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 Fourteen – Identities
Instead of the lust for life and sense of possibility Ben usually felt when he woke up, that day he woke up groggy and dry mouthed, with an overwhelming sense of disappointment.
He shouldn't feel that way, he thought as he tested his still sore shoulder. There would be no jousting for him today, but then it was only by extreme good luck and hard work and planning that he'd managed to have even that. Besides, he'd jousted twice and won twice, against men more than twice, probably more than three times his age. Wasn't that something to be pleased about?
Yes, but it should have been three jousts and three wins, he reminded himself and then thought about his dream.
He'd dreamed that Lyanna had taken a turn to joust, and that she'd gone on to be the champion of the entire tournament, beating both Prince Rhaegar and one of the kingsguard. Already jealous of his sister's prowess with a lance, Ben felt even more insulted when she crowned him the queen of love and beauty. When he looked down he saw he was wearing Lyanna's gown, and everyone was pointing and laughing, including his sister—who had taken Prince Rhaegar's armour and mount as ransom, and looked every part the great warrior, her helm removed and hair blowing in the wind.
It was just a dream. It wasn't real. I know what I need to do. Taking a deep breath Ben steeled himself to get out of bed and quickly pull on some clothes.
Quietly opening his door, he ran to where Lyanna was sleeping and knocked.
"Who is it?"
"Ben. I need to talk to you."
There was a rustle, and then she called him in. When Ben walked through the door Lyanna was in bed with her covers up to her neck.
He sat on a stone ledge near the window, his face as sombre as his mood.
"Lyanna...about the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I can't joust today. I just wanted to say that—if you wanted to—I would be okay if you wanted to...joust today. I know you want to."
Lyanna's eyes grew wide. "You mean you wouldn't mind?"
Shaking his head, Ben added, "I've taken two turns. There'll be other times." His eyes met his sister's. "There might not be another chance for you."
A moment of mutual understanding passed between the two siblings. He was going to miss having Lyanna around once she was married, and he knew that she didn't want to leave Winterfell and her family. She was his favourite brother, sister, best friend, and partner in crime rolled into one. This was his way of showing that he appreciated her for just being there.
Lyanna smiled and threw back the covers. Ben gasped in shock.
"They're mine!"
His sister was wearing breaches and one of Bran's shirts, and he only now noticed a pair of black boots almost hidden under the bed.
"Howland gave them to me. He's wearing his own clothes today under his squire cloak." Jumping up from her straw mattress, Lyanna picked up a blue fabric bundle. "I'm going to get ready. Will you cover for me at breakfast?"
Unable to hide his incredulous smile, Ben replied, "Yes. What should I say?"
"Just tell them that I was moody, snapped at you, and then stormed off. If you're lucky they'll think it's women's troubles and not ask for any more detail."
Nodding, he watched Lyanna pull on his old boots.
"See you when you enter the lists...and good luck."
His sister smiled and breezed out of the door.
~X~
The king sat in his seat in the centre of the stands in a particularly conflicted mood.
He'd had a dream last night and it had been beautiful at first. He'd been one of Aegon the Conqueror's dragons—Balerion, the black dread no less—and he'd perched on the walls of a newly built Harrenhal. Breathing his flame, blackening the stone, and feeling the raw destructive power, he'd felt truly alive. It had almost felt real.
But when he'd leaped into the air and landed in the godswood, a white tree with red leaves laughed at him.
"Beware the boy. He will be your undoing. History will remember him as the kingslayer," the tree warned as it beamed and roared.
As Balerion, the king had tried to burn the tree down but it remained untouched, still laughing. The rest of the trees and the grass were aflame, but through the mesmerizing orange, yellow, and black, he caught sight of two knights charging at one another in the distance. The first was all in black, and the king recognised his own son, Rhaegar. Against him there was a slender knight on a white horse, all armoured in white, and bearing a white shield.
The white lance caught his son in the chest, and King Aerys awoke in his bed, crying out, "No."
His first matter of the day had to be to call for Jamie Lannister, the newest white knight of the kingsguard, to inform him of why he had been given the honour, and then promptly send the boy to Kings Landing.
It was only as he was sat eating his smoked fish and boiled eggs that the king remembered that the white knight in his dream hadn't held the pure white shield of the kingsguard, but that there had been a sigil in its centre, but what, he did not remember.
Still, it was no loss that he had sent his new toy away. It would give Ser Jamie time to find a quill and tell his father what he'd done. The briefest of smiles crossed the king's face as he imagined Tywin Lannister's expression as he realised that he now had only a dwarf and a daughter to inherit his impressive lands and wealth.
His mood hadn't brightened for long. Once he'd thought on the white shield more, he'd began to wonder who might be the secret conspirator who was planning to kill both the king and the crown prince.
Sitting in the stand nearby was the answer. Starks. The grey direwolf on white.
Lord Rickard was getting old and his jousting days were over, but he had always seemed to self-righteous, too moral for King Aerys' liking. The Warden of the North held what had been the largest kingdom before all of Westeros had been unified by King Aerys' Targaryen ancestors.
Assessing the company the northern lord kept, he noticed that he was sat with two of his sons—the oldest, his heir, Brandon Stark. He'd challenged his son days ago and been suitably chastised for his arrogance in thinking he could challenge a royal competitor.
Also sat with them was a young boy whose name he did not remember. Could he be the boy the laughing tree had warned him about? Lord Stark had another son—Edd, or something similar—who he had fostered with Lord Arryn, along with the young Lord of Storm's End. Try as he might, the king couldn't find the lord of the Vale and his wards.
Are they plotting against me? Are they seeking to remove me from the throne and kill my heir? Or is Rhaegar with them, wanting to replace me before it his rightful turn?
If the north, the Vale, Storm's End, and his own son were against him then it would be wise to watch them all closely, ready to proclaim treason the second he had evidence.
Shifting in annoyance and impatience, the king barked at Ser Arthur Dayne to bring him some wine, and none of that filth from yesterday.
Luckily, there were few challengers and champions left to eliminate before the final day of jousting tomorrow. The king hated jousting. Maybe, he mused, he might ask for some wildfire to be brought after the final and burn the tourney field to the ground. Then he realised that it would take too long for someone to go to King's Landing and back, especially transporting such an unstable substance. The tourney would be long finished by the time the volatile, flammable liquid arrived.
For a brief moment the king imagined everything burning around him: the stands, the people, the rail in the centre of the field in front of him, and even the vast castle of Harrenhal itself. It was a wondrous sight, but then his daydream faded as the crowds cheered despite the flames.
Two knights entered the field and paused to bow before him. The first knight was one of the Freys, which one the king did not care, as it was the second knight was the one that caused alarm. He looked at the mystery knight in his patchwork armour, and remembered how he'd wondered if Lord Whent had been meant to insult him by allowing such a mockery to enter.
"Ser Aenys Frey, and the Knight of the Laughing Tree."
The white tree on the ridiculous knight's shield caught his attention, with its red leaves and crudely painted and exaggerated red smile. It took everything the king had to prevent himself from getting to his feet and ordering an execution there and then.
No, not here. Not now. Listen to how they cheer for this fool. I must be clever. I must be patient and find the right moment.
The king watched intently as the jousters took their position. Even across the field the painted laughing tree mocked him.
Then the two clashed, and two lances broke on shields, and now the laughing tree was hidden from view. King Aerys knew it was still laughing though it was out of sight, and he felt burning rage bubbling up within him.
The second charge also resulted in broken lances, but on the third charge, the Knight of the Laughing Tree landed a clean hit and Ser Aenys was flung from his saddle.
The crowd was almost deafening, and many got to their feet to applaud. The tree mocked him as the knight insulted the defeated Frey by refusing to take ransom, and then bowed and left the field.
Now the Laughing Tree is a champion—tomorrow he will face my son and that must not happen at any cost. Taking a deep gulp of his wine, the king dreamed up many suitable punishments for the mystery knight's insolence, and was lost to the world around him for a number of hours after.
~X~
Lying in wait, disguised in pauper's rags, Prince Rhaegar had been hidden in the godswood since dawn, searching for the mystery knight yet trying to remain unseen. Until now he'd not appreciated just how vast the wood was, and was starting to despair of finding any sign until he'd come across a fresh pile of horse dung and trampled earth beneath a tree.
Realising that he'd missed his opportunity to see them arrive, Rhaegar found a outcropping of rock not far away and chose to await the mystery knight's return. Arthur was watching the tournament under instruction, ready to report on any developments.
There had been a good chance that the Knight of the Laughing Tree wouldn't make an appearance today if he truly was Benjen Stark. The boy had taken an injury, and had been absent from the evening meal the night before, as had his sister and friend.
But if he did show, then Rhaegar would find out for certain if the boy was the direwolf knight. It had to be true—everything seemed to fit. If this person was the one to cause his death, then he wanted to know and why before it came about.
Rhaegar crouched lower, looking beyond a crevice in the stone with one eye when he finally heard approaching hooves.
He had been right to hide here, he thought, as the Knight of the Laughing Tree came into sight, his squire clinging on behind him. Reining up his horse, both boys jumped off and hugged tightly.
"I can consider myself fully avenged." The squire pulled off a soiled cloak and underneath he was wearing the outfit of a crannogman.
Before Rhaegar could think, I'm right, the Knight of the Laughing Tree removed his helm.
"I'm glad we could be of assistance." The two embraced again, and then the knight reached up behind his head and unloosened a knot. Cascading dark hair was set free, and Rhaegar felt stung to his very core when he turned around.
The Knight of the Laughing Tree was not Benjen Stark, but his sister—she of the captivating eyes that Rhaegar felt so drawn to. How could that be? He had seen her in the stands the first time he'd seen the mystery knight joust. Unless she and her brother were taking turns to play the part, he decided before he drove himself mad.
The crannogman was helping her unfasten her armour, and underneath Rhaegar saw that she was dressed in the outfit her companion had been wearing on previous days. Once all the armour was removed and packed away in brown sacks, which were then hauled up into the trees, Lyanna Stark commanded the boy to turn the other way.
Rhaegar knew he should do the same thing—it was the only right, respectable thing to do, but slave to his own excitement, he shamed himself by watching as the young girl removed her boots, shirt and breeches before climbing into her gown.
He wanted to look away—he wanted to run away, but he found himself paralysed, barely able to move a muscle, spying on her naked form. Her slim waist, her slender but toned thighs, and the way her dark hair tumbled around her firm breasts...
He had found his direwolf knight, the jousting ice maiden of the north, fair of face, and a fearsome warrior in the making. Her piercing stare had caught his attention previously, only now Rhaegar knew just how devastating the effect had been.
So now he knew the meaning of the dream—he had found the ice knight, and his unexpected discovery had torn a hole in the centre of his being, but what of the rest? He had breathed flame and burned his dream opponent, and both had perished before the snows arrived, with a blue rose growing from their tangled bones.
Whatever it was, he felt that same touch of fate. This could be as important as the red star and the smoke and salt, possibly even the number three.
In a daze, Rhaegar sat there long after the two conspirators had dressed in their normal attire and secured their other belongings, his mind spinning. It was getting dark before he left the godswood.
He hadn't gotten to his chambers before Arthur found him.
"My prince...are you all right?" Arthur's face had grown concerned. "Your father has been looking for you quite urgently."
"I'm fine," Rhaegar said quietly. "I will go now. Walk with me—tell me how the Knight of the Laughing Tree fared today."
Striding alongside his friend, Ser Arthur Dayne smiled. "Well, I can say that he wasn't boasting when he said he would raise his game to suit his opponent. He is a better rider than he initially led us to believe."