Months later Tywin Lannisters tells the King he will be holding a tourney in Lannisport in honor of Visery's birth. And the invitations are sent out across Westeros mere days later so that the other High Lords will be forced to attend whether they want to or not. And as theirs is a Great House the members of House Baratheon will be expected to attend.
Ostara isn't necessarily looking forward to it.
Because she'll be unable to return to Valyria for the duration of the trip for fear that someone will come looking for her and find her missing. She supposes she could come up with a way around that but then she'd have to worry about finding a quick, inconspicuous way to travel to Valyria. Besides, she has a feeling that this tourney is going to be... Uncomfortable? Yes, that's the best word for it. Uncomfortable.
Like wet stockings or the tightness of a dress that doesn't fit quite right.
Uncomfortable, and Ostara can't quite decide why that is exactly but suspects it stems from the fact that she just doesn't want to go.
But what is she to do? Refuse to go? Even if she were to do so Cassana Baratheon would have her hide for even suggesting it... Besides, her trunk is already packed and despite everything that is likely to go wrong at this celebration, Ostara is grudgingly excited. So when her mother strides into Ostara's room dressed in a gown of flowing red-clay silk Ostara pointedly ignores the fabric in her hands.
A gown for her no doubt, specially made.
"Good morning, darling girl." Her mother greets as she places the pile of fabric down on the bed.
"Good morning, Mother." Ostara replies, eyes glued to the richly dyed silk of the gown.
Her mother notices, of course she does, and smiles as she begins to carefully unfold the gown.
"I've a gift for you." Her mother says and she holds up the gown to show Ostara. "Do you like it?"
It's lovely.
Rich, russet colored fabric with brilliantly gold embroidery along the bodice made to look like blooming desert flowers, the skirt is full and loose and the sleeves look as though they end at the elbow. Beautiful, but Ostara still doesn't understand why she's getting a new dress. It's lovely, yes, but for what reason would her mother have a new gown made for her when she already had a new wardrobe made mere days ago?
"It's lovely, what's the occasion?" Ostara voices her confusion as bluntly as she can.
"Do I need a reason to spoil my daughter? Consider it an early name's day gift." Cassana replies.
Ostara watches as she moves to the trunk and begins putting Ostara's gown with the others. The russet silk not being the darkest of the colors in her collection but noticeably different none the less. Especially when it's tucked against a gown of deep olive green embroidered with silver leaves. Ostara stares at the spot it occupies in her trunk even after her mother has closed the lid.
"Am I to where this to the feast? So that the Lords might look upon me like chattel? I already have dresses, I don't need another."
"Ostara."
"Mother."
Cassana sighs, "I'm gifting this dress to you so that you might wear it to the feast, yes, but not for the reasons you so obviously think."
Ostara very much doubts that.
It's not being stuck with a possible suitor is making Ostara angry or nervous, though that might be some of the reason tension is beginning to build at the base of her skull, her nervousness comes from the feeling she has that her parents, or perhaps more specifically her mother, is trying to be sneaky about Ostara meeting with possible suitors..
"Have you decided on jewelry? I want to make sure you're bringing the pearls."
"I've packed the pearls with the rest of my jewelry, yes."
"Good," Cassana reaches out to tug on a wayward curl, "the pearls will look lovely on you."
And will be utterly impossible to take out of her hair later. Oh, it wouldn't be so bad if the damnable pearls were part of a net or a band of some sort, it might even be manageable. However, the Pentoshi man who'd sold her mother the pearls had convinced Cassana that the delicate gold coils would look stellar if they were woven into Ostara's hair.
As if the mass of her hair wasn't enough of a damn pain to begin with.
But she packed the little coils away with the rest of the jewelry she'd chosen to bring. Why? Because her mother had gotten them specifically for her and despite everything Ostara does enjoy the concept of them.
"When are we leaving?" Ostara asks as she shuts her book and sets it aside.
"In an hour or so, your father has some business to finish here and the servants are moving our things to the wheelhouse."
"I see."
Ostara casts a glance at Rubeus. The Shadowcat has not grown a great deal, standing at a height equal to that of the bottom rib of Ostara's rib cage, but he has not willingly left Ostara's side for long periods of time and she has no intention of leaving him at Storm's End. But traveling with him in the wheelhouse might prove difficult if her mother decides to bring more then the minimum requirement of personal companions.
The shadowcat yawns, the action displaying the alarming amount of razor sharp fangs in his mouth before they disappear as his mouth snaps shuts. Ostara can't help the smile that stretches across her face before she turns her attention back to her mother, who has just finished whatever she'd been doing while her daughter had been distracted and smiles charmingly.
"I'll come fetch you before we leave." Cassana promises.
"Very well," Ostara says. "Thank you."
"Think nothing of it, darling girl."
And then her mother is gone.
Ostara stares at the door for several long moments before pulling her wand from its hiding spot in her boot, then she moves to sit at her vanity. Her reflection is almost grainy in the mirror but Ostara doesn't mind. It's of little consequence to her if she can see herself in perfect detail or not. It's not like she needs a mirror to do her hair when she's got her wand and a very clear image in her head.
Once her hair is done Ostara slips her wand back into her boot and turns to Rubeus.
"You're lucky, you know," She tells the shadowcat, "you don't have to worry about politics."
Instead of answering the beast blinks at her, huffs, and curls into a tighter ball in the corner. Ostara shakes her head in vague disbelief before turning her attention to the pile of books on the table next to her bed. She'll only be able to bring a few without drawing attention to them and she can't decide if she'd rather bring a book of legends from this world or the two books He had left on the foot of her bed the day before.
She decides to bring the newest books as she can always glamour their covers if need be. So she tosses them into the small basket with the embroidery she'll be expected to work on during some of the trip to Lannisport. Ostara stares at the vibrantly colored covers and the titles printed in gold on the binding before closing the basket and hiding the books from view.
~X~
"You'll be careful, yes?" His mother asks.
It's the first time he's seen her in months and while they've sent letters back and forth since Rhaegar went to squire with Jon Connington it is good to see his mother's face. Even if it is gaunt and there are dark smears of purple-blue beneath her eyes from lack of sleep.
Rhaegar allows her a rare smile and moves to press a kiss to the hand not supporting Viserys.
"I will." Rhaegar promises.
"Try to have fun, Rhaegar." His mother commands after a moment, then she smiles, "I hear Ser Arthur is looking forward to the tourney."
"Arthur looks forward to every tourney, mother." Rhaegar remarks, eyes drifting to where his friend is waiting with Barristan Selmy.
His mother grows quiet for a long moment and Rhaegar almost asks if she is feeling well. If he should fetch for Maester Pycelle. Rhaegar is loath to do it, as he trusts the man about as much as he trusts a manticore, but he is a Maester and if his mother is ill... Well, he has never intentionally hurt Rhaella Targaryen as far as Rhaegar is aware.
Fortunately his mother's silence breaks with a wistful laugh. Her hand rising to brush silvery hair from Rhaegar's face as she used to do when he was a child or later in his life whenever she wished to offer comfort.
"I'll see you when you return." His mother says.
"Yes."
And then Rhaella Targaryen steps back, puts space between them, allowing himself a proper glance at the babe in his mother's grasp. It's perhaps a selfish thing, as his mother has lost so many children, but he is thankful Viserys had not been born a girl. A sister-bride is not something Rhaegar has ever truly relished the idea of and a sister-bride that is ten-and-seven years his junior is even worse.
It is cruel of him though, to think such things and he regrets them almost as soon as the thoughts flit through his mind.
His mother did not deserve to lose the children she has lost. She did not deserve Aerys' rage after each child was born silent or lost their lives in the crib. Viserys is the first to live beyond a fortnight. He is thankful for that much at least.
Without much thought he moves to press a chaste kiss to his mother's temple.
"If you are in need of anything while we are away write to me and I will return." Rhaegar promises.
"If I need anything I will be more then capable of acquiring it myself."
Rhaegar casts a glance between his mother and brother before nodding, then he's making his way to the destrier awaiting him. A great beast of a horse with a coat of dappled blue and silver. His favorite, truth be told.
Once he's settled on his mount Arthur moves to ride beside him.
Neither or them speak as the King announces that it's time to leave. Aerys does not even bid his wife goodbye, nor does he move to offer affection for his newest son, all he does is spare then a glance and a farewell before digging his heels into his horse's flanks. Rhaegar hates him for it, hates that his father cannot even spare a moment to make an attempt at being kind to his wife.
When Rhaegar marries he will not be like his father.
He will not raise his hand in anger, he will not spit derogatory terms, he will not blame his wife for any stillbirths or sickly infants. To the Old Gods and the New, he swears it.
"Are you unwell, Rhaegar?" Arthur asks.
"I'm quite alright, thank you."
Arthur smirks.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Baratheon would it?" He chortles.
Rhaegar almost wants to shoves the blonde haired man off his horse. He refrains, however. Instead Rhaegar just rolls his eyes, adjusts his grip on the reins, and does not react when his closest friend snorts.
"Oh, don't be nervous Rhaegar," Arthur laughs. "I hear Ostara Baratheon is a sweet girl."
"She is five years my junior and something of a friend Arthur, no more."
It is not a lie. Not truly. Ostara Baratheon is his friend, they exchange letters and books, discuss things that Rhaegar would not be comfortable discussing with others. The only reason Arthur finds it so funny, Rhaegar is sure, is because he has nothing better to do with his time then to make Rhaegar irritable.
"And if you do anything inappropriate that cat of hers will likely rip off your arm."
"That isn't funny." Rhaegar reprimands, mildly embarrassed that Arthur would even suggest that he would do anything with a girl just shy of two-and-ten years.
"Yes it is."
Rhaegar doesn't respond, instead he rolls his eyes and urges his horse to move faster. Arthur's laughter follows him as Rhaegar moves to ride beside Barristan Selmy who does little more than lift a peppered brow at his sudden appearance.
The man has always been a good friend to Rhaegar, perhaps not as close to him as Arthur Dayne but a good friend none the less, and while there is a certain distance between them Rhaegar doesn't doubt that he would willingly, without a moment of hesitation, place the lives of his Mother and brother into the aging Knight's hands. Which is a feat in an of itself because Rhaegar would only trust two people to protect his mother and brother that were not himself.
Arthur Dayne being one of them.
Rhaegar runs a hand through his hair, eyes moving to travel between each member of their retinue. There are carts with supplies and trunks and other things that will be needed for the tourney. Squires ride beside their appointed knights, banners held aloft with a steady hand. Several of the members of the Kingsquard carry Targaryen banners.
They flutter in the wind, ebony silk and scarlet threat a stark contrast to the pale blue of the sky and supple green around them.
The prince finds himself thinking about the cloak his mother had been embroidering when he'd returned to King's Landing only a month prior. Black satin lined with silk, a three headed dragon slowly taking shake across the back, there had been a small container of rubies his mother had been taking from, scattering little red gems here and there across the sea of black.
It will be the cloak Rhaegar wraps his bride in.
Rhaegar wonders if his parents have started considering brides for him.
Rhaegar suspects he already has an idea of who they'll chose.
Absently, and with no small amount of quilt, Rhaegar wonders if the colors will suit his bride-to-be. Wonders if she will look more lovely in the ebony and crimson of his house of the colors of her own.
He supposes that at the end of the day it doesn't truly matter.
~X~
"What are you reading, Ostara?" Her mother asks on the last morning of their trip to Lannisport.
Ostara glances up from her book to meet her mother's gaze. None of the other ladies in the wheel house, Cassana's personal maids, are paying much attention. They're too busy embroidering or sleeping or gossiping about this Lord or that Lady, so they haven't been much of a problem for Ostara.
"Legends of Asshai." Ostara lies.
It's something she's been doing a lot of lately. Lying. Mostly to her mother, who has no idea that her sweet daughter is more than human. It is what her father wanted, unspoken though that want may be, Ostara knows it is true. At first Ostara had been against the idea of lying to her mother about what she could do, the power she is capable of, now it seems like a rather good idea.
Her mother, though she may love Ostara deeply, is probably not as trustworthy as her husband or Stannis.
"Do you find them interesting, darling girl?" Her mother's voice is coated with gentle laughter.
"Interesting enough." Ostara retorts as she closes her book and slips it into the basket holding her embroidery.
Rubeus sees the lack of book as an opportunity and promptly drops his overly large head into Ostara's lap where he huffs expectantly and begins rubbing his head against her middle. Ostara placates him by carding her fingers through his fur.
"We'll reach Lannisport soon. Are you not excited?" One of the hand maidens asks.
"I am excited to see Robert, yes."
It's entirely too political for Ostara's liking. What she'd really like to tell the woman is that she doesn't give a flying fuck about seeing Robert, which, yes that's a lie but not a big one? Ostara hasn't seen Robert in years and their letters are always overly polite at best. She's not sure how this little reunion is going to go but if Robert's anything like she remembers then Ostara's likely to end up playing mediator for her brothers.
Ostara curls her fingers around the scruff of Rubeus' neck.
All around her the women are twittering about how handsome Prince Rhaegar is, how talented he is, how loved he is. It's as if they haven't even listened to what she'd said. Why are they doing this? Do they not realize that Ostara doesn't care about whether or not the Prince's hair is utterly soft or that he seems incredibly sad or that he's an exceptionally talented jouster?
Oh, Ostara thinks as a sudden realization hits her like a brick to the face.
Oh, because it's beginning to make sense.
Oh, because her mother has gotten her a new gown and new jewels and she's old enough to be considered for marriage.
Oh, because she's got Targaryen blood and Rhaella hasn't had a daughter.
Honestly, Ostara should have seen it coming.
She supposed it could be worse. Obviously none of this is good and the situation is giving her a migraine, but at least she knows Rhaegar well enough to be comfortable in her assessment of him.
If she says no, if she tells him she doesn't want this, then Ostara is confident Rhaegar will help her get out of any betrothal her parents might be trying to set between them.
Of course, she could be wrong. She might be over thinking this.
Rhaegar is a prince after all, and young women looking to improve their station tend to focus a great deal on princes. Especially princess they have a chance at marrying.
Ostara purses her lips and leans back against the seat.
She won't jump to any conclusions. Not yet anyway. When they stop at Lannisport and get settled Ostara will speak with her father about what's going on. She can at last trust him not to lie to her or avoid the subject all together.
Hopefully the two of them can have a reasonable, adult conversation.
From her lap Rubeus presses his nose to her belly, hot breath seeping through her dress and into her skin.
One of the ladies, a dark eyed woman with honey-blonde hair and a sever face, casts the shadowcat a tentative glance before returning to her embroidery. As she pushes the needle through the pale fabric Ostara notices the shaking of her pale fingers. Ostara tries not to scoff. If the woman was truly so afraid of Rubeus she wouldn't have chosen to sit so close to him.
There's no point in calling her on it, though. Doing anything like that would cause nothing but trouble and the last thing Ostara needs at the moment is anything even remotely close to trouble. Especially now, when she's traveling into unknown territory. Not that anything is going to happen at the tourney. There's going to be too many guards, too many eyes, too many people who'd jump on the chance to fall into the good graces of the King by protecting a member of his family.
But Ostara's not fool enough to think she or her family are entirely safe. Which is why the firm press of her wand against her calf if a reassuring thing. No one can hurt her if she has Rubeus, no one can hurt her family if she has her wand.
A glance at her mother, who is speaking animatedly with one of her companions, is enough to put an end to whatever reservations she might have had about taking another person's life.
Because she and her mother might not see eye-to-eye but Cassana Baratheon is still her mother and Ostara will always have a certain love for the woman who gave birth to her. Even if the woman tends to make Ostara's life increasingly more difficult.
~X~
Early the next morning Ostara finds her father sitting at the large round table that had been placed at the center of his tent.
Ostara doesn't see her mother, which either means she's still asleep or she's gone off to visit with one of her Lady friends. Either way, Ostara glad she won't be present for the conversation she and her father are about to have.
"Father," Ostara says the moment she's stepped up to the table and the man has looked away from his work, "are you intending to betroth me to Prince Rhaegar?"
The silence that stretches between them is more then answer enough but she waits for him to say something anyway.
"It has been discussed, yes, but nothing has been decided upon." Her father says.
"Will I have any say in whether or not I marry Rhaegar?" Ostara demands, temper flaring very briefly.
"My intention was to discuss it with you when the time came, yes."
Easing into a chair Ostara places both hands in her lap and presses her lips together in a firm line.
"What will happen if I chose not to marry him?" She asks.
Her father's blue eyes look terribly amused for a split second before he replies. "I suspect Aerys will be rather put out but it is not something he can order me to do, marry you to his son."
"But the choice would be mine? In the end?"
"Yes, but I ask that you truly consider your options, Ostara. Rhaegar is a good man and he will be King, you've exchanged letters as well, he is not a common Lord and there will be repercussions if you do not marry him."
Ostara isn't worried about repercussions but she understands what her father is saying, what he is asking of her, so she nods her head once before rising from the chair. She's not entirely sure why she sat down in the first place.
"I'll consider all of my options." She promises.
"That's all that I ask." Her father replies.
And Ostara moves to press a chaste kiss to her father's bearded cheek before turning and striding from the room, Rubeus padding along silently behind her.