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 Eleven – The Knight of the Laughing Tree
Jamie sat down and Cersei turned away.
"Thank goodness. For a moment I thought you were going to stand and stare at Lyanna Stark all day."
Jamie smirked. "Are you jealous of my attentions, dear sister?" The hard look she gave briefly before turning her head away once more was his reply. "Maybe you've forgotten that I'm a sworn member of the kingsguard, and now any woman, Lyanna Stark, Lysa Tully...you, are to be put out of my mind and out of my bed."
Cersei's green eyes met his and her mouth twitched with the slightest of smiles. "Out of your bed? I don't recall that being part of your oath. You will take no wife or father no child." She thought on it for a while. "I heard nothing of beds."
They smiled at one another, both understanding that if beds had been mentioned then he would have broken his oath on the first night, but unable to say as their uncle was sitting too close.
After a short while, Cersei nodded to where Lyanna and Eddard Stark were sat with Lord Robert of Storm's End. "Do you think she's pretty?"
Slowly, Jamie took his sister's hand. "She's fair enough, I daresay, but she's not beautiful...like you."
When his sister's face beamed like the sun in response, he knew that he'd given the right answer.
"She's fair of face and figure, but what about her demeanour?" Cersei's brow furrowed. "We've both heard about her beating off a group of squires with her brother's tourney sword. She's strong, wilful, and brave enough to take on a man. Do well bred men find that attractive?"
"Some men might find that a little difficult to handle, and some might be drawn in by it—her betrothed, seems to be a good example of both." Jamie indicated Robert Baratheon, his neck and cheeks flushed as he spoke to the Stark girl. "For years I've heard about his promise as a great knight...and of his reputation for bedding as many women as possible, but she gelds him by her very presence. That's not a foundation for a good match in my eyes."
Cersei looked at them for a little while longer and instead of the scorn Jamie felt seeing Lord Robert behave that way, she found it endearing. Lyanna Stark was a strong female, not conforming to the traditional ideals that a woman should be seen and not heard, and it filled Cersei with a longing to do the same.
"But he adores her for strength, for her wildness."
"Maybe he does, but a woman shouldn't behave like she was raised by wolves. Lyanna Stark acts like a boy, and unless you are that way inclined that isn't an attractive feature." Jamie grinned. "Now if a woman could be strong and wise, yet still be a lady, that would be a fearsome thing indeed.
The twins smiled. Yes, Cersei agreed mentally. A fearsome thing indeed.
Her eyes sought out Princess Elia, looking pale and languid as she waited for her husband to take the field.
"When will I wed the prince?" a child's voice whispered in her head.
"Never. You will wed the king," the crone replied.
Remembering the Maggy the Frog's prophecy, Cersei looked at King Aerys. He was old and losing his wits, it was plain for everyone to see. She would never marry him—her father would never allow it even if Cersei herself had taken leave of her senses and wished it upon herself.
No, one day Rhaegar would ascend the throne, and maybe then his sickly wife would make way for Cersei to fulfil her destiny. The thought gave her comfort, and she tried her hardest to block out the rest of what Maggy had predicted.
~X~
Feeling nervous, Lyanna tried to look as nonchalant as possible. Somehow she felt watched and it made her feel uncomfortable—though not as uncomfortable as Robert felt, it seemed.
"I wonder, Lord Robert, why you don't joust?" she asked, trying to strike up conversation.
Robert's face went puce. "I—I'm not built for jousting. I much prefer the melee."
Their eyes met, and then Lyanna's dropped to his thick arms. Arms that could lift a war hammer that many others couldn't.
"Robert's fighting in the melee in a few days time," Ned added to break the silence that had grown, but then horns sounded and Lyanna stood and applauded with the others when Prince Rhaegar and Brandon took the field.
The white knight and the black knight, Lyanna thought as they rode before the king and bowed. Rhaegar was in his usual ornate black armour, decorated with flaming rubies and orange, red, and yellow streamers. Brandon rode a grey charger, his colours grey and white, and prominently displaying the Stark direwolf.
Ned turned sharply and looked at her. "Brandon challenged the prince?"
Lyanna confirmed it with a nod. "I tried to talk him out of it—I told him to think tactically when deciding who to challenge, but you know him as well as I do."
"Yes, once he has his mind set, there is no changing it." Ned seemed sad at the prospect of his older brother losing.
"Didn't you hear?" Robert finally found his more confident voice. "Fortune favours the bold. If a man never tries his hand, or his lance, at a stronger opponent, how will he ever know whether he can be beaten or not? My money is on your brother."
"And my money is on Prince Rhaegar," Lyanna said quickly. As guilty as she felt about betting against Brandon, she had another brother in the tourney who could benefit from little more coin to equip himself. It seemed to Lyanna that the outcome of this joust was a foregone conclusion. Brandon was good, and he would certainly be a tough opponent on the battlefield, but he didn't have the same level of horsemanship as the prince.
Jousting is mainly about how well you ride, she remembered, and I ride better than all of my brothers.
The white knight of the direwolf and the black dragon faced each other from opposite side of the rails, and Brandon was the first to move. The two clashed and the sound of lances breaking into splinters echoed.
Brandon flew off his horse with such force that Lyanna gasped and ran to the wooden fence keeping the spectators from the field. She wasn't the only one. A little further down both Catelyn Tully and Ashara Dayne had gotten from their seats in shock, their faces full of concern.
Lyanna watched Rhaegar remove his helm, jump down from his horse, and duck under the rail towards her fallen brother. Stiffly, Brandon took Rhaegar's offered hand and inched himself to his feet.
The applause that hadn't come when Ser Brandon Stark had been unhorsed finally arrived, along with a loud cheer that the vanquished knight hadn't been as badly hurt as many had first thought.
Brandon removed his own helm and both prince and northman bowed to the king. Looking at her brother, he winked when he saw her and the ball of tension in Lyanna's stomach released.
But then a second pair of eyes found her and Lyanna froze. For a moment the world stopped and Lyanna forgot to breathe.
When Prince Rhaegar turned away it took a short while for Lyanna to recover her senses, and then she berated herself sharply for behaving like such a silly young girl. He's just a man, she told herself. He had looked in her direction very briefly—of course he would, she was the sister of the man he'd just knocked off his horse. She shouldn't feel so struck by it.
Remembering that she hadn't been the only concerned woman, she looked to see if Catelyn Tully and Ashara Dayne were still by the fence, and she found that they were.
Catelyn Tully's face was pale but relieved, as she clutched at her décolletage and tried to calm herself. Lyanna's regard for her grew. Her future sister-in-law loved her brother, that was plain.
Ashara Dayne...Lyanna took a moment to assess the other girl's expressions. Her lilac eyes were watery, but there was a flush in her cheeks as she watched Brandon leaving the field.
Steely grey met watery lilac and narrowed. That was not the reaction of a woman who thought of a man as a brother-in-law.
~X~
Prince Rhaegar left Ser Brandon Stark in the capable hands of his squire, and paused by the tourney field for a while. He wanted to watch the other challengers, he told himself, to see who he might come up against tomorrow, but he knew it was a lie.
He'd taken the field today against Ser Brandon Stark with the dream of the ice knight on the direwolf piercing the chest of the dragon in mind, and that was why he had given the contest his all.
Ser Brandon Stark had looked the part, riding his grey charger, his colours that of snow and stone, and the direwolf sigil on almost any surface that could bear it, but he wasn't the ice knight, that much was now plain to see.
The future Lord Stark had been outmatched, and in his desperation to avoid his own predicted death, Rhaegar had almost killed the northman.
As soon as he'd found that Ser Brandon was aching but well, Rhaegar had immediately began thinking about who else might be the ice knight. He'd found Eddard Stark's long face amongst the crowd, green with concern over his brother.
Then he'd seen the sister. She'd been clutching the wooden fence tightly, looking stressed and panting heavily. Something had happened between them. Looking in the Stark girl's eyes, something had clicked into place, only he wasn't sure what. It almost felt like a touch of destiny.
Could the Stark girl be the ice knight? The figure riding the direwolf had been slight, not large like her oldest brother.
No, how could Lyanna Stark be a knight, unless the dream was symbolic. Though...the prince vaguely recalled hearing someone talking about a daughter of a northern lord who had scattered a number of squires with only a practice sword, and Rhaegar himself had seen her pour her cup over her youngest brother's head before storming out of the hall not last night but the night previous.
Where was the youngest brother? Rhaegar couldn't remember seeing him, but then he'd not seen Lord Stark either. The moments after the joust had been confusing.
And his eyes had been lost the second he found the Stark girl...
Rhaegar was snapped out of the moment as a roar of laughter came from the crowd. Passing through the bystanders, he caught sight of Ser Leslyn Haigh, identified by the black pitchfork on gold and russet colours. He knew Ser Leslyn was a poor jouster, but the laughter did not seem to be at his expense.
Pushing closer to the fence, people stepping aside and apologising as they saw who it was that wanted to be through, Rhaegar finally saw Ser Leslyn's opponent.
The unfamiliar knight was short, riding a chestnut mare, and held a blue shield displaying a weirwood tree with a pronounced smile and red eyes—it was not a sigil he was familiar with and Rhaegar usually prided himself on knowing all the houses, large or small, poor or rich, that existed in his future kingdom.
But the thing that was most remarkable about the mystery knight, and what was causing the jeers and jibes, was the fact that he was wearing a set of armour so poorly matched that it looked like he'd purposefully went out to create such an image. Either that or this boy—because he surely couldn't be a man—had had to settle for the items thrown away or sold cheaply.
This must be a jester. This knight is really a fool organised by my father to shame Ser Leslyn for some perceived slight.
Still, he watched with interest as Ser Leslyn dug his heels into his horses and the two knights hurtled at one another across the field. Both lances glanced of the other's shield, and for a moment Rhaegar thought they would have to charge again.
Ser Leslyn Haigh slowly lost his seat and slid to the floor, landing undignified on his rump with a clang. The roars and laughter erupted anew.
The mystery knight turned his horse around and cantered to where the pitchfork knight was seated.
"At least he'll have some decent armour now," someone heckled.
"It'll be too big for him!" another voice replied.
Ser Leslyn said something to the other jouster out of earshot. The mounted knight still wearing his helm replied, "I do not wish to take your horse or your plate in return for my victory." The heckling reached a fever pitch, but the loud booming voice of the mystery knight prevailed. "Instead, teach your squire honour. That shall be ransom enough."
Prince Rhaegar startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but then smiled when he saw it was Arthur.
"Well, I never. When I first saw him I took him for a fool in plate. Now it seems that the Knight of the Laughing Tree is actually a capable jouster despite how he looks."
With the slightest of chuckles, Rhaegar patted his closest friend on the back. Tomorrow he'd face Ser Arthur Dayne as he'd intended today, before he'd been given the chance to test Ser Brandon Stark instead.
"You know of this knight? Come, Arthur. Tell me about it."
Walking back to his quarters, Rhaegar listened intently, his mind now empty of thoughts of the dark-haired girl dressed in blue, looking back at him with grey eyes filled with a touch of fate.