Of White Trees and Blue Roses
I own nothing. This all belongs to GRRM, and I'm just playing with the story he gave us.
~X~
Chapter Eight – The Crannogman
Once Brandon was willing to let her go, Lyanna wandered away to enjoy the sights and sounds on the way to find Benjen, if their father was finished with him. She wondered what it was that he had decided for her youngest brother.
It seemed to Lyanna that her family was finally growing up and going their separate ways. It wouldn't be too long before Brandon was married to Catelyn Tully, who he had pointed out from a distance. She had seemed well enough—she was pretty, with long red hair and blue eyes, and she'd smiled politely and curtsied once she noticed she was being observed. Lyanna had thought she'd caught a mischievous glint in her eyes and had smiled back.
Better than the girl that Brandon had said that Ned adored—she was too...girlie. And Lyanna hadn't liked the way she had looked at Brandon.
Brandon had been looking back, but that was because he was assessing her as a marriage prospect for their brother, wasn't it? Lyanna felt a little uncomfortable at the idea of their being a mutual attraction between already betrothed Brandon and Ashara Dayne if she wed Ned.
Though Lyanna thought that she might have to accept infidelity as a fact of life if Robert's current lovesickness wore off once they were married. He had a voracious appetite for women and drinking that almost rivalled Lyanna's own appetite for riding and playing at being knight in secret, and she knew she'd never want to give up her passion if there was any way she could continue.
Lyanna's train of thought was frozen in its tracks as she saw a scuffle—a squire pushed a younger boy down to the floor, and then his two companions kicked him as he lay there, curling himself into a ball.
"Hey," Lyanna yelled, but they didn't turn their attention away from the beating they were giving the boy. She drew the tourney sword from its scabbard and strode forward.
When she reached the first squire she pushed him and yelled, "That's my father's man you're kicking."
For a second, the squire was taken aback, but then he recognised that she was only a girl and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, Lyanna hit him hard on the leg with the flat of her sword, and he squeaked in response.
The second squire got a blow to the side of his head as he turned to look, and then the third stepped away as she held the sword with both hands, poised to strike.
"Do your masters know that your idea of honour is kicking a small boy when he is lying on the floor? You should be ashamed, and not least because you were stopped by a woman."
The squires gave her a resentful look as they limped away, and a crowd that had gathered around parted for them.
Holding out her hand to the bloodied figure on the floor, Lyanna noticed that he wasn't as young as she first thought. He was short, with curly unkempt hair, and wearing a dirtied green shirt with a number of bronze disks sewn onto it. She'd seen men dressed this way before, at great feasts that her father had held down the years.
"You're a crannogman."
His kind inhabited the swamps and marshes around the Neck, a natural defence on the way north. More importantly, the Starks were their liege lords. He was as much of the North as she was.
Groaning as he got to his feet, he seemed to be in his late teens rather than of a similar age to Benjen as his height suggested. Once he straightened himself, Lyanna realised she was an inch or so taller than he was.
"Yes, my name is Howland of House Reed." He wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. "If those boys should be ashamed of being vanquished by a girl, maybe I should feel more ashamed that I had to rely on you to rescue me...but thank you."
"A Reed...of Greywater Watch?"
Howland nodded in confirmation.
"Lyanna of House Stark. You're as highborn and have as much right to be here as those cretins that attacked you. Come with me." Lyanna grabbed him firmly by his hand, much to his surprise, and he seemed hesitant. "We have a maester who could clean your cuts and heal your bruises. Please?"
At first he refused, but finally relented and allowed her to lead him inside Harrenhal. Lyanna smiled at his expression of awe—the men of the swamps lived an isolated life in light wooden castles that could be moved. Harrenhal, which was vast to even those accustomed to living in a great stone castles, must have seemed like a wonder of the world.
As they walked, Lyanna explained how it was twisted and blackened because of Aegon the Conqueror's dragons, and that as whoever held it seemed to perish before their time, it was said to be cursed.
Howland listened intently, and she continued her tales even while the maester bound his wounds.
After hearing the excitement over their sister's escapades, it didn't take long for her brothers to join her. Ned offered Howland a place to stay in his quarters, and being similar in size Ben offered the newcomer a set of less conspicuous clothing.
Once he was dressed and washed, he could have passed for any young lordling. In fact, as they entered the Great Hall, more people took note of Lyanna than Howland.
She could read the expressions on their faces—for a young woman to wield a sword the way she had was unheard of. They thought she was an abomination, a blight on her family, and the type of girl that became an old spinster, dying alone with the shame of embarrassing her family.
Lyanna looked at her future spouse, and was reassured that he wasn't about to break their betrothal because of her actions. If anything he seemed to be staring at her with eyes wider than usual. As they ate, he even managed to say, "Well done."
He soon looked away when Lyanna smiled back, and she thought she saw a red flush rising up his neck.
Could it be that Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storms End, actually approved of her behaviour? Liked her the way that she was and would not expect her to behave like a traditional lady? For the first time ever, Lyanna thought that her marriage might be perfect.
Sitting between Lyanna and Brandon, though he was more of an age with Ned and Robert, Howland looked on in amazement at the largest gathering of people he had ever seen. The hall must have had a hundred fire places, most of which were lit, and every guest was garbed in their finery, each emblazoned with the sigils of their houses. While he stared open mouthed at the colourful feast for his eyes, Howland stiffened when he found the three squires that had embarrassed him earlier.
"House Blount, House Frey, and House Haigh," Lyanna confirmed, and then pointed them out to her brothers who shared her opinion on their lack of honour.
Then Prince Rhaegar called for his harp, and the entire hall fell silent. His princess, sitting to his left, stared in adoration, while his father to his right sipped his wine, his mouth hard and his expression sour.
He sang a song of a lady so dismayed by her lover's constant indiscretions that she climbed to the top of a high tower, and after lamenting all the things she had left behind for this loveless existence, she jumped to her death.
It hit a little too close to Lyanna's own heart, and after previously sending smiles in Robert's direction, tears began to roll down her cheeks.
Ben laughed. "Be careful, sister. People might actually start to believe you are a girl after all."
Without saying a word, Lyanna picked up her cup of wine, upended it over her youngest brother's head, and then stormed out.
After a few shocked seconds, everyone who had witnessed the act smiled about it, proclaiming the she-wolf of Stark a fearsome creature. The only person who stayed silent about Lyanna's exit was Robb, who swallowed down huge gulps of wine, lest he be swallowed himself from the inside out by the admiration he felt.
Once he was too drunk for conversation, and Brandon and Ned were deep in conversation, Ben shuffled closer to Howland.
"I can see you looking at the squires who wronged you earlier. If you like...and if you promised to keep it secret...I could find you a horse and some armour that might fit if you wanted to joust and defend your honour."
Howland considered the offer for a moment, and was tempted, only giving his thanks and no answer.
He had never seen jousting, let alone tried his own hand at it, though he stared at the squires and dreamed for a moment. Finally, he realised that he was more likely to shame himself further by attempting to claim some kind of vengeance, and then they'd laugh all over again about how foolish and weak crannogmen were.
He wasn't weak; he was just a stranger in this world, unaccustomed to their ways and practices. If the three squires had met him in his world, amongst the trees, swamps, and rivers, they would be strung up in nets and have darts in their rumps with all manner of poisons to make life uncomfortable for them for a while.
I will watch the jousting with my new friends tomorrow, he thought, and then I will know whether I can joust or not.
Trying to forget about his shame, he focused on a collection of dancers enjoying the music now the dragon prince had ceased his ballad and the other players had struck up something a little more jolly.
In their midst was a girl with long white hair who was as light footed as she was fair, and who danced with a different man for every song. Howland noticed Ned watching her intently, though he never made a move to join the others in asking for a turn. In the end, his older brother got to his feet to talk to the pretty maid.
As Brandon drew close, Ashara gave the widest smile she'd given all night.
"I was hoping the wolf from the north would ask me for a dance."
"Then I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lady. I come here to ask on the behalf of another."
Ashara's face dropped, so Brandon continued, "It might seem unseemly if I dance with the most beautiful woman in the world while in the presence of my betrothed.
His compliment seemed to brighten her mood somewhat. "Then who is it who wishes to dance with me?"
"My younger brother, Eddard. He hasn't taken his eyes from you all evening."
Ashara looked over his shoulder in the direction he'd been sitting, and found Eddard staring. His face went as red as a beet and he averted his eyes.
"He's not like you at all. He blushes like a maid. He's not as handsome as you, or as wild and fierce. I daresay you wouldn't blush like that," she said, her tone becoming flirtatious.
Trying to swallow down his reaction at her dismissal, Brandon smiled. "Ned is a better man than me in many ways. Will you dance with him?"
Thinking for a moment, Ashara chewed at her nail. "I will dance with him, and him alone for the rest of the feast if it pleases you, if you would do one small thing for me..."
"And what would that be, my lady?"
Ashara gave her most seductive smile. "I want you to come and find me after the feast, away from prying eyes, and promise that you'll dance with me for the rest of the night."
Feeling torn between disappointing his brother or shaming him in private, Brandon hesitated before agreeing, and then returned to give Ned the good news.
He sat in silence as he watched Ned take to the floor, no one taking much notice of the conflict he was going through. Ashara was as good as her word. She danced with no one else, and her eyes barely left Ned's face while everyone watched, stealing only the slightest of glances in Brandon's direction when she could.
I'm doing this for my brother, he told himself. Ned was quiet, but given a chance a woman was bound to admire him for his quiet intelligence and sense of honour—something Brandon envied him. Sometimes Brandon wished he had been born second rather than first—with his volatile temper and impulsive nature the responsibility of being the future Lord Stark never sat well. Ned would have bore the duty well.
But, that wasn't the way it had worked out, and Brandon wanted to see Ned married for love rather duty like Brandon would have to be. No doubt "dancing" with Ashara would be one of the more pleasant duties he'd had to perform, no matter how much it irked him.
For Ned, he reassured himself, and took a long drink.
When Robb fell asleep with his head on the table, the oldest Stark sibling offered to see him safely to his quarters. Soon after the dancing was over, and Ned bid his dancing partner farewell. As Howland walked with him back to their shared room, he noticed that Eddard Stark had a new lightness in his step, and his shy smile seemed bolder.
Watching from his window, King Aerys looked down on the merrymakers leaving the feast and gave a look of disgust.
"Look at them," he said to himself. "Fools, all of them. All my son has to do to win them over is sing a sad song. Does he think that is how he'll remove me from my throne? Does my perfect boy think some pretty armour and a few well placed lances will put the crown on his head any sooner? I think not."
Aerys walked over to his bed and climbed under the furs.
"No, if he wins the throne that way then one day someone who can joust better, with prettier armour and a sweeter singing voice, will remove him. I will show him that. He must learn. They must learn.
"If he defies me, he will burn, and anyone else who wishes to rebel—against me or my heir. It will not be tolerated."
The king fell asleep with a smile on his face as he watched both his enemies and his son's go up in flames in his dreams.