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.

Sorry, very short chapter this time. Think it's best just to show a glimpse of these two, but didn't fit with previous chapter.

~X~

Chapter Thirty Four – Two Broken Hearts

Riverrun

Lord Hoster held onto his oldest daughter tightly as she kneeled at his feet, wailing into his cloak. He reached down and rested his hand on her red, braided hair.

She loved that fool from the north, Brandon Stark, and it had pained him to break the news he'd received by raven.

It sat very uncomfortable with him that Lord Rickard had been executed. The Warden of the North was no fool, yet he was just as dead as his son. He'd never seemed treasonous to Hoster—in fact, the only way in which Lord Stark could be faulted was in the wildness of his children.

The Stark children—one son was dead, the daughter scandalously taken by the crown prince for whatever ends, another son to inherit but whose head was called for by royal decree, and the final son still a mere boy.

The Lord of the Riverlands thought about how he'd been unable to stop his youngest daughter from losing her wits after the bastard that Petyr Baelish had left in her belly was dealt with. As mad as she had become, he thought about what her behaviour might bring about if she married a high lord and found herself in court. If she spoke out around the king, it could well be Lord Hoster that was burned before the iron throne.

And now his remaining sane daughter was falling apart before him. He'd had such high hopes for them both, and now—

No, Catelyn would be fine once she had cried it out and he found her a more balanced, suitable husband. A great lord who deserved her, and who would allow her to be the great lady she deserved to be. The next betrothal would be on his terms.

And Lysa...well, maybe she might recover...in time. He would have to be careful who he married her to. Hoster wanted a great lord for her, also, but it would have to be one that could manage her ill tempers and irrational statements.

At least he had proof of her fertility, and that she could bear children...

No, they were not lost. There was hope for his daughters yet, Lord Hoster consoled himself, and looked down at Catelyn wailing.

~X~

High Hermitage, Dorne

Ashara held Brandon close to her chest, the occasional dry, silent sob shuddering through her body. Anything more and her son would wake—he wasn't the most settled child. Wylla, the nursemaid, said that she'd never known such a demanding babe, and that she was glad to have help with him.

After being brought before her mother and father with a squalling newborn baby, she'd been glad to have the prince by her side. If it wasn't for Rhaegar and Arthur's eloquent arguments she would probably be married to the first nobleman who'd paused to take a second look, so desperate had her parents been to hide her disgrace.

What disgrace? Ashara thought as she looked at her unusually peaceful son. I've been blessed with a strong and healthy child by the man who owns my heart. Her entire body clenched as the knowledge that this was the only piece of Brandon she had left, or could hope to have now that he was gone. And it was certain that she wouldn't be allowed to remain here at High Hermitage indefinitely.

The story that had been put about was that Ashara had given birth to a girl child—after all, most of King's Landing knew of her pregnancy and her sudden departure—but the babe had died. In a month or so, happier tidings would come from Starfall that her older, childless cousin's wife had finally given birth to a son. An heir for a branch of the Dayne family that would have otherwise died out.

Gerold, they were going to call him. It didn't suit him—to Ashara he would be Brandon Snow, named for his father. Illegitimate children from Dorne were given the name Sand, but this babe was so full of the spirit of the direwolf that it seemed only natural to give him a northern bastard's name.

But she must try harder just to call him that only in her own mind, because to the world he would be Gerold Dayne.

Her cousin's wife found her presence awkward, and indeed Ashara found it hard to let Baby Brandon's adoptive mother take him from her, but learn she must. Only by being able to let go and let someone else claim him as her own would she be able to stay here a little longer. She'd started by allowing Wylla, the nursemaid, to take him and feed him more often, though Ashara's arms still itched to have him back.

She wondered how she would fare once his "birth" was announced and she had to watch her cousin parade him around as his.

Ashara looked down at Baby Brandon and with a few deep breaths, she tried to fill the empty, yawning void of grief with the minute details of his face. There was much of his father in him, but he had his mother's fair hair. He was already getting so big—that her cousin could manage to convince others that he was newborn seemed beyond belief.

Or maybe Ashara just couldn't forget the image of her brother laying the bloody bundle on her chest? Her first thought had been that he'd been so small, so tiny, though he hadn't stayed that way for long. Brandon had a voracious appetite, and although she missed the contact whilst feeding, having Wylla on hand meant that Ashara could at least sleep for a few hours interrupted during the night.

He would grow up to be as brave and strong as his father, and be a great knight some day. His official mother and father would love him as parents who had a miracle child would, and from afar Ashara would love him, too. He would always be her everything—her reason for living, even if he never knew it.

Her stomach twisted as she tried not to think about whether "Gerold" would realise his true heritage, or whether he'd be entirely ignorant of the fact he was son of Ser Brandon Stark and Lady Ashara Dayne.

Did the Starks know about her babe, or had the secret of her tryst with Brandon died with him?

Rhaegar had ridden north, but thankfully not to force Ned Stark to marry her for the seed his older brother had left in her belly. Instead he had whisked Lyanna Stark away to the Tower of Joy, the place where Ashara had given birth, loaned to the prince by her family in total secrecy. A thank you for his assistance in the matter of the unwanted Stark bastard that they wanted to brush under the reeds.

Guilt washed over Ashara. Was she indirectly responsible for her love's death? Or would Rhaegar have taken his Stark lover anyway, only hidden her in a different place? Thinking back to Harrenhal, she remembered the prince crowning Lyanna Queen of Love and Beauty, and Lyanna acting suspiciously, seemingly up to no good.

No, Rhaegar had fallen for her at the same time as Ashara was falling for the older brother. If he felt the intensity of feeling Ashara did herself, and given his stronger position as a man and the crown prince, then he would have taken his Stark lover anyway. Brandon Stark was doomed the second he took off for King's Landing.

The news via raven hadn't said much, but by now stories of what happened in the Red Keep were filtering all the way to Dorne, carried by the lips of travellers. They said that the king had burned Lord Stark, and in trying to rescue his father Brandon had strangled himself whilst reaching for a sword.

I hope the prince truly loves Lyanna Stark as I love Brandon Stark, because nothing less would be worth the price paid, Ashara thought. Her love, his father, numerous other lords and their sons were dead because of it—even innocent Ned Stark's head was called for.

Ned. A shaky smile pulled at her lips for a brief second as she remembered the second Stark son, the boy that was now Lord Stark of Winterfell.

Ashara pressed her lips to her son's head.

"You have your father's strength and my colouring, but if you take anything else from your true family, please let it be your uncle's sense of honour."