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 Fifteen – Souvenirs
When Rhaegar emerged from his father's quarters, he strode purposefully to his room, Arthur keeping close behind him.
"My prince? Rhaegar? What is it?"
Not missing a step, the prince looked around for ears. Not finding any, he spoke urgently but softly. "Remember the dream I told you of? My father had a similar dream—that I will be pierced through the chest by a fellow jouster here at Harrenhal. What is more, he also believes that same knight, the Knight of the Laughing Tree, will kill him, too."
Arthur's brow furrowed. Though both father and son often had dreams, he was always more inclined to look for truths in the fruits of Rhaegar's disciplined mind rather than the king's delirious ramblings. For them to have dreamt the same thing was unusual.
"Then I will not leave your side, my lord. You will be safe with—"
"I am already safe, Arthur, completely so. The lance is metaphorical not physical. But I fear for the safety of the Stark sons—father has it in his head that there is a plot against him."
Finally stopping as he flung open his chamber door, Rhaegar scrambled around for his peasant's cloak—his faithful disguise. Once it was wrapped around his shoulders, the hood pulled down over his face, he grabbed Ser Arthur's shoulders.
"You are a loyal knight of the kingsguard, and also my closest of friends. I need you to do something for me—something that might at first seem to be defying the king you swore to protect."
Ser Arthur shifted awkwardly, but he knew the serious crown prince would never ask him to compromise his oath lightly. After a while he nodded.
"My father believes that he must burn the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and that he is a Stark seeking to undermine him. I believe that his dream means that burning the Knight of the Laughing Tree will destroy both him and myself."
"But we have seen all of the Starks while the Knight of the Laughing Tree was present," Ser Arthur replied, but saw the look in his friend's eyes that said he knew more.
"Tonight, the king is going to ask everyone to unmask the mystery knight. We both know that the Starks have been seen, but I want you to make sure that you saw the youngest, Benjen Stark, on each occasion, whether you did in reality or not."
"Lie to my king?"
Rhaegar pleaded silently, and he saw how difficult the situation was for Arthur to swallow. "On this occasion the king needs protecting from himself. If he burns that boy in front of his entire family tomorrow, the kingdom will be torn apart. You can protect your king with a lie today, or you may find it even more difficult when his actions bring about a war with the North and the Vale."
Arthur did not have to give his answer verbally. Rhaegar was wise beyond his years, and it was rare that he predicted something that did not happen exactly so. He would lie to his king.
"Where are you going?" he asked the prince as he developed a stoop and limped towards the door, escaping strands of his white hair beneath the rough brown hood making him seem ancient.
"I'm going to find the Knight of the Laughing Tree before anyone else does. I shall see you at the feast. "
~X~
The sky was growing from orange, to pink, to lilac, as Lyanna sat on the stone ledge, looking out of her window.
Today had been the greatest day of her existence—nothing would ever compare to the thrill she had felt on the tourney field. And on the morrow, she would joust against the greatest knights in the seven kingdoms.
Her mood turned towards the bittersweet. Poor Ben. It would sit very hard with him—after all, it was him that had gotten the Knight of the Laughing Tree through the first two rounds, and now he had to sit, concealing his injured shoulder, while she received the cheers he'd earned.
But he was right—there would be other times for him. Eventually, when he was an ordained knight, he wouldn't have to hide behind poor armour and fake names. This was all there would be for Lyanna. Soon she'd be a wife and a mother, and it would be her turn to look on while her husband and sons got to do the things she longed and ached to.
It wasn't fair, to be restricted purely because she was born a female. She could ride better than most men, and now she knew she could also joust as good as many of them. Ser Aenys Frey had been the more talented of the three knights who they'd challenged in the name of Howland's honour. Three times they'd broke lances—she, Lyanna Stark, a mere girl, had done that.
Tomorrow she would face Ser Barristan Selmy and Prince Rhaegar himself, though she did not believe she could win those matches, and internally she debated whether she should compete in the morning or not, given the risk of discovery. She could not put away the idea of her final moment of glory. Imagine if she won...
Sighing deeply and watching the sky turn to a deep navy, Lyanna decided that she would go and check on the horse hidden in the godswood—no doubt any guards who had observed her, her brother, and Howland's frequent visits to the home of the old gods would think that they were very devout indeed.
Putting on her cloak and grabbing a torch, she made her way, breathing the air deep into her lungs and smiling as she went on her way.
Passing the heart tree, its face still full of hate, Lyanna found the mare eating the grass in the same spot she had left her earlier. As she drew near, the beast raised its head and gave a short snort of recognition.
After running her finger down her long brown muzzle, Lyanna was suddenly alerted by the fact that one of the sacks of armour had fallen from the tree.
Before she could walk over, a hand covered her mouth while another grabbed one of her arms. Immediately, Lyanna struggled but a voice in her ear shushed her. Instead of heading it, she fought harder against the stranger's hold.
With a strong grip, she felt herself swung around and pinned against the tree. Aware of her female failings and the lack of strength her arms, Lyanna remembered why she couldn't run away and become a hedge knight. She was a girl, alone in the quiet, barely used but huge godswood of Harrenhal, while the castle was full of many persons unknown, with varying levels of chivalry.
"Shhh. Shhh. I'm here for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I'm not here to hurt you."
The name of both her and her brother's secret identity stilled her, and she looked up to see her attacker's face.
The dark purple eyes of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen looked down at her, and involuntarily, Lyanna gasped in recognition. The prince removed his hands from her skin and then took a step backward.
"I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to call out and attract attention. Apologies for frightening you."
Unable to speak at first, Lyanna simply looked at the famous young man before her, looking distinctly less regal in the dark, wearing simple clothing, as he did in his jewelled black armour. But why was he here?
"My prince," was all she managed to utter in the end.
"I know who you are. You are playing a very dangerous game, you and your brother. I came to warn you that it will soon become even more perilous."
The prince looked at her with a serious expression, waiting for an answer. Irritated by the idea that he might think she was simply another overwhelmed young girl, Lyanna forced herself to speak.
"Are you asking me not to joust tomorrow?"
Staring, his thoughts incomprehensible, the prince took a while to answer her question. "My lady is free to make up her own mind, but my father is quick to anger, and the mystery knight offends him. The Knight of the Laughing Tree might find him or herself accused of treason, even when none was meant."
"Treason?" Lyanna exclaimed, and then her first thought was of Ben. He would be the first to arouse suspicion before she did, and he still had his shoulder injury which many might recognise as coming from the second joust. Still, the decision was hard to make.
"I—I agree. The Knight of the Laughing Tree will not joust tomorrow. You have my word. Thank you for warning me."
Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "You will need more than just my warning. All of this must be gone before the feast is over. Tonight all of Harrenhal will be searched for any sign—the Knight of the Laughing Tree must cease to exist immediately." He paused for a while. "I have made arrangements for your brother to have an alibi for the entire tournament. But nothing that can tie either of you to the mystery knight must be found."
Lyanna looked at the sack on the ground and the other still in the tree. "I will go get Howland...he will help—"
"No. He will be under suspicion, too. If either your brother or your friend are found with these in their hands it will be seen as a confirmation." The prince walked forward, climbed up the tree, and found the second clanking bag of mismatched armour. "You and I, we're less likely to be missed. Who would question the prince, and who would suspect a girl of being one of the tourney's champions?"
Prince Rhaegar smiled. Even if he was mocking her, Lyanna could rest happy knowing that one of the two remaining champions knew that she and her brother would have been amongst them—the future king of Westeros, no less.
After helping him bring the heavy bag to the ground, Rhaegar disappeared and came back with a heavy set horse. Tying the two sacks together, he allowed it to hang just in front of his saddle.
Assisting Lyanna in gathering up the rest of the equipment used to create the mystery knight's persona, he paused rather than helping her up onto her horse, and then handed up a number of items for her to hold as she rode. It was a gesture that went against traditional gallantry, yet she could see that the prince understood that she'd find it strangely flattering.
Once she was holding as much as she could carry, and the prince struggled to climb up into the saddle with the Knight of the Laughing Tree's remaining unbroken lances, she nodded. "There is a gap in the wall that way."
"So that is how you managed to get in and out of here unseen." The prince clumsily started his horse forward. "Tell me, how did you manage to find all of this equipment?"
Lyanna caught up with her lighter horse and lighter load, the shield tapping against her knee, but covered with Howland's stinking disguise. "My brother bought most of it with his own coin. He didn't dare buy a full suit, and probably wouldn't have had enough to pay for it. So he bought the dregs that no one else would want. Also, I...I won a sum from Ser Robert in a bet, which I gave as my contribution."
The prince gave a serious look, though in the dark with his brown hood, holding as much as his arms could carry, it was getting harder to remember that he was royalty, and not just another of her father's servants.
"Ser Robert is your betrothed, is he not?"
Lyanna had expected a comment on her brother's distinctive armour, or a question about which bet she had made, so it was hard to keep her face from reacting. "Yes," she said solemnly.
For a while they rode in silence, but then Prince Rhaegar spoke. "Let me let you in on a secret, Lyanna of House Stark. The kind of love that you hear about in tales or songs is a rare thing indeed. Love at first sight is really just an overwhelming lust and infatuation. True love starts small and then grows, from a seed of mutual understanding, friendship, and common goals."
From underneath his hood, his eyes met hers. "From the outside, it seems that your father found you a good match. Ser Robert Baratheon is a warrior, and no doubt he will appreciate having a wife as strong as yourself. There is a good chance you will grow to love each other."
Lyanna still felt the familiar sinking sensation inside despite the prince's words. "I don't want to fall in love—true or otherwise. All I want is to stay with my father and my brothers. The gods were cruel when they made me a woman. I should have been born a man." She turned to Rhaegar as they passed through the gap in the wall and brought their horses side by side once more. "If I were a man I would be able to buy my own armour, and joust under my own name. I won't be able to do that as Lady of Storm's End."
The prince said nothing, his eyes blank and staring as the reflection of the torchlight flickered in them. "Beyond your father's lands in the North, beyond the Wall, wildling women often take up arms. They call them spearwives. They know that when the dark comes, it will not discriminate over man, woman, or child, and so they all learn to defend themselves."
Laughing without humour, Lyanna replied, "I will be sure to tell that to my husband. Maybe he will still let me practice, in readiness for the coming of the dark. After all, it may be spring but winter will come again. It's the one thing my house is certain of."
They rode together in the dark, making their ways through the unfamiliar countryside.
"How do you manage to practice, my lady? I cannot imagine Lord Stark allows his only daughter to joust openly...or if he does, I congratulate him. We could do with more great lords so open minded."
Lyanna shook her head. "My brother and I have a secret practice field in the woods near Winterfell...but he's to become Lord Bolton's squire before long, and then I will have no one to practice with."
Rhaegar stopped his horse near a ditch, snapped the lances in half, and threw them into the soggy earth, covering them over as best as he could with stones, twigs, and grass. Climbing back on his horse, they continued onward, talking and stopping to hide more of the Knight of the Laughing Tree's distinctive armour. Lyanna noticed that her arms were unburdened first, though she wasn't yet ready to hand over the shield.
As the prince took the paints from her, he painted a white blaze down the face of her horse. "I will stable the horse with my own. It is the one place no one will think to look."
Giving her thanks, Lyanna was grateful. The mare had been a faithful beast, and had played its part well. At least in the royal stables she was sure of a good home—it was better than turning her loose and hoping that the person that found her would be a good master.
After hiding the battered old helm in some thick brambles, and the sacks with it, Rhaegar spoke as they ambled the final distance.
"When I was a young boy, I used to spend my time singing and practising my harp. Nothing used to give me more pleasure. But then, as I grew older and learned what it meant to be the oldest son of the king, I realised that I had responsibilities. So I put aside my harp and did my best to learn how to carry out my duties. It was all part of growing up."
Lyanna listened to what he was saying.
"I have my harp, and you have your jousting. They are both our joys and part of what makes us ourselves, even if we cannot always indulge when we want to. First we must be a prince, or the daughter of a great lord, and play our parts. We are given these gifts, talents, and longings for a reason. One day maybe we will find out why?"
Regarding her fellow conspirator, Lyanna said what she was thinking out loud. "One day the musical prince will be a wise king."
Rhaegar nodded his head. "And one day the jousting maid will be a great lady."
Suddenly breaking into a canter, Lyanna saw that he was heading for a large oak tree in a field of grass. Realising that it was finally time to let go of the final incriminating item—the shield—she caught up to him.
They tied up their horses and both climbed down, Lyanna gingerly removing the manure-scented cloak so she could say goodbye to the painted weirwood one final time. She ran her finger along its branches, and then along its curved, red mouth.
"My lady of the laughing tree, may I take your shield?"
Grinning at her title, given in secret to her by the royal knight by her side, she slowly passed it over to him. Then he climbed up the gnarled bark of the oak.
"Wait, you've forgotten the rags to cover it," she said to Rhaegar's feet as they slid up out of reach.
He found his footing and looked down at her. "This is the one thing we'll make easy for them to find." He hung the scratched blue shield from a branch, facing in the direction of the main entrance to Harrenhal. Jumping down, he dusted off his hands and looked up at his handiwork. "We'll make sure that the laughing tree has the last laugh."
As she looked up, she could see that the painted white tree found the situation very amusing. Turning to pass comment, she found Rhaegar closer than she thought and almost stumbled over his feet.
He reached out to steady her, and as she righted herself, she unexpectedly found herself in the circle of his arms. Rhaegar seemed equally as surprised, but instead of breaking the contact, they both paused, looking at each other.
For the shortest time, Lyanna forgot that he was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, crown prince and eldest son of King Aerys II, married to Princess Elia of Dorne; she also forgot that she was Lyanna of House Stark, only daughter of Lord Stark, Warden of the North, and promised to Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End. They were just a man and a girl, standing beneath an old oak tree in the moonlight in secret, while a painted white tree smiled down on them.
Tempted, that girl wondered what would happen if she wound her fingers around the few white blond strands that escaped from that man's hood. What would he do if she pressed her female body against his, and then stood on her toes to press her mouth to his?
The only sound was their breathing, until Lyanna realised that the air her lungs were frantically pulling inside stank of the rags she was still holding. Something changed in both of their eyes, and as Lyanna threw the old reeking cloak aside, Prince Rhaegar walked over to his horse and climbed on, waiting for Lyanna to do the same.
Ruefully, Lyanna complied and rode silently, reminding herself that the man in the dark cloak was acutely aware of his duty. He wouldn't throw caution to the wind for a few wild moments like Lyanna had wanted to, her inner wolf taking over and getting the better of her.
When they drew near to the gates, they stopped, and Lyanna knew it was time for her to climb down. Saying farewell to her horse, she then looked up at the man in the cloak.
"Thank you..."
"No, thank you, my lady," he replied, his voice cool and formal. "I will ensure she is well looked after. Does she have a name?"
Thinking for a while, Lyanna eventually answered, "Direwolf. That is what she should be called." She'd not thought to name the beast until now, and many suggestions had ran through her head—Lyanna, Laughing Tree, Red Smile, Howland's Honour, Moonlight, Oak...all highly inappropriate.
"Then that is what she shall be known as." He didn't smile. "I wish you well, my lady."
Lyanna nodded and curtsied, not wanting to give Prince Rhaegar his appropriate title and expose him.
And then he left with both horses. Lyanna made no move for a time, until she realised that she had missed most of the feast and should go join her family.
From the shadows of a dark stairwell, Ashara Dayne watched her pass by, but then changed her mind about following. Lady Ashara didn't have the strength of limb or spirit to keep up the Stark girl, wherever it was she was going. Nor did she care where Lyanna Stark had been.
All she did care about was how she had to leave the great hall the second Brandon Stark had walked in there and seated himself with his brothers. The way he held himself stiffly told that he still felt his injuries, and filled with concern, Ashara had wanted to rush over and help him.
The second his grey wolf eyes had met hers, she'd shrank back, and then gotten to her feet and left. What had she done to deserve a look of hate and disgust like the one he'd given? She'd given him everything that a woman could, everything that she'd wanted to the second she'd seen him ride underneath the arch when he'd first arrived at Harrenhal.
Before she'd even known his name, she'd known this man would be the father of her children, who would grow up to be as strong, raw, and fierce as he was. Once she'd found out that there was no way to dissuade him from breaking his arranged marriage to Catelyn Tully, she'd decided that she would be satisfied to just be his mistress, and she would have even married his brother to make that possible.
And now she had no hope. He despised her, she could see that. He'd cruelly taken what she'd offered and left her with nothing. Ashara fingered the broach holding her cloak together—a jewelled wolf that she'd found in amongst one of the trader's wares. Ser Barristan, always her friend, had offered to buy it for her, before she'd handed her maidenhood over to the cruel, cold wolf knight.
It was the only souvenir of her lost love that she could take away with her. Ashara squeezed her eyes shut as two lonely tears fell.