenged you to that blasted race." That had been a tune Robert had been singing for some days. In the end, even Ned could take not more of it, patient as he was.
"Enough of that, Robert. Besides, I won." The knowledge helped him endure the humiliation of his current condition in a small measure. It was all he had to cling to anyway. "I will hear no more of it. I truly mean these words. Is there nothing else we might speak of?"
"But of course there is," Robert answered. "We are nearing our destination. You have been insensible for a few days, so you would not know our progress, but old Arryn says that if the weather holds, then we shall make it to King's Landing in five days more at the rate we are going."
"So few days?" Ned wondered out loud. He had known he'd slept through quite a bit of the journey, but it came as a great surprise that they truly were so close. "I can hardly believe it."
"We are of the same mind. But just you think Ned, we shall soon be in King's Landing. I've heard that the court is full of beautiful women." It was so very like Robert to be thinking of that. "We might even get to see the King himself."
The Targaryens and the Baratheons were closely related. A recent marriage between their houses, but two generations past, had made it so. But to Ned's knowledge the King and Queen were not particularly close to their Baratheon relations. Which in itself was not very strange as most relations were not very close. Ned had to but think of his aunt, Branda Stark, whom he'd not seen once in his life, but knew of from his mother's tales, though she yet lived with her lord husband somewhere in the South. Such was the existence mapped out for lord and ladies and their offspring.
"If the King will see us," Ned ventured. But perhaps he would; mayhap Lyanna would convince him of it, if indeed she would see her brother.
"I say he will, Ned," insisted Robert. "In her last letter, mother wrote to me that Lord Lannister was to bring his daughter to court. Have you ever heard of Cersei Lannister, my friend?"
Of course he had. Ned gave Robert a mildly disinterested look. Cersei Lannister was the very beautiful sole daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister. It was said that even the beautiful Shiera Seastar was a mere kitchen drab beside her. And Robert would, of course, know that already. Robert's mother, Lady Casanna, formerly of House Estermont, was ever trying to find her son a fitting bride, when she should have, in fact, been trying to keep him out from between every female's legs he met.
Still, that being said, Ned had to acknowledge that he did recognise an opportunity within his friend's words. "I thought she was still but a girl," he said none the less. If his memory did not fail, Lady Cersei had been born at a time with her brother, Jaime Lannister. And Jaime was barely older than Lyanna would be, thus Cersei too.
"Girls grow with time," his friend offered with a small shrug. "Besides, I said nothing of wedding her upon sight." That he hadn't. Ned nodded his head in approval. "Who knows, perhaps it is you that shall find her more appealing." And there he was, again with the teasing.
"If I do, Robert, you shall be the first to know, I am certain." Such a reply stopped Robert momentarily. He threw Ned an odd look. "Is there anything else beside women to speak of in King's Landing?"
"There is always the Kingsguard, though knights that they are, I am very much certain that the ladies are far lovelier and less dangerous." Both of them laughed at that, falling into the easy pattern of their friendship.
"So you say now, Robert, but mind that you don't provoke the wrong lady," Ned warned jokingly. Still, the danger existed. Robert thought a smile would get him out of any scrape so long as the recipient was a woman. He had yet to learn the most important lesson about responsibility, which was that responsibility was to be taken for one's actions. Yet there was time enough for that.
One of Lord Arryn's men threw them a suspicious look. "They think we are plotting," Robert commented with a smirk on his face. His eyes shone with a mischievous light. "I fear old Arryn had not quite forgiven us for disrespecting the cook's stew."
That particular stew had ended upon the clothing and persons of many a man in the fight Robert had begun. It was always entertaining to keep close to his friend. Ned laughed. "Do you think they shall risk giving us stew again?" He had been a willing participant in that battle.
"One can only hope," Robert feigned sobriety, placing a hand upon his chest. "If not, we can always make do with black bread and hard cheese." That had been all they'd been given, on account of said disrespect. "I am telling, Ned, a war could be won with those."
"Far be it from me to doubt you," Ned replied. But certainly, the bread and cheese were hard enough to act as rocks. "We should suggest such to His Majesty."
"That we should," Robert agreed.