Harrenhal was a dark, ugly, twisted shadow with a stinking aura of death about it.
The great hulking castle had been on the horizon for days, without it seeming like they were getting any closer, though they had passed countless people flocking there for the tourney. Any locals they came across gave their party of mostly northerners either wary looks, or watched with wide-eyed fascination. It was rather satisfying, in a way, but disconcerting in others.
Rosennis Stark was unused to so many people. The North was vast, its population largely spread out, with huge swathes of untouched, empty wilderness. That suited her fine. The busier it got, the closer they grew to Harrenhal, the more on edge she became. Ross couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that hung over her, though perhaps that was just dislike for this place.
She had ridden with Brandon and Lya down from Winterfell, to join up with the party from the Eyrie, including Ned and Robert Baratheon. The young lord was certainly a... charismatic presence, she thought as the man made some bawdy jest, which made Brandon howl with laughter and Ned snort. Benjen was sniggering, unsure as to whether he should be laughing or not, and Lyanna was grinning, clearly amused, but there was a wariness in her eyes that had been there since they met the man she was to marry.
Lyanna did not quite know what to make of her betrothed; Ross did, but didn't want to voice her thoughts and put her off any more than she already was. Her sister seemed to like the man well enough when they were laughing with her brothers, telling funny stories, drinking or racing horses, however whenever Robert tried to do anything that dared venture even slightly into courtship - pay her a compliment or try to help her dismount her horse - she became rather clammed up, short and defensive.
The logical conclusion to be drawn from that, Ross thought, was not that Lyanna did not want to marry Robert, more that she did not want to marry anyone. She knew that already, of course. Ross was as different to her younger sister as ice was to fire, but though they often had their fights and rivalries, they had always been close. However much Lya was against this match, she would do her duty to the family, Ross knew her that much. Her sister might be wild, but she was not stupid, nor selfish, and most of all she was loyal.
Lyanna slowed her snow-white mare to ride beside Ross. People had asked why it was the younger Stark daughter betrothed to the powerful southron lord rather than the elder. They stopped asking when they saw the two side by side.
Though Lyanna was not typically pretty, she had a wild sort of beauty and was very bold, her fiery nature alluring to many. Ross had none of that. At newly five-and-ten, little less than a year older than her sister, she wasn't ugly but was no great beauty either, tall but thin as a beanpole, with a long face, sharp nose and little to no womanly curves. To describe her as charming would have been laughable. Prickly would have been a better suited word. Icy cold, another, all sharp edges and blunt cynicism, which was often a well-needed foil to her sister's follies.
However, just as Ross could temper some of Lyanna's wolfblooded notions, Lyanna always did bring out the reckless side of her. The two sisters exchanged a look.
"Race you to the edge of the trees," Lya nodded to some way ahead of them with a challenging grin.
Her sister's white mare, and Ross' own steel grey, had been a gift from the Ryswell's (looking to marry their daughter Barbrey to Brandon). Both horses were very well-bred, strong and hardy as befit a creature of the North, but also agile enough to pick up speed in the dense forests around Winterfell. These Riverlands woods would be child's play.
Ross smiled, nodding once before digging her heels sharply into her mare's sides. The powerful animal leapt forward as though stung, and she gently but firmly took it in hand to gain control, dodging between the other horses in their group, between Robert Baratheon's great chestnut courser and Ned's dark bay, to cries of surprise from the others. She heard Lyanna laugh loudly from behind her, but Ross' eyes were ahead, keen and sharp. The road narrowed and then they were in the trees.
She didn't know these woods. Any misstep - a trip on a log, misjudging a gap, not seeing a burrow - would bring them both down, break the horse's legs, break her own neck. For Lyanna, that was the thrill of it. For Ross, on the other hand, it wasn't even a concern. She knew the horse wouldn't fall for her, she had been an expert horsewoman at ten. Where other, better ladies were skilled at embroidery, stunningly beautiful or talented singers, riding was the one thing Ross could truly claim to be a master in.
But Lyanna was very nearly as good, and ten times as daring. Ross could hear her sister's catcalls and whoops behind her, could hear her horse's hooves pounding on the ground as they cleared a ditch, then a fallen tree, not bothering to find a way around, just leaping straight over. This was nothing compared to their rides in the Wolfswood, but it gave a similar rush, even without the smell of sentinel pine and the chill northern wind in her hair.
Up ahead was a stream, cutting out a gully about four feet across right in their path. They could have found somewhere to ford it, but... no. Ross fixed her eyes straight ahead, spurring the horse on when she felt it hesitate slightly, counting the strides underneath her, feeling a rush of anticipation that the mare picked up on, firing it up even more, one, two, three-hands-forward-lean-forward and up!
One split-second of weightlessness as her mare cleared the stream easily, then hooves crashed down on the opposite bank. She felt the horse stumble so kept its head up with the reins, digging her heels into its sides again and it surged forward to the finish, Lyanna right at her side.
Ross won, but by a hair's breadth, so of course her sister disputed the fact. They were still arguing when the others caught up, Brandon and Robert roaring with laughter. Ned grinned between them, whilst Benjen looked on in admiration but also slight jealousy; he never couldn't keep up with his sisters. Not that anyone could on horseback.
"I say Lady Lyanna won," Robert said, still chuckling, with a charming smile that was seemed to be all it took to have an otherwise chaste innkeep's daughter lifting her skirts. Lyanna just wrinkled her nose.
"Now I think of it, Ross did win," She turned away and rode off, and Ross couldn't help snorting at Robert's bemused expression, falling in beside Ned. She wasn't expecting Robert to turn to her.
"Lady Rosennis, I hope you can be of more use than your brothers in this matter," He started with a sigh. "What could I do that would charm your lovely sister?"
"Without her galloping away from you on horseback as fast as possible, you mean?" She couldn't help but ask, seeing her brother's eyes glinting amusement. Even Robert laughed good-naturedly. "Don't try and charm her at all. Talk with her, laugh with her, but don't try and court her... Act like she's Ned,"
"Ned?" The young lord started to laugh. "Forgive the coarse words, my lady, but your sister is far easier on the eyes than Ned's frozen face,"
"That's my point," Was all Ross said. Let him work that one out on his own.
Jaime Lannister had never been anywhere more... vibrant. Nor chaotic. The tourney grounds at Harrenal were like something out of the tales of his childhood. Bright pavilions in all colours for what seemed like miles around. Banners bearing every sigil imaginable. Lords, ladies, knights, merchants freeriders, sellswords, tradesmen, farmers and whores, all mingled amongst each other. He didn't even remember seeing this many people in one place in King's Landing.
Despite the hordes of people, his sister was easy to pick out of the crowd. There she sat, golden and radiant on her blood-bay mare, dressed in Lannister colours, surrounded by an escort of two dozen scarlet-cloaked guardsmen. Her whole face lit up when she saw him, red lips parting in a beaming grin that lit up the field that little bit more.
Giana had always been like that, a true ray of sunshine, sweet, kind, unambitious and cheery, the most genuinely warm person Jaime had ever met. She acted rather young for her age, but laughed easily and often, somehow talking to most everyone like they were her equals, even though few could ever equal Giana Lannister in much. Not looks, not kindness, not charm, but quite possibly in brains. As lovely as she was, his little sister was rather naive. Uncle Gerion had once asked their father if she truly was a Lannister at all. Lord Tywin did not appreciate his wit.
"Jaime!" Giana made to dismount, but he was already there, sweeping her off her horse and spinning her around in a tight hug as she laughed, neither of them caring what anyone thought. They hadn't seen each other for nearly a year, not since before Jaime left with Lord Crakehall to fight the Kingswood Brotherhood; he had been back to the Rock since, of course, for a whole month after being knighted by Ser Arthur, however Giana had been away for that time, visiting a Westerlands bannerman prior to a possible betrothal.
Jaime had ached for Cersei in the months since he had left King's Landing, but he hadn't quite realised exactly how much he had missed his younger sister too until she stood before him. He set her down on the ground, keeping an arm around her waist.
"You've grown," She looked up at him, eyes wide. He had grown, but so had she. Giana was not as womanly as Cersei - she was a year younger, shorter than Cersei had been even then, and her features were softer than his twin's dazzling beauty ever was - but was a world away from the little girl of thirteen he had left behind.
"Didn't you hear?" He teased, taking the reins of her horse with his free hand and leading them through the crowd, their guards following behind. "It's Ser Jaime now. Show some manners, Gin," That nickname came from a time he was too young to say her true name properly.
"I do apologise, dear brother," Amusement glittered in her apple-green eyes. "But it seems to me your head is already inflated enough as it is," Jaime laughed. He really had missed her, though would reluctantly admit to himself he would rather it was Cersei here today. The thought of having the same relationship with Giana as he did with his twin made him feel slightly sick.
"You're probably right," He shrugged. "I still can't believe Father let you come," Jaime was far from surprised by his father's fury at his upcoming appointment to the Kingsguard. He had known when Cersei first came to him about it that it was not a good idea. It had taken even her a whole night to persuade him to take the position, even though becoming a member of the Kingsguard had been a boyhood dream of his. But it had come down to whether or not he wanted Cersei by his side, and he had chosen his sister in a heartbeat, as he always would, for what was Casterly Rock compared to her?
They had expected Lord Tywin to be angry. They had not foreseen him resigning his post as Hand of the King and returning with his household and daughter back to the Rock. Jaime was honoured to be accepted into the Kingsguard, but it was soured now that Cersei would not be there to share it all with him. When he was in the Westerlands, she had been in court. Now he was to be a Kingsguard, she had been dragged back home. The irony did not fail to be anything less than a slap in the face.
"He still believes there is a chance you'll get out of this, somehow, or he'll find a loophole so you can still inherit," Giana said with a carefree shrug. Bad events never seemed to upset her like they did most people, but Jaime suspected that was because she didn't quite understand things like consequences. Despite this, no matter what Cersei claimed, Giana was undoubtedly their father's favourite (not that that counted for much) and understood the man remarkably well for someone so utterly different. "He would never disown you. That would leave Tyrion as his only son," She pulled a face, showing her distaste at how their father treated their younger brother.
"Small chance of that," Jaime said, with a humourless smile. She hummed in agreement, and he didn't push the matter. They walked in a comfortable silence for a few moments.
"Is it true you fought the Smiling Knight?" She turned to him with glittering eyes, previous discussion forgotten, and he grinned. Giana was refreshing in a way few people were.
Being presented to King Aerys Targaryen was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of Giana's life. Countless people had warned her of the king's affections towards her lady mother Joanna, but she hadn't appreciated exactly how far that had gone. Though Giana wasn't as beautiful as Cersei, she was well used to the gazes of men, but this was different. She looked more like their mother than her sister did, and even their names were somewhat similar. Something that the king had certainly noticed.
Shivering, she remembered the way the old man's stare had roamed up and down her body, like he was undressing her with his eyes, and the salacious comments he had made that had made her skin crawl. Giana had seen Jaime's jaw clench as he stood beside her, but of course he could do nothing. Soon he would be sworn to protect that man with his life.
She wasn't sure if she liked that thought. She had always thought her brother would make a good white knight, but now she wasn't sure. He was reckless, she knew, and he way he looked at the king when he made those comments towards her... something in that look made her pause.
The day only seemed to get worse after that, even though she tried to put Aerys out of her mind. During the opening ceremony of the tourney that evening, she watched as Jaime knelt before Gerold Hightower to be inducted into the Kingsguard, a pure white cloak fastened around his shoulders. To the crowd, excited for the festivities, her brother looked the perfect knight, young, talented, golden and handsome; they cheered him with enough noise to wake the dead.
Jaime stood, the newest member of the Kingsguard at only fifteen years old, and the king soaked up the praise, believing it to be for him, though surely no one in their right mind would cheer for such a horror. Giana furrowed her brow as she saw Aerys say something to Jaime that made his face fall for a fraction of a second, before his expression became carefully blank and he nodded, once. After she rejoined him, he wouldn't tell her what had been said.
The feast that night was wonderful, though. So many people, all dressed exquisitely; she herself wore a gown of pale orange and gold. Her whole life she had mostly been confined to the Rock, yet here it was like a whole new world. There were so many people, packed into the Hall of a Hundred Hearths (though Jaime assured her there were only thirty-three). The Tyrell ladies with roses woven in their hair. Lithe spearmen in flowing silks from Dorne. The beautiful Tully sisters, with gorgeous copper hair. The wild-looking Northmen in dark leathers and furs down from Winterfell. And the powerful young storm lord, Robert Baratheon, arms like tree trunks, who grinned roguishly when he saw her looking. She smiled and waved merrily back, which seemed to please him more.
Jaime didn't notice Giana slip away; he was with several others around his age, mostly the sons of Westerlands lords, and a few squires, though others were eager to congratulate the newest member of the Kingsguard. More than a few serving girls were hovering around him, giggling amongst themselves, though Jaime paid them little mind.
"My lady," Baratheon bowed when Giana approached, a gleam in his eye that even she knew was far from innocent. Was that even a bad thing? A thrill went through her at the scandalous thought and she giggled, curtsying sweetly. "I don't believe we've met. Surely I'd remember such a fair face," The compliment was transparent, but appreciated nonetheless.
"I don't believe we have, my lord," She felt daring and looked him in the eye. Giana wasn't going to mention her name; any mention of her father was enough to scare anyone away. And it was only a bit of fun, Lord Baratheon was just being friendly, surely, she looked too young for him to be truly interested.
"What's a beauty like you doing all alone?" Another man - handsome in a wild sort of way, rangy and strong - joined them unabashedly, with a wolfish grin. "Brandon Stark. A pleasure, my lady," He bowed, taking her hand and kissing it, cutting across Robert to do so. Though delivered smoothly, the pretty words were clearly uncharacteristic from this one, judging from the way the man's younger brother, a slight boy of one-and-ten, was gawping. Giana did not miss the warning glance Brandon Stark gave Baratheon, and suddenly remembered that the man was betrothed to Stark's sister.
"I am charmed, my lords," She smiled sweetly, not wanting to upset the Stark girl by flirting with her betrothed. "But I'd best be going. My brother will be looking for me," She curtseyed once more and turned to leave, feeling Robert's stare on her back as she returned to Jaime.
"Where have you been?" He asked, eyes narrow.
"Making friends," She said, catching his arm as he turned away. "Jaime, what's wrong?" She had noticed the pained look he was doing his best to hide all evening. Her brother didn't speak for a moment.
"You'll have to spend the rest of the tourney on your own," He said eventually. "I'm to return to King's Landing in the morning," Her mouth fell open.
"What?" She exclaimed indignantly. "Why?"
"The king commands it," He said bitterly. "Even though the queen and Prince Viserys already have two Kingsguard with them. But it's my duty now, to obey the king. I have to go,"
"But you'll miss the joust," Giana said in dismay, knowing he had wanted to compete; he could win, if he wanted to, there was no doubt about it.
Jaime only nodded.
"So be it,"
All the women here were beautiful. The dazzling Giana Lannister, whose dress shimmered like spun gold. Violet eyed, alluring Ashara Dayne in black and purple. Lyanna, all bared teeth and Northern wildness but no less beautiful for it. And then there was Ross herself, tall, skinny and sharp, with dull brown hair and grey eyes, dressed in a modest dark green dress.
She had hoped to remain mostly unnoticed. Unfortunately her family name made that impossible, no matter how plain she appeared, as well as her family themselves.
"Come on, Ross, just one dance," Her eldest brother grinned at her. "I've danced with near ever lady in this room, but not my own sister, how can that be?"
"You've seen me dance," She replied flatly. "I'm hardly the picture of grace,"
"But you don't tread on my toes like Lya does when she's drunk," He pointed out, and she had to smile slightly.
"Perhaps not, but that doesn't - Brandon!" Ross glared at her eldest brother, resisting half-heartedly as he pulled her to her feet by both wrists. But her brother was strong, and easily dragged her onto the dance floor.
She glanced to Lyanna for help, but her sister was indeed drunk, and dancing herself, hanging off of Robert Baratheon and laughing loudly. The man had clearly taken Ross' advice. Even though her sister wasn't the best dancer after several cups of wine, Baratheon looked delighted.
Ross looked to Ned instead, only to see him talking to the beautiful Ashara Dayne. She blinked in surprise - how did that happen? - but by that point Brandon had put one hand on her waist, the other holding hers, and led them into the dance.
"See," He said. "This isn't so bad, is it?"
"Only because I'm with you," She admitted grudgingly. Her brother was actually a rather good dancer, and big enough to make her tall, thin frame not look so gawky. "Some lordling from the Stormlands asked me to dance earlier - his forehead barely came up to my nose. It would have looked ridiculous," Brandon snorted.
"You might look like a spider now, Ross, but you'll grow into those coltish arms and legs. Maybe," She trod on his foot for that, with the sharp heel of her boot. In response, Brandon gave her hair a painful tug. She glared at him, but he only laughed.
"I think I prefer dancing with Ned," She muttered, glancing over to where her second brother was now dancing with Lady Ashara. "Speaking of. How did that happen?" She turned back to Brandon.
"Our dear brother couldn't take his eyes off her, but of course was too shy to ask for a dance," He grinned wolfishly. "So I asked her for him," Ross chuckled at that.
"She seems to like him," She said. "Perhaps because he knows when to shut his mouth. You have no idea how many cocky young knights and lordlings have approached me tonight, only to talk of their own tourney victories. Fascinating though they may be," She grimaced, tone thick with sarcasm. "The other subject of conversation seems to be my beautiful eyes," She had seen many of them struggling to find a believable compliment, settling on what was generally a safe bet unless the lady in question had one missing.
"I do believe you're immune to charm, little sister," Her brother said, clearly amused, then glanced over to Lyanna and Robert with narrow eyes. "Not that that's a bad thing. Baratheon was all over some little chit of a girl earlier, she's got no idea,"
"Lya's not charmed," Ross smirked. "She's drunk, and Robert's good company in that. Believe me, she knows more than enough about her soon-to-be husband's reputation,"
"He doesn't know her, though," Brandon said rather darkly. "Doesn't know that when he gets bored with her and Lya finds him fucking some serving wench in their bed, she won't just sit back and let it happen like a good little wife,"
"In which case," Ross smiled tightly. "Let him find out the hard way," Her brother smiled sharply. Knowing him, he would most likely come raging down to Storm's End himself if there was any indication Lyanna was not happy.
"Aye," That wolffish glint was in his eye again. "Gods, who would choose to be betrothed? Ned's the lucky one. I'll have my sensible, dutiful, deathly dull Tully bride," Ross knew Brandon had wanted to wed Barbrey Ryswell, but equally he hadn't been too upset when their father said no. "Lya will have her whore of a husband," She snorted at that. "And we'll probably be sent your flayed skin made into a cloak within a year of giving you away to the Leech Lord," Her brother's dislike of her betrothal was well known.
"Please, brother, give me more words of encouragement like that on my wedding day," Ross said dryly. "When I find the secret chamber in the Dreadfort where they keep the two-legged wolf pelts, I'll send you one," He laughed, then looked somewhere over her shoulder.
"That's her,"
"Who?" She manoeuvred them around so she could look without staring behind her.
"The girl Baratheon was flirting with," Ross rolled her eyes.
"Let it go, Brandon," She said. "The man's likely flirted with half the women in this room,"
"Half the women in the room aren't as beautiful as that one," He said darkly, and she finally realised who he was staring at. Golden hair, warm smile, beautiful face.
"That't the Lannister girl," She started to laugh.
"Gods, is it?" Her brother gave a bark of laughter.
"Even Robert isn't stupid enough to go anywhere near her,"
"Perhaps you're right. Lord Tywin would certainly see that debt paid,"
She was a pretty little thing. Very pretty, in fact. Robert had been watching her for much of the evening and would guess she was aged six-and-ten, perhaps a year younger. Her hair was a cascade of gold curls, her big laughing eyes were a bright apple-green, and she had a smile that lit up any room she entered. She seemed the perfect woman; for tonight, at least. Robert didn't need Lyanna Stark and her funny moods he couldn't keep up with.
He and his betrothed had seemed to be getting along, then his hand had slipped a little too low, not even on purpose, and she had closed off immediately, going to dance with her bloody sister. But he didn't need her.
Some rational part of his mind - a rather small part, which sounded like Ned - warned him that she was most likely a noble, that she would have a father who would be out for blood for despoiling his daughter, that it was more trouble than it was worth. It made him hesitate, but only briefly. He saw the girl leave the hall alone, casting a laden look his way as she disappeared around the corner, and that was enough. The drink, and his cock, won that argument. Robert lurched to his feet, following. What's the worse that could happen? Who could she be to get him, Lord Baratheon, into trouble?
She laughed merrily when she saw him - he suspected she was rather tipsy too, though not completely drunk like he was - dancing and swirling between the tents. He chased after her with a grin, and she danced nimbly out the way, but he caught her eventually, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her around easily - she weighed next to nothing to him - as she squealed delightfully, before he pulled her back tight against his chest. She fell silent, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and she craned her neck around to face him, eyes wide and innocent. She was tiny in his arms, a little doll with a vivacious smile.
"Come, my lady," He found himself saying, unable to resist such a delicious little thing any longer. "My tent's this way," She smiled.
Giana woke before dawn with an ache between her legs, in an unfamiliar tent, next to a huge man, whose arms held her tight against his chest. The events of the previous night flooded back to her, and she was torn between a girlish giddiness at the rebellious thrill of losing her virtue, and a sense of pure terror at what her father would do when he found out.
No, not when, she tried telling herself. If he found out. He doesn't have to know. All her guards had spent that night deep in their cups, and would hardly face Lord Tywin's wrath by telling him they'd let his daughter out of their sights for a whole night. And no one but Robert knew exactly where she'd spent the night, and he didn't even know her name.
She couldn't get with child from this encounter, you couldn't on your first time. She'd heard that from a couple of gossiping maids. And it wasn't like Cersei was still a maid; Giana still remembered seeing those love marks on her sister's body, and that man's sock in her rooms last year that she claimed was Jaime's. Whoever she had been with then, it certainly wasn't their brother, no, she was seeing someone in secret. If Cersei could do it, then why couldn't she?
None of that reasoning helped much. Giana was still terrified. But first she had to get out of this tent.
She slid out from under the furs, taking care to not wake Robert, but he barely stirred. Hopefully he'd been so drunk that he'd forget this happened. Giana didn't regret it exactly, but it wasn't something she would've done sober. And the thought of her father finding out was truly horrendous.
Gods, she'd made a mistake. A huge mistake.
She quickly dressed herself, struggling slightly to lace herself back into her gown from the previous night. It was rather gaudy for early in the morning, so she took one of Robert's plainer travelling cloaks, large enough for her to use as a tent, and pulled the hood up to hide her face and golden hair.
The guards at the entrance to the tent chuckled and made lewd remarks as she passed, most likely believing her to be some common serving girl. Giana ignored them, slightly perturbed, and snuck across the quiet campsite just as it was beginning to stir.
In the guise of a commoner, no one spared her a second glance, except for a dark-haired girl with a long, sharp face grooming a horse, who eyed her for an uncomfortably long time. Giana cursed in her head, recognising her as Brandon Stark's sister, the taller one.
The girl didn't approach her, nor did she call out, but she knew she'd been recognised so was forced to stop beside her. The girl looked like she'd rather be left alone, but Giana couldn't take the risk.
"Lady Rose, was it?" She asked, having to fake her usual cheery smile as her heart pounded in her chest. The girl's lips twitched slightly; she didn't seem very friendly.
"Rosennis," She said rather shortly. "My brothers call me Ross. That'll be what you heard," That was a rather pointed reminder that they didn't know each other.
"Of course," Giana fought to keep the smile on her face. The girl didn't seem to be trying to be rude. She was just... prickly, hard to talk to. "Well, I'm glad we could be properly introduced now. I'm Giana,"
"Lannister," Rosennis stated, with a raised eyebrow. There was a pause as Giana floundered. "I'm not going to tell anyone, you know,"
"Tell them what?" Her tone became slightly strained in her concern.
"You know what I mean," The dark eyebrow raised further, unimpressed by her weak attempt at lying.
"You saw me, then," Her heart was pounding.
"Coming out of Baratheon's tent? Yes," Rosennis shook her head, resuming grooming the horse. "Like I said. I'm not going to tell anyone,"
"But he's your sister's betrothed," Giana blurted out incredulously, surprised by the girl's unexpected kindness. Was it kindness? "Why wouldn't you? I'd be furious if I were you," Even for Cersei. "Anyone would," Rosennis was silent for a moment.
"You're not me," The Northern girl looked at her with sharp grey eyes, her tone blunt. Apparently that was all the answer she was going to get.
"Well, thank you," She was still puzzled. "If there's anything I can do..?" Rosennis shrugged, but Giana suspected all she really wanted was to be left alone. "I'll see you at the tilts today, I suppose," The girl gave a curt nod, turning back to her horse. Giana hesitated for a moment, before turning on her heel and hurrying away, wanting to scream.
Ross frowned as Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, jousting champion, trotted down the stands on his silver destrier, the crown of love and beauty on the end of his lance. Now there's a tourney knight if ever I saw one.
There was something wrong, though. The prince was slowing his horse, and Princess Elia got to her feet in anticipation of being handed the crown. But Rhaegar wasn't looking at his wife, Ross realised a second before a collective gasp ran through the crowd. The crown prince had ridden past the princess, who stood there with a hurt expression she quickly tried to conceal.
It was like something out of a nightmare as Rhaegar reigned in his horse before the Starks, extending his lance to Lyanna.
Elia Martell sat back down with quiet dignity and painful finality. Brandon, contrasting, was on his feet in an instant, opening his mouth in outrage, but Ned and Ross both yanked him down.
"Not here, Brandon, sit down. Not here, not now, we'll fix it later, just wait, not now," Ned was murmuring under his breath, calming their brother in a way only he could, though the look in his own eyes was mutinous.
The blue crown still remained on the end of the lance, hanging like a noose. The crowd was shouting, many of the nobles too, and Ross saw the Mad King rise from his throne several seats away, turning his vile purple eyes their way.
"My lady," Rhaegar said, speaking directly to Lyanna, who sat there looking as surprised as Ross had ever seen her. But as she watched, she saw her sister's face turn to ice in an instant as she swallowed. Lya was angry, embarrassed and afraid. But the crown wasn't going away, and she couldn't refuse a prince of the blood, not like this. No matter what she did here, she couldn't win.
Lyanna took the crown of winter roses with steady hands, laying it on her lap with uncharacteristic care, like it was doused in wildfire. It might as well have been.
The commons was still in uproar, the lords and ladies all muttering intently, all eyes were on them. As Rhaegar turned his mount around, having stared at Lyanna for several long seconds, Ross reached out and grasped her sister's cold hand with her own. Lyanna was motionless otherwise, but squeezed back.
"We're leaving," Brandon growled, getting to his feet now the prince had gone, ignoring the stares all around them. "Now. Up," He yanked Benjen roughly to his feet, Ned swiftly rising himself with a warning hand on their brother's arm.
Brandon made to grab for Lyanna, but Ross quickly linked arms with her sister as they stood, glaring warningly at him. Robert Baratheon rose to leave with them, but a few quiet words from Ned and he sat back down; he didn't look as angry as Ross would've expected, or perhaps he didn't particularly care after his tryst with the silly little Lannister girl the previous night.
The five Starks left the stands, ignoring the mutterings and catcalls all around them. Brandon walked in front, Benjen hurrying beside him to keep up with his long strides. Ross and Ned had Lyanna between them, who for once was keeping her eyes on the ground. It was unpleasant, seeing her wild sister so cowed, and looking back at the prince - dismounting casually, as though he was above the madness he had just started - Ross would happily have run him through. Had he any idea what he had done, or was he as big a fool as Giana Lannister?
She felt Mad Aerys' eyes following them the whole way, and fought the urge to shudder.
"He can't do that," It was her own voice that spoke, but she barely heard it over the ringing in her ears.
"He can," Ned ground out, eyes dark. "He's the king,"
It had been dire news when Ned and Brandon had been called before Aerys after the jousts that day. The king was seeing traitors everywhere, particularly after the mystery knight, and his son singling out Lyanna over his own wife had moved suspicion onto them. He wanted assurance that the North wasn't a threat. He wanted a hostage, a Stark hostage, and not the girl his son had shamed in front of all the Seven Kingdoms, so as not to set tongues wagging.
"Fuck the king," Brandon spat, pacing up and down the tent. "He - "
"Stop it," Ross stopped him with a glare, beginning to understand exactly what the king wanted. "Don't be stupid, I have to go,"
"We can't just send you off there alone, Ross," Her brother exploded. "Aerys is mad! You've heard the stories from King's Landing, he burns people alive on a whim,"
"I'm a Stark," She replied, calmer outwardly than the growing rage and panic she felt inside. "He can't lay a finger on me, or he will have a rebellion on his hands, and not just from the North. There's countless Tyrells at court, his son's married to a Martell, he's got a new Lannister Kingsguard, and now me. If he harms me, all those houses will feel their own kin threatened, they won't stand for it,"
That might be true, but didn't make any of them any happier. There was a heavy silence.
"You can't go, Ross," Benjen's expression was pleading. He was only eleven. "You just... can't,"
"She has to," Lyanna's eyes flashed in anger, but her tone lacked it's usual bite after the raging argument between Brandon and Lyanna after they returned from the tilts. Brandon had asked if she'd slept with Rhaegar, to which she had been understandably furious, given that all the prince had done was help her hide the fact she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree (though no one knew of that but Ross and Benjen).
Her sister was sat on the camp bed now, having been glaring at the crown of now-limp winter roses that still lay on the table. "It can't be Brandon, he's the heir. It can't be Ned without provoking the Arryns too. It can't be Benjen because he's only a third son. It can't be me because of that fool Rhaegar Targaryen who started all this in the first place," She spat the name sourly. "And if none of us go, then we might as well fall on our swords now, because there's no chance of Aerys letting us leave otherwise," No one could argue with that.
That night Ross dreamed of her sister, her brothers, her father. At first they were all at Winterfell, home and safe. Father was sat in the Lord's chair. Brandon was sparring in the yard. Ned was by the pool under the heart tree. Lyanna was galloping over the moorland. Her mother was there too, reading a book beneath the huge arched window of the library as if she hadn't died birthing Benjen. Even Grandmother Arya, who had been gone seven years now, was there, waist-length grey hair as Ross remembered. But then it all changed. Blood started to trickle from the eyes of each member of her family, then the nose, the ears, the mouth, they were all drowning in blood amidst smoke, screams and dying men. All her loved ones, dead, gone, the sounds of war echoing throughout the land.
She awoke with a small gasp, heart pounding, nightdress drenched in sweat. The first thing that caught her eye in the dim gloom of the tent was the crown of winter roses that still rested beside Lyanna's bed. The darkness played tricks with her eyes, so it almost looked as though the crown was covered in the same blood as her dream, lying in a pool of it, dripping down the table and onto the floor.
Ross got to her feet and without hesitation threw the cursed thing into the embers of the dying fire. Watching the roses blacken and shrivel didn't bring her much satisfaction. Only a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach that much worse was coming.
She rode out of Harrenhal the wrong way. South east, instead of north, accompanied by a dozen Targaryen guards, with only two Northmen there in the grey cloaks of House Stark. It was all wrong. Ross wanted nothing more than to turn her horse around and gallop back up the Kingsroad.
She could do it, her horse was fast enough, she could easily find her way home. The grim grey walls of Winterfell loomed in her mind, the dark sentinels and ancient oaks of the Wolfswood, the bleak and wild moors, the cold wind on her face, the solemn face of the heart tree, red leaves reflecting in the hot springs. Her father's stern expression, Brandon flirting with serving maids, Ned's kind eyes, Benjen's young exuberance, Lyanna's laughter as they raced on horseback. Home. She didn't know when she'd see Winterfell or her family again.
She was meant to be married after her sixteenth nameday, in ten moons time, become Lady Bolton of the Dreadfort. Ross supposed that either way, she wasn't to be in Winterfell much longer. But at least she'd still be in the North, only a weeks ride from home. At least she'd be a lady in her own right, not a hostage in a mad king's game.
Their party moved fast, and they soon caught up with another rider heading to the capital, the newest Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister. He was younger than he'd seemed now she saw him up close; though he was over six feet tall and looked older, his clear green eyes, so much like his sister's, showed he was most likely her own age.
Though Lannister laughed and joked with the guards, with an easy charm and sharp wit he seemed to have been born with, Ross noticed that, when no one was looking, that dazzling smile of his dropped altogether, replaced by a rather different expression altogether, Anger, primarily, but sadness too, and a hint of apprehension that she wouldn't have expected from the cocky young knight.
Because Jaime Lannister was arrogant, there was no doubt about that. He had plenty of reason to be, which made him all the more irritating; the eldest son of the richest family in Westeros, blessed with good looks, skill at arms, the youngest Kingsguard in history.
Gods knew why, but he seemed to find Ross particularly amusing. She suspected that was out of boredom more than anything else. There was only so much joy in the conversation the guards offered, and after the first few days, once he'd heard all their battle stories (which, admittedly, he had listened to attentively) and talk of women (he offered little himself with regard to that subject, leading many of the men to tease him for having a sweetheart somewhere instead of the seemingly expected crowd of whores) he slowed his horse to ride at the back of the column with her and her guards, all three of them eyeing him coldly.
"You're awfully quiet," He remarked, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. Ross knew when she was being mocked, and glowered ahead of her.
"I haven't got anything to say," She replied. Nothing you'd like to hear, anyway. Lannister pulled a face.
"Gods, you Starks are a dour lot," He said.
"And you Lannisters are rather full of yourselves," Ross said bluntly, earning chuckles from her guards. He gave a surprised laugh, not seeming to care that he was being made fun of.
"So you do have a bite to you, after all," He said. "I was starting to think you were ever so dull," Some would call his constant pestering dull. "How many Lannisters have you met, anyway?"
"You," She said. You're enough to prove my point. "And your sister, Giana," He smiled then.
"I'll give you that, then," He said. "We deserve to be a little arrogant, though, don't you think?" He smiled that charming smile, and Ross looked on unimpressed, not letting on that that was exactly what she'd been thinking. Shame you're all annoying cunts. "I must say, though, not all the Starks are so grim and solemn as you. Your brother Brandon made a fine drinking partner that first night, and your sister's practically a wolf in ladies clothing,"
"She wasn't when I last saw her," She found herself saying. Lannister's smile became rather fixed.
"No, I bet she wasn't," He looked thoughtful. "What did she do with her lovely crown?"
"Nothing," Ross said. "I threw it in the fire," He snorted at that.
"I don't blame you,"
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Since first posting this, I have edited and reposted this chapter on 21/06/20; there are no major plot changes from the original, I just made several small improvements.
Anyway, thanks for reading. I appreciate any comments left, and find constructive criticism very helpful, so please feel free to tell me what you think.
