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 Twenty Three – The Stag Party

Howland was glad to climb down from his horse at the end of the day. He'd been travelling with Brandon for a number of months now—from northern castle to northern castle—but he'd never endured a day like the day he'd just faced.

Only just becoming accustomed to spending so much time in the saddle, the pace set by the group had been difficult. It had made him wish that he'd decided to stay in Winterfell with Benjen instead.

Tieing up his horse, he followed the group of Brandon's close friends, Ethan Glover, Kyle Royce, a Mallister, and the popular Elbert Arryn of the Vale.

When they'd departed the main caravan, there had been only around fifty riders, but every day guards, servants, caught up while they made camp. Howland wouldn't be surprised if there was well over three hundred persons travelling with them now. And the larger the party got, the better provided they became. As they left the main procession further behind and got closer to Riverrun, the more festive the atmosphere became, and every night was a feast, getting drunker and bawdier every time.

Tentatively, Howland set up the small tent he'd been given. Luckily, a number of fellows whose name he didn't know saw his struggles and came to his assistance, and he had a little time in the dying light to find a few plants to crush and rub on his aching muscles.

Leaf-scented and feeling a little better, he joined many of the others at the largest campfire and soon found a flagon of ale in his hand, a capon leg in the other. As he ate, Lyanna Stark came and sat down next to him.

He gave a wide smile and offered her some ale, but she refused.

"While all those who end up in their cups tonight are sleeping it off, I'm going for an early morning ride." Lyanna gave a knowing grin, signifying that she could tell Howland was already halfway there. "You should come with me and get to see a little more of the Riverlands—without a spinning head and a queasy belly."

"Maybe I will," Howland replied with a smile, but in his mind he was musing over how beautiful his female friend was...Lyanna, Lady of the Laughing Tree.

He was snapped out of his silent appreciation of Lyanna Stark when a young knight almost stumbled over him. The stranger took a seat between them, and after a brief pause he almost collapsed on Lyanna, clumsily trying to kiss her.

Suddenly the overly affectionate knight was pulled away, and there was a resounding crack as Brandon Stark's fist connected with his face.

Howland discovered to his dismay that his ale had been overturned, soaking his boots and the sleeves of his tunic. A jolly squire to his left soon handed him a wineskin to replace his loss, while Lyanna dabbed at him with his own cloak, and once he was righted, the knight was now wearing a pair of antlers on his head, facing Brandon who wore similar headwear...then they charged at one another to the cheers and laughs of the circle around them.

Lyanna muttered something under her breath about drunken fools, and after a quick rustle of Howland's hair, she stormed off.

Abandoned by his pretty companion, there was nothing left for the crannogman to do but to cheer as loud as the rest of them.

~X~

He was woken up when alternating shadow and light passed over his face, and when Howland opened his eyes, he saw a brown-haired girl fastening her dress.

Startled, Howland sat up, and regretted it instantly as his head spun, dizziness interlaced with small glimpses of what had happened after the mock stag fight.

Panicking, his eyes met the girls, who seemed amused.

"Don't look so worried. You didn't do anything—you were a perfect gentleman." Her brown eyes creased, her smile stretching wide, ruining her once pretty face by revealing crooked teeth stained red by chewing sour leaf.

Howland vaguely remembered being coaxed into admitting that he was still a maid during a drinking game, and how that had resulted in a purse and a girl who he now understood to be a camp follower being thrust upon him.

He got to his feet and stood awkwardly, wondering if he was supposed to offer to help lace her back up, and then he seemed puzzled by the fact that she needed lacing up in the first place.

The girl laughed. "Okay, maybe you did a little. Nothing of consequence I promise you." She finished dressing herself, and stopped to look at him. "Mostly you talked...and then you slept."

It came flooding back to Howland, who could now recall rambling about swamps, rivers, and green men, interspersed with a little kissing with his hand on the girl's breast. He then snapped out of his daze, realising that the camp follower was probably waiting for the purse he'd been given to pay for his bed companion.

Stammering his thanks for a pleasant evening, he was surprised when she seemed reluctant to take all the coins inside.

"It seems a little unfair. After all, we really didn't do much at all and—"

"Please, take it. I really did have a good time, and you're a lovely girl and..."

The red teeth reappeared. "I'll take the purse, but you're paying more than you owe." The girl looked thoughtful. "If ever you need a good meal and a place to stay, my sister owns a place nearby called the Crossroads Inn. What's your name, and I'll make sure they know it?"

"Howland. Howland Reed of Greywater Watch." He scratched his head, but then yelled, "Wait!" as the girl went to leave.

She paused and looked back.

"You know my name. I should know yours, too."

The strangely red teeth made another appearance. "Meera Heddle. Fare well, Howland Reed."

"Fare well, Meera. That's a pretty name."

One final grateful smile and she was gone. After a few moments to collect his thoughts and his stomach, then straighten his clothing, Howland decided to go see about finding some breakfast, seeing as he'd undoubtedly risen too late to join Lyanna's morning ride.

In return for a plate of burned bacon and boiled eggs he had to endure a chorus of jeers and bawdy jokes. Howland didn't know whether to tell them that he was as much a maid as he was the night before or not, so instead he just looked sheepish and bore it.

Before he'd finished, Brandon Stark had joined them, slapping Howland hard on the shoulder before sitting down and devouring his meal in half the time it took the crannogman to pick at his own and decide that his stomach could take no more.

After a brief retching session, he felt ready to attempt to take down his tent and face a crueller than most day in the saddle.