Rickard's eyes are a mixture of warmth and worry as he watches his daughter with her husband and King. His little she-wolf is a mother many times over, a woman as fine as can be. And yet he finds himself worrying over her. She has acquired grace and wisdom, passed tests unnumbered and perils of many kinds. But as any parent, Rickard looks at her and sees that little girl holding tightly to her brother's arm. Only now she holds onto her husband's arm and the man seems content to help hold her upright. Rickard is not fooled by her smiles, although they are lovely.
Lyanna Stark Targaryen is her father's daughter. She is the King's wife, Queen of the realm and mother of Princes, dragonlings. And her smile falters at times, her eyes glazing over. Rickard notices that his good-son strokes her hand comfortingly. There is a kind of understanding between husband and wife. Much like he and his Lady had had. There is strength in such bonds, beyond words. It might have been Aerys' madness that brought them together, but Rickard cannot help but admire Rhaegar Targaryen's actions when it comes to his wife. Other men might have not acted thus. But Rhaegar quite clearly loves Lyanna.
In time her wounds will heal, Rickard assures himself when he sees Lyanna laughing at something Rhaegar is saying. He prays for it to the old gods and the new. His daughter should not pay for something not her fault. In the next moment Rhaegar bring Lyanna's hand up and presses his lips to it. Rickard looks away. That is something between them and he will not bear witness to such intimacy, for the look in the King's eyes leaves little to doubt. "Ah, what it is to be young and in love."
"Lord Stark!" Mace Tyrell's voice breaks through the relative silence, making Rickard sigh. Lord Tyrell is not a bad man, merely a cumbersome fellow. "I've heard you turned down the position the King offered you on his Council."
"Aye," Rickard says calmly. "My place is in Winterfell. There are many other skilled men that His Grace might make use of. An old dog is not up to learning new tricks."
"Would the Queen not feel safer, having her honourable father here?" Mace asks, seemingly genuine, although his eyes glint with something that puts Rickard on edge. "Ah, well. Let's leave that. There is something else I would like to speak to you of."
"Do speak, then." Lord Stark makes for the gardens, Tyrell fast on his trail. He can already tell this will leave him with headache. But what can he do? Lord Tyrell had been of great help and no matter his opinion of the man, he owes Mace the life of his daughter and grandchildren.
"You've met my Willas, have you not?" Lord Tyrell has never been one for subtleties. Rickard nods, feeling apprehensive. "A good lad, that one. Anyway, your son, the heir of Winterfell must need a squire. My Willas is hard-working and skilled. Would you take him on?"
The Wolf relaxes at this. "Aye, I've seen the boy. Give him a year of two and he'll be a knight. But why would you have him fostered in the North? Why not somewhere closer to home?"
"I wish for him to learn from the best," Mace replies honestly enough. "I have long admired you, Lord Stark. You are a man after my own taste, and it would make me should my son heed your example." Spoken like a true father, Rickard thinks. The flattery is there, of course, but Mace Tyrell is genuine in this. Whatever other reasons he has, Rickard does not see the need to worry.
"I would not dream of denying you, Lord Tyrell." A small price, Rickard considers it to be. Even if Mace asked him to wed Robb to his daughter, both yet small, Rickard would not hesitate to give his word. "Brandon, Eddard, Benjen and I shall not he here much longer. Perhaps young Willas would like to come with us."
Mace Tyrell nods his head emphatically. He looks almost like he has won something important. Rickard dismisses the thought. A son squiring in Winterfell, that is not so much. That done he bids the Lord of Highgarden a good day and then goes on his way. There is much to be done and little time. No doubt Eddard would like nothing more than to haste back to Winterfell is the arms of his Tully wife. If there is anyone more obvious than the King and his Queen than it is Eddard with Catelyn. His second-born is clearly enthralled with his fiery wife. And Rickard must confess that Catelyn Tully was a surprise even for him. She adapts quite well that one.
Bradon has not been so lucky in affections. Barbrey does not yield him any children, nor does she seem to care much for him by the state his son is in. Alas the boy has made his choices and a parents can only do so much. Bradon has ever been of a mind that his judgement is impeccable and now that he has been brought down perhaps he will heed the words of his father and betters. It is by no means certain, yet Rickard does hope that his eldest will learn from his past mistakes, for his own good.
And Benjen is the only one of his sons left not to have formed some sort of bond with a young lady. Soon it will come his time to marry. Rickard supposes he ought to think on the matter, but he rather hopes Benjen will find his own way. How startling it is for a parent to finally acknowledge his children are all grown and have little need the guidance that might be offered to them any longer. Four children out of which only one more depends on his parents. Such is the way of the world they live in.
Back in his appointed chambers, Rickard pick up a quill and starts penning out letters to some of his bannermen. Now is the time for knots to be tied and bonds to be made. Their new world might crumble if not properly taken care of, and he will not be witness to that. Peace has finally been made with Robert's death, but some wound run deeper than that. There is Tywin Lannister to be dealt with, and Mace Tyrell should the man become overzealous. If only there were someone to be trusted with such things. Mayhap the King will name his Hand soon. It is a hard choice, but Rickard has little doubt that the King will make the appropriate appointments.
A wine cup sits on his desk. Rickard pick it up, "To the King and Queen, to the realm," he whispers.
A/N: This is the end! And before you decide to chase me through the wilderness, throw strings of curses my way and plan to poison me at my own wedding, I have to tell you that I do plan to write a sequel. :) I hope this makes it better.
