Chapter 3
"Lord Elwood Meadows!" a herald announced to the courtiers in the throne room. Lyanna saw Brandon shift uncomfortably on the Iron Throne from her seat beside him. Lord Elwood was second in command to Ser Cortney Penrose who was castellan of Storm's End. It wasn't difficult to fathom why he was sent here.
Lord Elwood strode into the room, behind him were his guards, carrying two Baratheon banners, an ostentatiously bright yellow. The prancing stag was partially hidden by the drooping of the banners.
"Greetings, your grace, as an envoy from Storm's End on behalf of all the Stormlords, our liege lord Renly Baratheon has committed no crime. As such, in the name of justice, we demand that he along with all of his bannermen and knights in his house guards be released immediately."
A hush settled over the gathered courtiers as all turned to watch their boy king on the throne.
"No crime! My lord, Lord Renly Baratheon, though he is my uncle, has been plotting against the throne with Stannis Baratheon. Whose forces are going to march on this city at any moment! He has committed treason and is a traitor to the crown!" Brandon declared, standing up to his full height. Pride swelled in Lyanna's chest, she has taught him well.
More murmurings came from the gathered crowd. Followed by some nods of assent.
"He is no traitor! Any fool would know Renly Baratheon would never civilly dine with his brother, let alone plot with him!" retorted Elwood.
"That's enough, Lord Elwood!" Lyanna stood from her seat, too. "The king has arrested Lord Renly on suspicions of treason against the crown. However, in his benevolence, he will grant Lord Renly a trial. The Seven will judge him in his innocence or guilt."
"His only crime is being Stannis Baratheon's brother!" Elwood's face contorted.
"Silence! Or you will join Lord Renly in the dungeons," Lyanna threatened. Taking a deep breath, she addressed him again, "You will relay this message back to the Stormlords. Renly Baratheon will not be released unless he is deemed to be innocent at his trial. On my honour as a Stark, if he is truly innocent, I will not hesitate to return him to his lands."
Elwood muttered something beneath his breath, gesturing angrily.
"Meanwhile, show Lord Elwood and his men lodgings inside the keep. Ensure their horses are well fed and rested for their journey back to Storm's End," Brandon called out to a servant, sitting himself back onto the throne.
"I do not need your hospitality, we already have lodgings of our own," replied Elwood, smug. A snivelling smile flashed across his face.
Lyanna narrowed her eyes. They are refusing their Guest Right. A bad sign. Had they accepted it, it would mean they did not want to resort to open hostility. Now it seemed that Elwood and his men had more up their sleeves. Maybe they even intend to break Renly free from the dungeons, not an exceptionally difficult feat if they really had their mind set on it. She dug her nails into her palm. She would send men to have them watched and double the guard to Renly's cell.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Varys watching her keenly. What exactly does Varys want was an enigma. He certainly did not work for one of the great houses. When he says he worked for the realm, Lyanna wasn't entirely sure what he meant. He surely was not trying to keep the peace.
The whole idea of Renly's trial weighed on her mind. Renly dead or alive made no difference. With him alive, the Stormlords would still go to war even if just to free him. And with Renly's particular relationship with Loras Tyrell, the Tyrells may even soon follow suit. Killing Renly would not stop them from going to war. He would just be a martyr. As for releasing him, that simply was not an option as it would make the crown seem spineless, cowering at any imminent bloodshed.
Lyanna felt fog swirling around the corners of her eyes, as if she was treading a narrow path covered with brambles and obscured by fog. Though, she knew one thing, the Stormlands are lost.
Yet a trial would just make Brandon a seemingly just leader. And there was still a cloud of uncertainty hanging over the Tyrells. Lyanna gnawed her lip, tasting blood on her tongue.
Slowly, petitioners dwindled as a late afternoon sun slipped beneath the horizon and a gloom began to seep into the throne room, casting dark shadows across the three dragon skulls behind monstrosity that was the iron throne. Soon after, courtiers, still murmuring about the dramatic declaration regarding Renly Baratheon, slipped back to their quarters.
Varys sidled up next to her as Lyanna made her way back to her solar with a swish of silk. A scent of lilac clogged the air around him.
"A bold choice, your grace. To give Lord Renly a trial."
Lyanna bristled, hair at the back of her neck standing. Surely Varys was not here to just pass judgement on her actions.
"I'm a Stark. We try to give justice."
Varys simpered.
"Yes, indeed. But surely, Renly Baratheon's life isn't so important, anything we are to do now would revert our path to war? Then, we can only imagine the most unusual, must we not? Say, you free him…. or, gods forbid, allow him to be broken out of the dungeons?"
She paused slightly. Did Varys hear about Elwood planning to break Renly free from the dungeons? It was certainly understandable. And she suspected as much. She continued walking, silent.
But Varys knew he had her attention now.
"Renly and Stannis were never the close brothers we would think, your grace." He paused, staring at her with wide eyes. "When Renly was trying to escape the keep, he wasn't planning to call his banners for his brother."
Lyanna narrowed her eyes. Varys leaned even closer.
"He was planning to crown himself. Especially now that Loras Tyrell is stirring over in Highgarden."
They had almost reached her solar. Varys excused himself. A pounding was beginning to start in her head. She had needed Renly as a hostage. When he attempted to escape, she assumed Stannis had covertly shared his suspicions with him, not even considering that they had never been close. Logically, Renly was to return to the Stormlands to call his banners for Stannis. But Varys was suggesting Renly had heard about Stannis' suspicions, but was exploiting it for his own gain. With Highgarden's support.
Now instead, her arrest of Renly only gave both the Stormlords and Loras Tyrell a symbol to fight for with Stannis.
Blood rushed into her head. Forcing herself to clasp her hands, Varys' plan began to formulate in her mind.
Let Stannis and Renly fight each other, not united against her. Slowly, Lyanna's heart slowed its pounding. But first, she needed to let Renly go. What better way than to have his own men break him out first? Let them first revel in their victory.
Yet, how can Stannis be convinced to attack Renly first? Or the gods forbid, that Varys was wrong and they would unite to take down King's Landing first? The possibilities were endless, none of them seemed to be in her favour at all.
Trees in the Kingswood grew thick, obscuring any view of incoming travellers along the final leg of the King's road leading into King's Landing. Today, Ned was awaiting the arrival of Oberyn Martell and his entourage. It made him uncomfortable to think of his niece in Doran Martell's hands even though he knew the Martells were not so perverse as to truly hurt an innocent girl. Yet it would not protect her from being exploited for her blood. Not truly king's blood, his mind reminded him snidely.
It was a widely unfair trade, Ned thought. In return, Doran sent his brother. But Oberyn, from his reputation, was a dangerous man, perfectly capable of protecting himself even from the likes of Lyanna. He would be a hard man to manipulate. Not like an eleven year old girl. Besides, while the Dornish had placed forces in the Prince's Pass, Ned doubted they would do anything else. A costly alliance indeed.
His palfrey shifted underneath him, impatient after standing still for so long. Behind him, his standard-bearers held up both a Stark and a Baratheon banner. Each sigil fluttering in the wind. Soon he heard a distance rumbling of hooves and carts. One by one, bright orange banners of the Martells came into view, an orange sun pierced by a spear. Ned had never met a Martell or a Dornishman before. He had seen Elia and Oberyn at the fateful Tourney at Harrenhal but paid them little mind. They were royals, distant and unreachable. Besides, he had been too infatuated with Ashara Dayne, the princess' companion to pay attention to the princess herself.
Of course, he's heard stories. About their promiscuity. And the adage to never trust a Dornishman. They had been a powerful family, allied to the Targaryens. However, at the Trident, the Dornish army was routed, scattering after Rhaegar's death. This was followed by the slaughter of Elia and her children. It was no surprise that after Robert's Rebellion, they merely retreated back into Dorne, maintaining little contact with any of the other houses.
Ned supposed they were a little like the North. Their culture was different from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms with their own customs. Just like the Northmen were considered barbarians, the Dornishmen were considered untrustworthy.
"Greetings!"
A woman's voice drew him from his reverie. Riding towards the head of the entourage was a Dornishwoman, with dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes. Ned had hoped to see the prince ride out to meet him. He racked his brain, trying to discern who she was. Oberyn did not have another sister beside Elia. She was too old to be one of his daughters. Though, he was not known to have married though he did have a paramour.
"My lady, I am Eddard Stark, Hand of the King," Ned said gruffly, inclining his head to the woman.
She smiled widely, calling out, "The Honourable Eddard Stark?"
There was a mocking tone behind the address. Ned pressed his lips into a hard line. He peered along the train of Dornish guards and men, but he could not see the prince. The woman trotted up to meet him.
"My lord, I'm only teasing. I am Ellaria Sand. You can call me Ellaria."
So Oberyn's paramour? Ned could not help but feel a little insulted. He had rode out to greet the entourage at Lyanna's insistence. The Martells were proud, they needed to be handled with caution, she warned him. They hate us already. Do not give them more reason to turn against us. Yes, he was getting much better at deciphering the meanings of words spoken at court. A strange sort of code, but not indecipherable.
Ned might not be a proficient at intrigue and politics as Lyanna, who inherited Rickard Stark's cunning, but he was determined he would not die because of it. Immediately, Winterfell and its inhabitants sprang to mind. Catelyn with her sad, solemn face as he rode South. Robb trying to wear the mantle of the Lord of Winterfell. Sansa's tears as she asked why she couldn't come and see King's Landing. Arya and Bran's clashing of sticks as they played in the yard. Rickon huddling Shaggy.
But in return, Oberyn lets his paramour greet them, not even bothering to greet Ned himself. A jape. A mockery. A clear message: Your family might hold the throne. But we respect you not at all. Weariness set in.
"And Prince Oberyn, my lady?"
"He was tired to the snail crawling pace of our entourage. He went ahead to the city already, my lord. It had been years since he had been here last."
Undoubtedly the last time, Oberyn had been to King's Landing was when Aerys was still King and his sister a princess. Alive with her children. Ned wondered what Oberyn thought now. Most definitely how much he hated Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark.
Ned shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.
Lyanna stepped into her solar, eyes adjusting to the dimness. She had hoped for a stiff drink and absolute silence to help contemplate the issue of Renly. But instead, she found the tension in the room so thick, it could be carved with a knife.
"Your grace, I couldn't stop him." Arthur Dayne stood stiffly in the center, body tense. Opposite, helping himself to her Arbor gold was Oberyn Martell. Or who she thought was Oberyn Martell, considering the sun and spear sigil he wore as a clasp for his cloak. And all the suns and spears sewn onto his tunic. Momentarily, she thought Ned would be back too.
Anxiety crawled in her stomach. She had heard that Oberyn Martell was half a madman. Quick to anger. Unforgiving. The viper. Deadly.
And she was Lyanna Stark, the woman who dishonoured his only sister and crowned queen over her still warm body.
Lyanna could not help but wonder what cruel fate he had plotted out for her. She had not expected them to arrive so early, taking her completely unawares. Arthur was still glowering, glancing at her questioningly. But she dismissed him, inclining her head, hoping he understood that she was grateful but she would be fine. He looked as if he was to disobey. He probably would stand behind the door, listening for any sign of trouble.
Straightening slightly, she dipped her head in greeting, clasping her hands together as demurely as she could, droning, "My lord, I hope you had a pleasant journey."
Oberyn narrowed his eyes. Instead of replying, he gestured at the grey velvet runner across her desk.
"Grey is a drab colour."
"Ah," Lyanna pushed down her desire to bristle, smiling lightly, "in the North we have more pragmatic tastes, I'm afraid."
Yes, that was done well. Humble, but still laced with meaning. We want to set aside our differences, act to our best interests, not driven by passion. Yet, she wondered, when it ever was possible to reason with a madman. Perhaps, Doran was clever in sending his brother. His madman of a brother, to instil fear.
She paused, "though, grey is also the colour of wintry skies and frozen lands. After all, our words are 'winter is coming'."
Yes, I am not so easily cowered. Not by guilt. Not by anything. Lyanna thought. As if to demonstrate, she gingerly sat down behind her desk, feigning polite indifference. They are allies. He would not so carelessly spill blood.
Oberyn drained his goblet with in a gulp, advancing towards her. He was tall, towering over her seated form. She shouldn't have sat down, she thought. Lyanna folded her hands across the desk. This man did not like weakness. Or euphemisms. Indeed, his coming and waiting in her solar was to intimidate. He had even left mud all over her carpet. To make her uncomfortable at this horrible breach of decorum. The Martells cared not for those who held King's Landing.
"I would offer you wine, but you seem to have wasted no time in helping yourself to my wine," Lyanna commented lightly, placing emphasis on 'my'. "or in insulting my choice of decorations."
He ignored the jibe.
"Yes, I thought the Starks were also honourable. Though, it is a strange sort of honour. Innocent children murdered under your nose. And no one lifts a finger."
Lyanna's jaw tensed. So now we get to the heart of the matter, she thought. Rhaenys and Aegon's murder was not condoned by any of them. Ned had been furious about the manner of their deaths. Yet, she held her tongue. Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. She had known about their deaths. Yet, too embroiled in her own self-pity at having to marry Robert and give up Jon that she never put another thought to it.
"No wonder, grey is indeed your colour."
She leant forwards in her chair, grey eyes meeting black. She wondered, if she should press the point that their inaction certainly did not mean they condoned it. By the time, Ned arrived, the deed was done. As for her, she didn't even know about it until much later. However, she knew she was treading on thin ice. But her tongue was too glib.
"My brother was furious when he found out about the sacking. It caused an unsurmountable rift between him and Robert. It had been done by the time the northmen arrived at the keep. If you have forgotten, it had been Lannister crimson that wrapped the bodies."
Oberyn seemed surprisingly dismissive. Lyanna frowned.
"I know who did this. I want justice."
Lyanna blinked. Surely, he must have blamed all of them for the sack. Starks, Baratheons, Lannisters. Cultivating his anger bit by bit. But his candidness surprised her. While, he held no love for them, he cared little for assigning blame to all those who the perpetrators inadvertently aided in their quest for power. She considered this new possibly. Perhaps, Oberyn Martell was less of a madman then she thought.
As for the deaths of the Mountain, Amory Lorch and those others, while she cannot demand their heads, there must be other ways of bringing them about. Besides, she was sure the prince who poisons wouldn't mind how they were to die. But it would be too much of a strain in their precarious relationship with the Lannisters.
"Thank you for your candidness, prince Oberyn. It was certainly unexpected. But Jaime Lannister is the single most precious thing that Tywin Lannister has. And your brother holds him in Dorne."
"Jaime Lannister killed Aerys. He might be an oathbreaker. But he did not commit atrocities against my sister and her children. I want the heads of those who did."
Oberyn glanced pointedly at her silver crown sitting on a cushion on one side of the desk. Silver encrusted with obsidians and rubies like droplets of blood.
"How did you come to possess that crown, your grace?" he taunted.
Lyanna's nostrils flared. She had never wanted that wretched crown. How dare he compare her to the likes of Cersei Lannister. She would be content just to do as she pleased, not trapped in King's Landing with a crown on her head.
"Loras Tyrell is leading a renegade force from the Reach to free Renly. Though, Highgarden has yet to declare for anyone. Soon, I assume, the Stormlords would probably be calling for Stannis as king."
Ned and Lyanna were sitting in the Godswood. Leaves and twigs littering the ground was enough to warn them of any intruders. The irony was not lost on her. Ned had asked her here the day he demanded that she leave King's Landing, so horrified that a false king shall sit on the throne. Now, he was fighting and plotting with her to keep said king on the throne. A soft breeze was whistling among the weirwood. But this wasn't the north, there was no voices Lyanna thought she could hear in the wind. Empty. Godless. Exactly like King's Landing.
Lyanna sighed. Just as she thought.
"Varys said something to me today. He said that Renly was planning to crown himself."
Ned shook his head in disbelief.
"He's the youngest son."
Lyanna smiled, glad that some part of her older brother hasn't died. It was still honourable and dutiful Ned.
"Besides, he has only ever rode in tourneys. How can he expect to lead battles and win wars?"
She shook her head.
"No, it seems Renly believed that kings need not fight in battle. You charm others to fight for you. Ha, he would have made a fairly good queen."
Ned grimaced, disgusted. Meanwhile, Lyanna giggled childishly at an image of Renly in a flowing green gown. Ned narrowed his eyes at his sister, perplexed yet oblivious.
"Always, everything it takes to win the game of thrones."
"I prefer to call it the game for survival," countered Lyanna, shoving that awful image away from her mind. "Though, it seems that by arresting Renly, we had aided him by making him a martyr to be saved."
"So Varys wanted him to fight Stannis, his own brother."
She nodded, privately agreeing with Ned's distaste. Pitting brother against brother. Especially when Stannis had always been so dutiful in caring for his younger brother. Yet, she tells herself, it was Renly who wanted the crown. They simply stoked the fire.
"Varys wants us to let Elwood break Renly free. So he can fight Stannis."
"That's too risky."
"Ned, you know we cannot hold off Stannis and the Reach. Manderly's fleet is not enough to hold off anybody."
Her mind raced. Stannis was an honourable man, but unlike Ned, prickly and prideful. "If he feels that his younger brother would steal his crown, wouldn't that just wound his pride and honour? Maybe even enough to fight to regain his pride first. After all, Stannis cares a lot for his honour."
Reluctantly, Ned nodded assent.
"I'll call off some of the extra guards then."
Though, Lyanna would swear he did look at her rather darkly. With a jolt, she realised Ned had anticipated that Elwood may have had more up his sleeve.