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. Special mention to for the info I've taken from there to create this chapter.
~X~
Chapter Thirty One – Simple Joy
Red Mountains, Dorne
A smile pulled at Rhaegar's face as he watched Lyanna Stark ride away.
She was impatient. The second he'd pointed out their destination, the simple tower amongst the rocky peaks in the distance, she'd paused for only a second before galloping off at a pace that denied the fact that their road had been a long and arduous one.
The prince had considered attempting to keep up, or directing Arthur or Ser Oswell to do likewise, but they were all exhausted. Rhaegar looked at his companions, who were as dry and dusty as he was. As dry and dusty as Lyanna herself, but not half as fair.
His lady of Stark could ride, and he did not doubt that there would be few who could match her. Even less if he gave her one of the light, swift and durable sand steeds Dorne was known for. ..
For a second he allowed himself to think of her, resplendent in form-fitting ice-like armour at the head of a thousand cavalry. But it wasn't the Lyanna he knew now who roared as she charged, her dark hair catching in the wind as she rode down wights and worse—it was a Lyanna as a grown woman, in her peak, and by her side rode a boy. Their son.
It was a vision that made Rhaegar's breath catch in his throat for a moment.
Once he recovered, he looked to his left to find Ser Oswell staring, as he had been doing so often lately. Oswell did not approve of his actions with regard to Lyanna Stark, though he did not speak the words, obeying his vows. But then he did not know the reasons behind it all. Unlike with Arthur, his trusted friend, he hadn't confided the many things he'd read, the things he'd dreamed, with this member of the kings guard.
No doubt others would think ill of him, too. Lords, ladies, the people of the realm. What would his wife think? He already knew what his wife would think, but more importantly he knew what she would do. She would bear the disgrace with what dignity she could muster, and continue to raise their children as well as she always had. And he loved her for it—one day she would still be his queen. Only now it was different.
Three. Three heads of the dragon. There must be three dragon riders for three dragons. I have my royal heir, a son to be king one day, and a princess to stand by his side. There must be another...and a child half-dragon, half-wolf will be a fearsome warrior when the dark night comes...
As Rhaegar passed through the arched gate, his eyes automatically sought out Lyanna. She had dismounted and was stood in the small courtyard, her skirts trailing in the sand and kicking up a dust cloud.
She turned, a wide smile stretching across her dusty face, and held out her arms.
"So when do we start?"
Prince Rhaegar felt another smile as he climbed down from his horse, and stared at the few servants he'd employed during his previous visit. They knew to expect his return and he'd left many instructions, but he could see that they weren't expecting him to have female company. After all, the people of Westeros knew their prince was married.
Though their brows were furrowed and their eyes accused, he still walked over and greeted them. As he did, a short, swarthy man stepped forward and held out an item covered in a velvet cloth.
"Exactly as you requested, my prince."
"Thank you." The prince took it and smiled gratefully, then turned to Lyanna, walking over to her in the centre of the sandy courtyard that was soon to become her training ring.
"We start tomorrow." The sudden disappointment in her face as soon as he had spoke did not elude him. "After a bath, food, and a good night's sleep."
"I don't need any of that. I want to be taught how to fight now." The set of Lyanna's jaw was determined as she glared up at him.
The prince looked down at her, at her soiled dress, and raised his eyebrows. "You should at least change into something you can fight in. In the meantime, maybe this might keep the Lady of the Laughing Tree smiling."
He handed over the wrapped item, and as Lyanna removed the cloth her face began to glow.
"For me?" She inspected the painted scabbard, the lightest of blues and adorned with small flowers of sapphire, but Lyanna did not linger long on the aesthetics. After inspecting the hilt fashioned as a white tree with two ruby-red eyes, she pulled the blade forth and gave out a whimper. "Valyrian steel."
"You should get the feel of it. Tomorrow you will need to use it." Stepping away, Rhaegar smiled, pleased at her reaction. "When you are ready someone will show you to your room, my lady."
Only when he had ascended the tower to his quarters did the smile drop, and he allowed himself an apprehensive moment.
The Tower of Joy was a simple place. The prince had taken a room for himself at the very top of the tower, the smallest of the four but with a ladder leading to a small lookout point on the roof. The remaining rooms were given to Oswell and Arthur to share, one to Lyanna, and then largest for the cook, the smith, and other servants to occupy.
There were no other rooms in the tower—the stables, the kitchens, and the storage areas were small wooden outbuildings. Lyanna Stark was a highborn daughter of a great lord and she had grown up in expansive Winterfell. He had never visited that great castle of the north, but he had read about it. Would somewhere as basic as her new accommodation serve or would she be disappointed?
Rhaegar thought about it while he soaked in the tub that had been set up for him in his room while he removed his travelling clothes, along with a great many other Lyanna Stark related thoughts.
Once he was clean and dressed, he headed down the stairs. As he exited the tower in the fading light he found Lyanna, Oswell, and Arthur already seated at a short wooden bench, seemingly waiting for him. The warm air was filled with the spicy scent of Dornish cooking coming from the kitchens nearby.
As he took the free space next to Lyanna and opposite Arthur, he found a small cup of wine filled and put before him. Before he took his first sip he grabbed a handful of olives and dried tomatoes, wanting to line his stomach and not lose his wits to the red liquid.
The two members of kings guard were listening to Lyanna give a breakdown of the training she'd had so far back in her northern home. Oswell seemed surprised while Arthur took it all in silently.
Rhaegar looked at the transformation of the riders that had steadily grown more worn and weary the further the road had taken them away from the Riverlands. All were wearing fresh clothing, and the grime and dust had been washed away. Arthur's short beard, he noted, had been trimmed, while Oswell still had the prickly growth that also adorned Rhaegar's own chin.
But neither of them had changed so much as Lyanna. Her dark hair was clean and freshly braided. Her skin glowed with the redness of a thorough scrubbing, surpassed only by the shine and brightness in her eyes, but that wasn't what caught his attention most.
He'd arranged for special attire to be left on her bed—boy's breeches, shirts, and long, practical lace up leather boots—thinking that his protégé would need them for her training. He had not expected her to ignore the new dresses that he'd also bought for her for their first evening meal in their new home.
Somehow, after having a few weeks to get to know her character, he was not surprised, but it did not lessen the effect of seeing her dressed as a male. If anything it made him more aware that she was female. After all, he had seen her remove her shirt and breeches in Harrenhal's godswood and the way her shirt gave away a hint of her curves made the memory vivid in his mind.
Even without this kind of memory, it seemed that Oswell also took note of Lyanna's form. This irked Rhaegar more than just a little.
Distraction came in the form of capon coated in fiery, crisp skin, soft flat breads with cheese, and roasted peppers that burned the mouth. The expression on Lyanna's face as she took her first bite amused the entire table, and she doused the flames with a generous gulp of Dornish red wine.
As late evening turned into night, the wine flowed and Oswell called for a song. Rhaegar was happy to oblige, and the ballad he sang of ancient battles and celebrated warriors went down well with his audience.
It wasn't long after when Lyanna yawned and made her excuses. Arthur and Oswell did likewise and the prince found himself at a lonely table in the dark, watching the Tower's servants clean away bowls and cups by torch light.
Realising how long it had been since he last slept in a real bed, Rhaegar ascended the tower. For once he ignored the neat pile of books he'd requested in favour of a mattress and blankets. Disrobing and climbing inside, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep almost immediately.
When he awoke to yellow and orange light shining through the narrow window, Rhaegar couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so well rested.
After finding last night's outfit, he made his way downstairs, surprising the servants who weren't expecting such an early riser. They panicked and fussed around him, despite his protestations, and he was already on his second plate of eggs fried with cheese, peppers, onions, and ham, washed down with fresh orange juice, when the others joined him.
After breaking their fast, Lyanna hurried them along to the point of the day when her training would begin. Rhaegar and Oswell and looked on from their seats in the shade as Arthur sparred with the young woman. One of the onlookers was genuinely surprised to see how good the lady was with a sword, though his fellow kings guard was clearly the more accomplished swordsman. The other observer, for once, felt strangely carefree.