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 Seventeen – Needle in a Haystack

Wiping his weary eyes, Ned followed Jon Arryn to the stands where they would join his father and his siblings, to make a show of them all being present.

If someone had found the Knight of the Laughing Tree then he'd not heard of it, though it could be that the king wanted to keep it secret until this morning, to do it publically.

Looking to his left, Ned saw Robb sucking deep lungfuls of air, seemingly even more tired than Ned was himself.

Last night, the two of them had joined dozens upon dozens of other knights scouring Harrenhal for any sign of the mystery knight's identity. Ned himself had suggested they searched the godswood, partly because of the weirwood on the knight's shield, and partly because at least that would give Robb plenty of room to stay away from his fellow glory-seekers—he had been feeling particularly vocal at the time.

While they walked through the trees Robb had drunk his way through a number of wine skins, and though Ned had joined him there had been a point where he'd realised that if he drank any more, then he'd not see the Knight of the Laughing Tree even if he stood six feet in front of him.

Eventually, Robb had begun to stumble and instead they'd sat on the dirt, their backs against a trunk.

Mostly Robb had talked about the grey of Lyanna's eyes, her dark hair, and disturbingly, about the lines of her body in gross detail. It had made Ned feel uncomfortable, and he'd wanted to change the subject to waxing lyrical about Ashara Dayne's aesthetics instead, but after struggling to allow the words to pass his lips he'd given up, instead falling into a bout of amused laughter with his friend.

When the sky had begun to grow light, he'd dragged a near unconscious Robb to his feet and half-carried him to his room, trying to keep him from singing and shouting on the way. The act had helped sober Ned, though the few hours sleep in his bed were not enough.

Things were much worse with Robb. Ned shook his head at him, but Robb gave him a glassy eyed glare and continued to breathe through his grape-inflicted sickness.

Once they were seated with the rest of his family, in the front row so all behind could see, Ned automatically looked around for the object of his affection, and found her sitting with the rest of Princess Elia's ladies in waiting. Half of the crowd was buzzing with excitement, wondering what had happened with the mystery knight, and the rest sat sombre and silent—Ashara Dayne was amongst the latter.

Briefly, as if feeling herself watched, she looked around and their gazes locked. Where once a similar action had rewarded him with a smile, this time Ashara's mouth curved downwards, and as she pulled herself away, her eyes looked wet. The expression almost caused Ned to get up out of his seat and go to her, to ask what it was making her so sad, but then he remembered that would be highly inappropriate.

He wasn't her friend and he wasn't her confidante—he'd danced with her for one night, and then she'd blessed him with flirtatious smiles for a short while after. Maybe he'd not done enough to hold her attention. Perhaps she'd been waiting for him to take the field and been disappointed...but no. She had unshed tears in her eyes, which were rimmed with red.

That was when his eyes saw the clasp at her throat, and the world lurched beneath him.

Why was Ashara Dayne wearing a wolf clasp? Was there a meaning to it? Was it a signal, or just a coincidence?

As Eddard Stark turned away, deep in thought, thinking about the simple piece of jewellery around Ashara Dayne's neck, more than one person watched the expressions of emotional pain on both faces and reached their own conclusions, including Cersei Lannister.

Then horns sounded, and all attention was drawn to the field. People craned their necks to look at the very reason the stands were so crowded that day.

Prince Rhaegar, in black, red, orange, and yellow, entered the field first, his men parting way after for Ser Barristan Selmy of the kingsguard, with his plain white cloak and shield. The crowd waited, hoping for another arrival, and when none was forthcoming, they turned to one another. Although all voices were hushed, their combined murmurs soon grew in volume and brought the king to his feet.

"It would appear that we are missing a challenger." The stands fell silent. "It seems that the Knight of the Laughing Tree does not wish to take up my offer to knight them myself..."

The king paused, inviting the mystery knight should he be present.

"Then I can only assume that the face behind that helm belongs to no friend of mine. And what of the rest of you? I saw at least a dozen men rush out of the hall last night. Have none of you found this imposter?"

There was a murmur from the crowd but it took a while for a red-headed hedge knight to speak up. He stepped forwarded, a nervous and grimy looking commoner by his side. "I have found the armourer who sold the Knight of the Laughing Tree his helm, your Grace."

This excited the crowd, and brought a smile to the king's face. "And to whom did you sell it to?"

Encouraged along, the man and the knight that had found him approached their monarch.

"I—I sold it to a boy, dark of hair, your Grace. If I remember correctly he had a Northern accent."

The king gave him an intense stare. "Would you recognise this boy if you saw him again?" A boy—he knew it. Probably a squire or a young lord...his mind drifted to the youngest Stark, and pondered the reliability of his alibis.

"Maybe...I'm not sure. If I could beg your pardon, but I didn't take much note at the time. If the helm were found and I could examine it, then my mark is inside and a number of dents that I can recall..."

The king did his best to conceal a look of frustration and annoyance. What use was this peasant if he couldn't even remember who he had sold to? King Aerys looked between him and the hedge knight, wondering if this was a trick to cheat him out of the riches he had promised.

"I have something better than a forgetful armourer." Ser Richard Lonmouth, got to his feet, bowed his head, and then made his way through the stands. Only himself and Prince Rhaegar knowing what was underneath the brown cloth he was carrying.

That night, after the feast, his friend, the prince, had suggested they look outside of Harrenhal's walls as most others seemed to have concentrated their search within them. Leading the way, he'd allowed Ser Richard to spy the oak tree first.

Kneeling before the king, Ser Richard pulled away the brown fabric, and the crowd gasped.

"The shield that belonged to the Knight of the Laughing Tree, your Grace."

Rhaegar moved only his eyes to watch the reaction of the shield's two former owners. They seemed surprised, but no more shocked to see it than anyone around them.

"And where did you find this, Ser?"

The prince wondered if he had done the right thing in allowing his friend to present the find—his father's eyes were narrowed and seemed suspicious.

"In an oak tree on the road leading away from Harrenhal, your Grace. Your own son followed the trail leading away but we found nothing else."

The king nodded at Ser Arthur Dayne, who stepped forward to take the shield and bring it for a closer inspection. After running his fingers across the chipped and scratched surface King Aerys decided that it was genuine, and that Ser Richard Lonmouth was too tall to be the knight himself.

"A symbol left in defiance of the king's wishes, a mockery," the king said under his breath, but then raised his voice. "I hereby declare the Knight of the Laughing Tree to be a traitor, to be brought alive before myself to face the king's justice. Let this be known to everyone throughout the land."

Whispers ran through the crowd like wind through leaves, while the king turned to the three men still standing before him.

"We will discuss the reward I will give you all for your services later—please come and see me in my solar after the jousting." He smiled widely, and the three were dismissed. Climbing back onto his chair, the king signalled for a drink as the preparations for the final joust began.

Even across the field, Prince Rhaegar could see the gleam in his father's eyes, and resolved to make sure he accompanied Ser Richard later when he visited the king, lest his reward be a fiery end.

~X~

Sorry for the delay with this chapter—I've had a little bit of writers block lately.

I'm probably not going to get the chance to work on the next chapter until after the holidays now, so have a great time, have fun, enjoy whatever it is you're doing to celebrate, and if you can't be good, be careful. Mistletoe kisses, Leanne