A/N: After a three years time skip...
Benjen stared wearily at the despondent creature seated on the steps. He shook his head and murmured a few choice words under his breath, simultaneously cursing the timing of the gods and his sister's betrothed. Alas, there was no escape, so he climbed down the steps until he reached her and sat down himself.
"This is not King's Landing, to be seated on steps and not have a care. You might freeze there," he warned, not without the hint of a jest.
But his twin merely turned to face him with a scowl. "I should like nothing better," she replied tartly, her fingers picking at lint on her dress. Her anger was understandable and at the same time a complete mystery.
Benjen tried to reconcile her current expression with the face of the girl he had seen three years past. That Lyanna had been joyful, flushed with anticipation and a little tongue-tied. The Lyanna before him fumed silently, a defeated look upon her features. The vision contrasted with the face she had presented to the realm when it was announced that she would wed Rhaegar Targaryen. Benjen remembered that she'd looked triumphant, beaming at anyone who cared to look her way.
That had been three years ago, of course. Since then, though a lively correspondence had been kept between them some issues had given rise to suspicions on the part of his sister. With a small sigh, Benjen wrapped an arm around her. "There now, sister mine. You speak foolishly," he protested, "what will I do if you find your death here? You would just leave me to the tender mercies of those heathens we call brothers?" He laughed lightly when she groaned. "Tell me, what word from King's Landing?"
"Merely that I am to wait even longer," she groused unhappily, a reaction Benjen had become accustomed to over the past few moon turns.
Since becoming a maiden flowered, which had been not long after her celebrated her two-and-tenth nameday, Lyanna had wished for only one thing. For her Prince to come and taken her back to King's Landing, If he had learned anything about his twin it was that she needed affection and understanding as much as she needed guidance. Winterfell, unfortunately, was not a place where she might find what she needed.
Their father was very much under the influence of some black demon that caused him to anger without reason, to lock himself in his rooms and stay there for days on end. And his tolerance for Lyanna had not improved much since her coming. And his sister felt all these as a rejection, most keenly.
Of course, she had him and Ned and Brandon, but as much as she held them all in affection, she did not feel at home in Winterfell, nor could she ignore Lord Rickard Stark. His absent presence was a blot, a stain on her enjoyment of everything the North had to offer.
And so, it had come as little surprise that she would wish for the easy times she had had within the King's family. It was understandable that she would pine for those that had taken her in with open arms, protected and loved her. Yet it hurt at the same time.
"Come, Lya, 'tis not so bad," he tried cheering her up. She shrugged, making a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. The delays disheartened her mainly because to her a promise had been made. "Brandon will be happy enough to challenge that Prince of yours to a duel."
Truth be told, Brandon would happily challenge the whole Kingsguard and the City Watch if he had the chance. Benjen shuddered at the though and he felt Lyanna do the same. She could always be counted on to have an opinion similar to his, to the point where their father's distaste had become apparent for him too.
"Brandon must be a fool then," Lyanna offered, still her voice had lightened up somewhat. Counting himself the victor, Benjen plastered a smile upon his face. "We had best protect him," she sighed a moment after.
"And what better protection is there than your words that all is well." Brandon was a fool, a gallant one, but nonetheless a man prone to acting without thinking. "And speaking of Brandon, had he not yet returned?"
"Nay," came the answer. "Benjen, I do wish he would have a care."
Brandon was on one of his hunting trips, which meant there was a chance he might come home injured. The first time that had happened in the presence of their sister, Lyanna had, perhaps as a result of her dealing with other injured boys, marshalled their oldest brother to Maester Luwin, chiding him all the way.
"Worry not, Maester Luwin will take care of anything," Benjen promised her.
"Some wounds even the most skilled of maesters cannot heal," Lyanna contradicted. "You just wait and you shall see that one day they'll bring him back in a coffin."
"Aye, but until that day, let us enjoy his presence whenever he allows us to bask in it," he delivered the speech in his funniest mock-serious voice. He was rewarded with laughter from his twin. "May we rise now or should we wait for the snows to come?"
He helped Lyanna to her feet and together they walked down the rest of the steps, making their way to the godswood. In King's Landing, Lyanna had been acquainted with the faith of the old gods, but her education had allowed for a better knowledge of the new faith. Yet she had shown herself just as interested in the carved faces as one could have hoped.
The wind pushed against them as if meaning to hold them back, but they persevered and in the end reached their destination. They walked around the lake and near the weirwood three which dominated the grove. There, Lyanna broke away from him and stepped towards the tree. Her small hands touched the carved wood, fingers sliding against the protruding portions.
"Still fascinated?" he asked.
"How could I not be?" his twin laughed. "I cannot understand why you do not feel it, but I swear there is something about this tree."
"Certainly, there is. It had become a subject of your imagination. 'Tis dangerous that," he could not help but warn her.
"Oh, do stop." She whirled around, though not exactly in his direction. "You and your warnings."
Ned clapped a hand on his shoulder and threw him a challenging look. Benjen snorted and picked up one of the blunted swords. You shan't win this time," he warned, testing the weight of his weapon. He cut through air a few times, trying to get used to it.
"Good grip," his brother commented, picking up a sword of his own. He followed the same pattern in preparing for their spar.
Had Brandon been present he would have undoubtedly egged them on, only too happy to seen them struggle against one another. Their oldest brother was by far the most warrior-like of them and his behaviour was proof of the need for constant competition.
Benjen charged at Ned with a straightforward attack which his brother deflected easily. He followed it with a side slash, landing a hit on Benjen's leg. With a hiss of pain the youngest Stark brother retreated a few steps back.
Sure of his advantage Ned pressed onward, advancing towards his foe. Benjen continued to walk backwards, waiting for his brother's guard to drop, at least a little. Thankfully, he did not have to wait very long. Ned raised his hand in preparation for a high blow. Seeing his opportunity, Benjen dove in, slamming his shoulder into Ned's chest, knocking his brother to the ground.
Raising the sword above his head, Benjen brought it down for what was to be the fatal blow. Ned rolled out of the way. Steel met earth, sinking with ease into the niche it had cut. Benjen pulled the weapon out with a grunt. By the time he'd released his sword, Ned had climbed to his feet and was in the process of delivering a strike to his midsection, but Benjen managed to use the edge of his sword to block it. Steel met steel as the blades scarped against one another, screeching their song of battle.
Manoeuvring his sword until it stood under Ned's, Benjen swiftly tugged it upwards. The suddenness of the move put a train on Ned's balance and the older brother found himself leaning precariously to one side, the weight of the weapon contributing to the slow recovery. Benjen, ever willing to aid in anyway he could, gave him a sharp smile.
Ned shook his heads and, as if the gods themselves guided his arm, he brought the sword up with one hand and urged it to drop upon his brother. Slightly unprepared, Benjen suffered a blow to the arm. The blunted steel did not cut, but pain abounded even so. "You should never celebrate victory until your opponent actually lies dead at your feet," he advised, not without a hint of amusement.
"Ha! And you say Brandon is a bad influence, my brother, when you speak for kinslaying as one does of archery practice. But if you will it, so be it, I shall knock you to the ground," Benjen laughed, launching into another series of attacks. They had passed the moments of mere testing, the mockery went out of them. Each brother desired to be the victor.
Yet, as in all things, true victory could crown only one of them. And it fell to the Fates and their own skills to decide who should receive the crown and who the dust.
Once more steel came down upon steel as they tried to outwit one another with meticulously crafted blows or plain frustrated strikes. If ever there was a soul that claimed the work of the warrior was an easy one, Benjen decided there and then that he should put a sword into the poor creature's hand and proceed to dismantle the foolish belief. Those who knew not spoke the loudest.
By some ill-luck that had been thrown his way, the youngest Stark brother missed his target once more and struck the ground, only the second time around the force behind hi thrust sent him too running into the soil. Ned did not wait again for him to retrieve his sword and pluck it in his hand, but brought the tip of his blade to the younger one's neck.
"If this were a battlefield, you'd be dead," he said, though his voice held very little harshness. "Has Brandon not taught you that you shouldn't throw your whole weight behind an attack you are not sure will actually fell your enemy?"
Standing up with a displeased grunt, Benjen kicked the dirt with his foot, before brushing off dust from his front. "I was certain I would strike you," he protested. Yet he knew Ned had won fairly. Thinking back, he might have known he would not catch his brother so easily. "No matter, I think we should cross swords again soon. I won't make the same mistake twice."
"Good for you," his brother shrugged. "'Tis the only way you can learn. Now let us be off, before Nan sends out the whole keep in search for us."
Poor Nan, Benjen thought. The old woman had taken care of his since he'd been born, but lately her senses had started failing her. It had seemed amusing to him at first, yet the more he thought upon it, the worse and worse the situation presented itself in his mind. Thankfully, since Lyanna had arrived at Winterfell, Nan had been quite content to accompany her and serve her as faithfully as any companion ever could. Lyanna too had taken quite a shine to the old woman. She had been particularly impressed by the stories which Nan told in front of a good, roaring fire. Snarks and grumkins had always been very interesting creatures, of course.
"Do you think father will have managed to make any progress in his latest attempts to foist Brandon on some unsuspecting maiden?" Benjenn found himself asking as they made their way to the Keep.
Their father, may the gods keep him, had taken it into his head that only the daughter of a great house would do for his eldest child. That had prompted him to search for the perfect bride among Lannisters, Tullys and Tyrells. He had been quite distraught when Tywin Lannister had refused out of hand the proposition. The Tyrells had not yet answered, nor the Tullys.
"I think he ought help Lyanna and offer Brandon to that Dornish Princess our sister remembers so fondly," Ned offered.
Benjen nearly choked as laugher sprang from deep inside of him. "I can just imagine the Dornish coming here. We'll make icicles of them all yet and help Lyanna. What are brothers for, after all, if not this?"
"You speak true," came the answer, "but I fear we might not have father's supporting this. Or Brandon's."
Ned could be right. Brandon did, for some reason, seem to shy away from talk of weddings. Which would have been perfectly understandable, had he not promised at least a score of women that he'd wed them.
The smell inside the room was no less than repulsive. Benjen brought a hand over his mouth and nose, hoping to block the foul stench. It did not help much, truth be told, but he had no other recourse. Maester Luwin urged him in, to which urge he replied with a sharp nod. Gathering all his endurance to use it as a shield, he stepped over the threshold mutely.
"What has happened?" he questioned, staring with curiosity to the wound that the maester was sewing carefully. His father, looking more dead than alive, made an inarticulate sound in the back of his throat that could have meant a thousand things or nothing at all.
"The lord cut himself on his sharpened sword," replied the learned man. "I am nearly done, young Benjen. 'Tis not your father that is the reason for which I wished to see you." Yet nothing more would be said until his work was done. Benjen walked near one of the windows and sat down on a stool, gazing at the outside world with a thoughtless expression.
Many thoughts could have occurred to him in the time that passed which might have been of help, yet, as he paid little mind to the fragments which filled his head, half-whispered things, Benjen gained nothing by them. Instead he reached a state in which sleep seemed to him the best ally he could hope for. Closing his eyes and placing his head on one arm, he was just about to succumb to the sweet temptation when the good maester shook him by the shoulder.
"Benjen, it is not yet time to sleep. Awake, child," the man instructed with a strong, commanding voice.
"I can truly say I do not appreciate this," Benjen muttered. Yet he was also quite curious to find out what the maester had called him for. Still, if the news could be had in a more palatable place, he would be very pleased indeed. "May we at least move from this chamber?"
"Certainly," Luwin replied. He walked towards Lord Stark and made him drink a strange looking liquid. "It shall help with the pain," he promised.
His father, apparently trusting the man not to bring him harm, took the draught to the very last drop. Turning towards the son, the scholar placed the wooden cup on an unoccupied stool. "It is a concoction of mine. It shall ensure that he has an easy sleep for a few hours at least."
"A rather long time," Benjen could not help but observe.
"But enough so we may do what is required of us," the wise one offered by way of explanation. "A raven has arrived from King's Landing. The presence of your sister is required at court."
Utterly befuddled, Benjen scrunched his face in consternation. "What do you mean, maester?"
Maester Luwin sighed. "My lord has been struck by one of his moods once more and refused to allow Lady Lyanna to see the true message. Instead, I read to her one of the older letters, hoping to buy some time so arrangements could be made."
"Of course." Benjen did not know if he ought to be surprised at all. He had heard it said that their father claimed he would rather strangle his daughter with his own hands than allow her greatness when having imbibed. Given, however, that too much drink usually left him too sick to move, not much credence had been given to such claims. Besides which, Benjen would have though their father could not wait for Lyanna to leave. "Mean you that he truly wished to impede her departure?"
"Aye, 'twas his goal, I should think," the maester admitted. "But his mind had been darkened by spirits and he knows not what he is going."
"How exactly are we to solve this issue?" Benjen asked.
Given that Brandon was more absent than present and that Ned's sole mission seemed to be guarding their sister, Benjen had often been the one to whom the maester spoke of his schemes of bettering Winterfell. Even before all his siblings had gathered within the home of House Stark. For the most part they were brilliant plans and merited attention. Which Benjen did give to them, and from time to time even Lyanna had been known to comment upon them when Benjen shared with her such information.
"We must make sure that Lady Lyanna had safely started her journey and we had best be swift about it. She must be gone before the lord wakes. After that we shall see about convincing the man that he himself ordered that she be seen off." It made sense. When in his good mind, Lord Stark was very much eager to have Lyanna away from Winterfell.
If anyone had waited for her to flower with more pathos than Lyanna, then that person had been Rickard Stark. He claimed she looked too much like her mother, she wounded his heart with her very presence.
Unsurprisingly enough, Lyanna was already in the courtyard, holding Nan's hand in hers. The old woman was crying and his sister spoke to her words of comfort. "I am so very grateful for the kindness you have shown me. I shan't forget you, Nan, I swear."
Tearful farewells being the province of women, Benjen kept away until his sister had dried her eyes and was in possession of all her wits before approaching her. "Lyanna, sneaking away like a thief in the night, I see," he jested, wrapping his arms around her.
"Is it night?" she questioned, her tone light. Her own arms held onto him. "I wish you would come with me, brother."
"I confess I would enjoy that too, yet if I leave the walls of Winterfell will fall to the ground in a heap of useless blocks of stone." There was an old saying that a Stark must always remain within the walls of the keep. And sine their father had proved rather useless in running everything and Brandon was out carousing and Ned was, of course, joining Lyanna, Benjen had to stay behind.
There would come a day when he would see her again, of course. He helped her onto a horse and addressed Ned, "Take care of her, else I'll let Brandon know it was you who stole away all the lemon cakes that one time."
"It was Lyanna," Ned snorted.
"I didn't," their sister disagreed.