She watched the ships in the bay, their sails snapping in the wind. The last of the guests came trundling into the godswood, friends and family from both sides. Her eyes crossed over them, and she offered polite greetings. When Ben came meandering, his doublet rumpled and his hair slick with sweat, she cocked a brow. The fact that she had to look up at him to do so was still disconcerting. It seemed like he had sprouted another foot in the last year and a half. A grin crossed his face. "Don't look at me like that, dear sister, I'm not the center of attention today," He said, his voice light, intentionally so.
"No, if anyone that would be my husband," she said with a low drawl. It was a strange thought. She had known from the day she was four and ten she would marry him, yet when she was up in that tower, she was sure it would be her end. The maester had prevented that, and a few deaths below as well. Willem still complained about stiffness in his sword arm, but compared to the alternative she could be glad for him.
She had caused the wound in the realm. She saw it in the Dornish Lords. They mourned the Princess, and Lyanna would carry the knowledge that she had killed Elia for the rest of her days. The Dornish could forgive Robert; their singers loved tales of vengeance, and with the Mountain dead and Tywin banished north, his hand in it was as clean as a King's could get. No doubt some second sons would slip onto ships bound for the far north, pockets full of poison for the Old Lion. Even when she exchanged pleasantries with Doran, his face an easy mask, she saw the other lords watching with barely disguised disgust.
But she also saw other things. Most of the delegation were Sand and Salty Dornish, men Doran could rely on to stand with him. Which meant she could draw ladies-in-waiting from the Stony Dornish. Perhaps she should try the Yronwoods. It would put pressure on Doran to be represented favorably at court, especially with the Stony Dornish at the forefront… from there perhaps Doran's son could be fostered?
She tried to remember his name. Ashara Dayne had spoken about it when they had stopped at Starfall before making for the Tower, but she hadn't been paying nearly enough attention. Quentyn, that was right. Ben's voice cut through her thoughts. "Lya, where has your attention wandered?"
She smiled. "This city has already infected me, Ben. Plotting and planning," she said, shaking her head as she hooked her arm through his.
"That so? You know, I seem to recall you were always one for intrigue," He replied, mimicking a visor being pulled down.
"Quiet, you." Her hand slapped his shoulder lightly. "That was only the once. And I'm not the one who showed up sweaty and rumpled," she added, narrowing her eyes. "I'll get that tale out of you at the feast, you know."
"I know." After a long moment, he spoke again. "I might stay here for a time. Your husband," he said, emphasizing the words with a sly grin, "wants me to work under Lord Manderly. Getting a sense of the council, ruling, the like. He said he wants me controlling the new western port." His chest puffed up at the thought, and she smirked.
"You look like a rooster, you know."
Just like that, he deflated, though he did chuckle. "Insult me like that again, and I'll tell good King Robert all your embarrassing secrets."
"Fine, fine, no need to twist my arm," she said with exasperation.
With silence reigning, her eyes turned toward Winterfell thoughtfully. By rights she should be there, or some small keep. Robert had had Cersei Lannister waiting in the wings, untarnished, the vaults of Casterly Rock behind her. Instead Tywin was on the Wall, and Robert was marrying her. Oh, he had his reasonings - songs and tales and alliances forged in blood, and that was all well and good for the court and the commons, but she saw something in his eyes when he spoke of that possibility. A tension, briefly held and quickly released.
He was certainly different than before. Ned agreed. He spoke sometimes, in hushed tones. How Robert had been set on wiping the whole bloodline, and then he fell into the water and changed completely.
She could not say she misliked this new Robert; he did not drown in his cups, and he did not father any more bastards. Sometimes she wished this Robert had shown through at the Tourney. She had been easily seduced by ideas of queenhood, standing at Rhaegar's side and being free of her betrothal. But she liked to think that it would be different. Perhaps it was simply because she wanted to have father escorting her with his easy, confident gait, Brandon watching on proudly, instead of silence and bitter grief.
Strange, how things ended up. Her eyes wandered to Ned. He was talking to Manderly, stroking that beard of his. Sometimes his face slipped into a mask of cool ice, and that was all father.
She bit her lip for something else to focus on. Mustn't think of that. It could wait until after the bedding, when Robert was asleep. Her power would derive from him, she couldn't go weakening him by crying at the wedding. She had made it through the last one. She breathed steadily, walking over to Ned. She offered a bright smile to Lord Manderly.
"Lord Wyman," she said, curtseying. "Your doublet looks excellent," she offered by way of compliment, and he preened a bit before offering an easy smile.
"Ah, I could never compare to you, Your Grace. Every eye was on you in the sept, no doubt about that." He replied, bowing.
"You flatter me, my lord. We have not spoken much, a mistake I'd like to remedy. After all, we Northerners will be few once the celebrations are over - though I hear my brother will be working under you?" She said, allowing her smile to widen.
"News certainly travels fast here! It's true, Your Grace" He said, his bushy mustache quivering a bit as he chuckled. "And it is no fault of yours, Your Grace. I am busy with my duties; keeping the King safe is ever a struggle." He said.
"Well, we shall no doubt have time during the festivities. Will you be partaking in the joust?" She asked politely. She doubted it. Ser Rodrik sometimes spoke of his skill at jousting when both were young men, but the man before her was well past youth.
He laughed, a booming thing which filled the godswood. "I'm afraid not, Your Grace, though you flatter me in asking. My son Wendel was knighted recently, though, and perhaps he shall take up a white cloak to protect you if he wins," he said, smiling pleasantly.
"I would be happy to have a skilled northern knight protecting me, if he wins," she said, nodding thoughtfully.
"He'll do well, my Wendel will. He's skilled at riding," he said, his eyes pausing on her for a long moment. "Not unlike yourself, if my memory holds true."
She thought for a moment of ill-fitting armor pinching at her, of the feeling of a lance shattering in her hand. "I've not had much opportunity to ride since Flint died," she said with a sad smile. She had been close with that horse, close enough that Brandon had made fun of her, calling her half a horse. Sometimes she had dreamed of riding around the corral, feeling the grass dig into her hooves. Those dreams had gone away after Flint died. But then, so did all of her dreams, trapped in that eternal nothingness of waiting for her babe to arrive, the Kingsguard watching on with stony faces. A pang of pain tugged at her at the thought of her son.
Brandon would grow up among cousins, learning to love and know Winterfell as she had. He would not be tainted by the court, would not have poison in his ears encouraging him to become the next Blackfyre. But it still hurt.
Ned was speaking now, she realized. "...best get ready. The ceremony will begin soon."
She nodded. Thankfully she had not needed to change; the colors of her house were also fitting for a wedding before the Old Gods, but she wished she had a drink of water. She was sorely lacking for ladies in waiting to aid her. She could remedy that soon enough, though. Plenty of lords had hinted as much during the reception, even as they handed over gifts.
She hooked her arm through his, walking up the center aisle once more, though this time the wedding felt more familiar; she had attended Ser Rodrik's third wedding when she was younger, and mother had prepared her well for this ceremony. Her mind flitted through possible houses to draw in. Yronwood, Hightower so Prince Stannis could court his bride, Perhaps the Fossoways or Florents… Grandison and Penrose and Estermont (especially them, being the family of the King's mother could not be ignored). She was still mulling over Riverlander houses when she arrived before Robert.
He certainly looked handsome in his regalia. Rhaegar had been all grace, more beautiful than anything, where Robert was broad and muscular - hells, Robert was even taller than him, and she hated that she had to crane her head to look up to him. Fighting him was miserable because of it; his reach was much longer than hers. Yes, that was why she lost to him so often.
The ceremony was shorter this time. They announced themselves and Ned took the place before the heart tree, watching in place of the Gods as they were wedded once more. There was a faint rustle of anticipation, the wind shifting through the woods like a breathy sigh as they kneeled before the heart tree. Then they rose, and Robert took off her cloak once more with deft hands, replacing it with his own and then, after a nod of confirmation, he scooped her up, walking to the feast. She wrapped her hands around his neck, the warm skin pleasant against the lingering spring chill. The assembled nobles let out a hearty cheer, no doubt looking forward to the feasting. The tourney would begin tomorrow, and already hundreds had signed up for the lists and more for the melee.
She had heard the murmurs, of course. Keeping an eye on court gossip was a valuable tool in any lady's repertoire, and she had been prepared well for southern courts. The nobles were excited. Not since the Golden Wedding had so many white cloaks needed to be filled, and the melee would host the finest swordsmen of the age (save for Arthur Dayne, of course). Alongside the new knightly order, some wondered if Robert would be the next Jaehaerys. A rebirth of knightly chivalry, his supporters said. She looked up at her husband thoughtfully. How well they could work together, if they put their minds to it… after the long descent into madness Aerys underwent, the court had been stifled and constantly afraid. Making it lively once more, encouraging fosterings and squirings and working with the Faith and charities would draw in the nobility, win them to their side. He would need that loyalty with his pet projects, after all.
Still, that was for the future. She slipped into the seat beside Robert, looking out over the nobles filing in for the feast. Not since Harrenhal had she seen so many gathered. She turned her gaze to Robert, who seemed lost in thought. "What are you thinking?" She wondered, cocking her brow at him. His gaze turned to her, sharp for a moment before softening.
"I'll be meeting with the High Septon and his preferred successor tomorrow," he said with an easy grin. "Mostly I was planning out how that would go," he admitted.
"So distracted on your own wedding day," she said, clucking her tongue at him. "I would shame you for it, but so am I," she admitted.
"And what are you thinking of, My Lady?" He said, his brows furrowing.
"Ladies in waiting, court rumors, the like."
"Ah," he nodded sagely. "Those are important. Just be sure to tell me your choices for ladies-in-waiting, so I'm not surprised."
"So long as you tell me your plans as well, husband. You know Benjen told me he was staying?" she wondered.
"I was distracted by talking to Stannis," he admitted with a shrug. "Some business with the guard. I planned on telling you at this feast."
"Fair enough," she said after a moment. "I just… we need to work together, Robert. I'd much rather be Alysanne than Rhaella."
"I promise it shall never come to that," he said with a sad smile.
"Good. So what was this business with the guard?"
"I was checking the duty rosters. Keeping such large festivities secure will take all the men I have on hand," he admitted thoughtfully, running his hand on his chin.
"Just make sure to keep yourself secure," she said, her expression softening. "I would much prefer not to be a widow so young."
"Really, what would you do without me?"
"Enjoy some sanity?" She wondered.
"You wound me. The chronicles will call me lively and energetic," he rebutted, grinning.
"Yes, I imagine they will if they want to keep the dragons flowing," she said with a smirk.
"So long as they remember that fact, I'll be plenty happy," he said, his attention turning to the food that was being brought out. Seven courses would be served, a holy number in conjunction with all the other holy numbers. Really, these southerners were so silly. At least the excess would be doled out to the servants and their families.
After tasting the rich cuisine she reclined back, looking out over the crowds. Some of the Dornish watched her with chilly expressions, but most of the hall was engaged in conversation, enjoying the food and the company. Ben had taken a seat near Lord Jaime and was chatting animatedly about something - she caught the word Kingswood - and the King's brother was showing young Tyrion a sword move the master-at-arms had taught him, though his use of a fork instead of a sword made him look quite silly.
The Reachmen were loosely clumped across the hall, with the men gathered around Lord Hightower discussing something with furrowed brows. His eyes flickered to Stannis and she cottoned on quickly. A handful of the Valemen were trying to chant a song - the Bear and the Maiden Fair, she thought - but failing quite horribly, deep in their cups as they were.
She turned to Prince Stannis. "I heard the fleet took Dragonstone with your help?"
He turned to look at her, his jaw working for a moment before he decided to answer. "We did," he conceded, nodding his head once. "It was no great feat. Most of the Targaryen garrison fled east with the royal family, though it would have been brutal to take had it not been for a local shepherd showing us some caves few knew of. The wall blocking it off had crumbled, and we came out near the gate and the garrison surrendered rather than be slaughtered."
Stannis was cut off by Robert. "Caves?" He wondered. "Were they made of dragonglass?"
"Mayhaps. You can't walk a foot without kicking the stuff on Dragonstone," Stannis said with a shrug.
"Interesting," Her husband said, and she gave him a meaningful look. Asking about dragonglass? It made pretty jewelry, certainly, but not much else. She and Ned had found a pile of shards in the First Keep when they were younger. He shrugged and she put the thought aside for the moment, though she would ask later.
Turning back to Stannis, she nodded. "Still, very clever of you, Prince Stannis."
"A trick, nothing more."
"Tricks helped Lann the Clever win Casterly Rock, did they not? And now his descendant sits among the Great Lords."
He nodded, but did not speak further, his brow furrowed.
Soon enough the pie was wheeled out, a massive thing. "Well," Robert said, sounding impressed. They stood together, and he accepted his sword from Barristan. They both wrapped their hands around the grip, slicing the pie open. A second cut allowed the doves to fly forth, their white wings stark against the blue sky. The crowd cheered and applauded, and they returned to their seat, the pie being served out now. The crust was flaky and the meat within was delicious. The Red Keep's cooks knew their craft well, that was for certain. She wondered if the bad ones had been killed by Aerys. It certainly sounded like him.
Slowly but surely the day passed into night. Ben meandered closer, and she got the opportunity to ask about his state in the godswood. When the smile she most closely associated with mischief crossed his face, her brows instantly furrowed.
He beckoned for her to stand and he moved closer, fumbling with his belt for a moment before handing her a beautiful sheath, ivory white with steel inlays. The grip of the dagger was bone - from a snow bear, to hear him tell it - with a grinning grey wolf as the pommel. The blade was beautiful, shining in the glow of the fires, and the smile she offered him was as wolfish as the pommel's. "Dear brother, you really know what gift to get a lady."
"It only got finished during the wedding, so I rode hard to pick it up and make it back for the ceremony," he explained, before handing her what looked like a tiny belt. "You can put it on your wrist, for easy access."
"Well, I suppose I shan't be wearing tight sleeved dresses anytime soon," she murmured. Then she gave him a hug, trying heartily to crack his ribs in the process.
"Don't want you ending up like Elia," he murmured, as if she was not the cause of the Princess' untimely death. "And him, if things ever end up souring, well… the pack survives," he said, his voice muffled by her hair.
"The pack survives," she affirmed, before letting him free and returning to her seat. Robert was speaking with Jon about glass, of all things.
Soon enough the eating was done. The tables were put up after the seventh course, and a hundred musicians must have been playing, the warm melody filling the air as she danced. Robert seemed more graceful today, at least, and after the third dance they returned to their seats. He was looking out over the crowd with a thoughtful expression, and she joined him. Everyone seemed deep in their cups by now. The Valemen from before were passed out, and plenty of the rest seemed near to that point.
"They're drunk enough they'll call for the bedding soon," Robert said, turning to look at her. "Why don't we escape before then?" He offered his hand and she gratefully accepted it. Truth be told, she hadn't been looking forward to that part, so the opportunity to slip away was much appreciated.
They made their way through the halls, the Kingsguard dutifully following. When they arrived at the royal suite their pale shadows swept through the rooms before taking up their posts outside the inner door. Lyanna trailed after Robert as he made his way inside. He called for some wine, and when the pitcher was handed over by the guards he poured them both a cup, looking out the window for a long moment with the cup cradled in his hands.
Finally she broke the silence. "Would you help me with the ties?" She asked, and turned her back to him, gathering her hair over her shoulder so it wouldn't be in the way of his fingers. Soon enough he was fiddling with them, and after a moment he managed it. Once she was free she breathed a sigh of relief, slipping out from the layers until she was left only in her chemise and stockings. She crossed the room and picked up one of the glasses, before she sat down rather ungracefully on the bed and rubbed her feet with a grateful sigh. She took a sip of her wine and looked at Robert over the rim. He was watching with a slightly agape mouth, his eyes focused on her with surprising intensity.
"Come now, husband, I know you've seen a woman in her undergarments before," she said with a smirk, hoping the teasing would snap him out of it.
"That's like comparing a doll to the Titan of Braavos," he said, shaking his head. "One simply inspires more awe than the other."
She flushed at the compliment and took another drink of her wine to avoid having to speak. He moved closer, sitting beside her on the bed, and she beckoned to his doublet. He raised his brows before recognition crossed his face, and then it was off in an instant. She took in the sight, the scars that criss crossed his torso, the stretch marks around his shoulders and arms. Her fingers traced along the skin, and he hummed, a soft noise of surprise. She was looking for a specific one, though, and soon enough she thought she found it. If the songs were accurate, anyway, though she knew they often weren't.
"You should see the other fellow," he said, looking to her expectantly. She met his gaze and pursed her lips.
"I think I've had enough of him to last a lifetime," she said, and that was all that needed to be said. Her fingers traced other scars thoughtfully, lingering on the most nasty looking one.
"Ashford," he murmured, and she looked up at him once more, his own eyes distant for a moment before they focused on her again.
The sheets rustled gently as he shifted, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. She looked up at him and chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Sometimes, I wonder why you chose me."
"You know why," he said with a soft smile and a shrug.
"I mean the real reason," she clarified.
He frowned, and she bunched up the sheets in her fingers. Finally he spoke. "Because the alternative was worse," he said, and when she didn't reply he continued. "I walked into that throne room and Tywin Lannister presented me a dead child and a defenseless woman like he was some great hero to the rebellion. Like he wanted my praise for killing them. I may have debated the decision for a time after that, but my choice was made in that moment. Accepting that man as my goodfather would have been a mistake."
"So it was politics," she said, shaking her head and looking away.
His hand cupped her chin gently, lifting her gaze. "Never forget that I fought a war for you, Lyanna. I would do it again, a thousand times over."
Any reply she might have made was cut off by his lips meeting hers. They were gentle at first, but when she leaned into it he grew more hungry, nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth and drawing a gasp from her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as she tasted the tart wine on his lips. There was a hazy warmth wrapping around her now, and his hands were running along her back, leaving trails of sparking heat even through the shift. He drew her onto his lap even as his kisses wandered down her neck and oh, wasn't that a pleasant surprise…
She woke well after the sun was up, stretching across the bed and luxuriating in the lush warmth. Some of her aches were pleasant and others were decidedly not. Looking to the side she found a cup which turned out to be water, cold and refreshing. After she had quenched her thirst, she turned to Robert's side of the bed, but he was gone. She felt a pang of sadness at that, but it was silly. The kingdom stopped for no one.
She was pleasantly surprised when Robert slipped back in from some side room, blearily wiping his eyes. When he saw she was awake he grinned, sliding back between the sheets. "Morning," he said, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer.
"G'morning," she murmured, luxuriating in the moment. Eventually it ended - all things must - but it buoyed her all through breaking her fast, riding to the tourney grounds, and the archery competition. She watched along with the audience as the hedge knight Ser Lyle 'Strongarm' and a Summer Islander named Xhalar Choxan competed. They traded bullseye for bullseye until the range was put to a massive two hundred yards. Both men drew, aimed, and fired - but this time Ser Lyle was off by a thumb while Xhalar's struck true. Many in the audience let out a groan at losing their bet. Money traded hands, and Robert applauded the winner.
"That was fine shooting from both of you!" He called. "I've seen no better display. As champion, you may choose a white cloak in addition to the prize money," he said to the Summer Islander. When he refused, Robert graciously nodded. "Well, I commend you on your shooting regardless," he said, and the man was given the prize of five hundred dragons. Ser Lyle was offered the same, and he gratefully accepted, the first of the four to join the white cloaks. The champion of the jousts would join him, as well as the best two in the melee.
The preparations for the melee soon followed. With so many men competing - Barristan said it was close to three hundred - they had to expand the field so there would be enough space for the fight. The crowds swelled as the hours passed, the smell of people roasting meats over the fires filling the air.
Robert left by then, to be armored and armed properly, with Benjen offering to act as his squire since young Edmure had not yet arrived. Lyanna busied herself with speaking to the other ladies. She was in the middle of talking to Lady Hightower about her daughters when the horn blew to announce the melee would begin soon. The crowds rushed to the stands, jostling each other for the best seats, and enough people leaned on the fences that she wondered if they would snap under the weight. Men filed out onto the field, their horses whickering anxiously. Last to come through was Robert, Ser Brynden, and Ser Oswell - the latter two would focus on protecting the king in the event of assassins. Robert sat astride a brown destrier, towering over the field with that antlered helm of his. His armor was polished to a shine but otherwise unornamented, and he was swinging his long warhammer in slow circles, testing the weight. The spike at the top looked rather vicious, in her estimation.
Soon enough everyone was in place and the horn blew once more. Her focus was on her husband, as he spurred into action, meeting a knight in a blue tabard covered in oranges of all things. He swung his hammer once, twice, forcing the knight back as he caught the blows with his shield. Another swing caught it at a harsh angle, and the thing splintered. Cursing, the man tried to pull back but Robert pressed the attack. She gasped in surprise when the young man pushed forward instead, getting inside the swing and grabbing at the antlers. Robert wasn't deterred by this, though, and he yanked his head back, the antler snapping free with incredible ease. The other man was caught off balance, his own swing missing, and the hammer sent him flying free from the saddle to land in the dirt. The crowd murmured, but he soon rose, clutching at his side but otherwise unharmed to lead his horse off the field.
Robert circled the field, and soon her attention wandered to the thick of it, where Lord Jaime was fending off two other knights with ease, his golden armor glinting in the sun and no doubt blinding his foes, forcing them on a desperate defense that ended with them in the dirt. More and more men were whittled away by the minute, forced to lead their horses off the field and - in some cases - to be carried from the field.
Robert was moving closer to Jaime. She couldn't say if it was the tug and ebb of the battlefield, or his own intent, but he batted away two more competitors with quick swings of his hammer, sending them into the dirt. She saw the moment they noticed each other, for Lord Jaime hefted his sword and spurred onwards, and Robert met him in the middle. The other men on the field inched away, not wanting to get in the midst of a duel between two of the finest warriors in the kingdom. Robert tested Jaime's defenses twice, his hammer whipping out in quick blows that were deflected away by rapid parries. Then Jaime struck out, and Robert's focus turned to fending him off, but he didn't seem put off by the onslaught; in fact, she was quite certain that was his booming laugh echoing across the field, exhilaration rich in it.
A/N And so there's the other half of the wedding, in both senses. Hopefully my characterization of Lyanna was alright; I tend to struggle with writing other characters and she's particularly difficult given the lack of characterization we get from being alive during the books. In the end I decided on getting at least a few things across; that her regret about her actions during and before the war are still present even if they do not show on the outside, that she was raised for southern politicking (given Rickard's ambitions) but is still a bit naive about some things, and that her ties with her family are strong (given the Stark unofficial motto.) In addition, I realized I didn't mention Stannis taking Dragonstone so this was my way of getting that part across. I also do not pretend to be a romance writer, so hopefully my attempt was passable. As ever, please do leave a review if you enjoyed this, they're great motivators. Next time we'll get into the melee from Robert's perspective and his meeting with the High Septon. (I am going to introduce FOTS antipopes as a historical concept, naturally.)