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 Twelve – The Fairer Sex
As soon as Lyanna excused herself, Robb became his usual self.
"Did you see the look on his face?" Robb guffawed. "You could have slapped him around the face with a fish and he wouldn't have looked any more stunned. Probably thought he had an easy win. Do you know who the mystery knight is?"
Ned shook his head, although he was worrying about how truthful Lyanna had been when she'd said that Benjen and their new friend, Howland Reed, had been watching the archers. Ben was enthusiastic about jousting, this Ned knew, but keenness didn't guarantee a capable knight.
He would watch the three of them at dinner tonight. If Ben had been jousting and won, no doubt it would be written all over his face.
Then Ned froze as he saw Princess Elia leaving the stands, almost hidden in the crowd of her entourage. Catching sight of a flash of white blonde hair, he rushed forward, trying to keep up.
As Ned managed to get ahead, he pushed his way through the other onlookers, finally rewarded when her eyes met his. Ashara Dayne.
She smiled. Not just a polite smile, but a genuine stretching of her mouth to show that she recognised him and it pleased her.
As if by magic, Ned turned to stone, allowing everyone to pass him by while he was lost in the beautiful picture in his mind. She was sheer feminine perfection, never before in his life had he seen anyone, anything, so pure and delightful.
And she had danced with him—all night—at the feast before the tourney truly got underway.
He was in love.
Brought back to his senses by a sudden jolt, he struggled to keep his balance. Robert stood by him, shaking his head.
"What a pair we are. Look at us—lovesick fools."
Ned laughed nervously, and then looked at the ground as he fell into step beside his friend. At least Robb knew he was going to marry the woman he loved. A woman like Ashara, well she was too good for the likes of Eddard Stark, second son of Lord Stark of Winterfell. What chance did he have?
But she danced with you, part of his brain pleaded, and if he'd had coherent thought before he'd seen her, he'd forgotten what it was.
~X~
When Lyanna finally managed to get away, she found Ben changed into his regular clothes, passing up sacks containing his ragtag armour and equipment to Howland in the tree above.
They saw her, and Ben ran over to hug her tightly.
"Did you see? Did you see me win?" Ben was about to burst with excitement so Lyanna smiled as she replied.
"Well, you didn't so much knock him off as he fell off. Tomorrow will be harder. Both Frey and Blount are better in the saddle than Ser Leslyn." Howland jumping down from the tree caught her attention. "Nice disguise, Squire. I'd never have recognised you covered in that dirt."
Ben grinned. "That was my idea. I thought that if he wore a hood pulled down over his face and something that we'd rubbed in dung, no one would want to come close enough to figure out who he was. Worked a treat—everyone gave him a very wide berth."
As Howland drew near, Lyanna could still smell the evidence on him. "Make sure you have a bath before you go to the hall tonight." She turned to her brother. "You need an early night. No wine with your food, and I want you to go over everything you've ever learned about jousting before tomorrow."
Ben rolled his eyes.
"And I'm going to wear the armour when we make our challenge in the morning, so you can be seen in the same place as the mystery knight again. I think people suspect."
"Yes..." Ben said with a sigh at his sister's bossiness.
"This is serious, Ben. Make sure you don't sit there with that grin on your face all night either, you look like you just won a joust."
Ben grinned in reply, and then tried his best to hide it.
~X~
Prince Rhaegar sat in the seat at the top of the room and looked amongst the crowds on the long tables before him, making a mental list of anyone who was of the correct build to be the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Though, it had to be said, that there was no guarantee that they would be here tonight—the quality of the armour would certainly be consistent with the mystery knight being a squire or someone lowborn who could not otherwise enter the lists.
Analysing the unknown jouster's technique, it was clear that their training was not yet complete, and their slightness of form seemed to suggest someone young.
But how would a squire or someone of the likes manage to get Ser Jamie Lannister, newly appointed to the kingsguard to speak for him? And Ser Brandon Stark?
Rhaegar's eyes found the Starks sitting at a table at the far left of the room. His jousting opponent was notably missing; after discovering the extent of his wounds, the prince had sent his own personal maester to treat him.
Around their table sat Lord Arryn and Lord Stark, Lord Baratheon, and Brandon's younger siblings.
A quick look at Eddard Stark told him that he was too grown to be the mystery knight, plus he had seen him in the stands immediately before the Knight of the Laughing Tree had arrived. Next to him sat the youngest Stark—Benjen. His form definitely made him a candidate for the mystery knight, and Arthur had informed him that Ser Leslyn Haigh's squire had been part of the group that had insulted the crannogman that now followed the Starks everywhere.
No one could remember seeing Benjen Stark during the jousting that day. Nor the crannogman friend, who was of a similar build.
Maybe it wasn't Brandon Stark that was the knight in his vision, but a younger brother in disguise? There was a chance that the mystery knight might make it through tomorrow and challenge him later in the lists.
On the third charge, Rhaegar remembered from his dream, the wolf-mounted knight pierces the dragon's chest with his icicle lance.
He was brought out of his trance by his wife whispering in his ear. "Will you stay with me tonight? I get so lonely when you stay up and read."
When he looked down in to her eyes, he saw the sadness and felt pangs of his own need for her closeness, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. How long had it been since he'd stayed with her all night?
Too long. Lately he'd avoided showing too much affection in the bedroom, torn between his own physical needs and the knowledge that another conception against all the diagnoses from the maesters would kill her. Could he really sacrifice his own wife for a third child? Break his heart and leave Aegon and Rhaenys without a loving mother just to fulfil a prophecy?
No, he couldn't.
"I will stay with you," he whispered back before kissing her forehead. The look on Elia's face told him that she understood what that did and did not entail. If she was disappointed she hid it well.
Looking to his left, he saw that his father was still resolved to spend the night silent, sulking, and paying no attention to anyone but the servers. It was better that way—it meant that father and son did not have to try and find some common ground to converse on, an increasingly difficult task.
That was when he saw a dark-haired girl enter the hall, knowing before he truly saw who she was.
Lyanna Stark, walking alongside the crannogman.
Part of him quickly assessed her build to see if she would fit the patchwork suit of armour belonging to the mystery knight. Another part hoped to be struck like lightning like he had on the tourney field, but before that could happen, he turned back to his wife, losing himself in her smiles before he could be claimed by the eyes of another.
~X~
Lying in his bed, Brandon Stark closed his eyelids tightly shut. For all Prince Rhaegar's maester had managed to send the pain of his injuries far away, Brandon felt more than drunk as the candle became not one but two, three, four candles.
He didn't like the feeling of being so out of control. Even when drunk, he never lost power over his own body—you never knew when your fists or your sword might be needed. With the room rolling the way it was he was as helpless as a kitten.
When the door creaked and opened, he opened his eyes quickly to see who it was. If it was the maester, he'd say no, no more, and send him away, but then a dark hood was pulled back to show three heads with flowing white hair.
Trying to sit up but floundering, the first thought that came to Brandon's mind was that this was a three headed Targaryen come to finish off what the prince had started, but as the figure grew closer, the heads briefly drifted into just one face, before unfocusing again.
"Ashara," he croaked.
"The answer to your question is yes, I will marry your brother...especially if that means we will spend lots of time at Winterfell." Three sets of pink lips smiled back at him, and then she dropped to her knees beside his bed.
"My brave warrior." Her warm hands rubbed over his brow, which was slick with sweat. "I came to comfort you..."
As hands ran down his chest and attempted to find their way under the blankets. He managed to grab an arm, and it stopped all of the wandering limbs at once.
"No."
Ashara giggled and then took his hand in hers, kissing his fingers before bringing his palm to her breast. Brandon recoiled as if he'd been stung.
"No. No more. For Ned." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Brandon knew that he should be more careful with his words, but it took everything he had just to speak at all.
"You say that, but you don't mean it." Ashara leaned forward to kiss his lips but Brandon turned away.
When he turned back, the girl looked upset. "You want me to go?" But when Brandon nodded, she didn't accept that as his true answer. "You don't know what you're saying. Too much milk of the poppy."
Her hand ran through his hair, and this time Brandon shouted, "No. Never again." He was about to add, "For my brother," when he realised that for all Ashara Dayne was undoubtedly beautiful, she would be the worst possible wife for Ned. Ned was full of honour and always did the right thing, and here was Ashara, trying to find her way into the wrong bed.
Ashara would break Ned's heart, and shame him. He deserved much better than that.
"No. Changed my mind. No more wedding."
Ashara got to her feet, her face a picture of horror. "What? What do you mean you've changed your mind. Surely you can't mean...after I lay with you?"
Brandon was about to argue back that it had been Ashara doing the seducing, and climbing into bed had been a condition before the girl would even listen to his proposal that she marry his younger brother, but he didn't have the energy.
"Just go. Go. Don't come back."
Ashara's face became much less attractive as her three heads contorted into masks of anger and fury. She paused long enough to slap Brandon across the face, but it might as well have been a caress for all Brandon was able to feel.
At that thought, Brandon couldn't help but laugh, and with a disgusted noise Ashara left, the motion of the closing door sending a pleasant breeze across Brandon's face before he finally passed out.