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 Seven - Ravens

Riverrun

Lord Hoster stormed down the corridors muttering to himself. "Blasted Starks. How hard is it to get a daughter wed? Damn that boy."

It had been Lord Rickard Stark who initially proposed the match between his heir and Catelyn, and after great thought, Hoster had decided that it would please him to see his eldest daughter as Lady of Winterfell, instead of strengthening of his local power by marrying her to one of his bannermen or their heirs.

Secure in that he had a son to step into his shoes, Lord Hoster had been swayed by the idea of having his line having a foothold in the bleak north. After all, he did have another daughter after Catelyn with whom to cement other relationships with.

Or at least that was what he had thought. Lysa was almost as fair as her older sister, and though both had their heads filled with gowns, silly games, and tales of knights in shining armour, Lysa had always been the more highly-strung of the two. With Catelyn, he could imagine her settling down to become the sensible wife of the future Warden of the North, a grim place full of serious men. Not that he would have heard any complaints from her—it seemed his flame-haired eldest daughter was quite taken with Brandon Stark.

Lysa was more flighty, more unpredictable and excitable. During a meeting with the former Hand, Tywin Lannister, he'd almost secured a union between his youngest girl and Jaime Lannister, the celebrated young Ser and wealthy heir to Casterly Rock—quite a coup. But those plans had fallen by the wayside the second the Lannister boy had accepted the honour of joining the King's Guard.

Lord Hoster had heard whispers that part of the boy's motivations for doing so had been because he wasn't so keen as his father to have him wed to Lysa Tully. Such talk would normally have provoked an outburst of anger, but as it was, at Harrenhal and immediately after, the Lord of the Riverlands had something else consuming him.

His youngest daughter had gotten pregnant by that up-jumped so-called ward from the Fingers, Petyr Baelish. It was a good thing he had already been returned home after the embarrassing incident with the Stark boy, otherwise Littlefinger, as he was so called, would have found that the wounds his previous duel had left him with were mere scratches.

In a way, not having to hand Lysa over, as soiled as she was, and risk Lord Tywin's wrath may have been a good thing. Hoster had made her drink moon tea, after an ugly, heated discussion, and the pregnancy had been ended but Lysa was not herself. She had become bitter and withdrawn, either sitting there catatonic or shrieking with rage.

Lysa had only one thing to say to her father, that she would never forgive him. It broke Lord Hoster's heart to hear it. He had made her drink the tea for her own sake. Lysa could not marry Petyr Baelish as she pleaded, and Lord Hoster would not have him married into the noble house of Tully. Their motto was Family, Duty, Honour, and Littlefinger did not know the meaning of the words.

It was difficult enough to keep a pregnancy quiet, especially with the noticeable change in Lysa's disposition, but had the child been born any reasonable kind of marriage would have been impossible. He wanted only the best for Lysa—couldn't she see that?

Tywin Lannister had sent an eloquently worded apology for the behaviour of his son, and even offered the hand of his youngest son, Tyrion in Jaime's place. Young Tyrion Lannister, it was said, was a grotesque—a deformed freak whose monstrous shape had torn his mother to pieces when he was born. He stayed hidden away in their ancestral home, away from mocking eyes.

Lord Hoster hadn't considered it for a second. He couldn't do that to Lysa—not for all the gold in Casterly Rock. He wouldn't marry her to a monster for the sake of the title Lady of Lannister; in her present state of mind it would surely drive her to madness.

The still-powerful but aging lord paused outside Catelyn's quarters, trying to find the right words to tell his oldest daughter that her wedding had been postponed yet again. She was still a fine prize—the oldest daughter of a respectable noble house, beautiful, and as sensible as a teenage girl could be expected to be, so why was it so hard to pin her betrothed down?

Hoster decided that whether it was to Brandon Stark or not, Catelyn would be married before the year was out to a great lord who truly deserved her. And Lysa...well, he would do his best for her, too.

He pushed the doors open.

~X~

The Eeyrie

Jon Arryn read the piece of paper in his hands once more and took a deep breath.

My friend, bad tidings. Lyanna has been taken by Prince Rhaegar and Brandon rides for King's Landing. I trust you will break the news to your young wards. While I try to calm the situation, I beg you to keep my second son safe, in case the worst should happen. RS.

How best to break the news? Eddard would listen to what was being said, think about it, and then react exactly as he should no matter how upset he might be. He might make a few suggestions about how best to retrieve his sister, but he would respect whatever decision was made.

Robert would be another matter.

Getting up from his desk, he walked through the echoing corridors, the clanging of metal on metal telling him where Eddard and Robert were being taught today. Not wanting to pass on the message the raven had brought while they were sparring, he stood and watched for a while. He caught the attention of one of the guards and whispered in his ear, telling him to make sure that no one left the Eeryie today, this night, or tomorrow without Lord Arryn's written permission.

Jon then turned his attention back to his wards, the boys that had he been charged with turning into noble men.

Robert had forgone his famous war hammer in favour of a sword, and for good reason—even when play fighting, he had a habit of swinging hard and the master-at-arms had said that he was best practicing his swings alone these days. Too many men had needed the maester's healing skills otherwise.

Despite his prowess with his preferred weapon, with a sword he was average at best. Or was it just that Eddard's swordsmanship was far superior? Lord Arryn watched blow after blow. His young Stark ward did not brag about his abilities—in fact, he was quite humble. He was being modest; Eddard was quick and if he concentrated on that particular skill more often, maybe he would even be good enough for the king's guard one day?

Though that would all depend on how well the Starks remained in favour with the king.

At Harrenhal there had been a definite tension between the Targaryen ruler and the northern men, and now Brandon Stark was riding for King's Landing. Jon did not think that Rickard's heir was the most skilled diplomat that could have been sent, and wondered about the circumstances behind it.

Later, he decided, he would send a rider to find out more information...once satisfied that his wards were safely contained and prevented from joining in on the scandal about to unfold.

The boys' sparring ended, and sweaty and breathless they took a seat on a low stone wall while they recovered. It was now that Lord Arryn approached. Something on his face sobered Eddard and Robert's expressions as he drew near.

"I have news from your father, Eddard. Something grave has happened, and Lord Stark has charged me with keeping you safe here in the Eeryrie while the matter is rectified. The news concerns you, too, Robert."

Robert's brow furrowed and he was about to say something but Ned got there first.

"What? What has happened? Is everyone well? Is my family safe?"

Both boys looked at Jon while he bowed his head, looking solemn.

"Your brother, Brandon, is riding for King's Landing. Both of you will remain here with me until the situation is calmed. No one will go down the mountain without my say so. I will send a rider to Lord Stark to find out more than what he was able to send by raven."

"What is it?"

Lord Arryn swallowed hard. "Prince Rhaegar has taken Lyanna. Under which circumstances, I know not."

Robb got to his feet immediately, a red flush spreading up his neck to his face. Ned remained seated but seemed to slump into himself, searching the ground for answers.

"I knew it!" Rob yelled. "At Harrenhal..."

Storming across the courtyard, he headed to where his war hammer was resting. Through the red mist clouding his vision, it was the only thing he could see.

"Robert, you will remain here until I give you leave to do otherwise," Jon shouted after him, but by then his impulsive ward was already on his way to his room to collect a few essential belongings for his journey, stopping by the kitchens for a bag of food, a wineskin, and one filled with water.

By the time he got to the main exit, he found the way barred by numerous guards.

"Get out my way, you fools," he growled, but they stood firm.

"No one passes without written permission from Lord Arryn."

Robb gripped his war hammer in his fists. "This is my permission. Now let me through."

"No one passes without written permission from Lord Arryn," the guard replied again, this time gripping the hilt of his sword, reluctant to draw it against the man he had seen grown from a young orphan boy.

The moment was broken by an approaching rattle. Ned was walking down the corridor, dressed in his full armour, visor pulled down and sword by his side. Robb beamed when he saw him. Not giving thought beyond getting to King's Landing, he hadn't considered that he might need others with him. With his friend by his side, he would head to Storm's End, the place of his early childhood which he was now Lord of, and call up his bannermen. Together they would make Rhaegar pay for thinking he could lay hands on Lyanna Stark.

With a metallic ring, Ned drew his sword.

"Come on. Let's clear the way," Robb said with a smile.

Armoured Ned stood still for a moment. "I'm not here to help you. I'm here to stop you."

"Stop me?" Robb said stunned. "This is about your sister!"

"I know, and if we go rushing off, not knowing anything beyond she has been taken and Brandon is going to King's Landing, we'll create more problems than we solve."

"We know he took her. That's enough," Robert shouted. "She's mine, Ned."

With a roar, Robb lunged forward, swinging his hammer but giving Ned enough space to leap out of the way. Though his sword was ready, Robb's reach with the war hammer was far greater than his, and so Ned continued to dance away from his friend's half-hearted strikes.

The dance continued amongst shouts from the guards and the sound of others approaching, until Ned's blade found the slightest of chinks in Robb's armour, near his neck, the tip piercing his flesh near the old wound Brandon had once left. But Ned did not push it further, only allowing it to sting while Robb's hammer fell, defeated.

Jon Arryn approached as Ned lifted his visor, allowing the two of them a few moments for the blood rush of combat to fade.

"Where would you go, Robert, had you been allowed to leave?" Jon said calmly.

"Storm's End," Robb said breathlessly with a scowl, "and then onto King's Landing to tell the bastard to show himself."

Jon shook his head. "Then all that would achieve would be getting your head on a spike—"

"So you expect me to let him get away with it? Allow him to do what he likes just because he's royalty?" Robb was still angry, but Ned kept him pinned down, unable to move.

Jon approached his two wards, but it was Robb's eyes that he looked into. "Tell me, Robert...if you had kidnapped a girl from her father, would you head to the first place everyone would go looking for you?"

Robb thought about it for a moment. "No, I'd find myself a cosy little love nest. Somewhere I could have as much time with her as possible before we were found."

"Exactly," Jon agreed. "Prince Rhaegar is a clever man. We will wait to find out more news—which direction he was headed, whether he has been seen—and then you can go out to confront him."

After a while Robb nodded his assent and Ned backed away. The young Lord of Storm's End touched the wound the Stark sword had left on his neck, and his fingers came away bloody. The accusing look he gave soon faded as Ned looked reticent.

"You cut me."

"Aye."

Satisfied that the crisis had been averted, Jon retired to his study, his head whirring. Hopefully he had placated Robert for now, but sooner or later he would want to go and retrieve his betrothed. Trying to hold him back would be like holding back the tides, but to let him do so would surely result in his death and the death of his family as he tarred them all with his treason.

Having no sons of his own, Robb and Ned had grown to be like his children, and he did not wish to see a hair on either of their heads harmed.

~X~

King's Landing

King Aerys sat in his solar smiling to himself until he became aware that young Varys had returned.

Aerys greeted him with the widest of grins. This morning he had given him the news that his son had stolen Lord Stark's daughter from right under his nose. Despite his initial suspicion that Rhaegar was sealing his pact with the north through marriage, the sight of his Dornish daughter-in-law and her children had made him smile.

How many times had Aerys thought about stealing Joanna Lannister but told himself it was a folly that would lose him his crown and his kingdom? And now here was his son doing the same with his Joanna.

No, this couldn't be the beginnings of a plan to overthrow him. This would alienate Dorne as Rhaegar shamed his wife. It would crack the perfect image the crown prince had painted for himself. And if it wasn't pre-arranged with the Starks then their angry response would give the king the very excuse he needed to eliminate them all and find a new Warden of the North.

But Varys was here again. What more wonderful tidings could his Master of Secrets have for him?

"Your Grace, you may be interested to read this." The foreign, shaved-headed eunuch handed over a small sheet of parchment, stained with blood. "Lord Stark sent a raven to a friend here in King's Landing, which we intercepted."

"My eldest son, Brandon, rides on King's Landing with two hundred men. You must hinder his way before he does anything foolish. Tell him he must implore the king to make the prince to take a second wife. I will send a rider with more details of the case he must put. Teach him diplomacy."

The king almost crushed the parchment in his hand, but then he stopped himself. What he was holding was written proof of the Starks' treason. They were seeking to turn one of their own into royalty. Aerys himself had seen how frail Princess Elia was, and her children were still very young...it wouldn't take much to eliminate them and see an heir born of a Stark womb on the throne.

He would not allow it. The insolence of the Starks awoke the dragon within him, and for a moment he felt as if he could breathe fire.

Burn them. Burn them all, he thought to himself, but aloud he said to Varys, "Bring me the man for whom this message was sent. I wish to put his head on a spike."

"As you wish, your Grace." Varys exited with a bow, leaving the grinning king to his thoughts. While he padded softly away from the king's solar, loud, cackling laughter rang out, echoing through the corridors.