Chapter Three: Howland Reed

Howland Reed had never been to a tournament before. In the Neck there were great feasts for almost every occasion, but they were nothing compared to the magnitude of the Tournament at Harrenhall. Outside the castle there was a market that stretched for over a mile filled with every type of vendor you could imagine. Besides the dozens of merchants peddling their silks and spices, there were dancers and jugglers and a mummer's group that performed every night. Most of the lords and ladies stayed within the castle itself, but their men were camped all around it. So, naturally, certain tents and tree circles became unofficial brothels and gambling dens. Howland's father had warned him to be careful. He knew that most of the men here were unaccustomed to crannogmen. Well, he was unaccustomed to them as well, especially the Southerners. They walked roughly, stomping their feet into the dirt as if it had never slipped out from under them, talking loudly and causing a ruckus wherever they wandered. So far he had managed to remain mostly invisible, except for the merchant who sold him a slice of roasted boar, which, in Howland's opinion, was considerably lacking in flavor.

Now he was seated in a tree, enjoying a few moments of shade before the opening ceremonies began. It had not rained in several days, and the ground was dry and dusty. Maybe if it had been muddy like Howland was used to, he would have heard them approaching. But as it was, the ground was dry, and he did not hear them until it was too late to hide.

"Hey, what do we have here? Jole, what's that thing your uncle said he saw in the Free Cities? The animal that climbed trees and did that little dance?" The speaker was a short lad, a squire judging by his dress. With an untidy mop of black hair, the squire was solid muscle.

"A monkey?" Jole had a high-pitched nasly voice and was obviously a few years younger than the first squire.

"Yea," said the first squire, "a monkey. Hey, monkey, why don't you come down here and give us a little dance?"

Trying to decide if it would be best to launch a surprise attack and run or just simply ignore them, Howland sat perched in the tree, trying to keep his eyes locked on the stream below while still keeping a watch on the boys out of the corner of his eye.

"Aww, I think our monkey's a little shy." A third squire had arrived, this one at least a foot taller than the first, although not quite as muscular. He bent down to pick up a tiny rock and tossed it in his hand. "Maybe he just needs a little coaxing."

Before Howland knew what was happening, all three boys were pelting him with small stones from the stream bed. A particularly large stone hit him on the shoulder, making him lose his balance and fall into the stream. As the boys continued to throw pebbles at him, with shouts of "Dance, monkey!" a young woman in a torn and muddy blue gown came tearing through the trees on the opposite edge of the stream. Taking a moment to absorb the situation she immediately began running through the stream, which, although shallow, still left her dress considerably muddier. It seemed at first that the youngest squire would start throwing pebbles at her as well, but the tall one stayed his hand.

"Don't. That's Lady Lyanna Stark." He said.

With thorns and leaves sticking out of her hair, Lyanna helped Howland to his feet, all the while yelling at the squires that they were disrespectful whoresons who should be ashamed of themselves. The only response she got was a sarcastic "Aye, my lady" from the tall squire before the three boys sprinted off back toward the camp tents.

"Milster, Prilvain, and Trilarre."

"My lady?"

"I recognized those squires. They serve Ser Milster, Ser Prilvain, and Ser Trilarre, all of minor houses. Robert introduced them to me only this morning." Lyanna laughed as she sat down by the tree and began pulling the twigs out of her hair. "He said they had limitless courage and unquestionable honor. Well, I certainly question the honor of any knight whose squires act like that." She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the mud. Howland immediately liked her. Not only was she beautiful, her free spirit mentality was refreshing, especially after being bombarded with the rigidity of the Tournament guests.

"So," she said, turning to look him in the eye. "My name is Lyanna Stark. You may call me Lyanna. Who are you?"

"Howland. Howland Reed, my lady."

"Oh, shush with that my lady nonsense. You're a crannogman, aren't you?"'

"Yes, my lady."

"My father speaks very highly of your family. I haven't yet had the pleasure of visiting any of the clans. Is your father here with you?"

"No. I came alone."

"Alone? Really?" A long horn sounded in the distance, signaling the end of the market for the day. Soon everyone would be finding their places for the tournament's opening ceremonies.

"Howland, would you join us for dinner?"

"I'd be honored my lady."

"Great, let's go." Lyanna dusted off her skirt, a vain attempt to make herself presentable, and allowed Howland to escort her to the castle, the young lad beaming with pride and dripping with mud.