Sunspear
Some Days Later
"Oberyn!"
As the dinghy pulled into the Sunspear port, Ashara easily spotted the yellow-clad man standing at the forefront of the party come to meet them. His hand was raised in greeting, and as soon as the boat was steady he pulled Ashara up onto the worn dock and into an embrace so tight it squeezed the air from her lungs.
"Oh, Ash," he said, pulled back to look at her before kissing both her cheeks and her forehead. "The sight of you is like water to a lost desert wanderer."
"Ever the poet," murmured Ashara, half distracted, her focus on taking in his beloved, familiar face. It had been a mere two years since they parted at Harrenhal, but he seemed to have aged ten. There was strain pulling at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his features were sharper than she'd ever seen them.
"You've gotten too thin," he frowned, studying her face in return. The frown hardened his face even more, making him appear more like an inured desert warrior than the carefree Oberyn she knew.
"And you look like you are thirty, Oberyn. Neither you nor I wear grief well."
The frown deepened, and he closed his eyes, his face etched with pain.
"No, I suppose not."
Immediately she regretted her words. It was unlike her to speak so thoughtlessly. Seeing Oberyn again had opened a sort of dam in her heart, and suddenly she was not strong enough to carry on facades and pleasantries. She just wanted to cling to him and cry and wail until her throat was hoarse.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
He smiled a bitter smile.
"Elia's death hangs in the air around me no matter if you bring it up or not. And you…" he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her face, his eyes softening. "I cannot imagine how you have been surviving."
For a moment, Ashara thought she might weep right then, on the dock and in front of all the servants and guards. He must have seen her lip tremble, for he gave her a familiar chuck under the chin.
"But come," he said, louder now, steering her toward land with an arm around her shoulder. "Let us not stand in the sun. We are all surprised to see you, and we are eager for your news."
O~O~O~O~O
She met Dev outside Prince Doran's solar, and her remaining brother silently enfolded her in his arms, holding her for a long while. She buried her face in his doublet that always smelled of medicinal herbs, and imagined she was a child again—a child who believed Dev could fix anything.
"Dawn is cleaned and returned to its place?" he asked under his breath.
"Yes."
"You've burned his scabbard?"
Ashara swallowed hard and nodded.
"And the stone carver?"
"I sent him to the Ling the morning I departed."
"Good. Good." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Come then, let us not keep the prince waiting. We are both eager to hear about Eddard Stark's visit, and why you've come here at all."
Inside the prince's solar, Ashara tried to hide her shock as she curtseyed to Doran. His face was too worn and hallow for a man barely past thirty, and already flashes of grey dotted his hair. Like Oberyn, he showed signs of strain at his eyes and mouth, and deep lines carved the space between his brows. He had never been handsome as Oberyn was, but now there was not even youth left in his features.
The prince had caught her flash of shock, as he caught everything else, and gave her a wry smile.
"At least I am still recognisable," he said, extending a hand to help her rise, though it was more gesture than fact. His grip was soft and loose.
"You have my deepest condolences, Lady Ashara. Ser Arthur was the finest knight I ever met, and all of Dorne took pride in his honour and deeds."
Ashara curtseyed again, feeling herself stiffen at his words, for all that they were kindly meant.
"Thank you, my lord. And you have mine. For Princess Elia. And her children." Her tongue felt stiff too, and words were difficult to force out.
"Come, sit my dear. You need not be so staid. None of us here are in doubt that you mourn them as Oberyn and I do."
She sank into one of the couches beside Dev, forcing her eyes off the floor to face the curious gazes of the three men who most shared her pains.
"Ned Stark has told me exactly how they killed Elia, and the princess, and the babe," she said, tucking her hands beneath her legs to stop them shaking.
"I want justice, as I'm sure we all do. Lord Stark is in King's Landing once more. I believe he can convince Robert Baratheon to deliver it without Dorne raising a single spear."
Three pairs of eyebrows shot up into dark arches, and absurdly, Ashara wanted to laugh.
"And why would he do such a thing?" asked Oberyn. "They were nothing to Stark."
"Because I am going to marry him."
O~O~O~O~O
She had taken Ned up to the tower before he left Starfall, and there Ashara had finally gathered the courage to ask if he had seen Elia's body. She had asked if he thought she had suffered. What a stupid, bitter question that had turned out to be.
He had wanted to lie. Like with Arthur, she could see his deliberation plain as ink on parchment, and reminded him as much.
And then she had regretted asking, though the regret lasted only for a flash. His words had rung like menacing bells in her head for days, and she had to remind herself that knowledge was always better than ignorance. They were a bloody mess on the floor. I could not bear more than a glance.
When the dizzying shock of the blow had subsided, the rage had set in, and Ashara had wanted to choke the life from each man responsible with her bare hands—wanted to squeeze until their faces turned black and their eyes popped from their sockets.
"Do you know…who…?"
Ned had shaken his head.
"All I know is that Tywin Lannister brought the bodies to the throne room. Said that his bannermen had taken it upon themselves to prove their loyalty to the new king this way. No doubt there are whispers in the camps now, or perhaps the Lannisters have made the names known, but I did not stay to find out."
Revenge. Desire for it had burned like ice on wet skin, and she had needed to brace herself against the roaring rage for long moments. She wanted to slaughter every single one of Tywin Lannister's family in retaliation. She wanted to cast her throwing blades into their eyes and nail their hands to the wall, then cut out their hearts and toss them into the sea. Make Tywin Lannister suffer for the acts of his men.
No. It was a voice cool and clear in the depths of her mind. No, Elia would not have wanted revenge. Elia would not have wanted innocents to suffer—or anyone to suffer, really—least of all for her sake.
"Would you help me?" she had asked Ned when her heart had settled back into place and the pain of breathing had eased. "Obtain justice for Elia?"
Elia would have asked for justice, nothing else.
"I know it is much to ask, and you have great distaste for such political manoeuvrings."
He had kissed the palm of her hand.
"I want to see justice done, as you do," he said. "Nothing could warrant such brutality, and I would sleep easier if we had fewer evil men among us."
"You will have to skirt around the truth with Lord Arryn, and maybe even lie to the king," she finally said, studying his face for any sign of distaste. "They are as close as your family, I know. If you cannot bring yourself to lie—"
"Tell me what I must say. I will do my best."
In that moment, she did not think anyone could love another as deeply as she loved Ned Stark.
O~O~O~O~O
King's Landing
"She is here?" Robert's voice was choked as he stared down at the chest Ned had set before him. "Her bones?"
Ashara had put Ned on a nondescript ship to Storm's End, and Howland and Jon on another, sparsely manned and bound directly for White Harbour. If the gods were good, amid the chaos of the dwindling war, no one would quite know about Jon's existence until he appeared at Winterfell, and the rumours would bear non real basis. She had thought of it all, and Ned wondered what he would have done had he and Howland been forced to trek back through the mountains—and how he would have explained the babe in King's Landing.
The castellan at Storm's End had put Ned on a fishing boat so he could make haste back to King's Landing. He had interrupted a meeting in the throne room, carrying Lyanna's bones in a box and beyond caring about anything.
Now he could only nod in response to Robert's question, the fresh wave of grief for Lyanna's passing knotting in his throat. Again he saw her face, white as snow, her eyelids struggling to stay open as she begged him for his word. He must not fail her.
"What took her? Did she suffer?"
"Fever," answered Ned, grateful he had rehearsed his words over and over on the ship from Starfall. "She was barely holding on when I got to her."
"Did she say anything? Did she…for me?"
Ned felt his arm reach out of its own accord and clap his friend around the shoulder. How he wished he had the talent for telling lies, not just for Lyanna's sake anymore, but for Robert, whose pain soaked through his words.
"No. I'm sorry Robert. She wished to go home, nothing more." Ned ground his teeth hard, hoping his voice had not changed at the lie, but he need not have worried. Robert seemed barely to hear him. When his friend turned, his face was so contorted he looked almost feral, his eyes rimmed bright red.
"Once was not enough. Would that I could kill the silver bastard again and again."
Ned stood very still, his face stony, careful not to betray any of what he knew. The lies and truths unsaid burned like wildfire in his gut, and for a moment he did not know how he could carry out the plan he had discussed with Ashara. How could he lie to Robert and Jon thus? Already it was agony, and he had not outright said a falsehood.
But then Lyanna's panicked eyes flashed before in his mind, tinged with smoke and roses and metallic blood, and it was followed by the princess and her children on the floor of this very room, the red of their blood cutting like knives into his vision.
These lies had to be told.
"The image of her was what kept me going all these months, Ned," said Robert, half collapsing onto the stone steps leading up to the throne. Ned thought that perhaps Robert himself believed the words, though Ned certainly knew better. Robert was made for war, made for battle and command and conquest. And there was, of course, Robert's own pride and rage.
All their months on campaign, he had not once wavered in his conviction that he would wed Lyanna when they rescued her from Rhaegar, and for that Ned had been grateful. Yet Ned knew Robert too well. The man had not fought this war for his sister, no matter what the bards would write.
"I wish things were different, so different." It was all he could manage to say.
That night, Robert met Ned in the king's solar, followed by a page carrying an entire casket of wine. And though he was careful to ensure he kept his wits, Ned had to concede that the drink dulled the constant ache he had grown so used to he sometimes forgot it was there.
Robert, with no concerns for his own wits, let the wine wash them out the tall windows. He toasted Ned's new son, toasted Catelyn, toasted Jon Arryn—"though damn the man for putting me on that bloody chair"— and ended the night sobbing onto Ned's shoulder about the life he had planned to live with Lyanna.
"I even told Stannis I'd name one of my sons after him, if he stopped walking about with a ship mast up his arse," Robert muttered, his words slurring.
"And what'd he say to that?" asked Ned, imagining young Stannis' stolid glower and resolutely ignoring his most recent meeting with Robert's brother, when his face had been sunken and yellowing from the hunger of the siege.
"Hah! The little shit said he'd prefer I didn't. Said he couldn't bear it if his namesake acted like me. Can you believe him?"
Ned let himself laugh. It was not hard to do with his vision blurring and a nice, wine-warm glow settling in his belly, and Robert's laughter had always made Ned want to join in.
Some time later, Robert, his eyelids drooping, had clapped Ned on the shoulder so hard that Ned, unprepared, nearly fell over.
"Maybe you were right. About the children. They were just babes. And the woman wasn't even a Targaryen. But what's done is done, Ned. I'm not shrewd like Jon but even I know I can't make an enemy of Tywin Lannister now. Jon keeps yapping on about the Dornish and their anger. If they refuse to bend the knee, we'll need Lannister men."
Ned clenched his teeth so he would not tell Robert that if Lannister men had not murdered an innocent woman, Dorne would not be so hostile.
Just the thought of Tywin Lannister's grimly satisfied face made him feel soiled somehow. Was that the man Jon and Robert must keep close now? Never had he been more glad that once this was all over he could return north and never have to contend with court politics again.
He doubted Robert would remember saying this the next morning. Still, his softening seemed to bode well for his and Ashara's plan to play out when next they were sober. But Ned did not want to dwell on the lies he would have to tell soon, and not just to Robert, but to Jon, whose eye was sharper than Robert's by bounds.
He filled both their glasses. Robert nodded approvingly, then held his cup high.
"Another toast then, to my Lyanna. We could have been brothers in truth, Ned, but you'll always be my brother anyway."
The man had been more than a brother to Ned since they were eight years old. Ned hoped that tomorrow, this would be enough.
O~O~O~O~O
The next day, Ned, despite his pounding headache, spent the morning questioning his soldiers to see if they had heard of Princess Elia's killers from the Lannister camp. He did not have to dig deep. The camps were rife with rumours, and he soon had the names of Armory Lorch and Gregor Clegane, the Mountain.
Late that afternoon, he requested an audience with Robert and Jon, and when both were seated and eying him curiously, Ned took a fortifying breath and launched into his practiced recitations.
"I believe there is a way to resolve our troubles with Dorne. Right away. Within a moon's turn. And Tywin Lannister will gladly play his part if only we offer him what he most desires."
When he had finished his explanations, Jon was nodding thoughtfully, though Robert was scowling.
"I believe it might just work," said Jon, tapping his bony fingers on his knee. "Doran Martell is not unreasonable, and Tywin Lannister should be too tempted to turn down the offer. If I read him true, his legacy means more to him than life itself."
"I don't see why we must play these trading games with Dorne," muttered Robert darkly. "It's clear they've lost. Doesn't matter how many men they've got. Are they about to fight the rest of the realm? I'll crush them if they dare."
Ned bit his tongue to keep his face skill, but it was Jon who spoke.
"The Targaryens could not conquer Dorne for centuries, Your Grace, and they had dragons. If we can solve this with little bloodshed, it is best for all."
Robert still looked mutinous. It was as Ashara had predicted then, and Ned thought she might frighten him if he did not know she her motives.
Grimly, he turned to Jon.
"Could I speak with Robert alone? Would you mind, Your Grace?" Jon gave him a curious look, but his shrewd eyes darted between his foster sons for a moment, and he nodded, wordlessly leaving the room.
Now Robert turned his scowl on Ned.
"Look, Ned, I know what you think about the way the Targaryens were killed, but what's done is done, and they had to die. I commended Tywin Lannister in front in that damn throne room. How would it look if I turned around and condemned them?"
Ned steeled himself for the lie.
"Robert," he began, meeting his friend's eyes full on. "I'm asking as a favour. For all our years together. Please."
Robert narrowed his eyes.
"What's gotten into you? You didn't even know the woman or the dragonspawn."
The word shot another pang deep in Ned's chest, but he stubbornly ignored it.
"No, I didn't know the princess. But do you recall a Lady Ashara Dayne at Harrenhal?"
A reluctant smirk.
"Of course I do! Rare beauty, that one. Your brother was trying to fix up a marriage for you, and you couldn't even ask her to dance!"
Ned did not know if he wanted his face to flush at the memory or not, but either way it was beyond his control. He had never told an outright lie to Robert, not once in their years of friendship. The reminder still gnawed, even as he realised it meant Robert would have no reason to doubt him.
"I still want to marry her, Robert. Truly. And now I can. But she was bosom friends with the princess, and she won't have me unless I can bring her killer to justice. So I'm asking, Robert. That you do this for my sake."
For a moment Robert stared at Ned as if he had sprouted three heads and a demon's tail. Then his laughter filled the solar, booming and hearty and full.
"Oh, seven bloody hells, Ned, I never thought I'd see the day! Hah! To think, Ned Stark, moon-arsed over some woman! Alright, alright, I'll do this for you, you stone-faced bastard! Tell Jon to summon the Dornishmen. We'll get you married yet!"
A/N:
Is "moon-arsed" actual nonsense that I made up on the spot? Yeah. Soz.
Guys, this is not going to be some brilliant plan, and I'm sure most of you have guessed exactly how it's going to play out. It honestly feels like the only logical thing Jon Arryn should/could have done given what everyone thought about Dorne's military might. How he managed to placate Oberyn in canon without conceding…ANYTHING is beyond me. Or maybe I'm missing something, in which case I'm sure someone will let me know. Another reason I need a beta. Please. Someone? Be my beta?
In terms of Ned being a liar liar pants on fire…Is it healthy to be willing to bend one's principles for someone you love? On the flip side, is it healthy to love someone because they're willing to set aside their honour and tell lies for you? To their best friend no less? Who knows, man? I'm not writing a morality tale here. It's what Ash asked Ned to do, he was willing to do it, and Ash being Ash thinks it's terribly romantic.
Besides, he is lying for a good cause. It isn't JUST because she asked him to. He would have done this in canon if someone had pointed the way to him, or so I'd like to think. But Ash loves that even more. Nothing like a man who's willing to put aside pride and honour for what's right, right? It'll be a long while and a few hard lessons before Ned really learns the ways of politics and self-preservation, but baby steps, guys, baby steps.