A/N: I've played rather fast and loose with people's ages, in case that wasn't clear. Oberyn is a year older than Ash, and Elia was two.

She found Oberyn near the stern of their ship, arms braced against the taffrail. The setting sun shone blood-red behind the city, and as she neared she could feel the restless danger rolling off him.

"What did you use?" she asked. He did not turn around, instead waiting for her to join him in looking out over the bay.

"From Valyrian it translates as 'key of the tongue.' Once it is in the blood, one's pain only escalates, and there is no stopping it, save death. They say any man can be made to talk given enough time with the brew."

Ashara felt her stomach turn. Oberyn turned to her, his eyes burning.

"You do not approve."

"'Tis not for me to approve or not."

A silence.

"It should have horrified me," she said. "Instead I am only horrified at myself. Even as all the blood made me ill I did not wish to turn away. And I wanted to hear him scream."

"Yes," sighed Oberyn, "that was a sweet sound, was it not? Do you think Elia heard it from beyond the grave?"

"I hope not. She would disapprove, even for the murderer of her child. We both know that much."

Oberyn massaged his temple.

"My kind sister. Not a cruel bone in her body and a heart as soft and sweet as jam. If there really are gods up there, how could they let this happen to her?"

"You think the Father is truly just and the Mother merciful? Whoever is up there, it seems they enjoy watching our pathetic writhing."

He laughed—a humourless, brittle sound.

"How fares our gallant Lord Manwoody?"

"My Rhoynish healer has wrapped his hand and applied salve. 'Tis naught but bruised knuckles."

"Good, though I was most tempted not to pull him off."

Following the death of Armory Lorch, as their party was taking its stiff leave of King Robert, Lord Manwoody had taken advantage of his proximity to plant his fist into Tywin Lannister's jaw. The old lion had tried to dodge at the last moment, and the blow was only glancing, but he would surely wear a mark for many days to come.

"What will you do now?" asked Ashara.

Oberyn shook his head.

"Nothing has changed. Not as yet."

In Sunspear, they had all suspected Lord Tywin's involvement, and the suspicion was likely the same among the other lords of the realm. As Paten had said in the arena, it was near unthinkable for a mere knight to commit such murders of his own accord.

Yet still they had no proof save the words of one man alone. A murderer of children. Who could say he did not accuse Lord Tywin out of spite? Tywin himself would take that stance until the day he died, no doubt. The thought made her want to cast her dinner into the sea.

"Will you use the same method to extract Clegane's confession tomorrow?"

"Yes," said Oberyn, facing out to the bay, "though I will have to thicken the poison. Clegane must have the blood of giants." His nails ground into the wood of the taffrail, leaving jagged dents, and Ashara fought in vain to expel from her mind imaginings of Elia's last moments.

"You do not think Lannister will have caught on to your scheme? Lorch's reaction at the end was unnatural, to say the least."

"If he was sure of foul play he would have confronted me, surely. No one would accuse Paten Dalt of poison, with his pristine reputation, and once I have my confession and revenge tomorrow, it won't matter what people say of me. And besides." He turned to her. "Did your future husband suspect poison today?"

She had managed a few whispered words with Ned after the trial.

"No, not a thing, but Ned rarely has such underhanded possibilities at the fore of his mind." She pressed her lips together.

"I shall have to tell him when it is over tomorrow. I would have liked to tell him today." She hoped he would not be overly repulsed by her part in this bloody business.

Oberyn gave her an almost amused look.

"As I say, it won't matter what people think after tomorrow. I would not mind you telling your lover tonight if it will ease your conscience."

Ashara felt the tips of her ears heat.

"How could you possibly know I was planning to meet him?"

"Lucky guess? You kept gawking at him."

She cleared her throat.

"Tell him what you like, Ash. I doubt he will try to stop me, especially if you wish him not to. I will tell you though, that you are wrong if you think it will be over tomorrow."

Icy claws crept up Ashara's back. Her plotting with Ned had never been to bring down Tywin Lannister. She was just one person without an army behind her, and war itself was never good or just.

If Oberyn and Doran wished to plan anything more, she would rather not know. She thought Elia would be satisfied with these two deaths, but Oberyn and Doran were her brothers, and she had no say in the actions of her liege.

"I only hope you remember your promise to your brother for this trip," Ashara said slowly. "That you will act as he would. Justice must be had, but please, do not—"

"Do not be rash, do not be aggressive, do not be myself. Yes yes," said Oberyn, waving his hand. "I do remember, and I did swear to him."

"And yet you and Paten are still descending upon King's Landing tonight with your men?" She had heard sailors and soldiers talk of visiting the underground fighting pits in Flea Bottom.

"Ah, I knew I was not the only observant one. Lord Manwoody will come as well. We are only going to release some of our anger before one of us accidentally murders Tywin Lannister and starts another war. Our men can't stay cooped on this ship forever. I've told them to leave their weapons on board."

"Oberyn…"

"I will keep the men in check as well as my anger, and act as Doran would. Don't worry yourself."

She hoped he meant it.

Oberyn heaved a sigh as if shifting the burden on his shoulders.

"The things we do for love, Ash, and the things that cease to matter. Truth, and self. Loyalty. And honour."

Ashara glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "When have either of us cared one whit about honour?"

"Not you or me. Paten Dalt. I had not thought to use this poison until he asked me in Sunspear, and you should have seen the malicious glint in his eye this morning."

"Paten Dalt? But he is so..."

"Kind? Honourable? Mild-tempered?"

"From what I have seen, yes. What are you saying?"

"It seems Elia had more admirers than we knew."

Ashara frowned at him.

"You don't mean that he was..."

"In love with her? That is precisely what I mean. And yes, when it dawned on me I did feel the way your face looks at present."

"Gods, but we've known him for years. None of us suspected a thing."

Oberyn raised a dark brow.

"You don't think Elia knew? She could sense all when it came to matters of the heart."

"Do you think they were ever together? I don't see how I could have missed the signs."

Oberyn shrugged.

"Does it matter? The man was willing to put aside all his principles to avenge her daughter. If not out of respect for my house I daresay he would gladly take on the Mountain as well. Who would have thought the Dalts have such hot blood beneath their balmy exterior?"

"Justice," Ashara corrected almost absently, feeling that his words unsettled her.

"What?"

She turned to him.

"You say he avenged Elia's daughter. But we are not here for revenge, Oberyn. We are here for justice. That's what I wanted when I drew this plan, and that is what Elia would have asked for."

"Justice. Vengeance. They are two sides of one coin. Justice is only vengeance dressed in the white cloak of the righteous. And if we cannot have this lofty thing they call justice, vengeance tastes just as sweet."

O~O~O~O~O

The moon shone as bright as day through the diamond windows in the Red Keep, casting pools of white light on the marble floor as Ashara made her way to the royal sept.

It had been easy enough to convince the sentries outside the castle gates to let her into the keep. All knew by now that Lord Stark's future wife was a Dornishwoman with dark hair and purple eyes, and when she said she wished to pray, no one had questioned her motives, especially as she left her guards at the gatehouse and asked the Baratheon men to provide them something to drink.

Now she walked the empty, familiar halls alone, lantern in hand, trying to speed her footsteps. A draft wound through the empty hall and Ashara pulled her wrappings tight around her shoulders, trying not to think about just how much colder she was going to be for the rest of her life.

It would be worth it, now and later. If it meant she could wake to see Ned Stark's face every morning, she could brave the icy winds and snow.

She had arranged to meet Ned in the Godswood, but it could not hurt to light some candles in the sept along the way. Just because the years had embittered her to the gods did not mean she wished to court their wrath through neglect.

Nearing the arched doorway, she slipped inside the dim sept, then had to bite hard on her tongue to stop herself yelping in surprise. Only one of the wall sconces were lit, beside the statue of the Warrior, and on the steps beneath it sprawled Robert Baratheon, three wine pitchers and empty goblets scattered around him.

Very slowly, Ashara backed towards the doorway, but her shoe caught on a ledge she had not known was there, and the heel made a clank on the stone.

"Who's there?"

Ashara cursed herself silently before emerging from the shadows.

"My apologies for disturbing you, You Grace."

"Ah, Lady Ashara Dayne!" His voice was slightly slurred and almost melodic from the wine, and so loud that it echoed and bounced about the walls. "You didn't disturb me! Not like I own the place."

Ashara wanted to remind him that he did, in fact, own the place, but held her tongue.

"I was just heading to the godswood, and thought to light a candle is all," she explained, eager to be on her way. "I shall just—"

"Nonsense! Come in, come in! Come to demand answers from the gods as well? Not sure how much luck you'll have. I've been sitting here for hours and none of them have said a damn thing."

For a moment she hesitated still, but then sighed and walked towards King Robert. As she drew near, the pungent tang of wine cut through the soft incense, and she noticed that Robert's face was blotchy, and his eyes bloodshot.

"No, Your Grace. I have stopped expecting answers long ago. I only came in hopes that they might be kinder to me in future than they have been in the past."

Briskly, she lit a taper from the wall sconce, and lit the candle on the marble altar before each statue, giving each a bow.

"Hah! Maybe they were too good to me in the past. Now they're punishing me. Wine?" He found an empty goblet on the tray behind him.

"No, thank you."

"More for me. Sit!" He gestured to the step beside him, and Ashara complied. Robert frowned, patting the stone around him, and Ashara located a pitcher that was not yet empty to fill his goblet.

"I thank you," he mumbled, downing half of it. Then he peered at her over the brim, his eyes narrowed in thought.

"Your…brother."

"Which one, Your Grace?"

"The dead one."

She felt herself flinch, though she tried not to, and Robert frowned again.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be crass."

"It's alright. He is dead."

Robert waved his goblet in an elaborate gesture of a toast above his head.

"Ser Arthur Dayne," he said, drawing out the vowels. "Ser Arthur Dayne."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Damn it, would you stop with the 'Your Gracing'? Bloody grating on the ears."

"I've never addressed a king as anything else."

His lip curled in disgust.

"Just…don't address me at all then."

She arched an eyebrow, but at least this king was showing no signs of threatening to tie her hair into a wick and burn her like a candle.

"Very well, then."

Robert nodded, satisfied, and finished his goblet of wine.

"Arthur Dayne. Ser Arthur Dayne," he repeated under his breath. "Ned told me he killed him. Or…no, I suppose that short bannerman of his dealt the fatal blow, and Ned had to end it."

Oh, but why did Robert Baratheon's words cut deeper than Aerys' ever had?

"That is what he told me as well."

"He was guarding Lyanna. And Ned killed him."

Robert seemed to speak to a far wall, but Ashara kept her eyes fixed on his face. He did not seem angry, more dazed.

"Arthur swore a vow," Ashara said carefully. "He swore to obey—"

Robert swatted an impatient hand, cutting her off.

"Yes, yes, I know. Doing his duty, and all that, I don't blame him. Just a bleeding shame, your brother. Best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Gods, when I asked him for a spar at Harrenhal, he took me down in five moves flat."

Ashara hid her surprise, not at her brother's skill, but that Robert would so willingly admit to defeat.

She was silent for a long time while Robert seemed to relish in the memory. Finally, she said,

"He truly was the best swordsman of his time, and I do not say so merely because he was my brother."

"When we were boys, Ned and I both wanted to be Daynes, you know? Secretly, of course, but…gods, every boy in the kingdom must have wanted to wield Dawn and fight like Arthur Dayne."

Ashara opened her mouth, then closed it again, and decided that, yes, she did want some wine after all.

"Perhaps," she said after downing half a goblet and feeling it slosh into her stomach, "but you do not know what he had to give up for such an honour." And what it took from all of us.

Robert seemed confused at her words, then let them go with a shake of his head. He was squinting at her again, and she stared right back, eyebrows slightly raised.

Finally, he sighed and looked to the ceiling.

"Ned really is a lucky bastard, isn't he?"

Ashara frowned and gave him an incredulous look.

"He has lost his father, his brother and his sister in less than two years. He has had to lead a kingdom with no preparation to do so, and has lost his new wife besides. I should think 'lucky' is the last word one would use for Ned Stark."

Robert looked shocked for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed, but Ashara could hear the hollow brittleness of it echoing from the domed ceiling.

"Gods have mercy, Ned never stood a chance! He'll lose every quarrel you have once you wed."

Now her eyebrows were climbing to her hair.

"And this does not concern you? Aren't your wives supposed to be meek and obedient up north?"

"Hah! I don't know what wives are supposed to be like, but why'd I want a wife like that?" Something seemed to dim in his eyes then.

"Lyanna wasn't like that," he said, suddenly quiet. "She wasn't like that at all, and all I wanted was to have her as mine." She thought of Lyanna seven moons gone with child, racing down the stairs so she would not miss Ashara before she left. Ashara swallowed, her throat tight.

"I am very sorry. For you, and for N—Lord Stark," she said, not knowing what else to say.

"I came here because I wanted some fucking answers! Damnit to seven hells, why did they take her from me? Why?! Jon has his chance at an heir and Ned gets to marry the woman he loves, but what about me? All I get is that fucking chair, and it isn't even comfortable to sit in!"

No matter his delusions and his callous words, she did not like to see this man suffer so. He was like a lost, abandoned little boy, and his eyes were glassy with pain.

"It will not hurt so, after a while," she said quietly. "I think I was where you are but days ago."

He turned and squinted at her.

"For your brother?"

"Among others." For the child she held only once. For the sister she had chosen. For the half of her soul she thought was lost forever.

"You seem alright now."

"As I say, it will not hurt so after a while." She tilted her head to study him, wondering if she spoke too much, but the man was thoroughly drunk, and would like as not forget this whole encounter.

"We have a tower at Starfall. It is called the Palestone Sword, and rises five hundred feet above where the Torentine meets the sea."

An absent grunt.

"For a great many days I wanted to jump out the tower room."

A silence, then Robert snapped his head to her, eyes bulging.

"Good gods, woman! Are you mad?"

"You are right, of course. I was half mad."

Robert was shaking his head, making a tutting sound.

"Well, good thing for Ned you didn't. Damn, but your life needs not end when someone else's does."

"You are right," she said again. "I no longer wished to jump out of towers."

"What changed your mind?" He asked curiously.

Ashara paused for only a moment.

"A lemon garden."

"Huh?"

"A lemon garden, and the new life I saw there. I am barely one and twenty. I did not wish to be dust and bones."

"Huh." He seemed to be considering her words, or perhaps he had not heard them at all.

"Lemons don't grow in this shithole of a city," he finally said.

Ashara let the echoes of his voice die before filling his goblet once more.

"Perhaps you should keep drinking, then," she said. "If you're drunk all the time, the throne won't be nearly as uncomfortable."

He laughed again, the sound thick and clogged.

"Ah, Lyanna would have liked you, I think."

The knot in her throat tightened until she ached. You'll stay to see me through this, won't you? And then you can take me riding through the mountains. Ashara filled her own goblet.

"I have met her. I liked her very much."

"Oh, at Harrenhal, yes." She nodded.

He glanced sideways at her.

"And Ned? Did you like him, too?"

She gave him a small smile.

"Yes, I daresay I did. Like him."

Robert nodded, satisfied and looking pleased.

"Good. That's good." He heaved a great sigh and wiped his face with his hand. "At least one of us won't be miserable. Be good to him, would you? I know he's got a face like a tombstone, but he's not frozen all the way through. He's more a brother to me than my own brothers have been."

Robert's words were slurring together until his voice slipped forth in one long stream, but when he looked at her, his eyes seemed startlingly clear.

Ashara studied him for a long moment, her heart tender in her chest.

"I will be the best wife I can be. You need not worry for your friend. I just hope you will not always be so miserable, Robert."

He raised his glass to her wordlessly, and they both downed their wine.

O~O~O~O~O

"You truly are not angry about the poison? I do not wish you to think I deceived you into facilitating something you find reprehensible. It was never my intention."

Ashara was tucked into the crook of Ned's arm in a little clearing in the godswood, his heavy cloak and furs wrapped around them, though he was furnace all on his own. Perhaps the North would not be so cold after all.

"I know," he said into her hair. "I am not angry."

She had told him of the poison Oberyn had applied to Paten Dalt's spear, and how she had realised the truth of it when Lorch began howling from his seemingly shallow wounds.

"I do not like it," he continued, "but it extracted Tywin Lannister's name, and that counts for something."

Ashara nodded.

"Yes, it would seem that was the plan. To implicate Tywin Lannister. They will do the same tomorrow." She pushed herself up onto an elbow to look at him.

"Please don't try to stop Oberyn. He is just as stubborn as you are, and he will not back down. There is blood in his eyes. I could see it."

Ned took a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I must confess, Ash, that I did not find the whole affair this morning entirely objectionable. It shames me to say so, but the image of the little princess was constantly in my mind. Armory Lorch…was not wronged today."

Her heart seemed to skip, but she should not have been shocked. He was no rigid man of stone. There was a beating heart and hot blood beneath his stony mask.

"It should not shame you unless the terrifying satisfaction I felt should shame me also."

He looked at her then, his hand reaching to touch along her cheekbone.

"No. I won't try to stop Prince Oberyn."

"Good. Thank you."

He shook away her thanks.

"What does Prince Oberyn plan to do about Tywin Lannister?"

"He has not told me. I have not asked. If I am honest, I am too scared to know."

O~O~O~O~O

Much later, Ashara dozed in his arms as Ned studied the lights and shadows of her face in the moonlight. Her straight nose; her gull-wing brows; the little dimple on her chin. Tiny freckles had appeared along her cheek since he had last looked so close at her skin, and her face seemed fuller now, and less strained.

Good, he thought, his hand sliding absently down her shoulder and arm. Too much grief could waste away a body, and he hoped she was over the worst of it.

Grief. He could no longer describe the feeling, for it had been his constant companion, and grown into his bones like the roots of a weirwood.

And what good did it do him to peek beneath the bandages with which he had hastily covered his wounds? His father roasting like a pig on a spit in his armour. Brandon's face turned purple, then black as he choked. Lady Catelyn slipping into the fire of fever. Lyanna pleading with him as her blood drained sticky over her legs. The scenes would haunt him every night if he allowed them.

And his daughter. Oh, gods, what had he done? He had given Ash a child, a bastard in truth, and he had not even known the babe existed until she was no more. Was he no better than Robert in that? So careless with the life he created? Or should he hope for such carelessness, for that carved stone with the cheerful mushroom ring had torn a chunk out of his flesh.

That was his first child, he realised with horror. The first child he made, and with the woman who was his very heart. He had asked her to describe what their daughter looked like, but her face had turned white as bone, and he had withdrawn.

"Would you have told me?" he'd asked her some time after. "If...if anything had been different, would you have told me of her?"

"No." She met his gaze almost defiantly, and her voice was sure. "If you were still married, or if I had not intended to forgive you, I would not have told you. I would not have forced you to bear this pain now, but if I am to share my life with you, I cannot lie to you."

He had felt anger flare, flames licking inside his skull.

"Ashara! I had a right to know!"

"I know. Even I do not have it in me to be always fair, Ned. I would not have told you and I am not sorry for it."

She was expecting him to lash out at her, to yell or storm or simply to leave. He could do none of it, for the anger in him was all for himself. He had done this to her—made her weather such a nightmare alone—and forced her to toughen her skin so she would not shred into pieces.

He had only cursed, cracked his cup in his fist, and buried his head in his hands.

Now his hand wandered down her side and over her belly, finding on the skin there four or five soft lines that he could trace with his finger. The babe must have grown enough that her belly had swelled, then—and he could not help imaging Jon's little hands and feet, but even smaller, even whiter and softer, and Ned struggled to breath.

Would they have more children together? Would they live? Could she even bring herself to carry another child of his? She had said...but she had been clawing herself out of her despair then, and perhaps she would decide she could not bear it after all.

And Ned did not know what he wanted. In some of his guilty, wondrous dreams during the war, he had seen Ash standing in the inner bailey at Winterfell, their purple-eyed daughters chasing each other around her feet while their sons sparred with wooden swords.

Yet, if he had to learn of his child growing in her, only to see her miscarry yet again, he would rip in two like parchment, and be thrown on the flames.

Ned must have drifted off to sleep then, for when he next came to, Ashara stood dressing in the clearing, her naked back glowing like marble. Ned could not tear his eyes away, his thoughts of death and grief flown far away.

"Must you go? I doubt Prince Oberyn would notice you were gone all night if he really is in some den in Flea Bottom."

She smiled over her shoulder at him, making his blood heat.

"My guards will start to worry the king has kidnapped me."

Ned sighed and stood to pull on his trousers. They would have the rest of their lives soon, he reminded himself, though this coming night without her stretched before him, dark and long.

Ashara was tugging on her sleeves now, and for a moment she paused, her shoulders stiffening as if surprised. It was gone before he could ask what was wrong, and she turned and walked to him.

"I'll make it up to you when we can stay in bed all night and all day," she half whispered, and pressed her body into his, her nose inches from his. He stifled the groan in his throat.

"Careful, now. Keep this up and I cannot be responsible for what happens next."

"Oh? Now I am curious, my lord. What would happen next?"

"Hmm." He leaned in to claim her velvet mouth, but a sudden rustle of the trees sounded to his left. Both froze. Neither moved to let go. The trees rustled again. The weight was not that of an animal.

Ashara softened in his arms first, her hand reaching for the back of his neck while she tilted her head as if to kiss his right cheek.

"Can you see them in the trees?" she whispered into his ear.

"No," he breathed back, pausing to listen. "No, but I can hear their breathing now. There are at least three."

An icy claw seized his heart and dragged it up into his throat. Three men of unknown origin. Surely armed. Ice was two paces away under the tree behind him, alongside his shirt, and there would be no real place to hide Ashara. Summoning all his will to push away the panic and fear, he forced his mind to think. You've survived a war, Ned Stark. You can find a way out of this.

He could push her into the shrub on his left, and so long as the only men were in the tree on his right, his back could shield her from attack while he reached for Ice. But if they were after her life as well, surely one would dodge around him...

Ashara's hand was still on his neck, and it seemed the men had not yet chosen to strike. Slowly, she turned them so he was facing the tree where Ice lay, caressing and kissing his skin the entire time. He tried to keep the frown of confusion from his face, understanding that they must pretend they heard nothing.

"What—"

"When I say so, go to your sword at once," she whispered. "Trust me. You needn't fear for me." His mind spun, and he barely heard her.

"Ash—"

But she was already pulling out of his arms, laughter like bells escaping her lips.

"Go put your shirt on," she said, her voice crisp in the night, "or we shall never leave here tonight."

She stepped left, somewhere beyond his reach, her eyes darting to the men in the tree. As he lunged impulsively after her, he heard the sound of a blade cutting through the air and the trees groaning and creaking with sudden movement. Thuds on the ground. Voices.

Driven by instinct alone, he stumbled to his sword, unsheathing Ice, then turned about wildly as he took in the men who had dropped to the ground. There were three figures, clad in black with cloth tied over their faces.

They, too, seemed to be searching the woods, their arming swords primed and facing him.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you men?" Still his eyes searched the darkness. Where had Ashara gone?

One of them sneered, his teeth glistening in the moonlight.

"Lord Stark." He gave a mock bow, then charged without another word.

Ned blocked his blow and aimed for his unprotected chest, though he could not bring himself to focus on his opponent. The two others were moving slowly around the little clearing, and as he swung his own sword at the man's neck, he heard one of them ask "where the bloody woman could have slipped off to."

His blood was suddenly ice, but his arms were at once light as air. With a cry, he brought Ice up into the flank of his opponent quicker than he'd ever swung his greatsword, and the catspaw let out a raw cry. Ned barely felt the resistance of his muscle and bones as he shoved the man from his blade with his foot, turning around and stalking after the other men. They had both turned at the sound of their companion dying, and shared a nod before rushing at Ned as one.

Terribly, in his mind flashed the unrelenting Dornish sun, under which he and Willam Dustin charged together at Ser Arthur Dayne. But Ned was no brilliant swordsman. With each swing, he did his best to push his opponents back, as their swords were shorter than Ice. The men did not seem to have received formal training, but their erratic slashing and thrusting were just as deadly as a knight's disciplined swings.

Soon all Ned's attention was taken by dodging their blades, though in the back of his mind was the constant prayer that Ashara had hidden herself somewhere, and that there were no more men about. He heard no sounds of struggle, and surely that was a hopeful sign.

Too many times, his opponents' blades came dangerously close to his limbs, but Ned felt no pain. Blood thundered in his ears, and he managed cuts into both men, though none that were deep enough to fell either.

Finally, he spotted an opening as one man stepped to the side, and Ned managed to drive the point of Ice deep into his chest. At once, his blade caught on the ribs, and as he tried to stand his ground and pull his sword back, the other man charged with his own sword aimed at Ned's neck.

His blade still stuck, Ned braced himself for a last-moment dodge, knowing this attack would likely draw blood, but before the man came close, he seemed to stop as if struck by lightning, then crumpled like a puppet.

Ned's mind stopped for a moment. Who...but he felt himself falling down with the body of the man he had killed, his hands still stiff around Ice, and he summoned a last burst of energy to yank his blade out of the body.

"Ashara?" When he finally found his tongue, he called out her name, even as he's legs led him to the felled man. The catspaw had a very thin blade handle sticking from the base of his skull.

"Ned."

His head snapped up at once, for Ashara's voice was raw and hoarse. She was standing some feet away, her face so white it near glowed in the moonlight. Her eyes were wild and shiny, and her chest heaved with irregular breaths.

She took one trembling step towards him, then two, and Ned leapt over to catch her before she could fall to the moss-covered ground.

"Shh, it's alright. You're alright, you're safe."

She was shaking violently, and Ned clutched her tight to him, hand in her hair, even as his body remained alert, scanning the trees behind her for whence the blade had come.

"You needn't keep looking," she whispered when she had calmed.

"What?"

"You needn't be so tense. I threw the knife."

It took a heartbeat for her words to make sense.

He gently gripped her by the shoulders so he could look at her.

"What did you say?"

"The knife. I threw it." One of her hands dug into her sleeve, and she pulled out a thin blade the span of her hand.

"You...you..."

"Is it so surprising? At Sunspear, they taught all who would learn how to defend ourselves."

She pulled him towards her again, resting her cheek against his chest.

"There were four men in the tree," she said, her voice small. "When I pulled away from you, I threw a knife into one of their throats. And this one...I would have taken him sooner, but you were all jumbled together, and I could not see the backs of either of their heads."

She had killed two men? With throwing knives? Ashara? He looked to where she had indicated, and beneath a half-crumpled shrub sprawled a fourth man with a knife in his throat.

"I...I did not know you could do that."

"You never asked."

Silence, then they were both laughing, half mad with belated terror and their limbs weak with relief. They collapsed together to the ground, both wheezing, and some time later Ashara was sobbing into his bare chest, her tears soothing on his burning skin.

"I hope we never—come back—to this—damn—city," she said between hiccups as her hand gripped his shoulder. "Every—time I'm here, I've—had to—to kill men."

She has had to kill men? Before, in King's Landing? What in gods' name had happened to her, and how could he be so negligent as not to know a thing?

Before he could ask her meaning, she stiffened, then drew back, her swollen eyes widening.

"Ned! You're bleeding."

Her hand came away from his upper arm dark with blood, and for a moment they simply stared at it.

"I wasn't injured," said Ned, dazed, but even as he spoke his arms and left shoulder roared to life with fiery pain.

"Gods—both your arms—"

Her voice stopped in her throat, for the castle beyond the godswood seemed suddenly to explode with the clamour of chaos. Their eyes met, horror and alarm blending between them, and at once both were in their feet.

"There must be a coordinated attack of some sort," Ned said, his chest clenching again. "Something of large scale, and we were only an afterthought."

"No matter. We must go find out what is happening." Her voice was slowing smoothing back to normal, but he nonetheless heard the tension.

For a trice, he wanted to insist he take her somewhere out of the castle, or to lock her safely behind some door, but then he glimpsed the knife in her hand. Ned thought of the man dropping like a puppet, thought of the silent manner in which the two men met their deaths, and decided he would not insult her so. It would seem his Ash was no shrinking maiden, but really, it should not have surprised him.

Ashara scrambled to Ned's shirt first, and cut strips out of the bottom with her knife before tying them around the cuts on Ned's arms. The pressure stung too, but the pain held him to reality, and he was glad for it.

"I cannot do anything for you shoulder," she frowned, helping him into what remained of his shirt. "Just remember there is a rather long gash there, and be careful. It did not look deep."

He nodded, they gathered his cloaks and furs, and Ashara helped Ned strap Ice around his waist. Ned asked then if she wished to retrieve her knives as well, but she had frozen like a rabbit sighting a hawk, and he had been the one to pull the blades from two men and wipe them clean on their black shirts.

"Who sent them, do you think?" Ashara asked as she took back the blades with unsteady hands and somehow made them disappear up her layered sleeves.

Ned shook his head. "It's too dark to see much even if we search them for identifiers," he said. The sporadic sounds of men's shouts and blades scraping blades seemed to echo from the keep proper, and they frowned at one another. "We must leave them here and hope whoever sent them will not have the chance to remove their bodies." The wall was high, and here around the godswood, all seemed quiet.

"Alright. Well, I am rather impatient for answers. She finished tucking away her last knife, smoothed her robes about her arms in the perfect image of womanly grace, and made to lead the way back to the castle.

"Wait!"

She turned, and he caught her arm to draw her close.

"Let me kiss you first."

Her eyes widened, but her arm slipped around his waist and parted her lips swollen from her crying, and Ned kissed her hard on the mouth, feeling his desire rise so sudden and sharp that it was near to pain.

When they pulled apart, both hard of breath, she gave him a bewildered little smile.

"When we return to Winterfell, I want to see just how good you are with those knives."

She seemed struck dumb, but then broke out into a smile like the rising sun, colour returning to her pale cheeks.

"It does not disturb you, then? What I can do…" The smile slipped, and her eyes darted to the bodies behind him. "What I have done?"

"Disturb me?" He cupped her cheek with one hand and waited until her eyes were on him once more. "You likely saved both our lives tonight. If you heat my blood any more, I fear I shall burst into flame where I stand."

A/N: So lucky to have Captain Fuckew McHugerage helping me come up with exciting storylines and Cmedina1 helping me make my writing literate :)